Surveying the Ashes of the Damage That I've Done

Fascinating.

It's amazing what doing fewer drugs and getting a good night's sleep can do for your mental health. What I find the most interesting about the present situation is that even though I have yet to actually *solve* the many problems I currently have (95% of which are financial), simply being awake during daylight and trying to get the balls rolling so that I may someday be able to solve said issues has me feeling better than I have since early October. Really.

There's no accounting for it. (Okay, that's a lie.)

What I find the most encouraging about this situation is the fact that I have been able to continue smoking. Now, I don't have any pot, so I've been scraping resin out of my pipes (okay, a little nasty, and a little too much work, but meh. On the plus side, my pipes are cleaner) and smoking about half a bowl of resin each night for the past few evenings, shortly before having a cup of tea and passing out. However, this adds to my theory that a little self-control is all I need when it comes to smoking the ganj. An incredibly positive development. I also find that my hold on sanity is tightening, which is very, very comforting. To quote, "Everything in moderation, especially moderation."

Still, I have a lot of shit to work out. I need money is a desperate, desperate way. To that end I'm actually working on my resume (gasp!). The hope, presently, is that I'll be able to get a job at the Import House starting soonish. Probably around the beginning of the year, which honestly isn't soon enough, but if that's what works, that's what works. I'm pretty good at creative finances and worming my way out of tight spots, so I should be able to keep the bank off my back until I start getting paychecks.

Watch this space. I really want to get some musings about the stuff kicking around in my head up here. I really really really want to get this stuff out of my head.

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Now playing: Motion City Soundtrack - Can't Finish What You Started
via FoxyTunes

Look At Me Post!

In an effort to make sure the five of you who keep track of me don't think I'm dead, I'm updating. Hooray!

So. Here it is. I'm going to try my hand at some (marginally fictionalized) prose this break. I may post it up here, if I can figure out a way to make cuts, like a livejournal entry. I'm also going to try to get on here and post film and album reviews, both new and old, because if anybody needs culture, it's you guys. I have one or two up and around. I may see if I can locate them.

I'm working on putting together a top ten albums of the year list. By "working on", I mean I'm currently listening to every album that I own (and several I don't) that came out this year, alphabetically by artist... cause that's how they're organized in my iTunes. Considering I'm only on "Apples In Stereo, The" (New Magnetic Wonder is a pretty excellent album, by the way), I have a wys to go. I'll have to go through them all at least one more time, as I'm only listening for a fresh absorption this first time. I'll go through again and make a note or two. Points will go to albums that I've listened to a lot, and subtracted from albums that, while intellectually and musically excellent, are just not listenable on any pedestrian level (see: The Fiery Furnaces).

I've acquired so much fucking music in the last month. Hoo.

Anyway: more soon. I'll be telling you what sucks and what doesn't. So... look forward to it, bitches.

I WILL Be Grateful For This Day

There's something about today. I'm not sure what it is, it's not discernible in any true sense. The weather is cold, I've been up since 6:30, and I feel mildly ill. It's gray and dismal.

And yet, this must be an up day. Has to. Must.

I feel great. And I don't know why. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to beat against the walls, the doors, the barricades, until my hands are raw and bleeding, shattered, useless things. And yet... I feel great.

I feel like I could tear down the world. Shred the societal norms. Finally live a little.

I want to find love. I want to find someplace I can call my own. I want to create a meaning for things. I want to understand, and I want to overcome.

Hmm.


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Now playing: Wilco - I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
via FoxyTunes

On My Laffy Taffy

Q: What kind of ship never sinks?

A: Friendship.

Blink Once for "Yes", Twice for Gibbering Insanity

I'm writing to you tonight from the last vestige of sanity, a tiny little refuge less than a mile from the border. It's after two AM, and I'm awake. It's totally inexplicable. I didn't sleep for eight hours (maybe five?) and I was certainly up long enough that I should have passed the fuck out. I should be unconscious. I'm not.

I'm awake.

Awake. Awakeawakeawake.

Insomnia brings a very special kind of insanity to the fore. If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, the insomnia is the deep-seated fear, brought on by the fact that you never feel like you're ever rested, that nothing will ever change. That doing the same thing, over an over, even though it can't, it won't, it could never work, is the only thing that will ever work.

I want to cry.

What do you do when you wake up at 2? Hmm? I can't call anyone. I can't do anything. What is there to do? I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep.

I really, really want to break down. I want to just start screaming, at the top of my lungs, until someone comes and takes me, puts me in bed, tucks me in, and kisses me on the forehead. I want to shriek, I want to wail, I want to scream.

[...]

(I went to shower. I decided that I wasn't done with this entry, though. So I'm back.)

My eyes feel like they're bulging and bloodshot. Like any second, they could burst forth from my skull and fall, worthless, to the ground. My lips, dry and desiccated, like a body left in the desert. My tongue, worthless. A muscle communicating dead and useless things through words with no meaning. My heart, worthless. A muscle beating out dead and useless things, inert feelings of no use to anyone.

How can anything change? How do things progress? I understand, yes yes, "we must be the change we wish to see in the world." And what about those days when you wake up and you know that nothing will ever change? How do you get up? How do you function? How do you cope with a reality that seems every day like it devours whole those who want to make things better? How do you live in a world that destroys those who would be our role models?

How? I really don't understand this. And I know, everyone deals with shit in their life. Rise Against says "how we survive is what makes us who we are." Life is hard, suck it up.

Well, fuck you. I make it through the days. I deal with shit. But I've never been able to suck it up and just cope. And I don't think I should have to. Why should I pretend that everything's okay? What fucking function does that serve? Well?

Trappedtrappedtrapped in my head. No one should have to deal with that.

Alright. I'm going to step out for a smoke. If I write more, I'll tell you a story.

I Am Not A Role Model

Posting now could be called questionable, at least. But alas. I am up, and I am on acid.

I think I've just had the best romantic relationship I've ever had. Just now. Though it seems highly likely I'll look at this as sophomoric, it was honest and it was perfect, and that's why it couldn't possibly work. It lasted five minutes, which was exactly as long as it could have lasted.

I want to spill so much of this in so specific, meaningless detail. But unless I find the right details, I'll never remember it perfectly. You know?

Okay, okay. So, I've spent the last couple of day on acid. Pretty much continuously. It's been quite a trip. Halloween weekend here on campus, so... I apparently felt the need to take it up a notch. So I did two hits of LSD last night, at about 1 AM. How do you describe where acid takes you? I feel like I've lived and died a million times between when I dropped the first hits and now. That's keeping in mind, I did four more tonight, around 12 AM. I feel like I've found and lost a million loves I'll never experience, and I don't think I'll ever dream again without wondering if there are somehow echoes of reality seeping into my subconscious states. That's where acid takes you. Well, buckle up cowboy.

