Saturday, June 4, 2011
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
CHOOCHOO chuggachuggachuggachugga CHOOCHOOOOO
Yikes. Has it been a month? Why, yes. Yes it has.
Onwards, men!
I did try writing after an energizing conversation with a friend and fellow blogger. I whined about not having my X amount of factors in line that I deemed necessary to write: a theme of substance, a quiet place to write, gallons of coffee...She told me to suck it up and to just simply write something. Motivated, I returned home that night determined to kick out the world's best post...EVER. As it turned out, the Blogger site was down for that evening. Now I could have quite easily written in Word or Notepad, but I gallantly tossed my head to the said and said, "F that!" Still, I couldn't help but laugh at the coincidence.
It wasn't the only incredibly blatant, comically unavoidable event that happened to me in the past week. There have been quite a few, actually. It was enough that I regretted not carrying around a little notepad to jot down life's happy little moments.
This past Monday, my cousin's car broke down as he was returning from a four-day concert binge across the Midwest. The poor guy hadn't slept in a few days and was caked in mud, overpriced beer, and other people's sweat. To make matters worse, his car then crapped out on him after he pulled over at a rest stop for a few hours of shut-eye. I guess, to look at the brighter side of things, he wasn't assaulted by rogue truck drivers armed with bottles of lotion for him to put on his skin.
Don't make me do the No-Wang Dance!! 'Cause I totally will...
Yeah. I'm not proud of that caption. Suggestions are welcome.
Anyway, his phone is near death, so the only information I get from him is that he is at a rest stop on the west side of 680 near Shelby, Iowa. That puts him about 30 miles outside of Omaha near Avoca, Iowa. Oh, it's also 7:30am. I call a few nearby gas stations that pop up on good 'ole Google Maps, but no good comes from that. Unsure of what to do next, I resign myself to driving the 30 minutes to search for him. I was actually glad for the quest. I love my family and I enjoy helping others out. That being said, I did drop a few random curses at things on my way out to BFE, Iowa.
His directions were fairly accurate. Sadly, I have absolutely zero sense of direction, so I ended up taking the world's longest route to the lovely hamlet of Shelby, Iowa. I find him on my first pass and we quickly attempt to jump his car, but his ride simply whirs and buzzes twice before finally dying completely. Defeated and dejected, we drive to a nearby gas station, call a tow truck, and dine on a fine breakfast of Nutrigrain bars and coffee. Mr. Tow Guy comes, jumps the car, and proceeds to take my cousin's arm and leg, all in the span of 15 minutes. My cousin and I high-five one another (a high-ten being impossible) and decide to call it a day. With my cousin happily back on the road towards home, I also turn west and I quickly begin to dream about all the sweet napping I can get in before work that evening.
Being slightly sleep-deprived, I decide to cut through Council Bluffs on the way home so that I can take care of a quick client for drug testing. Great idea, you say? No. Not at all. The client doesn't answer, so I get a nice laugh out of the articulate message I could have left for him had I no attachment to keeping my job. The bridge I'm close to that takes me over the Missouri River and back to civilization is out, so I wiggle around backwoods Council Bluffs aimlessly as I begin to create new and ingenious ways to swear at inanimate objects.
My breaking point hits when I encounter a train crossing. There sits this train. This stupid, stupid, butthole of a train. It sits at a dead stop covering up the intersection with no end in sight. Underneath the train, I can see happy traffic on the other side waltzing about on their daily business without a care in the world. And there I sit stuck on the wrong side of this enormous metal bastard practicing karate on my sweet, innocent steering wheel. The train begins to inch forward and I perk up as I assume my arduous climb out of hell will be resuming momentarily. Ah, but the train then brakes, backs up, and returns to its original spot. The 100ton turd-on-wheels proceeds to do this three more times as I nearly choke on my tongue out of pure rage. The train could have been carrying a payload of magical kittens to an orphanage of cute, British-speaking children nearby, but as I sat and watched in horror as the engineer cackled and flipped me off, all I could do was picture myself driving into the train, backing up, and driving into the train again and again.
I then notice that there is a car behind me further back with a father and his young son standing in a ditch. As they watch the train troll me mercilessly and without end, the kid claps and smiles as he points a finger at the choo-choo.
I come down from my Mountaintop of Hate and remember a random quote about patience that I had come across recently. I'll butcher the phrasing here, but it essentially described a man talking about praying for more patience. The man is not surprised in the least when he his faced with things to test his patience, rather than just having copious amounts of patience loaded into his being. Humbled, I pulled my head out of my butt, turned off the radio, and spent a few moments in contemplation.
Leave it to a little kid to remind me of my place in the world.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's kind of what kids are good at doing.
I returned home in silence and resolved myself to be slightly more cheerful going into the evening.
And the day was good.
Well, most of it, anyhow. The punchline to my story had yet to hit me square in the face.
