Day 1 - i'm copping out for the next 30 entries. sorry.
Day 01 - Your favorite song
Day 02 - Your least favorite song
Day 03 - A song that makes you happy
Day 04 - A song that makes you sad
Day 05 - A song that reminds you of someone
Day 06 - A song that reminds you of somewhere
Day 07 - A song that reminds you of a certain event
Day 08 - A song that you know all the words to
Day 09 - A song that you can dance to
Day 10 - A song that makes you fall asleep
Day 11 - A song from your favorite band
Day 12 - A song from a band you hate
Day 13 - A song that is a guilty pleasure
Day 14 - A song that no one would expect you to love
Day 15 - A song that describes you
Day 16 - A song that you used to love but now hate
Day 17 - A song that you hear often on the radio
Day 18 - A song that you wish you heard on the radio
Day 19 - A song from your favorite album
Day 20 - A song that you listen to when you’re angry
Day 21 - A song that you listen to when you’re happy
Day 22 - A song that you listen to when you’re sad
Day 23 - A song that you want to play at your wedding
Day 24 - A song that you want to play at your funeral
Day 25 - A song that makes you laugh
Day 26 - A song that you can play on an instrument
Day 27 - A song that you wish you could play
Day 28 - A song that makes you feel guilty
Day 29 - A song from your childhood
Day 30 - Your favorite song at this time last year
Favorite Song:
this was not easy, by any stretch of the imagination. which is why you get two.
::
2011 19 March :: 12.27 am
:: Mood: party-mode
:: Music: bob marley - all in one
at least it was the 18th when i started writing....
So, I'm deeming the first fire of the year a success. I mean, it was on fire, but the rest of the neighborhood didn't catch. I typically consider that a success.
I'd rather brush the fact that it was just me by myself out there under the rug. But even still, it was nice. The moon was big and bright, which made it fun.
I got to work outside today, which was nice. Nothing like swingin' a hammer in the fresh air.
That's about it. I've been pretty lame lately.
Be safe, and stay classy, kiddos.
p.s. I made a fried egg sandwich. It was delicious.
i'm making 'omnanimously' a word, and that's the end of it.
So, i'm on vacation with my family. We go to the k-mart in Petoskey. Not my decision, but in the interest of caving to the more forceful individuals involved, that's where I wound up.
My dad gives me spending money (it would've been much better spent on the slopes, but that wasn't in the cards, apparently. So, I still haven't spent it.), which in and of itself is both sad and cool. With what money I brought up with me, I buy a soda. A 20-ounce bottle of pop. The lady at the register asks me if I have a k-mart rewards card. I have to sound all stupid, and ask her to repeat herself because she's one of those soft talkers. You know the ones. I'm half deaf, because i'm getting over a sinus infection, and i've spent several sessions in the last 24 hours submerged in either a hot tub or a pool. Since I can't fucking be skiing. would you like to sign up for a rewards card? I'm sorry, what was that? Do you want to sign up for one? No, thanks. And in my head, there's a battle raging between the logical part of me that's thinking 'she doesn't know that I never go to k-mart, probably won't again for a long long time, and the only reason i'm here in the first place is because i'm from out of town,' and the other part that's saying 'lady, I don't have one already, and i'm just buying a fucking soda!'. Alright, that'll be a dollar sixty-nine. I didn't actually hear what she said, but I knew it was more than a dollar, but less than two, and deduced the rest from the change.
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Just a fun fact (or an FF. See what I did there? I shortened it. Which is automatically more cool. Or cooler. See? Shortened again! Damn, i'm cool), this stems from a game of phone tag that i'm currently in.
I am fascinated, at least for the moment, with the phenomenon of being 'it'. Like, how would you describe being it? (again, short=cool) Defining 'it' is easy, but describing it is nigh on impossible. You're in a position of some singular importance, but at the same time it's something you try to avoid. I guess it all stems from the simplicity of the game. It is competition in its most sublime, simplified form. Still, the human mind needs some context; some rules. Granted, they're basic: if the person who's it touches you, you become the person who's it - The game begins with whoever initiates contact and calls someone else it - Anyone who chooses to join in is potentially it. Them's the rules. Then why is that sensation so difficult to pin down? We all know it (at least, anyone who has ever played tag. Which I omnanimously declare to be everyone), and yet it remains so difficult to put to words. You're either chasing, or being chased, and taking it in turns. And the game is pretty much over when the person who's it gives up, and nobody else in the game decides to take up the mantle.
