After roughly four minutes of predictable, mechanical sex, Adam said "goodnight" to his wife, turned off the emerald bedside lamp in their two-star hotel, and drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Adam usually didn't experience particularly vivid dreams, but this night was an exception; he dreamt he was a high-end prostitute, wandering Lakeshore Drive in the middle of the night, propositioning the homeless.
He looked out onto the water and he saw that instead of being relatively calm, the shore of Lake Michigan rolled and churned and glowed a gentle neon green. Those must be dinoflagellates, Adam thought as he threw a red high-heel into the water. This was a strange, because in real life Adam was stupid and spoke monosyllabically and only rarely wore heels.
Adam woke up from his dream, glanced at the alarm clock, and saw that it was almost four in the morning. He looked over at his slumbering wife, who had a desperate and unfulfilled look upon her face, which was a look that he had grown accustomed to over the previous few years. He got up, urinated for several minutes, made a big fussy production of wiping off the toilet seat with the hotel-provided white terry-cloth bathrobe. He rinsed his hands in the stale bathwater, put the bathrobe on, and quietly let himself out.
...
After a few hours of walking around various neighborhoods in the black predawn, the sun began to rise over Chicago, making the brick facades and storefronts seem new and whole in the quiet, chilly dawn. Adam stopped to pick some dandelions when he noticed that he was in front of a house he recognized. It took a him a few minutes, but eventually, he remembered it as the boyhood home of a former lover.
"Dane Marie McElquine," he said as the memories came rushing back to him; the late-morning picnics by the lake, the rainy afternoons spent indoors, completing puzzles of Buckingham Palace, the soft summer sweat pouring off of their brows as they entered each other, violently convulsing in pleasure.
As he stood there, a small crowd of neighborhood children gathered around them. One of them, a small Puerto Rican girl who looked to be about eight years old, said "Hey Mister; are you going to stand here all day rubbing your legs or what?" Adam turned to her as he placed the dandelions behind his left ear.
"Maybe I will, Mexican. Maybe I will."
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Monday, December 07, 2009
Professional Medical Advice*
...from Dr.** Cory Kibler, Professional Medician***.
Q: I suffer from hemorrhoids. Last night I put a suppository in my anus, and afterwards realized that the suppository was expired. I don't think it dissolved; I think it's still in there. Should I be worried? - from Terrified
A: That's awesome! Fuck yeah, you should definitely be worried. But I can imagine a situation in which I'd want to put some stuff up there too, you know? Just to see? Find me some stuff****, and we'll talk.
*More like "suggestions" and they are definitely not professional.
**I am not a Doctor.
***This is not a real word.
****Lots of stuff. No size is too big or too small.
Q: I suffer from hemorrhoids. Last night I put a suppository in my anus, and afterwards realized that the suppository was expired. I don't think it dissolved; I think it's still in there. Should I be worried? - from Terrified
A: That's awesome! Fuck yeah, you should definitely be worried. But I can imagine a situation in which I'd want to put some stuff up there too, you know? Just to see? Find me some stuff****, and we'll talk.
*More like "suggestions" and they are definitely not professional.
**I am not a Doctor.
***This is not a real word.
****Lots of stuff. No size is too big or too small.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
Rejected by McSweeney's: I guess I can't blame them.
My date with a very famous, beautiful, and talented comedienne who once acted and was the head writer for a very well-known series that generally runs on Saturdays, and who now writes and stars in a sitcom based on the idiosyncrasies and quirks of her former job (her identity shall remain anonymous).
I'll be the first to concede; I never thought I would pull this one out of my hat. The first time I met her was at a mutual friend's Halloween party in two-thousand-and-six. I'd spied her from across the room early in the evening, but was too timid to approach her, naturally. She was dressed up as one of the characters from the film Calendar Girls (I could not tell you which character she meant to portray; as I recall, the women in the film were all elderly and mostly nude. Our girl wore a frock and looked her age, about thirty-five). I myself had scrambled last-minute to construct my costume, and as such, I was an un-fully realized version of Cap'n Crunch.
After a few vodka tonics, I was able to muster up the courage to speak to her. My timing was immaculate, as she was alone in front of the cheese spread. "How do you do? I've seen your likeness multiple times in various forms of media. You're quite attractive. May I call you sometime?" Initially, she didn't hear me or at least pretended not to hear me. But I kept looking at her, engaging her, attempting to elicit a reply. She began to chew her camembert more slowly, more thoughtfully. Finally, she turned to me, and, with a look of genuine concern, asked me if I had been speaking to her, or someone else. I assured her that I had meant to address her specifically, and repeated myself. I hadn't the heart to mention the bleu cheese crumble that rested upon her bosom.
Suspiciously, she agreed to exchange information. I can only assume that she herself had enjoyed multiple cocktails, otherwise, she most likely would have spurned my advances (I wore a cluster of Crunchberries upon my sash). Because of the nature of my costume, I had an antique fountain pen at my disposal, and so I wrote down both of our numbers on a cocktail napkin, tore the napkin in half, gave her the half with my number on it, and put the other half in my wallet. The wallet was not antique; it was from Sears. After the exchange, we talked for two minutes at most and ultimately went our separate ways, she to the ladies' room, and I to the keg of malt liquor (our host had a unique sense of humor).
I kept her number crumpled in my wallet for several days before I could convince myself that meeting her for an Americano wouldn't be a total disaster. After all, she was a wildly successful woman with a lot to offer. Meanwhile, I was (and still am) a chronically tardy, out-of-shape, insufferable drug user whose entire wardrobe is worth less than two-hundred dollars. I also had (and still have) severe eczema. I have been described as "flaky" on multiple occasions.
So you can imagine my surprise when, out of the blue on a Friday afternoon, I received a telephone call from her. I was in a delicatessen on the upper-west side, trying to decide whether or not to pay for the baguette I had just eaten, when she rang. She got right to the point. I was to meet her the next morning at eleven-fifteen for brunch at a French Café in the Village. She specified that we eat outside on the patio underneath the olive-green awning, as the forecast called for light rain. I agreed, and, keeping my composure, thanked her for the telephone call and ended the conversation before I had a chance to say anything off-color (I have a tendency to unwittingly degrade the homeless). I then decided it would be best to return to my Uncle Jerold's loft in the meatpacking district, so that I could physically and mentally prepare for our impending mid-morning meal.
