back from epupa falls. well, epupa FALL. turns out that big fooken drop we camped next to was but part of a ~1.5 km stretch of water getting all lemming like into a river full of crocs. incidentally, none of those crocs found my limbs well seasoned and left them alone. of course, we didn't actually see any, though we tried. festus, the dood who drove us to epupa from opuwo, took us hiking christmas eve in search of both crocs and hippos. all we found were a bunch of monkeys. scratch that: we encountered cows and goats, but those guys are everywhere, even the combies we catch on the way back to owamboland. we also failed to detonate any landmines. that, too, wasn't for lack of effort. don't think some of us didn't try swimming into angola.
i should start at the beginning, non?
our expectation for holiday was to catch a $30 ride to opuwo and from there a $20 hike into epupa. after lingering in the grocery and china shops (fooken nam/post: my mama sent sunglasses; nam/post doesn't deliver), one of my compatriots said she bartered a deal: us, a bakki, $70. $70 divided by nine people equals less than the $30 we planned to spend. werd.. bakki is namblish for truck. or maybe it's southern african for truck. or perhaps just british english. regardless, the point is we stuffed an abnormal amount of human flesh into the back of a small pickup truck to save $4US per. it wasn't the most comfortable of rides, but i have stumpy legs. i'm also in a good position to dismiss most of my discomforts: peace corps. then again, i could be getting carried away. peace corps is my excuse for everything now, from going days without a shower to weeks (month) without a shave. i won't get into how often i change my clothes..
at first the drive was pleasant, enough so that i attempted to have a pee from the back of a moving bakki. but there are only so many kilos of pavement alloted to this part of the world, and driving fast on a dirt road means a cabin full of dirt. ok, i can't breath, but i'm still saving $4. and dirt tastes similar to sand, so at least i won't be hungry. except: we arrive in opuwo, dirty as strung out whores, and find our driver now expects $70 PER. como? come to find, the following locutions fail to translate into namblish:
-$70 for all?
-$70 for everyone?
-$70 for nine of us?
so we paid--fair and all, non?--and found ourselves in opuwo, which is what we planned on. what we didn't plan for was that no one's driving to epupa this time of year. opuwo looks like the parts of idaho and wyoming people choose not to live in, so the prospect of christmasing there was a bit distressing. at least the himba live here. they're a fun lot. and waist up naked most of the time. (some of us were more excited about that than others.) the next point of order on our agenda, after getting squeezed for $70n, was to walk around and look stoopid. after that was to hire a bakki, which is how we come to festus, who said he'd be happy to take us there and back for $2000n (we're paid ~$1500n/month). he was a nice guy, though..
[shit, i'm getting a bit long winded. i suppose i should abbreviate, eh]
epupa falls lies along the kunene river, which is the border between namibia and angola. some of us (all) aren't so bright and assumed the thing looking like a river was a river, and that the other side was angola. coincidently, some of us (all) thought the precipitous drop most of the river emptied itself into was epupa falls. but i sort of mentioned this earlier, non? where i'm going with this ----> festus took a few of us into a himba village on christmas day so we could look around; feign interest in culture; repeat our single oshiherero phrase over and over; and feel all christmassy and shit by paying a sick baby's hospital bill (ten bucks can make you feel SOOOO good...split four ways, of course). we looked around a bit more--saw some graves, met a german gone native--and then offered to take the woman and her sick child back with us to epupa where the clinic was. offering a hike to a woman and her sick child means you've offered a lift to the entire village. after five or six women piled into the bakki cab, festus informed us four men were coming along as well b/c one was the father. fair enough. as we approached epupa, festus suddenly stopped, turned off his bakki, and told the women to get out.
-eh?
-we're going up this road. there's a view.
-but what about the women?
-they can walk.
-the men?
-they're bored and come with us.
i felt pretty bad, but that was before i saw the view. shit, yr sick child or my panoramic? i'm documenting memories here... oh yeah ----> up on the hill, watching a woman lug her sick child to the clinic... i fib; i didn't even watch. i went straight for the view and discovered that what i thought was angola was really an island in the middle of the kunene, and that there were at least 25 separate waterfalls. at least the one we thought the whole of epupa was its most impressive. and we weren't too far off the angola thing. the remedy was to walk a meager 50 meters from our campsite toward the falls and then look across the river. angola. what the fuck's in angola anyhow? landmines..
anyhow, christmas passed nicely. my initial concern when i left the states was spending it away from my friends/family, but then december came and my concerns shifted towards more practical issues: the weather. i'm not foolish enough to think snow might fall in the southern tropics, but whereas most years the wish is for a white christmas, i held out hope this year for a day under 100 fahrenheit, which i got. if i stood in the shade. 99.5 to be exact (112 out of shade). i was also a bit concerned about xmas dinner. well, not really, but i need a good segue to mention how we bought live chickens for our feast. someone else killed them, of course. and plucked. and whatever else you do to prepare that shit. oh, and we had a christmas tree, courtesy of suzie marie murphy. points ---> she.
christmas didn't end without me thinking i could be some kind of hero. after the disappointment that comes from finding yr not 30 meters from angola, i set out to hike along the kunene to see if there were easy sections to negotiate across. at the very least, i could throw a stone. as i was leaving the grounds, another pcv came running toward me, screaming to get a rope. it's immediately obvious that some dipshit went sliding into the falls, so i ran back through the campsite asking any and all campers if they have a rope to spare. the site before ours (which was the last) was occupied by some euro hercules type. -get ropes; must save!
so now i've reversed course and am jogging alongside this dood, pretending i could begin to help carry the big ass rope he's wound onto his shoulders. he had two small ropes in his free hand, and i'm rather small, so i tell him to give them to me so i can run ahead. being faster means i arrive earlier than he, and in doing so, spare him from looking the douche. the crowd's still there as i approached the falls, and my assumption is the wanker's still flailing about, so i tried jumping over the water onto the escarpment. but i mentioned my stubby legs before, and they don't give me a whole lot of lift: i landed butt ass in the water. but there's a life to be saved, so i climbed up onto the rock and began unfurling my ropes. wait, who's this limey white dood? who's his friend? why are they wet? breathing hard? their eyes so close together? most of all, why aren't you still clinging for dear, pathetic life. there are girls to impress, and i have these ropes. wankers.
by the by: more pics. there's also a way you can text me free of charge. i know a mobile detracts from my peace corps appeal, but i have a beard, and i think i'm going to buy a guitar over holiday. that should compensate, non? the number to use on vazu is +264812367304.
so i lied, but lying's nothing new. i'm actually headed to epupa falls for the span of days encompassing christmas, a holiday i only celebrate b/c there are gifts involved. epupa lies along the angolan border, so my singular hope is to avoid any and all landmines and walk home rather than return in some sort of donkey cart. and that's after i'm medevac'ed to washington or some other place they have the capability for fitting dipshits who step on landmines with prosthetics.
the plan for epupa, i believe, is to sit. sit and look at water, which i think we can actually swim in. the good thing about waterfalls is they're responsible for quite the current, and that current dissuades the crocs from lingering. if i'm busy monitoring for crocs, then i'm not focused on the landmines; at least you can fight a croc. you'll prolly lose, but a fight's to be had, non? of course, i'm talking straight out my arse. all i know about the upcoming holiday is that i depart tomorrow and come back sometime after the winter solstice. a couple other volunteers did the planning and told me how much and when. sounds vaguely familiar, almost as if my sisters were planning a trip to, say, myrtle beach. or for our brother's visit from oregon. hmmm...
i've been at my site for three days now. there's not much to do but read, write, and think thoughts that normally take months to come by. i guess i look at the sky a lot, which isn't a manifestation of ennui; rather, it's so fooken brilliant to be beyond ineffability. the clouds were so low and billowy yesterday i could have thrown a rock and hit them. but it was too hot to even sit, let alone rummage for that rock. so i waited for it to cool off and whip out a bunch more letters. i tangled with nam post once again today, so expect them in a good two to seven months, if i wrote you. or you. or you...
here's a link to another volunteer who spends time finding other volunteers to link to. i'd to the same, but i'm lazy. or nursing the leg that was just blown off by a landmine with the one arm a croc didn't have for dinner...
happy holidays. i forget that salutation in oshindonga. to think i actually scored advanced on my language proficiency exam.
edit: a volunteer here uploaded a shitload of photos, in case you have the time, and by time i mean interest.. i like this one.
the plan for epupa, i believe, is to sit. sit and look at water, which i think we can actually swim in. the good thing about waterfalls is they're responsible for quite the current, and that current dissuades the crocs from lingering. if i'm busy monitoring for crocs, then i'm not focused on the landmines; at least you can fight a croc. you'll prolly lose, but a fight's to be had, non? of course, i'm talking straight out my arse. all i know about the upcoming holiday is that i depart tomorrow and come back sometime after the winter solstice. a couple other volunteers did the planning and told me how much and when. sounds vaguely familiar, almost as if my sisters were planning a trip to, say, myrtle beach. or for our brother's visit from oregon. hmmm...
i've been at my site for three days now. there's not much to do but read, write, and think thoughts that normally take months to come by. i guess i look at the sky a lot, which isn't a manifestation of ennui; rather, it's so fooken brilliant to be beyond ineffability. the clouds were so low and billowy yesterday i could have thrown a rock and hit them. but it was too hot to even sit, let alone rummage for that rock. so i waited for it to cool off and whip out a bunch more letters. i tangled with nam post once again today, so expect them in a good two to seven months, if i wrote you. or you. or you...
here's a link to another volunteer who spends time finding other volunteers to link to. i'd to the same, but i'm lazy. or nursing the leg that was just blown off by a landmine with the one arm a croc didn't have for dinner...
happy holidays. i forget that salutation in oshindonga. to think i actually scored advanced on my language proficiency exam.
edit: a volunteer here uploaded a shitload of photos, in case you have the time, and by time i mean interest.. i like this one.
i woke a peace corps trainee, and after two hours in a hot and cramped room i've become a volunteer. there was something in there about upholding and defending the u.s. constitution; can that oath be grandfathered, or do i have to go along with the parts they change so bigots have the constitutional protection to be ingrates?
i read a pretty good novel set in namibia, if yr interested...
i read a pretty good novel set in namibia, if yr interested...
christmas day is fast approaching, and it appears we'll get to celebrate it with a bit more convention than we were allowed on thanksgiving. it was but 14 hours after touchdown in windhoek that our training leader painted a rosy picture of how thanksgiving was to pass, something about eight brazilian turkeys. a bit over the top, i had thought, but who's to argue with generosity? of course, it's much easier to talk about celebrating thanksgiving than it is to actually celebrate thanksgiving. or let your american volunteers celebrate thanksgiving. peace corps, that part of american gov't dedicated to cultural exchange, asked--no, told--us to celebrate our traditional holiday behind closed doors. there's but one thing i do alone and behind closed doors, and i don't need a special day to do it. five minutes, perhaps? i suppose i should be fair to pee/see and say we were allowed to technically "celebrate," but being confined to a small village, at a cuca shop with coke and crackers, and away from my friends wasn't the best remedy for a bout of homesickness. it wasn't too bad of a day, however. i had a good $3,50N left on my phone card, enough for a 28 second call to the states, so i phoned my sister. i was expecting to get just her voicemail (seven hour time difference...polios don't wake very early), but she picked up and i spent my $3,50 in a frenzied attempt to pack all the prescribed locutions into half a minute. all that dialing, all that talking, and when i was done i turned around from my technological connection to the states and found myself looking at miles and miles (or kilos and kilos) of african bush. interesting juxtaposition. she told me to have a good thanksgiving, and perhaps i did. i mean, i finished another book..
anyhow, the problem with thanksgiving lockdown was that pee/see really has no way to enforce these prescriptions. it's only that the dumbfucks who fail to realize american infrastructure didn't follow them from america like to ask a lot of stoopid questions. like: can we leave our cbt's so we can see each other for thanksgiving? or: i know you said we can't leave, but can we leave so we can see each other for thanksgiving? i was planning on leaving, but five seperate attempts from those wankers at reasoning led me to think pee/see might consider spot checks to make sure we didn't leave cbt. what don't these people understand about they can't say no if you don't ask? so thanksgiving came and went and we found ourselves with a friday, a good day for the less dim of us to wake up, not ask any stoopid questions, and make our way to ondangwa to meet up with friends.
another seven days passed and i found myself with a new weekend to pass. my options were to ask stoopid questions (can i visit with some friends), get rebuffed, and read another book; or foot it to the main road with a friend of mine and catch a lift to ongwediva. i chose to catch a taxi, which i shared with a goat. my friend and i--i'll call him "brian;" you know, b/c his name is brian--were en route to ongwediva. the car was full and i was thinking, great, straight shot to ongwediva; there's no way yr going to pull over to talk to those two memes and their goat. we pulled over. i don't know much oshindonga, but i know the word for goat is oshikombo. all i heard of their negotiation was, blah blah blah blah blah...blah..bla..h..b..lah.... blah blah OSHIKOMBO? ee-ee, ohsikombo.
so now there's a goat in the car. well, in the trunk. the driver took a bit of time to fit him(?) in there, so i forgot about him as we resumed talking about the something we were discussing beforehand. we were back on the road for a minute or so, chatting away, when our driver made a hard turn into the petrol station.
*thump*
oh yeah, there's a goat in the trunk. i hope he didn't hit his head too hard. we got out before he did, so i didn't get a chance to ask.
cbt finally ended this past sunday. i'm not sure how to feel. relieved? i enjoyed my stay, and the memes became a lot less suffocating after i returned from oshakati that first time, but my 14-year-old host sister must not understand that i'm 26. or that she's a bit vexatious. i was patient at first, but i had no reservations about telling her to shut the fuck up or put on a fucking shirt by the end of cbt. selah. i was also sent away with a gift:
[saturday night] -jeremia, we will send you away with a chicken.
two questions: are you going to kill it? if so, are you going to cook it? of course, other questions work there way into my concern. like, what sort of questions should i ask if they don't kill it? do i have to pluck its feathers? choke it? can it be one of the fuckers that's kept me awake these past three weeks? is it organically certified? etc? do i have to eat it now? and would i have to give back your tupperware? does that mean i have to visit? more etc?
oh, before i forget: more points to distribute for sending mail. eric, emi, suzie, and kristine get points. eric gets double for sending along news; triple for being funny. kris gets double for actually phoning. i just sent a large batch of my own letters out just yesterday, even though some of them are two weeks old by now. dealing with the post here is worse than dealing with pee/see. yesterday was almost the third time i went to the post office with 10+ letters and left with the same 10+. if it's not, we don't have stamps right now, it's, we're too fooken stoopid to anticipate your line of questioning. my typical exchange generally follows:
-i need a $3,70 stamp.
