So I've set up a tongue-in-cheek cause on Facebook called Robot Rights!
It promotes securing rights for robot-kind due to their possible intelligence (artificial or not), but it's also attached to a real charity that aims to increase access for schoolchildren to the technological tools necessary to stay current and competitive in the information age. Its focus is "low-performing schools".
Whether you just want to go off on a lark, or give some money to help schools connect their children to the world, I urge you to visit that far-flung corner of the social networking giant.
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label philosophy. Show all posts
Robot Rights!
I'm So Freakin' Happy
I have to write this. The reason, mostly, is that I wrote 2 technical posts in a row...mostly.
But, I am happy. The papers say I shouldn't be, yet my life seems more full than it ever has. I feel an over-whelming sense of opportunity in the air. Whether I am or not, I feel 10-times smarter than I did a decade ago.
I have a really nice girl that likes me a lot. I'm working on my health. I have a roof over my head (a fairly recent development...the house was there, but the roof was not).
I'm not dead yet and I've done almost all the things I could want in this life. I could break into the desiderata, but I'll just say: be happy and enjoy the ride around the big, yellow star.
But, I am happy. The papers say I shouldn't be, yet my life seems more full than it ever has. I feel an over-whelming sense of opportunity in the air. Whether I am or not, I feel 10-times smarter than I did a decade ago.
I have a really nice girl that likes me a lot. I'm working on my health. I have a roof over my head (a fairly recent development...the house was there, but the roof was not).
I'm not dead yet and I've done almost all the things I could want in this life. I could break into the desiderata, but I'll just say: be happy and enjoy the ride around the big, yellow star.
In Soviet Russia, Computer Use You
I've been teaching people how to use computers (and sometimes build them) for a while now. Maybe not so long in the grand scheme of things, but enough time to make an observation.
I've analogized to my victims- er, initiates -that computers are just tools. They are very complicated, yes, but still... This is to diminish the perceived power (and subsequent fear of such) and allow the learner to relax into the ease of use.
However, I think the computer is one of the first tools to be so responsive to its wielder. I think this is the problem. You see, we, our society, aren't even used to a real dialog with fellow humans. Talking often results in a one-way diatribe with no valid connection.
When you use a complex system or tool like this, it asks questions of you. I remember one of the early Windows screensavers asking, "Where do you want to go today?" That can be a toughy. We also don't really know what we want anymore in our particular brand of Western culture.
As we work with these systems, we are teaching them how we draw, write, move. Those of us generating content and tagging it, in a local and external sense, are creating entities cell by cell.
This is the scary thing to people. If there is nothing there, if the soul is undeveloped from a kind of orchestrated atrophy, the system acts as a mirror to that void.
Though I have a feeling that sense of emptiness may be a skewed perception as well. We all have a history, talents and assets. And now we have the tools to make real connections - to rebuild ourselves and our confidence - to forge a collective consciousness more apparent than our dreams convey.
For what it's worth, I think we are on the verge of an awakening. That is all I wanted to say.
I've analogized to my victims- er, initiates -that computers are just tools. They are very complicated, yes, but still... This is to diminish the perceived power (and subsequent fear of such) and allow the learner to relax into the ease of use.
However, I think the computer is one of the first tools to be so responsive to its wielder. I think this is the problem. You see, we, our society, aren't even used to a real dialog with fellow humans. Talking often results in a one-way diatribe with no valid connection.
When you use a complex system or tool like this, it asks questions of you. I remember one of the early Windows screensavers asking, "Where do you want to go today?" That can be a toughy. We also don't really know what we want anymore in our particular brand of Western culture.
As we work with these systems, we are teaching them how we draw, write, move. Those of us generating content and tagging it, in a local and external sense, are creating entities cell by cell.
This is the scary thing to people. If there is nothing there, if the soul is undeveloped from a kind of orchestrated atrophy, the system acts as a mirror to that void.
Though I have a feeling that sense of emptiness may be a skewed perception as well. We all have a history, talents and assets. And now we have the tools to make real connections - to rebuild ourselves and our confidence - to forge a collective consciousness more apparent than our dreams convey.
