With Feathers

Final Semester Final Final

2006-05-18T09:14:00.000-07:00

'Ere 'tis:

“Hello there, Mr. Yaroch. I hope you haven't been waiting too long.” He said. I had, and while I was a bit annoyed, I could understand the circumstance. Plus, this is heaven; he's St. Peter, who the hell am I to complain?

“The line to get in here was a little long”, I said. That was a bit of a mischaracterization, you see, the line to get here was ridiculously long. It was understandable; judgment day is going to be crowded, but you'd think that heaven would have a better organizational system.

Processing took what felt like forever, which must have felt like nothing to the people that have been here for, well, forever. But after all was said and done, after we had cleared through the lines and been given our various nametags and put into our various buildings, and after waiting in what has to be the most boring waiting room that I've ever sat in, we were here, ready to be interviewed. At this point, the only thing I could think of was that this was the most important day of my afterlife, and I hadn't even ironed my shirt.
You see, when the judgment comes, it comes quickly, too quickly to do your laundry. As if I would've done it anyway.

I remember it being Tuesday. Why would you have the judgment be on a Tuesday, anyway? Monday, I could understand, if you do it Monday, you're giving everyone a break for the rest of the workweek. Wednesday would be fine, because everyone's in the flow on Wednesday, the hard stuff is behind them, the good stuff is coming. Tuesday though, Tuesday is right in the middle of the hard stuff. You've done your time on Monday, starting to trudge through the week, and the only gift you have is that at least Monday won't be as bad as Tuesday. The only thing that Tuesday has, the only benefit is hope for better. Tuesday's as bad as it gets, and even with his infinite wisdom, that's when God decided to end it all.

“Yaroch.” Peter said, “What is that? German?” I get this from time to time. “No. Polish” I replied. “Oh good, I was afraid I'd have to kick you out of here right away.” I hoped he was joking. “I'm joking.” He assured me. I was nervous, very nervous. The last time I had been in an interview like this, it was for a job at a library. A job that I didn't get. This was not a gig that I could afford to not get. This was either perform and have eternal bliss, or fail and say hello to damnation.

“You know what? It's a nice day out, you mind if we do this while walking?” I was a little perplexed by the question. Here I was, completely prepared for the most formal of all interviews, and he wants to take a promenade through the campus. “Hey, you're the boss” I said. “Not quite.” He nodded upwards, “But close.”

We got up from the office, which wasn't nearly as impressive as you'd think a heavenly office to be. In all honesty, it felt a lot like a dentist's office - pristine white was the entire range of the color palette, and the receptionist's desk looked just like my old dentist's one, with a thick long, winding table dividing you from the secretary's workspace. The magazines in the waiting room were even out of date.

We left the building and came out into a park-like area in the back. The world outside the office wasn't on fluffy clouds and veiled in a white haze; it was beautiful and green, with various flowers all around, but nothing too vibrant. Peter saw the look on my face. “Not what you thought it'd be, huh? That's most people's reaction.” “I remember as a kid, people would tell me that heaven was whatever you wanted it to be. That everyone has their own different one.” I said. “If that was the case, how could we afford to keep the place up?” he said, not really joking.

“Anyway, we should get on with this interview.” He lifted his clipboard and shuffled around in his pockets. “Oh damn it. Do you have a pen?” he asked. I reached into my left pocket where I had always kept one on earth, and there it was. I handed the pen to him, and I saw him notice my untidiness. “Heh. I didn't have time to do laundry.” I was embarrassed. “Like it would've mattered. We've seen you do laundry, and I don't think that an iron and a few sprays of Febreeze are going to save you anyway.”

“On with the evaluation. So your full name is?” I stressed my middle name, "Christian"; a middle name that has annoyed me for a long time but looked like it would come in handy here. “Mhmm. And you were born where exactly?” “Well, I was born in Alaska, but, but don't you have all of this already?” It confused me that he would know about my unorthodox laundry methods, but not my basic information. “Yes, well, we usually ask it to make the interview feel more casual. A lot of people are very nervous when they do this. Are you nervous?” “No, not really.” I lied. “Don't lie.” He said. “Okay, yes, but you understand.” Why I would be so stupid as to lie on their interview for eternity, I'll never know. “Yes, I understand. So, why do you think that you should be allowed into heaven?” This was a pretty direct question, and I felt like I should provide the best answer possible, so I thought about it. And thought about it. Why did I deserve it? Did I deserve it? Well, it didn't matter now, I needed any justification that I could muster to get in. “Well, on earth, I was, um, I was a nice person. I was helpful, I wasn't greedy, I made people laugh” I was searching his face for any reaction, to see where I should embellish, but his expression was stone cold. “I volunteered a little, I went to church.” “Don't lie.” He caught me. “Well, I went to church when I was little.” “And why did you stop?' I really didn't want to answer this question. “Well, because, when I was 12, I um, I wanted to rebel against organized religion, back then, um, I was fighting to truly know God, I was trying to be faithful, I was…” “An atheist.”

Shit. He knew.

“Okay, yeah, I am…well, I guess I was, an atheist. I guess you really can't be one now.” I was dreading this. “No, it's kind of hard to argue against God when you're sitting in his house.” He didn't look disappointed. That struck me as odd. “So wait,” I said, “I'm not kicked out for that? You accept atheists?” “Oh yeah, we've got tons of them up here. Atheists, Agnostics, Muslims, Hindus, we let everyone up. Hell, there are more Buddhists up here than Christians.” He chuckled. “Seriously?” I was floored. “Yep. There's a lot of misinformation going on down there about us. Look, if you're a good person, if you led a good life, regardless of your beliefs, you'll get in. Unless you're a lawyer.” I laughed, but quickly stopped. Again I asked, “Seriously?!” “No, it's just a joke. You see, we let the Jews in too.” Wait a second, I thought. “Wait a second,” I said, “did you just say hell?” “Yes,” he said, “why? Oh, you think that we care about swearing? You actually think that with all of the death and violence and horrible things that go on in the world on a daily basis, that we're worried about the seven words you can't say on television?” “Well, no, I didn't. I mean, I did, I guess, but…well, I just never thought…I never thought that this place would be so…” “Rational?” “Well, yeah.” I said. “Don't worry about it. Rationality is what we hang our hats on up here. The guys in hell, those guys are the crazy ones.”

