The Housing Crisis; Today’s Market Crash

It's funny that I was pissed enough about the Mortgage/Housing Crisis that I ranted about it, and now today, the stock market has crashed, and more HUGE long time Wall Street businesses are bankrupt due to the housing and mortgage collapse. Premier Bush was quick to announce that his Dictatorship will not stand for businesses losing money, so he announced he will snap the backs of the American people to pay off the debts of these failed companies.

Socialist Obama, and McCain (who Ron Paul proved doesn't know crap about economics, see video below) have already condemned Bush's policies, but note that McCain won't actually name Bush as the problem, and Obama is still a Socialist. These aren't the men with solutions, and I don't mean to say that a president should be an expert on every subject, that's absurd, but the president must know the basics, and if they aren't experts, get experts, not opinions. There is a solution to this problem. In fact there are many solutions, but you have to have a solid, rational philosophy about how you will approach the problem.

Mixed economies can't work. You can't act like it's a free market, and then bail people out with tax payer money, you can't have a controlled economy, and then allow small businesses to fail. A company CEO won't know what to do. Sometimes America decides you're too successful, and you get split, like Microsoft. Sometimes America decides you're not allowed to break down, and they dump billions of tax-payer dollars to bail you out, but your ship will only sink more slowly, like the airlines. And sometimes America decides that they want to be bigger and so they buy out failing businesses making them federal property like they did with the previous mortgage collapsed companies Fannie and Freddie. But there are few rules. There is no all encompassing official policy, the first example was under Clinton, and the other two were executed by Bush, but many years in the making. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac were both invented by the government, and have always known that if they were to fail in their ventures, their contracts promised the American taxpayer would bail them out. Even when companies illegally screw over America, sometimes they get punished, and sometimes they don't, look at Enron. They robbed California blind when power deregulation hit and we had rolling black-outs. Just two years later, after having reported company record setting profits, they declared bankruptcy, the heads of Enron, took their money and ran. And I'm not saying they took their earnings and ran, I mean they gouged California, lied about their profits, and TOOK EVERYTHING. They cashed in their stocks, they screwed over all their employees. Did America do anything? No. Maybe they should go back to Microsoft and fine them some more to make up the costs. Do you see? You can't argue that both acts were just, either you're hands on, or you're hands off, but look how it plays out, Microsoft, who never did any bad, only good, was destroyed by the government. Enron, who lied and stole, no punishment.

I don't want to blame any president for a bad economy. It should not be the president's job, nor should the president have the authority to control the economy, but I can tell you, meddling with the economy can have negative consequences. Bush wants to bail out these companies. SOMEBODY has to pay. Who do you think it will be?

There are of course many more issues, and I'm sure I don't understand half of them. One obvious issue is the budget and taxes. Bush promised to lower taxes, and he did, but then he spent even more money than Clinton! Because it is impossible to force money into existence by decree, the cost had to come from somewhere, obviously the government is over spending without paying back, so who is paying for it? One direct result of spending money that doesn't exist is a "national debt" basically it's the government spending more than it owns, so it's in debt to itself. Since it is a constantly moving system, the debt doesn't just collect somewhere waiting to be paid, it is taken from the economy, the value of the dollar goes down, compared to other nations. Because the dollar is worth less, companies can't sell their products overseas for the same profits, and individuals can't buy foreign products with the same money. So we are paying for the debt, it's worse than just raising the taxes, but nowhere near as good as lowering taxes and having a government not overspend. And it's just like those bad debts people get into on their own, if we don't pay it off, if we don't budget, we can't just let it pay itself out. We will only get deeper and deeper in debt.

There are piles of problems, just give a google search and let the economists all over the internet give you a crash course on any number of issues and their history. Neither candidate is talking about these issues. Not really. So don't expect either to solve any of these issues, not really.








McCain Attacks Ron Paul, and Ron Paul owns him:

The Housing Crisis

The future elected folks want to tell you they have solutions for the housing crisis. But why is it that none of their plans include the victims? None. Really. There is no plan by anyone to help out people who have ALREADY lost their homes. There is no plan by anyone to help people who ALREADY lost their bank accounts trying to get out alive. The only plans they have are to bail out the big companies that have eventually taken a blow from coming up short on their tireless efforts to screw people over. They intentionally try to screw people with skyrocketing mortgages that were time sensitive, and now they're paying for it, because they've already sucked up all the blood they could. Now the government want to give them more blood, because they want the vampire to survive. Not that they care about you, they are using the blood of EVERYONE, ALL TAXPAYERS TO SUBSIDIZE THE VAMPIRES WHO HAVE RUN OUT OF VICTIMS. Does that make sense? I lost $25,000 to this shitty housing market. Will I get bailed out by the government? No. Fuck me, they'll take my tax money too, and give it to those weasily fucks who fucked the market in the first place. COMMUNISM LOOKS LIKE A GOOD IDEA FROM THIS VIEW. THIS IS WHY THE RED REVOLUTION CAME TO RUSSIA! DON'T YOU SEE? This is not a capitalist venture. This is the act of a bad dictatorship. And yes, Socialist states are better off than dictatorships, so I guess that's a good choice now. Good job America. Good job.

Ron Paul

You don't get to think you know anything about current American politics if you haven't heard Ron Paul speak. His latest speech was at the "Rally For the Republic" which sold out to more than 18,000 people just to see Ron Paul. One man, who represents only himself and the ideal of individuality. It was held near the Republican convention which couldn't pull down those numbers even though they supposedly represent half of America. The one of the nations only 2 political parties; that snubbed Ron Paul, the party that lied about Ron Paul's popularity by supressing the 1.2 million votes he received. The party that insulted him and refused him admittance to their debates. The party that is currently in power in this nation GOT ITS ASS HANDED TO IT BY ONE MAN. RON PAUL BY HIMSELF IS BETTER AND MORE IMPORTANT TO MORE PEOPLE THAN THE ENTIRE REPUBLICAN PARTY EXCLUDING HIM. Does that register? Probably not. You don't get it. If the romantic "you" "got it" then Ron Paul wouldn't be treated like a criminal by the power forces of the media and government. But many individuals support him. More active duty military support Ron Paul than any other candidate. John McCain invoked the name of the military in his convention, but when the military expressed their true support, he SHIT ON THEM AND LIED. Republicans hate the military and have no respect for them. Where Ron Paul supported the new GI Bill to help veterans, John McCain fought against it. Where John McCain had his college education paid by the GI Bill, Ron Paul was already a self made Doctor when he went into the military. Doctor/ Officer/ Congressman for 10 terms/ Ron Paul is more experienced than all the people you've ever met or thought of combined. He's old as hell yet still sharp as a tack. He's Ayn Rand off her period. He's Thomas Jefferson without slaves. He's better than Jesus in every way that matters. And if you think Jesus died for our sins, Ron Paul is fighting for everything good in man, to try to preserve everything humanity has worked for, and if no man can ever surpass Jesus, then Jesus died for nothing.



People follow Ron Paul, because Ron Paul wants you to lead yourself. And if your self isn't worth your time, you don't deserve to live. Other candidates would have you follow them for what they promise to do for others. Ron Paul promises to only do what he must to prevent those others from robbing you of your liberty.



I'm not saying you have to care. I don't think every human should give a crap about politics. But you should at least care about yourself. And I honestly can't understand from the depths of my mind why when election time comes around, it isn't an individualist vs. an individualist. What we have is a man who is telling you how to spend your money, and the money he steals from you. While he passes laws to prevent you from making more money, or obtaining individual goals. And on the other side we have a man who is telling you how to spend your money, and the money he steals from you; while he passes laws to prevent you from making more money, or obtaining individual goals. WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE? OH YOU GET TO CHOOSE WHAT IT IS EXACTLY THAT THEY STEAL FROM YOU THIS TIME. YOU GET TO CHOOSE WHERE THE MONEY THEY STOLE FROM YOU WILL BE WASTED. YOU GET TO CHOOSE WHICH MEANINGLESS FUCKING LAWS THEY WILL PASS IN THE NAME OF THEIR GOD VARIANT TO DESTROY YOU IN BOTH BODY AND MIND. THAT IS YOUR CHOICE AMERICA: HOW WILL YOU CHOOSE TO SLOWLY DIE? And the individualist, he's mocked, to the bitter end, by the thieves of your mind. And you mock him too, but your mind is gone. And no one takes you seriously.

Who Did you Vote for With your Wallet?

http://fundrace.huffingtonpost.com/neighbors.php?type=name&lname


Check it out. You can see every person who donated to every candidate (through legal channels only I suppose). If you type in my name, you will see I donated to Ron Paul. It even gives you the addressed I lived at when I donated! It provides all the information that was asked of me when I donated, that is, name, occupation, industry. You can use the map on the page to see who other people around you donated to.

What blew my mind was how quickly I could see illegal activity. There is a campaign contribution limit, I notice one guy sent the maximum to Hillary, then a week later sent the maximum again, but used a slight variation on his name and occupation, he was at the same address, it was so obvious!

There were $352,872 in donations from my old zip code (92101) which takes up only a portion of downtown San Diego. $70,147 was donated by my current zip code which I think is impressive enough for central Stockton.

Give it a try, you can go find out what your favorite celebrities support. I looked up Ron Paul, he donated $325 to the Republican Party of Texas. Maria Shriver donated $2,452 to Barrack Obama.



Anyway. I think it's cool.

Department of Homeland Security and Mafia Wars

I got drunk last night and started applying for federal jobs. I'm usually more outgoing and motivated when I'm drunk, but this was a first. One of the jobs I applied for was Bond Specialist for the Department of Homeland Security. I blame the usajobs.gov website primarily. They have these simplistic brief job descriptions and then when I get to the meat and potatoes of the application I realize I'm completely unqualified. But at that point I don't care, and I complete the application anyway. I did this a couple times. One of them really tricked me. It was a job for the park service, tending historic maritime museums and/or locations in San Francisco. The entire job description made it seem like they wanted an intelligent well versed historian and orator. I could pull that off in spades. But as soon as I start the real application I'm bombarded with carpentry questions. Asking if I know how to build an exhibit? What the hell? The Federal Government is obnoxiously inefficient. How are real people supposed to get jobs from them? They can't obviously. But maybe that's the point.