Instead, however, I spent all that night envisioning how our brunch would play out. She would laugh her delicious laugh, tossing her chestnut-brown curls over her left shoulder, and when her glasses became totally disheveled from all the violent, head-jerking laughter, she would push them back up onto the bridge of her nose while trying (in vain) to catch her breath. It would be a delightful date.
And, as many of my close relations might expect, I imagined the date so many times that I didn't fall asleep until four in the morning, which caused me to sleep well past our prearranged meeting time. When I called her at one-thirty to apologize and reschedule, she told me not to bother. This was just as well, since I was still technically not allowed to leave my Uncle Jerold's apartment at the firm request of the Federal Government.
I'll be the first to concede; I never thought I would pull this one out of my hat. The first time I met her was at a mutual friend's Halloween party in two-thousand-and-six. I'd spied her from across the room early in the evening, but was too timid to approach her, naturally. She was dressed up as one of the characters from the film Calendar Girls (I could not tell you which character she meant to portray; as I recall, the women in the film were all elderly and mostly nude. Our girl wore a frock and looked her age, about thirty-five). I myself had scrambled last-minute to construct my costume, and as such, I was an un-fully realized version of Cap'n Crunch.
After a few vodka tonics, I was able to muster up the courage to speak to her. My timing was immaculate, as she was alone in front of the cheese spread. "How do you do? I've seen your likeness multiple times in various forms of media. You're quite attractive. May I call you sometime?" Initially, she didn't hear me or at least pretended not to hear me. But I kept looking at her, engaging her, attempting to elicit a reply. She began to chew her camembert more slowly, more thoughtfully. Finally, she turned to me, and, with a look of genuine concern, asked me if I had been speaking to her, or someone else. I assured her that I had meant to address her specifically, and repeated myself. I hadn't the heart to mention the bleu cheese crumble that rested upon her bosom.
Suspiciously, she agreed to exchange information. I can only assume that she herself had enjoyed multiple cocktails, otherwise, she most likely would have spurned my advances (I wore a cluster of Crunchberries upon my sash). Because of the nature of my costume, I had an antique fountain pen at my disposal, and so I wrote down both of our numbers on a cocktail napkin, tore the napkin in half, gave her the half with my number on it, and put the other half in my wallet. The wallet was not antique; it was from Sears. After the exchange, we talked for two minutes at most and ultimately went our separate ways, she to the ladies' room, and I to the keg of malt liquor (our host had a unique sense of humor).
I kept her number crumpled in my wallet for several days before I could convince myself that meeting her for an Americano wouldn't be a total disaster. After all, she was a wildly successful woman with a lot to offer. Meanwhile, I was (and still am) a chronically tardy, out-of-shape, insufferable drug user whose entire wardrobe is worth less than two-hundred dollars. I also had (and still have) severe eczema. I have been described as "flaky" on multiple occasions.
So you can imagine my surprise when, out of the blue on a Friday afternoon, I received a telephone call from her. I was in a delicatessen on the upper-west side, trying to decide whether or not to pay for the baguette I had just eaten, when she rang. She got right to the point. I was to meet her the next morning at eleven-fifteen for brunch at a French Café in the Village. She specified that we eat outside on the patio underneath the olive-green awning, as the forecast called for light rain. I agreed, and, keeping my composure, thanked her for the telephone call and ended the conversation before I had a chance to say anything off-color (I have a tendency to unwittingly degrade the homeless). I then decided it would be best to return to my Uncle Jerold's loft in the meatpacking district, so that I could physically and mentally prepare for our impending mid-morning meal.
Instead, however, I spent all that night envisioning how our brunch would play out. She would laugh her delicious laugh, tossing her chestnut-brown curls over her left shoulder, and when her glasses became totally disheveled from all the violent, head-jerking laughter, she would push them back up onto the bridge of her nose while trying (in vain) to catch her breath. It would be a delightful date.
And, as many of my close relations might expect, I imagined the date so many times that I didn't fall asleep until four in the morning, which caused me to sleep well past our prearranged meeting time. When I called her at one-thirty to apologize and reschedule, she told me not to bother. This was just as well, since I was still technically not allowed to leave my Uncle Jerold's apartment at the firm request of the Federal Government.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Tornados, Hail, and Cell-Phones.
The other day, there were all sorts of tornado warnings in Nebraska. I had to go to the basement in my work. I’m still relatively new, and everyone in my department had gone home for the day, so I didn’t really know anyone. There were three groups of people talking, and then there was me, by myself. I stood around, trying to decide whether sitting down would make me look like even more of a nerd. Finally, I sat down against the wall and pretended to play games on my phone, so that I wouldn’t look stupid. I pretended to play games on my phone, so that I wouldn’t look stupid.
This is just a symptom of a larger problem, which is that I pretend to engage in urgent phone-related business when things get even slightly awkward for me. If I’m supposed to meet a friend for lunch at a restaurant, and I arrive before my friend does, I will constantly check the clock on my phone to appear busy, getting minute-updates in real time. “Oh, it’s 12:37. Wait, now it’s 12:38… 39 now. It’s 12:39 now. Oops, I spoke too soon…” I’ll also send text messages just for the sake of looking busy: “hey matt what did u have 4 dinner tues? lol” I don’t care what Matt ate for dinner on Tuesday, and I didn’t laugh out loud. I just pray that Matt isn’t busy, so that Matt can help me lie to those around me.
What would happen if I left my phone in my pocket? Is there someone who would point and say, “Look at that asshole! He’s not doing anything; he’s just sitting at a bus stop, waiting for his bus. Just sitting there!” No, I bet not. But that doesn’t stop me. I will even pull out my phone when I see someone walking down the hall towards me, so I don’t have to figure out what to do with my eyes. “This is a nice hallway. Since I have twenty seconds of free time, I’d better check and see if my Mom called. Nope! Not today.”
Somewhat ironically, it bugs the shit out of me when people talk on their phones in public places. Apparently, it’s okay if you’re miming Tetris, but if you have a quiet conversation with a friend, you’re a dick.