In some ways, I wish phone tag were more like the game of my youth. Regardless, I still hate being 'it'.
::
2011 18 January :: 2.08 am
:: Music: SuperLibrary - it continues to grow
so.... you hit it and then it works?
yes. yes it does.
so, i live on a cul-de-sac (which is a word i despise, but there really is no other word for it...). at the very end is a path that leads to the school behind the house. by the path are a fire hydrant and a streetlamp. now, for the past year or so, the light wouldn't always turn on automatically. sometimes you'd have to kick it, nudge it, whatever you felt like doing in order to jostle the thing to life. now, at first it was just every once in awhile. then it got to be once a month. still a novelty at this point, as i spend a lot of time visiting with the neighbors across the path, and he would usually beat me to it. but eventually it got to be once a week.... then every fucking day. that got old for him (i was excited to have a fighting chance to be the first one to kick it), so he called up the township or whoever is in charge of maintaining the lights (yay 'burb life) and asked them to come fix it. they say yeah, sure, first thing.
about a month later he calls them back, reminding them of their promise to fix the damn thing... he even has the file number they gave him from the first call he made so she could look it up. she said the number didn't really matter. okay, whatever. "but yeah, someone needs to get out here to fix this soon. i'm getting sick of kicking it."
"i'm sorry? what seems to be the problem with it?"
"well, it doesn't turn on when it gets dark, so you have to hit the pole so it turns on."
"so, you hit it, and it comes on."
"yes ma'am, i'm not pulling your leg. it really turns on when i kick it."
"huh. you sure?"
"yup."
"alrighty, well i'll send someone out within the week. your file number is 1928340987-"
"-i thought you said the number didn't matter."
"oh. well, yeah, right. you have a good day then."
"thanks, you too."
i'm only semi-bullshitting the conversation there. it's not verbatim but that's the gist of what he described to me.
i just didn't realize that hitting things to make them work could be so foreign to somebody. it's like, the first thing i do. not violently. just to see if there's a bad connection or something. i guess maybe she was just surprised that hitting it actually worked. she must have a bad track record of hitting things and having them remain woefully unmended or something. guess i've got the magic touch.
all i know is, about a month ago they finally fixed the blasted thing, and now it's brighter than blazes all effing night long out there. it seriously hurts my eyes to look out the window. and it's got this weird pinkish hue to it. i almost liked the broken one better.
see what i mean? bright.
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in other news, i'm still a sagittarius, pluto's still a fucking planet, and triceratops is still the most badass herbivore this side of the big bang. the bce/ce from bc/ad didn't bother me as much. i mean, change typically comes slowly for me, if at all, so i still use the old ones, but i don't mind seeing the new ones because of the unholy ruckus the bible-bangers made about it. if you're too shortsighted to see that changing the name of something doesn't change the thing itself, then i really don't care about whatever got your panties in a bunch. we need some way to measure time. the modern world is too fast paced for people to say "year of our lord twenty-hundred and eleven." and the documentation on christ's life and when exactly that was is a little ... spotty. science demanded a more precise measurement, for whatever sciency things it is there doing in there. as long as they don't burn the place down i guess i'll let them stay. until i get pissed about whatever they pry from my unwilling fingers next week. fuckers.
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so i've been tutoring this kid for the past couple of months. he's mildly autistic, which means he's in normal classes, and social enough, but it makes my job difficult. it's not that he can't focus. he can focus plenty, if it's something that interests him. it's that he can't focus on algebra 2 when he doesn't feel like it. which is most of the time. so, instead he's always telling me about all this different stuff that does interest him. like some cartoon he was watching with his brother, or this video game he's designing. tonight he was regaling me with how there are different types of fruit. shit you not. he's got this bowl of fruit, and he comments on how the strawberries are making him pucker. i sample one and concede that it's a little tart, for a strawberry, at which point he launches into this thing about how there are different types of fruits within the same species. well, not species, but that's the word he'll use (i'm not entirely convinced he was wrong on that count). "like, apples. there are all sorts of different kinds of apples. macintosh. jonathan. that one's named after me."
