Another year is coming to a close. Good-bye, 2009... you were, well, a little weird. If I haven't written about all your weirdness already, I'm sure I'll get to it next year. Other than that, I met a lot of cool people in 2009, including "re-meeting" some cool people. I also disconnected with some people, some on purpose (which is rather odd for me, as friends can attest to) and some on accident (which happens more than I care to admit).
2009 (Really) Quick Review:
The Padres sucked and the Chargers rocked. Here's hoping the Chargers make it to the Super Bowl...
The Battlestar Galactica finale was, er, garbage.
Um... did anything else happen in 2009? I forget...
Blog Notes:
Anyway, I decided to cease and desist the MySpace mirror for this blog (some might have noticed the "Subscribe via MySpace" widget disappearing on December 8th... then again, probably not). I was going to wait until New Year's before I stopped the mirror, but MySpace decided to go ahead and block Blogspot/Blogger links again, so I gave up on the 11th. Anybody who still gets notifications from MySpace needs to subscribe via one of the other methods. No, I'm not deleting my MySpace account, and if MySpace gets with the program and decides to offer some sort of automatic feed posting, then I'll take advantage of it. But, until such time, au revoir MySpace Blogs!
I'm also going to make the Irrewind column into a bi-weekly one. Or, rather, the first and third Saturdays of each month. Why? For no other reason than that I am kinda lazy... and that I did the math: my Irrewinds would outrun (so to speak) my posting frequency if I kept them up weekly.
In other news: One-Line Movie Reviews will henceforth be known as Irreview! What does "irreview" mean? Nothing!
In Conclusion:
I clearly have nothing profound to pass along, so enough of this.
Happy New Year!
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Drained Musings
Being drained sucks, doesn't it? I'm not talking about being drained as a result of being proactive... that kind of drained is fine; it usually means you've accomplished or are accomplishing something. I'm talking about the other kind of drained... the kind that's the result of being reactive (usually to other people). THAT kind sucks. And the people who cause that kind of, er, drainage suck.
It's kinda ironic, too (or hypocritical, depending on how you look at it)... a buddy of mine, who after an extremely prolific November, suddenly seemed to "dry up" as far as creativity goes. I've been giving him a hard time about it, but to no avail. And now, I'm the one who's all blah. I can't think of a single thing to write, other than these meandering musings that mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Then again, does anything I write mean anything in the grand scheme of things? Hmm... must consult Magic 8-ball.
Anyway... enough of that.
So, the San Diego Chargers clinched the #2 seed in the AFC after an ass-whooping they handed to the Tennessee Titans (42-17... ouch!). I actually would have written about this sooner, but I was DRAINED! Still drained, really, but...
Go Chargers!
I am fighting a nicotine addiction with every ounce of willpower that I have. In other words: I'm losing. I've also come to the realization that even though I don't like smoking, I don't like not smoking either. What the Hell am I supposed to do with an attitude like that?
You've probably noticed (especially if you're one of the few who will bother to read this far) that I'm messing with a nav-bar (and that it keeps disappearing and reappearing). I have no idea what I really want to do with it, but messing with it is forcing me to learn CSS. And, in this day and age, CSS isn't a bad thing to learn. What relevance that has towards anything you might be interested in is beyond me, but I felt like mentioning it. And if anyone has any advice or ideas concerning implementation and/or other features, feel free to drop me a line.
Anybody know any good jokes? I haven't heard any good jokes in a while.
And that's all I really feel like writing at the moment. I'm lame, I know.
It's kinda ironic, too (or hypocritical, depending on how you look at it)... a buddy of mine, who after an extremely prolific November, suddenly seemed to "dry up" as far as creativity goes. I've been giving him a hard time about it, but to no avail. And now, I'm the one who's all blah. I can't think of a single thing to write, other than these meandering musings that mean nothing in the grand scheme of things. Then again, does anything I write mean anything in the grand scheme of things? Hmm... must consult Magic 8-ball.