Going back to tornados and other various types of inclement weather: the day of the tornado warning, my friend Zach told me that in some places near Lincoln, there were grapefruit-sized pieces of hail falling from the sky, roughly 4 ¼” in diameter. While it would suck to be knocked in the head with one of these pieces of monster-hail, there’s an upside; to remedy the pain, simply trap the piece of hail to your head at the moment of impact in order to ice the injury.
“Ouch! Fuck me!
…
Ah, that’s better.”
It’s kind of like getting a paper cut on a band-aid wrapper, or slipping in a puddle Neosporin.
This is just a symptom of a larger problem, which is that I pretend to engage in urgent phone-related business when things get even slightly awkward for me. If I’m supposed to meet a friend for lunch at a restaurant, and I arrive before my friend does, I will constantly check the clock on my phone to appear busy, getting minute-updates in real time. “Oh, it’s 12:37. Wait, now it’s 12:38… 39 now. It’s 12:39 now. Oops, I spoke too soon…” I’ll also send text messages just for the sake of looking busy: “hey matt what did u have 4 dinner tues? lol” I don’t care what Matt ate for dinner on Tuesday, and I didn’t laugh out loud. I just pray that Matt isn’t busy, so that Matt can help me lie to those around me.
What would happen if I left my phone in my pocket? Is there someone who would point and say, “Look at that asshole! He’s not doing anything; he’s just sitting at a bus stop, waiting for his bus. Just sitting there!” No, I bet not. But that doesn’t stop me. I will even pull out my phone when I see someone walking down the hall towards me, so I don’t have to figure out what to do with my eyes. “This is a nice hallway. Since I have twenty seconds of free time, I’d better check and see if my Mom called. Nope! Not today.”
Somewhat ironically, it bugs the shit out of me when people talk on their phones in public places. Apparently, it’s okay if you’re miming Tetris, but if you have a quiet conversation with a friend, you’re a dick.
Going back to tornados and other various types of inclement weather: the day of the tornado warning, my friend Zach told me that in some places near Lincoln, there were grapefruit-sized pieces of hail falling from the sky, roughly 4 ¼” in diameter. While it would suck to be knocked in the head with one of these pieces of monster-hail, there’s an upside; to remedy the pain, simply trap the piece of hail to your head at the moment of impact in order to ice the injury.
“Ouch! Fuck me!
…
Ah, that’s better.”
It’s kind of like getting a paper cut on a band-aid wrapper, or slipping in a puddle Neosporin.
Tuesday, December 09, 2008
Computers and TVs
A part of me thinks that maybe we're not supposed to spend so much time on the computer and/or watching television. And by that I mean, "if we didn't have computers or TVs or cell phones, we'd be happier." And maybe that's true. Maybe our lives would be richer.
But another, more active part of me thinks, "If TV is so bad for you, why is SNL so awesome? Why are rap videos so fun to watch? Why is Campus Ladies such a great show? What would I do without It's Always Sunny...?" And then, I'm all like, "It's so fucking easy to keep in touch with people through e-mail. I talk to my relatives seven times as much since the internet started. I can hear new bands for free; I can watch youtube videos of babes drinking whole milk. I can send music all around the globe." And while I'm not a cell-phone junkie (I still have a flip-phone that looks fairly old), I am super glad I have it. When I'm running late. When there's an emergency. When I need to drunk-dial someone at a bar. These are all situations in which having a cell-phone is absolutely imperative.
But I think we use these fucking dude-things too much for sure. I stare at a computer screen all day for work. Then, I come home and I look at a TV until I go to bed. There's something wrong with that. In Nebraska during this time of year, it's too cold out to go hiking, so we're kind of fucked on that front. Maybe technology is one of those things that's good to have during Winter when you can't go outside. But honestly, I'd rather read and look at a fire and *maybe* get a beej but come on guys, that's not really the point (or is it?).
Books are cool, but they kind of do the same thing that computers and TVs do: they remove you from real reality. Maybe it's okay if you read a book in the wilderness, or if you check out porn while in a canoe. I bet it would make the water seem choppier than it actually was.
"Man, the lake sure is bumpy today!"
"Yeah, ha ha! Well actually man, I'm jacking off back here."
And another thing: when will they come up with live pornography? Can you pay money to go watch people have sex? You can't make a business out of it (like how Chuck. E. Cheese is a business, and like how Bob's Big Boy WAS a business). But it seems like something you could do.
I guess the reason for this entry stems from the fact that I always seem to be happier when I'm outdoors. When I am camping, or when I'm on a walk, or especially when I'm in the Rocky Mountains: that's when I feel the most grounded and calm. TVs and computers make me feel antsy because I'm just fucking sitting there, and they also make me more out of shape because I'm not moving around, AND, they make me less imaginative because everyone thinks of things for me. TV shows, movies and youtube videos are all the creativity I ever strive for. I don't have to ever really use my imagination to think of anything because it's so easy to Google it.
Sexual fantasies used to come from the mind. Now they come from images/movies from TV/the internet.
You know what technology CAN'T do for you? It can't get you drunk, and it can't soak your dork. But if/when it is able to, look out; we're all boned.
But another, more active part of me thinks, "If TV is so bad for you, why is SNL so awesome? Why are rap videos so fun to watch? Why is Campus Ladies such a great show? What would I do without It's Always Sunny...?" And then, I'm all like, "It's so fucking easy to keep in touch with people through e-mail. I talk to my relatives seven times as much since the internet started. I can hear new bands for free; I can watch youtube videos of babes drinking whole milk. I can send music all around the globe." And while I'm not a cell-phone junkie (I still have a flip-phone that looks fairly old), I am super glad I have it. When I'm running late. When there's an emergency. When I need to drunk-dial someone at a bar. These are all situations in which having a cell-phone is absolutely imperative.
But I think we use these fucking dude-things too much for sure. I stare at a computer screen all day for work. Then, I come home and I look at a TV until I go to bed. There's something wrong with that. In Nebraska during this time of year, it's too cold out to go hiking, so we're kind of fucked on that front. Maybe technology is one of those things that's good to have during Winter when you can't go outside. But honestly, I'd rather read and look at a fire and *maybe* get a beej but come on guys, that's not really the point (or is it?).