-we don't have those.
[long wait]
-well, can i have stamps in other denominations then?
-we don't have those.
[more wait]
-do you have ANY stamps?
-yes.
[is that a hockey helmet on yr head?]
-could you tell me what kind you have?
-we don't have those.
i argued with the teller yesterday b/c he told me it would cost $80N to send a three page letter. -listen, dumbfuck. i send letters all the time; they cost $3,70 per 10 grams. GIVE ME MY FUCKING STAMP!!!
-that'll be $80N. airmail costs more than the boat.
-i know, cock. i've used the post before. i know how much it costs. GIVE ME MY FUCKING STAMP!!!
apparently, 8 and 80 are interchangeable words in namblish. good thing they don't understand cock and fuck in my accent.
happy shopping. i'm glad i'm poor and have an excuse not to send anything back to the states. maybe a couple love letters from windhoek, where i'll be christmasing..
anyhow, the problem with thanksgiving lockdown was that pee/see really has no way to enforce these prescriptions. it's only that the dumbfucks who fail to realize american infrastructure didn't follow them from america like to ask a lot of stoopid questions. like: can we leave our cbt's so we can see each other for thanksgiving? or: i know you said we can't leave, but can we leave so we can see each other for thanksgiving? i was planning on leaving, but five seperate attempts from those wankers at reasoning led me to think pee/see might consider spot checks to make sure we didn't leave cbt. what don't these people understand about they can't say no if you don't ask? so thanksgiving came and went and we found ourselves with a friday, a good day for the less dim of us to wake up, not ask any stoopid questions, and make our way to ondangwa to meet up with friends.
another seven days passed and i found myself with a new weekend to pass. my options were to ask stoopid questions (can i visit with some friends), get rebuffed, and read another book; or foot it to the main road with a friend of mine and catch a lift to ongwediva. i chose to catch a taxi, which i shared with a goat. my friend and i--i'll call him "brian;" you know, b/c his name is brian--were en route to ongwediva. the car was full and i was thinking, great, straight shot to ongwediva; there's no way yr going to pull over to talk to those two memes and their goat. we pulled over. i don't know much oshindonga, but i know the word for goat is oshikombo. all i heard of their negotiation was, blah blah blah blah blah...blah..bla..h..b..lah.... blah blah OSHIKOMBO? ee-ee, ohsikombo.
so now there's a goat in the car. well, in the trunk. the driver took a bit of time to fit him(?) in there, so i forgot about him as we resumed talking about the something we were discussing beforehand. we were back on the road for a minute or so, chatting away, when our driver made a hard turn into the petrol station.
*thump*
oh yeah, there's a goat in the trunk. i hope he didn't hit his head too hard. we got out before he did, so i didn't get a chance to ask.
cbt finally ended this past sunday. i'm not sure how to feel. relieved? i enjoyed my stay, and the memes became a lot less suffocating after i returned from oshakati that first time, but my 14-year-old host sister must not understand that i'm 26. or that she's a bit vexatious. i was patient at first, but i had no reservations about telling her to shut the fuck up or put on a fucking shirt by the end of cbt. selah. i was also sent away with a gift:
[saturday night] -jeremia, we will send you away with a chicken.
two questions: are you going to kill it? if so, are you going to cook it? of course, other questions work there way into my concern. like, what sort of questions should i ask if they don't kill it? do i have to pluck its feathers? choke it? can it be one of the fuckers that's kept me awake these past three weeks? is it organically certified? etc? do i have to eat it now? and would i have to give back your tupperware? does that mean i have to visit? more etc?
oh, before i forget: more points to distribute for sending mail. eric, emi, suzie, and kristine get points. eric gets double for sending along news; triple for being funny. kris gets double for actually phoning. i just sent a large batch of my own letters out just yesterday, even though some of them are two weeks old by now. dealing with the post here is worse than dealing with pee/see. yesterday was almost the third time i went to the post office with 10+ letters and left with the same 10+. if it's not, we don't have stamps right now, it's, we're too fooken stoopid to anticipate your line of questioning. my typical exchange generally follows:
-i need a $3,70 stamp.
-we don't have those.
[long wait]
-well, can i have stamps in other denominations then?
-we don't have those.
[more wait]
-do you have ANY stamps?
-yes.
[is that a hockey helmet on yr head?]
-could you tell me what kind you have?
-we don't have those.
i argued with the teller yesterday b/c he told me it would cost $80N to send a three page letter. -listen, dumbfuck. i send letters all the time; they cost $3,70 per 10 grams. GIVE ME MY FUCKING STAMP!!!
-that'll be $80N. airmail costs more than the boat.
-i know, cock. i've used the post before. i know how much it costs. GIVE ME MY FUCKING STAMP!!!
apparently, 8 and 80 are interchangeable words in namblish. good thing they don't understand cock and fuck in my accent.
happy shopping. i'm glad i'm poor and have an excuse not to send anything back to the states. maybe a couple love letters from windhoek, where i'll be christmasing..
bush/cheney2000 ran on a strong dollar platform. that strong u.s. dollar was worth $12n then, $6.50n when i got here, and $5.85n last night. pee/see gives us just enough to afford the bread but not the jam, and now it looks like i'll have to go without the crust either. actually, i'll be going without food of any kind till further notice. i'm sure finances are streteched beyond tensile capability when it comes time to give each volunteer his/her $3/day, but ten days have since passed since pee/see was supposed to make a deposit into our accounts. it's fine; we'll survive. if there's one thing namibia has in abundance, it's sand, and sand is the other staple aside from meat.
we're in the community based portion of our training (cbt), which is the three week period our training staff drops us into a village, forgets about us, and refers to it as development. each of the trainees lives apart from one another on a homestead with a namibian family. i spent the first week with mine eating sand with my fingers, awaking every twenty minutes b/c roosters don't understand shut the fuck up, and scratching my head in confusion over patterns of kinship. ok, there's a kuku (grandmother). her i get: old, withered, a walking stick bigger than she. i half expect to attend her funeral before cbt is up. we won't have to bury her b/c she's almost dust as it is. i also get the twin memes. you know, there's two of them. and i might have some sort of idea as to where the three girls come from, but then it goes to shit. there's a good seven boys in the homestead at any given time, but they're never the same seven. and i think an older man lives there, but i don't know if he's one of the fathers, a brother, or just some deadbeat who stops in for dinner. the memes say he has malaria, but i'm fairly convinced malaria is namibian for the hiv. i'd mention the host of other men who pass through, but i'm finished asking who's related to whom.
the only complaint i have about cbt is the insensitivity to my cultural need for people to back the fuck up. i know i'm white; i know my hair is thinner than you're used to; i know i talk funny; but i look and sound the exact same from three feet as i do from one. i also lie b/c i really have two complaints: i don't like to eat a lot when it's 400 degrees outside, and i don't like to eat sand regardless of the temperature. everytime i make it back from the bush my memes are like, owa vulwa? owa sandjala? -yes, i'm tired, but no i don't want to eat. the memes tend to interpret i'm not hungry, regardless of which language i use, as go inside and get something different. i interpret different as take whatever crap medley i've thrown together, add day old pasta, and see if jeremia notices the difference. selah.
anyhow, the traditional living is quite enjoyable. i've become fond of both candlelight and bucket bathing, although i won't claim the same for shitting into a pit latrine. it has proven to be a good workout, however, as i use my arms to suspend myself above the latrine seat rather than squat on petrified shit. i've also gotten a bit better with my oshindonga since the memes don't speak english. and i've grown accustomed to taking my water in good faith, as i have no clue where it's been coming from. i say, onda hala omeya, and meme one or two is back in thirty seconds with a full nalgene. hmmm...
i have a new mailing address, by the by. you know, so i can travel the 60 km to ondangwa just to open up an empty box:
po box 2135
ondangwa
namibia
and fook, i forgot to mention how pee/see is latin for volunteers shouldn't be allowed to celebrate thanksgiving. that story should make for another boring post.
we're in the community based portion of our training (cbt), which is the three week period our training staff drops us into a village, forgets about us, and refers to it as development. each of the trainees lives apart from one another on a homestead with a namibian family. i spent the first week with mine eating sand with my fingers, awaking every twenty minutes b/c roosters don't understand shut the fuck up, and scratching my head in confusion over patterns of kinship. ok, there's a kuku (grandmother). her i get: old, withered, a walking stick bigger than she. i half expect to attend her funeral before cbt is up. we won't have to bury her b/c she's almost dust as it is. i also get the twin memes. you know, there's two of them. and i might have some sort of idea as to where the three girls come from, but then it goes to shit. there's a good seven boys in the homestead at any given time, but they're never the same seven. and i think an older man lives there, but i don't know if he's one of the fathers, a brother, or just some deadbeat who stops in for dinner. the memes say he has malaria, but i'm fairly convinced malaria is namibian for the hiv. i'd mention the host of other men who pass through, but i'm finished asking who's related to whom.
the only complaint i have about cbt is the insensitivity to my cultural need for people to back the fuck up. i know i'm white; i know my hair is thinner than you're used to; i know i talk funny; but i look and sound the exact same from three feet as i do from one. i also lie b/c i really have two complaints: i don't like to eat a lot when it's 400 degrees outside, and i don't like to eat sand regardless of the temperature. everytime i make it back from the bush my memes are like, owa vulwa? owa sandjala? -yes, i'm tired, but no i don't want to eat. the memes tend to interpret i'm not hungry, regardless of which language i use, as go inside and get something different. i interpret different as take whatever crap medley i've thrown together, add day old pasta, and see if jeremia notices the difference. selah.
anyhow, the traditional living is quite enjoyable. i've become fond of both candlelight and bucket bathing, although i won't claim the same for shitting into a pit latrine. it has proven to be a good workout, however, as i use my arms to suspend myself above the latrine seat rather than squat on petrified shit. i've also gotten a bit better with my oshindonga since the memes don't speak english. and i've grown accustomed to taking my water in good faith, as i have no clue where it's been coming from. i say, onda hala omeya, and meme one or two is back in thirty seconds with a full nalgene. hmmm...
i have a new mailing address, by the by. you know, so i can travel the 60 km to ondangwa just to open up an empty box:
po box 2135
ondangwa
namibia
and fook, i forgot to mention how pee/see is latin for volunteers shouldn't be allowed to celebrate thanksgiving. that story should make for another boring post.
mail came yesterday. let's see who gets points:
-megan ann phelan
-noone
-noone
-the other volunteers who actually have friends.
i don't know how megan's supposed to redeem her points, but i hope the rest of you trip over something large and fall onto an ink pen. hopefully you'll take that ink pen, along with borrowed paper, and write me a letter. when you write that letter, tell the postmaster to send it to:
jeremy polio, esq.
p.o. box 2452
ondangwa
namibia
that's the postal bag for my school, so perhaps you could include a c/o gosen schools in the line after my name if you think it'll help. my principal, who looks like dave chapelle bought drinks for e.t., travels to ondangwa once a week to collect mail.
my principal also happens to be caprivian, which means he drives a long fucking way to get home during school holidays. my guess is he takes the postal keys with him and that i'll have periodic trouble retrieving my mail. not that i get letters in the first place. there's a strong possibility that i'll be getting my own postal box with another volunteer, so i'll update if that happens.
i suppose i should wish you illigitimate fookers a happy thanksgiving, non? i'll be spending mine on a homestead, smothering peanut butter and jelly all over my dinner..
-megan ann phelan
-noone
-noone
-the other volunteers who actually have friends.
i don't know how megan's supposed to redeem her points, but i hope the rest of you trip over something large and fall onto an ink pen. hopefully you'll take that ink pen, along with borrowed paper, and write me a letter. when you write that letter, tell the postmaster to send it to:
jeremy polio, esq.
p.o. box 2452
ondangwa
namibia
that's the postal bag for my school, so perhaps you could include a c/o gosen schools in the line after my name if you think it'll help. my principal, who looks like dave chapelle bought drinks for e.t., travels to ondangwa once a week to collect mail.
my principal also happens to be caprivian, which means he drives a long fucking way to get home during school holidays. my guess is he takes the postal keys with him and that i'll have periodic trouble retrieving my mail. not that i get letters in the first place. there's a strong possibility that i'll be getting my own postal box with another volunteer, so i'll update if that happens.
i suppose i should wish you illigitimate fookers a happy thanksgiving, non? i'll be spending mine on a homestead, smothering peanut butter and jelly all over my dinner..
today's a big day in that the mail arrives from windhoek and i eagerly await the disappointment that comes from getting nothing from back home. my mama's sending along a package of goodies, but some postal worker will prolly take it home with him and leave me wondering how many more weeks i'll go without sunglasses. maybe someone here will let me read the letters his/her friends have sent along..
training has taken us north to oshakati, where we were put on lockdown the first two days because of national elections. pee/see thought it unsafe to expose a bunch of loud, arrogant, and generally self serving volunteers to the political guerillas running amok through namibia, so we sat around our new compound picking enough cards from our arses to play euchre. good thing, b/c people here are fooken intense, when you can find them. did i mention oshakati, a "major" city, makes anne arbour look like chicago? or that it takes eighteen weeks to handcount the million or so votes cast by namibians. if pee/see was concerned about our welfare, they prolly should've scheduled lockdown for yesterday when the official results were finally announced. or just concede that swapo would run predicatably away with 75% of the vote and stabililty would continue unabated.
once elections passed we were released to the custody of our various principals/supervisors under the guise of permanent site visits. this is where pee/see finally exposes us to the shock that comes from seeing the tiny villages we're to pass the following two years. i'll be living in a village called onyati and teaching at a school called gosen. i'll also be travelling to ongwediva every friday so i don't kill myself over the weekend. other than reading yet another book; writing yet another letter; or watching the goats, cows, and donkeys trample through my backyard; the only thing left for me to do is drink myself stoopid. that option counts as my preference, but pee/see guards against alcoholism by giving us just enough money to eat, let alone establish a healthy coke habit. maybe on a trip down to jo'berg...
i'm pretty well pleased with my placement. i live in a concrete house with corrugated steel roofing, which causes the hard rainfalls to become deafening and the hot afternoons to become even hotter. i share the house, along with running water and no electricity, with two namibian colleagues. since i don't speak oshindonga too well and have trouble understanding their namblish, we spent most of our time pretending we enjoyed each others' company. actually, both my roommate people had conferences to attend over the weekend and left me alone with the house, so i also spent a good part of the weekend shitting myself over every single noise that came after another brilliant sunset. but fright's ok; it gives me a way to pass the time.