Anyway... enough of that.
So, the San Diego Chargers clinched the #2 seed in the AFC after an ass-whooping they handed to the Tennessee Titans (42-17... ouch!). I actually would have written about this sooner, but I was DRAINED! Still drained, really, but...
Go Chargers!
I am fighting a nicotine addiction with every ounce of willpower that I have. In other words: I'm losing. I've also come to the realization that even though I don't like smoking, I don't like not smoking either. What the Hell am I supposed to do with an attitude like that?
You've probably noticed (especially if you're one of the few who will bother to read this far) that I'm messing with a nav-bar (and that it keeps disappearing and reappearing). I have no idea what I really want to do with it, but messing with it is forcing me to learn CSS. And, in this day and age, CSS isn't a bad thing to learn. What relevance that has towards anything you might be interested in is beyond me, but I felt like mentioning it. And if anyone has any advice or ideas concerning implementation and/or other features, feel free to drop me a line.
Anybody know any good jokes? I haven't heard any good jokes in a while.
And that's all I really feel like writing at the moment. I'm lame, I know.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Reflections on Chapter One
This book is pretty wild, no? The one called Life, I'm talking about. I'm sitting here rereading many of my old ramblings and realizing that I'm reading about a different person. Strange...
A lot of people subscribe to the philosophy that writers should write for themselves. Yeah, fine. Nothing bad can be said about seeing it that way, but that's not what I do. I don't just write for others, I write at others. Or, at the very least, try to. We can avoid the argument about whether I'm successful or not for the time being.
But I do write at people. I'm finding several entries in which I'm being seriously dishonest (read: outright lying) about someone or something for the sole purpose of eliciting a response. Hell, there are a few cases where I use one thing just to piss off another. To be frank, I find those entries rather embarrassing, but at least I know which ones are true and which ones aren't. Several aren't total deceptions, merely partial ones meant to get someone overly nosy off of the trail I left. Though still embarrassing, I find those a bit hilarious, and take joy in my subjective cleverness, but again... I know which are true and which aren't. Can't say my readers do. Not without asking, anyway.
Of course, as most know (or will learn), being dishonest gets rather tiring. My writing has opened up as of late... since early June, I guess... and is definitely as honest as I've ever been. Maybe that's part of the reason I'm always awake: I no longer exhaust myself by maintaining deceptions. Seriously, I'm even having problems writing fiction, strictly for the fact that I know it's not true. Such a reaction is probably overkill, but I'm sure a few of you know what I'm talking about.
I've been scolded in the past for being "too honest" (usually by liars themselves), and so what? I'd rather be known for having secrets than for telling lies. And I have few secrets left, anyway. Why bother? Too many people seem to think their secrets are more important than they actually are and waste precious energy trying to cover them up with lies. Trust me, most of us don't give a fuck, and we're certainly not impressed. Hell, the more I go back and reread my own work, the less impressed I get.
Still, it's interesting to at least see my states of mind at given points of time. When reading a rant, rave, a lie, or a truth, I can remember where I was and what I really wanted to say, if even it was effectively left unsaid. Hidden messages for myself, in some sense. Perhaps I wasn't writing at others, after all. Who knows?
This book's been crazy, that's for sure. It's time for a new chapter... a reboot, in current hip Hollywood parlance. And despite all of chapter one's shortcomings, I can take heart in that I've never settled for second best. Almost did a few times... but never did. I've never followed anyone blindly, never copied anyone knowingly, made all of my own decisions and all of my own mistakes. And I've certainly never been been so dependent on others that I had to dupe a backup into waiting pathetically in the wings, just in case things didn't work out.
Still, I've definitely fucked up over the years. This chapter's ending pretty much how it began, save for a protagonist slightly wiser. Lessons have been learned. Time to turn the page. Maybe I will write this next one for myself.