After being home for a few minutes, I receive a call from my supervisor about a work referral in Avoca, NE and she asks if I'd like to take it. I broke down into tears and raised two fists towards the sky as I shouted, "Khaaaaaaaan!" It was quite theatrical; you should have been there.
I wish you peace through the rest of the week as you all go about your work. And should you find nothing but Asshole McChoo-choos blocking your path, think of the man who asked for patience and use the roadblocks as chances for training.
See what I did there?
Cheers,
Jacob
Pages:
The Idiot - STILL
Tunes:
New Bayside
New Young the Giant
New Thrice (circa summer, 2011)
Onwards, men!
I did try writing after an energizing conversation with a friend and fellow blogger. I whined about not having my X amount of factors in line that I deemed necessary to write: a theme of substance, a quiet place to write, gallons of coffee...She told me to suck it up and to just simply write something. Motivated, I returned home that night determined to kick out the world's best post...EVER. As it turned out, the Blogger site was down for that evening. Now I could have quite easily written in Word or Notepad, but I gallantly tossed my head to the said and said, "F that!" Still, I couldn't help but laugh at the coincidence.
It wasn't the only incredibly blatant, comically unavoidable event that happened to me in the past week. There have been quite a few, actually. It was enough that I regretted not carrying around a little notepad to jot down life's happy little moments.
This past Monday, my cousin's car broke down as he was returning from a four-day concert binge across the Midwest. The poor guy hadn't slept in a few days and was caked in mud, overpriced beer, and other people's sweat. To make matters worse, his car then crapped out on him after he pulled over at a rest stop for a few hours of shut-eye. I guess, to look at the brighter side of things, he wasn't assaulted by rogue truck drivers armed with bottles of lotion for him to put on his skin.
Yeah. I'm not proud of that caption. Suggestions are welcome.
Anyway, his phone is near death, so the only information I get from him is that he is at a rest stop on the west side of 680 near Shelby, Iowa. That puts him about 30 miles outside of Omaha near Avoca, Iowa. Oh, it's also 7:30am. I call a few nearby gas stations that pop up on good 'ole Google Maps, but no good comes from that. Unsure of what to do next, I resign myself to driving the 30 minutes to search for him. I was actually glad for the quest. I love my family and I enjoy helping others out. That being said, I did drop a few random curses at things on my way out to BFE, Iowa.
His directions were fairly accurate. Sadly, I have absolutely zero sense of direction, so I ended up taking the world's longest route to the lovely hamlet of Shelby, Iowa. I find him on my first pass and we quickly attempt to jump his car, but his ride simply whirs and buzzes twice before finally dying completely. Defeated and dejected, we drive to a nearby gas station, call a tow truck, and dine on a fine breakfast of Nutrigrain bars and coffee. Mr. Tow Guy comes, jumps the car, and proceeds to take my cousin's arm and leg, all in the span of 15 minutes. My cousin and I high-five one another (a high-ten being impossible) and decide to call it a day. With my cousin happily back on the road towards home, I also turn west and I quickly begin to dream about all the sweet napping I can get in before work that evening.
Being slightly sleep-deprived, I decide to cut through Council Bluffs on the way home so that I can take care of a quick client for drug testing. Great idea, you say? No. Not at all. The client doesn't answer, so I get a nice laugh out of the articulate message I could have left for him had I no attachment to keeping my job. The bridge I'm close to that takes me over the Missouri River and back to civilization is out, so I wiggle around backwoods Council Bluffs aimlessly as I begin to create new and ingenious ways to swear at inanimate objects.
My breaking point hits when I encounter a train crossing. There sits this train. This stupid, stupid, butthole of a train. It sits at a dead stop covering up the intersection with no end in sight. Underneath the train, I can see happy traffic on the other side waltzing about on their daily business without a care in the world. And there I sit stuck on the wrong side of this enormous metal bastard practicing karate on my sweet, innocent steering wheel. The train begins to inch forward and I perk up as I assume my arduous climb out of hell will be resuming momentarily. Ah, but the train then brakes, backs up, and returns to its original spot. The 100ton turd-on-wheels proceeds to do this three more times as I nearly choke on my tongue out of pure rage. The train could have been carrying a payload of magical kittens to an orphanage of cute, British-speaking children nearby, but as I sat and watched in horror as the engineer cackled and flipped me off, all I could do was picture myself driving into the train, backing up, and driving into the train again and again.
I then notice that there is a car behind me further back with a father and his young son standing in a ditch. As they watch the train troll me mercilessly and without end, the kid claps and smiles as he points a finger at the choo-choo.
I come down from my Mountaintop of Hate and remember a random quote about patience that I had come across recently. I'll butcher the phrasing here, but it essentially described a man talking about praying for more patience. The man is not surprised in the least when he his faced with things to test his patience, rather than just having copious amounts of patience loaded into his being. Humbled, I pulled my head out of my butt, turned off the radio, and spent a few moments in contemplation.
Leave it to a little kid to remind me of my place in the world.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised. It's kind of what kids are good at doing.