note: i've failed to mention this in most of my letters, but i'm on this crazy malarial prophylaxis called larium. one of the side effects is terror dreams. i haven't really had too many, but i had one the first night i spent alone in my house and it lingered with me most of the following day, which happened to be the day i was to take my pill. so i spent all of saturday planning on using sunday to clean the shit out of my sheets.. note's done.
ok, so now we're back in oshakati just in time to get shipped off to various locations for our homestays. i'll be staying in a homestead in okaku and have twin memes: one to cook and one to wash my clothes. good thing, b/c i have blisters all over my hands from trying to handwash my own clothes. actually, i'm joking and haven't developed my namibian chauvanism just yet, but the memes were quite adament about it being a woman's duty to cook. works, right...
by the by, meme is the ohshinwambo word for mother, but it's used to respectfully address women. the memes are a hard lot..
here's some idea of what it looks like here.
training has taken us north to oshakati, where we were put on lockdown the first two days because of national elections. pee/see thought it unsafe to expose a bunch of loud, arrogant, and generally self serving volunteers to the political guerillas running amok through namibia, so we sat around our new compound picking enough cards from our arses to play euchre. good thing, b/c people here are fooken intense, when you can find them. did i mention oshakati, a "major" city, makes anne arbour look like chicago? or that it takes eighteen weeks to handcount the million or so votes cast by namibians. if pee/see was concerned about our welfare, they prolly should've scheduled lockdown for yesterday when the official results were finally announced. or just concede that swapo would run predicatably away with 75% of the vote and stabililty would continue unabated.
once elections passed we were released to the custody of our various principals/supervisors under the guise of permanent site visits. this is where pee/see finally exposes us to the shock that comes from seeing the tiny villages we're to pass the following two years. i'll be living in a village called onyati and teaching at a school called gosen. i'll also be travelling to ongwediva every friday so i don't kill myself over the weekend. other than reading yet another book; writing yet another letter; or watching the goats, cows, and donkeys trample through my backyard; the only thing left for me to do is drink myself stoopid. that option counts as my preference, but pee/see guards against alcoholism by giving us just enough money to eat, let alone establish a healthy coke habit. maybe on a trip down to jo'berg...
i'm pretty well pleased with my placement. i live in a concrete house with corrugated steel roofing, which causes the hard rainfalls to become deafening and the hot afternoons to become even hotter. i share the house, along with running water and no electricity, with two namibian colleagues. since i don't speak oshindonga too well and have trouble understanding their namblish, we spent most of our time pretending we enjoyed each others' company. actually, both my roommate people had conferences to attend over the weekend and left me alone with the house, so i also spent a good part of the weekend shitting myself over every single noise that came after another brilliant sunset. but fright's ok; it gives me a way to pass the time.
note: i've failed to mention this in most of my letters, but i'm on this crazy malarial prophylaxis called larium. one of the side effects is terror dreams. i haven't really had too many, but i had one the first night i spent alone in my house and it lingered with me most of the following day, which happened to be the day i was to take my pill. so i spent all of saturday planning on using sunday to clean the shit out of my sheets.. note's done.
ok, so now we're back in oshakati just in time to get shipped off to various locations for our homestays. i'll be staying in a homestead in okaku and have twin memes: one to cook and one to wash my clothes. good thing, b/c i have blisters all over my hands from trying to handwash my own clothes. actually, i'm joking and haven't developed my namibian chauvanism just yet, but the memes were quite adament about it being a woman's duty to cook. works, right...
by the by, meme is the ohshinwambo word for mother, but it's used to respectfully address women. the memes are a hard lot..
here's some idea of what it looks like here.
by the by, i just set up the yahoo account necessary for public viewage of the falconer's yahoo group thing.
user name - jerenamibia
password - jeremy
^^^i couldn't think of anything better^^^
user name - jerenamibia
password - jeremy
^^^i couldn't think of anything better^^^
Note: here’s how African bloggage works for me at the moment: I borrow the use of another Peace Corps person’s laptop, write some bullshit in between “important” meetings (“Very important, Jeremy; you need to go…”), copy to disk, and walk to the internet place b/c cut/paste is done in less than fifteen minutes. I just saw that my first Namibian post finally published, so some of the following is a bit redundant. Apologies, whores…
ok, new note: i wrote my last note, footed it to the internet place, and encountered more difficulties re: computers and shit. i think i wrote the following post a good five days ago, but i really don't know b/c i can't keep track anymore of whether the sun's coming up or going down. actually, i know when it's coming up b/c it gets real fooken hott..
It looks as if this whole third world experience thing is going to make updating near impossible. The Namibian word for internet appears to be dial-up, which does little to complement the tiny amount of money Peace Corps has calculated to “sufficiently” cover indiscriminate spending. To wit: I am given $20N per day; the exchange rate hovers around $6N: $1US. Math fooken rules… oh yeah, dial up and money are married to my concerns on account I’m charged $10N for every 15 minutes I spend online at the internet café. My internet situation has been further compounded by today’s announcements of site placements. I’m about 90 kilo from Oshakati; 8 hours from Windhoek; 1 – 2 kilos from the B1; 30 K from Etosha; and nowhere near concerned about internetting. Except for now, of course. Then again, I’m still in Okahandja and plan to cut and paste this post online a good half hour from now. I don’t think I ever anticipated a time in my life where I’d claim to be unconcerned about my bogarting. I suppose that’s b/c I’ve become fond of writing letters ----->
---> which gets me to: everyone who reads this blog is fooken fired. So is my family. Three weeks and not one piece of mail. It’s been excusable so far as a piece or two has trickled in every so often for the 52 other people here, but a truckload came today and I’m typing instead of reading. Assholes. All of you.
~~aside~~I hate word programs that capitalize all my shit, and not in that lending institution sort of way. They’re bitches, too.~~aside finished~~
It’s been awhile since the last update, so I don’t really know where to begin. Or even if I should. It’s pretty fooken hot here, and the flies can kiss my ass. The meat, too. I was told Namibians like there meat, but this is fucking ridiculous. Every meal is meat served with a side of meat, and since they don’t have any vegetables here, we’re served meat in its stead. Dessert tends to be dried meat. My suggestion for you fat people is to start the Namkins diet, as I’ve yet to find a single carbohydrate in this country.
other than the m/heat, Namibia’s been outstanding. I’ve been holed up in this compound for the last three weeks with lots of other white people, so I can’t yet speak authoritatively about “Namibia” (I probably won’t be able to after two years, either), but I’ve seen enough to make me think about how much luckier I am than some of you. This place is fooken coke. One thing that’s blown my mind is the history of Apartheid and the lingering effects of both it and colonialism. Namibia was the last African country to achieve its independence, and the course they’ve chosen for reconciliation differs vastly from how the U.S. has gone about it. Of course, my insights are those of a neophyte, and only recently have I started to probe beneath the façade of racial harmony. But still, only 14 years…
The water and electricity has been dependable so far, which means I’ve started to take it for granted. The lights went out in Okahandja last night, however, which was apt timing for my site placement. They say I’ll have water in the town I’m headed to (I’ve already forgotten the name), but that electricity is “coming.” I’m fairly positive that what they meant by “coming” was lost in translation, and what it really means is:
[school I’m working at] Oh sure, we’ll make sure he has electricity. Eventually.
So two years of reading books and marking papers by candlelight doesn’t seem so daunting a task. Right? It sounds provincial and shit at the moment, even something to anticipate, but I imagine it’ll bug the fuck out of me for a bit before I adjust. Like everything else, non?
Today is our last day in Okahandja before the eight hour bus ride north, which counts as the American south. Different hemispheres, same hotter weather and poorer people, if what I just wrote counts as passable English. I’m told there’s a library in Oshakati that provides free internet for people like me, so maybe i'll be more frequent with the updates, if my frequent i mean fuck walking all the way to the library.
By the by, I’m a bit distressed about American voting patterns. Four more years???? Even more Republicans than the last voting cycle???? At least I can say I’ve expatriated for more than half that shit. Perhaps I’m considered awol myself...
Etc. shit ---> a couple other people use the internet to send along updates. The first one is a dood from Jersey, the second from New York. You have to email the second for access to the yahoo group, but there’s some multimedia shit up there. Of course, I haven’t looked yet for myself, so I’m probably lying. What’s new?
little jon
matt the falconer
ok, new note: i wrote my last note, footed it to the internet place, and encountered more difficulties re: computers and shit. i think i wrote the following post a good five days ago, but i really don't know b/c i can't keep track anymore of whether the sun's coming up or going down. actually, i know when it's coming up b/c it gets real fooken hott..
It looks as if this whole third world experience thing is going to make updating near impossible. The Namibian word for internet appears to be dial-up, which does little to complement the tiny amount of money Peace Corps has calculated to “sufficiently” cover indiscriminate spending. To wit: I am given $20N per day; the exchange rate hovers around $6N: $1US. Math fooken rules… oh yeah, dial up and money are married to my concerns on account I’m charged $10N for every 15 minutes I spend online at the internet café. My internet situation has been further compounded by today’s announcements of site placements. I’m about 90 kilo from Oshakati; 8 hours from Windhoek; 1 – 2 kilos from the B1; 30 K from Etosha; and nowhere near concerned about internetting. Except for now, of course. Then again, I’m still in Okahandja and plan to cut and paste this post online a good half hour from now. I don’t think I ever anticipated a time in my life where I’d claim to be unconcerned about my bogarting. I suppose that’s b/c I’ve become fond of writing letters ----->
---> which gets me to: everyone who reads this blog is fooken fired. So is my family. Three weeks and not one piece of mail. It’s been excusable so far as a piece or two has trickled in every so often for the 52 other people here, but a truckload came today and I’m typing instead of reading. Assholes. All of you.
~~aside~~I hate word programs that capitalize all my shit, and not in that lending institution sort of way. They’re bitches, too.~~aside finished~~
It’s been awhile since the last update, so I don’t really know where to begin. Or even if I should. It’s pretty fooken hot here, and the flies can kiss my ass. The meat, too. I was told Namibians like there meat, but this is fucking ridiculous. Every meal is meat served with a side of meat, and since they don’t have any vegetables here, we’re served meat in its stead. Dessert tends to be dried meat. My suggestion for you fat people is to start the Namkins diet, as I’ve yet to find a single carbohydrate in this country.
other than the m/heat, Namibia’s been outstanding. I’ve been holed up in this compound for the last three weeks with lots of other white people, so I can’t yet speak authoritatively about “Namibia” (I probably won’t be able to after two years, either), but I’ve seen enough to make me think about how much luckier I am than some of you. This place is fooken coke. One thing that’s blown my mind is the history of Apartheid and the lingering effects of both it and colonialism. Namibia was the last African country to achieve its independence, and the course they’ve chosen for reconciliation differs vastly from how the U.S. has gone about it. Of course, my insights are those of a neophyte, and only recently have I started to probe beneath the façade of racial harmony. But still, only 14 years…
The water and electricity has been dependable so far, which means I’ve started to take it for granted. The lights went out in Okahandja last night, however, which was apt timing for my site placement. They say I’ll have water in the town I’m headed to (I’ve already forgotten the name), but that electricity is “coming.” I’m fairly positive that what they meant by “coming” was lost in translation, and what it really means is:
[school I’m working at] Oh sure, we’ll make sure he has electricity. Eventually.
So two years of reading books and marking papers by candlelight doesn’t seem so daunting a task. Right? It sounds provincial and shit at the moment, even something to anticipate, but I imagine it’ll bug the fuck out of me for a bit before I adjust. Like everything else, non?
Today is our last day in Okahandja before the eight hour bus ride north, which counts as the American south. Different hemispheres, same hotter weather and poorer people, if what I just wrote counts as passable English. I’m told there’s a library in Oshakati that provides free internet for people like me, so maybe i'll be more frequent with the updates, if my frequent i mean fuck walking all the way to the library.
By the by, I’m a bit distressed about American voting patterns. Four more years???? Even more Republicans than the last voting cycle???? At least I can say I’ve expatriated for more than half that shit. Perhaps I’m considered awol myself...
Etc. shit ---> a couple other people use the internet to send along updates. The first one is a dood from Jersey, the second from New York. You have to email the second for access to the yahoo group, but there’s some multimedia shit up there. Of course, I haven’t looked yet for myself, so I’m probably lying. What’s new?
little jon
matt the falconer
i'm in namibia....whoot. wait, i've been in namibia for a good ten days now. the food's pretty good, if you hate vegetables. haysus fuck they weren't joking when they said meat's a staple. it's a fucking staple gun. it's also pretty hot here. not hot like swimming pool and short shorts hot, but rather... i don't even know how to begin relating how hot it is. all i know is that as bad as it is, it's (one) only spring and (two) i'm in the south, which is cooler than the north. the north is where i'll be living for two years.
anyhow, i get paid $3 per day, and the internet eats up my money for each 15 minutes i try to kick it; it takes 12 just to get to the compose message page on my email. who'd have thought dsl would be slow to show up in africa?
all i really wanted to say is: godspeed, john kerry.
anyhow, i get paid $3 per day, and the internet eats up my money for each 15 minutes i try to kick it; it takes 12 just to get to the compose message page on my email. who'd have thought dsl would be slow to show up in africa?
all i really wanted to say is: godspeed, john kerry.
but what's real rocken like grandma and poor motor skills is this email i sent
ot the blog. push button is like an old udder; i can just hit send.
[send>
ot the blog. push button is like an old udder; i can just hit send.