I did the first load with Frank, Kelly (I have no idea if this is how she spells her name), and Sara. We watched Waking Life for a while, before we decided to go outside. Sara was trying to sleep. And we decided that that was a bad idea, because it was. So we woke her, and she was very angry. So we left her for a little bit, under her assurances she'd be okay. We went down for Kelly and Frank to smoke. We decided to start walking, as I'd packed a bowl already, as I am wont to do.

I can't explain the billions of tiny changes my life had already made by this point. It was amazing. I feel like I've had this life changing experience, and I feel like that every time I do psychedelics, but that's what the meaning is. It's to make the meaning for yourself. But that's just one of the ways that things had undergone a shift. I can't describe the experience in language.

Before getting too far, however, we decided to go back and make Sara get up. It was only for the best.

I've lied to you. I didn't have a bowl packed already. That was the other reason we went back. Not just for Sara, but for Mary Jane. Yeah. I went there.

I would love to date a chick named Mary Jane. But only until I realized the creepy Oedipal issues, cause my sister's name is Mary and my mother's name is Jane. But then I think, naw, a redheaded MJ. Like Spider-Man. Like how there's that episode of Seinfeld where Seinfeld dates a girl named Lois, which is cool cause he loves Superman? Like that. But with more drugs. Not as straightedge as Marvel tends to be (not all, tends to).

Anyway. So we got my pot and Sara. And then we went for a voyage of walking around the everywhere! It was a serious epic of mammoth proportions, I am not shitting you. The world was rent apart and devoured. But... it wasn't. I mean. I know it wasn't. It didn't look to my eyes like there was. But reality was adjusting itself. That was clear.

We went for a walk. I really don't remember where we went... I'm not sure it really matters. There were stopping places, and moving places, and all that.

This is so difficult to describe. Looking back on the experience, I was at a rave in New York, I was a world away in an opium den in China, I was in another dimension composed only of lines and color, but with no meaning. And there I was, on the street. With my friends. And I can't describe what happened in those places, because nothing happened. But it was everything in the world, flying through my mind.

We walked to the lake and fountain near the Baker Center. I remember that. I remember looking out over the beauty and grandeur of that disgusting water. We stood at the balcony and stared out into the night, out into the light of the fountain, illuminating the world. We staggered about the area, lost in ourselves. I packed a bowl. I think.

After a while, and a few cars driving by, we decided to leave, and we proceeded to wander about, as previously described.

The world shattered into a billion realities, shifting and falling around each other. But none of them were correct.

I think, after walking around for what might have been several eternities, we found our way back to South Green. I think we went out to the bike path at this point, and hung out, and watched the grass and the clouds and the moon swirl around us in what could have been a cacophonous symphony of celestial bodies and earthly upheaval. Frank and Kelly smoked a couple of cigarettes while I lit my bowl and watched the moon watch me with his baleful eyes.

Sara and I shared the bowl, mostly. Frank hit it once or twice, and Kelly practically hurled after hitting it once. Which is understandable. I constantly feel like I'm on the point of gagging once LSD kicks in. I never feel sick per se, but I'm always just on the edge of hacking up. The moon was a single eye, watching our every move. But benevolent. Not cruel.

Sometime after this, we went back inside. The warmth and the comfortable confine of solid walls around us was a good idea, a good way to regain grounding. I know we went in and watched something on my 360. It was... Robot Chicken! And that was hilarious. Really fucking surreal... but that's Robot Chicken.

At probably six in the morning, Sara and Kelly decided that it was sleeping time, leaving Frank and I to do... whatever. And so we went a-walking. And smoking. I mean, everybody is asleep at 6 AM on a Saturday, even on Halloween. The only people up are the people who have to work and the hardcore drug users from the night before. So Frank and I walked in the dark. We walked uptown, and stopped at BP around ten til seven because Frank needed cigarettes, having smoked an entire pack (with Kelly's help) in about four hours. So, because there was a minimum five dollar expenditure required to use plastic, Frank bought cigarettes... and M&Ms. At ten to seven on a Saturday. On Halloween weekend. I'm pretty sure people had a good idea what was up.

We walked more. We talked. It was good.

We walked to the stairway that's cut into the hill that separates East Green from College Green. I don't know what it's called. But it's a beautiful vantage point to watch the sunrise. We talked about philosophy, we talked about love, we talked about life. We talked about living. We verbally expounded on everything, vomiting insecurities and truths, comfortable and not.

Mitt Romney: Sexy (Crazy) Political Beast

Mitt Romney knows exactly what he's doing.

Romney was on Face the Nation this week. Bob Schieffer spent a fair amount of time asking him questions about his faith, which I will now go over so that you, the peoples, can make an informed decision (with my guidance, because, like many of the politicians I gripe about, Romney is fucking crazy).

First, I'm okay with Romney talking about his faith. I want to make it clear that I don't dislike Christians (or Mormons) for the fact that they believe, and indeed, that they are honest with the people is more important to me than pure politics. I don't have a problem voting for a Christian, provided they lined up with me on all the issues. What I do have a problem with, when it comes to faith-heads, is what they believe, and Romney sidesteps that shit like you would avoid the plague. We consider people who believe that Jesus talks to them through the morse code tap tap tapping of raindrops to be crazy, and I, by extension find people who believe in an invisible man in the sky who watches their every movement and exists within the paradox of being both omnipotent and omniscient to be crazy. That's just how that goes.

Schieffer asks Romney if he believes the literal teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, to which he responds "I do. I'm not going to try to distance myself in any way, shape or form, from my church." Whoo. But wait, it gets better. He goes on to say that he finds that "religious individuals have an enormous advantage in stability in their life", which, just so we're clear, is untrue. I'd prove it, but a quick Google search will get you what you need.

He also refers to himself as "true blue, through and through", which I find amusing, because he's a Republican. Sorry, it's a stupid irony, but I chuckled.

Anyway, when asked questioned about his belief in evolution (stated in one of the earlier debates), states that he sees no dichotomy between science and religion, and that while he believes in God, it is certainly within the realm of possibility for God to use the "tool of evolution" to design man. Which sort of contradicts him taking the teachings of his church literally. Hmm...