Books are cool, but they kind of do the same thing that computers and TVs do: they remove you from real reality. Maybe it's okay if you read a book in the wilderness, or if you check out porn while in a canoe. I bet it would make the water seem choppier than it actually was.
"Man, the lake sure is bumpy today!"
"Yeah, ha ha! Well actually man, I'm jacking off back here."
And another thing: when will they come up with live pornography? Can you pay money to go watch people have sex? You can't make a business out of it (like how Chuck. E. Cheese is a business, and like how Bob's Big Boy WAS a business). But it seems like something you could do.
I guess the reason for this entry stems from the fact that I always seem to be happier when I'm outdoors. When I am camping, or when I'm on a walk, or especially when I'm in the Rocky Mountains: that's when I feel the most grounded and calm. TVs and computers make me feel antsy because I'm just fucking sitting there, and they also make me more out of shape because I'm not moving around, AND, they make me less imaginative because everyone thinks of things for me. TV shows, movies and youtube videos are all the creativity I ever strive for. I don't have to ever really use my imagination to think of anything because it's so easy to Google it.
Sexual fantasies used to come from the mind. Now they come from images/movies from TV/the internet.
You know what technology CAN'T do for you? It can't get you drunk, and it can't soak your dork. But if/when it is able to, look out; we're all boned.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Baseball!!!!
It's super boring! Sorry, baseball fans. It kills me. I have tried to get into it a number of times, but at the end of the day, it's just some dudes standing around, waiting for another dude to throw something for another dude to hit. In my eyes, anyway.
I KNOW THAT IF YOU ARE WELL-VERSED IN THE SUBTLE ART OF BASEBALL, you'll disagree with me, and rightfully so. I've heard that if you understand baseball, and all of its nuance and strategy, it's very entertaining. Kind of like chess, but with tight-tights. And that's fine. I've tried, though, and I just don't have it in me. There needs to be more for me.
Football is awesome; why? Because there's action all over the place, AND, there's strategy. People are running posts, people are juking other people out, and every 4th play is a big play! You can only hope for a home run maybe once a baseball game, if that. But you can count on tons of long-bombs, sacks, hits, play-action passes, and all sorts of other sexy garbage when you're watching football.
Other entertaining sports: skateboarding! "But it's not a sport! Waaaa, I'm boring and I suck and my worldview is obsolete!" Well, you pretty much defeated your own point, there. Skateboarding is like football but even more awesome. It takes a ton of skill, and it looks way cool, and the bails are awesome, and there's just a ton of action.
I have a short attention span.
Power-drinking is my other favorite sport. The last person to go to bed wins, but guess what, gaylord? Everyone has to drink the same amount, or else it's no fair. And no one's really a winner.
"Dogs" is a good sport, too. And when my dad didn't get the Christmas bonus he'd planned on, he was a good sport about it.
Bowling: super fun to actually do, awful to watch. Same thing with videos of masturbating men.
FIN!
I KNOW THAT IF YOU ARE WELL-VERSED IN THE SUBTLE ART OF BASEBALL, you'll disagree with me, and rightfully so. I've heard that if you understand baseball, and all of its nuance and strategy, it's very entertaining. Kind of like chess, but with tight-tights. And that's fine. I've tried, though, and I just don't have it in me. There needs to be more for me.
Football is awesome; why? Because there's action all over the place, AND, there's strategy. People are running posts, people are juking other people out, and every 4th play is a big play! You can only hope for a home run maybe once a baseball game, if that. But you can count on tons of long-bombs, sacks, hits, play-action passes, and all sorts of other sexy garbage when you're watching football.
Other entertaining sports: skateboarding! "But it's not a sport! Waaaa, I'm boring and I suck and my worldview is obsolete!" Well, you pretty much defeated your own point, there. Skateboarding is like football but even more awesome. It takes a ton of skill, and it looks way cool, and the bails are awesome, and there's just a ton of action.
I have a short attention span.
Power-drinking is my other favorite sport. The last person to go to bed wins, but guess what, gaylord? Everyone has to drink the same amount, or else it's no fair. And no one's really a winner.
"Dogs" is a good sport, too. And when my dad didn't get the Christmas bonus he'd planned on, he was a good sport about it.
Bowling: super fun to actually do, awful to watch. Same thing with videos of masturbating men.
FIN!
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Get informed about puppy mills
Be aware. Choose not to adopt your next dog from a shady breeder. Adopt a dog from the Humane Society or a rescue. Some links:
Stop Puppy Mills
ASPCA Puppy Mill Information
Regardless of whether you're a veg-head animal advocate or what, I think it's pretty safe to say that puppy mills are a bad idea. Spread the word.
Stop Puppy Mills
ASPCA Puppy Mill Information
Regardless of whether you're a veg-head animal advocate or what, I think it's pretty safe to say that puppy mills are a bad idea. Spread the word.
Where to draw the line?
This question is probably the question that I consider the most. Everything we do in our daily lives is subject to this question. How much we eat or drink; how much time we spend working/playing; what time we go to bed; what we think of tax cuts/hikes proposed by the government; etc. The notion that "everything is good in moderation" is a trivial one. Where to draw the line is almost never absolute, and it always varies on a case-by-case basis.
We all agree that getting at least eight hours of sleep is a good thing. But, to say that one should never get less than eight hours of sleep, for example, would be silly. Say it's midnight and you have to wake up at eight a.m., however, there's a violent wolverine in your sock drawer. I think it's pretty obvious in this particular situation that you ought to engage in hand-to-hand combat with the wolverine until he or she is dispatched from your home. Wolverines are free to start new lives when they need to, but not with your socks. It's not prudent.
Something that I've been thinking about a lot lately is animal testing. Right off the bat, I don't like the idea of animal testing. It conjures up images of animals being given shots or giraffes wearing lipstick or whatever. It's not comforting, to say the least. But I can tweak the example to alter my intuitions drastically.
Let's say you've just been stranded on an island, and you have your neighbor's pet wolverine with you (unrelated to wolverine "A"). You just met this wolverine, and are neutral about it. You walk around with this wolverine in order to find food and water. Eventually, you come upon the only food supply on the island; bright red berries growing from an ominous looking bush. You don't know much about botany/horticulture/whatever the fuck you would call "berry science," but you're ready to believe that either (a) these berries are delicious and will sustain you, or, (b) these berries will make you sick.
