I'm as sweaty as a politician taking a lie detector test. Exhausted. Pooped.
That's right... I just got done trying yoga.
Crystal suggested that we attempt a yoga video after our cardio exercises just an short while ago. Let me be perfectly clear...
Heavy people can not do yoga.
Much to Crystal's assertion that it's okay if I can't do the poses, I find the latter to be true. If you're not maintaining the pose as described, is it really yoga at all? Or are you just falling with grace?
The truly hard part though was actually calming myself and sitting in the yoga position. I had to sit in a chair ultimately because my legs would constantly fall asleep. When I'd try to calm my mind and relax, all I could do was laugh. After trying to be calm for what seemed like ten minutes (and fighting off the constant urge to laugh), I finally calmed down. Though, I think I just started to fall asleep.
I'll continue to try and do yoga because Crystal is right. I need to clear my mind and stretch my body out more. My joints are tight and I have no sense of limberness.
But damn if it isn't funny!
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Wounds.
I recently listened to a story by the revered martial artist Enson Inoue. Inoue is a Japanese-American whom has held the Shooto Heavyweight Championship and operates multiple mixed martial arts studios across the globe. Considered one of the progenitors of the MMA sports field, Inoue is highly regarded. Amongst the Japanese people, they call him 'Yamato-Damashii', which in essence means 'Japanese Spirit'. The Japanese consider him to contain and harness all that which makes Japan unique and special. He is a warrior and guide to them, and rightfully so.
In this story, Inoue-san spoke of an altercation he encountered when he was young. To paraphrase, he watched as a young friend was beaten within inches of his life. Already fairly proficient in the martial arts, Inoue locked up from fear. From what, he asked himself? Having a broken rib? Being cut? Perhaps snapping a leg? The anticipation of physical harm scared him from getting involved. Fear conquered him on that day, to which he still regrets as an older man.
At the end of his tale, Inoue-san made a powerful point. Had he of stepped in and helped defend his friend, he most assuredely would have been injured. Yet, physical wounds heal. Bones can become unbroken. The flesh will stop bleeding. Instead... many decades later, he still has an emotional wound by not stepping in to help. Emotionally, he has not healed... and probably never will. Fear damaged him in a way that physical harm can not. Fear cut to his very essence, to forever be left with a scar. The emotional wound proved far more permanent than any physical wound he could have potentially received on that day so long ago.
I can relate to Inoue-san in way that many can not. He understands how emotional trauma can have a lifelong impact.
As a child, I preferred the shoving and beatings over any amount of yelling... any amount of degradation and torture. On multiple occassions, I can directly recall simply asking my dad for a beating, just to get the whole altercation over with. It's disgusting... but it's the truth. At least I can move beyond the pain.
Pain is temporary.
In this story, Inoue-san spoke of an altercation he encountered when he was young. To paraphrase, he watched as a young friend was beaten within inches of his life. Already fairly proficient in the martial arts, Inoue locked up from fear. From what, he asked himself? Having a broken rib? Being cut? Perhaps snapping a leg? The anticipation of physical harm scared him from getting involved. Fear conquered him on that day, to which he still regrets as an older man.
At the end of his tale, Inoue-san made a powerful point. Had he of stepped in and helped defend his friend, he most assuredely would have been injured. Yet, physical wounds heal. Bones can become unbroken. The flesh will stop bleeding. Instead... many decades later, he still has an emotional wound by not stepping in to help. Emotionally, he has not healed... and probably never will. Fear damaged him in a way that physical harm can not. Fear cut to his very essence, to forever be left with a scar. The emotional wound proved far more permanent than any physical wound he could have potentially received on that day so long ago.
I can relate to Inoue-san in way that many can not. He understands how emotional trauma can have a lifelong impact.
As a child, I preferred the shoving and beatings over any amount of yelling... any amount of degradation and torture. On multiple occassions, I can directly recall simply asking my dad for a beating, just to get the whole altercation over with. It's disgusting... but it's the truth. At least I can move beyond the pain.
Pain is temporary.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Perfect love.