[send>
i have about six hours till i board a plane for phila before catching a thursday bus to ny, which is where a bunch of mean em/efs push me into a plane that won't land till africa. that's cool, it's what i signed up for, but i still hope boston comes back on your bitch yankees for pushing so hard. i'm sensitive. no, i'm up late.
so namibia's the word, i hear. but considering pee/see was so concerned about my past intelligence gathering throughout the interview process, i suppose i shouldn't be linking anywhere near the cia factbook. lonely planet, perhaps? i guess i should have bloggered on when i first found out and was really excited about my adventure. i'm still excited, but this pending departure has caused me to think about what i leave behind. who wants to leave shit behind? i guess everyone should, b/c shit lacks in appeal. but people are sad. i parted ways with bronson last night and realized that i've been more fortunate than money when it's come to friends. i feel as if i've met a good lot of them in grammar school. not b/c of the time that's passed along since that initial pickup line, but b/c there's never been a reason for me not to trust most of them. meeting people at this age involves an entangled courting process, which is different than having a best friend in grade four just b/c our parents took us to the park on the same day. so i guess this is my cry for one more hug. hold me in the dark, but make sure there's a nightlite for just in case..
anyhow, i really am fooken tired. i guess this is where i say my goodbyes to a few of you. then again, for those few it doesn't matter where i spread the blog, just as long as it's not an hiv/blog. so here's my address, just for posterity:
jeremy polio, pct
po box 6862
ausspannplatz
windhoek, namibia
you should probably use capital letters and stuff. i don't think it matters with respect to the post, but i'll think you're a fooken moron. what else???? oh yeah: shane passed along a photo of his travels through namibia. looks like there's a lot to do. you think i mock, but shane worked hard to look so good. tired.
so namibia's the word, i hear. but considering pee/see was so concerned about my past intelligence gathering throughout the interview process, i suppose i shouldn't be linking anywhere near the cia factbook. lonely planet, perhaps? i guess i should have bloggered on when i first found out and was really excited about my adventure. i'm still excited, but this pending departure has caused me to think about what i leave behind. who wants to leave shit behind? i guess everyone should, b/c shit lacks in appeal. but people are sad. i parted ways with bronson last night and realized that i've been more fortunate than money when it's come to friends. i feel as if i've met a good lot of them in grammar school. not b/c of the time that's passed along since that initial pickup line, but b/c there's never been a reason for me not to trust most of them. meeting people at this age involves an entangled courting process, which is different than having a best friend in grade four just b/c our parents took us to the park on the same day. so i guess this is my cry for one more hug. hold me in the dark, but make sure there's a nightlite for just in case..
anyhow, i really am fooken tired. i guess this is where i say my goodbyes to a few of you. then again, for those few it doesn't matter where i spread the blog, just as long as it's not an hiv/blog. so here's my address, just for posterity:
jeremy polio, pct
po box 6862
ausspannplatz
windhoek, namibia
you should probably use capital letters and stuff. i don't think it matters with respect to the post, but i'll think you're a fooken moron. what else???? oh yeah: shane passed along a photo of his travels through namibia. looks like there's a lot to do. you think i mock, but shane worked hard to look so good. tired.
my version of random thoughts:
-all dressed up with too many places to go but not enough people to see.
-i could read your mind if i wasn't illiterate.
-i met a guy last weekend who could tell the future by reading the steam that comes from peeing in the cold.
-you can't dance if you don't have feet. unless you want to look stoopid.
-dr. martin luther the kang's father didn't have an eye (m_lk).
-specifics are too vague. vagaries are too specific.
-there's a world of difference between being naked with someone and the trust required to be naked in front of that person.
-i've driven down roads in reverse just to see my future in the rearview mirror.
-the streets look empty enough to run in, like the ideas i've forgotten before they ever came.
-it's hard to keep a secret when your hair looks so fooken good.
-i've always signed for the first apartment i was shown.
-sometimes my body feels like a coat one size too big.
-all dressed up with too many places to go but not enough people to see.
-i could read your mind if i wasn't illiterate.
-i met a guy last weekend who could tell the future by reading the steam that comes from peeing in the cold.
-you can't dance if you don't have feet. unless you want to look stoopid.
-dr. martin luther the kang's father didn't have an eye (m_lk).
-specifics are too vague. vagaries are too specific.
-there's a world of difference between being naked with someone and the trust required to be naked in front of that person.
-i've driven down roads in reverse just to see my future in the rearview mirror.
-the streets look empty enough to run in, like the ideas i've forgotten before they ever came.
-it's hard to keep a secret when your hair looks so fooken good.
-i've always signed for the first apartment i was shown.
-sometimes my body feels like a coat one size too big.
there's been numerous and rather visible voter registration campaigns going on, which have predictably fostered criticisms about the value of uneducated voters. it's a valid point; we definately don't need people guessing at what's best for the country. at the same time, what counts as a litmus for educated? after watching most of the debates, i get the feeling the two candidates are either packaging entire policy as eight second soundbites or don't have the depth of knowledge to legitimately discuss each of the issues. my guess is both, but i lean toward the latter as the more likely. i'm someone who invests time in the news, discussion, knows how to research the issues, and makes sure to consult alternative sources of information. despite this, i noticed during the vp debates that the only issue i'm really educated enough to get pissed about is education. john kerry can talk about prescription drug care, awol can go on about growing the economy, and i can continue slobbering all over myself about how inarticulate the potus is. it wasn't till dickle cheney mentioned what an accomplishment it was that 33 million children are affected by nclb that i noticed how unqualified i am to consider the issues. no shit, dickle? 33 million kids? that's like saying 300 million americans are affected by the first amendment.
but then there are other issues. what do i really know about national defense? about intelligence gathering? economics? whether frivilous lawsuits are the scurge of health care or count for less than 0.5% of rising insurance costs? i know education, but now i'm cast as a single issue voter, which i'm not. of all the issues i find vital to this election, education ranks about fifth on my list of importance. but i wouldn't know for sure; i don't keep lists.
so fuck it. if 70% of the public still believes saddam funded the 9.11 attacks, i say register as many fooken voters as possible. actually, i don't really mind b/c "choose or die" appears to be slang for "vote kerry." it seems pretty obvious that some people have mistakingly equated young voters with anti-bush. hopefully, b/c i've already punched my absentee ballot...
but then there are other issues. what do i really know about national defense? about intelligence gathering? economics? whether frivilous lawsuits are the scurge of health care or count for less than 0.5% of rising insurance costs? i know education, but now i'm cast as a single issue voter, which i'm not. of all the issues i find vital to this election, education ranks about fifth on my list of importance. but i wouldn't know for sure; i don't keep lists.
so fuck it. if 70% of the public still believes saddam funded the 9.11 attacks, i say register as many fooken voters as possible. actually, i don't really mind b/c "choose or die" appears to be slang for "vote kerry." it seems pretty obvious that some people have mistakingly equated young voters with anti-bush. hopefully, b/c i've already punched my absentee ballot...
if one was plural, than i could claim numerous reasons for not using to do lists: they're fucking stoopid. not only that, the few times i've actually given them a go backfired; not b/c i invariably forget to list three of five things i could care less about, but also b/c i'm never going to cross out every single thing i felt deserved a bullet point. actually, i use dashes. but not when i have a large piece of paper; then i skip lines to differentiate between all the things i have to "do."
timeout: i have a new reason to hate to do lists. fuck people who leave their lists out in the open so others can pick them up and think, you're fooken busy, eh; you must be important.
ok, so i've been rummaging through some of my old shit now that my time in the huron valley is finally winding down . i don't remember making this list, but there in a drawer was: you of em sorority girl experience. coke!! i guess now's a good time to cross things out before i leave.
- stand in line at rick's (preferably wearing skirt, tubetop, and high heels; bonus if in february); fuck that be/es
- forty minute line at rod's for a fooken collider; crossed off
- order a chipati and diet coke before self-imposed vomit; i've had a chipati, i'm hypoglycemic, and i've puked before...
- drive an suv; an old girlfriend let me drive hers around for awhile
- with out of state plates; michigan people are so...like, not far from here
- skip temple (exception made for holidays, but only b/c i have to fly home); i know how to pronounce rosh hashanah
- picture taken with friends at football game; must have scoreboard or field in background; guilty
- talk on mobile while traveling with party herd; must YELL, where are we??; next weekend, perhaps..
- mention how great the davinci code is; worst book ever
holy shit! i could be a sorority girl by the end of the week. all that's left is rick's, wondering where i am, and the davinci code. i mean, i have the jewish thing down, considering i rarely make it to temple. but i'm supposing that would mean i have the christian thing down, too. church?
timeout: i have a new reason to hate to do lists. fuck people who leave their lists out in the open so others can pick them up and think, you're fooken busy, eh; you must be important.
ok, so i've been rummaging through some of my old shit now that my time in the huron valley is finally winding down . i don't remember making this list, but there in a drawer was: you of em sorority girl experience. coke!! i guess now's a good time to cross things out before i leave.
- stand in line at rick's (preferably wearing skirt, tubetop, and high heels; bonus if in february); fuck that be/es
- forty minute line at rod's for a fooken collider; crossed off
- order a chipati and diet coke before self-imposed vomit; i've had a chipati, i'm hypoglycemic, and i've puked before...
- drive an suv; an old girlfriend let me drive hers around for awhile
- with out of state plates; michigan people are so...like, not far from here
- skip temple (exception made for holidays, but only b/c i have to fly home); i know how to pronounce rosh hashanah
- picture taken with friends at football game; must have scoreboard or field in background; guilty
- talk on mobile while traveling with party herd; must YELL, where are we??; next weekend, perhaps..
- mention how great the davinci code is; worst book ever
holy shit! i could be a sorority girl by the end of the week. all that's left is rick's, wondering where i am, and the davinci code. i mean, i have the jewish thing down, considering i rarely make it to temple. but i'm supposing that would mean i have the christian thing down, too. church?
my father maintains a liquor cabinet--drawer, actually--despite the fact he doesn't drink. the beauty of that comment is that he keeps a liquor collection. and that i don't have a job. and have no other reason to be awake anytime soon. and that he doesn't drink, which means he won't miss the stuff i toast myself with. and that my lack of immediate responsibility coincides with a large cache of available liquor. good thing i'm a deadbeat and reside with my parents for the time being...
so i meet tons and tons of funny people each day i venture out into the cloudshine. the introductions typically assume a general pattern:
-polio? like the disease. chuckle.
-no dildo smack, i'm peruvian. pole y yo, like i'm standing next to a motherfucking flagpole.
so some people aren't funny, and others have combined their love for equines with necrophilia and repeat the same lines over and over. the former i can deal with b/c the world needs engineers, dentists, and other boring people to fill roles within the infrastructure, and i can't judge the latter b/c we all have our own idiosyncracies that we share amongst friends. like, kraus-AH, do you speak german??? while not as funny as it was initially, it still serves to bond people to their shared experiences and is thus acceptable. it's even welcomed. but when the time comes that yr introduced to a john bush, or a rebekkah cox, or a richard short, go ahead and make that joke. i'm pretty sure you'll be the first, especially as people like me are getting older and it's becoming less and less likely that you're the first witty person i've come to meet. but just to be safe, you could prolly reaffirm your self-esteem by following it up with, ever hear that before?
as for me and the other polios, i'm pretty sure it makes you less funny that i actually use the line myself when giving my name over the phone. it's logistical. it saves time so people can spell it correctly without fear of insulting me. but i'm complaining too much. i actually encounter a small range of responses, albeit easily categorized.
the level just beyond stoopid:
-did you get your polio vaccination?
-no, cox. my mama thought it a cruel irony and decided to chance the metal leg braces.
the intellectual:
-you afraid of jonas salk?
-blank stare
-you know who he is, right?
-dick. you're the smart guy but i'm the one who got my master's from the same institution where he did most of his research. i have hemorrhoids, though. why don't you take care of that for me?
the moron:
-did you have polio when you were younger?
and the moron's best friend:
-your parents named you polio?
-yes, my name is polio polio.
oh well. i was only thinking of this b/c i had my german army coat on yesterday and i met yet another person who thought they were funny: heil hitler. it's amusing to me how people's only association with a major g8 ally is a guy who's been dead 60 years. it wasn't too long ago i wore my dad's old army coat around in the winter; how come no one was like, george washington fucking rules! selah, i suppose it was good enough that he could identify the german flag. better than a coworker of mine:
-why do you have an iraqi flag on your coat?
-[blank]
-that's iraqi, right?
-no, leave me alone, douche.
-what is it, russian?
-no, it's canadian. have you ever read a book?
-polio? like the disease. chuckle.
-no dildo smack, i'm peruvian. pole y yo, like i'm standing next to a motherfucking flagpole.
so some people aren't funny, and others have combined their love for equines with necrophilia and repeat the same lines over and over. the former i can deal with b/c the world needs engineers, dentists, and other boring people to fill roles within the infrastructure, and i can't judge the latter b/c we all have our own idiosyncracies that we share amongst friends. like, kraus-AH, do you speak german??? while not as funny as it was initially, it still serves to bond people to their shared experiences and is thus acceptable. it's even welcomed. but when the time comes that yr introduced to a john bush, or a rebekkah cox, or a richard short, go ahead and make that joke. i'm pretty sure you'll be the first, especially as people like me are getting older and it's becoming less and less likely that you're the first witty person i've come to meet. but just to be safe, you could prolly reaffirm your self-esteem by following it up with, ever hear that before?
as for me and the other polios, i'm pretty sure it makes you less funny that i actually use the line myself when giving my name over the phone. it's logistical. it saves time so people can spell it correctly without fear of insulting me. but i'm complaining too much. i actually encounter a small range of responses, albeit easily categorized.
the level just beyond stoopid:
-did you get your polio vaccination?
-no, cox. my mama thought it a cruel irony and decided to chance the metal leg braces.
the intellectual:
-you afraid of jonas salk?
-blank stare
-you know who he is, right?
-dick. you're the smart guy but i'm the one who got my master's from the same institution where he did most of his research. i have hemorrhoids, though. why don't you take care of that for me?
the moron:
-did you have polio when you were younger?
and the moron's best friend:
-your parents named you polio?
-yes, my name is polio polio.
oh well. i was only thinking of this b/c i had my german army coat on yesterday and i met yet another person who thought they were funny: heil hitler. it's amusing to me how people's only association with a major g8 ally is a guy who's been dead 60 years. it wasn't too long ago i wore my dad's old army coat around in the winter; how come no one was like, george washington fucking rules! selah, i suppose it was good enough that he could identify the german flag. better than a coworker of mine:
-why do you have an iraqi flag on your coat?
-[blank]
-that's iraqi, right?
-no, leave me alone, douche.
-what is it, russian?