You panic for a second, and then you look at your wolverine-accomplice. You realize that if you were to feed some of the berries to the wolverine and then witness the results, you could know whether or not to eat the berries. You feel guilty about it, but your overall concern is survival. "Better that the wolverine suffers than me," you think. So, what do you do? Do you test the berries on the wolverine? Or, do you abstain, because animal testing is always bad?
And, if you decide that animal testing is all right in this certain situation, when/why does it become morally just? Where do you draw the line?
We all agree that getting at least eight hours of sleep is a good thing. But, to say that one should never get less than eight hours of sleep, for example, would be silly. Say it's midnight and you have to wake up at eight a.m., however, there's a violent wolverine in your sock drawer. I think it's pretty obvious in this particular situation that you ought to engage in hand-to-hand combat with the wolverine until he or she is dispatched from your home. Wolverines are free to start new lives when they need to, but not with your socks. It's not prudent.
Something that I've been thinking about a lot lately is animal testing. Right off the bat, I don't like the idea of animal testing. It conjures up images of animals being given shots or giraffes wearing lipstick or whatever. It's not comforting, to say the least. But I can tweak the example to alter my intuitions drastically.
Let's say you've just been stranded on an island, and you have your neighbor's pet wolverine with you (unrelated to wolverine "A"). You just met this wolverine, and are neutral about it. You walk around with this wolverine in order to find food and water. Eventually, you come upon the only food supply on the island; bright red berries growing from an ominous looking bush. You don't know much about botany/horticulture/whatever the fuck you would call "berry science," but you're ready to believe that either (a) these berries are delicious and will sustain you, or, (b) these berries will make you sick.
You panic for a second, and then you look at your wolverine-accomplice. You realize that if you were to feed some of the berries to the wolverine and then witness the results, you could know whether or not to eat the berries. You feel guilty about it, but your overall concern is survival. "Better that the wolverine suffers than me," you think. So, what do you do? Do you test the berries on the wolverine? Or, do you abstain, because animal testing is always bad?
And, if you decide that animal testing is all right in this certain situation, when/why does it become morally just? Where do you draw the line?
Monday, August 18, 2008
Sporadic and Awesome
No one reads this, but if they did, they'd want to know that (a) I'm awesome and graduated from grad school with my MA in philosophy and (b) I got a job in accounting. Yes, I know I'm not "using" my degree for my job. And yes, I have a s-ton of student loans, seemingly for nothing. I don't have to explain myself to you, but I have to explain myself to myself, apparently. I should have learned to weld. It would have been a fuck of a lot cheaper.
Whatever, though; I'm excited for my new job, and I am thinking that I might do something despicable to earn 50k to pay all of my student loans off in one big chunk. What could I do? Write a book? Write a hit song? I could write a pop song for Miley Cyrus, I bet. She should call me, so I don't have to keep sneaking into her home. (Sorry, Miles!)
I'm in debt.
Whatever, though; I'm excited for my new job, and I am thinking that I might do something despicable to earn 50k to pay all of my student loans off in one big chunk. What could I do? Write a book? Write a hit song? I could write a pop song for Miley Cyrus, I bet. She should call me, so I don't have to keep sneaking into her home. (Sorry, Miles!)
I'm in debt.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Teeeeeeoooooots!
Don't you just love kids?
Go to www.mrfuriousrecords.com, and click on the song "Snow Is A Bear" on the front page, under the heading "XMAS." Do it.
Second, go to www.myspace.com/drockets and listen to the song "Wait For The Train." DO IT.
Third, coffee rules, and so does The OC, and I don't know how else to put that.
Go to www.mrfuriousrecords.com, and click on the song "Snow Is A Bear" on the front page, under the heading "XMAS." Do it.
Second, go to www.myspace.com/drockets and listen to the song "Wait For The Train." DO IT.
Third, coffee rules, and so does The OC, and I don't know how else to put that.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Never Mind
The CD/show review idea fell through, but I'm still willing to chat.
So, I've got a semester-and-a-half of graduate school left, and I've started thinking NOW of what I could do with my life. Here are some options, for you AND for me to look at:
- Something corporate, like technical-writing, news-writing, or something like that; basically a job at any place with both a "marketing" and a "human resources" department.
- Something humanitarian (preferable) like working with disadvantaged youth, working with church-youth, or something non-profit that aims at benefiting society in some direct way.
- Something pedagogical, like being a philosophy professor at some community college.
- Something political, like being a lobbyist for an animal-rights firm (this was just brought to my attention recently).
- Something fun, like a book, record, or coffee place. But I'm kind of over jobs that don't pay a certain amount, on account of my mortgage and whatnot. But it's still an option.
- I could try and continue doing graduate school for something I really, REALLY enjoyed, like English. I would only do this if I were granted funding, so that decides itself, in a way.
- Keep rocking the job that I have now, and start touring around with my time off.
What do you think?
So, I've got a semester-and-a-half of graduate school left, and I've started thinking NOW of what I could do with my life. Here are some options, for you AND for me to look at:
- Something corporate, like technical-writing, news-writing, or something like that; basically a job at any place with both a "marketing" and a "human resources" department.
- Something humanitarian (preferable) like working with disadvantaged youth, working with church-youth, or something non-profit that aims at benefiting society in some direct way.
- Something pedagogical, like being a philosophy professor at some community college.
- Something political, like being a lobbyist for an animal-rights firm (this was just brought to my attention recently).
- Something fun, like a book, record, or coffee place. But I'm kind of over jobs that don't pay a certain amount, on account of my mortgage and whatnot. But it's still an option.
- I could try and continue doing graduate school for something I really, REALLY enjoyed, like English. I would only do this if I were granted funding, so that decides itself, in a way.
- Keep rocking the job that I have now, and start touring around with my time off.
What do you think?
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
New Blog Direction?
I think I'm going to start reviewing shows/CDs/doing interviews for Lincoln bands on this blog site! Just a thought. Sheeeeeit.
Cory Alan Kibler
Cory Alan Kibler
Monday, April 23, 2007
This is what usually happens when...
you are in a local band and you play a show.