A lot of people subscribe to the philosophy that writers should write for themselves. Yeah, fine. Nothing bad can be said about seeing it that way, but that's not what I do. I don't just write for others, I write at others. Or, at the very least, try to. We can avoid the argument about whether I'm successful or not for the time being.
But I do write at people. I'm finding several entries in which I'm being seriously dishonest (read: outright lying) about someone or something for the sole purpose of eliciting a response. Hell, there are a few cases where I use one thing just to piss off another. To be frank, I find those entries rather embarrassing, but at least I know which ones are true and which ones aren't. Several aren't total deceptions, merely partial ones meant to get someone overly nosy off of the trail I left. Though still embarrassing, I find those a bit hilarious, and take joy in my subjective cleverness, but again... I know which are true and which aren't. Can't say my readers do. Not without asking, anyway.
Of course, as most know (or will learn), being dishonest gets rather tiring. My writing has opened up as of late... since early June, I guess... and is definitely as honest as I've ever been. Maybe that's part of the reason I'm always awake: I no longer exhaust myself by maintaining deceptions. Seriously, I'm even having problems writing fiction, strictly for the fact that I know it's not true. Such a reaction is probably overkill, but I'm sure a few of you know what I'm talking about.
I've been scolded in the past for being "too honest" (usually by liars themselves), and so what? I'd rather be known for having secrets than for telling lies. And I have few secrets left, anyway. Why bother? Too many people seem to think their secrets are more important than they actually are and waste precious energy trying to cover them up with lies. Trust me, most of us don't give a fuck, and we're certainly not impressed. Hell, the more I go back and reread my own work, the less impressed I get.
Still, it's interesting to at least see my states of mind at given points of time. When reading a rant, rave, a lie, or a truth, I can remember where I was and what I really wanted to say, if even it was effectively left unsaid. Hidden messages for myself, in some sense. Perhaps I wasn't writing at others, after all. Who knows?
This book's been crazy, that's for sure. It's time for a new chapter... a reboot, in current hip Hollywood parlance. And despite all of chapter one's shortcomings, I can take heart in that I've never settled for second best. Almost did a few times... but never did. I've never followed anyone blindly, never copied anyone knowingly, made all of my own decisions and all of my own mistakes. And I've certainly never been been so dependent on others that I had to dupe a backup into waiting pathetically in the wings, just in case things didn't work out.
Still, I've definitely fucked up over the years. This chapter's ending pretty much how it began, save for a protagonist slightly wiser. Lessons have been learned. Time to turn the page. Maybe I will write this next one for myself.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Life is Interesting
Yep, I'm stating the obvious. Life is definitely interesting. It never quite matches your hopes and dreams, but it never quite matches your fears and nightmares, either. It just sort of happens, oblivious to anything you try to plan or do. Money comes and goes, health comes and goes... even people, friends and loved ones, come and go.
It sure is interesting.
Interesting despite the fact that all lifetimes can be summed up in three simple words: born, lived, died. Inconspicuously simple, and any biographer with an honest bone in their body will tell you that those three words are not only the most important descriptors in a life story, they're the only relevant descriptors in a life story. Born. Lived. Died.
Two of those words are absolutes. They happen exactly the same to everything on this planet. It's that middle word that is open to interpretation.
Some people view their lives as complete failures, while others can view those same lives as historic successes. Some view their actions in life as honorable, selfless, and totally within reason. Others see those actions more objectively: completely selfish.
People go about being honest to some, lying to others, hating a few, and loving still fewer. They work or don't, they play or don't, but all manage to affect and effect those who surround them, for better or worse.
In the end, though, what does it really matter? History books record a dishearteningly small portion of the events and people that have populated our planet in the eons since its formation. Nobody will ever hear of your aunt's neighbor's grandmother; nobody will ever hear of your friend's hairstylist's cousin. Those people just fade away, and everyone else will be none the wiser.