After putting in a few late night hours packing packages for my business customers this evening, I found myself exhausted. My eyes had that slight tingle that comes from staring at a computer monitor after a few too many hours.
I have burned the midnight oil this evening.
Just a short while ago, I leaned back in my office chair to rest my eyes. Almost instantly, my eyes were closed. I was calm for a short moment... calmer than I've experienced in a long time. My mind began to wander, much like a moth trying to find an ounce of sunshine in a light bulb.
Random thoughts... Reality. Compassion. Humility. Honor.
A few minutes passed. As I sat forward and opened my eyes, I couldn't help but contemplate the love that not all of us encounter. Not just any old love -- the type shared between friends, or the kind proclaimed by a young child about their favorite flavor of ice cream. I mean real love.
True, undeniable, inconceivable, illogical, completely selfless love.
There are indeed plenty of 'fish in the sea', as the old saying goes. Undeniably, we can almost certainly find someone that will share even a brief intimate moment with us. Someone whom will listen to us... share dinner with us... embrace us. While not temporary, these interludes of human compassion at the very least remind us that we are alive. Accordingly, I wouldn't dare level these moments as illicit or petty. The world is a harsh and uncaring realm of existence; any moment of happiness must be cherished and respected. Indeed -- if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.
Yet, I want to attest to the power of an even higher degree of love. Such a love that is without conditions but loaded with consequences. Love that will change how you look at the world; how you look at yourself. Love that will make you dive into an ocean with no hope of rescue. Love that will drive you into a burning building, just so your better half won't have to die alone. Love that will inflict a wound so deep, that you may never love again.
Human beings may not be monogamous by nature, but a few of us are damn lucky enough to meet the one person that turns our entire world upside down. Red will change to blue. North will flip to south. Sweet will taste salty and cold will sizzle hot. A loving bond so unique, so perfect... should the two lovers be separated, the entire universe shall be torn asunder.
Yes... THAT kind of love.
We see a love of this caliber often on television or in movies. We sing songs about meeting the one. We write books... nay entire series of novels about eternal love. In every possible creative output humanity has managed to invent, we always elevate the concept of perfect love.
Hemingway did it. So did Van Gogh. Beethoven? Yep, he did as well. Springsteen has done it (and still is). Cusack gushed perfect love as the bumbling Lloyd Dobler. Grant and Hepburn, too.
Perfect love surrounds us. We glide through clouds of wishful wanting, often not evening knowing it. Could these clouds be so thick that we fail to see the love of our life fly by? Are we too caught up in the idea of perfect love that we fail to see it right before our eyes? Maybe yes... maybe no. Who is to say?
I approach the art of perfect love from a different perspective, in such a way that connects to the previously mentioned idea of 'plenty of fish'. Maybe... just maybe... a perfect love isn't inherently natural. As with anything, perfection doesn't exist in an objective sense. Two people, both filled with faults and self-loathing, trust issues and anger; they can create a bond of love that's perfect for them and them alone. But, these two people must be willing to work at it. Love has so much more importance when we work to make it important. A lasting relationship takes effort and dedication. Add to that heaps of trial and error.
Most importantly, loves requires sacrifice. We must not let fear deter us from sacrificing our own pride to the one we love. Once we've conquered the fear of humility, all other agents of destruction pale in comparison. Taking a bullet is but a small price to pay when compared to surrendering your own self-importance for the sake of your relationship. Fear is powerful; I don't foolishly disregard it. To be afraid is perfectly natural. Having the courage to admit you're afraid? That's the hard part. How appropriate that your lover, your best friend, your companion is there to help you along?
Fear is the darkness we follow love into, but never do we enter that darkness alone.
I have burned the midnight oil this evening.
Just a short while ago, I leaned back in my office chair to rest my eyes. Almost instantly, my eyes were closed. I was calm for a short moment... calmer than I've experienced in a long time. My mind began to wander, much like a moth trying to find an ounce of sunshine in a light bulb.
Random thoughts... Reality. Compassion. Humility. Honor.
A few minutes passed. As I sat forward and opened my eyes, I couldn't help but contemplate the love that not all of us encounter. Not just any old love -- the type shared between friends, or the kind proclaimed by a young child about their favorite flavor of ice cream. I mean real love.