At the begining of each job application it asked me if I was a "dislocated Federal employee". Does the Federal Government really have roving bands of employees that remain "employed" despite NOT HAVING JOBS? I want that job. I want some politician to decide my office shouldn't exist, shut me down, but for me to continue to receive pay from the government.

I've seen all these sweet useless jobs that I know must have required mountains of cock sucking to acquire. These awesome obscure jobs that just make my mouth water. A job that has no boss, only a duty. A job that I could excel at. Where I set my own schedule, and I run the place better than any other. Oh god. I saw it so much in the Navy. I saw how it worked. It's all a favoritism thing. It's disgusting. It's Atlas Shrugged shit. But I don't want the job to look good, I want the job because for once it will be something I can fix. Nearly the entire time I worked for the Navy I thought up ways of making things better, more efficient, more productive, more morally conscious, more enticing, more effective. But knowing how to make things better means nothing when all the people who have the jobs that can make differences are complete asshole douchebag morons. So many times I found myself in offices where I wasn't welcome, trying to pry a little bit of support from people whose sole job description was "supporting the fleet". Supposed experts, that when I turned to them in my hour of need would either a. blow me off, or b. start harassing me about shit that's neither hither nor thither. Entire buildings devoted to people who have the easiest cakiest taxpayer wastiest jobs just laughing and prancing. And when I step in for a fucking washer, a washer! I get nothing but crap. So many times, so many stories. I always wanted to make a difference in the military. I really wanted to have the freedom to fix things. But I was never afforded the opportunity. Only to maintain where they set the bar.

Every time I'd hear a Captain or an Admiril talk about how great the Navy is and how much we mean to them I'd fucking get all tear eyed and God bless America-y but around the literally thousandth time I'd be sweeping the same fucking floor, or wiping down the same clean bulkhead while forsaking actual necessary tasks I stopped caring, one way or the other, how things turn out. The people who work on shore to do nothing but process a couple requests and maybe stamp some products get paid premiums just for having to be on land in the locations I was forced to live at sea, and I received no such premium. Do you hear me? In some cicumstances people with the exact same job title and paygrade as me were paid $800 a month more to do less work and never go to sea. And fuck me if I should mention that military pay is a joke compared to Federal Civillian employee pay.

All I've ever wanted was to do something that I could feel proud to do. And there have been instances where it happened. And those were the best days of my life. But they make it hard. They certainly do. They make those times few and far between.

Sometimes I think only a government job could satisfy my thirst. But the bitter taste is still in my mouth. I started doing full days of manual labor at below minimum wage when I was 13. Don't even fucking start with me on an "honest hard days work" I was doing tedious manual fucking heat stroking finger bleeding clothes ruining back breaking work for years before I was in high school, or even legally allowed to. That's why I'm already half way to retirement as far as the Social Security Administration is concerned. I'm just tired of it. I don't think I'm too good for it, hell I've never turned a shitty paying time wasting labor job down, and I did plenty of manual labor in the Navy, I if I just want more. More. My brain needs more. And I can't have it. There's no purpose for me. I'm obviously not meant to ever have love or kindness around me. Even the deepest ditch digger can get a fucking girlfriend. No, I'm not meant to be happy. But satisfied would be enough. If I could just do SOMETHING that would make things better for people, then I would feel satisfied. Everything good I did in the Navy was made evil or nullified. I need something pure. I need something to mold.

As I spend a few minutes a day playing the meaningless void of a game called Mafia Wars here on Myspace, I think about who came up with it, and how much money it has made them. I think about how much it has boosted Myspace in the process. Such a sweeping change, so much, from so very little.

The Federal Government thinks they're too good for me (as most people do). They don't even have the decency to put up real information on their own hiring pages. Because they know exactly where they will hire from. There's an endless supply of happenstance soulless cocksuckers who are of a higher caste than me. They are born with money and friends and they will phone in their whole life. They will simply tell a friend, and the job will no longer be open. And when some poor bastard hard working scum employee lower than them walks in for a little help, they will fucking shit all over them.

It's all set in place. There is no free enterprise here. There is no capitalism in America anymore. There is no concept of individualism among the majority. Every viable political candidate must be a mouth. A product. And nothing more. Just like in Pink Floyd's "The Wall" That is America now. I have watched as the hearts and souls of thousands of individuals greater than I will ever be get crushed like dead leaves under the tanks of this system. What the fuck else can I hope for but a job working for the system and setting my own hours? Nothing sir. There is nothing more.

Going Back

I walk across the base. All my money is being sucked down a drain in Stockton, so I can't drive. I want to spend more time at home, so I don't ride my bike. 20,000+ people live and/ or work on this base everyday, but I am the only one who walks out the gate. I am the only one without a car or a boyfriend.



After several miles I am out. Walking into a rich neighborhood. I walk the busy road, alone. The cars tearing past don't know this neighborhood. I know this neighborhood, its past, its present, and its lives. I have walked every street. I have been to museum, the library, and the parks. I have read books; I have drunk with the locals. I have eaten all they offered. I have lain on their beach. I have been in the hotels and motels and dreamed of living out my days there. I walk this familiar neighborhood alone. I have corrected a taxi driver who thought the land owned by the Spanish decedents, because those were his primary customers. I explained to him that Coronado was built by 2 Americans. The Spanish and Mexicans had never used the land but for hunting jack rabbits. Jack rabbits that still control the night in North Island Jack rabbits that only I ever see. I the only one of 20,000 to walk the fields in the dark of the morning hours returning from ever fruitless efforts to obtain even the remotest human contacts, failing even the remotest rudimentary means of pleasure and satisfaction. I explained to the cabbie that those with money, do not ride cabs. I ride cabs, the Mexican servants he drives around may be dressed sharply, but only as a living. I walk the road until I come to the bus stop.



It has now been over an hour since I got off work. The sun is setting. It is past 7. I sit on the bench waiting to pay $2.25. The cheapest I can pay without going it on my own. The cheapest I can pay and return home before late night. I once rode the distance. The ferry that ever eludes teased me and I sought vengeance. I kept riding. I rode off the base. I rode the peninsula. Cars screamed past me at 70 miles and hour, and I rode in the dirt next to restricted areas for miles with no place to stop. One long strip of dirt and cars. I kept riding. Until the bay turned to piles of salt, salt several feet deep as far as I could see in that direction. In another, Mexico; if not by name than by all other means. I kept riding past the highways up the hill and down again, for miles through cities I had never seen before. I moved until in the depths of the barrio I could see tall buildings on the horizon. I rode until I was home. But I have no bike now. I could try to take the ferry. It is about a dollar more, but it is more consistent. The bus comes rarely.

.. ..

I sit and wait for the bus. On the bench I see the same faces. I see them everyday, and they see me. They look at me, knowingly. They know I do not belong. I listen to my iPod. I play games on my phone. Music that helps me avoid the silence of loneliness. Terrible overpriced under-programmed games on a phone just to look like I have something to do with a phone.

.. ..

Sometime in the evening a bus arrives. I get on and hope to have a seat. I have been awake for about 16 hours now, and 12 of them I was on watch wearing a gun and a bullet proof vest. The people on this bus are always different and new. I find I hear a new language being spoken each time. Korean, Japanese, German, Spanish, some kind of north European language I couldn't identify. I don't know why these people are on this bus. I don't know where they spent their day. I ride it over the bridge and into the city. It takes the barrio path to 12th. I get off surrounded by bums and tourists and cops. I am across the street from the ball park. I am a block from the convention center. I walk away from that and up the street. There are homeless masses in the streets and on the grass and in the alleys. Every time I wonder my fate, but only in passing. Up I walk past the half way homes and low cost housing and retirement home. At Albertsons I stop and purchase alcohol. I purchase food, and drink. Usually a jar of that Pom tea, usually a pizza, usually some meat and various TV dinners. I ride the elevator up to my room. The weight of my purchases tearing into my hands. I quickly enter my apartment. It is now around 8pm. I put on the TV, I turn up the AC, I make up some food and I drink. I drink. I drink until I am no longer coherent. Then I get in bed and sleep for a long time. Eventually I wake. Eventually I move around, eat, go out, drink, and make the day. Eventually. But soon that is over and I must return to work. I want to spend as much time as I can at home, so I don't ride my bike. I wait until it is 7 or 8 I start chugging whiskey straight out of the bottle for awhile, and then I walk to 5th avenue I live on 14th so this isn't too far. Eventually there is a taxi. I pay to have them drop me off at the gate, and I walk across the base.

.. ..

This was 8 months of my life. Save the girl, I did not.

Timeless (This is a fictional story I just wrote in 30 minutes or less)

My name is Alex and I feel I need to write this down, even if it won't happen. I thought it would be fun. But I've lost all concept of joy. I am gripped with an unending fear. My time between, if you could call it that, is my only respite. I haven't slept in days, I think. I lost all concept of time as soon as I began. All I know is what I am right now. And right now I am tired, and terrified.

..

....

If I sleep, will I wake? If I don't sleep, will I see it? Will I even know? I can see what I've written here, so I know I've done this. I remember this. Maybe that's all there is. Maybe that's the only truth. Maybe I don't need to know if this is the ten thousandth or first time. Maybe if I'm suddenly no longer writing this, that won't matter either. But that's where the terror comes from. I want it to matter. I want to have a solid course. A beginning, a middle, and an end.

....



Have I lived an infinite number of lives? Have they? I watch them come and go, and it all stays the same for me, at least I think it does. That of course is until I go myself, and then I've made everything different.