"alright, so, the opposite of b, plus or minus the square root of b squared minus 4ac, all over 2a." he stops to pet the dog. and play with the 2 remaining chunks of strawberry.
"but it's all food, i guess. i mean, it's not alive, like animals, but it still provides sustenance." i kindly explain that fruit is indeed a living organism until we kill it, much the same as animals, though admittedly less mobile.
"well, it's still food."
"okay, so in this function b is 4, a is negative one, and c is 8, so...."
and that's pretty much how it goes. he talks about his girlfriend a lot too. apparently she wasn't at school today because her mother felt she needed to be home to celebrate martin luther king day (she's black, after all). seemed justifiable to me. i'm just trying to figure out how she can do that, when it's exam week. whatever. you know, i want a white person holiday. you know, one where we celebrate how our ancestors took advantage of all the minorities to their own personal gain. and all of them (our ancestors) are dead now! one ethnic dead person holiday deserves another!
oh, god, when the shit happened with the birds and fish in arkansas, he was telling me about how she thought there was a volcano in arkansas that was going to erupt and destroy the world. her particular brand of autism apparently has a penchant for the doom and gloom, so it doesn't take much to get her going. but this was a very real concern in her mind, and so it becomes that much more real for those in her life. the unerring font of knowledge i doubtless am in his mind, i felt obligated to elucidate. and honestly, i tend to figure i might as well, since i'm not convinced i've actually taught him anything about math at all. i know his folks are paying me to help with school, but i figure any seed i can get to germinate, whatever the topic, is a mini-success and makes my time worthwhile. so i told him about how there was some speculation that yellowstone - decidedly not arkansas - may erupt "soon". in geologic terms, soon is probably not in our lifetime. but it's a possibility. even if that does happen, it's not going to be the apocalypse. it'll do a dandy number on most of the US, michigan included, but i doubt it would completely kill off all the humans on the planet. he seemed reassured by that; mission accomplished.
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so this book i'm reading right now is basically robin hood, as this guy thinks it should be, or might have been. he's based it in the 11th century in what is modern day wales. he's changed things completely, but it's well written and actually seems far more realistic than most of the romanticized robin hood crap we're used to seeing at the movies. if you're genuinely interested, you should start with the first book in the trilogy, though. anyway, the language tends to have this overly formal archaic type of style to it. most of the books i've read by him are that way, at least at times. but once i start to get into the swing of it, i think i could really run rampant and emulate that voice fairly well. i think it would be a fun experiment to try. maybe not as accessible to readers, but fun. and i could be verbose without it seeming like as much of a stretch. condescension and overly flowery language are pretty much expected from that dialect. i couple probably pull it off. i'm halfway there already, right?
::
2010 27 December :: 4.33 pm
:: Mood: apologetic
Me, delinquent? Never!
so, obviously the goal of one post per week was achieved for approximately one week.
part if it was simply the hustle and bustle of the holidays. and the other part was me trying to get my life in some semblance of order, failing, and burying myself in fantasy fiction instead. i'm indulgent like that.
so, i'm still here, and i'd still like to keep posting more relevant/interesting stuff, but it's going to take me time to gather the material and compose the entries. i've got plenty of fodder, so it's just a matter of taking the time to assemble it.
sure i could post some bullshit once a week and stick to my deadline, but i'd rather go for quality than quantity, so i'll post whenever i damn well feel like it, and you fuckers will just have to deal with that. just know that when i DO post, it will be what i consider to be at least passable, since i rarely think any of my writing is particularly excellent, and never perfect.
in the meantime, i hope everyone is making the most of their holidays! eat, drink, and be merry! god knows i am.
That's why they call it dope.
Alright kids, gather 'round and listen up, because it's - story time!
This story in particular has all of the qualities that any great story has: drug use, police involvement, and general stupidity. I trust now, that your interest is adequately piqued, and you have all you can do to keep from salivating. No, seriously. Go get a napkin or something. That shit is grossing me out.
That's better.