I really love being in a local band, and I love playing shows, but there are certain aspects of playing live locally that never change. This is how the night usually goes:
1. Assuming the show starts at night and there are three bands total, you show up sometime around 9, figuring that you won't be too early or late. What then happens is that you're either to go on in the next 5 minutes and the promoters/sound guy/other bands are grumpy with you, or, you find out that the show isn't starting until 10:30, and you could have stayed in your friend's Celica, taking shots of root-beer schnapps, but instead, you'll sit at the bar and slowly get too drunk to play well.
2. If you know the other bands and have met or played with them before, you joke around and generally have a good time. But, if they're a local band you've never heard of, there's a battle-of-the-bands mentality that happens. Usually, one band tries to out-cool the other band, and there will be a lot of passive-aggressive things said, such as, "Hey man, we've never heard of you. How long have you guys been playing? Ever thought about adding a ____-ist? Thanks for opening up for us! I remember when we weren't that good!"
3. If there are drink specials, you drink too much before you play. If there are no drink specials for the bands, then you're bitter, and you begrudgingly buy the drinks and drink too much anyway.
4. There's this weird little dance of "who wants to play when?" Really, just about everyone at an all-local-band show wants to play second, because that's when the most people are there, and it's not too early or too late. But someone's going to have to play first and last, and that someone is going to be bummed out. If you're first, people are still filing in. If you're last, you're tired and probably too drunk. This is no band's fault; it's just the way it goes.
5. The sound guy is usually very friendly and awesome, but sometimes, they are weird and sketchy. They'll walk around, slowly setting up microphones, and giving everyone in the band hate-looks. If you ask them a question like "Hey, is it cool if you do ____ during our set?", he'll say "fine" really quietly, and then forget all about it, and then you feel like an asshole bothering him again later about it. Also, when you ask him to do something that a sound guy is supposed to do, he'll sigh real loud and mutter under his breath, as if he's doing sound as a result of losing a bet or that he's doing community service or something.
6. During this whole time, you realize that your friends are nowhere to be seen and you still don't have a crowd, so you desperately try to call/text them during sound-check to let them know that "hey dude we r starting soon hope to c u here!" After all, if they show up a half-hour late, they've missed the bulk of your set.
7. If you rock, no one's there. If there are a thousand people there, you forget how to stand and talk. No matter what, your on-stage jokes probably suck, and if the jokes are actually funny, no one laughs.
8. Someone, SOMEONE, always yells "Freebird!", and it is never funny. Well, it's kind of funny, but just because it's not funny at all. But you would never concede this point.
9. After you're done, the sound guy and the other band will come up to you and say something like "good set; that was really tight", or "hey, I really liked that last song." Sometimes, they are totally sincere, and most of the time, they secretly wish you had never picked up a guitar.
10. After loading up your stuff, you and your bandmates fight over who has to go ask the weird stoic club-promoters for money. When the loser of the argument eventually asks for the money, the club-promoter makes a face that says, "Fuck you for asking me that."
11. You get the rest of the way drunk, watch the other bands and if they are good, you'll have a good time. But if they suck and/or the are rude and stupid, you'll talk shit about them on the way to Village Inn.
I really love being in a local band, and I love playing shows, but there are certain aspects of playing live locally that never change. This is how the night usually goes:
1. Assuming the show starts at night and there are three bands total, you show up sometime around 9, figuring that you won't be too early or late. What then happens is that you're either to go on in the next 5 minutes and the promoters/sound guy/other bands are grumpy with you, or, you find out that the show isn't starting until 10:30, and you could have stayed in your friend's Celica, taking shots of root-beer schnapps, but instead, you'll sit at the bar and slowly get too drunk to play well.
2. If you know the other bands and have met or played with them before, you joke around and generally have a good time. But, if they're a local band you've never heard of, there's a battle-of-the-bands mentality that happens. Usually, one band tries to out-cool the other band, and there will be a lot of passive-aggressive things said, such as, "Hey man, we've never heard of you. How long have you guys been playing? Ever thought about adding a ____-ist? Thanks for opening up for us! I remember when we weren't that good!"
3. If there are drink specials, you drink too much before you play. If there are no drink specials for the bands, then you're bitter, and you begrudgingly buy the drinks and drink too much anyway.
4. There's this weird little dance of "who wants to play when?" Really, just about everyone at an all-local-band show wants to play second, because that's when the most people are there, and it's not too early or too late. But someone's going to have to play first and last, and that someone is going to be bummed out. If you're first, people are still filing in. If you're last, you're tired and probably too drunk. This is no band's fault; it's just the way it goes.
5. The sound guy is usually very friendly and awesome, but sometimes, they are weird and sketchy. They'll walk around, slowly setting up microphones, and giving everyone in the band hate-looks. If you ask them a question like "Hey, is it cool if you do ____ during our set?", he'll say "fine" really quietly, and then forget all about it, and then you feel like an asshole bothering him again later about it. Also, when you ask him to do something that a sound guy is supposed to do, he'll sigh real loud and mutter under his breath, as if he's doing sound as a result of losing a bet or that he's doing community service or something.
6. During this whole time, you realize that your friends are nowhere to be seen and you still don't have a crowd, so you desperately try to call/text them during sound-check to let them know that "hey dude we r starting soon hope to c u here!" After all, if they show up a half-hour late, they've missed the bulk of your set.
7. If you rock, no one's there. If there are a thousand people there, you forget how to stand and talk. No matter what, your on-stage jokes probably suck, and if the jokes are actually funny, no one laughs.
8. Someone, SOMEONE, always yells "Freebird!", and it is never funny. Well, it's kind of funny, but just because it's not funny at all. But you would never concede this point.
9. After you're done, the sound guy and the other band will come up to you and say something like "good set; that was really tight", or "hey, I really liked that last song." Sometimes, they are totally sincere, and most of the time, they secretly wish you had never picked up a guitar.
10. After loading up your stuff, you and your bandmates fight over who has to go ask the weird stoic club-promoters for money. When the loser of the argument eventually asks for the money, the club-promoter makes a face that says, "Fuck you for asking me that."