....



People always looked at it from a singular perspective, their own. As if the whole world happily went on hold for them, and returned for them when they came back. Who comes here anyway? Why here? Why now? What do they know that I don't?

....



Communication has ceased. There is no news. There are reporters. There is some measure of stability I suppose, not everyone could afford to go. But I don't care anymore. The news can't be right, how could they be? And even if they are right, for how long? Only now. Only now. Only now. That's all that matters.

....



We can move as fast and far as we want, but only our perception of now makes us whole. And no matter how much we move, we will still die. You can't run from old age. Well, at least I assume so. Might have to wait to find that one out.

....



I used to find it amusing when people would come here from before. To see the look on their faces, when they saw the unimagined overwhelm them. I suppose it's a good place to blow your mind. Downtown. It's why I used to come here, when coming mattered. I think other people find comfort here too. I would like to say the crime has ceased since people were able to leave. But I know that can't be true. If not here, then everywhere else. Anarchy. People can't even help themselves. They lose what I've lost, and they struggle to hold on to what they valued before. But what they valued is gone. Now they can only fixate on satisfying what they wanted before. Wants and values, normally they could co-exist. I can no longer have anything I valued. Maybe love. I can't imagine it's any harder now finding a girl than it was before. And I do see people together. They come and go together. Somehow I find it ironic, or at least a little self defeating. Maybe only on a grand scale. If you have what you wanted, what does it matter where you are? If you are with who you want to be, wouldn't staying put, or at least following a goal make sense? This meandering I'm doing is only an ebb in the raging river that has consumed everything we humans thought to be real.

....



Well I suppose no matter what I do, I'm doing it. I know I wrote what I've just written, but maybe I just started to know this. Maybe I have changed in the meantime. What if I go now? What if I can keep this with me? If it stays with me, I'll know I have some stability in this universe. If I can just keep this in my pocket. If I lose it, I might not ever know, or maybe I'll lose it a thousand times and get it right back a thousand more. Or maybe it will say something different each time. I guess it really doesn't matter. What's in my head is on this paper, and either is just as easily replaced. Wonderful. But I think I've only written this to know what I do. I may have no more middle, but I think I do, and I am tired. Maybe I'll wake up tired, maybe I won't wake up, but I have to at least try. I must continue to act. I must survive. Well. Maybe I'll die a thousand times in my sleep. But if I wake up, or at least I think I wake up, and I feel better, then I can continue. Continue this timeless existence.

INTERNET TIPS AND TRICKS VOL. 2

Note: This whole thing is about language and etymology on the internet. I promise you it's informative and relatively accurate. If you already know about a word, go ahead and skip it. This is a long one. I do realize there are probably a dozen websites that have all these words defined, most notably www.urbandicitionary.com but this is more tailored specifically to the basic words of the internet. I think you might enjoy it.



Language: It is the nature of language to branch and develop and change. It is this beautiful and oftimes confusing element of communication that can cause conflict and misunderstanding more than anything else humans encounter. I recently found a 1991 hacker's dictionary that made this glaringly obvious. Back before the World Wide Web, the only people who had internets were "hackers", who were essentially people who wrote their own ways to each other. These students of MIT and other tech schools, as well as random technophiles were communicating in a manner that only exists in subcultures. As people in a specific field of study, and work, they came up with their own dialect. As doctors speak to doctors or, more closely to me, sailors speak to sailors. "Chief, NIPR'S OOC. SKED's down, and PMS is gundecked." You understand that? If you missed one thing in that quote, you're not a sailor. Entiendes? It's English as it were, but not your English. Modern day internet is full of this. I won't go on for days comprehensively defining internetspeak; you have to learn your specific local lounges. I will list words/phrases/symbols that have become common amongst the internets, specifically in the most popular sites that get mentioned everyday in the ancient Medias, newspapers, TV, and radio.



1. Symbols of enjoyment:



Lol: laughing out loud; or simply, "ha" the minimalist method of expressing positive reaction even if you are nowhere near actually 'laughing out loud'.



Rofl: Rolling on floor laughing; or actually becoming somewhat happier from whatever the subject is.



Lmao: Laughing my ass off; also used harshly as sarcasm, or a lead into a "flame".



Lmfao: Laughing my fucking ass off; someone actually laughed. Yeah, it takes this much.



Ja (Ja): Ha; written primarily by people whose first language is Spanish or Portuguese, as in those languages the "j" is pronounced like the English "h". As far as I know, there is no "lol" equivalent in Spanish beyond the "ja ja".


Corrupted and possibly evil symbols of enjoyment:




Lolerskates: lol combined with roller skates. As if the laughing is continuing.



Lolercoaster: lol combined with rollercoaster, dueling meaning a group of funny things that vary in funny levels, up and down, or simply very funny.



Lulz: Pure evil. Anyone that uses this word likes excessive and exploitive pornography and/or is a racist, or is simply an idiot. The word itself implies a derived pleasure, that is usually through a means of said porn, racism, violence, or in the often media reported misery of other humans. Sadly this isn't a joke. :)



a. emoticons: all the symbols of "emotion"; although many different emotions can be expressed through 'emoticons', it is impossible to actually feel those emotions and use the emoticons. Anyone using emoticons isn't really anything but either happy, or slightly annoyed. Emoticons in practice are the very basic key entries, but many websites automatically force images to replace your text, (insanely enough, my own Microsoft Word has done such a thing) : ) happy : ( sad ;) wink etc. The Japanese have taken it to an art form. My old prepaid Japanese cell phone I bought in 2005 has more emoticons built-in than any 15 year old girl could possibly imagine.


2. Bad English: much of what is common on the internets is simply illiteracy. People who couldn't "speel" for the life of them and instead write what ignorant dumbshit symbolic representation of English makes them feel communicative.



a. Prolly: probably. Probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably, probably.



There you go. 85% of all the correctly spelled "probablys" on the entire web are just above this sentence.


3. Other words/symbols:


"/": e.g. /thread, /argument, /conversation, /sanity, /happiness; pronounced "end", a simplified form of a representation of actual html (see vol. 1). In html when you type ".. (quick note, I did type what I was saying would be html, so it actually acted as html and made what I typed invisible lol so I used parenthesis to break it up)

"(<)(/)" what follows is a command to end a previously written rule. When you want to frame the entire body of your subject, be it text, or images, you start with "(<)(a)(>)" (without quotes, and case is irrelevant) and you finish the "body" with "(<)(/)(a)(>)" (without quotes, blah blah). If someone writes "/thread" or "/argument" or "/discussion" they are saying in cordial internetspeak that the subject should, for politeness or rationality's sake, be discontinued.





Gtfo: Get the fuck out/off; a demand for a person to leave. It may be unwarranted, and is always ignored, therefore simply becomes an insult and a declaration that the person told to "gtfo" has less of a right to be wherever you are than the claimant.




Omg/ omfg: Oh my (fucking) god; this is like having an exclamation mark at the beginning of your sentence. Because English claims no use for such a symbolic warning, internet communicators were forced to come up with a "back door" method. Even though in person to person real life contact, English speakers use an exclamation before they speak in the form of facial expressions, hand gestures, and or vocal reactions like gasping. Whereas the superior (in this instance) language of Spanish, the sentence simply begins with an upside-down exclamation mark.



Noob/ newb/ noobie/ newbie: A person who is inexperienced; there are other definitions, but they are wrong. No one who actually tries to learn something will be a "noob" for very long. Thus many people become highly offended when they are compelled to spend any amount of time helping someone with issues that only a noob would incur. In the real world noobs can remain so despite effort for many months/years. On the internet, which functions for idiots and gets nothing done, to remain a newb makes you worthless.



IM: Instant Message; it's chat, but with one other person, and no "room". Also like email, but with no formality or memory. Also, most IMs let you know when someone you know is signed on. Myspace has an IM, but most people don't use it. I have one IM relationship with a dude named Brian; he's on my friend's list. He's a good guy, eh writes what he thinks and doesn't afraid of anything.



PM: Private Message; IM that people don't get around to much, as most "forums" have PM and most people don't check the forum daily. Also, PMs are always recorded, so like email that only people who sign up on a specific website can use. Myspace has a PM, though they call it "Message". I had a PM relationship with a 16 year old girl once, but she probably killed herself.



Forum: (aka bbs from back in the hacker days) a collection of "threads" on a website; usually possessing an overall theme; www.ronpaulforum.com is a forum that maintains a theme of Ron Paul, but each individual "thread" can encompass a different, or many different subjects. Often forums are categorized with multiple threads in each category, and sometimes each category is referred to as a separate forum, which is technically unimportant.



Thread: A line of commentary provided by one or more people; the "OP" (original poster) physically creates the thread which (usually) appears as its own web page. The only exception I have noted in the entire internet is www.collegehumor.com where each "reply" to a video is considered a separate thread, and each reply to a reply is considered "in thread response". It is considered an act of idiocy and noobishness if a person were to "reply" to the video instead of an "OP" while making a direct comment to a previous individual's reply. This is a special circumstance to the rest of the internet as all replies in all formats appear on the same page as the original video. A contrasted view of terminology is the similar formatted www.youtube.com where all replies are "comments" and there are no "threads". This has altered slightly as youtube has recently made it possible to 'directly' reply to someone's comment instead of the video itself, but has yet to correctly format their webpages or html to make this alteration obvious or comprehensible. In fact, youtube's formatting make conversation tedious and repetitive, making the aspect of "commenting" often times offensive and confusing, which in turn inspires the video 'posters' to disable the ability to comment on their video. Considering most people who comment on youtube videos are idiots to begin with, not much is questioned.

A good example is to see a video on youtube that features a somewhat attractive female, and 1,000 different men actually trying to "hit on" the video in the comment section. If they don't even realize it isn't a live webcam, and this is real life, not their fantasy land, then how can you expect them to understand formatting issues?