“We're deviating again” he motioned to his clipboard. “Let's see. What would you have liked to have done with your life?” “Created world peace.” I quickly answered. “Okay Miss America. Now what really?” I had to think again. I was only 20 when this thing happened. I had hardly figured out what I wanted to do for that week let alone for the rest of my life. I told him what I had told everyone up to that point. “Well, I was an English and Philosophy major, so I guess I wanted to write. Or at least teach. I kind of wanted to work in publishing, actually.” I felt all over the place with my answers. “You're lying again. What did you really want to do? What was your ambition?” “Does it matter?” I asked. “Of course it does! Ambition's all we have most of the time.” So I thought some more. I figured I shouldn't just tell him what he'd want to hear, I should tell him the truth. “Well, I've always loved movies. Like, a lot. I guess I always wanted to be a filmmaker.” “See, that wasn't so hard. What kind of movies would you have made?” This seemed like a silly question. “Well, I'd really have loved to have made a great film noir. I love those, and people don't make enough of them. Well, didn't. I really liked lighting in film, and noir had that cool theatrical lighting.”

I could feel myself beginning to ramble on like I often did on earth about movies. I'm something of a film buff. Okay, a film nerd. Buff sounds too important, when really I just like being in a theatre and being taken away by a great flick.

“Yes,” he said, “We noticed that you spent a lot of time watching movies. Too much time, really.” This worried me. You see, I had spent too much time watching movies. I had become something of a film student in my spare time, watching Kurosawa and Welles, Fritz Lang and Jean Luc-Godard; all of this in lieu of figuring out what to do in South Dakota where I grew up. You see, film was all there was in South Dakota, really. It's a boring place, so I'd rather have Truffaut or the Coens Brothers take me away somewhere than go out to a field and get wasted only to wake up the next day and realize that I had gone out into a field and gotten wasted; a truly pathetic feeling.

“Is that bad?” I asked. “Well, it could be better. At least you weren't hurting people, or planning a bombing or something, but you weren't exactly using your time as wisely as possible.” “Hey, it's like my mother's interviewing me.” I regretted saying that almost as much as I enjoyed it. “Hey, a smartass.” He said. That didn't make me feel very good, and he could tell. “Don't worry, this place is full of smartasses. Wit is valued up here. Take God for instance. He's a huge smartass. You know those philosopher's that spent all of their time positing that the world was nothing and that God was creating everything at every moment?” “Yeah” I said. “Yeah, well, when those guys died, God immediately put them in a small, dark closet, just to see their reaction. Berkeley was in there for a week before a janitor accidentally opened it and let him see how crazy he really was. Anyway, point is, we appreciate a sense of humor up here.” That comforted me. “So do comedians get a free pass?” “The good ones. The guys you'd expect. Lenny Bruce, Bob Hope, Woody Allen. They were shoe-ins. But those Blue Collar Comedy guys, they can rot in hell.” Heaven was looking better and better.

We had stopped at a bridge, overlooking a beautiful river, and on the other side was a park where some kids were flying kites. “It really is beautiful.” I said. “I know,” he told me. “People on earth think of heaven as some place like where the Care Bears hung out, with rainbows and clouds, when really, it's as normal as most any park down there. Immaculately taken care of, beautiful trees and flowers, and one hell of a maintenance bill.” Spoken like an accountant. He pointed across the bridge. “You can go there now.” I looked, amazed that I had gotten in. I was accepted! I was more elated than I'd been in my entire afterlife. “You mean, we're done?” “Yep, we're done.” I said goodbye and started to walk across the bridge. “I can't believe I'm in heaven.” I said. “Oh, wait,” he had heard me. “You're not in heaven. This is purgatory.” “What?!” “Oh yeah, are you kidding me? You think we'd be able to process your forms this quickly? Man, are you stupid. Look pal, go to purgatory, and enjoy it. It's like New York but cleaner and boring.” “Purgatory is Toronto?” “Look, sorry guy, but we'll get back to you in 6-12 weeks. Heaven may be Heaven, but it's still a bureaucracy, and let's face it, bureaucracies are a bitch.“

Latey McLaterson

2006-04-13T12:44:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't been posting lately, can you guess why? That's right, it's because I haven't been doing my work. Well, that's not completely true, but I've been in somewhat of a rut creatively speaking. Anyway, I did get one story done, and I'm working on two others to keep my mind off of the fact that I haven't made progress on my final project in a while.

Here we go:

Dear Kelsey,

Hi sweetie, I hope you’re enjoying class right now, as I’m sure you’re hard at work doing what you Theatre majors do. I remember that time I took you to that play in the park, the lilies, the trees, the wind, and the troupe of players acting out that performance art piece. Sure, seeing the man climb out of the giant, green plastic vagina and proceeding to shit on a Bulgarian flag while cursing in a language that I can still only really describe as a mix of Latin, Russian, and something-like-Klingon wasn’t the most romantic thing in the world, but I think the statement that he was making was valid, and we should have stayed, if only to see what happened to the midget with the flaming arrow stuck in the turtle shell on his back.
See, this is the problem that we’ve had. That day, our third anniversary, you got mad at me for bringing you there. I put a lot of time and work into finding that advertisement tacked onto a board at my favorite alternative coffeehouse. Yes, you know the one, The Caf, the only brewery in town that serves bean free coffee (indeed, the only people I know of that respect my, and other Ultra-Vegans’ need to not eat or drink anything that has ever lived). But still, you got mad. You said that those people were crazy, that I never take you anywhere nice, anywhere normal, that you’re tired of only going to coffee shops that serve, as you call it, “just hot water”. In short, that day, you told me that you don’t appreciate art.
I never, EVER thought that I would be in a relationship with someone who would deride a person for doing what they love, and for changing the world through their art. And for the most part, you haven’t, but this, the e-mail I received today, was the last straw.
When I sent you my novel, it was not for you to judge with your plebian views on art. Your “critique” if you can call it that was callous, misinformed, totally missed the point of the work, and just plain stupid. I’ll highlight the worst parts of your review of it, and my reaction to them:

Exhibit A: “I don’t know why the first 12 pages are blank”

Ha. You’re kidding, right? You couldn’t break down what I was saying? It’s called a STATEMENT. Look, how many books have you read where the first 12 pages have content on them? Think. How many? Hundreds, probably; historically speaking, the first twelve pages of most novels have words on them. Well, I’m sorry for challenging your ideas on what constitutes a novel. I didn’t realize that there was some divine mandate for all books to have words on their first twelve pages. A world where works of literature have to have the first dozen pages contain letters and words is not a world that I want to live in.