True, undeniable, inconceivable, illogical, completely selfless love.
There are indeed plenty of 'fish in the sea', as the old saying goes. Undeniably, we can almost certainly find someone that will share even a brief intimate moment with us. Someone whom will listen to us... share dinner with us... embrace us. While not temporary, these interludes of human compassion at the very least remind us that we are alive. Accordingly, I wouldn't dare level these moments as illicit or petty. The world is a harsh and uncaring realm of existence; any moment of happiness must be cherished and respected. Indeed -- if you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with.
Yet, I want to attest to the power of an even higher degree of love. Such a love that is without conditions but loaded with consequences. Love that will change how you look at the world; how you look at yourself. Love that will make you dive into an ocean with no hope of rescue. Love that will drive you into a burning building, just so your better half won't have to die alone. Love that will inflict a wound so deep, that you may never love again.
Human beings may not be monogamous by nature, but a few of us are damn lucky enough to meet the one person that turns our entire world upside down. Red will change to blue. North will flip to south. Sweet will taste salty and cold will sizzle hot. A loving bond so unique, so perfect... should the two lovers be separated, the entire universe shall be torn asunder.
Yes... THAT kind of love.
We see a love of this caliber often on television or in movies. We sing songs about meeting the one. We write books... nay entire series of novels about eternal love. In every possible creative output humanity has managed to invent, we always elevate the concept of perfect love.
Hemingway did it. So did Van Gogh. Beethoven? Yep, he did as well. Springsteen has done it (and still is). Cusack gushed perfect love as the bumbling Lloyd Dobler. Grant and Hepburn, too.
Perfect love surrounds us. We glide through clouds of wishful wanting, often not evening knowing it. Could these clouds be so thick that we fail to see the love of our life fly by? Are we too caught up in the idea of perfect love that we fail to see it right before our eyes? Maybe yes... maybe no. Who is to say?
I approach the art of perfect love from a different perspective, in such a way that connects to the previously mentioned idea of 'plenty of fish'. Maybe... just maybe... a perfect love isn't inherently natural. As with anything, perfection doesn't exist in an objective sense. Two people, both filled with faults and self-loathing, trust issues and anger; they can create a bond of love that's perfect for them and them alone. But, these two people must be willing to work at it. Love has so much more importance when we work to make it important. A lasting relationship takes effort and dedication. Add to that heaps of trial and error.
Most importantly, loves requires sacrifice. We must not let fear deter us from sacrificing our own pride to the one we love. Once we've conquered the fear of humility, all other agents of destruction pale in comparison. Taking a bullet is but a small price to pay when compared to surrendering your own self-importance for the sake of your relationship. Fear is powerful; I don't foolishly disregard it. To be afraid is perfectly natural. Having the courage to admit you're afraid? That's the hard part. How appropriate that your lover, your best friend, your companion is there to help you along?
Fear is the darkness we follow love into, but never do we enter that darkness alone.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
Scars.
On this evening, I find myself mulling over of the imperfections we all share. Each of us is a complex mire of swirling vices and misconceptions. Many of the choices we make in life are shallow or short-sighted. Sometimes we make snap judgments without considering the long-term ramifications. Causation is chief amongst why we make the choices we do. Too many of us bear scars inflicted by those that have hurt us in the past, both physically and emotionally.
The beaten child becomes an abusive parent.
The scorned lover becomes a misogynist.
The overlooked student becomes a self-destructive party animal.
We all bear scars. You. I. Your best friend. The waitress that lives down the block. Your math teacher. The guy at the grocery whom bags your apples. The cop writing you a ticket. The prom queen.
We all bear scars.
Given the freedom to do so, scars can remain as open wounds that fester and spread sickness throughout your entire body. The sickness can infect your mind and spoil your thoughts. It can worm its way into your heart and ruin your ability to love - either yourself or anyone else. You grow older, more depressed, more untethered to the consciousness of mankind. Eventually, your light grows dim. At the end of it all, you find yourself to be a mere hollow shell. No spark. No internal flame. Done.