OP: Original poster; this person has set the mood for a discussion. Anyone intending to stay on topic will refer to the OP and comment on the OP's subject. Most internet conversations actually stay more on topic than real life conversations. There is no such thing as an "OP" in real life. If someone starts a conversation, or makes a statement in real life, it may inspire others to speak as well, but no one will appreciate the original subject or subject starter within minutes (unless of course the real life OP continues to manipulate the conversation, much as a teacher, or inquisitive person would).



Troll: douchebag; someone who acts with intention to evoke an emotional (usually negative) response from others. A troll may accomplish their goal in many ways, but their purpose is consistent, they do not respect other people, and wouldn't even be allowed near other people in real life. A troll would go to a Christian forum, and start a thread calling Jesus a fag. They may or may not believe in Jesus, and this is moot. They only seek to hurt/anger others. Usually trolls make their trolling statements, and never return. If they do return, it's only to fan the flames. Trolls never provide actual reasoning, nor employ any logic; they will only write what is necessary to achieve said emotional disruption. Sometimes trolls are discovered or are too obvious and no one takes the bait, but more often troll arguments are more successful in starting long meaningful passionate debates than concise, logical statements. This is primarily due to the internet appealing to morons.



Flames/flaming: Arguments/arguing devoid of reason and based primarily on emotion; In real life a "flamer" likes butt sex. On the internet, a flamer is one who 'ignites' other's emotion's specifically through insults. While a flamer can be a troll, and a troll can be a flamer, flaming tends to be "micro" and trolling tends to be "macro". Flaming, or flame warring is a series of insults hurled between 2 or more people over a thread or sometimes an entire forum. Most websites discourage this, and delete the comments and threaten the flamers with banning.

Meme: Cultural gene; the word applies to anything that passes as cultural "knowledge". The idiots of the internet would kill kittens to prove that meme has another definition; "pictures and phrases that are spread throughout the internet". This of course is still the original definition of meme. Though the kind of memes originally thought up were on a grander, more affecting scale, they are all memes. Common memes of a much more ancient manner are idioms. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink" "A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" "That's like the pot calling the kettle black" these idioms are obviously old. Most people have never even touched a horse, and if they had they certainly didn't get to lead it anywhere. Most people don't catch birds; most people don't have any idea why a pot would be worried about being black. But they know what the phrase means, the phrase conjures a concept within them, effectively communicating uses a means other than direct, pertinent language. With the internet, new memes can be passed, rather quickly. The "I can has cheezburger?" meme is legendary, and it spawned entire websites devoted to image concepts based on that one picture. Even after that cat has passed, he has lived on as a cultural gene, a meme.


4. leet (1337) : Leet is a derivative of 'elite'. It in itself is a term used for "hackers" but pretty much isn't properly used. Every computer nerd with some script writing wishes he were a hacker. In fact, this has always been the case, when I was reading the hacker's dictionary; they mentioned that most hackers wished they were more than they actually were. They wanted notoriety. In a system (the old internets) that required actual skill to be able to work/communicate/jest and had many varying levels of difficulty, it became logical that one would want to be known by many. People had to study, and work hard to communicate and use the internets. They were all hackers. No one fed them anything. Since getting in required skills, communicating required skills, it created an environment of people fighting to be the first to do something, or make something. This is why the computer/internet age advanced so quickly. These people wanted internet communication to be on par with real life communication.


In the new generation, there is no such thing as a "good" hacker. No need to innovate, no need to conquer, using the old ways. So there is little incentive to becoming a hacker. We are spoon fed the spoils of the previous generation. In this easy going world, the new concept of hacker became fruitful. Basically, being a douchebag and knowing some binary now makes you a hacker or "haxx0r", in leet.


Hackers take credit for everything. They claim to have reorganized the very foundations of written and spoken English, long before the world wide web. And they possessed so many internal words that they consider it their own language (mostly because they're self absorbed and intellectually lacking in anything beyond electronics, for instance Cultural Anthropology). Modern day wannabe haxx0rs have made up their own language too. But it is so far removed from old hacker language as to be only a long running joke on the internet.


Leet is the language of derivative ignorance. Its simplistic reformation of English serves no purpose save a self claimed superiority and method of higher communication. Leet essentially breaks down to replacing normal English letters with symbols.



Examples: a= 4, b= 8, c= x , o = 0 There really are no rules, and anything normal people start doing on the internet, leet users will adopt to further it's self-defeatist cause. 1337 or l33t = leet, haxx0r = hacker. There are many more and I don't care.



Something to note is that because the old hacker language was so culturally specific, it died. And because leet is so meaningless, it often attains new meaning as it is adopted into common usage. The TV show numb3rs uses the leet letter for 'e', I have never seen the show, but if there are sexy model/nerds and computers involved I wouldn't be surprised.


My absolute favorite is one instance of leet corruption. "pwn" or "pw3d" is leet for "own" and "owned". To be "owned" in internet speak is to have something overcome you in a ridiculous manner. For example when I try to write out blogs on Myspace, I am frequently owned by the shitty "post" function that auto deletes everything I write, if it's particularly long. The corruption is this; most people don't know or care about leet, so when they started seeing "pwn3d" and "pwn" everywhere in some of the first common "memes" on the interwebz, they automatically assumed that the "p" is pronounced like an English "p". This is of course a complete re-corruption. Leet took "p" and used it for an "o" because it still has the circle in it, and that's the essence of leet. People who didn't know pr0n from prawn assumed they should pronounce the p as a p, and THUS ENGLISH RETOOK A LEET WORD. OMFGROFLOLERCOASTER! So everyone that said "powned" out loud is an idiot. But if enough people say it, the rules change. I could say in this instance, leet got owned by its own idiotic language.

INTERNET TIPS, TRICKS, AND CODES

You might already know everything I post here. But some aren't as hip as you. I'm going to lay out some of the cool stuff I've learned riding the interwebz.

1. html: (hyper text markup link) is what controls the internet, literally. In fact the internet wouldn't exist without it, it was created by the same guy who invented the world wide web (www.) and hyper text transfer protocol (http:) back in the early 90's. There are many websites that can teach you to write html, like here. I used sweet html to make that hidden link to the website.

2. Taking pictures of your screen: You can take a "screenshot" of anything you're computer sees simply by pressing the "prt sc" or "print screen" button. After pressing the button, once, open up mspaint, click the "edit" window and then "paste" the screenshot will then show up in mspaint. You can save it, and use it to proove to people you saw something amazing.

3. Stealing photos: Most images on the internet can be saved by right clicking and saving, making it fast and easy to have an instant porn collection, gore collection, comic collection, dead baby photo collection, etc. But some douche websites have the tenacity to use their html skillz to disable your right clicking right. To defeat their futile attempt to stop your copyright violations you can either; a) take a screenshot, then use a photo editor to cut out the image you wanted, or b) go to the "page" menu and click save as. Save it to somewhere convenient, then find that file, right click on it and choose "edit" if you haven't screwed up so far, you will open the webpage you've just saved, but with the ability to rearrange everything, and right click and save the images on the page. Now some websites have advanced html coding that embeds itself like an evil detective, further trying to stop you from right clicking. If this happens, you're going to have to get creative. You will need to start breaking up the coding, file names, etc. Do whatever you can, save as and change the file names, go crazy. I've only encountered this a couple times in my adventures, and I was always able to defeat the website. Basically if you can see it, you can have it.

4. Saving videos from photobucket to your computer: For legal reasons, photobucket cannot let anyone save videos from their site, even if it's your video. But here's how you can do it anyway; find the video you want. click on it so you bring it to it's own window or whatever, when you see the stack of confusing html below or beside the video left click on "direct link" it will automatically copy the text. Now open a new widow, and paste the text into the url area. Delete the part of the text that reads "?action=view¤t=" (without the quotes) and hit enter, or "return" for you old schoolers. Your computer will then pop up with a message asking if you want to "open or save". Choose save and there you have it. To watch the videos, you'll need a ".flv" player. "Real Player" is a popular and free example, if you don't have it, download it, and open your .flv files with it.

5. Saving other kinds of videos: Often you can right click, and choose "save target as" over the text below videos on websites. Some websites even tell you to do so if you wish. Other times the text is elswhere (like on another page), but the "save target as" still works, because the text is an html embeded direct link to the video file.

Youtube is a bit trickier, because they don't have the "direct link" over to the side, just the "url" and "embed" and because it displays videos in flash, right clicking on the video will get you nowhere. As of yet, I haven't cracked the youtube genome, so if you know how let me know.

There are also programs you can downlod that take video of what your screen sees, which can then effectively (though not cleanly) capture anything you see animated on the nets. These come in handy when you want to hijack webcam footage, and then send copies to all the "camwhore's" friends and family (not that I condone such things). This is just a heads up. If people can see it, no matter how they see it, they can save it, so use discretion on the net.

6. Tab, the wonder button: Most people don't use tab very much, but on the internet, it's a very helpful little tool. You old schoolers might have a good understanding of Tab's usefullness in word processing, here's how it transitions; it highlights things. Tab will move your activity around. For example, if you're on one of the hundreds of pages you'll encounter in your internet travels that's asking for row after row of info, just use tab to move from section to section. In many instances, tab replaces your mouse, and can actually get you where you wanted to go faster. In fact, if you lose your mouse, or it breaks, you can still navigate, and do all basic functions on your computer with tab instead. If you get a malicious pop up, or you're playing a video game that takes up your whole screen with no "close" or "minimize" buttons in sight hold the buttons "alt" and "tab" and whatever you were looking at will be minimized. On some computers, you'll get a choice sometimes of what you want to maximize after pressing the buttons, which will present themselves in symbolic form (for example the option to maximize your Internet Explorer over your video game will appear as the "E" symbol you're familiar with). If all this is getting to complicated, just push tab alot, all over the place, you'll get the idea quickly, and it won't hurt anything.