Oh, and then, when asked if he believes the Garden of Eden was in Missouri (something actually taught by the Church of LDS), he deftly sidesteps the question, stating that the best people to ask about that are church officials, and then goes on to talk about the morality, and how it's formed on Judeo-Christian tenets.

Tactically, Romney is brilliant here. By sidestepping the crazy and focusing on the similarities (by simply refusing to get into the finer points of his religion), he is bringing himself closer to the Christian right. By saying "Hey, science is pretty good," he's making sane people hate him just a little bit less. He even talks about how religious leaders have no place in the office of the presidency, which is correct. His first duty is to the American people, not the religious people. He would follow the Constitution and the Rule of Law, instead of the will of the Mormon people.

The main problem here is that his religion still informs his morality, making his problems my problems. He's a social conservative, and that's just too little freedom for my taste. He's stated he wants to "double Guantanamo", which is simply unacceptable.

So, even though he's a very attractive man, and he is:he is simply not worth voting for.

There's a point I want to make, and I want to make it clear: Don't not vote for Romney because he's a Mormon. Don't vote for him for that reason, either. Vote (or, more preferably, don't vote) for him because of his politics, not his religion. Vote for Obama on his politics, not his race. Vote for Hilary on her politics, not her sex.

Or, write in Howard Dean. I know I will.

This Is Really, Really Funny

I'm sitting at Biolife right now. I smoked a clove immediately before I came in and I got into a room pretty quick. It turns out my blood pressure is too low for me to donate (we'll check it again in a minute). So, as I'm sitting out here, there's a commercial that begins "After twenty minutes, you blood pressure will... decrease," and it then goes on to describe more things that happen the longer you go without smoking, like being able to smell things.

I smoked, and my blood pressure is now too low to give blood. (Please note, this is highly anecdotal. I don't think there's an actual link between the two.)

I find this incredibly funny.

Jesus jesus jesus!

So, it's Saturday afternoon. I've been laying in my boxers for about two hours, just listening to Skeptoid, watching Michael Shermer interviews and contemplating going to pick up the most recent issue of Skeptic.

And so, I figure, we should talk about some Jesus.

Disclaimer: My views are the ones which are supported by fact and reality. If you disagree with them, remember that extraordinary claims requires extraordinary evidence. And "because God said so" is neither evidence nor true in any sense, period. However, if you genuinely believe in God and nothing will ever shake that, then just stop reading now and save us both the headache.

Religion has been afforded a certain respect in society, a respect which is utterly undeserved. There are a number of reasons thrown around for the importance of religion in our culture, including, but by no means limited to: morality, political justifications, social constructs, history, and explanations of the universe.

None of these reasons are valid, because none of them are worthwhile. In fact, given the current state of science, several of these are laughable, and given the history of any given holy book, the rational for these things is downright laughable. Of course, I'm not expecting you to just take my word for it. So let's break it down.

Let's talk first about morality, since that's the one that tends to piss me off the most. This idea that the religious are somehow more moral than the non-religious. What utter bullshit. As an extreme example of how false this thought is, nineteen extremely religious people ended the lives of over three thousand people on the eleventh of September, two thousand and one. Yes, religion did that one.

Now, I don't really expect that religious people are lining up in the wings to massacre the general populace. But it is still important to remember that those young men did what they did because they genuinely believed that they would be rewarded upon their entrance to heaven for killing all us infidels. And yes, they were Muslims, not Christians, not Jews, not whatever. However, a cursory look over history will show that Yahweh is THE number one cause of death.

Okay, so morality is not just found in the murdering of innocents, I'll give you that. So, are the religious more moral? A study published in 2005 by the Journal of Religion and Society shows what you and I already know in our black hearts, and even takes it a step further stating that religion may in fact contribute to societal ills. That's right, ladies and germs, religion causes social maladjustment. Isn't that great?

Well, no. (Though to be sure, it is funny.) Morality is something that is clearly not found in religion. "But what about Atheists," I hear you ask, "You people have no moral code like the Ten Commandments to keep you from killing folks. Why should I trust you?" Sigh. The fact of the matter is that I do good things because they are the right things to do. Not because I'm trying to impress the invisible man in the sky. I don't do bad things because bad things are wrong, not because I'm afraid of the bogeyman. Why is that hard to understand?

Next on the docket: the speciousness of virtually everything ever said by a priest (or imam, or pope, or rabbi...). I'm referring here to the alleged "truth" of any given "holy book". To start, the history lessons given by these books are questionable at best. It seems odd that the ineffable creator of the universe wouldn't know about some of the inaccuracies reported by scribes whose hands were guided by him. For example, that the Earth was created in both six AND seven days. (http://www.geocities.com/paulntobin/creationint.html although there are many better sites and resources, that was the first one I found, and it works fine for my point.) Or what about the fact that the Gospels were written hundreds of years after the life of the man they supposedly document? That seems a wee bit sketchy. What about the conflicting accounts of Jesus' birth within the Gospels, accounts with spurious factual information. John's account notes that the followers were surprised to learn that Jesus wasn't born in Bethlehem, owing to the Torah's prophecy concerning Jesus' supposed birth. Matthew states that Mary and Joseph were in Bethlehem all along, moving to Nazareth later in life (because of Herod). Luke, on the other hand, says that Mary and Joseph lived in Nazareth beforehand, and that Caesar Augustus declared a census for taxation purposes, and that all men must go "to his own city". Which doesn't make much sense, really, because the claim is that Joseph was "of the city and lineage of David", who would have lived roughly a thousand years before Joseph. (It also invalidates the claim that the Savior is descended from David, since Mary was impregnated by the Holy Spirit.) The best part of Luke's account is that it has information which can be easily checked, and turns out to be, who would have thunk it, incorrect.

So, clearly the veracity of these texts isn't all it's cracked up to be.

What about religion creating the social norms? Isn't that a good thing? Do I need to even tackle this?

The social norms that religion promotes are, quite simply, insane. You'll note that a lot of things about religion are insane. Also discussed in this category, the current political movement to make religion a solid part of the government.