-no, it's canadian. have you ever read a book?
since i have no idea whom to vote for in the general presidential election, i've been consulting a wide array of sources so i'm as well informed as possible. because the spectrum of choice is so fooken expansive, i'm concerned that my heavy reliance on talk radio for the day's news may be leaving myself with a skewed idea of how comparatively sexy awol and lurch are to each other when standing butt to butt. but since you need an ak-47 and an english-only understanding of the bible to be a good right winger, and b/c the media's out to push their liberal agenda, i've had to find more reliable suggestions for how to think: front lawns and auto bumpers.
i never really cared about politics until awol was given his current gig through dubious measures. i can't really judge the validity of the whole situation, but that's b/c i was stoopid and uninformed back then. but that's not the point. the point is that i never cared about civic issues until i woke up to find a retard was my president. but where to begin? where to find enough information about current events to pass myself off as an imformed citizen? the newspapers are nothing but commie/faggot propaganda, and those who actually believe that are just pissed that children can't still work 19 hours/day in the coal mines. i need ideas, people. i also need thoughts. thank god i drive a pizza car and pass countless houses on any given day. fucking hallelujah times two i have access to a computer so i can photoblog my thought process.
yes, he's the president. maybe he's doing a good job.
what??? bush lied??? about what???
oh. i wonder who i should vote for then.
ok, if he's for america and all. it's kind of cool i'm american and he's for america, but he seems kind of angry. good thing i have another delivery..
hmmm...clark or edwards should do. who're they?
fuck, dood. will the primary season EVER end???? i guess i'm going with kerry.
but then i'm stuck in traffic and see this:
oh shit, bush is running for reelection? i thought this was straight democratic party shit.
and this:
w is for women? george women bush? that's odd.
then this:
fooken eh, even people who don't speak english like bush?
and then:
they're even naming a highway after him? he must be a good potus, eh.
ok, i'm totally voting for bush. but damn that i work in anne arbour. and more damn that the entire city smells like dead hippy.
so now i think i'm voting for kerry b/c he's the only other guy in the election. i should probably investigate his stances on the different issues, but it's a bit unnecessary to do so b/c as far as i'm concerned, i haven't spotted any good anti-kerry stickers. the best i've found is flip-flops, and that's just not funny.
i don't know. perhaps i've poorly evaluated the value of yard signs and bumperstickers. advertising is a science/art i've consistently underestimated and continue to misunderstand. and maybe there's a certain pride attached to the way you decorate yr lawn or auto. at least people and their slogans don't require the trite rationalization of debate. just a, i'm voting for this guy, and nothing else. of course there are always the guys who need to place four of these signs in their lawns, but that's b/c they have smaller penises than those who use just one.
i never really cared about politics until awol was given his current gig through dubious measures. i can't really judge the validity of the whole situation, but that's b/c i was stoopid and uninformed back then. but that's not the point. the point is that i never cared about civic issues until i woke up to find a retard was my president. but where to begin? where to find enough information about current events to pass myself off as an imformed citizen? the newspapers are nothing but commie/faggot propaganda, and those who actually believe that are just pissed that children can't still work 19 hours/day in the coal mines. i need ideas, people. i also need thoughts. thank god i drive a pizza car and pass countless houses on any given day. fucking hallelujah times two i have access to a computer so i can photoblog my thought process.
yes, he's the president. maybe he's doing a good job.
what??? bush lied??? about what???
oh. i wonder who i should vote for then.
ok, if he's for america and all. it's kind of cool i'm american and he's for america, but he seems kind of angry. good thing i have another delivery..
hmmm...clark or edwards should do. who're they?
fuck, dood. will the primary season EVER end???? i guess i'm going with kerry.
but then i'm stuck in traffic and see this:
oh shit, bush is running for reelection? i thought this was straight democratic party shit.
and this:
w is for women? george women bush? that's odd.
then this:
fooken eh, even people who don't speak english like bush?
and then:
they're even naming a highway after him? he must be a good potus, eh.
ok, i'm totally voting for bush. but damn that i work in anne arbour. and more damn that the entire city smells like dead hippy.
so now i think i'm voting for kerry b/c he's the only other guy in the election. i should probably investigate his stances on the different issues, but it's a bit unnecessary to do so b/c as far as i'm concerned, i haven't spotted any good anti-kerry stickers. the best i've found is flip-flops, and that's just not funny.
i don't know. perhaps i've poorly evaluated the value of yard signs and bumperstickers. advertising is a science/art i've consistently underestimated and continue to misunderstand. and maybe there's a certain pride attached to the way you decorate yr lawn or auto. at least people and their slogans don't require the trite rationalization of debate. just a, i'm voting for this guy, and nothing else. of course there are always the guys who need to place four of these signs in their lawns, but that's b/c they have smaller penises than those who use just one.
i'm not racist, you know, because i like people who aren't like me. like mexicans. those guys work really hard.
i've been in ypsi/arbour long enough that looks are getting recycled.
there's been an instance or two i've been caught staring at a person, and it doesn't occur to me until the policia issue me another stalker notice that i've mistaken him/her for someone i knew from sophomore year. any longer and fashions will become recycled, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. i'd love to catch teenwolf in the cinemas.
there's been an instance or two i've been caught staring at a person, and it doesn't occur to me until the policia issue me another stalker notice that i've mistaken him/her for someone i knew from sophomore year. any longer and fashions will become recycled, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. i'd love to catch teenwolf in the cinemas.
i almost delivered my first pizza with extra anchovies the other night, but it was a plain cheese deep dish with extra ranch. and there was no fantasized sorority girl sex. but she did phone the phouse to make sure i had her number. wird, i'm a pimp, if pimp means to go home and act cool without actually doing anything with the number. i guess i could lock myself in the washroom...
my cigarette to mile ratio is getting a little out of hand. life was pleasant when shane and i could smoke a beesh the night before a 10+ mile run, but now i'm fat and old, and the cigarettes burn. but i'm not bald, which is more than some people can claim if they weren't lying. not that being bald has anything to do with running. but being fat does. i think i'm going to google for bulemic methods. or is anorexia more comfortable? i think not eating leaves me the better odds for meeting one of those olsen twi(g)ns.
most of my senior seminars during undergrad focused on industrial sociology, so i'm well aware of maximizing production through healthy cooperation between employer and employee. i'm also half-ass supportive of unions, introducing my right knee to the man's testicles, and staking a claim to this vague notion of a fair shake. that doesn't mean some people don't need to recalibrate the fuck out of their sense of importance during calculations of self worth. as in, if your survival is contingent on three eh em drunks phoning in an order for overpriced and greasy food, then you probably don't qualify for union representation. i know the bush administration doesn't mind using rhetoric to shore up the job numbers, but even they would have trouble classifying us as anything other than unskilled. seriously, if anything and everything about your rolling-thunder-cloud demeanor is the fault of a pizza shop, maybe you should get yrself a biology degree and start studying for the mcat. the job's not difficult; responsibilities are:
1. drive food to person who ordered
2. _____________________
fooken rough, non? it almost makes the job hazards unbearable. people leave shitty tips? get the fuck out. and you had to drive five miles and sit in a spat of traffic? at least you had time enough to fill out all those workers comp forms you're going to need your bruised ego. don't get me wrong, the position is invaluable to a company that does most of its business through delivery; the person, however, is not. i see thousands of morons/week out on the roads, so there's a fairly substantial pool of applicants to choose from when the time comes to replace you. i'm not saying there aren't some very real concessions the company should make--treat employees like living bags of skin?--but it's going to be quite some time before job benefits include any sort of bargaining leverage for doods making $2,65/hour. plus tips.
1. drive food to person who ordered
2. _____________________
fooken rough, non? it almost makes the job hazards unbearable. people leave shitty tips? get the fuck out. and you had to drive five miles and sit in a spat of traffic? at least you had time enough to fill out all those workers comp forms you're going to need your bruised ego. don't get me wrong, the position is invaluable to a company that does most of its business through delivery; the person, however, is not. i see thousands of morons/week out on the roads, so there's a fairly substantial pool of applicants to choose from when the time comes to replace you. i'm not saying there aren't some very real concessions the company should make--treat employees like living bags of skin?--but it's going to be quite some time before job benefits include any sort of bargaining leverage for doods making $2,65/hour. plus tips.
my life is pretty boring right now, and by pretty i mean more than usual. i operate on four hours sleep most days. people getting that kind of sleep should be arguing before judges, or doing crazy fourteen valve bypass heart surgery shit, or breast feeding five-year-old children. i do none of that; i deliver food till four in the morning, which is but two hours short of when snoop's bitches finally up and leave. and then on the days i'm given time enough in the morning to sleep in, uncle eric and his deadbeat car phone to ask if i can drive them to indiana. but i only feign complaint: i actually tried to teach bronson how to drive a manual so i could "repay" him for hooking me up notre dame style. i mean, michigan and its carr-servative offense got plug raped, but getting to watch the game from the field leaves me caring less about the final score than i normally would.
but all this menial work increases the emphasis on the incredulous whaaa?? i generally exhale when i get home. i'm surprised the people i live with don't purchase that bread with already removed crust, considering how their moms probably took care of that reponsibility for them till they were twenty-three or some shit. i know how four hours straight of television can wear a person out, but i absolutely LOVE that i have to wash an entire sink of dishes just to eat b/c it's too fucking hard to invest three seconds in rinse-open the dishwasher door-pull out the dishrack-put yr dirty fucking dish in that dishrack-push the dishrack back-close the dishwasher door. and if you feel like you accomplished something after your 3.2 seconds of stiff labor, why don't you spend eight more picking up the trashbag you dropped on the floor and putting it outside with the rest of the trash. pizza boxes are discarded in much the same way.
i was pleasantly shocked the other day when i woke up and found the dog had cooked some sausage links for my breakfast. thanks, i thought, as i fried some eggs to go with them. but i discovered the hard way that sausage shouldn't smell like shit; nor should it taste like it either. no fooken wonder the dog's recently taken to shitting all over the floor three mornings out of the week (at least what's shat in plain view). i guess he's noticed how clean we are and figures why bother with the pretense. it may be uber-pathetic that we rely on a shane-in-transit for a clean house, but i can't really criticize someone for having a mother who's picked up after him his whole life. hooray, christmas bonus for you; but why don't you invite her over to make it appear like you give three shits (bosley's been giving two) about pulling your fucking weight.
but all this menial work increases the emphasis on the incredulous whaaa?? i generally exhale when i get home. i'm surprised the people i live with don't purchase that bread with already removed crust, considering how their moms probably took care of that reponsibility for them till they were twenty-three or some shit. i know how four hours straight of television can wear a person out, but i absolutely LOVE that i have to wash an entire sink of dishes just to eat b/c it's too fucking hard to invest three seconds in rinse-open the dishwasher door-pull out the dishrack-put yr dirty fucking dish in that dishrack-push the dishrack back-close the dishwasher door. and if you feel like you accomplished something after your 3.2 seconds of stiff labor, why don't you spend eight more picking up the trashbag you dropped on the floor and putting it outside with the rest of the trash. pizza boxes are discarded in much the same way.
i was pleasantly shocked the other day when i woke up and found the dog had cooked some sausage links for my breakfast. thanks, i thought, as i fried some eggs to go with them. but i discovered the hard way that sausage shouldn't smell like shit; nor should it taste like it either. no fooken wonder the dog's recently taken to shitting all over the floor three mornings out of the week (at least what's shat in plain view). i guess he's noticed how clean we are and figures why bother with the pretense. it may be uber-pathetic that we rely on a shane-in-transit for a clean house, but i can't really criticize someone for having a mother who's picked up after him his whole life. hooray, christmas bonus for you; but why don't you invite her over to make it appear like you give three shits (bosley's been giving two) about pulling your fucking weight.
why don't you people buy some meds to get over your multiple personality disorder and make up your fooken minds!!
roll call.
roll call.
three years have come and gone since 9.11, and it seems that the memories require copyrighting more than they do quiet contemplation. nonetheless, this is a letter i wrote to shane on the first anniversary. i think it's important for us to always remember how we felt in the immediate aftermath for a multitude of reasons, one of which is to make it more difficult for politicians to manipulate the public's ostensible sorrow. i only remember the fight i got into with my girlfriend on 9.11.01, so the one year mark is the best i can do to filter through the accrued bullshit the subsequent two years may have added to my memories:
i have this horrible feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't manufactured by corporate 9.11; it was created by genuine 9.11. i've given two shits about that day. i've actually hated it for all the political gasoline it's provided. "let's kill...MORE!!" fuck them, i say. and fuck your manufactured sympathy. but that's so easy to say when you don't see faces.
i purposely didn't listen to npr today like i normally do. i didn't listen to any talk radio. i wasn't in the mood for personalities to lament what 9.11 did to them. fuck you entertainer, i say. i nearly puked when i saw cher on larry king. fuck your red hair and your songs someone wrote for you. fuck you that it meant something entirely different before 9.11 and then money afterward. if three thousand people had to die, why couldn't they have been a collection of self serving hypocritical asshole fuckers who continously rummage for different ways to take advantage of others?
but then i found myself watching a firefighter documentary with my mama. it was concieved before 9.11 and began filming on 9.10. it was adulterating. not just the emotion stained into their uniforms, but what they saw. what they did. how they listened to cb intercoms read off roll calls of dead friends. the actual dialogue that came from the moments. "it rained bodies." with new york accents. how people lined the streets with their hero slogans, but these men were so dazed they did nothing but walk motionless into the next hopeless day. i began to burn with tears, right.
then a sudden flash emerges of people in the days after, standing, holding makeshift flyers that read, missing. floor what and what. last seen. and a photo, smiling. it struck me the lack of computer text. these were made in a panic, in a sudden rush to do the only thing you could: to stand among a throng of people ripped in half, with no directions to run that could make any sense or provide any answers. a person pleading for help, only those around are too busy themselves begging for anything, anyone. not anyone; the one. telephone poles that are now paper monuments to people who will never be seen again. a flickerless hope, to staple a flyer to a wooden leg, fully aware that who you miss misses you and would run straight into your heart if he was still alive.
i wish i had a small bucket to collect the tears from the thousands of people who had to staple one of those flyers to anything. collect the tears and drink the hurt that has been manipulated to sell more cars and drop more bombs. to taste real sorrow, not a horribly written ode to patriotism. to cry my own tears.
i watched more footage from 9.11 and couldn't help but be consumed by the dust. the dust. the dust is everywhere. it came belowing through the concrete ravines made by man in pursuit of money. at least in the pursuit of the consolidation of money. the dust rained everwhere. it fell on stores, on cars, and on people. it mixed with sweat. it mixed with hair. i can picture a man, standing up to think and breathe, blue fdny shirt, red suspenders, tangled hair, puddled sweat on his forehead, mustache, or no mustache, dirty, tired. dust everywhere. in his thoughts. in his food. in my mind. in his throat. but coughing won't help. water won't either, because the dust is in there, too.
i can't cry when i see footage of two insanely tall buildings fall into ash, but i can't keep from it each time i hear another woman in love with her dead husband, still waiting for him to come home.
i have this horrible feeling in my stomach, and it wasn't manufactured by corporate 9.11; it was created by genuine 9.11. i've given two shits about that day. i've actually hated it for all the political gasoline it's provided. "let's kill...MORE!!" fuck them, i say. and fuck your manufactured sympathy. but that's so easy to say when you don't see faces.
i purposely didn't listen to npr today like i normally do. i didn't listen to any talk radio. i wasn't in the mood for personalities to lament what 9.11 did to them. fuck you entertainer, i say. i nearly puked when i saw cher on larry king. fuck your red hair and your songs someone wrote for you. fuck you that it meant something entirely different before 9.11 and then money afterward. if three thousand people had to die, why couldn't they have been a collection of self serving hypocritical asshole fuckers who continously rummage for different ways to take advantage of others?