I returned home in silence and resolved myself to be slightly more cheerful going into the evening.
And the day was good.
Well, most of it, anyhow. The punchline to my story had yet to hit me square in the face.
After being home for a few minutes, I receive a call from my supervisor about a work referral in Avoca, NE and she asks if I'd like to take it. I broke down into tears and raised two fists towards the sky as I shouted, "Khaaaaaaaan!" It was quite theatrical; you should have been there.
I wish you peace through the rest of the week as you all go about your work. And should you find nothing but Asshole McChoo-choos blocking your path, think of the man who asked for patience and use the roadblocks as chances for training.
See what I did there?
Cheers,
Jacob
Pages:
The Idiot - STILL
Tunes:
New Bayside
New Young the Giant
New Thrice (circa summer, 2011)
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Sittin' round, singing songs 'til the night turns into day
Good evening, interwebs!
I've got a free night.
That being said, I've already tried reading and playing music (two of my favorite pastimes). The books that I'm mining through just didn't seem to hit the spot. First off, I'm halfway through two separate books. This is simply something that I have always tried to avoid. It seems as though I get mentally fatigued within a few pages of either book and I just end up faceplanting after only a few brief moments. That's certainly one way to spend an evening; however, I'd like something that is a little more fulfilling (and that won't leave ink splotches on my forehead).
The next step was to move to the basement, twist my amp to 11, and knock out some high-decibel ear candy. This went well, but I ran out of steam after about 30 minutes. I have since drifted to my computer where I am now listening to random music via YouTube.
And it's quickly becoming the best night. Everrr.
The only lowlight came while I took a wee break from all this writing to grab a burger from a local bar (re: Dundee Dell). There, I was subjected to watching the NBA playoffs while my order was being artfully prepared.
Basketball is awful.
But the music, food, and drinks are not. I'm not getting much writing accomplished, but I am air drumming/falsetto singing like a madman. It feels great.
I'd like to open up a discussion on philosophy, romance, world events...but nothing's really forthcoming.
If you feel so inclined, toss me some new musical suggestions. I can't get enough!
I hope you are all doing well and that you've found your own ways to spend this great, great evening.
Cheers!
Jake
Pages:
The Trial of Socrates - I.F. Stone
The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevski
Tunes:
Gypsy Woman - Jonathan Tyler & Northern Lights
The Ocean - Led Zeppelin
Every Power Ballad song ever written
Drum solos on YouTube of all things Thrice
I've got a free night.
That being said, I've already tried reading and playing music (two of my favorite pastimes). The books that I'm mining through just didn't seem to hit the spot. First off, I'm halfway through two separate books. This is simply something that I have always tried to avoid. It seems as though I get mentally fatigued within a few pages of either book and I just end up faceplanting after only a few brief moments. That's certainly one way to spend an evening; however, I'd like something that is a little more fulfilling (and that won't leave ink splotches on my forehead).
The next step was to move to the basement, twist my amp to 11, and knock out some high-decibel ear candy. This went well, but I ran out of steam after about 30 minutes. I have since drifted to my computer where I am now listening to random music via YouTube.
And it's quickly becoming the best night. Everrr.
The only lowlight came while I took a wee break from all this writing to grab a burger from a local bar (re: Dundee Dell). There, I was subjected to watching the NBA playoffs while my order was being artfully prepared.
Basketball is awful.
But the music, food, and drinks are not. I'm not getting much writing accomplished, but I am air drumming/falsetto singing like a madman. It feels great.
I'd like to open up a discussion on philosophy, romance, world events...but nothing's really forthcoming.
If you feel so inclined, toss me some new musical suggestions. I can't get enough!
I hope you are all doing well and that you've found your own ways to spend this great, great evening.
Cheers!
Jake
Pages:
The Trial of Socrates - I.F. Stone
The Idiot - Fyodor Dostoyevski
Tunes:
Gypsy Woman - Jonathan Tyler & Northern Lights
The Ocean - Led Zeppelin
Every Power Ballad song ever written
Drum solos on YouTube of all things Thrice
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
What we have here...is a failure to communicate
Good day, everyone!
I apologize for the long drought in coverage of my life's events! I hope this message, albeit brief, will help suppress the masses clamoring for some form of contact from me.
And by masses, I simply just mean my mother of whom I suspect logs in to hit the refresh button 5 times a day to give me hope (it's working).
It does feel great to just sit and prattle on, though. It's a nice release of sorts.
I'm currently awaiting an ambush I've set for a client at work. I know they are here visiting with their therapist. They've been dodging my weekly meetings with them and I plan to bump into them afterwards. I could wait patiently, or I could subtly interrupt their session with a kindly reminder that I exist.
LET'S TALK ABOUT OUR FEELINGS
Hmm. On second thought, that might not go so well.
I am pleased to have some...mandatory down time? You know, the period of time where you are scheduled to do something, but then that said something suddenly becomes axed for some reason or another and you find yourself with some extra-added-super-bonus time. Oh, it feels great.