Religion is essentially a form of control, and that is why the Religious Right is stripping away our civil liberties. They simply don't believe that we have the right to "sin". The unfortunate fact of the matter is that all of us, each and every one, are sinners. At least, according to religion. Good news, though. For the rest of us, it doesn't fucking matter! I can lie, adulter, and have impure thoughts to my hearts' content. Sin is an arbitrary designation to things which are intended to control not only your actions, but your thoughts as well (thoughtcrime, anyone?). And the restrictions that the religious put on the rest of us are simply ridiculous. They don't like homosexuality because they believe that God says "no". So they restrict gay marriage. This is absurd. Stating that someone can't do something that you can is discrimination, period. You are stating that you genuinely believe that those people are somehow "less" than you, which is the sort of thing that people in white robes and hoods who enjoy a good lynching agree with. You believe that collection of cells without consciousness and without even a central nervous system is alive, and that it must be protected. What? By that logic, every time you clean your ears, you commit genocide. This is almost criminally idiotic. I'm sorry, but I'll allow you to have your opinions, but please keep them away from my rights. If you don't like gay marriage, don't get gay married. If you don't like stem cell research, then simply don't support it. How hard is it to let the rest of us get on with our lives? Jefferson would be spinning in his grave.

Speaking of Jefferson, the next time someone tells me that the Founders were Christians who wanted a Christian nation, I may punch them in the face. Jefferson was against organized religion in pretty much every way. He was, in all likelihood, a deist, if not a true atheist. Many of the Founders, including Madison and Adams, as well as General Washington, all believed in a STRICT separation of church and state, and they recognized that this was best, not only for the state, but also for the church. If the state was involved in the church's business, how would that be freedom of religion? And when that person, who commented on the Christian nation, tells me that "In God We Trust" and "One Nation Under God" (on money and in the Pledge of Allegiance, respectively) are proof of his insane hypothesis, I'll probably kick them in the shins. You see, neither of those phrases were ever used until about 60 years ago, during the Red Scare, back when there were all those dangerous commies around. We needed the assurance that God was on our side. They hardly "prove" anything.

Which brings us to the rock in my shoe. The meaning of it all, or the explanation of everything, or the reason for being, or whatever.

Creationists, in particular, are the ones against whom I'd like to grind my ax.

(place holder. more will go here.)

Observation

Is there any better taste than the first clove out of the pack? I submit that there is not.

I Have Bad News For You...

So, it turns out I was wrong. I know, I know, it's a rare occurrence, but we must be able to own up to our mistakes.

Ron Paul is crazy as fuck.

I know, I know. I was all about this guy not long ago (hours. Seriously). But it has come to my attention that he is batshit nuts. And I need to make sure that you know that he is batshit nuts as well. Without further ado:

"The notion of a rigid separation between church and state has no basis in either the text of the Constitution or the writings of our Founding Fathers. On the contrary, our Founders’ political views were strongly informed by their religious beliefs." -Ron Paul, 2003

...whoa. That's not even close to pretending to be correct. This is from the Treaty of Tripoli, signed in 1797, approved by the President and the Senate: "As the Government of the United States of America is not, in any sense, founded on the Christian religion; as it has in itself no character of enmity against the laws, religion, or tranquillity, of Mussulmen; and, as the said States never entered into any war, or act of hostility against any Mahometan nation, it is declared by the parties, that no pretext arising from religious opinions, shall ever produce an interruption of the harmony existing between the two countries." Jefferson hated the idea of church and state being anywhere near each other.

He was in favor of keeping the Ten Commandments on a courthouse lawn (link) and co-sponsored a prayer in school amendment (link).

And if that wasn't enough to make you stop and go "Hold on a second...", well, I've got more bad news. He's sort of been supported by... some white supremacists... yeah...



(PLEASE NOTE: Those are not my opinions in the video. I am NOT batshit crazy.)

I gotta be honest, that video makes me giggle, even though it's, you know, hate filled and all.

So yeah... don't vote for Ron Paul. Vote for Howard Dean.

Notes on the Republican Debate

CNBC/MSNBC/Wall Street Journal Debate, October 9th, 2007

These may be the dumbest people ever collected on a stage together (well, aside from anyone dumb enough to be in an Andrew Lloyd Weber musical). Seriously, though.

John McCain (seen for the last four years playing Bush's lapdog) actually tried to remind us that he was one of the only people criticizing the President way back in the day. And I don't mean in the sense that he was critical of Bush now, though he was. I mean he actually said "I want to remind you that..."

Oh, and this was fantastic. Most of the candidates believe that the President has the ultimate power to declare war. Yeah. Isn't that terrifying? I mean, they were talking about "imminent threats" and all that bullshit. Ron Paul (my hero) started yelling about it though. That was pretty cool. Fred Thompson also agreed that it is important to go to Congress for war, though his reasoning wasn't "cause the Constitution says so."

I love it when they all contradict each other. They spent the first twenty minutes talking about whether or not the US is in a deficit (Um... why not just look at the budget?). Words clearly have no set meaning for these people.

Sam Brownback wants to cut US funding for advanced technology. And Mike Huckabee wants to make ethanol (the corn based one) the standard in ten years. Both of these people are fools (for different reasons).

The good thing here is that these people are better on energy... well, mostly. They're okay with nuclear power (which reminds me, don't you fucking dare vote for Edwards) and just about everything else. McCain even acknowledged climate change and said that we should cut that shit out (my words). They're also (mostly) big fans of the free market, which is superb.

This video, that I'm streaming online, has commercials. What... the... fuck?

...still commercialing. Should that have two "l"s? I can't decide.

Ron Paul (<3) says that unions should always be allowed. Not necessarily respected, but *always* allowed (see: First Amendment). McCain states (correctly) that no one should be required to be in a union should they not want to. Mitt Romney specifically states that the Carpenter's Union is a good union. In fact, I'm just generally amazed at how much the Republicans don't hate unions. There are good unions, and there are bad unions. That's pretty cool. (The cynic in me is reminded me that they're in Dearborn, Michigan. Y'know, the heart of the auto industry.)

Tom Tancredo just made fun of Brownback's mother. This makes me smile.

McCain wants sugar cane based ethanol in this country. Go go gadget McCain! Though, I'm not sure where he thinks it'll come from. Maybe he has a sugar plantation in Jamaica and imports it.

Our good buddy Rudy Giuliani is talking about "policing the internet". Ah, freedom of speech, we hardly knew ye. He talks about child predators like he gets all his facts from "To Catch a Predator". McCain, however, disagrees. He's having none of it.

Lightning round: stupid and pointless. Full of meaningless sound bytes. Except for Sam Brownback, who espoused the utter nonsense about "family values" and how single parent families aren't as good for children. What a fucking moron.

General thoughts: Brownback sounds a lot like Rick Santorum, and should be quietly gassed to death. McCain and Thompson seem like the least insane options right now, other than Ron Paul, who could never be elected in this country for the simple fact that he's correct and the only thing that could help us. I've got to be honest, out of the 15ish candidates, the only one I want to vote for is Ron Paul, because he's the only one worth voting for.