The causality of pain producing scars, which in turn causes us to make imperfect choices - that is a bond that we all share. Ironically enough, the state of normality is for us to be imperfect. To be "perfect" is not normal, but abnormal! These scars, whether we find a way to make them heal, or let them continue to sour our existence, are what construct the landscape of our lives. In a way, these scars... these past attacks on our potential happiness... they make us who we are. Each thread in the tapestry of our life is a choice. Some threads are given to us from others. Some threads are earned through hard work. Some threads are the scars themselves. Woven together, a complete person is produced.
We must hold dear our scars and attempt to heal as many as possible. Though, I make no implication as to forgiveness for the scars we have. Most actions can be forgiven; there are some that can not. This is purely subjective - only you can decide for yourself what is to be forgiven. At the end of it all, I'm left with one simple, but profound notion.
Scars are memories that refuse to be forgotten.
The beaten child becomes an abusive parent.
The scorned lover becomes a misogynist.
The overlooked student becomes a self-destructive party animal.
We all bear scars. You. I. Your best friend. The waitress that lives down the block. Your math teacher. The guy at the grocery whom bags your apples. The cop writing you a ticket. The prom queen.
We all bear scars.
Given the freedom to do so, scars can remain as open wounds that fester and spread sickness throughout your entire body. The sickness can infect your mind and spoil your thoughts. It can worm its way into your heart and ruin your ability to love - either yourself or anyone else. You grow older, more depressed, more untethered to the consciousness of mankind. Eventually, your light grows dim. At the end of it all, you find yourself to be a mere hollow shell. No spark. No internal flame. Done.
The causality of pain producing scars, which in turn causes us to make imperfect choices - that is a bond that we all share. Ironically enough, the state of normality is for us to be imperfect. To be "perfect" is not normal, but abnormal! These scars, whether we find a way to make them heal, or let them continue to sour our existence, are what construct the landscape of our lives. In a way, these scars... these past attacks on our potential happiness... they make us who we are. Each thread in the tapestry of our life is a choice. Some threads are given to us from others. Some threads are earned through hard work. Some threads are the scars themselves. Woven together, a complete person is produced.
We must hold dear our scars and attempt to heal as many as possible. Though, I make no implication as to forgiveness for the scars we have. Most actions can be forgiven; there are some that can not. This is purely subjective - only you can decide for yourself what is to be forgiven. At the end of it all, I'm left with one simple, but profound notion.
Scars are memories that refuse to be forgotten.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Make an effort.
Holidays typically prompt me to reflect upon the friends and family in my life, no matter the particular celebration at hand. Today was no exception. I can't help but think about how small my circle of family and friends has grown over the years. I realize many of you reading this fall into either of those two categories, but let me clarify even further. Within the span of a year, I will probably see between three to five relatives (not including those whom actually live with me) once or twice. Likewise, I may see one or two friends within a year (again... once or twice). Many of the people reading this will be doing so through Facebook - extended family, those of you whom I went to grade school with, worked with at previous jobs, etc. We haven't actually seen or spoken to each other in person at any point within the past seven to twenty years. Let me repeat that - seven to twenty years.
Are we really friends? In fact, wouldn't it be better to call us acquaintances?
Are we really family? It takes more than shared genetic material to be family in my book. To place this point in perspective, any two humans from anywhere on the planet are 99.9% genetically similar.
I've heard rumblings through the proverbial grapevine that many members of my extended family have taken offense to not seeing me for many years. They feel slighted that I don't come to Virginia to see my father and all of my kin. Yet, these same individuals made little to no effort to have any sort of tangible relationship with me before while I still lived in Virginia. Only now, after I have lived for many years in North Carolina, do they feel as if I should make more of an effort to be "closer". You want to know why I don't visit my father? Read this entire blog and learn the answer. You could ask him, but I doubt he knows himself as to why I don't speak to him. In correlation to this point, I'm not the type whom constantly clings to family for my survival (both financial and emotional). I don't live in a collective. I don't rely upon the kindness and assistance of relatives. I stand on my own two feet. Independence is important to me. Relying upon family goes against my very nature.