Exhibit B: “The main character, Minute (is it Minute like time, or like the basketball player?), why does he say “Bring him with triumph unto his house” so many times, at seemingly random intervals; in fact, rarely, if ever, having to do with the context of the book?

My God. First of all, Minute is NOT the main character; EXISTENCE itself was the main character. Secondly: I never thought I’d be seen with someone who wouldn’t understand a Shakespeare reference when they saw one. Yes, SHAKESPEARE. He’s an author that you may have heard of. It’s from JULIUS CAESAR, a play that he wrote. You could look it up in a book, if you wanted to, but I’ll just explain my reasoning for it now. I was re-deconstructing the myth of quoting Shakespeare. With that quote, I was examining what it is to allude to Shakespeare in a work, and how banal it can be. Authors have been doing it for too long, frankly. Allusion is the illusion of collusion. And I want no collusion from William Shakespeare, a man who is supposedly so great, even though I’ve never seen any of his works start out with 12 blank pages.

There were other issues I had with your critique, but they aren’t important any more. Your essay was a tale told by an idiot (you might realize that that was another Shakespeare reference, you see, I continue my proto-post-postmodernism even in my e-mails), and I’m really writing to say that I can’t see you anymore. I cannot respect someone who doesn’t appreciate my work, something I’ve poured my blood, sweat and tears into, which you would have recognized had you been more artistically keen. Chapter 11 is produced on paper that I mixed my blood, sweat and tears into while it was still pulp.

I’m sorry if this comes as a surprise to you, and I’m sorry that I have to do this in e-mail, but you’re at work right now, and though I tried, there simply wasn’t enough room on your mirror for me to write this out in my own blood.

Apologies,

-S.

A man, a plan, a canal...something else...

2006-03-22T09:02:00.000-08:00

I have a plan.

Hear me out.

This plan is based on various "24 hour theatre" or "Make an album in a month" contests, and the fact that I want to start having a stronger output of creative ventures. Here it goes: Every third week of a month, for the next I-don't-know-how-many months, I'm going to write a short story, or other creative project of at least 15 pages, and of discernible quality (hopefully). The tentative schedule goes something like:

Day 1: Concept and initial outlining/writing
Days 2-4: Writing; and I mean a lot of writing, uncensored writing, too. Hopefully eclipsing the 15-page limit
Day 5: Edit and clean up.
Day 6: Rewrite some more, mesh story together coherently
Day 7: Finishing touches, and submit it to this (or possibly a new) blog. Tell people to read it. Profit.

A couple of reasons for this: I want to build up any ability I may or may not have right now, and I need a reason and a plan to begin putting out a lot of material. A week is no amount of time to write anything good, not really, so thus there's no pressure. These won't be masterpieces, hell, they probably won't be that good at all, but it doesn't matter; I've only had a week to work on them.

Why am I posting this here? Well, to put some kind of pressure for me to actually do this, even though there are maybe six people who've read this thing at all, the fact that it's out there gives me reason to do it. Also, I'm putting it out as a challenge to those six people to take up. Join me in this little project. It should be fun, and you creative types could easily take it up.

More on this later.

Semester Project: Take One

2006-03-16T11:47:00.000-08:00

Our semester projects have to be started soon, so I'm getting some ideas together. I'm going to be publishing my drafts here, starting today, and continuing as I work on them. These are very very rough drafts, which isn't to say that they aren't funny, or even good, but with a lot of it, I'm just throwing a bunch of ideas on a page to see what sticks. The final paper will be much better than these, so don't rush to judgement, though I would like comments on what does and more importantly, what doesn't work.

First part of the first draft:

A Film Proposal based on the Life of One Me:

Hello movie moguls and executive producers, I am an up and coming young screenwriter. This, is my life:

The film I’m about to propose is one telling the story of me. It’s a story that frankly, needs to be told. It contains all of the elements of life that you’d see in any normal Hollywood biopic, only they all really happened. Every part of this story is completely true, every kiss, every death, every lottery winning; it all actually happened. Sadly, most, if not all, of the witnesses are dead, and certainly all of the evidence is shredded, but take my word, it’s true.

The opening scene of my film will begin with my birth, where my mother, Mary, and my father, Joseph, attempt to get into a hotel, which is overbooked. Turned away from the hotel, they have to go stay in their Ranger. This is where I am birthed. Also, this adds a subtext to the film, referencing my birth to be much like that of Jesus Christ, leader of the Christian faith. Which it was. Because this actually happened. The scene would end, after I am born in the Ranger, but the camera won’t focus on me at the end. There will be a flash in the dark, some movement. The camera will pan up, zoom in, and the audience will see a dark figure in a trench coat and hat, moving silently in the night. He will turn and run. Audience members should note his appearance, it’s foreshadowing, he will return and be a prominent figure later on.