Sigh.

The Truth:

I am a liar.

I constantly lie to you. There really is no way to tell the truth. Objectively, that is.

Well, not the complete truth, anyway.

There are a few reasons. One is that it would simply be impossible to tell the "whole truth and nothing but the truth". It doesn't truly exist. And besides, if I tried, I would never stop writing, so much would I be trying to replicate exactly what happened. Exactly what's true. Another reason for my deception is the idea that the truth is made somehow more true through fiction. See: Gonzo journalism.

And it's not like I lie to you. I would never lie to you. Certainly not.

But...

Well, there are some times I obscure facts. There are times I fudge reality. And there are times I leave out large portions of the truth.

I'm afraid that if I told you the truth, the full truth, the true truth, you would think me insane. You would find me dangerous. You would question my mental capacity. Because the dark shit I've actually told you doesn't even crack the tip of the iceberg.

Holy fucking fuck.

Every single one of the Democratic candidates just lost my vote.

At the last debate (I think. These videos aren't very well labeled), the second to last question was "Senator Obama, what's your favorite Bible verse?" (His response: Sermon on the Mount.) The question was then posed to all of the other candidates, and none of them said, "Uh... none of your fucking business. Religion and politics should be as far apart as possible. Why would you ask that?"

I'm writing in Howard Dean.

Cathartic?

It's been a week. What a fucking week.

Shrooming with Scott and Frank last night. The wrong week for it, apparently. Whoa.

They had a great time, which was awesome. Frank was fucking spastic. Bouncing off the walls. Everything was pissing him off. But not in an angry way or anything. He'd just start swearing at something for ten seconds, then stop for a couple of minutes. Scott, on the other hand, was really mellow for most of the evening. He was enraptured by a tree near the front doors of Smith.

I, however, was not having quite as good a time. I don't feel like I had a bad time, in my head, but everyone keeps telling me I was practically catatonic. I remember not being able to deal with practically anything. I had problems coping with my computer. I was very... stuck in my head. Trapped in my head. I don't really like being trapped in my head. Because the things in my head are all puzzles. They have to be taken apart. They have to be solved.

I have no idea how to relinquish control of my mind. Scott and Frank were standing up looking at me while I sat on the cold concrete and being as small as possible, and they told me to just let go. But I don't know how. I can't do it. And I came to the realization that much of the time, I do things like marijuana and mushrooms and whatnot to slow down. To stop the constant running tape loop in my mind. To halt the ever-deconstructionist part of my brain. To stop and just feel good for a while without having to worry about anything. And then I realized... that's sort of what heroin does. Especially if you overdose on it. You just... stop.

After my bad time had come to a close, I started thinking about my various women problems and realized that I didn't care that much. Is this catharsis?

Anyway. I made it through. I know I was freaking out my friends, cause I kept smiling and saying I'd be fine, and they all seemed pretty convinced that I wasn't. But by now, I know how to ride it out, and that's very useful. I still had a good time, though I may hold off on doing it again for a couple of weeks.

I decided, while on shrooms, that I needed a shower and a shave. That was a whole new thing. Very weird. But I was successful. No cuts or anything. It was pretty excellent, all things considered. The heat of the shower and the water hitting and trailing my skin was incredible. And playing with my naval piercing was a lot of fun. Bwahaha.

This is the first post I'll be putting up with my newly returned to me laptop. I'm at Donkey, presently, listening to music and drinking coffee to keep the chill away. I should buy some apple cider for my room. And some tea. I'll make that happen tomorrow. This is excellent, though. I don't know how I lived without my computer.

One of the things I missed most? Porn.

I was trying to figure out this couple earlier. I'm guessing they were on maybe their fourth outing together. This one was casual, as they were at a coffee shop, playing Othello. He was telling her about one of his exs (for whom he apparently did things he shouldn't have and were, in retrospect, stupid), which is why I peg it around four, because it seems like you'd start getting into real history after you've been out a couple of times and have decided that you like each other. I wasn't really listening to them, they were here and I noticed them as I was switching on my computer. But it intrigued me, as relationships tend to, particularly in their early stages.

Coffee and music are an excellent way to spend the evening. I was going to go to Dance or Die, but this is much better, I think. I love the smell of cold air in the fall, and I love the taste of clove cigarettes.

Everything will be okay.

Pancakes for one

This is something new.

I'm so tired. I'm so exhausted. I'm just so fucking dead. Yet before I've begun caffinating this evening, I'm full of manic energy, the desire to run, jump, scream. I feel dead, utterly dead. And so totally alive.

Really, I should smoke less pot. That's likely the cause of it. Or at least, if I could make myself function the day after smoking. But I am getting my stuff done, on the whole. I just need to be awake for more of the day.

Ugh.

Good news, though! I should be getting my computer back tomorrow. And that will be excellent. Because I misplaced my iPod the other day, and that is a terrible thing to have happened. I'm going to have to get a new one, cause I'm slowly losing my mind without the constant music playing directly into my head.

Soul searching is weird. I want to point out that I'm not nearly as conceited as most of what I'm about to say sounds, it's simply true of me. First, and let's be very clear here, I fucking rock. I'm thoroughly pleased with who I am these days. I'm happy with what I think about thing and the way I feel about things. Which seems like an odd thing to say, because I don't think many people think about the thinks they like, why they like them, and how satisfied they are with their reasoning. And I've taken it a couple of steps farther. I'm constantly deconstructing things. Which is why I never let anything go. I have to know what it means. I feel driven to be able to put everything I see together in the ginormous puzzle of life. I want to assemble people's logic and reasoning like factoring quadratic equations.

I obsess over tiny insignificances because they're all I can control in my life. My iPod is missing, and I can't do anything more than tell the RA. I can, however, dwell constantly on whether or not someone is exactly where they said they'd be at any given time. I can control whether the lights are on in my hallway. I can control many, many tiny, insignificant things that add up to a modicum of sanity.

Wow. That's more than you needed to know.

You know what I was thinking about earlier? I saw this couple, and the dude was talking about how there's a lot of strategy in Clue. More, even, than Monopoly.

I love that stage of a relationship, and I'm so full of bizarre opinions at this point, I'm really looking forward to telling someone about my insane ideas and having her (...or him, I suppose) try to keep up with the absurdity that I spout. And then to switch. I suppose the ideal would be to find someone who builds on the themes and ideas I present. Someone who I can debate over who is more mediocre: Fall Out Boy or U2? Or whatever else. I'm not a dancing monkey, people. I can't just turn on the hilarity. Alright? Glad we're clear on that.