Some of you I have maintained close contact with, though we may not have shared the same airspace in quite a while. Distance has not kept us from staying in contact, to which I am grateful. We are certainly family and/or friends. You know who you are. Thank you.
The point I believe I'm winding a path towards is this...
If you want to be a part of my life, then you must make an effort to do so. It's okay to be a past acquaintance or a member of my extended family. Yet, don't make it out to be more than it really is. If you want things to change between us, then make a concerted effort. Or don't... it's your choice.
"When I see a bird that walks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck." -- James Whitcomb Riley
Are we really friends? In fact, wouldn't it be better to call us acquaintances?
Are we really family? It takes more than shared genetic material to be family in my book. To place this point in perspective, any two humans from anywhere on the planet are 99.9% genetically similar.
I've heard rumblings through the proverbial grapevine that many members of my extended family have taken offense to not seeing me for many years. They feel slighted that I don't come to Virginia to see my father and all of my kin. Yet, these same individuals made little to no effort to have any sort of tangible relationship with me before while I still lived in Virginia. Only now, after I have lived for many years in North Carolina, do they feel as if I should make more of an effort to be "closer". You want to know why I don't visit my father? Read this entire blog and learn the answer. You could ask him, but I doubt he knows himself as to why I don't speak to him. In correlation to this point, I'm not the type whom constantly clings to family for my survival (both financial and emotional). I don't live in a collective. I don't rely upon the kindness and assistance of relatives. I stand on my own two feet. Independence is important to me. Relying upon family goes against my very nature.
Some of you I have maintained close contact with, though we may not have shared the same airspace in quite a while. Distance has not kept us from staying in contact, to which I am grateful. We are certainly family and/or friends. You know who you are. Thank you.
The point I believe I'm winding a path towards is this...
If you want to be a part of my life, then you must make an effort to do so. It's okay to be a past acquaintance or a member of my extended family. Yet, don't make it out to be more than it really is. If you want things to change between us, then make a concerted effort. Or don't... it's your choice.
"When I see a bird that walks like a duck and swims like a duck and quacks like a duck, I call that bird a duck." -- James Whitcomb Riley
Saturday, March 22, 2014
Merge with the universe.
Hovering in open space, surrounded by glowing ribbons of cherry red, plum and teal; I take one look down. And I fall...
This is the beginning of a reoccurring dream (both day and night) that I've had for as long as I can remember. It doesn't take place on a building, or even on this planet. Instead, I'm free-floating in the universe. There's no one else around; I am alone.
I find myself looking around at all the universe has to offer. The infinite colors and shimmering stars are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. As I begin to fall (though you technically can't fall in space, but you understand what I mean), I steadily pick up speed. The galaxies of vibrant light begin to twist and morph. Faster, faster, faster - I go forwards with voracious velocity. My fingers reach out and cause the stardust to ripple. Eventually, my trip seems to enter a tunnel. Colors and shapes have lost their meaning; everything is a blur. My body feels lighter and less dense. I can feel my own body... my essence... begin to merge with the universe.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
At this point, I feel as if I'm not moving at all. My speed has become so rapid that it's as if I'm floating at a standstill. My body doesn't seem to be present. The universe and I have become one. I can look at myself, but there's nothing there. All the while, I still don't know exactly where I was traveling to.
And that's where the dream ends.
I've had this dream while riding on a school bus, sitting in a doctor's office, driving a car, watching television, swimming in a pool, etc. The list of places I've had this day dream is lengthy. If you ever see me in person and I'm staring away blankly, then you can assume I'm probably in this dream.
My dream of journeying through space is always the same. I never find out where I was traveling to, much to my disappointment. As of late, I've been experiencing this dream quite a bit. At times, I can activate the dream depending on my mood. More often than not, the vision just happens.
The strange part? The older I get, the more this feels like a memory and less like a dream. With certainty, I've been there before at some point in my existence.
I believe this vision relates to my personal transhumanist ideology. My aim is to "upgrade" my body through technological means. You may scoff and say that's nonsense (or at the very least improbable), but I'm very serious. One day, I hope to actually take this trip and see where I wind up.