Work (or, not work) aside, I did follow through on my last posting and I ventured out to buy a few random albums last week. I planned on an in-depth review of my selections, but I'm afraid that would take up an afternoon. I've only got so much extra-added-super-bonus time, peeps.
The albums I grabbed were Wilco's A Ghost is Born and A Skylit Drive's Identity on Fire. Wilco's appeal came from, you guessed it, a post from years ago by a member of Thrice that had mentioned it on their site. A Skylit Drive was compeltely random...well...it was also on sale for $7.00. That might have influenced my 'random' selecting of it over other CDs that were peddling for $10 or more.
In short, the Wilco album had much more ear candy on it as opposed to the Drive's. If you enjoy easy-listening mixtures of light rock, country, with a few added electronics, Wilco's for you. I enjoy bands that can find grooves as they play, and Wilco is certainly one that can hit those moments well. They did happen to lose my attention on some of their longer songs (one being 10 minutes and another 15) with repetitive beats and a severe lack of movement until the 7-minute mark. But even then, there were parts of those marathons that made waiting for them worthwhile. There are probably some Wilco fans out there that will cringe at my synopsis, but I like to fancy them as falling somewhere between the Eagles and Weezer in the grand scheme of things.
As for Skylit Drive, they turned out to be an interesting option. Their CD featured some decent hooks during choruses and appealed to my love for intermixtures of screetching and harmonic vocals. The lyrics were, well, the lyrics caused me to laugh at times. Nothing spectacular there. But the fast pace of some of their highlighted songs made me want to listen to a few tracks over and over. My combination of bands for these fellers would be comprised of Coheed and Good Charlotte. A fine selection if you're late for your weekly "Twilight" book club meeting.
Oh good golly. How time flies. I'm not uber-proud of my first attempts at reviewing music, but I am happy to have slapped something together in such a limited amount of time. Huzzah!
Thanks for reading and be well!
Jacob
Pages:
Vonnegut - Sirens of Titan
Tunes:
Mostly Thrice.
AWWW YEEEAAAH.
I apologize for the long drought in coverage of my life's events! I hope this message, albeit brief, will help suppress the masses clamoring for some form of contact from me.
And by masses, I simply just mean my mother of whom I suspect logs in to hit the refresh button 5 times a day to give me hope (it's working).
It does feel great to just sit and prattle on, though. It's a nice release of sorts.
I'm currently awaiting an ambush I've set for a client at work. I know they are here visiting with their therapist. They've been dodging my weekly meetings with them and I plan to bump into them afterwards. I could wait patiently, or I could subtly interrupt their session with a kindly reminder that I exist.
Hmm. On second thought, that might not go so well.
I am pleased to have some...mandatory down time? You know, the period of time where you are scheduled to do something, but then that said something suddenly becomes axed for some reason or another and you find yourself with some extra-added-super-bonus time. Oh, it feels great.
Work (or, not work) aside, I did follow through on my last posting and I ventured out to buy a few random albums last week. I planned on an in-depth review of my selections, but I'm afraid that would take up an afternoon. I've only got so much extra-added-super-bonus time, peeps.
The albums I grabbed were Wilco's A Ghost is Born and A Skylit Drive's Identity on Fire. Wilco's appeal came from, you guessed it, a post from years ago by a member of Thrice that had mentioned it on their site. A Skylit Drive was compeltely random...well...it was also on sale for $7.00. That might have influenced my 'random' selecting of it over other CDs that were peddling for $10 or more.
In short, the Wilco album had much more ear candy on it as opposed to the Drive's. If you enjoy easy-listening mixtures of light rock, country, with a few added electronics, Wilco's for you. I enjoy bands that can find grooves as they play, and Wilco is certainly one that can hit those moments well. They did happen to lose my attention on some of their longer songs (one being 10 minutes and another 15) with repetitive beats and a severe lack of movement until the 7-minute mark. But even then, there were parts of those marathons that made waiting for them worthwhile. There are probably some Wilco fans out there that will cringe at my synopsis, but I like to fancy them as falling somewhere between the Eagles and Weezer in the grand scheme of things.
As for Skylit Drive, they turned out to be an interesting option. Their CD featured some decent hooks during choruses and appealed to my love for intermixtures of screetching and harmonic vocals. The lyrics were, well, the lyrics caused me to laugh at times. Nothing spectacular there. But the fast pace of some of their highlighted songs made me want to listen to a few tracks over and over. My combination of bands for these fellers would be comprised of Coheed and Good Charlotte. A fine selection if you're late for your weekly "Twilight" book club meeting.
Oh good golly. How time flies. I'm not uber-proud of my first attempts at reviewing music, but I am happy to have slapped something together in such a limited amount of time. Huzzah!
Thanks for reading and be well!
Jacob
Pages:
Vonnegut - Sirens of Titan
Tunes:
Mostly Thrice.