But no. I want to be cute and adorable for the things I say (and how scrambled they tend to be), I want to be admired for the things I do (and believe) and I want to feel that same way for whoever I'm with. I want to adore the next girl I'm with. I want to be enraptured by her, and I want to make her smile just by being around.

Suddenly, I realize that it may seem like I'm really all about having someone. That's not really true. I'm not really looking right now (to be fair, it would be awesome to date Poppy. I'd be very much in favor of that turn of events). I'm just kind of floating on, under the assumption that if I meet someone and we're interested in each other, we'll make that shit happen. But pursuit is dumb, largely.

But I do like being with someone. And I like all the things that come with it. And so I'll probably keep writing about it.

Structure!

Abby hates this song.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. Abby just doesn't like this song because I posted the last stanza in my AOL profile after she and I broke up last year. It wasn't really directed at her, but certainly could have applied.

"The loving is a mess, what happened to all of the feeling?
I thought it was for real; babies, rings and fools kneeling
And words of pledging trust and lifetimes stretching forever
So what went wrong? It was a lie, it crumbled apart.
Ghost figures of past, present, future haunting the heart"
-Belle & Sebastian, "Another Sunny Day"

So now it reminds her of that whole... unpleasantness.

I'm in a really fuzzy headspace right now. A little bit angry, a little bit lost, a little bit severed, a little bit happy. Mostly just fuzzy. Confused.

Certainly, there's a difference between being alone and being lonely.

I'm going to (attempt to) talk to Poppy tonight or tomorrow.

::knock, knock:: "Hey. Hey." ::holds up finger, long silence:: "Sorry. (pause) Look, I really fancy you. I know, you've got a guy back home. Tom, yeah? Well, look. I'm not trying to replace anyone in your life. There are hundreds of reasons why you and I going out or dating or whatever is a bad idea, but I genuinely don't care. You thrill me in heretofore unknown ways, and I want to keep making that happen. But I have no idea what you want."

It won't go anything like that. And it's highly unlikely that I'll use the word "heretofore".

What I want, ultimately, is to lay with her, run my fingers through her hair and kiss her. And just keep doing that for a while. I would be for that.

There's no rhyme or reason to this. It's just... floating in and out. In my head.

One last true thing: When I spend time with the people I love, I hate myself.

A repository for the nonsense in my head

So...

Abby and I called it quits. Officially. Finally. We're just friends now, albeit, friends who might have sex once in a while. And I talked to Poppy for like 20, 30 minutes today. And right now, I'm going to pack a bowl for later and go smoke hookah. Well, right soon.

Abby. I love her, I do. And she loves me. And I think that both of us can love other people better. It works out, in the end. Still, endings are weird, yeah? Always in a funk, a weird haze for a couple of days. I may want to hold off on the psychedelics this weekend. Anyway, here we are. And I feel relieved. Yet I feel severed.

As for Poppy, it's like we're on different fucking planets. I have no idea what to do there. I went to go ask her if she's been avoiding me and we chat for like 25 minutes. So that's... curious. No idea what to do there.

The following things are true:

-I break more laws on the average day than most people will break in their life, yet I've never intentionally harmed another human being (which I believe gives me the moral high ground. Suck it).

-I'm not a particularly good person, but I am usually a spectacularly honest one.

-I hate people who mispronounce "espresso".

-I think about death more than you do. I also enjoy life more.

Now I'm going to do something else.

Shroooom!

Woo! What a fucking night.

Wednesday night (Thursday morning?) I shroomed with a couple of friends. It's always such a sudden decision ("You have boomers? Well, I have money! Give that shit here!") and I always end up doing them that night ("I don't have classes til 11! No worries!").

Downed a full eighth myself, and still am going to need more to get good visuals. Goddammit. Still an incredible night. One of the girls I did them with, Ali, had never done them before. Looking back, it's really funny. Beforehand, she was really nervous and a little freaked, and we talked her down, and as soon as they kicked in, she started asking "why people wouldn't want to feel like this all the time?"

The other thing I love about shrooming is the connectivity you have with whoever else you're with. I always feel closer to the people I do it with, always. Just getting fucked up together and sharing a freaky experience.

I always feel like shadows are shifting and waving when I'm hopped up on psilocybin. And I stared at myself in the mirror for like five minutes. But I came away totally satisfied with myself. Quite frankly, I'm awesome. That's not meant to be conceited, just true.

I realized a couple of things on my voyage this time, aside from how awesome I am. One: I like shrooms because they intensify the gibbering madness in my head and makes it normal, makes it okay, makes it acceptable. The second is that, while I am not addicted to anything, I could live on the streets, surviving from fix to fix, if I had to. I could live like that. I could be okay with that. Which is more than a little frightening.

But it's okay. I've come to terms with it. I've made my peace. And it's time to move on.

Whatever People Say I Am...

Since I am clearly the cultural hub of the universe, discussion today will be of what I did last night. Almost one hundred percent of what I did was illegal, yet the chances that anyone reading this will give a shit are so close to zero as to be unimportant (hope the audience doesn't include my probation officer, then).

Last night, I saw the Arctic Monkeys. And it was sweet.

I borrowed a car to get there, obviously, as the show was in Columbus and I am, alas, stuck in Athens. The reason I don't have a car is primarily the fact that I don't have a license. And the reason I don't have a license is because I'm a dangerous pot-smoker (who never got busted anywhere near a motor vehicle. Hmmm...). So would it be irony that I both drove and toked the whole way to Columbus? I'm not sure.

Now, before we get people mad for my "reckless driving," it's important to realize that most people drive better stoned. There are myriad reasons for this, but one of the best is simply the fact that stoners are in less of a hurry to get places. If I'm high and driving, I'm probably going 55 in the 60 with the stereo at close to max. I like driving anyway, and going a little slower means I'll be driving more *and* I'll get to hear more songs. Also, people drive better when they're smoking because if they get pulled over, they'll be royally fucked. So it's best not to give the cops any reason to tag you.

Anyway, I was driving up to Columbus listening to Of Montreal ("Disconnect the Dots," "Your Magic Is Working," "My British Tour Diary," and "Rapture Rapes the Muses" in particular) until I decided that it would be wise to get psyched up, and thus put on Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not. Which, of course, rocked ("But his bird said it's amazing though, so all that's left/Is the proof that love's not only blind, but deaf"). It really is a great album, though I wish I'd had Favorite Worst Nightmare with me at the time.