After my birth, the film will transition to my childhood, around the age of five. This is the age at which I started my first business: lemonade. I opened my first lemonade factory at the age of 4 and three-fourths years old. I sold lemonade to most of the children in the greater Los Angeles area. I lived in, and was based in Anchorage, Alaska, but for some reason, my lemonade was popular in L.A. Following a brief montage of my climb to inter-state lemonade industry domination (using charts, graphs, and images from wall street floating behind film of me on my cellphone in large office buildings), the film will show my fall from greatness. There will be a scene where my father, Joseph, yells at me for becoming too full of myself, for letting the lemonade industry effect my life too much. He tells me that my head is full of dreams, that I’m up in the clouds while he’s down here on earth working hard to keep clothes on our backs and food on our table. He tells me that he wants me to be a carpenter, like him, not a silly CEO of a fortune 500 lemonade stand. He tells me that the powder is making me crazy, that I’ve got to lay off the stuff, that he’s worried about me: my grades are dropping, I don’t have any friends, and that I need to just stop. He gives me a hug, but I push him away, and at a pivotal moment of drama and excitement, commonly referred to as the climax, I tell him that I know he’s not my real father. He looks at me, stunned, and turns and runs away. I do the same. I run away from my house at the age of four and three-fourths. That’s how my life began. I should note that this will be the fifteen minute mark of the film.

Wave of Inspiration

2006-03-03T00:00:00.000-08:00

I got a wave of inspiration, and I'm going to post my piece, which I like a hell of a lot better than the stuff I was doing, but I'm going to post it tomorrow. I want people to see the last post first. Also, I used a large chunk of this for my stand up piece, so don't castigate me for plagiarism.

Excuses and abstinence.

2006-03-02T22:27:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I haven't put my work up for the last few weeks, and there's a reason. It sucks. I simply haven't been proud of the work that I've been doing, and I've been in this weird, unfunny funk for the last week or so. Sorry, it happens. It's like writer's block, only all of the humor has been sucked out of my system. It's getting better though. Here's some old stuff that I wrote up for a Facebook group called "The Silver Ring Thing" that I really liked. I'll post my final draft of my stand up act as I get more comfortable with its quality. Anyway, abstinence:

The Silver Ring Thing!:

Description:
We're like, just a bunch of guys and girls that are dedicated to showing people that the best sex, is no sex. We like to keep it real by letting people know that condoms only work 85% of the time. That's like, almost not at all! We just want everyone to know that there's a lot of misinformation out there, like, did you know, that sex can be "fun", but abstinence can be a whole lot funner!? It's true. Look it up.

The real reason we're here is to keep you up to date on Abstinence-only education, and why it works more better than the kinds of "protective" educations that a certain "political party" wants to teach. There is nothing errant about abstinence-only ed. There are numbers and things that prove how awesome it really is.

Make sure to check out the whole message board for lots of really insightful, really deep, really down to earth information about abstinence!

Announcement (Group Info):

Everyone, I just want you to know, that you're all special. Really special. And you need to find that special someone, someone you can connect with on, like, a lot of, you know, levels. Sex can't help you find that person, and sex of any kind is bad, and can get you pregnant! The Silver Ring Promise Ring Thing that you Promise to Do is a promise that you make, where you wear a silver ring thing, and stay abstinent, because you have a ring on your finger. Sound like a sure fire way to keep you sex-free? Sure it does! Nearly 20% of the cool kids that take the Silver Ring Thing promise oath stay abstinent until they're done with high school, and some, even through college. That's a lot!

Post: Iron Hymen

Some real cool kids were keeping it real with me the other day, and they told me that they'd happened upon this real cool site, with lots of information about why sex is bad for you. http://www.ironhymen.com Check it out.

For example, did you know that: When a boy's disgusting private goes inside of a girl's shameful unmentionable, there is a serious risk of it breaking off and causing excruciating pain while it travels throughout your body like a giant trichinosis worm.

This is true. There are studies. It's just amazing what you find out when you do a little research.

Post: Hold Up!:

Whoa, my bud Jared just let me know that there's this super cool, super down to earth, super deep website that's like a sister site, or should I say brother site (LoL!) to the cool girls at ironhymen. the site is http://www.sexisforfags.com , and it's got loads of ways that guys can get off, by not getting off! Thanks Jer.

Post: Stat!:

Statistics. That's what the truest of true arguments are made up from. That's where I get the numbers that tell me that abstinence-only ed doesn't only work, but it works good. Check it, did you know that 60% of kids under the age of 16 haven't had sex! Nobody tells us these completely true things, free of all that spin that politicians do! Listen, reports about numbers don't lie, they like, can't!

Alright, alright, alright you say, slow down man, you say! Okay man, I'm slowed. What do all these numbers mean? They mean that 15% of the time that you have sex while using a condom, you could get your girl pregnant. What if I took a gun and pointed it at you and said "I'm going to shoot you 100 times, but you'll only get hit by 15% of the bullets" You'd say "Dude, no! Don't shoot me!" But that's what sex is like. Getting shot. And you aren't alone; there are a lot of people who don't want to get shot! Like 60% of kids under 16! Like 20% of kids in high school! They don't like the idea, and you guys can not get shot together.

Post: Whoops:

I forgot to add some down to earth discussion about born again virginity. Listen, if you've had sex, and know how awful and disgusting and horrible it is, it's okay! You can still be alright in the eyes of God's representatives on earth, and your friends might not call you a slut anymore! Born again virginity is like, if you shot someone (to totally borrow my own analogy!), and they did or didn't die, you can be like "Dude, I totally didn't think that shooting you would be so horrible and give me this rash! I never want to shoot anybody again!", and you'd be innocent of ever shooting anyone. The courts couldn't even prove it if they had video tapes and stuff. Born again virginity is one of the many special ways that people who have fallen into the trap of sex with others can get out of that trap, by simply saying they weren't in the trap in the first place, even if they really were! Isn't that awesome! Just thought I'd drop the knowledge.