but then i found myself watching a firefighter documentary with my mama. it was concieved before 9.11 and began filming on 9.10. it was adulterating. not just the emotion stained into their uniforms, but what they saw. what they did. how they listened to cb intercoms read off roll calls of dead friends. the actual dialogue that came from the moments. "it rained bodies." with new york accents. how people lined the streets with their hero slogans, but these men were so dazed they did nothing but walk motionless into the next hopeless day. i began to burn with tears, right.
then a sudden flash emerges of people in the days after, standing, holding makeshift flyers that read, missing. floor what and what. last seen. and a photo, smiling. it struck me the lack of computer text. these were made in a panic, in a sudden rush to do the only thing you could: to stand among a throng of people ripped in half, with no directions to run that could make any sense or provide any answers. a person pleading for help, only those around are too busy themselves begging for anything, anyone. not anyone; the one. telephone poles that are now paper monuments to people who will never be seen again. a flickerless hope, to staple a flyer to a wooden leg, fully aware that who you miss misses you and would run straight into your heart if he was still alive.
i wish i had a small bucket to collect the tears from the thousands of people who had to staple one of those flyers to anything. collect the tears and drink the hurt that has been manipulated to sell more cars and drop more bombs. to taste real sorrow, not a horribly written ode to patriotism. to cry my own tears.
i watched more footage from 9.11 and couldn't help but be consumed by the dust. the dust. the dust is everywhere. it came belowing through the concrete ravines made by man in pursuit of money. at least in the pursuit of the consolidation of money. the dust rained everwhere. it fell on stores, on cars, and on people. it mixed with sweat. it mixed with hair. i can picture a man, standing up to think and breathe, blue fdny shirt, red suspenders, tangled hair, puddled sweat on his forehead, mustache, or no mustache, dirty, tired. dust everywhere. in his thoughts. in his food. in my mind. in his throat. but coughing won't help. water won't either, because the dust is in there, too.
i can't cry when i see footage of two insanely tall buildings fall into ash, but i can't keep from it each time i hear another woman in love with her dead husband, still waiting for him to come home.
vote kerry (not your conscience)
love your neighbor (unless he's pro life)
make everything political (especially if you're a blogger)
don't listen to me (except when i say don't listen to me)
never copy my sense of humor (because it sucks)
don't be self-deprecating (because all jokes have a bit of truth in them)
courtesy of bee-em-why
love your neighbor (unless he's pro life)
make everything political (especially if you're a blogger)
don't listen to me (except when i say don't listen to me)
never copy my sense of humor (because it sucks)
don't be self-deprecating (because all jokes have a bit of truth in them)
courtesy of bee-em-why
wind baskets chime
they sound like soft grass
but only if they have a certain je ne sais douchitude...
they sound like soft grass
but only if they have a certain je ne sais douchitude...
i have to wonder how i'm missing it when people tell me we're cut out for each other, even though i think i'm too good for her. at least those i've trusted more than others have agreed with me thus far. it's kind of like realizing there's a point when people move past their parents' expectations and into their own identity.
i'm sure you've already noticed, but i'm a bit limited in the range of topics i can legitamately dicuss via the push button publishing. that's b/c the only interests i have are acid trips, awol's stature (he's under 6, you know), hott women who don't know i exist, my lesbian car, whether leather collars and their leashes should be considered gay accessory or public policy, the occasional trip to the grocery, and scat. oui (or wee?), i love the poopie. oh yeah, and talking points. i'm sure ctrl-f and a search for teepees would get you at least a hit per post on any of my archived pages. that's b/c I CAN'T FOOKEN STAND HOW INFLUENTIAL TALKING POINTS ARE ON PUBLIC OPINION! i got a whiff of this crap (one of my interests, you'll notice) at work last night while listening to a cripple fight between a kerry supporter and a bush wanker. it should be noted here that i only use wanker b/c bush's middle name begins with a double-you. and anyone voting for him is a wanker. anyhow, the next time someone attempts to pass *flip flopper* off as independent thought is the first time i actually slap that face with my dick. i'm even going to take some spammer up on the offer of a bigger penis just so i leave a bigger bruise. the dick in your face threat's been pure hyperbole up to this point, but it's quickly approaching time to demonstrate how much smarter i am than other people. and not b/c i have a high iq or whatnot; rather, some people are fooken douche rockets.
so the subsequent claim i hear from my co-w(anker)orker is, i don't even know where kerry stands on the issues. for fucking really? i think i just listened to three hours of this sean hannity bee-es on the am radio, and that's b/c i was actually listening to sean hannity. here's why you don't know where kerry stands on the issues: b/c rush limbaugh's not going to tell you otherwise, and b/c your bitch ass hasn't yet thought about actually reading. i can't claim to have intricate knowledge of all things political, but the very minimum one can do if (s)he plans to act as such is listen to the two acceptance speeches, watch the debates, and presume anything filtered through the media is a fucking talking point. if ann coulter finds it important to go on and on and on and on...and...on...and (on) and (on....) and on about kerry's flip flops, that's prolly a cue to research kerry's record yourself. or if you listened to his acceptance speech, you'd have heard his appeal to check out his website to learn more about his vision. i mean, i wouldn't take what he has to say at face value, but neither would i make wholesale purchases of right wing rhetoric. or left wing. or chicken wing.
edit: shane asked if i was being elistist to castigate people for not thinking past talking points. well, yes. but i forgot to mention the w(anker) dood's aggression toward the other guy. if you're stoopid, you're stoopid; but if you're stoopid and treat people like shit, then someone should slap you in the face with his dickle.
so the subsequent claim i hear from my co-w(anker)orker is, i don't even know where kerry stands on the issues. for fucking really? i think i just listened to three hours of this sean hannity bee-es on the am radio, and that's b/c i was actually listening to sean hannity. here's why you don't know where kerry stands on the issues: b/c rush limbaugh's not going to tell you otherwise, and b/c your bitch ass hasn't yet thought about actually reading. i can't claim to have intricate knowledge of all things political, but the very minimum one can do if (s)he plans to act as such is listen to the two acceptance speeches, watch the debates, and presume anything filtered through the media is a fucking talking point. if ann coulter finds it important to go on and on and on and on...and...on...and (on) and (on....) and on about kerry's flip flops, that's prolly a cue to research kerry's record yourself. or if you listened to his acceptance speech, you'd have heard his appeal to check out his website to learn more about his vision. i mean, i wouldn't take what he has to say at face value, but neither would i make wholesale purchases of right wing rhetoric. or left wing. or chicken wing.
edit: shane asked if i was being elistist to castigate people for not thinking past talking points. well, yes. but i forgot to mention the w(anker) dood's aggression toward the other guy. if you're stoopid, you're stoopid; but if you're stoopid and treat people like shit, then someone should slap you in the face with his dickle.
i saw awol stumping in ohio this past sunday on c-span. i thought about driving the forty-five mintutes to perrysburg to see him get down live and in person, but a couple things kept me here. for one, i had neither the time nor ambition to wipe the dried spittle from my face, let alone look shit up on mapquest. secondly, i don't have blood enough to sign the required allegiance forms necessary to attend the two minute hate--err, rally--for dear leader. and finally, the program was a rebroadcast from a speech he delivered on saturday. or monday the _____. or wednesday the _____. or even every friday from last month till the end of october. you can fill in dates for the blanks; they're all the same talking points, non?
anyhow, most of the bush stumps i catch are the political equivalent of ernest hemingway. basically, i can't stand the short and constant pitter patter of hemingway's style the way i can't stand the pitter patter delivery of awol's one sentence exploration of complex subjects. i suppose it's not much his fault, though; it takes a lot of blood for each of his supporters to write their names next to the comment affirming their intent to clap wildly for each talking point. this turns a five minute stump into the hours necessary to turn my coffee cold. that said, i had applause enough to ponder this statement:
We stand for judges who faithfully interpret the law instead of legislating from the bench.
ok, clearly a pot shot at gay marriage, which is fine; opinions are the fall fashion. i just wish it wasn't so easy to sneak "faithfully" past the censors. i mean, i stand for judges who objectively interpret the law according to their ability to read plain english, the precedent of past judgements, and the legislative debates that precipitate the laws we have in the first place (the library of congress exists for a reason). as far as i'm concerned, the proselytizer-in-chief and "faith" shouldn't be within a one book radius of each other when it comes to discussions of public policy, especially since it's become increasingly difficult to gauge whether or not the guy's freuded himself again. faith/fully, fully/faith. but i'm sure it counts all the same, so long as we all have the same printing of gee-oh-dee as he does. he has great leadership skills, you know.
anyhow, most of the bush stumps i catch are the political equivalent of ernest hemingway. basically, i can't stand the short and constant pitter patter of hemingway's style the way i can't stand the pitter patter delivery of awol's one sentence exploration of complex subjects. i suppose it's not much his fault, though; it takes a lot of blood for each of his supporters to write their names next to the comment affirming their intent to clap wildly for each talking point. this turns a five minute stump into the hours necessary to turn my coffee cold. that said, i had applause enough to ponder this statement:
We stand for judges who faithfully interpret the law instead of legislating from the bench.
ok, clearly a pot shot at gay marriage, which is fine; opinions are the fall fashion. i just wish it wasn't so easy to sneak "faithfully" past the censors. i mean, i stand for judges who objectively interpret the law according to their ability to read plain english, the precedent of past judgements, and the legislative debates that precipitate the laws we have in the first place (the library of congress exists for a reason). as far as i'm concerned, the proselytizer-in-chief and "faith" shouldn't be within a one book radius of each other when it comes to discussions of public policy, especially since it's become increasingly difficult to gauge whether or not the guy's freuded himself again. faith/fully, fully/faith. but i'm sure it counts all the same, so long as we all have the same printing of gee-oh-dee as he does. he has great leadership skills, you know.
i have to admit i was taken by surprise the other day when dickle cheney sounded out re: his support for gay people to live outside of their cages. i mean, who wouldn't be surprised when lieutenant corporol second-in-charge guy of the political monolith that's trying to codify constitutional hate says something like this:
Lynne and I have a gay daughter, so it's an issue our family is very familiar with. With the respect to the question of relationships, my general view is freedom means freedom for everyone... People ought to be free to enter into any kind of relationship they want to. The question that comes up with the issue of marriage is what kind of official sanction or approval is going to be granted by government? Historically, that's been a relationship that has been handled by the states. The states have made that fundamental decision of what constitutes a marriage.
how cute and avuncular, i thought of the guy who was surreptitiously nefarious but a minute before i heard about his remarks; the old guy's actually pretty nice.
~BUT~
the guy was evil yesterday, so i'm sure he's still evil today. there must be some political reasoning behind his remarks. i've actually seen some publications laud him for standing apart from the party line, but i think those people are douches. the dood admitted his daughter was human for a single reason: political expediency. bu.sh went a little over the line the day he threw on his chaps and said we should put homosexuals to work in coal mines. the religious right was ecstatic that the homophobe-in-chief finally showed moral leadership, but the rest of the half-thinking population revulsed at the thought of constitutional discrimination. damage control comes in the form of convention-eve announcements that the republicans are the big tent party, that they encourage a panoply of different views, and that even the president and vice president can productively co-exist amidst some "healthy" disagreement. i call BUll SHit.
cheney further explained the president's stance on gay marriage was more an issue of curtailing crazy assed activist judges and less a singling out of an entire subset of the population. whatevs, dick. judges have but one job, to judge. they listen to arguments made about how to best interpret the law, take into consideration relevent factors, and then issue a decision. in other words, they do the same shit day after day after day after day, but they're only labeled activist when someone doesn't agree with the interpretations being handed down. if bush's goal is to stop this kind of stuff from happening, why doesn't he use less of a hot button platform to fight this issue on? because he hates gay people...
Lynne and I have a gay daughter, so it's an issue our family is very familiar with. With the respect to the question of relationships, my general view is freedom means freedom for everyone... People ought to be free to enter into any kind of relationship they want to. The question that comes up with the issue of marriage is what kind of official sanction or approval is going to be granted by government? Historically, that's been a relationship that has been handled by the states. The states have made that fundamental decision of what constitutes a marriage.
how cute and avuncular, i thought of the guy who was surreptitiously nefarious but a minute before i heard about his remarks; the old guy's actually pretty nice.
~BUT~
the guy was evil yesterday, so i'm sure he's still evil today. there must be some political reasoning behind his remarks. i've actually seen some publications laud him for standing apart from the party line, but i think those people are douches. the dood admitted his daughter was human for a single reason: political expediency. bu.sh went a little over the line the day he threw on his chaps and said we should put homosexuals to work in coal mines. the religious right was ecstatic that the homophobe-in-chief finally showed moral leadership, but the rest of the half-thinking population revulsed at the thought of constitutional discrimination. damage control comes in the form of convention-eve announcements that the republicans are the big tent party, that they encourage a panoply of different views, and that even the president and vice president can productively co-exist amidst some "healthy" disagreement. i call BUll SHit.
cheney further explained the president's stance on gay marriage was more an issue of curtailing crazy assed activist judges and less a singling out of an entire subset of the population. whatevs, dick. judges have but one job, to judge. they listen to arguments made about how to best interpret the law, take into consideration relevent factors, and then issue a decision. in other words, they do the same shit day after day after day after day, but they're only labeled activist when someone doesn't agree with the interpretations being handed down. if bush's goal is to stop this kind of stuff from happening, why doesn't he use less of a hot button platform to fight this issue on? because he hates gay people...
the common perception about smoking is that each cigarette removes seven minutes from your life. that said, i'm going to start booking flights that discriminate against chain smokers. killing me with your second hand smoke is fine and good, but fuck your first hand accelerating my own demise.
what if you found yrself in a mystery/fantasy/adventure thing, and part of the plot was to transport yrself off an airplane through a toilet portal, only once you flushed yrself you realize the portal thing was a hoax. and you weren't really in a mystery/fantasy/adventure thing. damned games and their dice...
the olympics are on tape delay, which is good for two reasons: (one) we get to watch this horrible metaphor for american foreign policy get their asses handed to them by puerto rican-caliber teams and (two) the world gets to see just how hot my girlfriend is.
at least we can't market football to the rest of the world, else our "soldiers" might be denied an opportunity to act like actual soldiers, only w/o those crazy bomb and bullet things that distract them from eating more of the shite food they survive off of in million degree weather. i guess i'm trying to say: how fooken sweet was it to see kellen winslow get duck-raped? *quack*
at least we can't market football to the rest of the world, else our "soldiers" might be denied an opportunity to act like actual soldiers, only w/o those crazy bomb and bullet things that distract them from eating more of the shite food they survive off of in million degree weather. i guess i'm trying to say: how fooken sweet was it to see kellen winslow get duck-raped? *quack*
some self-aggrandizing wanker sent me (and eric) this email today. maybe it was yesterday:
Hello, Ciao, Hola, Bonjour, and Guten Tag to everybody...