7.Uploading stuff: Since 2004, uploading has become a common practice for many internet visitors. Before the coming of websites like photobucket, youtube, myspace, and Deviant Art, there was little reason for the common man to ever upload anything. The only people that would were website builders, and content submitters (like animations to Newgrounds.com, independent films to atomfilms.com). Now that people can have their own personal internet space everyone is uploading.

Of course how to upload varies from website to website, but almost universally there will be a button that reads "Brouse" on it, and when you click it, it will access your computer. Each website allows only certain file types and sizes, and each website is different. The first thing to do is read the websites guidelines. Now lets say you want to upload a video to youtube. Youtube has a (I'm pretty sure) a 100mb file size limit. Depending on the file type, the amount of video that fits in 100mb varies. If the video is off your camera, it's probably going to take up a lot of space, but if you process it through a program (any free home video program) you can reduce the filesize if needed. Windows Movie Maker is a good one, about all the videos you see on youtube that look homemade, but with a halfassed effort to look professional were made with "WMM". If you don't have it on your computer, look for it. You can do a lot of easy editing, adding music, moving scenes, cutting scenes, adding text, subtitles, in fact check out my youtube video http://youtube.com/watch?v=Bl_-alLeefA for a good example.

If you wish to upload photographs to a website, the first thing you want to do is edit the photo to a smaller size. Typical digital cameras today have way too many pixels for their own good. Anything over 1 megapixels is going to piss off the website you're uploading to. Even if they say they have a 4mb file limit, there's no reason to do that. Simply open up a photo editor program, (I use MS Office Picture Manager) and compress the photo. I typically compress the file size to 270kb which is very small, and yet retains the size and quality you desire in internet photos. All my myspace photos have been compressed or were small to begin with, and you may notice they are plenty big enough. (If you're uploading cell phone photos, chances are they're already really small, and no compressing is necessary).

If you think this list was cool, let a comment, I'll make a second volume. If nobody reads this, I'll be a sad panda, cause this took me a couple hours.

Lost, shipwrecked, cast away, blah blah

Why are so many people so completely obsessed with the concept of being stranded somewhere?

This love of the lonely goes back farther than Robinson Crusoe which was published in 1719. The manifestation of this idea appears repeatedly. I could name without thinking too hard many more examples than just the three in my title (Really? yes) ok: "Three", "Swiss family Robinson" (yeah cheap one) "6 days, 7 nights", "Island of the Blue Dolphins" (oooh bet you didn't see that one coming) "Ren and Stimpy" "Mad Magazine", "Saturday Night Live", uuhh almost thinking now, Tailspin, that commercial where the monkeys live with that dude and they get a computer, ok now I'm thinking, how about nearly every cartoon, sketch comedy show, and sci fi show, has at one time or another played on the idea of people stuck in a small area and forced to live with nature and each other.

This isn't necessarily a bad thing. I don't hate the concept, it enamors me too. I'd love to be stuck on an island with some hot girl. Of course the survivor theme, oh duh, "Survivor", anyway it doesn't stop at deserted isles, oh yeah "Gilligan's Island" it also works on apocalypse themes where the actual demise of humanity takes a back seat to a couple people stuck together alone and with only their relationships keeping them alive, i.e. every zombie movie ever including Resident Evil's .Also that movie "Night of the Comet" where those girls wake up to find all of humanity vanished. It's all the same. This fixation on a few people dealing with each other mostly out of absolute necessity.

Why does this seem to be such an inate desire? To conceptualize the island. While I don't so thoroughly question most aspects of our culture, this one gets me. Simply for the fact that it NEVER HAPPENS. Aside from the one Scottish dude 300 years ago that inspired "Robinson Crusoe" and those Japanese soldiers in the Pacific Islands, nobody gets stuck on tropical islands. It isn't one of the normal aspects of human sociological development. We are forever bombarded by uncontrollable change and new characters come in all the time.

You might try to take the easy way out and suggest that it is because it never happens that we dream about it so much. Well, by that logic, there should also be thousands more stories about utopias relative to stories of dystopias. But it isn't true. We are realists. Even our fantasies hold on to our most basic social sets. Name one story about a good government and happy people, and I'll name 50 about horrible governments, and miserable people. Horrible governments and miserable people is our history, and we assume our future. Why then so fixated on a nearly impossible situation of being forced to stick with people you probably didn't know that you will come to love mutually or kill, and must work together to survive, no other option? Or that there are always the resources for you, so you can stay, until you mind decides to leave? (not counting Steven King's take, which really had nothing to do with sociology and everything to do with perserverance).

One could say it is oft repeated because it is the nature of the story ( a couple people, and no illogical complications) that makes it easy to copy. Any shitty writer can get away with a survivor story. There only needs be one story arch. There only needs be 2 to 3 character stories. There needs to be only one relationship. Easy to write. Sure, but then why do we fantasize about it too? I mean, we don't fantasize about shitty "parody" movies, yet every year we get another one. Obviously there is more to it than just the easy money.

My best guess as to why this entire society dreams of being put in a life or death situation with douchebags who will be 50/50 on trying to kill you is that we want our minds to be it. We want our relationships to be THE relationships. We want to be islands, but no man is an island. The island fantasy has nothing to do with getting away and having a bad time, it's just our comparitve visual presentation of a psychological desire to keep things to ourselves, and simultaneously be able to make others understand us. How can this person you love know how you truly feel? What you truly would do for them? Island. How can you ever believe you won't be left for another, or become obsolete at your job, or otherwise replaced? Island. How can you both go on, when everyone around you tries to break you apart? Island. How will any human get to know the real you, without all this pretense bullshit, the part of you that matters, the part that isn't about looking good or telling jokes or hurting others? Island.

Anyway. That's my guess. But if you read this maybe you have a better idea. I just wanted to test the waters, cause I know for a fact how much the island concept means to "us". I wonder how many other people actually realize it too.

Charlton Heston: Hero Of The People

Charlton Heston was a hero by the strictest Ayn Rand standards. His bravery in WW2. His portrayl of heroic men in movies and refusal to compromise in lesser roles. His greatness as a solid husband and father. And his great leadership in many organizations including the SAG, AFI, and of course NRA. "You will get my gun when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers." -Chuck Heston

Don’t worry Mr. Heston, I’ve got a gun in each hand, and they’ll only be prying bullets from those who’d take them from me.

I’ve been a hardcore supporter of the 2nd ammendment for many years now. I joined the California Rifle and Pistol Association in 2001. I bought my first gun, a 1944 Turkish Mauser in January 2002. I bought my second gun, a brand spanking new Glock 36, which is like the smallest most powerfull, badass, handgun in existence. In fact I’ll devote this next paragraph to the Glock.

The Glock 36 sells for about $700 retail which is about the same price as most Glocks, and is incredibly more expensive than most other guns, to give an example a 90% condition Smith and Wesson revolver from the 1860s which is the first pistol on earth to have self contained bullets in a revolving chamber (first modern gun) sells for about $600 today. So national treasure- $600, my Glock - $700. The Glock 36 has an inline magazine making the grip smaller than every other .45 magazine pistol. It is a sub-compact design, so it fits in my pocket. Normally small guns are not very powerful or accurate, but this is a .45 which can kill anyone from pretty much any distance, and I have tried it out on the range many times and I just annihilate the bullseye. Even if a .45 doesn’t kill you, the bullet is so damn big whatever it hits won’t function properly.

Most of the socialist world has banned the right to bear arms, and they are brain washed to think this is the right way of things, so you may find at all times a pro-gun position to be a minority. Especially here on the internet. Even if every American were pro-gun, that would still be an extreme minority on the internet. So if you read this and feel the same way I do about the constitution, know that this isn’t a common belief and we have to stick to together. The Socialists hate individual authority, and that is exactly what a gun represents.

I was reading The L.A. Times obituary on Mr. Heston and in the comments section I noticed a lot of devilish remarks about him simply because he believed in defending the Constitution. They made repeated reference to "babies dying in the streets" which is so absurd that there really can’t be any brain functioning in there.

I don’t know how to put this succinctly because it requires such a background establishment, but I will say this, there is a reason every founding father went out of their way to specifically state why the right for civillians to have guns, and the need for civillians to have guns was so imperitive. And it wasn’t for defense against "the King of England" as lefty Simpsons implied or is oft mis reported. We have the right to bear arms, so we can literally kill our leaders. Our founding fathers knew bullshit evil dicators come about, and they said the need for Americans to have a gun to kill them was priority, to defend all other rights. Without the fourth ammendment, no other rights are possible, without the second ammendment, no rights are guaranteed.

Charlton Heston is as much famous for his acting as he is for his support of the second ammendment, but is much more hated for this than loved. This is a scary thing to me. Only criminals keep guns when guns are outlawed. There are just as many murders in countries without guns as countries with guns. No amount of regulation can remove knives, which kill waaay more people. No amount of regulation can remove cars, which kill compounded exponents of more people. No amount of regulation can remove buckets of water that kill 10-1 kids, vs. guns. No amount of socialism can stop people from dying. Only people who have actually lived can be killed, if you value the life you can’t limit it. A man forced into a box for his own protection will never die unjustly, but he will never justly live either. There can be no compromise about an individual's rights. DON’T FUCK WITH MY LIBERTY.

Charlton Heston was a hero. He made a profound impact on humanity, and will be remembered.

Tony Jackson and the bay (long but good?)

The Average reader reads at 200 wpm. There are a little over 2900 words in this post so it might take you about 15 minutes to read it. I think it’s a good story, and I had to write it. It took me about 2 1/2 hours to write it and proofread. So enjoy if you will. Maybe start with the begining and see if it’s the kind of tale for you. Unfortunately this intro I’ve written adds about a minute to you slow pokes.