Post: Come On Guys:

Man, as a guy who has been fighting for Abstinence only-education for a long time, I come across a lot of people who are like "Dude, I'm too radical for all of that, sex is cool" Well dude, I've got a few messages for you. For one, sex isn't cool. For two, I'm a radical guy, and I don't want sex in my life! I had a roommate who listened to The Clash and The New York Dolls! So, like, I know about being radical, though I'm a Genesis man myself (if you don't think Phil Collins is radical, you just ain't smart!1!!). In fact, I'm the member of the Raging Radical Republican Religious Right! That's a group made up of some amazing people and we go on vacations and get time-shares and stuff with corporations. It's cool. Anyway, you don't need to be a square to not have sex, I'm not square, and I'm proud to say, in a radical, awesome, and totally down to earth way, I'M NOT GOING TO LET SEX DESTROY ANY CHANCE THAT I HAVE IN AN EMOTIONALLY SATISFYING RELATIONSHIP, IN FACT, I REALLY DON'T WANT TO HAVE SEX EVEN WHEN I'M IN THAT RELATIONSHIP, BECAUSE IT WOULD TOTALLY RUIN ANY REAL CONNECTION THAT WE HAD AND THAT WOULD NOT BE THAT COOL AT ALL AS I ENJOY THOSE CONNECTIONS WHEN THEY FORM!!!!! Just a thought man, radical abstinence is a great thing in life, and you should live by it.

Post: Okay dudes:

Seriously guys and girls! Well, I guess it's just us dudes here, but come on man! We need more recruitment!

Oh well. Here's a poem I wrote about how totally awesome and cool virginity is:
Virginity?
Virginity!
You mean things to me,
Like the syrup from a tree,
You are important to me.

If you leave,
I'll be decieved,
and want to grieve.
I CANNOT BREATHE!
Do not leave!
Because I want to be able to breathe!
Breathing is important to me
Important like you,
Virginity.

I totally hope you get the hidden message in that poem. It's really deep, and it took me a super long time to write it. I know you're thinking, "Dude, that's really deep." Well you're right dude, you're right.

Peace out, and remember: keep your man thing out of their hoo-hahs, and they'll keep their hoo-hahs away from your man things, but most importantly, you'll both keep your dignity.

Post: Been awhile:

Hey, I just wanted to let all of you guys and girls know, and this is totally true, that if you end up having sex with someone, you'll have to have sex with everyone that they've ever had sex with. It's ok though, I think you get like, ten years or so to do it, so you've got plenty of time. Point is, don't have sex with one person, or you'll end up having sex with, like, thirty. Unless they've never had sex with anyone. Or just one other person....oh well, either way, if you have sex, you'll go to hell and be sodomized by little fire-rocks. It's in the bible. Look it up.

Aww

2006-02-10T08:39:00.000-08:00

Today's my birthday! I really like birthdays, as it gives me an excuse to be all nostalgic about my last two decades of life. I usually use them as an opportunity to look back at what's happened since my last one. I slogged through the spring semester at USD, and then happily got accepted to the U of M. Not that USD is awful, it just really wasn't the right place for me. I still miss a lot of the people that I met there, and it was nice to be able to see my family more often.

But hey, I moved. I'm in a city of over a million people for the first time in my life. I'm on my own, in my own (messy) apartment, and completely independent. I do need a job, though. That'd be a nice present. Anyway, it's really exciting for me right now. I was in a play a few weeks ago, and I helped Pat with a few of his film projects, which was great.

Tonight, Charlie, Brad, Bill, Andrew and I are watching An American Werewolf in London, and attempting to do a commentary track for it. Then, Rebecca and I are going to a Cloud Cult concert, which promises to be fun, and after that, I'm either going to see a Trash Film Debauchary show, or going to a friends to get, as the vernacular of the time calls it, "crunked".

Anyway, I'm going to watch The Daily Show now, here's my assignment from last night:

Hey,

I’m writing this in response to your letter, which I received, with the bouquet, on Thursday. The flowers were very nice, and I’m sure that you meant with all of your heart what you said in the letter, but I have to tell you to stop. Please, stop.
I’ve received all of your gifts over the past week, and they’ve all been very nice, but frankly, it’s too much. The nine letters that you’ve sent me since we met last Friday have all been very sweet, and I thank you for them, but I just can’t let this go on. I don’t even know you well enough for all of this kindness. Now, before you say anything, I know that you think I’m worth the world, as you said on page four of the first letter you sent me, and I’ve noticed it’s how you’ve ended every letter since, but we hardly know each other, hell, we don’t know each other.
I haven’t done anything to deserve this. All I did was my job. You asked if I would recommend a CD, and I did. You liked it, I’m glad, but just because we have a similar taste in music does not mean that I’m your “Annie Hall” (letter 7, page 3), or that “Rachel knows me left to right/ My love, my smell, my sense of sight” (“Rachel’s Song #5” track 5, disc 2 of the “Rachel, Rachel” compilation set). It just means that we both like Benny Goodman. Okay! That’s it. That’s all there is to our relationship.
I can’t have you in my life right now. I need you to stop hanging around me. I need you to stop following me to work, I need you to stop following me from work, and I need you to stop standing outside my window until one in the morning. Really, I’m tired of it. I’m tired of calling the police, and they’re tired of having to pick you up.
I know how you feel about me. I appreciate how many times you’ve called me beautiful in the past week, I appreciate the time and effort that goes into learning the mandolin, even if only for a single serenade, and while my neighbors didn’t like it, I appreciated having my name spelled out in paint on every lawn down my block. The pictures you’ve drawn are wonderful, and I’ve never had a bust of my head sent to me before, but it was great, and honestly, the tattoo is lovely, but I just can’t let this continue. I can’t be with you.
Now, my roommate’s have told me to file for a restraining order, but I don’t want it to come to that. I think that we can deal with this like adults. All I need for you to do is to stop trying to talk to me. Okay? Can you do that? Just forget we even met, forget about the CD store, and stop going there to get music. I know some really cute girls who work at Sam Goody, with terrific taste in music. I’m sure you’d get along with them.
I’m wrapping this up now, because you’ve started throwing pebbles at my window again. And yes, there’s the singing. This is going to be the last time I write to you. If you don’t stop this behavior right now, I will get that restraining order. Okay, I see that I need to throw this out to you now, as the neighbors have once again called the police. I hope you have a good life, really, I do, but if I can offer a suggestion to your courting strategy: be a tad less clingy. No, clingy isn’t the word I’m looking for. It’s creepy. Be a tad less creepy.