I have to write this in English because I am too lazy to do 3 seperate
languages... but its understandable enough..
This is my email addresss here at my internship for the next 6 months..
other than that, I am reachable via my other address, as usual:
xxxxx16@aol.com...
I also have the luck of having a house phone! And that number is:
out of the US: 011 49 271 989 33862
(my cell phone: 011 49 160 220 5840)
out of EU: 0049 221 989 33492
(my cell phone: 00 49 160 250 2540)
in Deutschland: 0221 989 30962
(cell: 0160 250 5360)
ok then! I have now fully utilized modern-day technology to be
sickeningly
available at all time! yea technology! yea mankind!
BACI A TUTTI
Germany <----- her name. sort of.
let me get my pompous bitch translater out to help you better understand this tripe. basically:
hola, bitches. i have no redeemable skills, values, hobbies, or anything else of interest to offer mankind (yea mankind!), so i fly off to foreign countries and spend hours telling you how fooken great germany is. i mean italy. no, poland. wait, where the eskimos live. yeah, it's all fooken better than here. the us is so not like the places i go, which are better than the places i haven't been, at least until i've been there, then they're better. anyhoo, here's my email and countless phone numbers you could have if you were really going to phone me. but you're not, cause we don't really talk; i just sent out emails like this so you remember how cool i am for being somewhere better than you are. remember to type country code 0 94 if the sum of your longitudal and latitudinal coordinates is similar to that of the cool place i'm at right now.
the funny thing here is that bronson's made out with this chick. the funnier part is that i tried to, but all i got was an day's worth of germany's so fooken cool...
Hello, Ciao, Hola, Bonjour, and Guten Tag to everybody...
I have to write this in English because I am too lazy to do 3 seperate
languages... but its understandable enough..
This is my email addresss here at my internship for the next 6 months..
other than that, I am reachable via my other address, as usual:
xxxxx16@aol.com
I also have the luck of having a house phone! And that number is:
out of the US: 011 49 271 989 33862
(my cell phone: 011 49 160 220 5840)
out of EU: 0049 221 989 33492
(my cell phone: 00 49 160 250 2540)
in Deutschland: 0221 989 30962
(cell: 0160 250 5360)
ok then! I have now fully utilized modern-day technology to be
sickeningly
available at all time! yea technology! yea mankind!
BACI A TUTTI
Germany <----- her name. sort of.
let me get my pompous bitch translater out to help you better understand this tripe. basically:
hola, bitches. i have no redeemable skills, values, hobbies, or anything else of interest to offer mankind (yea mankind!), so i fly off to foreign countries and spend hours telling you how fooken great germany is. i mean italy. no, poland. wait, where the eskimos live. yeah, it's all fooken better than here. the us is so not like the places i go, which are better than the places i haven't been, at least until i've been there, then they're better. anyhoo, here's my email and countless phone numbers you could have if you were really going to phone me. but you're not, cause we don't really talk; i just sent out emails like this so you remember how cool i am for being somewhere better than you are. remember to type country code 0 94 if the sum of your longitudal and latitudinal coordinates is similar to that of the cool place i'm at right now.
the funny thing here is that bronson's made out with this chick. the funnier part is that i tried to, but all i got was an day's worth of germany's so fooken cool...
i've noticed on blogs the common argument from the right that social/communism is a chimera because human nature won't allow for wholesale sharing among the masses; greed will eventually pervert equality. capitalism--the right's panacea--is nothing more than simple algebra: x + 1 = y, with x=individual effort and y yr comeuppance. but that's perfect world bullshit, too. doesn't greed factor into the right's answer? human nature transmogrifies socialism into state power; it transforms capitalism into feudal power. either way...
i thought i was headed to maine this weekend to do whatever it is raquel does out there, but she waited till wednesday or tuesday--or maybe last week?--to make appointments with people better than i. but then she said it was brookie's fault, that she ain't doing shit but brookie doesn't want to drive so far after flying so long. fuck it, i say; i'll go to a wedding. but only if it has an open bar. good thing jkrause is a fooken lush. good thing pt.ii he and stephanie planned out a beautiful night. good thing pt.iii there was an open bar. good thing pt.iv the booze was free. good thing pt.v that i like booze, especially if it comes free of charge.
lost in the afterglow came saturday, which i believe was inconsequential. i remember waking up and thinking i should do something, but then i realized it was sunday afternoon and travelled east from ypsi. there's something about the emptiness of metro highways on a sunday afternoon i can't give name to. i think it's that detroit spends all of her magic in late summer, when the the sun is worn from months of travel and wants to relax and listen to motown with the rest of us.
i also got a whiff of a convo marie had with leah:
-i finally found a hookup.
-cool?
-but the penalty here is death.
speaking of things that should die: people are gonna get sued. i'd normally agree with this breakdown of the situation, but it fails to consider the countless fucktwats sending me emails re: this is so fooken funny or who you going to vote for or some other trite attempt at selling me shite humor. i hope jibjab has to pay out the ass and the scrotti who've wasted my inbox get capital punishment.
and speaking of things i can't use the word "die" within a three paragraph radius of: the freudian-in-chief slipped off something other than his bike. pretty funny, but not as funny as the smirk he wears after delivering his faulty talking points. nor as funny as cash bars at a wedding. good thing i don't know any funny people. rather, good thing the funny people i know aren't getting married anytime soon.
lost in the afterglow came saturday, which i believe was inconsequential. i remember waking up and thinking i should do something, but then i realized it was sunday afternoon and travelled east from ypsi. there's something about the emptiness of metro highways on a sunday afternoon i can't give name to. i think it's that detroit spends all of her magic in late summer, when the the sun is worn from months of travel and wants to relax and listen to motown with the rest of us.
i also got a whiff of a convo marie had with leah:
-i finally found a hookup.
-cool?
-but the penalty here is death.
speaking of things that should die: people are gonna get sued. i'd normally agree with this breakdown of the situation, but it fails to consider the countless fucktwats sending me emails re: this is so fooken funny or who you going to vote for or some other trite attempt at selling me shite humor. i hope jibjab has to pay out the ass and the scrotti who've wasted my inbox get capital punishment.
and speaking of things i can't use the word "die" within a three paragraph radius of: the freudian-in-chief slipped off something other than his bike. pretty funny, but not as funny as the smirk he wears after delivering his faulty talking points. nor as funny as cash bars at a wedding. good thing i don't know any funny people. rather, good thing the funny people i know aren't getting married anytime soon.
so i changed the name of the blog. for a couple reasons. i suppose the first is that the effort shifted around march-ish from one polio at a time to one polio ALL the time. might as well assume some modicum of adverblogging probity, non? i can't put my finger on why exactly this blog degressed from a family affair to a solo effort. i think i always suspected it would turn out this way, that the initial excitement to meet the idea would slowly extinguising itself, leaving myself alone to go on and on and on (and on) and on about nothing. or it could have something to do with me playing administrator and removing everyone else from the blog. hahahahahahahahahaha...
the other reason for altering the title concerns some thoughts i have on the philosophy behind that search we're all so concerned with as we're left alone with an empty living room, dirty furniture, a to do list, and an inquisitive mind. namely, it's about coping with the idiosyncracies of our interpretive minds while at the same time acknowledging the collected effort of those who have preceded us with similar ponderings of their own.
my best estimate is that i'll lose a few hits a day by snipping polio from the title. i hate to lose the people who stumble across my meager site via their yahoo search for gay polio, but sacrifices have to be made, people...
the other reason for altering the title concerns some thoughts i have on the philosophy behind that search we're all so concerned with as we're left alone with an empty living room, dirty furniture, a to do list, and an inquisitive mind. namely, it's about coping with the idiosyncracies of our interpretive minds while at the same time acknowledging the collected effort of those who have preceded us with similar ponderings of their own.
my best estimate is that i'll lose a few hits a day by snipping polio from the title. i hate to lose the people who stumble across my meager site via their yahoo search for gay polio, but sacrifices have to be made, people...
summer's been good for ripping tidbits out of emails i've recieved and posting them on my blog, debating whether or not to pass them off as my own...
The night I thought of my promised moon was three summers ago. I was up north and hte mmon was this amazing color, on I'd never seen before. It was orange, but not orange. Yellow, but not yellow. Pink, yet still, not pink. It was the color of flush, in the cheeks of a lover. It was the color of want and desire. It was the color of exhaustion after falling in love. A beautiful, sweet color. And that was my inspiration. The moon, an exhausted glow, waits every night for her lover to return. Unknowing people promise her, as though she is but an object, yet she has already been promised. She is a constant, waiting for her lover to return.
je ne sais pas? i think it's the exhaustion and falling in love part that i like.
The night I thought of my promised moon was three summers ago. I was up north and hte mmon was this amazing color, on I'd never seen before. It was orange, but not orange. Yellow, but not yellow. Pink, yet still, not pink. It was the color of flush, in the cheeks of a lover. It was the color of want and desire. It was the color of exhaustion after falling in love. A beautiful, sweet color. And that was my inspiration. The moon, an exhausted glow, waits every night for her lover to return. Unknowing people promise her, as though she is but an object, yet she has already been promised. She is a constant, waiting for her lover to return.
je ne sais pas? i think it's the exhaustion and falling in love part that i like.
i finally got around to reading the davinci code the other day and figure john grisham and deen koontz did well to dress their whodunnits up in mona lisa drag. i make it a priority to listen in on the conversations i'm made privy to in coffeshops, the workout place, washrooms, some hooker's bedroom, the student union, and the phones i've bugged. everyone and their sister's gank feet raves about this book: youhavetofookenreadit!!! so i did, and i swear i heard my mama's distant voice telling me catholics are a bunch of pagans. i suppose the point i'm supposed to make here is that the books i've read through my constant eavesdropping before i actually read them have followed in the vein of eggers, foer, and wallace, books that employ intelligent and creative styles of writing to show off how fooken cool the authors are trying to look. i guess. so i was surprised then to find the davinci code was driven more by plot than actual thought. the material was fascinating, but i figured something promoted by the annarbor coffee scene would fuck with my head a bit more than a formulaic shitpile dressed up with a bit more meat than the usual fare. i guess that's why annearbour's so overrated.
which begs my question: how many people are in tier four law schools b/c they watched susan surandon and tommy lee jones and other grisham characters before deducing they should play the role of real life barrister?
which begs my question: how many people are in tier four law schools b/c they watched susan surandon and tommy lee jones and other grisham characters before deducing they should play the role of real life barrister?
any person claiming to have pure intent, translucent motive, or no hidden agenda is full of pure shyte, even more so if i'm the one selling that line of crep. most of us have become so accustomed to walking and thinking of sex at the same time that everything we do is some sort of multi-tasking. crossing the streams, for instance. i used to think it was a simple exercise in practicality, that there's no good reason to interrupt a conversation just b/c the two interlocuters have to piss simultaneously. def and i do every so often out of necessity b/c the second w.c. in our house doesn't work properly; we also do it out of convenience b/c it always seem one of us is in the midst of a good point right as the urge hits us both. but then i think about the last time bronson and i played ghostbusters at sticks. i suppose we could tell ourselves that there's only two urinals in the washroom, and that we were talking about a train whose thought we wished to hold on to. but let's be honest: no one else was in the w.c. when we came in, and we weren't talking about anything substantial. no, our alterior motive was to invoke some sort of homophobic reaction from the dub-tees that frequent the spot. which we got, buy the bye:
-you guys are fags!
then to his "bud" (as guys with mustaches are so apt to say): -i saw these two fags in the bathroom, and i was like, you guys are fags.
-yeah... *high five*
i only reminisce b/c i was at sticks last night and had to use the *gasp* washroom. i barged in on a couple of guys crossing the streams, one of whom looked at me like he was in trouble and said, hey. i considered whether i should have said, i do it too, but i chose the high road instead:
-you guys are fags!
-you guys are fags!
then to his "bud" (as guys with mustaches are so apt to say): -i saw these two fags in the bathroom, and i was like, you guys are fags.
-yeah... *high five*
i only reminisce b/c i was at sticks last night and had to use the *gasp* washroom. i barged in on a couple of guys crossing the streams, one of whom looked at me like he was in trouble and said, hey. i considered whether i should have said, i do it too, but i chose the high road instead:
-you guys are fags!
i've never hesitated to let people know i'm bisexual, but that was before i learned bi has nothing to do with the amount of women involved in my sexual encounters. selah...
i also think that people who regard baseball as a game of patience have never played it themselves.
i also think that people who regard baseball as a game of patience have never played it themselves.
thet grass on neptune is green and yellow, just like the dream i had last night where i rolled down a hill that felt like clay and chocolate pudding. for years i wondered when clocks would die and i could run through a needle into the cities only the exlusive were allowed into. but it's now and i can't cause i've been told my music appeals only to those who can't hear. where? were?
there was green and pastachio and funny jokes earlier in my life, and now i've dropped them off to fall asleep. tomorrow i'll sit at my escritoire and try to press the lasting memory into a book i'll never read, but the visions and colors will eventually evaporate into a recollection i'll forget the next time i pour myself a drink.
john kerry spoke well tonight.
there was green and pastachio and funny jokes earlier in my life, and now i've dropped them off to fall asleep. tomorrow i'll sit at my escritoire and try to press the lasting memory into a book i'll never read, but the visions and colors will eventually evaporate into a recollection i'll forget the next time i pour myself a drink.
john kerry spoke well tonight.
ohfookenboy, i can't wait to check my email and find another seventeen emails from twenty-three different people telling me to click on the link cause it's funny as shit.
ok, i fooken get it. my land, your land...now STFU!!!
ok, i fooken get it. my land, your land...now STFU!!!
anyone who's anne arbour to the bone(r) is fully aware that art fair is the signal to pack yr shit into an old shirt (shorts), tie that fucker to a stick, and scamper alongside the set of tracks that leads farthest from the weekend-long orgy of termagent hounds and their ingratiating husbands (as long as we don't have to talk, dear). i sought my refuge on lake michigan, where leah was so kind as to invite friends up to her cabin. unfortunately, only the don and i rsvp'd, so i resumed the fate of those in purgatory without people enough to pray for their salvation. i passed the time in arbour/ypsi.
but it wasn't so bad, i suppose. removing six hours of travel from my itinerary afforded me time to read lots of email. not only did i refinance my penis to increase the size of my home, i also discovered that gays shouldn't marry b/c someone's ex-homosexual friends say so. (i say: if it fits, it's legit.) i also spent some time in a quick gad about the cess pool and had the good fortune to bump into peekay, to which he advised me on how to go about recovering my foreskin. but best of all, kicking around on the east side gave me time to investigate the wherabouts of superman. apparently he was in town this weekend to kick the shit out of some fratboys.
ok, best of all was a fooken lie. the real best of all came today, when bosley coletrain dragged a dead ass bird in from the out-of-doors.