This is the beginning of a reoccurring dream (both day and night) that I've had for as long as I can remember. It doesn't take place on a building, or even on this planet. Instead, I'm free-floating in the universe. There's no one else around; I am alone.
I find myself looking around at all the universe has to offer. The infinite colors and shimmering stars are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. As I begin to fall (though you technically can't fall in space, but you understand what I mean), I steadily pick up speed. The galaxies of vibrant light begin to twist and morph. Faster, faster, faster - I go forwards with voracious velocity. My fingers reach out and cause the stardust to ripple. Eventually, my trip seems to enter a tunnel. Colors and shapes have lost their meaning; everything is a blur. My body feels lighter and less dense. I can feel my own body... my essence... begin to merge with the universe.
Faster.
Faster.
Faster.
At this point, I feel as if I'm not moving at all. My speed has become so rapid that it's as if I'm floating at a standstill. My body doesn't seem to be present. The universe and I have become one. I can look at myself, but there's nothing there. All the while, I still don't know exactly where I was traveling to.
And that's where the dream ends.
I've had this dream while riding on a school bus, sitting in a doctor's office, driving a car, watching television, swimming in a pool, etc. The list of places I've had this day dream is lengthy. If you ever see me in person and I'm staring away blankly, then you can assume I'm probably in this dream.
My dream of journeying through space is always the same. I never find out where I was traveling to, much to my disappointment. As of late, I've been experiencing this dream quite a bit. At times, I can activate the dream depending on my mood. More often than not, the vision just happens.
The strange part? The older I get, the more this feels like a memory and less like a dream. With certainty, I've been there before at some point in my existence.
I believe this vision relates to my personal transhumanist ideology. My aim is to "upgrade" my body through technological means. You may scoff and say that's nonsense (or at the very least improbable), but I'm very serious. One day, I hope to actually take this trip and see where I wind up.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
Mixed bag.
I've had a lot of different topics swirling around my head this past month. I figured it best to just throw it all out there and see what would come of it. These are actually some fairly external, topical and mostly tame notes. Essentially... just silly little things I want to talk about.
Whether you know it or not, I really dig small die-cast cars like Hot Wheels and Matchbox. As I've become more acquainted with the online collector community, I've come to realize that I tend to appreciate the types of vehicles most collectors avoid. This type is generally referred to as the "fantasy" or "unlicensed" segment. These are castings that focus on imaginative and creative designs which don't rely upon real cars for inspiration. Here's a photo of my absolute favorite casting - Vampyra.
As you can see, it's a dragon / vampire bat creature on wheels. What's not to love? The first edition release was in purple, which is my favorite color. It's seen probably a dozen different releases since 1986. That being said, most "serious" collectors (as they like to call themselves) feel fantasy cars are for kids. Why? Because they're creative and took some imagination to craft? Or because they might have bright colors? Give me a break. When it comes to die-cast vehicles, I say the more creativity, the better!
What's the deal with people whom blast really loud music out of their rundown cars with poor-quality speakers? Do they realize that their sound quality is one notch below orchestrated leaf blowers? Or does the illusion of coolness alter their senses? I just don't get it. If you're going to play your car stereo really loud, make sure your speakers can provide superb audio clarity.
How come geeks and nerds usually fail to clip their fingernails on a regular basis?
Do they just not notice the layer of black grime that rests below their claws? In my line of work, I encounter man-children on the regular whom have longer fingernails than some women I know. Here's a tip - spend a buck, buy some clippers and cut down those dirt diggers. The first step to finding a girlfriend and escaping that basement you call a "man" cave is good hygiene. While you're at it, wash with some soap.
On a related note... can you hipster ladies quit with the pretentious nerd/geek love? You don't love nerds/geeks. You love the IDEA of loving nerds/geeks. In reality, you're just infatuated with the charming actor whom portrays your latest object of affection(s). Doctor Who... Supernatural... Sherlock... I could go on and on. Or you're just loving the attention from a highly susceptible group of men, whichever. Many of you ladies genuinely appreciate these various programs and I'm cool with that. Equal Opportunity is my middle name. Yet... droves of you (and you know who you are) are just in it for the glory and attention. Move on to some other segment of the population, would you? You're giving these pathetic social rejects known as nerds/geeks a false sense of security. They can't have you. They never will have you. Stop teasing them, would you?
