shhhhh!!!! its my birthday

Twenty nine years ago today I crawled from the broken fragments of an egg like a greasy little dragon eager to set the world a flame. That’s a blatant lie, I actually descended from the cosmos riding a beam of light on a unicorn. What I'm trying to say here is its my birthday, the 29th, 364 days until the end. So in the spirit of getting old I'm going to put on a diaper, pour a cup of cream with some coffee, watch some old school price is right at an outrageous volume and write an angry letter (or blog)

I apologize to my two loyal readers, my motivation has been seriously nonexistent and cannot promise any improvement but I'll try.... maybe.

Project Two Nine

I came up with an idea a few months ago, more of a project really. There is such a negative air that surrounds the decades following the second. At 30 we're supposed to have our shit figured out, we're supposed to be well along our career path, have a cushion of financial stability, be working on a family of our own. Our youthful beauty going or gone. At 40 we're to be well established, sights on retirement, white picket fence shielding your suburban shelter from the world.

Before I digress too far on a rant about society’s expectations I'll get back to the project. My intention is to capture as much of these next 364 days as possible in words, photographs and video. Once the time is up I will gather, organize and present my adventure as something that will hopefully entertain.

No soul? No problem, try Chanel No.5.

    I seem to be on a trend here of smashing two pseudo rants and/or stories together and calling it a blog contribution. I'm tired so that’s all the intro tonight’s piece is going to get, hope you're entertained.

Psychelists

    Having a bicycle as a main source of transportation is a wonderful thing. It promotes both a healthy life and healthy world, being out in the fresh air instead of cooped up in the very carefully ergonomically mass manufactured cocoon that is the drivers seat of your generic commuter car. I wish I had the disposable income myself to purchase a bike. However I've got a building animosity inside me towards Mr and Mrs cyclist and its not misplaced jealousy or envy that fuels this rage fire. That’s a fat lie, my trousers are actually a flame at the moment, I'm very jealous and very envious. The apparent fact that none of the 'rules of the road' apply to these two wheel hooligans is enough to rocket my blood pressure into cardiac failure on a daily basis. Day after day as I sit staring vacantly at the rear end of the vehicle in front of me my peripherals catch a cyclist darting in and out of traffic, switching from the road to the side walk and back again, pushing cross walk buttons and simply riding through red lights when traffic is at a stand still. Then we have those that feel the need to risk their lives by riding in lanes on main arteries where the average vehicle speed is between sixty and ninety kilometres an hour, refusing to share space.

     As I stated before I'm all for bicycles, they just need to choose whether they're a vehicle or a pedestrian, having the best of both worlds simply wont do, not for this guy. I may make it a priority when I become emperor but for now I'll have to settle for screaming vile strings of obscenities in their general direction.

My, what a foul scent you have!!

    Here is a novel idea, lets cover up a potential undesirable aroma with something that smells significantly worse but since people will know we did it on purpose it will be acceptable. Of the many silly archaic traditions that exist in our society this has to be the worst, in my opinion at least. My sense of smell has never been very sharp, especially after my date with the tree which left a fracture along my sinus. Needless to say I'm usually the last person in a room to notice a smell, many times I've had the roommates approach me 'Town! You got a dead hooker in your room? It smells like it'. Nine times out of ten its a dirty plate or a glass of milk that has backed itself into a dark corner and began to rot, the tenth time it usually is a deceased prostitute. Where I'm going with this is that if your nasty perfume or cologne can make me reel back in disgust I cannot imagine what it does to people with an acute sense of smell or allergies. Many pass off the abuse of synthetic scented oils as covering up body odour, an easy unhygienic solution to smelling 'good' and I do use the term 'good' very loosely. I've got a different theory, look at the type of people that drench themselves in perfume and cologne. I'm being very general here, there are always exceptions to the rule but just play along. Alright what do you see? A very manufactured inorganic being correct? Lots of hair product, makeup and time spent(wasted) on their appearance. Often in positions which require a forced human interaction and feign relationships such as sales or the service industry. These are in fact not people at all but parasites inhabiting human shells, the god awful artificial odour is a feeble attempt to mask the stench of their decaying souls. At this point in time I do not know their true purpose but I feel I can confidently say do not have fear. Should their intentions prove malicious any aggressive behaviour should be easily repelled with a verbal retaliation regarding their appearance.. call them fat or something, they'll run away crying.