Still.

So I got there, blazed a touch more, then rolled out to what was a ridiculously long line (that didn't really work out for some people. I was waaay at the back of the line and managed to get tossed up to right behind that knot of folks at the front, the ones who showed up three hours before the doors opened and latched themselves firmly on the bar). After waiting an additional fifteen minutes after the doors were supposed to open, we filed in.

I proceeded to down a Long Island Iced Tea on an empty stomach (did I eat anything yesterday? Yes. I remember now. There was Wendy's. But that was quite late). Now what to do? I'm a bit drunk and a bit high and nothing is happening until the opening act (which was NOT The Coral, like the posters said. I think the name of the band was "Voxtrot," and they were acceptable).

Anywho, eventually (9:15) the Arctic Monkeys took the stage. Besides the fact that Alex Turner looked like he was even more bored than I've been of late, the show rocked exceptionally hard. There wasn't a lot of variation, they weren't really engaging with the audience, but who gives a shit? We were rocking the fuck out. And I think everyone was satisfied with that arrangement.

They played for almost seventy-five minutes, which was excellent, as there were essentially no breaks and they only have two albums (plus EPs). There was a whole group of British people who kept breaking into song and whatnot before the show. And that was amusing. Oh! And I demoed Rock Band on my way out. Which was cool, but I like the Guitar Hero controller better. (Game companies, please take note:) The guy showing it off missed the point when he told me that Rock Band was "harder than Guitar Hero". I don't care if it's "harder". I simply want it to be "fun".

Then I drove home. And blazed, and rocked out. Honestly, all things considered, one of the best days of my life, if for no other reasons than because I listened to nothing but good music all day, I felt good all day (chemically altered and otherwise), and I had my face rocked off.

Ennui (That Inescapable Feeling)

Ever been too bored to sleep? Too bored to fuck? So bored that even getting high doesn't help?

Cause I have. I am right now, in fact.

The crushing feeling of having nothing to do and the knowledge that everything you do is meaningless. Because that's the flip side of true boredom. Of true ennui. Having that feeling that tells you, yeah, okay, you could be doing something, but there's nothing worth doing, everything worth doing has been done, and you'll never be able to make any difference.

Boredom is a lot like existential angst. But it's a lot more boring. At least when I get angsty, I go for a run or something. I feel compelled, not the opposite.

The insidious creeping death of anything you feeling like doing. That's boredom.

I'd keep going, but I really can't be bothered.

The one I *should* have titled "FUCK"

I want to have Sex.

I was discussing this last night with a friend. That is, my desire to have Sex.

We started by talking about the different kinds of sex, which is a discussion for another day, when I care enough to write about it. For the moment, however, I want to talk about the first time you are intimate with another person (and how much I'm looking forward to that again).

I have a theory, and it is this: the first handful of times you have sex with a person are different than any other time you will ever see that person naked. This is not necessarily a good or a bad thing, and I'm willing to guess it's less true the more people you fuck. But it's still the assumption I'm working with here.

Part of this difference is the simple fact that you are still truly exploring that person's body. To discover and chart new territory, as it were. Tenderly tracing fingers along their skin to redraw the maps in your head. Determining which parts of this new land are more fertile (or bountiful) and if the undergrowth on this new country is thick (seriously. I'm covered in hair. Okay, "covered" is strong. I'm not grotesquely hairy or anything like that. I just have a hairy "chestal section". Oh, and I shave my armpits. It's a comfort thing). It's terribly exciting.

But seriously, isn't that the best? The sweet and gentle trailing as you kiss any and every exposed inch of skin or the feel of the first truly intimate thing you do (this is Third Base and beyond I'm referring to here). It's not great sex, and it really shouldn't be, because you don't know how the other goes. You haven't adapted, so you're working harder than usual, because you want to have a good time, but more importantly, you want them to want to continue to have sex with you (that's key). It's the kind of sex that's already more intense because (theoretically) a massive amount of emotion surrounding it, it's almost electric. And it's only gets more intense, because quite frankly, you're fucking.

It's the kind of sex where, once you've started really going, it's not even possible to grip the other person because you're both covered in sweat, you try to grasp their arm, wrap around them and pull them into you, but you're so slick, slimy, soaked that it barely works at all, and sweat just pours out of you, but it doesn't matter because of the pure kinetic energy of *fucking*. The kind of sex that leaves the bedsheets unusable because they're soaked with sweat (and whatever else). The kind of sex where the only way to get the sweat off isn't even a towel or a shower, no, the only effective way is a fucking squeegee.

That's the kind of Sex I want to have. That stuff hits the spot.

FUCK!

Oi!

To be sure, it's been a while (not that anyone is paying attention). My computer has been busted since shortly after my last post, and I am still without the funds to have it repaired. Granted, I could clearly have been doing this all summer, but I find this method of blogging to be somewhat distasteful. "This method" being that of blogging at the library. I prefer my privacy. But! Somethings should just be expunged, and this is the most effective way to make that happen. Worst case, I'll keep it up here for the time being (shudder).

Unfortunately, I have nothing of any import to say. That is, I have stuff to say, but none of it is important. In my opinion. Politics is important. Even cultural stuff is important (go see Stardust and buy the new Get Set Go. Do it now). My petty bullshit issues aren't. This is something I consider a truism. So bear with me, because women are insane, and I hate everyone.

Now that that's cleared up, let's talk, just a little, about the issues at hand.

I, personally, happen to be a huge Anglophile. Now, I'm not quite at the level I would be at if had disposable income, but as it stands, I adore the British. I find their slang amusing and I adore their comedy and music (This is the extremely short version of my rapt interest in, well, anything that the British Isles have produced).

This principle carries over extremely well into intrapersonal interactions. I have just met a totally beguiling English redhead named Poppy, whom I find "utterly enchanting" (my words when asking her out. Yeah. Fuckin' A). I adore her accent, I adore her hair (seriously, beautiful hair), I adore how ridiculously cute she is. So, as would be the logical thing to do, I asked her out. (It was kind of like this: "Uh, uh, uh... so... uh... I, uh, I, uh, I find you, I mean, I'm totally, I think, I find you utterly enchanting, I think you're, uh, uh, really really cool.......... do you want to do anything ever at any time, like... anything? I mean... we could go for a meal, or we could go for a walk, or we could just sit... anywhere... and... talk about anything..." And she got this big grin and said "yeah," and asked when, and I continued to stumble over "Whenever, soon is good," etc. And we agree that we'd go for a walk the next day. And! As I'm leaving, she actually says (I swear) "I can't wait for it to be tomorrow!") It's like being thirteen all over again.