AWWW YEEEAAAH.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Is this a decent title?
*SPOILER ALERT*
nothing of any substance is discussed in the following post.
Good afternoon, folks!
I hope this post finds you all feeling well and enjoying life!
I find myself with plenty of time to sit and write this evening; however, I lack any direction as to what I should write about. My attention span seems to be all of three seconds.
I like turtles.
I even played a round of Chess Titans to get the blood flowing to my brain. Sadly, while I did defeat the all-powerful Level 2 Bot (on the first try, no less!), he did take about 98% of my mental stamina with him on his way to Chess Hell.
Sigh. This could go any number of ways.
I could ramble about music. Oh, how I do so enjoy music (said with a twangy, southern drawl with the little voice in my head. Think...Hannibal Lector, maybe? I felt that I should clarify).
This would lead to, as those who know me well could testify towards, a lengthy article worshiping Thrice. While it would be entertaining to write, I am afraid that it might leave one wondering who to contact to see if they still make those cute, white jackets with the handy sleeves that tie together in the back.
On the other hand, I do think that I need some vindication for voluntarily confessing that I attended the Beibertron 2000 movie a few weeks ago (see below). That seemed to have hurt my credibility somewhat.
I still like turtles.
Since this is not going anywhere (quickly, might I add), I think I'll wander the aisles of Best Buy in search of a new CD.
If you're bored and have nothing to do, this is what entertained me for a few minutes while I struggled with finding something to write about.
If you happen to have a Facebook page, click on the link that allows you to "Add languages you know." In the area that appears on the following page, experiment with some of the options that appear in the drop down box. For some of my personal faves, type in: "cat," "who," "i have a," and "org."
***Note, the last two might shock a few people, so hide your grandmas***
Disapproving Grandma disapproves.
Oh dear. It looks like I'll be joining Level 2 Bot shortly.
Have a good evening, everyone!
nothing of any substance is discussed in the following post.
Good afternoon, folks!
I hope this post finds you all feeling well and enjoying life!
I find myself with plenty of time to sit and write this evening; however, I lack any direction as to what I should write about. My attention span seems to be all of three seconds.
I like turtles.
I even played a round of Chess Titans to get the blood flowing to my brain. Sadly, while I did defeat the all-powerful Level 2 Bot (on the first try, no less!), he did take about 98% of my mental stamina with him on his way to Chess Hell.
Sigh. This could go any number of ways.
I could ramble about music. Oh, how I do so enjoy music (said with a twangy, southern drawl with the little voice in my head. Think...Hannibal Lector, maybe? I felt that I should clarify).
This would lead to, as those who know me well could testify towards, a lengthy article worshiping Thrice. While it would be entertaining to write, I am afraid that it might leave one wondering who to contact to see if they still make those cute, white jackets with the handy sleeves that tie together in the back.
On the other hand, I do think that I need some vindication for voluntarily confessing that I attended the Beibertron 2000 movie a few weeks ago (see below). That seemed to have hurt my credibility somewhat.
I still like turtles.
Since this is not going anywhere (quickly, might I add), I think I'll wander the aisles of Best Buy in search of a new CD.
If you're bored and have nothing to do, this is what entertained me for a few minutes while I struggled with finding something to write about.
If you happen to have a Facebook page, click on the link that allows you to "Add languages you know." In the area that appears on the following page, experiment with some of the options that appear in the drop down box. For some of my personal faves, type in: "cat," "who," "i have a," and "org."
***Note, the last two might shock a few people, so hide your grandmas***
Oh dear. It looks like I'll be joining Level 2 Bot shortly.
Have a good evening, everyone!
Thursday, February 17, 2011
And the only prescription was more cowbell
This past Sunday, I celebrated my 26th birthday.
By no means is that a remarkable event in itself. It just so happened that a few other events also timed themselves nicely to all land on that fateful Sunday.
After weeks of bitterly chilly weather, the clouds parted and outside thermometers triumphantly climbed towards 60 degrees. Old friends called to sing me a rowdy rendition of "Happy Birthday" amidst snorts and giggles. At 7:32am, I had also received a phone call from my folks. My mom tried to get a heartfelt birthday message in while my dad made crying noises and screamed things that I had said as a child in the background. It was classic. I had also completed my taxes in record time and was expecting a lovely, stress-reducing amount of bankage to arrive in my lap. Money isn't everything, but I won't argue when it knocks on my door and asks to help out.
The day was off to a fantastic start.
I was scheduled to work that afternoon; however, seeing as I was Birthday Boy, I felt that it would take a lot to slow me down.
Like, Cyborg Hitler riding on a Tyrannosaurus lot.
(closest representation I could find for an image)
The family I was working with that afternoon was scheduled to visit the movies. The little seven-year old girl had asked her daddy to take her to see "Tangled," a recent remake on the Rapunzel tale. Now, I do not watch a ton of newer movies, but of the recent kiddy films that I have seen, there seems to be a fair amount of material that is aimed at amusing the parents. "Tangled might not be so bad," I told myself, still riding high on birthday cheer.