Now, this was a few years ago, back when I was in college still, and had even fewer responsibilities than I do now. I also had a girlfriend. Said girlfriend - we'll call her Lady - lived in an apartment on campus with 3 other girls. This was the end of exam week, so 2 of the gals had already left and gone home to regale their parents with all these stories of how we were all very responsible and had gotten loads smarter over the last 9 months. So that leaves Lady, other roommate - we'll call her Kay - and myself with this apartment to ourselves, and we were appropriately celebrating the end of the semester. Kay was the drinker out of the group. I may have had a couple, but was for all intents and purposes, sober. I can't honestly recall if Lady had been drinking or not. Doesn't much matter either way. So, anyway, we're all happy that the bullshit is over, and are very much looking forward to a summer of well-mannered frivolity. By lucky happenstance, I had recently acquired about a quarter ounce of pot that was in desperate need of smoking. However, they were getting ready to vacate the apartment, and didn't want it to smell like weed when the people came through for final inspection, so obviously we couldn't smoke there.... (we totally could've. It's a wonder what a bathroom fan and fabreeze can do. But what happened happened.)
After a few minutes of weighing our options and debating with one another about the best course of action, Kay suggests that we go and smoke in her car. Beautiful! So, we gather up the necessaries, and go out to the car in the unfortunately well-lit parking lot outside the building. Well, that just wouldn't do. Kay doesn't want to drive, as she'd been drinking, and Lady doesn't want to drive because … well, because she's a puss. That's how yours truly got landed with driving duties. Even still, so far, so good. We hop in Biffy, the affectionate epithet Kay had chosen for the vehicle, and I'm speeding us off into the night. I don't want to smoke while I'm driving, so I set the girls to the task of finding us a place to park. We see a bunch of cars parked along the road outside of a house off-campus. It's like 2 in the morning. Guess we're not the only ones celebrating the end of the semester, eh? Well, cool, we'll just park on the side of the road with these other cars and blend in with the crowd. Great idea! So, we park, and I have to pack the bowl, because the other two are utterly worthless and I am their slave, apparently. So we spark it up, and pass it around until it's gone. I say “okay, I'm good, let's go back now.” Kay wants to smoke some more. Lady decides to join in. I make them pack their own damn bowl this time. It's starting to hit, so I'm a little edgy, and am increasingly more eager to get back to the homestead and sit down with a movie and a bag of doritos. Is that really so much to ask?
Right as they're about ready to light round 2, we see our friendly neighborhood campus security officer cruise by, obviously scoping out the party. They can't break it up because it's not in their jurisdiction, but they can call in the county sheriffs if anything seems amiss. So far, they're just cruising. So, Kay and Lady finish the job, and we see the campus police make yet another loop around the block. At which point I say screw this, let's get out of here. Unfortunately, neither I, nor any of the other occupants of the vehicle had noticed the droves of people now stumbling their way from the house to all of their parked vehicles on the road. FUCK. Party's over. So, now it looks like we're also leaving the party, even though we were never there in the first place. And then I remember that Biffy has a bum headlight and a taillight housing that Kay had destroyed by backing into a parked car. Fanfuckingtastic. And in my infinite wisdom (that's why they call it dope), I pull out directly behind the cop car, which then turns left, down the same road that I need to use to get back to the apartment, and rather than just go straight and figure out an alternate route, I continue to follow them. They notice the headlight, or lack thereof, pull off to the side and allow me to pass, and then begin to tail me. It's right around this time that the faintest notion of winding up in jail begins to surface in my brain. But still, they're not doing anything, just following me. Not wanting to speed, I'm pretty sure I went 25-30 the whole way. Longest half-mile of my life - or, at least, it felt that way. As some of you may know, marijuana affects the way you perceive time. We finally make it to the parking lot outside the apartment building - woohu! I signal my turn, hit the brakes to slow down, and pull into the lot, at which point the damn blue and red lights rear their ugly head. Abandoning its fairly benign beginnings as a fuzzy notion, jail is suddenly becoming a very real concern. We do the whole pep talk with each other before the cop has time to get to the door. If you've ever been pulled over, you know the drill. Stashed the weed? License and registration? Seatbelts on? Everybody has their IDs? Fuck. I left my wallet upstairs.... not like I was planning on getting pulled over or anything. And we have a quarter sitting under the passenger seat that is technically mine, and I doubt the other 2 would have too much hesitation in throwing me under the bus.