K, bye.

So I cant have it because I might die only to return from the dead and sue your face off?

    Today the topic is ridiculousness. Yesterday after work I made my way down to the valley for a nice jog along the river, something I've almost made routine, though this particular run I dubbed 'hell run'. Hell run earned its name because I had done my first set of squats at the gym the day before since the beginning of summer and I foolishly accepted several handfuls of jellybeans and jujubes a short time earlier. Needless to say I got side stitches immediately and with every step pain danced its way up my poor torn lower body muscles. I then woke this morning feeling like I'd been dragged behind a garbage truck all night. Mild nausea and a headache that felt like hundreds of tiny mean people were in my head hacking at the back of my eyes with their evil little hatchets. I contemplated calling in sick to work but I've already used two sick days this quarter, I figured I'll just man it out. By eight I was in need of pharmaceutical help, I began my search for the lady in the office who always has the 'good stuff'. After a brief game of hide and seek she informed me that she was dry, I'd have to get my fix else where. She recommended I try a lady down the hall or the two fat guys at the front, they have a large supply.

'hey, I hear you guys got the hook up'

'I don't know what you're talking about'

'please I need some, I'm dieing here'

'we got nothing'

the woman interjects 'cummon guys please, he just needs two'

'nope'

I was able to track down other people around the shop who were nice enough to give me a few Advil and Tums and within an hour or so I was good to go. The lady approached me later and explained that if in the future I wanted painkillers or any drug I'd have to bring my own because if something happened the person who provided the medication would be held liable. She then proceeded to tell me a story of when she was forced to administer first aid to a co-worker but when management had found out she had done so without having authorization she was threatened with disciplinary action.

Now I cant decide what is more pathetic: that our legal system would fail hard enough to set a precedence for this, that my cowardly co-workers are afraid that I would hold them accountable should something happen or that some sad little soul would and has actually legally assaulted someone offering them assistance in a situation like this.

k, bye

9/11, Ninja Keys and Distractions.

  I had intended on getting a piece of pixelated literature up this weekend but my brief attempts to sit down and type were met with sever lack-of-focus attacks and immediate cravings to play Fallout 3. At any rate I have several almost started blogs on the go that I hope will finish themselves in the next few days. So in an attempt to fill the gap created by disappointment I thought I'd put up the fragment of my thoughts from 9/11 that I had managed to translate in to text. I've also got, what I hope is, an amusing tale of my morning and the pranks my possessions enjoy playing on me.

9/11

 Hard to believe its already been ten years....and a day. I remember watching Dragon Ball Z while enjoying some delicious breakfast when the Town family phone began to ring. It was my good friend Ryan calling with a question 'you watching TV?' he asked 'yah man Goku is about to go super saiyan its awesome' I reply 'well change the channel to.. any channel' he demands. Finding his request extremely odd I comply just in time to watch the second plane disappear into the wall of glass and steel. It took several seconds for my brain to register what was actually happening, such a surreal sight how could you possibly process it. Sitting in my parents basement I watched the news in absolute bewilderment as 9/11 made its mark in history until it came time to head off to work.

  So ten years later there are still two thoughts lingering in my mind that I dont think have answers or at least answers that will bring me any clarity on human nature. It absolutely floors me that we as humans have the capacity within ourselves to let loose such devastation upon each other. I also have a hard time grasping why humanity is so eager to suffer vicariously though others, is it that we truly have that much sympathy for those directly effected? Or so when our turn to suffer is upon us we will feel better emotionally equipped to cope? Or perhaps its some misguided sense of belonging, a monkey see monkey do type complex? Don't get me wrong I have endless sympathy for the families effected and I am thankful beyond measure that none of my family and friends were anywhere near NY when the towers fell.