-wtf is that, pedro axed.
-?????, i shrugged. oh, a dead bird.
[pedro gets off the couch to do a little forensic science]
-i tell you what, i'm not kissing that dog anymore.
-¿que? you know he spends half the day licking his cack and the other his arse?
i'm guessing it's going to be pretty tense around the the house this week, what with bosley's heartache and moody temperment. das sigh. perhaps the following week will bring a normalization to the relationship. hopefully no one catches zoey doing whatever it she does when no one's looking.
but it wasn't so bad, i suppose. removing six hours of travel from my itinerary afforded me time to read lots of email. not only did i refinance my penis to increase the size of my home, i also discovered that gays shouldn't marry b/c someone's ex-homosexual friends say so. (i say: if it fits, it's legit.) i also spent some time in a quick gad about the cess pool and had the good fortune to bump into peekay, to which he advised me on how to go about recovering my foreskin. but best of all, kicking around on the east side gave me time to investigate the wherabouts of superman. apparently he was in town this weekend to kick the shit out of some fratboys.
ok, best of all was a fooken lie. the real best of all came today, when bosley coletrain dragged a dead ass bird in from the out-of-doors.
-wtf is that, pedro axed.
-?????, i shrugged. oh, a dead bird.
[pedro gets off the couch to do a little forensic science]
-i tell you what, i'm not kissing that dog anymore.
-¿que? you know he spends half the day licking his cack and the other his arse?
i'm guessing it's going to be pretty tense around the the house this week, what with bosley's heartache and moody temperment. das sigh. perhaps the following week will bring a normalization to the relationship. hopefully no one catches zoey doing whatever it she does when no one's looking.
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
i'll fooken call you, dood.
::asleep::
what a bitch. conor, too..
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
whatya doen tonight?
i'll fooken call you, dood.
::asleep::
what a bitch. conor, too..
morlie sent an email recounting the first part of her triapse through southern europe. i found it pretty interesting and stuck it up on my webspace. click here if yr fascinated by travel journals the way i am.
she also brought along a camera:
which reminds me... if you didn't know, marie's expatriated herself to malaysia and keeps a pretty detailed account of her experiences, emphasis on detailed...
as for me, i've pulled a patent out for a new form of protest. once the leftists in the country finally take control of government--since they already control the media--they'll have to find new ways to sanction our ability to choose. no longer will you gain security clearance to headshops and other trustafarian mainstays by refraining from carniverous activity. nay, the new diet's protein staple will be *fake* tofu. yes, interpolating the nesta between the robert and marley of yr interminable references to all things hippy won't cut the vegan substitute you use in place of cheese; you're going to have to eat the fake version of fake meat.
i'm out making some sweet moolah with uncle rico.
she also brought along a camera:
which reminds me... if you didn't know, marie's expatriated herself to malaysia and keeps a pretty detailed account of her experiences, emphasis on detailed...
as for me, i've pulled a patent out for a new form of protest. once the leftists in the country finally take control of government--since they already control the media--they'll have to find new ways to sanction our ability to choose. no longer will you gain security clearance to headshops and other trustafarian mainstays by refraining from carniverous activity. nay, the new diet's protein staple will be *fake* tofu. yes, interpolating the nesta between the robert and marley of yr interminable references to all things hippy won't cut the vegan substitute you use in place of cheese; you're going to have to eat the fake version of fake meat.
i'm out making some sweet moolah with uncle rico.
i watched napoleon dynamite at the cinema last night. eleven words: go. now. before you realize what a prick you are. now.
i caught you a delicious bass. <----- genius
i caught you a delicious bass. <----- genius
i was going to edit an apparent gaff in my last post, but why not start anew? it sounded like i wrote 67 senatorial votes are all that is required for the constitution to be amended. anyone who didn't sleep through civics class obviously knows it also has to pass the house with a 2/3 vote as well as receive 3/4 validation from the states. or 2/3 of the states can petition congress for a constitutional convention, in which case 3/4 of them still need to affirm proposed changes.
i was thinking about the states' role in the ratification process b/c douche santorum threw out a large helping of casuistry in addressing state vs. federal rights: the amendment process requires ratification from 38 states; ergo, the states are left to legislate for themselves. whatever, bitch. perhaps the third ranking republican senator should spend his time conceptualizing more effective strategies for concealing his man on dog fetish. better that than declaring the preservation of marriage is the ultimate form of homeland security. seriously, guys who employ this sort of rationale are elected to the u.s. senate? repeatedly?
i was also thinking earlier about effluvia i've heard from the pro-fma whores that the absence of a constitutional amendment is akin to legislating morality. oh, so now we're worried about the seperation of church and state? this line of reasoning mirrors the presumption of only those who push against the status quo as political; or people who speak a little differently as having accents; or various shades of brown people as ethnic. these assumptions presuppose that the hegemonic perspective is the paragon the whole of society subscribes to, when, in fact, those that affirm the status quo are just as political as those who don't, everyone has an accent of some sort, and white ass crackers don't suffer for lack of ethnicity and culture. common sense, like everything else, is relative. likewise with the proposed fma: both the right to and restriction of gays to marry can be regarded as legislating morality; however, one allows for people to run amok according to their own free will while the other requires approval from 67 senators, 290 representatives, and 38 state legislatures. which of the two sounds more arduous and legislative?
i was thinking about the states' role in the ratification process b/c douche santorum threw out a large helping of casuistry in addressing state vs. federal rights: the amendment process requires ratification from 38 states; ergo, the states are left to legislate for themselves. whatever, bitch. perhaps the third ranking republican senator should spend his time conceptualizing more effective strategies for concealing his man on dog fetish. better that than declaring the preservation of marriage is the ultimate form of homeland security. seriously, guys who employ this sort of rationale are elected to the u.s. senate? repeatedly?
i was also thinking earlier about effluvia i've heard from the pro-fma whores that the absence of a constitutional amendment is akin to legislating morality. oh, so now we're worried about the seperation of church and state? this line of reasoning mirrors the presumption of only those who push against the status quo as political; or people who speak a little differently as having accents; or various shades of brown people as ethnic. these assumptions presuppose that the hegemonic perspective is the paragon the whole of society subscribes to, when, in fact, those that affirm the status quo are just as political as those who don't, everyone has an accent of some sort, and white ass crackers don't suffer for lack of ethnicity and culture. common sense, like everything else, is relative. likewise with the proposed fma: both the right to and restriction of gays to marry can be regarded as legislating morality; however, one allows for people to run amok according to their own free will while the other requires approval from 67 senators, 290 representatives, and 38 state legislatures. which of the two sounds more arduous and legislative?
the senate voted in cloture yesterday 50-48 to kill off consideration for the fma, which is telling to think a full 67 votes are required to enshrine that bullshit drivel into the constitution. now the vote's on to the house, where we can expect rep. joe come-again? to wax cogently about the *preservation* of marriage. maybe i'll tune into c-span to view an assembely line of two-year bitches attempt to pass off their santorum-like logic as independant thought. i can't imagine i'll hear this argument again:
the fma isn't about descrimination; it's about defining marriage in a way that descriminates, but we're not descriminating.
i mean, me too. i don't have anything against blacks; i just don't let them into my business establishments. and i'll talk with mexicans, as long as they're willing to work for cheap and let me boss them around. and gays are human, too; i just don't treat them as such...
human rights campaign
the fma isn't about descrimination; it's about defining marriage in a way that descriminates, but we're not descriminating.
i mean, me too. i don't have anything against blacks; i just don't let them into my business establishments. and i'll talk with mexicans, as long as they're willing to work for cheap and let me boss them around. and gays are human, too; i just don't treat them as such...
human rights campaign
i've always had the not-so-original idea that i should cut my hair into a mullet once i did away with the allman brothers look, but since i didn't, and b/c time, consequence, and circumstance are all so tangibly three-dimensional, my newest in a line of pedestrian ideas is to grow my hair into one.
dammit... i had a thought about something today, and i wanted to rush home and publish it on my blog, but i forgot. maybe it was something i read. or ate. or pooped. yeah, poop gets my synapses firing. well, fire in that too much hot in my hot sauce sort of way, especially when i've finished an entire plate of mexican food sans the glass of water i'm used to throwing at the back of my throat.
damn, what was it?
damn, what was it?
sunday's a nice time for simulation.
wednesday night found me a bit relieved that friday was near and cody, along with his punk attitude, would be flying back to oregon. friday afternoon found me at cody's gate telling him to be good and all that shit amidst a burning sensation in my eyes. there was so much preperation for my unreliable arse to get him to the plane on time that i stood confused at what to do next now that he was gone. i felt kind of lonely.
regardless, it was my twelve-year-old bro-shat who provided the best logic for a threesome i've ever heard: it's kind of like double dating.
so anyhow, bronson finally started a blog, which leaves me confused. wtf am i supposed to link to whenever i mention him? his blog? his portfolio? perhaps my initial mention of uncle eric should link to his blog, while any subsequent references should be to the portfolio. maybe i should link exclusively to the blog because the fucker still hasn't put his portfolio back online. fuck, blog or portfolio? portfolio or blog? god i hate you. but only b/c i love you. a picture should do:
but when i'm not thinking of all things bronson, i'm trying to conceptualize religious imagery to refer my kids to when they're getting close to an asswhooping. the best i can come up with is saint fu. or st.fu. or stfu. or shut the fuck up for those of you not quick enough to catch the acronym. i kind of envision saint fu in the sacred heart pose, only there's no visible heart and jesus is giving out the finger rather than that two fingered thing i always see him doing. there's also going to be a multimedia aspect to the iconography i have hanging over my fireplace: a mere look at saint fu will elicit a "shut the fuck up." i very well might make the installation interactive and let saint fu wield a whip. my wife will have to borrow it on occasion, if by occasion i mean every single night...
political reads:
a new republic article reports that the bush administration is putting more pressure on pakistan to produce high level al-quaeda operatives before the election, which begs the obvious: why wasn't this pressure exerted before? preferential dates are offered, namely those coinciding with the democratic nat'l convention.
for those of you unaware of helen thomas, she tends to brush aside accusations of the unpatriotic behavior that comes from refusing to purchase unconditionally the administration's talking points. this exchange came from the press gaggle last wednesday:
MR. McCLELLAN: Good afternoon. Hope everybody had a good July 4th weekend. And with that, I will go straight to your questions today. Helen.
Q Does the President feel that he had enough information about weapons to take this nation to war?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, I think you heard directly from the President earlier today in the Oval Office, following his meeting with Prime Minister Oddsson. The President talked about how Saddam Hussein was a threat. It was a threat that was real --
Q -- was a threat how?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, we have learned since going into Iraq and removing that regime from power that the regime certainly had the intent and capability when it comes to weapons of mass destruction --
Q What do you mean by intent?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, the Iraq Survey Group, that was previously headed by David Kay and is now headed by Charles Duelfer, has looked into the issues and showed that Saddam Hussein was in serious and clear violation of United Nations Security Council Resolution 1441. That resolution, you'll recall, called for serious consequences if Saddam Hussein --
Q It didn't call for war.
MR. McCLELLAN: It gave him one final opportunity to comply, or face serious consequences if he continued to defy the international community. And the world is better off without Saddam Hussein in power.
Q Do you know how vague you sound on that?
MR. McCLELLAN: And you heard that directly from the President of the United States earlier today.
Go ahead, John.
'bout fooken time someone tells that dissembling dick to become a bit cannibalistic (read: eat a dick).
regardless, it was my twelve-year-old bro-shat who provided the best logic for a threesome i've ever heard: it's kind of like double dating.
so anyhow, bronson finally started a blog, which leaves me confused. wtf am i supposed to link to whenever i mention him? his blog? his portfolio? perhaps my initial mention of uncle eric should link to his blog, while any subsequent references should be to the portfolio. maybe i should link exclusively to the blog because the fucker still hasn't put his portfolio back online. fuck, blog or portfolio? portfolio or blog? god i hate you. but only b/c i love you. a picture should do:
but when i'm not thinking of all things bronson, i'm trying to conceptualize religious imagery to refer my kids to when they're getting close to an asswhooping. the best i can come up with is saint fu. or st.fu. or stfu. or shut the fuck up for those of you not quick enough to catch the acronym. i kind of envision saint fu in the sacred heart pose, only there's no visible heart and jesus is giving out the finger rather than that two fingered thing i always see him doing. there's also going to be a multimedia aspect to the iconography i have hanging over my fireplace: a mere look at saint fu will elicit a "shut the fuck up." i very well might make the installation interactive and let saint fu wield a whip. my wife will have to borrow it on occasion, if by occasion i mean every single night...
political reads:
a new republic article reports that the bush administration is putting more pressure on pakistan to produce high level al-quaeda operatives before the election, which begs the obvious: why wasn't this pressure exerted before? preferential dates are offered, namely those coinciding with the democratic nat'l convention.
for those of you unaware of helen thomas, she tends to brush aside accusations of the unpatriotic behavior that comes from refusing to purchase unconditionally the administration's talking points. this exchange came from the press gaggle last wednesday:
MR. McCLELLAN: Good afternoon. Hope everybody had a good July 4th weekend. And with that, I will go straight to your questions today. Helen.
Q Does the President feel that he had enough information about weapons to take this nation to war?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, I think you heard directly from the President earlier today in the Oval Office, following his meeting with Prime Minister Oddsson. The President talked about how Saddam Hussein was a threat. It was a threat that was real --
Q -- was a threat how?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, we have learned since going into Iraq and removing that regime from power that the regime certainly had the intent and capability when it comes to weapons of mass destruction --
Q What do you mean by intent?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, the Iraq Survey Group, that was previously headed by David Kay and is now headed by Charles Duelfer, has looked into the issues and showed that Saddam Hussein was in serious and clear violation of United Nations Security Council Resolution 1441. That resolution, you'll recall, called for serious consequences if Saddam Hussein --
Q It didn't call for war.
MR. McCLELLAN: It gave him one final opportunity to comply, or face serious consequences if he continued to defy the international community. And the world is better off without Saddam Hussein in power.
Q Do you know how vague you sound on that?
MR. McCLELLAN: And you heard that directly from the President of the United States earlier today.
Go ahead, John.
'bout fooken time someone tells that dissembling dick to become a bit cannibalistic (read: eat a dick).
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