I picked up the little lady and headed to the theater to meet her father. As we entered the front doors, we were greeted by a display for the movie "Never Say Never" which featured Justin InsertGirlyScreamHere Beiber. In slow motion, the little girl's jaw dropped, hand raised to point, and head moved with pure jubilation to face her dad.
"Daddy! Daddy! Can we go see the Justin Beiber movie?"
My heart sank. I knew what would come next. Her dad looked at me inquisitively as the only thing that moved on my body was my left eyelid in a twitchy, spastic motion. He smiled at his daughter and said, "I guess we can, Sweety."
OK. Whatever. Dear Justin Beiber: Challenge accepted.
We bought our tickets and filed inside the theater. What followed was an hour and thirty minutes of ...
a documentary?
It was not two hours of girls shrieking and professing their love for Beiber (there was some, mind you. Picture the Egyptians protesting Mubarak, only add more pink, more signs asking for marriage, and more cars on fire). It was not two hours of his damnable music. It was not two hours spent wishing I had been struck by a fire truck in the parking lot.
Now, before you start pointing a finger and labeling me with "The Fever," I did rationalize my presence there with some consolations. It was only for a few hours. The little girl and her dad spent some quality time learning about rigors that celebrities go through. I was getting paid.
However, it did make me laugh. My allegiances were bought for a measly $25. If you find yourself needing your house painted or an extra kidney, I'm your man for the low, low price of $25 it would seem.
Would I go see the movie again?
No.
No, no. Nononono.
Do I now know more about Beiber than I care to admit?
Uh, yeah.
Did it give me something to write about?
I guess.
That's enough of a win in my book.
May you all have a wonderful, enlightening, and, with any luck, Beiber-less filled week ahead.
Cheers,
Jacob
Tunes:
"Anna Molly" - Incubus
"Breakfast Cat" - RX Bandits
"The Thief" - Minus the Bear
Pages:
"Nurtureshock" - Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman
Time magazine's "2045: The Year Man Becomes Immortal"
By no means is that a remarkable event in itself. It just so happened that a few other events also timed themselves nicely to all land on that fateful Sunday.
After weeks of bitterly chilly weather, the clouds parted and outside thermometers triumphantly climbed towards 60 degrees. Old friends called to sing me a rowdy rendition of "Happy Birthday" amidst snorts and giggles. At 7:32am, I had also received a phone call from my folks. My mom tried to get a heartfelt birthday message in while my dad made crying noises and screamed things that I had said as a child in the background. It was classic. I had also completed my taxes in record time and was expecting a lovely, stress-reducing amount of bankage to arrive in my lap. Money isn't everything, but I won't argue when it knocks on my door and asks to help out.
The day was off to a fantastic start.
I was scheduled to work that afternoon; however, seeing as I was Birthday Boy, I felt that it would take a lot to slow me down.
Like, Cyborg Hitler riding on a Tyrannosaurus lot.
The family I was working with that afternoon was scheduled to visit the movies. The little seven-year old girl had asked her daddy to take her to see "Tangled," a recent remake on the Rapunzel tale. Now, I do not watch a ton of newer movies, but of the recent kiddy films that I have seen, there seems to be a fair amount of material that is aimed at amusing the parents. "Tangled might not be so bad," I told myself, still riding high on birthday cheer.
I picked up the little lady and headed to the theater to meet her father. As we entered the front doors, we were greeted by a display for the movie "Never Say Never" which featured Justin InsertGirlyScreamHere Beiber. In slow motion, the little girl's jaw dropped, hand raised to point, and head moved with pure jubilation to face her dad.
"Daddy! Daddy! Can we go see the Justin Beiber movie?"
My heart sank. I knew what would come next. Her dad looked at me inquisitively as the only thing that moved on my body was my left eyelid in a twitchy, spastic motion. He smiled at his daughter and said, "I guess we can, Sweety."
OK. Whatever. Dear Justin Beiber: Challenge accepted.
We bought our tickets and filed inside the theater. What followed was an hour and thirty minutes of ...
a documentary?
It was not two hours of girls shrieking and professing their love for Beiber (there was some, mind you. Picture the Egyptians protesting Mubarak, only add more pink, more signs asking for marriage, and more cars on fire). It was not two hours of his damnable music. It was not two hours spent wishing I had been struck by a fire truck in the parking lot.
Now, before you start pointing a finger and labeling me with "The Fever," I did rationalize my presence there with some consolations. It was only for a few hours. The little girl and her dad spent some quality time learning about rigors that celebrities go through. I was getting paid.
However, it did make me laugh. My allegiances were bought for a measly $25. If you find yourself needing your house painted or an extra kidney, I'm your man for the low, low price of $25 it would seem.
Would I go see the movie again?
No.
No, no. Nononono.
Do I now know more about Beiber than I care to admit?
Uh, yeah.