Tony invited me to go with him to UC Berkeley (aka CAL) (aka most famous liberal college in American history) to see Richard Dawkins give a lecture on his latest book. Now I didn’t know we were going to Cal to begin with, I just thought we were going to Berkeley. Also I didn’t know who Richard Dawkins was. He’s apparantly notoriously anti-religion and was spoofed as a character on a two part episode of South Park where Cartman goes to a future controlled by Atheists (Dawkins’s the guy banging Mrs. Garrison).

Tony lives in Fairfield which is about a 2 hour drive from Stockton in the bust ass truck I’m driving. Now the truck isn’t completely street legal so I had misgivings about driving it there and especially didn’t want to go into Berkeley with it. So we got a ride from Tony’s Mom to the Vallejo Ferry. There we wandered the hard streets of Mac Dre’s town and admired the black people and crossed streets against the lights, because Tony asserts that’s what people do in the ghetto, jaywalk. Then we went back to the ferry and went into the bar across the water from where my Grandpa Wise was stationed for a time in the Korean War while my Grandmother lived in Stockton attending UOP. This isn’t really important except that Tony (who is from Colorado) was trying to tell me about Vallejo like I didn’t know the life story of the man who founded it. Anyway, we got drunk.

After a couple hours the ferry was ready to depart and we hopped on. I got a really cool seat outside on the second deck and saved a spot for Tony, meanwhile I was asked to photgraph some hot latinas.Tony came up with a beer and I wanted one too so I switched spots with him, told him to hold me a seat and went down to the ferry’s drink man. While ordering my beer ( a local brew you will never get to drink, whoever is reading this) Tony pops his head up and asks for a glass of whiskey. Thus establishing us as completely drunk and without sweet seats next to hot latinas. So we went back outside and stood and drank while Tony explained about the Nautical Academy he’s aiming for and how he participated in yacht races out in the bay every week before he started school. The North East San Francisco Bay is breathtaking. You have to see it to know. It looks like another country. It is about as beautiful as any place can be.

The ferry went ridiculously fast, in fact I think it’s the fastest I’ve ever experienced on a boat. The wake was unbelieveable, a skiff would disappear in that spray, the center maintained a water wall at least 10 ft high with a side waves a skier would kill for, or die jumping. The wind got bad with the speed and we retired to some comfortable seats inside up forward and talked as we watched the ship scream across the San Francisco Bay.

It pulled right into pier 39, with Tony explaining the old Navy tender nearby was the "USS Jerimiah O’Brien" which as you might know is a precursor to Tony and Mine’s first ship the DD USS O’Brien. It being a tradition in the Navy to keep names "alive" through generations of ships, like "Enterprise". O’Brien as I recall had at least 5 ships of the same name through the years, all named after an Irish soldier from the Civil War or maybe the Revolution, I can’t remember now. Anyway we were still a bit drunk and walked onto the pier with at least 100 people waiting in line to board the ferry. The sobering came when we had to walk from Pier 39 to the Bart station at Embarcadero and Market. I told Tony about 7 times that there was a street car that went right to it, but he insisted we walked. The weather everywhere was perfect that day. Though the walking got tedious as I watched us encircle Coit tower on Telegraph hill by about 90 degrees.

Eventually we made it to Market Street, where I’ve been literally hundreds of times in my life and went below the street, below the subway, to the BART station deep within. We got the Train to Richmond which was completely packed and rode under the bay about 5 times faster than the Ferry went over it. When we started hitting Oakland stops I whipped out my iPod and we listened to "California :Love" by 2Pac and Dr. Dre. "From Oakland to Sac-Town, the Bay Area and back down" seemed appropriate enough if not completely silly to anybody standing near us, 2 white guys sharing ear phones jamming to 13 year old rap/techno.

Awesomely the BART stops off in Downtown Berkeley about 1 city block from Cal. I have been to Berkeley many times in my life but I’d never been to Cal till this day. College kids abound we walked up hill into the wooded outer perimeter (stopping for a burrito first) I noticed there were emergency phones about every 25 yards. I joked that a rapist would have to be pretty crafty to get a girl in the "point of no return" middle areas that are over 10 yards from any rape phone. "Perhaps he could hide in the gully by the creek and call to women and lure them with his voice away from the safety of the rape phones" or "Perhaps he could hide behind that log" were the jist of it. Not that I encourage sex with Cal girls in any capacity, just noting the absurdity of the frequency of the phones.

Onward and upward we went. The pulse of the heart of Berkeley beating louder as we neared it. One by one the left wing cliche’s began emerging, a group of old white haired scientist looking guys, an over the hill big banked couple ’touring’. An old professor in a brown cordoroy suit. As we passed the great East Gateway there were signs everywhere for various clubs, including I noticed the "UC Berkeley Objectivists Club". The ground was rife with colored chalk propaganda, anywhere from "Bush is evil" to "Living wage for Custodians" At the center of the scrawlings a group of reasonably young hippies. I call them hippies in the scrictest sense for they wore the traditional hippie cloth, and were gathered around in a drum circle, playing drums.

We managed to round these odd creatures following the papers taped to the ground "Dawkins lecture" with arrows to guide to the hall. Upon entering the hall we see a great line that went around the corner. So we walked around the corner, and it went around the next corner, so we walked around that one as well. It further continued to wrap around and we chased its tail to the fourth side of the building. In a matter of 10 minutes the line had passed us and went back to the first side and out the door. We were over an hour early at this point. The lecture was scheduled for 7:00 pm. Around 6:30 and between Tony’s 4th and 5th smoke breaks we recieved our tickets, curtesy of student club SANE (Students for A Non-religious Ethos). Nearing 7:00 pm the doors to the lecture hall were opened and we found our seats luckily about 15 ft from where Mr. Dawkins would give his entire lecture. About 750 people packed into the hall, but for reasons unknown to me they waited a long time to start and the 40 minute lecture didn’t begin until about 8:20 pm. This marked the first time in my life I was completely surrounded in a room of Atheists, and weren’t afraid to be so. Here is where I learned that Atheists are most definitely not necessarily Objectivists, or even particularly rational or moral.

Mr. Dawkins said some interesting things, but since he was focusing the entire lecture on subjects covered in a book I hadn’t heard about until about an hour before I was more absorbed in everything but the details (also I was still a bit drunk and Tony was so bad that later he told me he tried to prevent the woman to his left from smelling the pure alcohol vapors from his breath). He made one interesting point about how no child is a religious child, that there is no such thing as a 5 year old Catholic boy, or a 7 year old Muslim giril. There is a 5 year old boy with Catholic parents, but if the parents were sailors you wouldn’t call him a 5 year old sailor. Somehow religion is given a free pass on personal accomplishment or will. Mr. Dawkins made a lot of jokes about religion, mentioned the teapot theory all the while the audience was laughing and cheering. It was beyond bizarre for me, for in my life I have only known 2 passionately anti-religious people, and even though I myself refuse religion as a concept I don’t really take any particular pleasure in being derisive about it. Maybe because beyond my youngest years I wasn’t told to believe one thing or another and even in my younger years was only expected to attend religious services, not explicitely learn anything from my attendence. Though I suppose I did laugh a little and any jokes I missed were entirely the cause of the day’s sun, walking too much, and beer.

For me religion is an odd juncture. I was born a Catholic. My Father a born again Christian (his parents Atheists) and my Mother the full blown Catholic. My great Uncle or something along those lines on my mother’s side was the top Bishop of San Francisco back in the day. My Mother’s Mother went to a hard core Catholic High School in San Francisco and I assume a Catholic elementary. My Grandfather was a teacher and Councellor at St. Mary’s High School in Stockton for over 30 years. My Mom went to St. Mary’s, as did my uncle. I was baptized at my Great Grandfather’s (mother’s mother’s father) funeral as a baby in what my Grandfather called a "2 for 1 deal" for the priest, who he personally had the priest perform the baptism in a bathroom sink at the cemetery. This went down as a merely informal, though spiritually binding, baptism as I was baptized again at age 12 after proper Catholic classes were taken. I have the distinct pleasure of having only once cheated on any test in my life, during a Catholic class test for the "Our Father" prayer. Also a Sunday Mass marked the only time in my life I literally stared at a clock, and no where else, for an entire hour. I can’t tell you exactly when I became Atheist, only that I thought I knew God existed throughout most of high school, and was definitely unsure by the time I joined the Navy in 2002. My Atheism was solidified by the time I first read Ayn Rand in January of 2004. Though I must point out at this time and not elaborate (as I’ve already done it in previous posts) that technically I am not an atheist by its definition. That is one who wholly rejects even the possibility of a god. Being a creature of logic, this would be a silly and unnecessary leap.

Mr. Dawkins told us that he himself isn’t a complete Atheist either. He introduced a scale of ’knowing there’s a god’ to ’knowing there isn’t a god’ where everything in the middle is agnostic on varying levels. By his scale I was 9/10 10 being Atheist. Then he said he was a 9/10, so I guess we’re on the same page. He described 9/10 as being ’Not being exactly certain there isn’t a God, but living life with the assumption that there isn’t, and equating the possibility of God with the possibility of unicorns and fairies.’ That’s where I am.