11. You get the rest of the way drunk, watch the other bands and if they are good, you'll have a good time. But if they suck and/or the are rude and stupid, you'll talk shit about them on the way to Village Inn.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Philosophical Dilemma
What is a unicorn? I mean, it's a mythical creature, but what would it take to be a unicorn? Is a unicorn simply a horse with a horn on its head, or is it more complicated than that?
Are UNICORNS a specific type of beast with a certain DNA? To tell you the God's honest truth, if a freak-horse was born with a big twisty horn out of its head, I would say it qualified as a unicorn. I mean, if a certain subset of critters is classified solely according to one feature of the critter, and a critter is born with that feature, how do you say that it's NOT that particular critter? Is it bugging you as much as it's bugging me that I keep using the word critter? I wish I would stop. Critter. I had my engagement party at a bar called "Critters." I wonder if it was actually called "Critter's", as if to tell the world, "A Critter Is My Owner." Or, "I Am A Critter, And I've Purchased This Bar."
God damn it, anyway, what makes a unicorn? If a horse had a horn, it'd be a unicorn, not just a horse with a horn. Unless unicorns possess haeccieties. But since I'm an anti-haeccietist, if it walks like a duck, it's probably some sort of winged critter.
Critters.
Are UNICORNS a specific type of beast with a certain DNA? To tell you the God's honest truth, if a freak-horse was born with a big twisty horn out of its head, I would say it qualified as a unicorn. I mean, if a certain subset of critters is classified solely according to one feature of the critter, and a critter is born with that feature, how do you say that it's NOT that particular critter? Is it bugging you as much as it's bugging me that I keep using the word critter? I wish I would stop. Critter. I had my engagement party at a bar called "Critters." I wonder if it was actually called "Critter's", as if to tell the world, "A Critter Is My Owner." Or, "I Am A Critter, And I've Purchased This Bar."
God damn it, anyway, what makes a unicorn? If a horse had a horn, it'd be a unicorn, not just a horse with a horn. Unless unicorns possess haeccieties. But since I'm an anti-haeccietist, if it walks like a duck, it's probably some sort of winged critter.
Critters.
I totally pretty much just kind of forgot my password...
And that's why I haven't fucking posted in forever! They made me switch to an e-mail account I don't use, and wowie, was it difficult.
Everyone hates stereotyping. Like, it's totally unfair to say that you can say that all people of one type are all alike. For example, you would never ever say that all gay men are alike. It's ignorant, narrow-minded, and misdirected. Because everyone knows there are 2 types of gay people.
I bet you're thinking "oh yeah; there are 'queens' and there are 'homos'." No. It goes a lot deeper than that. There are "Madonna" gays, and there are "Cher" gays.
Now you're thinking, "But wait! I know a lot of homos who like Cher AND Madonna!" Answer: no you don't. They either like one, or they like the other. The differences are subtle, yet important. For example, gays of the "Cher" variety tend to love being really flamboyant, dramatic, really "out", and really into Broadway musicals. "Madonna" gays are way more into smoking, drinking, drugs, scarves, having their hair frosted, and house-music. Usually, these types of homos will look cool, while the "Cher" gays with just mostly look gay.
Everyone hates stereotyping. Like, it's totally unfair to say that you can say that all people of one type are all alike. For example, you would never ever say that all gay men are alike. It's ignorant, narrow-minded, and misdirected. Because everyone knows there are 2 types of gay people.
I bet you're thinking "oh yeah; there are 'queens' and there are 'homos'." No. It goes a lot deeper than that. There are "Madonna" gays, and there are "Cher" gays.
Now you're thinking, "But wait! I know a lot of homos who like Cher AND Madonna!" Answer: no you don't. They either like one, or they like the other. The differences are subtle, yet important. For example, gays of the "Cher" variety tend to love being really flamboyant, dramatic, really "out", and really into Broadway musicals. "Madonna" gays are way more into smoking, drinking, drugs, scarves, having their hair frosted, and house-music. Usually, these types of homos will look cool, while the "Cher" gays with just mostly look gay.
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
So This is the New Year!??!?!
My New Year's resolution was to write more blogs, so with a single post, I've already completed 100% of my goals for 2007. Thank fucking God! No shit, right?
You ever notice that women be complainin' all the damn time? Take my ho, for example; I'll be eatin' some goddamn jars of peanut butter, and this bitch right here starts RIDING ME about this shit! "Take out the fuckin' trash, pussy!"
Dang, girl! You always on my case about the trash n' shit. I hopes you likes a slap to the dome-piece, snitchey!
But for reals, it's been a fantastic year. I have nothing to report. Oh wait, I bought a fucking house! I hope they put plastic all over everything, because I don't have semen-damage insurance. Who wants to go storm-chasing? I know of a tropical storm entitled "Hurricane Wad" right off the coast of my JUNK!!!!!!!!
Love,
Cory Alan
You ever notice that women be complainin' all the damn time? Take my ho, for example; I'll be eatin' some goddamn jars of peanut butter, and this bitch right here starts RIDING ME about this shit! "Take out the fuckin' trash, pussy!"
Dang, girl! You always on my case about the trash n' shit. I hopes you likes a slap to the dome-piece, snitchey!
But for reals, it's been a fantastic year. I have nothing to report. Oh wait, I bought a fucking house! I hope they put plastic all over everything, because I don't have semen-damage insurance. Who wants to go storm-chasing? I know of a tropical storm entitled "Hurricane Wad" right off the coast of my JUNK!!!!!!!!
Love,
Cory Alan
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Dang, Girl!
So we had just gotten back from dinner and there was some running joke we were telling, and I forget what the last part of the joke was, but I remember thinking it was super funny, and then you walked in and totally killed the mood. "Baaaaaaah!" or something like that, all bummed out that other people actually enjoy their weekends. It's not my fault you're in cahoots with some b-hole who always makes you pay for his Oso Burrito! He could at least be pleased when you give him a beej, but nope! He acts like you're just paying your dues. I mean, I know it's part of a healthy relationship, but he could at least say "thanks" or you take you to Red Lobster, maybe buy you the Ultimate Platter. It's so good; it comes with crab, lobster, and a couple different kinds of shrimp. But the crab is a total bitch to get cracked open, kind of like your shitty mood tonight. Or, I guess what I meant was, you are acting like you are having a crack withdrawl. Or is it "withdrawal"?