Did it give me something to write about?
I guess.
That's enough of a win in my book.
May you all have a wonderful, enlightening, and, with any luck, Beiber-less filled week ahead.
Cheers,
Jacob
Tunes:
"Anna Molly" - Incubus
"Breakfast Cat" - RX Bandits
"The Thief" - Minus the Bear
Pages:
"Nurtureshock" - Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman
Time magazine's "2045: The Year Man Becomes Immortal"
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Nothing new under the sun
A blank page holds a certain level of intimidation it would seem.
There. Now you don't seem so scary, Senor Page. Let us begin.
I'm sitting in a local coffee shop and seem to have situated myself in a somewhat less than ideal spot; I'm within reach of the front door and near a large window facing west. The sun is simply destroying my fair haven't-seen-the-sun-in-three-months skin. And just when I get a good sweat built up, a sweet, innocent customer arrives and opens the door. This brings about a pleasant blast of arctic wind to sweep across my glistening body. These poor customers. The first sight they see upon entering the shop is a sweaty looking guy with a look of absolute confusion on his face.
Right. Well. This is turning out to be a thrilling read, no? On to some meat and potatoes.
While listening to NPR yesterday (yup, an NPR namedrop to boost my apparent level of civility in the readers' eyes), a discussion formed on the protests occurring in Egypt. In attempts to hinder the spread of the resistance, the government has crippled cell phone usage as well as blocked access to certain internet sites. I departed from the interview and began to mull over what would happen should something similar happen in the States.
I hate to say it, but I take the internet for granted. I also find myself horribly addicted to the darned thing as well. I think we've all been there before; you're working on a class paper, work project, or personal endeavor (such as a sweet-ass blog that everyone loves), and you happen to have your browser opened to, say, Facebook. As you toil away at your project, you begin to sense a wicked, insatiable, and rapidly swelling notion rise in the back of your conscious that suggests that you scan across the Facebook tab to see if a (1) has manifested itself next to your name. You realize that this pesky little notion will not help you finish your task-at-hand any faster, so you tell yourself, "Hey, self. Pay no heed to that tab. It's not important. You don't need to check that."
This, as we all know, is a horrible, horrible attempt at lying to yourself. In a last fit of defiance, you decide that you're just not going to look at the screen to erase any risk of inadvertently scanning across the tab and hurting your work proficiency. All reserves of focus are assigned to stare intently at the letter "t" on your keyboard as your laugh at the thought of your silly little subconscious' attempt to control you. Then, an audible popping noise is heard by those around you as you successfully give yourself a brain aneurysm. As the medics haul you into their ambulance you raise a weary hand and draw one in closer.
"What....(cough) What was...my...notif...(wheeze) notifica...tion?"
"Wha....oh, uhm, Stacy Herzburger 'liked' the photo of your cat you just added."
Ah, success.
I might have exaggerated a tad, but I think you catch my drift.
A few weeks back, the internet to our house was accidentally cut off. I woke that morning and felt as though I had been transported back in time. Instead of venturing outside to save someone important, hunt dinosaurs, invest in Yahoo, etc., I was just simply reminded of how rusty I was when it came to navigating the world outside. I felt disconnected and a little out of synch. I passed the time by plugging/unplugging the router numerous times and watching the lights blink on and off. Fascinating. My first instinct to call for tech support led to a facepalm of grand proportions: Oh that's simple! I'll just look their number up onli...AW DAMMIT.
It did make me sit back an reflect on some of the clients I work with. A good portion find themselves without internet, consistent phone service, or transportation on a daily basis. THEN, on top of that, throw in electric bills, lack of groceries, medications, and 4 or 5 screaming kids. If this depiction does not describe you, then I wholeheartedly urge you to take a moment and reflect upon your fortunes.
Back to the internet conversation and, hopefully, some semblance of coherency. A co-worker recently explained to a few of us at an early meeting about her quest to disconnect herself from certain things. She would still communicate work-related missives, but she would do so in an extremely limited manner. I'm not sure about her motives, but I would assume that it would be in attempts to bring some sort of balance to her life between work, home, and whatever time in between.
I found myself intrigued. I too find myself looking for ways to simply enjoy what's around me without any outside 'noise.' Don't get me wrong, I love the interaction that is opened up through such avenues as Facebook or Hotmail. Checking those (1)'s of (2)'s next to your page can certainly be stimulating and personally rewarding. And the desire increases exponentially when you're waiting to hear from someone you're looking forward to hearing from. But...wow. In looking for a relatable way to transfer my thoughts, I happened to catch the sunset out the window (the same window that was recently responsible for helping to roast me).
Bam. There you go. How do even begin to describe that moment of synchronization? I find myself understanding the poets and writers throughout generations a little more that took it upon themselves to perfectly describe the worldly beauty around them. I won't even try. I'll just simply say that it was hot. Believe me.
It looks like I need to take some of my own advice and disconnect a little bit.