Thank you,

Rachel.

Number Two

2006-02-09T10:19:00.000-08:00

Deleted Excerpt from President John Fitzgerald Kennedy’s Address at Rice University on the Space Effort, September 12, 1962

…At this point, you must be asking yourselves: why? What is the purpose of a mission to the moon? What is the purpose of all of this expenditure, where will it lead us, but perhaps even more, where did this idea: the idea of space travel in our time, come from?

I tell you now, without hubris, without ego, that I, your President, came up with this idea. The inspiration for this mission came to me like a dream. I was watching the television on one cloudy day, Jackie was playing with the kids and I had decided to take a break, and then, like a chorus from God, came the words: “Meet George Jetson”.

From that point on, I was introduced to The Future. I tell you great things will come; the possibilities of man are immense, and the opportunities numerous. Imagine if you will, a world with flying cars, robot maids, and dogs that can sort of talk. This is the world that I have been shown.

This is a world with a booming economy; a world where even a meager sprocket-factory worker only has to open the door to his house, and from there can be automatically transported to his television-viewing chair. Where a boy can be a computer genius, and a housewife only has to ask her maid to fabricate the dinner for the night.

This world of the future is impressive. This world of the future is scary. But this world of the future is attainable, and with our first steps on the moon, we inch a little bit closer.

I ask you to join me in this journey. Join me on the road to a future with flying cars and Spacley Sprockets. Join me on the road to a world with automatic showers, and floating televisions. I ask you to join me on this road today, and into tomorrow…

Hiatus Schmiatus

2006-02-09T10:13:00.000-08:00

Charlie yelled at me to start posting on my blog, so I'm doing it. He is British after all, so his accent demands that I listen. Barring me actually coming up with original content for this thing which no one reads, I'm going to start posting my assignments from my Compositions of Comedy class. Here's my first one:

May 10, 1804

Dear Sirs,

I recently purchased a set of your Wogdon 235x Series Dueling Pistols. I have long been a fan of your 235 series, and when the 235xs came out I jumped at the opportunity to procure them.
Alas, when I went to shoot my pistols, I came to the realization that one of them was defective. It was quite surprising, I have had excellent success with your products in the past, so when the firing mechanism caused the gun to jump and thusly lose almost all accuracy, I must say, I was dismayed.
I am writing this letter as an inquiry as to how I would return the gun for a new one in working order. I assure you that I am still under warranty, and would like to get this matter settled as soon as possible.
My greatest thanks, in advance,
Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury: United States of America

May 24, 1804

Dear Sirs,

It has been a full two weeks past since I last sent you a letter regarding my purchase of a defective Dueling Pistol. I find myself writing you again to make sure that you are aware of the situation. I assure you that I intend on receiving either a new, working model of the 235x, or a full refund of the purchase price.
I wrote you immediately after the weapon was found to be defective, because I wanted to be sure that if I were involved in a duel soon, though I am not necessarily the dueling type, that I would be prepared with a working model. Your customer service is, frankly, appalling.
I sincerely hope that this letter finds you more swiftly than the last! And I implore you to respond immediately, or there will be consequences.

Anxiously awaiting your reply,
Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury: United States of America

June 02, 1804

Dear Mr. Hamilton,

Thank you for your letter. We here at the Wogdon Gun Company appreciate your business. Unfortunately, due to high customer volume, we are not able to respond to your request at this time. Your average wait time for customer assistance will be: 36 days. Please have your customer order number ready, and a service representative will contact you when all other customers have been taken care of. Please note: Letters are responded to in the order received.

Thank you,

Wogdon Gun Company

June 13, 1804

Dear Wogdon Gun Company,

I feel that I must apologize for my outburst in my previous letter to you; it was unbecoming of me. I am writing you now with a favor to ask.
Now I must preface this with the following: I am not one to take the office of Secretary of Treasury lightly. I respect my office and all the responsibilities that go with it. Furthermore, I would never abuse my authority, or my slight fame that I achieved over the course of building this nation, (something which I had a great deal to do with). However, I am going to invoke my title now in requesting that you “bump” my name up the list, as it were.
You see, I would only ask you for this favor under dire circumstances, which are precisely the circumstances which I face today, for you see, Aaron Burr, the venerable Vice President, and a man deserving of much respect, has challenged me to a duel. Yes, I know. What a dick.
Mr. Burr and I have had our problems in the past, but he has gone too far. For you see, he requisitioned me to take back every ill word I ever said about him. Ha! What gall he has! I mean, honestly, who does that guy think he is? But putting aside the fact that this man is obviously insane, I accepted his challenge. Now, for this challenge, we are to use my dueling pistols, and I find it necessary to use the 235x pistols, (rightly so, for one would not want to ignore your slogan “Don’t be a Fool, use us in your Duel!”) and so, need to have both of my models in working order by July 11, 1804.
I assure you that if you allow my customer service problem to be expedited, you will be rewarded.

Great thanks in advance,
Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury: United States of America

June 29, 1804

Mr. Hamilton,
Hi, my name is Gary, (Rep# 3905562) and I’ll be your representative on this matter. Well, I’ve checked with my manager, and it looks like if you send in the item in question, we’ll have our technicians check it out, and if we can’t fix the problem, we can zip a new one over to you right away. Now, you’ll need to include a few things for us in the package: receipt, a letter with the problem described in detail, and you’ll have to pay shipping. Now, if you send this off as soon as you get this letter, we can expect to have the item back to you in 4-6 weeks.
On a personal note, I’d just like to say that of all of the New Country Politicians, you are certainly my favorite, and it’s been a pleasure working for you. We look forward to your business in the future.
Thank you for your time,
Gary Sherman, Parts and Service