For what it's worth, I think we are on the verge of an awakening. That is all I wanted to say.
I got some ink today
Chandler Poling contacted me on flickr to ask me to add a photo to a group he created called Life is Dynamite, which is also a blog he hosts. Both plumb the uncomfortable depths of our (and his) too-tight-jeans, braces-bedecked, rail-against-authority youth.
Various images from the flickr group are culled into posts. His writing is apropos while still being gentle with those things we might like to forget. Two such items of mine made it into one of his posts:
His treatment of the subject matter is far more kind than I am in my own mind. I wouldn't have put old photos of myself up were it not for another group one of my contacts asked me to join: Vintage Photos...of YOU!
Why do we put these things out there? I suppose some do it for vainglory. I don't know why I do it; I still feel itchy about seeing the images. I don't take them down because they took so much effort to scan and upload, and I want to be true to my initial instincts.
For that matter, what's this blog about? It feels good to write it. I don't necessarily think that my words are that important, despite the show of upper-level grammar. In fact, I hope people don't read it most of the time, esp. looking back on some of the things I say.
Art for art's sake, I guess. But at the very least, Poling's blog reminds us that life is in fact -
Various images from the flickr group are culled into posts. His writing is apropos while still being gentle with those things we might like to forget. Two such items of mine made it into one of his posts:
His treatment of the subject matter is far more kind than I am in my own mind. I wouldn't have put old photos of myself up were it not for another group one of my contacts asked me to join: Vintage Photos...of YOU!
Why do we put these things out there? I suppose some do it for vainglory. I don't know why I do it; I still feel itchy about seeing the images. I don't take them down because they took so much effort to scan and upload, and I want to be true to my initial instincts.
For that matter, what's this blog about? It feels good to write it. I don't necessarily think that my words are that important, despite the show of upper-level grammar. In fact, I hope people don't read it most of the time, esp. looking back on some of the things I say.
Art for art's sake, I guess. But at the very least, Poling's blog reminds us that life is in fact -
Dyne-o-mite!
(despite or because of its quirks is in the eye of the beholder)
I am an Obamegate
I went to the Dem.Caucus. My precinct chose 5 Obama delegates to 2 Clinton. So many people left that there weren't many people from which to select willing delegates from either camp to go to the county caucus.
To make a long story short, we almost didn't have enough people to fill our allotment, so I raised my hand like an idiot. Now I'm going to represent. This stuff is too important to leave to the old regime.
Do more now, especially if you don't want to lead. Those that don't seek power but care enough to take the mantel of responsibility are the only safeguard against apathy & power-brokers. That's a mouthful, but from all that I have studied about history (recent and far reaching) I know this to be true.
To make a long story short, we almost didn't have enough people to fill our allotment, so I raised my hand like an idiot. Now I'm going to represent. This stuff is too important to leave to the old regime.
Do more now, especially if you don't want to lead. Those that don't seek power but care enough to take the mantel of responsibility are the only safeguard against apathy & power-brokers. That's a mouthful, but from all that I have studied about history (recent and far reaching) I know this to be true.
This Death is Not Yet Rated
The Death Star Is at the Mechanic's /
A Estrela da Morte Está no Mecânico
Originally uploaded by Alex Castro.
This evil, ugly, malignant dwarf has held our culture captive for nearly 40 years. He has kept us safe from ourselves. He is in large part the reason nothing good has come out of Hollywood for decades. He was the head of the motion picture ratings group - and now he is the subject of unfounded hero worship.
I like to sound informed, but the only reason I know about him and am going on this rant is because of the documentary This Film is Not Yet Rated. This is an amazing movie that you will probably never see due to its attack on the MPAA. Viewing it makes it hard to believe that people all over CA aren't popping champagne corks this day, including those currently extolling his virtues.
His boyscout maxims that litter the aforementioned film & are being broadcast posthumously are a thin veil for draconian ideology. He said things like, "There isn't anything in the world that can't be made better." It sounds good on the surface, but has a fascist aftertaste. I mean who says what better is or what is purely censorship? I say he's made the world better by leaving it.