But, still... people like to think that they matter. That somehow the ebbing nature of time will recall the insignificant presence of the insignificant lives that are ours. Somehow, though, I don't think time gives a shit. In fact, I know it doesn't. It just ticks away in the perceptions of our minds, while we grow older and start wondering just what does happen after we die.
I don't think I'll care what happens. At last I hope I don't care what happens... I have a fear that one day I'll turn into a hypocrite and start spouting one of the humanist mythologies that we call religion as fact when they are so clearly fiction.
Time, though, is not a fiction. It may very well be relativistic, but we know it's real. And to truly live, we have to accept and acknowledge that our time, like our lives, is finite. I don't want to experience lives that don't want to experience mine... and I don't have time for those who don't have time for me.
I'll fade away, one day... of that I'm certain. Completely forgotten by people who pretend to care, but don't really give a shit.
It's all so very interesting.
It sure is interesting.
Interesting despite the fact that all lifetimes can be summed up in three simple words: born, lived, died. Inconspicuously simple, and any biographer with an honest bone in their body will tell you that those three words are not only the most important descriptors in a life story, they're the only relevant descriptors in a life story. Born. Lived. Died.
Two of those words are absolutes. They happen exactly the same to everything on this planet. It's that middle word that is open to interpretation.
Some people view their lives as complete failures, while others can view those same lives as historic successes. Some view their actions in life as honorable, selfless, and totally within reason. Others see those actions more objectively: completely selfish.
People go about being honest to some, lying to others, hating a few, and loving still fewer. They work or don't, they play or don't, but all manage to affect and effect those who surround them, for better or worse.
In the end, though, what does it really matter? History books record a dishearteningly small portion of the events and people that have populated our planet in the eons since its formation. Nobody will ever hear of your aunt's neighbor's grandmother; nobody will ever hear of your friend's hairstylist's cousin. Those people just fade away, and everyone else will be none the wiser.
But, still... people like to think that they matter. That somehow the ebbing nature of time will recall the insignificant presence of the insignificant lives that are ours. Somehow, though, I don't think time gives a shit. In fact, I know it doesn't. It just ticks away in the perceptions of our minds, while we grow older and start wondering just what does happen after we die.
I don't think I'll care what happens. At last I hope I don't care what happens... I have a fear that one day I'll turn into a hypocrite and start spouting one of the humanist mythologies that we call religion as fact when they are so clearly fiction.
Time, though, is not a fiction. It may very well be relativistic, but we know it's real. And to truly live, we have to accept and acknowledge that our time, like our lives, is finite. I don't want to experience lives that don't want to experience mine... and I don't have time for those who don't have time for me.
I'll fade away, one day... of that I'm certain. Completely forgotten by people who pretend to care, but don't really give a shit.
It's all so very interesting.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
People Are Idiots
People are idiots. I state this because, well, it's true. For evidence, I point to the following:
1. Apparently many people believe that showing up for a single election and casting a single ballot for a single position (in this case, the President) will somehow change everything. Anyone with a real education and real political/government experience, however, can attest to the exact opposite.
2. Just as many people believe that using a turn signal requires that you look over your shoulder to see if you can change lanes, and then activating a turn signal. Um, no. The turn signal is not for the operator's benefit, it's for the operators of the other cars. Signal intent, see if it's safe, then do it. Not see if it's safe and then signal intent. If it's already safe, why the fuck would you need to signal anybody?
3. ExxonMobil exists for one reason and one reason only: to make money. They are not responsible to care about our energy woes, nor are they required to even give a shit. Don't get me wrong, they're still a bunch of assholes (evidenced by the fact that they do not intent to increase oil production AT ALL for the next couple of years or so), but the popular belief that whining about it is going to have some sort of alleviating effect has to go. Look elsewhere to solve the problem. Barking up a tree does nothing save make noise.