July 10, 1804

Most esteemed Wogdon Gun Company, and Mr. Gary Sherman,

Well, I am afraid that this has been a most unpleasant customer service experience. My initial contact with you about the item was MONTHS ago, and now, when I receive the news that my item will be replaced eventually; I find that it is too late. For you see, today is the tenth of July, and so, tomorrow, I will duel the Vice President of the United States, with a faulty gun. Aside from the embarrassment that I must face from friends who will no doubt mock my purchasing ability, I now have to find some way to try and have Mr. Burr use the faulty gun. This is most dishonorable, and despicable. So I will have to do it sneakily. I will scratch a small “X” onto the handle of the defective gun, and make sure that Mr. Burr is the one to use it. Normally, I would be appalled at my decision, but he really is a prick.
Certainly though, a man of his stature deserves some respect. So I have resolved, if our interview is conducted in the usual manner, and it pleases God to give me the opportunity, to reserve and throw away my first fire, and I have thoughts even of reserving my second fire. Well, maybe. Perhaps I will just go for the win. I have yet to fully decide that point.
Let there be no mistake, I blame you Gary Sherman for this egregious error. For your sake, I would hope that I come out of this unscathed.
Your Secretary of the Treasury
Alexander Hamilton, Secretary of the Treasury: United States of America

July 12, 1804

Dear Gary Sherman,

Fuck you. Forgive my vulgarity, but fuck you, I’m bleeding. It pains me, quite literally, to tell you that I lost. I was shot in the chest. I’m dying, Gary Sherman, and it’s all your fault. Normally, I pride myself on being a restrained and articulate man, but rest assured Gary Sherman, you and your company will not go unpunished for letting that asshole of a Vice President hit me.
Oh sure, you might say that it’s my fault for giving him the wrong gun, but I still blame you! You were the company that already had a little “X” on the side of your firearm, thusly confusing me and in my haste giving that sniveling worm of a man the better weapon. You are the company that for months and months ignored my requests for my weapon to be fixed, and thus put me in this position in the first place. Well, rest assured Gary Sherman, you and your company will pay for your failures. The ways in which you’ll pay will be harsh. You are looking at a dueling motherfucker right now. I will duel your ass into and right back out of the afterlife you little shit. I can’t explain to you the pain that I am in right now. It really, really hurts. And you will feel that pain. Oh yes, you will.
Also, don’t even think about using a ten-dollar bill anytime soon you cowards! Hamilton will not rest until you are unable to use anything less than a twenty for your purchases!

See you in hell,

Alexander Hamilton, Deceased

It's been a while

2005-03-28T22:42:00.000-08:00

I have a completely 100% legally obtained copy of Beck's new CD Guero that I'm listening to. I pre-ordered the Super-Special-DVD-Plus-Artwork-Nifty-Edition-Beck's-New-CD-Guero on Sunday, so that'll be fun once I get it. I also ordered Kafka's The Trial, which should be a good read.

'Twas Easter this weekend, and betraying my pagan instincts, I did absolutely nothing to celebrate. I don't even get the holiday. I mean, Jesus rose from the dead and was hailed by people as their savior. So what? It's nothing that George Romero hasn't put in a movie before, and probably done better. If Jesus had risen from the dead and started to nibble on people's brains, THEN I'd be impressed.

Terah just informed me that she got me invited to a super private dinner with Ex-Senator Tom Daschle. I worked on the Tom Daschle for Senator campaign this fall, which we lost, and somehow she pulled strings to get me to the dinner. Thing is, I don't really care about it. I mean, I voted for him, and wrangled up votes for him, but there wasn't a whole lot of difference between him and the other guy. That is to say that there aren't a whole lot of controversial issues in South Dakota. He lost because of abortion, gay rights, and gun control. Also, the people of the state had felt that he wasn't thoroughly representing their views. Fair enough. I had a guy yell at me about how he hadn't signed a bill for increased veteran benefits or something, and thus he wasn't supporting the state properly. Yeah, 'cause the other party is really taking care of veteran rights. I don't want this to digress into a political diatribe, I know enough about politics to not really talk about it, and that most of the time, both parties are wrong. I just happen to vote for the one whose wrongness I appreciate.

Joke: A dyslexic man walks into a bra.

I should be studying for my Western Civilization Test right now, but I'm blogging dammit!

I got David Sedaris' "Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim" from iTunes. It's the first audio book I've ever listened to. I used to look down upon the people who listened to these things. Their lives were clearly much much worse than mine because they had to have someone read to them. While this is still true, the book was great. It had the first Sedaris story I'd ever read which was in The New Yorker back when I was subscribed to that wonderful magazine. It starts out: I was drowning a mouse in a bucket when a van pulled up to my house." Ever since then I've been a big fan.

Sid Perelman is a funny guy. He's old-school Marx Brothers style, and I like him a lot. There's a great picture in a book about him at our library. It's a black and white photograph of him sitting on a stool in a halfway crouched postion. He has a bowler hat on, and it's tilted up so that the brim comes off of his head just slightly before giving his hairline room to come out. It's a side shot of him, and he's holding a flower in is hand, lifting it to his nose, ready to sniff it. In his back pocket, there is a pistol. It isn't there like a pistol normally is; it's sitting with the barrel in his back pocket, and the handle just sticking out, in profile, as an extension of the rest of his body. It's a great picture, and I can't find it anywhere online, so I'll have to scan it in. It describes pretty effectively his sense of humor, which I hope to be like my sense of humor, only updated a bit, of course.

Well, this has been a rather long post, and consequently a rather long diversion from my studying. I've tried to end these with a movie reccomendation that people may not have seen otherwise, but I'm having trouble thinking of one tonight.

"Being There" with Peter Sellers and Shirley McClaine is a really good movie. It's suprising how with one image at the end, the movie turns everything you just saw completely on its head. Also, thinking of Shirley McClaine made me think of "The Apartment", which is also great.