We live in a marvelous world. I hope that as you read this, you're in a comfortable and appreciative place. Have a great week and may this note help leave you in a brighter, more radiant place.
Cheers,
Jacob
P.S. Oh snap. Someone tagged a photo of me...I'll check it out, THEN sign off. I swear.
There. Now you don't seem so scary, Senor Page. Let us begin.
I'm sitting in a local coffee shop and seem to have situated myself in a somewhat less than ideal spot; I'm within reach of the front door and near a large window facing west. The sun is simply destroying my fair haven't-seen-the-sun-in-three-months skin. And just when I get a good sweat built up, a sweet, innocent customer arrives and opens the door. This brings about a pleasant blast of arctic wind to sweep across my glistening body. These poor customers. The first sight they see upon entering the shop is a sweaty looking guy with a look of absolute confusion on his face.
Right. Well. This is turning out to be a thrilling read, no? On to some meat and potatoes.
While listening to NPR yesterday (yup, an NPR namedrop to boost my apparent level of civility in the readers' eyes), a discussion formed on the protests occurring in Egypt. In attempts to hinder the spread of the resistance, the government has crippled cell phone usage as well as blocked access to certain internet sites. I departed from the interview and began to mull over what would happen should something similar happen in the States.
I hate to say it, but I take the internet for granted. I also find myself horribly addicted to the darned thing as well. I think we've all been there before; you're working on a class paper, work project, or personal endeavor (such as a sweet-ass blog that everyone loves), and you happen to have your browser opened to, say, Facebook. As you toil away at your project, you begin to sense a wicked, insatiable, and rapidly swelling notion rise in the back of your conscious that suggests that you scan across the Facebook tab to see if a (1) has manifested itself next to your name. You realize that this pesky little notion will not help you finish your task-at-hand any faster, so you tell yourself, "Hey, self. Pay no heed to that tab. It's not important. You don't need to check that."
This, as we all know, is a horrible, horrible attempt at lying to yourself. In a last fit of defiance, you decide that you're just not going to look at the screen to erase any risk of inadvertently scanning across the tab and hurting your work proficiency. All reserves of focus are assigned to stare intently at the letter "t" on your keyboard as your laugh at the thought of your silly little subconscious' attempt to control you. Then, an audible popping noise is heard by those around you as you successfully give yourself a brain aneurysm. As the medics haul you into their ambulance you raise a weary hand and draw one in closer.
"What....(cough) What was...my...notif...(wheeze) notifica...tion?"
"Wha....oh, uhm, Stacy Herzburger 'liked' the photo of your cat you just added."
Ah, success.
I might have exaggerated a tad, but I think you catch my drift.
A few weeks back, the internet to our house was accidentally cut off. I woke that morning and felt as though I had been transported back in time. Instead of venturing outside to save someone important, hunt dinosaurs, invest in Yahoo, etc., I was just simply reminded of how rusty I was when it came to navigating the world outside. I felt disconnected and a little out of synch. I passed the time by plugging/unplugging the router numerous times and watching the lights blink on and off. Fascinating. My first instinct to call for tech support led to a facepalm of grand proportions: Oh that's simple! I'll just look their number up onli...AW DAMMIT.
It did make me sit back an reflect on some of the clients I work with. A good portion find themselves without internet, consistent phone service, or transportation on a daily basis. THEN, on top of that, throw in electric bills, lack of groceries, medications, and 4 or 5 screaming kids. If this depiction does not describe you, then I wholeheartedly urge you to take a moment and reflect upon your fortunes.
Back to the internet conversation and, hopefully, some semblance of coherency. A co-worker recently explained to a few of us at an early meeting about her quest to disconnect herself from certain things. She would still communicate work-related missives, but she would do so in an extremely limited manner. I'm not sure about her motives, but I would assume that it would be in attempts to bring some sort of balance to her life between work, home, and whatever time in between.
I found myself intrigued. I too find myself looking for ways to simply enjoy what's around me without any outside 'noise.' Don't get me wrong, I love the interaction that is opened up through such avenues as Facebook or Hotmail. Checking those (1)'s of (2)'s next to your page can certainly be stimulating and personally rewarding. And the desire increases exponentially when you're waiting to hear from someone you're looking forward to hearing from. But...wow. In looking for a relatable way to transfer my thoughts, I happened to catch the sunset out the window (the same window that was recently responsible for helping to roast me).
Bam. There you go. How do even begin to describe that moment of synchronization? I find myself understanding the poets and writers throughout generations a little more that took it upon themselves to perfectly describe the worldly beauty around them. I won't even try. I'll just simply say that it was hot. Believe me.
It looks like I need to take some of my own advice and disconnect a little bit.
We live in a marvelous world. I hope that as you read this, you're in a comfortable and appreciative place. Have a great week and may this note help leave you in a brighter, more radiant place.
Cheers,
Jacob
P.S. Oh snap. Someone tagged a photo of me...I'll check it out, THEN sign off. I swear.
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