4. Quite a few believe that The Da Vinci Code is based on fact. It is not. Nor is Angels & Demons. Nor is anything Dan Brown has written. Still more people believe Dan Brown is an excellent writer. He's not. In fact, he's elementary hack. A shit writer with (admittedly) great plots.
5. The new movies of the Star Wars trilogy were horrible, horrible films. And, yet, they somehow made hundreds of millions of dollars. Hell, I could've proven the thesis of this posting with just this example.
6. So many people are buying into the Ethanol myth. Um... it's not much better for the environment than gasoline is (it's less efficient; therefore, we have to use more of it... and its exhaust is nearly as bad as gasoline) and it has the added effect of depleting food supplies. And everyone seems to wonder why the farmers are so pro-Ethanol. Hmm... BECAUSE THEIR PROFIT MARGINS JUST SHOT THREW THE FUCKING ROOF. See ExxonMobil explanation above.
I'd continue this, but I suddenly became very upset (from a completely unrelated cause).
Have a nice day... idiots.
1. Apparently many people believe that showing up for a single election and casting a single ballot for a single position (in this case, the President) will somehow change everything. Anyone with a real education and real political/government experience, however, can attest to the exact opposite.
2. Just as many people believe that using a turn signal requires that you look over your shoulder to see if you can change lanes, and then activating a turn signal. Um, no. The turn signal is not for the operator's benefit, it's for the operators of the other cars. Signal intent, see if it's safe, then do it. Not see if it's safe and then signal intent. If it's already safe, why the fuck would you need to signal anybody?
3. ExxonMobil exists for one reason and one reason only: to make money. They are not responsible to care about our energy woes, nor are they required to even give a shit. Don't get me wrong, they're still a bunch of assholes (evidenced by the fact that they do not intent to increase oil production AT ALL for the next couple of years or so), but the popular belief that whining about it is going to have some sort of alleviating effect has to go. Look elsewhere to solve the problem. Barking up a tree does nothing save make noise.
4. Quite a few believe that The Da Vinci Code is based on fact. It is not. Nor is Angels & Demons. Nor is anything Dan Brown has written. Still more people believe Dan Brown is an excellent writer. He's not. In fact, he's elementary hack. A shit writer with (admittedly) great plots.
5. The new movies of the Star Wars trilogy were horrible, horrible films. And, yet, they somehow made hundreds of millions of dollars. Hell, I could've proven the thesis of this posting with just this example.
6. So many people are buying into the Ethanol myth. Um... it's not much better for the environment than gasoline is (it's less efficient; therefore, we have to use more of it... and its exhaust is nearly as bad as gasoline) and it has the added effect of depleting food supplies. And everyone seems to wonder why the farmers are so pro-Ethanol. Hmm... BECAUSE THEIR PROFIT MARGINS JUST SHOT THREW THE FUCKING ROOF. See ExxonMobil explanation above.
I'd continue this, but I suddenly became very upset (from a completely unrelated cause).
Have a nice day... idiots.
Wednesday, October 25, 2006
Touch and Go
Every day we wake up, we're somebody else. Our experiences today will be different from the ones that we had yesterday. Our lives are, technically and theoretically, always changing. Nothing stays the same. Nothing remains familiar. Lovers are really strangers, strangers are really friends, and enemies are really those who refuse to admit that we're all more alike than anyone realizes. Life is touch and go. We touch, are touched, wish we were touched, and we move on, sometimes not even knowing why we move on, or even what we've missed.
Touch and go.
Life was interesting a couple of years ago. I was finishing up my first bachelor's degree, activated by the National Guard, and on my way to that fun little desert that is the Middle East. In a small PX in Fort Stewart, Georgia, I mentioned that I needed a padlock for one of my bags, but didn't have the money on me. Later that day, when I wasn't near my bunk, someone found my stuff and left a brand new padlock on my bed. To this day, I have no idea who this person was. Touched. And gone.