When the lecture was over and Mr. Dawkins got a standing ovation we walked out into the night. Wandered the bar scene a bit but did not partake and instead went to the BART. We had been screwed from the begining as the ferry stopped running at 7:00 and never planned on going back to Fairfield that way. We took BART to Richmond which is a ghetto town north of Berkeley. Poor old Berkeley book ended by Oakland and Richmond. Richmond as you may recall is the town featured in the film "Coach Carter" with Samuel L. Jackson. The city where no one graduates from school and kids get capped in the streets for selling shit. Well we made this our destination and right off the train bums were hitting us up for cash. Outside the station there was one bum on a bench singing to himself very pleasantly but from a distance became ominous. Tony for some reason was scared shitless of this town. I tried to explain to him that I lived in the most violent areas of S.F. and Stockton growing up, and had just left an apartment in San Diego that was completely surrounded by the most crazy houses, halfway houses, bum empires and police sirens you will ever see in any place on earth, but this didn’t calm him down. He insisted I hide my headphones which he didn’t know I was using to ironically play to myself Filter’s sugar sweet song "Take a Picture". Apparently he’d been reading about all the killings and thefts going down in Rich town and that just the implication of white headphones being attached to a $300 iPod could get us mugged. I wasn’t so worried, and even somewhat desired a confrontation so I could establish myself as king of Cali and maybe kill a thug in the process. I saw one group of thugish looking kids all hooded and waiting for a bus. Tony got so paranoid he went to the taxi area and wouldn’t move. I told him the taxi drivers were all sleeping and their doors were locked, so that even if he did plan on using them to escape something he’d get shanked long before he got in the cab. There was a sign stuck in the grass that read "I support Not Today www.not2day.org the sign had a silhouette of what appeared to be a dead man. I checked out the website days later, it is a Richmond initiative to go 1 day without a violent crime. We sat on a bench by the taxis and waited about 20 mins. for Tony’s Mom to pick us up.

She came, we rode and got back to his place. I was tired as all hell but Tony is on a night rotation for work, and we ended up staying up to watch a movie from 1983 called "Max Dugan Returns" a woman and her son (Mathew Broderick) who are visited by the woman’s father who hasn’t been in her life since she was 10. He had a couple hundred thousand dollars he scammed off his employers in Vegas and they were after him as well as the feds. The woman is incidentally dating a cop (Donald Sutherland) who gets suspicious as this broke as shit teacher starts getting a lot of undesired gifts from her dad including wads of bills, luxury cars, big stereos, and a whole new house in the place of the old one. I jokingly guessed that Keifer Sutherland also known as SUPER BADASS JACK from 24, might be in the film, and was surprised to spot him in his 5 second appearance in a group of people at the high school where the woman taught. All together the film was oddball. Not stupid slapstick like much of the turn of the 80s comedies it was as serious as it was funny, almost depressing towards the end which is open ended only letting you know that the great Max is gone for good, the woman is broke as shit again, and will probably be going on trial for accessory to larceny or whatever, with most of the police work against her done by her cop boyfriend who she simultaneously kisses, and begs leniency. Quite twisted. Tony believed this to be one of the best films he’s ever seen.

That’s it. I went to sleep. I woke up in day lights savings. I drove home to Stockton around 12:00 on Sunday and didn’t do shit.

Somehow in this entire comprehensive overly detailed story I am not able to capture who Tony is, or why he is so awesome. I guess I can only say, he is a very funny and witty person. He made me laugh all damn day, and every person that we spent even a minute near was in tears laughing at the shit Tony would say. I’m remembering us on the ferry waiting for a toilet to open and Tony just going at it like a stand up comedian just ripping on half the people walking by while anyone listening is laughing their ass off. He wasn’t even rude or personal, just pure tact. Calling on little known stereotypes and idiosyncrasies from people of a specific city and state he noticed were prevalent on the ferry.

This man crush I have on him I guess can be summed up with the name I have in previous blogs (back to the begining since Tony lived with me for 3 weeks while I began my assent into extreme blogging) used to preface his given name; "Legendary".

Crimes and Obligations

I am now unemployed. I am running out of money fast. I am now like a normal person I suppose. I have unpaid tickets, I'm just going to assume there are warrants out on me. I'm still very much living in an apartment I've already paid to leave. In fact I paid more money to buy out my lease than I even have left. There's this one me that knows all this, and he doesn't care. There's the other side of me who is playing video games all day and is thinking about 3 things showers, food, and sleep. I've almost beat Suikoden 4. I've had the game for about 4 years and I've finally gotten around to playing it. I used a walkthrough so I could get all 108 stars of destiny.

This last year was the easiest of my career. But maybe only because I remained aloof. When I left Japan, I left a place that was painful and challenging for me, but it was real, it was life, and it wasn't all bad, I had people well, if you've read my blogs from back then. Anyway.

This is what I strived for, and this is what I got. Mediocrity.

I'm thinking about this life I'm tailoring for myself. I'll take full time classes at Delta College, I might be on unemployment, or some part time job. I'll be staying in my father's house. In a room previously occupied by my brother, until he was kicked out. I shouldn't be there for too long, convenience will fall to sanity. My relationship with my father is much better when we are not actually within shouting distance.

I will take classes, I will work, and I will watch tv. That's it. My understanding of the world, my ability to reason and develop and problem solve, my experience, I will abandon this. I can't imagine ever telling anyone that I ever served except on a resume. I can't imagine ever admitting to people that I've left Stockton. I'll just say I had this or that job. Hell I could just say I apprenticed as an electrician, didn't like it, and leave it at that.

I can never be accepted by Americans. I will always be repulsive, and a freak. I can at least pretend to be normal again. No more globe bouncing, late nights in long seas leaning against various war machines speaking casually about every little detail of every aspect of life. Now is the time for discretion. Time to casually stand by and watch all the beautiful people steal everything from me and keep me in their pen with promise of a gift. The gift of being a stone in a pyramid. I can rest now. Rest in my mind and complain about this or that while everything every decent man has ever worked for is used to further destroy everything every decent man ever valued. Come along mediocrity. Sell me out.

It Isn't Ironic!

I am tired of all these fucking 20 something dipshits whose only method of evaluating or describing works is "ironic". People wearing stupid shirts isn't ironic. Shitty presentations of malformed conceptual deveolopments aren't ironic. You're shitty humor isn't ironic. You suck, and that isn't irony either.

You know what's ironic? The Brady Bunch Movie. The entire movie is devoted to making fun of the 70s TV iconic family, set in the back drop of the 90s. The irony comes into play only when one understands that the humor derived from the family is in their absurd attitudes, clothing, and their aparent oblivious nature. In this, the presentation makes such an effort to portray how different and "modern" the 90s are, that in only a few years time the 90s characters appear ridiculous and outdated. The 90s clothing is as unacceptable as the 70s perhaps even more so. The attitudes of the "modern" characters seem childish and narrowminded whereas the family seems completely rational, a good example would be the neighbors willingness to sell-out their lives for a little money, and the high school students who don't seem to appear to possess any means of civility or happiness. The Brady family on the other hand are goal oriented and all possess analytical skills that allow them to attain their goals even if they have been "dropped in" to the 90s.

Although a movie has yet to be made to portray the 21st Century as it is, I would venture the highlight of our social structure at this point is a successful individualistic style of living. in these 00s we have more than one can imagine, our wealth is unprecedented nor is our jaded nature. With the internet firmly planted, we have children who have grown up with the world in their hands and know nothing less. Not that people seem to be any more intelligent, we just found a way to max out our own potential. In a life of unlimited resources, the parent/child relationship changes to be much less instructive, and much more guiding. A parent would now not be preoccupied with fact giving, rather helping develop a child's moral and rational abilities. Even school's fact based methods are becoming obsolete, and can focus more on teaching a student how to learn, and how to apply knowledge. In this I believe the internet has literally lifted the minds of all those who can access it, it has made it possible for humans to reach higher states of knowledge and development much faster or at all if never before.

I have just found out about a new feature on Google Map, "Street View" where you can take a 3D trip down a street and look around. You can even zoom in and read signs, or look at people and things like that. They've only uploaded portions of less than 30 cities so far, but it shows great potential. San Diego is one of them, and my street is one of them, you can move the screen to right outside my apartment. Though when the Photos were taken I hadn't moved in yet. I was able to get an idea of the date when I passed the Spreckles theatre on Broadway, its next show listed was March 15, 2007. Interestingly enough if you look at the front end of the show boards you can see that Arcade Fire will play on April 26, which was the day I got the apartment, and only 6 days after returning from a 4 month underway. I was at the Arcade Fire performance only because I luckily walked by and noticed a few hours before the show. Imagine one day having a live Street View. You could virtually travel downtown and see what's going on. See if there's a good party or a protest. The kind of things you'd either have to see for yourself, or hear about it later, the kind of fun you can't schedule. That's the irony of the old, narrowmindedness mocked by narrowmindedness. In the broad vision of life, we act to live, not to please, we live to please, not to act.

Bush

On the eve of my departure to the harsh wastelands of Northern Illinois as my father drove me to my fated life, we listened to Mr. Bush give his first State of the Union speech, it was full of promise about how we will get the terrorists in Afghanistan and begin our War on Terror. I was fresh and young, I still had college thoughts in me, bike rides, swimming, great shape, great friends. I was motivated and ready to help fight for America.

6 years later, tonight, on the eve of my departure from the Navy, Mr. Bush once again speaks of Afghan Terrorists and more. It has become much worse. I am leaving the Navy a failure. Unable to stop terrorists. My greatest triumphs slammed in my face by my superiors as my greatest defeats. I have been shamed, humiliated, and left broken and alone. These 6 years have taken nearly everything from me. I could not listen to tonight's speech, because I am so disgusted by this government. I had lost all faith in it, save this trumpeting of my dead soul in the form of Ron Paul, but this too seems fleeting and expensive.

I won't go home tomorrow. I will simply try to get some rest. I've been sick for days, and I haven't slept right in weeks. I haven't felt alive in years.

Fotos de Mujeres?

I just made a mixed drink with 12 different liquors. whooo. It has the look of light Kahlua, but its flavor, oh my god, a Jager syrup, a vodka burn, a whiskey tang, oh my god. I took a photo of myself. I want to try to pull a "Noah".

1. Jager 2. SoCo 3. Bailey's 4. Cpt. Morgan's Passion Fruit Rum 5. Grey Goose Vodka 6. Frost Vodka 7. That other rum I'm too drunk to remember, you know, the classic stuff. 8. Amaretto di Amor? 9. Kahlua 10. Jameson Irish Whiskey 11. Chivas Regal Scotch 12. 1800 Tequila

I am watching this move in French right now, I'm sure you knew fiance' was french, but did you know it means "engaged" in French? That is, it isn't a noun it is an adjective(right?)? It isn't a person it is a situation, so the word might be French, but our definition doesn't fit, so it isn't really French. At least, not unless they use the word for everything.



p.s. the title stems from my love of porn. It knows no language barrier.