Other Valentiisms:
- I sleep each night a little better, a little more confidently, because Lyndon Johnson is my president.
- No one today knows what is indecent.
- The VCR is to the American film producer and the American public as the Boston Strangler is to the woman alone.
Clemente Lecture Series
So, in addition to being gainfully employed at the WSU Learning Center, I am involved in the Bard College Clemente Course in the Humanities. I know - it's a mouthful, especially when you add "Advisory Council" to the end of that. I'm part of that, too.
In fact, I wouldn't have my new job if I wasn't involved with this program that helps the economically disadvantaged get college credit. I wouldn't have even gone to school, most likely, to get my Associate degree.
It all sounds pretty dry and boring to those not in the course. I don't know, maybe it's lame to the participants. But I don't know many places where people get together to hash out philosophy, art, literature, and what makes the western world tick, in lay terms. My mind is blown every time I inject myself into this Socratic-based forum.
So, now it's open to the public on select dates. This is an attempt to interface with the local community and get a dialog going. If you are in the Jefferson County area on the dates below, I strongly urge you to make an appearance. Skeptics (as to whether intellectual discourse can be entertaining/explosive) are doubly urged to take part.
In fact, I wouldn't have my new job if I wasn't involved with this program that helps the economically disadvantaged get college credit. I wouldn't have even gone to school, most likely, to get my Associate degree.
It all sounds pretty dry and boring to those not in the course. I don't know, maybe it's lame to the participants. But I don't know many places where people get together to hash out philosophy, art, literature, and what makes the western world tick, in lay terms. My mind is blown every time I inject myself into this Socratic-based forum.
So, now it's open to the public on select dates. This is an attempt to interface with the local community and get a dialog going. If you are in the Jefferson County area on the dates below, I strongly urge you to make an appearance. Skeptics (as to whether intellectual discourse can be entertaining/explosive) are doubly urged to take part.
Landscape & Democracy:
A Free Lecture and Performance Series
A Free Lecture and Performance Series
- February 20th: Panel Discussion, "What is Democracy?" Clemente Faculty and guests, moderated by Scott Wilson.
- March 6th: “The Selling of the American West,” Slides, lecture and discussion with Danny Adams, Clemente Course History of Art faculty.
- March 20th: “Does Nature Have Rights?” Philosophy lecture and discussion with guest speaker Ron Moore, University of Washington Department of Philosophy and Aesthetics.
- April 10th: Benefit Concert “Songs of Home: a Recital of American Music” Sydney Keegan, mezzo-soprano and friends.
- April 24th: “Reinhabiting Language” special guests Holly Hughes and Tom Jay.
All events, except for the April 10th concert, take place in the Spruce Room, Washington State University, Port Hadlock (201 W. Patison), at 7 PM. The concert will be at the Quimper Unitarian Universalist Fellowship in Pt. Townsend.
So Long, Old Man
Good-bye and good riddance. What a crap year. However, the year of the dog is going to be hanging around at the foot of the fireplace for another couple of months.
Don't get me wrong, I put as much stock in the Chinese zodiac as I do the existence of a higher power in the universe (it's all just our little way of describing the big thing). However, it's hard to deny a definitive turn in the mood of America, if not the world, with the closing of the year.
I can see people walking away from the idiotic, slowly and laboriously, like an indignant mutt told to stop begging at the table. It's about time. Hopefully this trend will mature. It's been quite a few years since I've seen any reason, or even joy, on the mass scale.
Here's to a better tomorrow.
May yours bring you the light of all that you are owed
- and some that you aren't:
we, none of us, are purfict.
Don't get me wrong, I put as much stock in the Chinese zodiac as I do the existence of a higher power in the universe (it's all just our little way of describing the big thing). However, it's hard to deny a definitive turn in the mood of America, if not the world, with the closing of the year.
I can see people walking away from the idiotic, slowly and laboriously, like an indignant mutt told to stop begging at the table. It's about time. Hopefully this trend will mature. It's been quite a few years since I've seen any reason, or even joy, on the mass scale.