Ninja Keys

  Its a simple fact of science, your brain cannot fully function at 3:45am. If you are awake at this hour you're either shit fuck wasted or you're lack of intelligence has no bounds and you're just starting your day. For me it was the latter, stumbling about Jan's house like a ghoul pushing stuff I think may be required for either work or the gym into a bag. Brushing my teeth while staring at a blurry faceless stranger in the mirror, removing items from the fridge that I think may be edible for my lunch. As I leave the front door I realize I don't have my keys, a necessity for both using my means of transportation and gaining access to the gym I was headed to at such a offensive hour. Back into my bedroom I shuffle, first looking in the usual places.. the desk, window sill, bed sheets, floor, vent, dresser thing. Fudge I though, did I leave them on the porch railing yesterday afternoon? Back outside I go looking along the porch and railing followed by underneath the porch and along the sidewalk.. no dice. Once again I was back inside the house grabbing my spare set of keys, I'm too fucking tired to deal with keys, fuck you keys!! I'll just have to explain to the front desk attendant that my scan card is on my keys and I lost them rescuing small children and puppies from a fire. Upon arrival at the gym the attendant was nowhere in sight, BOOSH!! I jump, dive and ninja roll my way to the change room.. safe. Workout clothes on and ready to go I grab my Nikes, as I tilt it to slide it on to my foot MY FUCKING KEYS FALL OUT... at some point between Sunday afternoon and Monday morning my keys had snuck into my gym shoes and curled up nice and comfy like in the toe. My stuff does this to me on a semi regular basis, I'll find my wallet baked into a pizza or past due bills hiding in the trash pretending to be garbage.

I would like to add how outrageously hard it is to write while listening to dubstep, or anything that isnt excessivly mellow.. try it.

K, bye.

The warm up

  Hi there, so at the request of my mom away from my mom I"m starting a blog, actually the request was more of a demand and the demand was to write in more of a general sense. After some light laughter and thought on the idea memories from my youth started floating around in my head mush, how theraputic it was to sit down and read a good book, to pluck words from my imagination and attempt to form coherent sentinces with them on paper. At the peak of my interest in producing quality literature my wonderful mother was able to find me a typewriter, which I"m sure predated Shakespeare but what it lacked in technology and working parts it more then made up for with character and a certain satisfaction I'm sure can only be shared with math nerds who solve calculus problems on an abacus. I spent hours on that thing, hundreds of trees worth of absolute drivel strewn about my office(bedroom). Sadly the present version of myself has neither read nor written more then a paragraph in years, I could blame the media and video games all day but in the end I'm a fat lazy turd who cringes at the thought of the effort required to even turn a page. Though I have no desire to let the preteen me rise from the ashes like a nerdy little phoenix, I wholeheartedly believe that should a person find themselves in a proverbial rut the best way to climb out is to take a trip down memory lane and return with something that brought positivity to their life, something they lost somewhere along the way. While I am quite content with my rut free life at the moment I am on a quest to become more the person I want to be rather then the person that I am, more then the person I am. 

 I figured starting a blog would be the best rout because I dont think my overly descriptive fantasy short stories or my painfully copyright infringing rehashed Michael Crichton novels would be met with much sincear approval from Momma Schmidt. Since blogs are basicly the hot dogs of interweb expression (by that I mean there really is no guide line to what its contents are, just throw a bunch of crap into a blender, wrap it in a digestable adhesive and boom! you got yourself a meal) I figured that would be my expressive medium, and like our favorite falic shaped 'meat' product my blogging will contain no nutritional value and will quite possibly contribute to the deteriation of your brain cells.
 Sorry that got a little motivational speakerish.
 I will also apologize in advance to any gramar natzies, my gramatacal and spelling skills a bit sub par and I"m sure my future posts will be riddled with errors.

 Until next time, k, bye.