On an even further related note... nerds/geeks really annoy the piss out of me. You live in this impenetrable bubble of fantasy that makes you unbearable to be around. Believe it or not, you CAN enjoy a particular television show, film series or comic and not come off as a total social ignoramus. You're giving those of us fans with common sense, initiative and actual careers a bad name. Drop the fake Sonic Screwdriver, bathe your funky ass, put on a tie, get a job and grow up.
Ever notice how the same people that like modern country music also tend to like modern rap music? Is it because they both sound like flatulent gutter sludge? There seems to be a merging between the two modern music styles, with little difference between them (short of a different set of processed electronic sounds). Let's remember folks...
Whether you know it or not, I really dig small die-cast cars like Hot Wheels and Matchbox. As I've become more acquainted with the online collector community, I've come to realize that I tend to appreciate the types of vehicles most collectors avoid. This type is generally referred to as the "fantasy" or "unlicensed" segment. These are castings that focus on imaginative and creative designs which don't rely upon real cars for inspiration. Here's a photo of my absolute favorite casting - Vampyra.
What's the deal with people whom blast really loud music out of their rundown cars with poor-quality speakers? Do they realize that their sound quality is one notch below orchestrated leaf blowers? Or does the illusion of coolness alter their senses? I just don't get it. If you're going to play your car stereo really loud, make sure your speakers can provide superb audio clarity.
How come geeks and nerds usually fail to clip their fingernails on a regular basis?
Do they just not notice the layer of black grime that rests below their claws? In my line of work, I encounter man-children on the regular whom have longer fingernails than some women I know. Here's a tip - spend a buck, buy some clippers and cut down those dirt diggers. The first step to finding a girlfriend and escaping that basement you call a "man" cave is good hygiene. While you're at it, wash with some soap.
On a related note... can you hipster ladies quit with the pretentious nerd/geek love? You don't love nerds/geeks. You love the IDEA of loving nerds/geeks. In reality, you're just infatuated with the charming actor whom portrays your latest object of affection(s). Doctor Who... Supernatural... Sherlock... I could go on and on. Or you're just loving the attention from a highly susceptible group of men, whichever. Many of you ladies genuinely appreciate these various programs and I'm cool with that. Equal Opportunity is my middle name. Yet... droves of you (and you know who you are) are just in it for the glory and attention. Move on to some other segment of the population, would you? You're giving these pathetic social rejects known as nerds/geeks a false sense of security. They can't have you. They never will have you. Stop teasing them, would you?
Should have left the condoms at home, boys.
On an even further related note... nerds/geeks really annoy the piss out of me. You live in this impenetrable bubble of fantasy that makes you unbearable to be around. Believe it or not, you CAN enjoy a particular television show, film series or comic and not come off as a total social ignoramus. You're giving those of us fans with common sense, initiative and actual careers a bad name. Drop the fake Sonic Screwdriver, bathe your funky ass, put on a tie, get a job and grow up.
Ever notice how the same people that like modern country music also tend to like modern rap music? Is it because they both sound like flatulent gutter sludge? There seems to be a merging between the two modern music styles, with little difference between them (short of a different set of processed electronic sounds). Let's remember folks...
COUNTRY + RAP = CRAP
Congress currently has an approval rating of 9% (Gallup). Yet, the incumbency rate of Congress as of 2012 was at least 90% (Washington Post). We the People are solely to blame. We have the power to change our Congressmen with every new election. We keep sending the same empty suits to Congress, year after year.
STOP IT!
Just stop. Vote for someone else. Here's an idea - actually research the person you want to vote for. Try reading past the [D] or the [R] behind a candidate's name on the ballot sheet. Want to fix the shameful inadequacy of our Congress? GET A NEW CONGRESS!
I'm done for now. I think. Later folks!
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