Here's to a better tomorrow.
May yours bring you the light of all that you are owed
- and some that you aren't:
we, none of us, are purfict.
Stick a Pitchfork in Me
...I'm done. Done with X-mas. Done with running around. Done with giving lip service or trying to salvage anything about the religion this holiday represents.
I'm going Buddhist so that I can gleefully reply, "No, thank you for the invitation, but I can't make it to your Seasonal Affective Disorder hoe-down (that's right, it spells sad; they just had to name it that)."
I thought I could bring some relative coolness to this religion schlock-fest by becoming a reverend, and not being a total perv' or pretending I don't have a bung-hole. I was wrong. It's beyond duct tape. All this season and the culture it represents does is foment a guilt complex or, if you are an extrovert, rage. The latter is often channeled out as scary-manic-exuberance (a.k.a. Christmas cheer).
So, I give up. The only place that seems close to reasonable is Zen Buddhism. I mean, I tried getting into Neo-Paganism, but it's just too ritualistic. And atheism just seems as fanatical as any of the Judeo-Christian sects.
Here I am. Stone me with candy-canes and dried up, old, 12th generation fruit-cakes. I don't care. I'm handing in my resignation. Later, eternal salvation, hello illumination...
I'm going Buddhist so that I can gleefully reply, "No, thank you for the invitation, but I can't make it to your Seasonal Affective Disorder hoe-down (that's right, it spells sad; they just had to name it that)."
I thought I could bring some relative coolness to this religion schlock-fest by becoming a reverend, and not being a total perv' or pretending I don't have a bung-hole. I was wrong. It's beyond duct tape. All this season and the culture it represents does is foment a guilt complex or, if you are an extrovert, rage. The latter is often channeled out as scary-manic-exuberance (a.k.a. Christmas cheer).
So, I give up. The only place that seems close to reasonable is Zen Buddhism. I mean, I tried getting into Neo-Paganism, but it's just too ritualistic. And atheism just seems as fanatical as any of the Judeo-Christian sects.
Here I am. Stone me with candy-canes and dried up, old, 12th generation fruit-cakes. I don't care. I'm handing in my resignation. Later, eternal salvation, hello illumination...
Nerd
I was having a largish bottle of beer with my girlfriend who is trying to console me about the fact that I have no job and $11 in my account. I called it a 40 (as in 40 ouncer as the kids say) and she said, "Actually, it's a 24 oz."
Well...i can't have somebody actually me without finding my own info (it's all good, it keeps me on my toes). I can never remember how many oz. are in a cup, pint, quart, etc., but I remembered I had an analog list of measurements and their conversions. I say analog because my brain lives on this thing that you call the internet and my source off choice this day was my composition notebook that a good friend gave me to use for writing.
When I looked in the back, I found that they skip from "gills" (gi.) to pints, then gallons. Well, my blood was up because I couldn't figure out if we were drinking a pint or not (it turned out to be a pt. and a half, but that's not important right now). So I got out the measuring cup and had to write my new found data in the "useful information" section in the back of the notebook in case this happened in the future.
And this is what came of my calculations:
Liq.: 8oz/cup, 4c/quart, 4c=32oz, 1pt=16oz
1gill=4oz, 400 gills = a crowded fish-tank
...
I know it was a long way to the well and the bucket came back empty, but that is my little nerdy joke that I made today. It helps to try to laugh when things seem really, really hopeless. Or go insane, but that kind of laughter is always really unfulfilling to me.
BTW, 400gi. is equivalent to 3.125 gallons if you are curious. It still is even if you aren't. That's the great thing about math.
Well...i can't have somebody actually me without finding my own info (it's all good, it keeps me on my toes). I can never remember how many oz. are in a cup, pint, quart, etc., but I remembered I had an analog list of measurements and their conversions. I say analog because my brain lives on this thing that you call the internet and my source off choice this day was my composition notebook that a good friend gave me to use for writing.