I remember getting my dog, Jax, after I got out of the Army. I bought him a doghouse so he could stay dry when it rained and I wasn't home to let him in the house. He wouldn't go in it... not even when I put food inside of it. I talked about this in one of my classes in college. The guy sitting next to me, a tall, gentle-looking black man, said to put sawdust on the floor of the doghouse. For some reason, dogs like the smell and the comfort it provides. I never tried it, but I never forgot the advice, either. Advice from a stranger just trying to help. I feel like shit that I don't know his name. Touched. And gone.
Life moves in circles, in waves, fuck... it even moves in squares and dodecahedrons. Why is it that I am alive, able to walk (although barely), work every day, and play with my dogs and cats? Why is that my replacement in the Army no longer has his foot... or his arm? Why is that I am able to talk to my father, but refuse to because of the friction between us? Why is that several of my friends want so badly to talk to their fathers, but can't because they're no longer living? How can one person leave so indelible a footprint on a person's psyche that a script, a poem, or a song is written due to that footprint? How is it that other people are forgotten as soon as you meet them?
Touch... and go...
We are not a species that can stay in one place long. We move on, from place to place, day to day. Not because of some instinctual need for survival, but because of some higher need for more. Why are we the only species that needs, unequivocally, to love and be loved? Why do we pretend that our pleasant emotions are tied into what's familiar? Why do we assume that our hurtful emotions stem from fear and the unknown?
We are the only living thing on this planet that is capable of touch and go. The only one. Everything else is tied into a natural cycle that repeats itself over and over again, and will repeat itself until extinction or the end of time. Touch and go. There's a reason we're capable of it. A reason so simple to comprehend, most of us refuse to acknowledge it when life seems too much to handle:
No matter what happens to us in life, we can always move forward.
Touched.... and gone...
Touch and go.
Life was interesting a couple of years ago. I was finishing up my first bachelor's degree, activated by the National Guard, and on my way to that fun little desert that is the Middle East. In a small PX in Fort Stewart, Georgia, I mentioned that I needed a padlock for one of my bags, but didn't have the money on me. Later that day, when I wasn't near my bunk, someone found my stuff and left a brand new padlock on my bed. To this day, I have no idea who this person was. Touched. And gone.
I remember getting my dog, Jax, after I got out of the Army. I bought him a doghouse so he could stay dry when it rained and I wasn't home to let him in the house. He wouldn't go in it... not even when I put food inside of it. I talked about this in one of my classes in college. The guy sitting next to me, a tall, gentle-looking black man, said to put sawdust on the floor of the doghouse. For some reason, dogs like the smell and the comfort it provides. I never tried it, but I never forgot the advice, either. Advice from a stranger just trying to help. I feel like shit that I don't know his name. Touched. And gone.
Life moves in circles, in waves, fuck... it even moves in squares and dodecahedrons. Why is it that I am alive, able to walk (although barely), work every day, and play with my dogs and cats? Why is that my replacement in the Army no longer has his foot... or his arm? Why is that I am able to talk to my father, but refuse to because of the friction between us? Why is that several of my friends want so badly to talk to their fathers, but can't because they're no longer living? How can one person leave so indelible a footprint on a person's psyche that a script, a poem, or a song is written due to that footprint? How is it that other people are forgotten as soon as you meet them?
Touch... and go...
We are not a species that can stay in one place long. We move on, from place to place, day to day. Not because of some instinctual need for survival, but because of some higher need for more. Why are we the only species that needs, unequivocally, to love and be loved? Why do we pretend that our pleasant emotions are tied into what's familiar? Why do we assume that our hurtful emotions stem from fear and the unknown?
We are the only living thing on this planet that is capable of touch and go. The only one. Everything else is tied into a natural cycle that repeats itself over and over again, and will repeat itself until extinction or the end of time. Touch and go. There's a reason we're capable of it. A reason so simple to comprehend, most of us refuse to acknowledge it when life seems too much to handle:
No matter what happens to us in life, we can always move forward.
Touched.... and gone...
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