So to recap; we're in Kay's car, which has a bad headlight and a bad taillight. I'm driving. And Lady is the only one who had enough sense to bring her identification. Bloody fucking brilliant. I can already smell the soap on a rope. Officer knocks and I roll down the window. I hand him the registration and insurance info, along with Lady's ID. He asks for the other IDs and I kindly explain that Kay and I forgot ours. He asks for my name so he can go look it up on the computer. Christopher is a really long name, and is difficult to spell when you're stoned - even though I've had it my whole life. Even still, it's pretty common, and I use the normal spelling. My last name is easy, but people tend to overthink it. I don't know how many times I've given someone my name, and they're like “best? How do you spell that?” The same way Noah fucking Webster spells it, you dumbass! Stop making it more difficult than is has to be. It's the worst over the phone. Anyway, he goes and checks his fancy-pants computer for me. He comes back and says he can't find me on the system (probably because my name is so difficult to spell). He asks if I've been drinking tonight. I say nope, haven't had anything to drink. He does the finger test. You know the one (no, not that one). “Keep your eyes on my finger and don't move your head. My head remains stationary as my eyes attempt to burn holes into the most fascinating moving finger I've ever seen. (I was very high at this point. I couldn't not stare at it.) He's like, “well, there's the smell of intoxicants coming from the vehicle.” Thankfully Kay pipes up at this point and explains that she'd been drinking, which is why they had me drive. Nice save! I owe you one! After I get done giving Kay mental high fives and having him commend us for being responsible, he lets us off with a warning and gives Kay a repair and report for being lazy in her vehicle maintenance.
I'm still in shock from the whole thing and have so much adrenaline going, I can barely park Biffy and walk inside. We all agree that we can't just go to sleep yet, even though it's 3:30 in the morning at this point. So we decide to watch Finding Nemo. It was a nice comforting familiar sort of movie, which helped calm us down, but every time I've tried watching it since, it's just not the same anymore. Thanks guys for ruining a perfectly good pixar movie and nearly landing me in jail for my efforts.
Next time, we're just smoking in the bathroom. F'realz.
P.S. I wound up having to take a drug test for my summer job like 3 days later. I think I drank about a gallon of water that day. Somehow, I passed.
::
2010 7 December :: 1.41 am
:: Mood: reflective
:: Music: plain white Ts (it's okay to judge me)
what the fuck is a weblog anyway?
it has recently come to light in christopher-world that i pretty much treat this like a diary, only other people can read it. which is fine. suits my purposes nicely. but at the same time, it could be so much more than that.
a couple of the guys that make me feel like such a slacker are simple dude, who lives in a complex world, and jeff over at content unrelated.
simple dude is basically what i could one day aspire to be (and i think it's interesting that he always talks about his "lady friend" and "sexy times", because that's the exact terminology i always used with shannon), and jeff is pretty much what i would be now, if i was actually really funny, and lived someplace warm.
i mean, it's too fucking late to start working on any content of value tonight, but i'm thinking that in the future, i might start trying to be a bit more professional - and consistent - about what i'm doing with this thing and when i update. i think one a week is a good goal to have, but it is me we're talking about, after all. regardless, i could stand to benefit from changing the way i approach blogging in general, and actually writing as if i have an audience to entertain. it seems like a fun challenge.
so, is there any shit going on in the world today that you want to hear my spin on? if so, leave a comment.
now, let's go see if there's any inspiration left in that tequila bottle upstairs....
yes, i'm on zoosk. sorry. i'm still not entirely sure why. but it intrigues me to see who's out there. at the same time, it's depressing to realize that everyone (who uses a dating service) is stupid.
attention zooskers (it's a word now. noah webster is rolling in his grave):
just because you graduated from high school does not mean that you have a graduate degree. if this many 22 year olds actually had a masters, i would not be so disappointed in humanity. instead, my sadness is deepened further by the fact that they don't understand the difference. if you're 22, divorced, with kids at home, you do not have a graduate degree. please stop claiming anything to the contrary. i apologise that i smoke and drink on a regular basis. beyond all that, i'm not such a bad guy. even still, i'm probably not the best one to help raise your intellectually challenged spawn from that asshole that dumped you. if for no other reason than the fact that i lack the financial wherewithal to do so. and i can probably come up with a few other reasons to boot. namely, i don't want to.