So, the next day, yeah? We go for a walk. It was late, I mean, we didn't leave until 9:30ish. We talked about British stuff, American stuff, general stuff. We blazed. And we walked. By the time we decided to turn around, we'd probably walked two, two and a half miles. And on the way back, I got on the subject of her (well, she asked if I only liked her because she is English). And my response was a listing of a small handful of the things I find "very attractive" about her (see above). And then she got real quiet. It was that thing that chicks do after you tell them something open and honest, when it gets real awkward and quiet, but there's no reason for it. It's only awkward cause you both like each other and so it's not like you can just laugh it off, but it's stupid that it's awkward cause you just want to grab each other and kiss. But that comes later, cause you haven't figured that out yet. Cause you're stupid. Just like me.

So, as we were approaching the dorm, I asked if we were "going to discuss that awkward thing" and she got really quiet again. Which, to be clear, doesn't actually help anything. Then, however, I got a sign, cause she nudged me in what could only be perceived as a playful way (okay, it could have been perceived in some other way). So I did the only thing I could think to do (all together now). I turned around, extended one arm, pulled her close, and kissed her. And kissed her.

Wow.

To add another to the list of things I love about Poppy, let's say "the way she tastes". And "the way she kisses". So it was extremely gratifying (and a little insulting) when she pulled away and said (in her awesome accent) "You're quite good," in this really surprised tone. And then we kissed again.

So, that was incredible. Awesome. Outstanding. Transcendent. I'll go with that one. We hung out the rest of the night. Kissing. Talking. Until! She tells me that there's a slight complication: she has a guy back home. Disaster! She left. Well, she was leaving and told me that she would probably be back, but first she had to think about it. I was excited that she would likely be back, until I realized (and pointed out) that she wouldn't be able to get to my room to talk to me. And I think that that was the fatal mistake.

The next day, she lets me run my fingers through her hair (squee!) and we hang out a little. I don't talk to her enough. I've barely said anything to her in the handful of days we've known each other. I should rectify that. Anyway, we're splitting up to do other things for a while, and I ask if we can hang out later, which she responds positively to, saying that she likes hanging out with me........ but.......... could we maybe just be friends? She feels guilty, is all. I respond with an extremely unenthusiastic "yes" simply because it is impossible at this point. "Friends". Pah.

What am I to do here, caped crusaders? It's clear Poppy likes me. At least, I'm almost sure that's true. But she feels guilty and wants to keep me at arms' length. The assumption I'm working on here is that she likes me, but she's more secure with Tom, back home. Tom, whom she didn't really bother to mention during any of the handful of times it could very very easily have come up in the conversation ("A friend(Tom) sent me a trophy", "I know about ten guys named Tom back home"). This is understandable, but wrong.

I have never been more excited by a human being as I am by Poppy, nor more attracted. Which makes sense, as poppies are the prime ingredient of opium (and by extension, heroin). What to do?

They're all idiots...

Finally (!) caught the second Republican debate on the interwebs. I was pleasantly surprised; the Fox moderators seemed to want to shake things up, and were reasonably successful. I'll tell you what though, the first candidate to get so angry at one of their fellow contenders that they physically strike them, that's the guy that gets my vote. If McCain walks over and punches Giuliani in the face, that's quality TV. But the Fox moderators threw the candidates some good questions, at least concerning the conservative base, and I was impressed by that.

Also, before discussing my thoughts further, does anyone else feel that the Democrats are fucking stupid to back out of a Fox debate? To show up to Fox debate and be on top of things, and look good, etc... wouldn't that be the smart thing to do? Why is Kucinich the only one with the balls to go on Fox?

Anyway. I'm not real impressed with the opening of the debate. Seriously, it was produced like game show. "Who Wants to Be a President?" But that's what it is. If they can make it more like American Idol, maybe more people will vote. American Idol, if you don't know, is the lowest form of entertainment. That's not opinion, it's fact. It's tied with "The Biggest Loser".

You know, I really like Gov. Thompson's ideas about what to do with Iraq. I don't know if it would work, and I should probably check that out, but I think he's really got something. I'll be interested to see criticism of it.

Also, and let's be clear about this, they won't "follow us home." It's utter nonsense. If they were going to "follow us home," they would be bombing our cities as we speak. Fort Dix is not an example of being followed home, it's an example of extremism. The reason they come over here to begin with are things like our ties with the Saudi family and our involvement with Israel. If we STOP doing boneheaded things in the world, people will stop trying to kill us. (Obviously not everyone. You can't stamp that stuff out. See: Timothy McVeigh, Theodore Kaczynski.) Stop saying that the terrorists "hate our freedom" and are coming to get us. NOW.

The biggest applause (as I'm sure everyone knows by now) came after Giuliani attacked Rep. Ron Paul's statement concerning the 9/11 attacks. The problem is that Paul is right. Paul's statement, that the attacks had to do with American policies overseas, is correct. And anyone who watched what bin Laden said after the attacks knows that. This groupthink, that the terrorists want to kill us because of our freedom, is simply wrong. As Paul says, we need to stop believing that we should be policing the world and cut spending at home.

Guh. None of these people should be leading this country. None of the Democrats should be leading us either. They're all raging morons, every last one of them. Hillary wants to ban flag burning and McCain wants to ban abortion. None of these people believe in personal freedom, and that's a big, big problem, because that's what America is supposed to be about.

Vote Gravel!

Live from fucking nowhere!

So, here we are.

This is being started as a way to channel my general frustration at, well, basically everything. Mostly, I feel a screaming need for a creative outlet. I plan to update regularly, hopefully a couple of times per week, if not more. Mostly, politics and entertainment type stuff, cause that's what I know.

With that in mind: For anyone who doesn't know, the White House issues a weekly radio broadcast from the President. I believe it plays on Saturdays. I don't really know (or care) because I get the podcast of the statement.

This past Saturday, the 12th of May, President Bush was discussing immigration, and he uttered the following: "We must honor the great American tradition of the melting pot. Americans are bound together by our shared ideals, an appreciation of our history, and an ability to speak and write the English language."

Is it just me, or does the last third of that sentence seem to somehow negate the rest of it?

I agree, a working knowledge of the English language is important for immigrants to have, particularly if they're working in certain fields (I refer you to Lewis Black's "White Album"). But really, do you need to drive that point home? Wouldn't homogenizing into English take away from that "melting pot" you're so proudly defending?

What an asshole.