Thrown out of a Punk Show

I didn't really get kicked out. Michael did. Michael that crazy rebel who after buying a house in Aurora Colorado with his wife and baby, took a full schedule of college classes without hindering his full time desk job for the Navy. This wild man got me to come along with him to a music show downtown (after special permission from his wife) while there he drank a whole glass of beer and then in the throes of the mosh pit he lost his wrist band. The wrist band was critical in showing that he was in fact over 21, so he'd be allowed by the stage. Now the House of Blues did issue a ticket that also says he's over 21, and a receipt for the ticket, and a stamp on his right hand that verifies this as well, along with his driver's license, his military ID, and my affirmation, but the rebel Michael recklessly lost the paper wrist band in his irresponsible decision to be in a mosh pit that he wasn't allowed in without his paper wrist band that so innocently was weakened by an unexplained presence of sweat. So once security got wind of his wristbandlessness in the pit when the Circle Jerks were on their very last song, security very kindly asked Michael to leave, and even escorted him, like the gentlemen they are.

Meanwhile I was very cordially trying not to embarass these two nice ladies with my flatering glances. As I would tell Michael the full "8" on the 10 scale was dressed in fine evening attire, that complemented the high class crowd. Seeing my best friend being escorted to the exit, I assumed Michael was simply ready to leave, since the show was essentially over so I began to follow, only briefly in repose at the loss of the opportunity to further enjoy the ambiance.

Upon leaving the House of Blues my good friend asked the fine gentleman if his ticket would suffice. That is when I realized Michael had commited a faux pas and hadn't left of his own accord. At this I was momentarily overcome with emotion and I did try with my strongest voice to defend my friend's honor. If I hadn't lost my voice in the pit, I dare say I might have myself been called upon by security, for at the top of my lungs, albeit not very loud at all, I told the gentlemen that my friend was a 24 year old war vet! The gentlemen, with their distinguished careers in music crowd control, seemed not so impressed and went about their noble duty of sweeping up trash.

My good friend Michael was a bit perturbed by all of this (perhaps his heavy drinking was to blame) but I walked with him on a peripatetic and we did discuss the issue quite suffiently. In fact, I suppose the only reason that I wrote this was because I'm getting bored and nervous and this clock bullshit is really wearing me down.

The New Year

I went to an Objectivist chat room. Talked for hours with a 25 year old man in New Zealand about getting him laid. Then a Russian in west Siberia joined in. I told him I couldn't believe a Siberian was allowed on the internet, least-ways in Ayn's territory talking shit about Putin.

The important thing was that I was at home. Sitting on my couch, drinking Chapagne out of the bottle alone. Since it took me two hours to get back to this blog I'll make a list of New Year's Eves I remember.

2008 - Last night. Got slightly drunk long before 12, went to bed completely sober about 12:30. Feeling sorry for myself.

2007 - Watched people who love each other count down the new year in a bar at the Hotel Del Coronado. I was not really welcome there, but nobody stopped me. After that I wandered the beach until I laid down on one of the dunes, and there came up with the idea of killing myself on that beach, which is a resolution I have yet to fulfill.

2006 - The day I tried desperately to get my only love to celebrate with me. She had other plans. My friend Tony, who was on vacation at my house suggested I go with him to Tokyo, but instead I stayed home, played video games, watched TV and probably cried. I didn't even stay up till 12.

2005 - I don't remember. I was in Japan I guess, I was probably at the Navy's "Single Sailor Center" which is like a boys and girls club for loser sailors. I honestly don't remember much of those days. They really sucked.

2004 - I was in Stockton, I drank a glass of Champagne with my father and brother and sister. It was my first time on vacation since leaving America, four months earlier.

2003 - I was in Pensacola Florida. I didn't do shit.

2002 - Honestly I don't remember. I lived with my Dad and bro and sis in Stockton. I probably didn't do anything.

2001 - Don't remember doing anything at all. I lived in S.F. with my Mom, bro, and sis.

2000- I was alone in an empty room in a house In South San Francisco. We had just moved in. Before that we were homeless. I remember being very happy to have a shelter from the rain, and I was writing a detective story that essentially captured my experiences and emotions. Lots of killing involved.

1999-1982- uh, it gets pretty fuzzy from here. Asides, I was a youngn'. Well technically 16 isn't that young, but you know, I suck.

Burger King Onion Rings used to be made with onions

I decided to go to the movies today. I saw I am Legend and National Treasure: Book Of Secrets. I was planning on seeing The Golden Compass, I even bought a ticket, but I was tired. I bought 24 season 6. And I headed home.

On the way I detoured to Burger King to get dinner. I didn't lock up my bike so I spent the whole time in the restaurant looking out. There was this bum standing by my bike the whole time. I had blown him off when I walked in. A car with a big open bed stopped by my bike, and I imagined what I'd have to do if they tossed my bike in their bed. That's how I lost bike number 3. Being on bike number 11 or 12 now I know how to not get it stolen. If they did toss it in the bed, I imagined droping my stuff hopping the railing, knocking a guy over, breaking the glass door on my way out, jumping into the bed of the truck and calling the police while in the truck. I even thought about how I would speak, how I would navigate the cops, and pondered if I would have to fight them or if they would take me someplace where they had backup. In all this bike worry I ordered my meal. I didn't want the soda, but I started imagining that I could find a way to bring it home with me, I certainly didn't want to spend another minute there. I got my food, went out to my bike and dumped months old gatorade out of my water bottle. I tried to put the cup of soda in the water bottle holder, but the top popped instantly and I knew it was hopeless. This whole time this goddamn bum has been watching me, nobody watches me for minutes on end, especially not entire visits, so thoughts of having to beat him to shit, and what I'd do if he had a knife crossed my mind. I imagined kicking him in the throat rather than trying to kick his knife away, in this scenario he's already on the ground (that's why he'd pull the knife of course). I decided to walk my bike for a while instead.

By the time I crossed the street I imagined throwing my soda into the parking lot or against a building, but I don't litter, I don't make messes, and I knew that God damned bum was still watching. I crossed the street again, about 3 or 4 steps into the street one of the straps to the bag holding all my food and DVDs breaks. I know that soon the second one will go, but I'm juggling a bag, a cup of soda, and a bike. At the exact middle of the street the second strap breaks all my shit hits the ground and spills out. My can of "Duff" energy drink I had purchased as a collector item is fucked up and my food is in the street. I bend over but I still have to hold my bike and the cup of soda in my hand. I start stuffing everything into the bag and I see the street light turn green on me. I move faster pick all my shit up, except for one casualty, a package of zesty onion ring sauce. I move over to the side of the road and toss the fucking cup of soda into the trash. All the while I imagine that God fucking damn bum is watching. I hop on my bike. I glide downhill. Down down. I imagine that the flood of criminals and bums I am passing can't hear me while I am traveling in stealth mode. I get down by the trolley tracks and I illegaly cross them on a red. As soon as I am on the other side I see a cop car parked so I make a right turn onto the sidewalk. I pass by a couple men who had just been talking to a bum. "Merry Christmas" they say to the bum and he walks over to one of the street saplings. He grabs a bag of something out of the tree and walked away. I am amazed by this. I just illegally crossed a street, and then these guys just did a drug deal, and this cop car doesn't move. I keep rolling down down hill. Bums and crazys and criminals. Anyway. That was my day. I know I changed tenses half way through, but my left hand is numb, I need to take a shit, I'm tired, and my food's gotten cold again while writing this.

Why Superman is a Hero

Why are dreams stuck in with "Supernatural". Dreams are completely fucking natural. Though, seeing as how nobody reads my blogs, and nobody I know writes blogs frequently besides me, I guess it doesn't really matter. On Myspace, the most popular blogs are ALL hot girls writing dumb dumb RETARDEDLY dumb shit, and band/celebrity blogs that aren't even written by the people the blogs are titled for. So blogs on myspace are essentially tits and celebrities. Yay. I lose. So on to my actual blog, which would by itself be beautiful and inspiring, but considering no one will read it. It means absolutely nothing. Just like me.

There was this movie called "Angus". Maybe you've seen it. One scene stuck with me ever since I first saw it. It was the words of Angus' Grandfather, played by the late great George C. Scott. I paraphrase "Superman wasn't a hero because he was invincible. He had nothing to fear when he went out into the world and saved all those people..."

I now realize this isn't true. Because Superman is still a man. He may be invincible, but only physically. He (as portrayed) possesses all the range of human emotions and desires. Certainly he is at least a good man to not turn his powers to hurt others, but then that doesn't exactly make him a hero. What makes him a hero is time. Superman gives his time. Looking at it from a purely selfish, individualist perspective this is indeed a great gift. Just because he can't be hurt and he can save others doesn't obligate him. He could simply live his life and only act when he needs to. Instead this character devotes his entire existance to saving people. He has no life. He has no friends. He doesn't go to parties. He only has one love, and he hardly has that. He trades his very soul to help people, putting himself out there to be judged. Not exactly Ayn Randian. Still hero enough. I get the feeling I've written an allusion here. I assure you I have not. Only a comparison. For I devote little time to helping others. It's hard to. I try sometimes. Sometimes I succeed. But I am a grotesque monster, and the screams of terror wear me down. I can't put myself out there anymore. I am always judged guilty. Even writing this, if you read it, you judge me guilty for not being stronger. For feeling sorry for myself. Well I am not. I am not sorry. Fuck you and I will not change to meet their standards. Still it hurts. But heroes can't cry. So I walk away. Let the beautiful men do all the saving. They'll get the credit either way.