Blue teeth

2005-03-03T14:46:00.000-08:00

I'm searching far and wide for a good bluetooth mouse for my P-book. I like wireless, and right now I don't even bring my external mouse with me wherever I go because the wires are tangly, and take up far too much room in a bag. Wireless looks fun. I've found a few nice ones, though I wish I could test them out in person before buying them. I'd like a four button, so I could use a back button, but it isn't neccesary, which is good, as I can't find one with four buttons. Battery life is apparently an issue, but I really wouldn't mind just buying a battery charger for AA or AAA batteries. It would help to have anyway for remote controls and the like. Yeah, nothing really interesting in this post, as if there ever was or ever will be. Price range is looking to be 30-80 dollars, which I'm okay with, but I need a fucking job! I also want an on-off switch, and I'd like it to match my powerbook as well. If I find one that is excellent, but doesn't match, I'll be able to manage. I really wish some company would step up and make a definitive BT mouse. The Mouse BT looks interesting, but it has problems apparently. I just don't know what to do! Oh well.

You should see The Pawnbroker. It's a Sidney Lumet movie, and it is EXCELLENT.

Elitist!

2005-03-01T21:38:00.000-08:00

I just dropped $200 on a gigabyte of RAM for my Powerbook. That's a lot of money for me, but I still spent it. My computer will soon go ZOOM!

Anyway, this was going to be a much longer post, but I have a test tomorrow in Earth Science, and I need to study for it, so stop bothering me!

Fisherisms

2005-02-18T10:40:00.000-08:00

There's a neo-conservative writer here at USD named Chris Fisher. He writes generally provacative things, and people attack him (in print) for it. I disagree with him on what he says, but I'm taking a different approach, I'm going to begin writing a series of satirical articles based on Fisher's ideaology. I will polish them up, and try to get a couple done, before I try and get them put in the Volante. I will post them here, starting today, and try to get one done for every couple of days, and try to polish them up within a week of them getting done. I don't know how long this will last, the guy gives me a lot of material to work with. It's a satirists dream.

"Government should stay out of business

Naomi is a 12-year-old Californian girl who spends her days waiting for her mother to get done waiting tables at Denny’s in order to make less than minimum wage and barely scrape by. She sees her mom doing a lot of work for little money. Naomi wants to help her mom out, but can’t think of how. She dreams of one day being able to make enough money in a few hours as her mom does in a week. Her dream is to be a prostitute, but she is hindered in that because of the United States Government.

The government should stay out of business, and prostitution is one business that they keep sticking their noses in to. If it were merely illegal to have sex with someone for money, that would be simply putting a restriction on the service, like raising the price for a pack of cigarettes. But the government doesn’t stop there; they make it illegal to solicit sex, which is just plain wrong.

Where is the personal responsibility? If prostitutes want to walk around offering their bodies to the right pocketbook, then why should it be illegal? Surely, the services wouldn’t be purchased by a public that knows better. Prostitution is immoral, as it is sex outside of marriage, and as my favorite Volante columnist Chris Fisher has said, “capitalism turns man's immorality into productivity “.

The government putting restrictions on such things is a highly dangerous road to go down, and it needs to stop now. What comes next after prostitution? Will we enforce bans on cigarettes, because they harm people, what about guns? The government is putting an unnecessary restriction on a very profitable industry that, if allowed to be free, could one day employ many people. Did you hear that? Jobs! This is a viable commodity, and it’s time that the U.S. government recognized it.

If you are against prostitution, then you are against free-market capitalism. Sure, it could be argued that prostitution takes advantage of young girls, but if they wanted to go somewhere else for a job, they could. There are many opportunities out there, such as the business world. Which brings up another point that Chris Fisher brilliantly addressed in a previous article, where he said that business people should have “the freedom of an individual to discriminate for legitimate, as well as illegitimate, reasons”, this is an incredibly astute point, but it doesn’t fare well for the would-be prostitute convert. As we’ve seen in the past, when businesses have the freedom to discriminate, female workers have gotten fewer jobs, and less money, and even if it’s a male worker, who’s going to hire a former prostitute?

I guess they’ll have to look elsewhere, but why should they? The market is giving the price for their goods, which makes it practically their duty to give a market with such high demand a quality product. I’ll close with yet another Chris Fisher point, “People take these jobs because their next best option is just that.” Naomi’s next best option is prostitution, and the government should allow it."

2005-02-14T13:07:00.000-08:00

http://www.uweboll.com

Just a site I liked. Also, I'm throwing down the gauntlet, and officially challenging Pat to a test as to who can pick the most Oscar winners. Now, I think I've seen more of the contenders than you, Pat, but you're smart enough to guess wildly at them, and hope you're right.

I just got done with my English 101 class. My teacher wrote on my paper, "Good job, but write more specifically about what your going to say in the rest of your paper". Can you spot the problem? My teacher is a grad student, so it's not like it's unforgivable, but it just points out one thing that I dislike about the class. It also renews my faith in the ability of people to dissapoint me. I just keep waiting for that acceptance letter from the U of M. Not the answer to all my problems, but it certainly should help...I hope.

http://www.artbomb.net/comics/disclaimer.jsp

Here's a comic that I saw, and liked. It is disturbing, but well done, which in my mind is better than an untroubling, yet mediocre work. Reminds me of Palahniuk, which I know does nothing for Pat, but I like him.

I saw the original "Insomnia" this weekend, and I have to say, if I were to rate both versions (the other one was directed by Christopher Nolan, and starred Pacino and Robin Williams), I would give them both a 7.9. This was the first case that I've seen a remake be just as good as the original, and the interesting part is that they're good for different reasons. There were parts in the Nolan version that weren't nearly as strong as the ones in the Norwegian version, but there were parts in the Norwegian version that were immensly improved upon in the Nolan version. All of this is really moot, because whenever I think of Nolan, I think of Batman, and whenever I think of Batman, I get excited, and now I can no longer think about "Insomnia".

I'm trying out for "Hedwig and the Angry Inch" today. Problem is, I can't sing. Oh well. I'm going to try though, and I'm doing a song from "Urinetown" called "It's a privelege to pee". It's a funny song, and I'm following it up by doing a monologue from "The Usual Suspects".

Start!

2005-02-14T13:04:00.000-08:00

Okay, thanks to Pat for starting me off on this idea. We have our own blog at http://s&p5000.blogspot.com, and I started posting stuff there, that I frankly should have put on my own blog. So here it is. Enjoy