Monday, January 01, 2007
Happy New Year, Snitcheys!
Last night was one of the best New Year's Eve parties I can remember being a part of for a long time. Usually, I bone myself by starting drinking too early, and I'm all tuckered out by 10, but I'm somewhere where I can't go to bed, so whatever. But last night, we went out to dinner and the snow kept people in, which is great because people smell like ham. And so I drank a couple of these drinks called Moscow Mules, and they have all sorts of cool shit inside of them. I found about 50 bucks in the second one I had, but I drank it anyway. Money is so overrated, anyway.
Now I am all sluggish from drinking and sleeping all day today. But let me rewind to last night. We ate dinner, then went to the Starlite Lounge, a kind of cool cheesy throwback martini bar. And it was great! I can count backwards from 10, it turns out, and I practiced it a couple times before midnight to make sure I wouldn't screw it up. Then, we went to the Chatterbox to watch Somasphere, and they ruled, and I got some sexy band and crowd shots. Then, we went to the hotel and drank a b-load of champagne. And then all of these homo-dudes were hanging out drunk on the hotel bed, fondling my other passed out friend! It was hot. I got pictures.
Here are my goals for 2007:
1. Get married
2. Have a 17-year-old daughter (ouch!)
3. Drink less
4. Party more
5. Sleep better
6. Drink coffee after 8 p.m. more often
7. j/o a ton at work and after work
8. Find another sweet band to rip off
9. j/o a ton at school and before school
Best albums of 2006:
1. Ladyfinger (ne): HEAVY HANDS
2. Sally Ride: IT'S A TRAP!
3. Built To Spill: YOU IN REVERSE
4. The Decemberists: THE CRANE WIFE
5. Justin Timberlake: FUTURE LOVE/SEX SOUNDS
That's a pretty good list. It's in no particular order.
Love,
Cory
Now I am all sluggish from drinking and sleeping all day today. But let me rewind to last night. We ate dinner, then went to the Starlite Lounge, a kind of cool cheesy throwback martini bar. And it was great! I can count backwards from 10, it turns out, and I practiced it a couple times before midnight to make sure I wouldn't screw it up. Then, we went to the Chatterbox to watch Somasphere, and they ruled, and I got some sexy band and crowd shots. Then, we went to the hotel and drank a b-load of champagne. And then all of these homo-dudes were hanging out drunk on the hotel bed, fondling my other passed out friend! It was hot. I got pictures.
Here are my goals for 2007:
1. Get married
2. Have a 17-year-old daughter (ouch!)
3. Drink less
4. Party more
5. Sleep better
6. Drink coffee after 8 p.m. more often
7. j/o a ton at work and after work
8. Find another sweet band to rip off
9. j/o a ton at school and before school
Best albums of 2006:
1. Ladyfinger (ne): HEAVY HANDS
2. Sally Ride: IT'S A TRAP!
3. Built To Spill: YOU IN REVERSE
4. The Decemberists: THE CRANE WIFE
5. Justin Timberlake: FUTURE LOVE/SEX SOUNDS
That's a pretty good list. It's in no particular order.
Love,
Cory
Thursday, December 28, 2006
I know, I know...
It's totally been forever. But I've been hesitant to post because I haven't had anything too profound or interested to say. But I realize that that's no excuse.
I got done with my first semester of grad school, and boy are my arms tired! From stabbing myself in the arm! No, it was actually pretty cool. It turned out all right. I ended up with two B+'s and a B. I can hang with that!
But seriously, the other day I was at the Zoo, and there was this type of bear that latches on to you when he's in heat, and the only way you can make him stop is to get him to ejaculate, but I didn't know that, so I just ran around in circles screaming "SOMEBODY! GET HIM OFF! SOMEBODY GET THIS BEAR OFF!" Finally, some guy that didn't even work at the Zoo helped me out, but I guess he didn't know anything about the bear and it's bear-boner.
Beer = better than everything.
Love,
Cory Alan
I got done with my first semester of grad school, and boy are my arms tired! From stabbing myself in the arm! No, it was actually pretty cool. It turned out all right. I ended up with two B+'s and a B. I can hang with that!
But seriously, the other day I was at the Zoo, and there was this type of bear that latches on to you when he's in heat, and the only way you can make him stop is to get him to ejaculate, but I didn't know that, so I just ran around in circles screaming "SOMEBODY! GET HIM OFF! SOMEBODY GET THIS BEAR OFF!" Finally, some guy that didn't even work at the Zoo helped me out, but I guess he didn't know anything about the bear and it's bear-boner.
Beer = better than everything.
Love,
Cory Alan
Monday, October 23, 2006
Week... #8 or something.
It's been a little while since my last post, but that's probably because I've been lifting so many weights and making sure Duane knows that everyone else wants him to just sort of go ahead and DOOOOOOOO HEEEEER
If you know what I mean. But seriously forks, I was in NYC for a few days, and I got to personally meet my internet friend ConeBone69 at Rockafeller Plaza. We went ice skating together.
I also got engaged! How do you like that? I think I just might take Grover's advice and
If you catch my drift.
School's going pretty well; my first graduate paper EVER is due on October 31st, which is my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. I don't know what I'm going as this year yet, so if you have any costume ideas, please fill me in. But anyway, the paper's in Philosophy of Language, and I think I'm going to pit the metaphysics of Fregean senses up against Perry and Crimmins' notions. It sounds more complicated than it is, and I'm not even sure that it sounds complicated. Maybe just German.
If you know what I mean. But seriously forks, I was in NYC for a few days, and I got to personally meet my internet friend ConeBone69 at Rockafeller Plaza. We went ice skating together.
I also got engaged! How do you like that? I think I just might take Grover's advice and
If you catch my drift.
School's going pretty well; my first graduate paper EVER is due on October 31st, which is my favorite holiday, Thanksgiving. I don't know what I'm going as this year yet, so if you have any costume ideas, please fill me in. But anyway, the paper's in Philosophy of Language, and I think I'm going to pit the metaphysics of Fregean senses up against Perry and Crimmins' notions. It sounds more complicated than it is, and I'm not even sure that it sounds complicated. Maybe just German.
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