When I looked in the back, I found that they skip from "gills" (gi.) to pints, then gallons. Well, my blood was up because I couldn't figure out if we were drinking a pint or not (it turned out to be a pt. and a half, but that's not important right now). So I got out the measuring cup and had to write my new found data in the "useful information" section in the back of the notebook in case this happened in the future.
And this is what came of my calculations:
Liq.: 8oz/cup, 4c/quart, 4c=32oz, 1pt=16oz
1gill=4oz, 400 gills = a crowded fish-tank
...
I know it was a long way to the well and the bucket came back empty, but that is my little nerdy joke that I made today. It helps to try to laugh when things seem really, really hopeless. Or go insane, but that kind of laughter is always really unfulfilling to me.
BTW, 400gi. is equivalent to 3.125 gallons if you are curious. It still is even if you aren't. That's the great thing about math.
Gramma's Cakes
Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Now theres a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom, blown on the
Steel breeze.
Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger, you legend,
You martyr, and shine!
You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, rode on the
Steel breeze.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper,
You prisoner, and shine! -Pink Floyd, Shine on You Crazy Diamond
This song has been in my head since 2 this morning. I'm 45% through my life today (if statistics can be believed), and the 1st line of the song was just resonating true.
But I'm not grousing. If I lived in Zambia, my life would almost be over.
Which reminds me of Gramma. She made those cakes above. I miss her and the lard icing, but it's bittersweet because it reminds me that I'm still alive.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Now theres a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom, blown on the
Steel breeze.
Come on you target for faraway laughter, come on you stranger, you legend,
You martyr, and shine!
You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision, rode on the
Steel breeze.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions, come on you painter, you piper,
You prisoner, and shine! -Pink Floyd, Shine on You Crazy Diamond
This song has been in my head since 2 this morning. I'm 45% through my life today (if statistics can be believed), and the 1st line of the song was just resonating true.
But I'm not grousing. If I lived in Zambia, my life would almost be over.
Which reminds me of Gramma. She made those cakes above. I miss her and the lard icing, but it's bittersweet because it reminds me that I'm still alive.
I'm fine
Watch GBS-TV. It's free and funny. That's why I'm fine now. I was not earlier. Anyway, how could someone be a sour-puss when the moon is so full, beautiful and peeking through the clouds. Well, it is here anyway. I'm sorry if you don't have clouds. Move to the Northwest (U.S.). O.k., that's all the advice I will dispense.
Family Divided by 13 = Atheist
File this under more of the "What About Me" series.
I had a dear friend recently go through the finalization of her parents' divorce. Last year was a bad year for marriage (in fact the first one I performed split up and my dad is on his 3rd divorce). Trying to comfort her reminded me that it's never easy at any age. The process of easing her through the grieving process dredged up a goodly amount of my own dark matter.
Talking to her about the sheer unfairness of it all reminded me of when I became an atheist. I think I was 13 at the time, but a traumatized memory is not always trustworthy. I was relating to her that I couldn't believe that a loving god would allow such a thing to happen to a nice little boy. Of course I also believed in dragons.
I still believe in dragons, but not in the same way. Much in this manner, I'm not really an atheist any more but I'm not necessarily what one would call a religious man. I have studied many religions and they are all crap...with tiny grains of truth scattered throughout.
They are very much akin to bad sci-fi movies: just enough science to be plausible with a whole lotta filler. There is always that one mind-blowing concept that gets past the studio execs, though; the one thing that makes sitting through to the end worthwhile.
I still don't know the answer, however, as to what lessons are to be learned from these failed unions or why this cosmic joke should be so funny. Every time I think about it, I'm right back in the shell of that hurt little boy. I know now that drama and conflict are part of the human experience, but it's not enough.
But...I paid my money and I'm gonna see all the movie. I paid.
I love you JJ. Be strong.
And for everyone else, please make sure to tell the people you love how you feel before reconciliation is improbable.
I had a dear friend recently go through the finalization of her parents' divorce. Last year was a bad year for marriage (in fact the first one I performed split up and my dad is on his 3rd divorce). Trying to comfort her reminded me that it's never easy at any age. The process of easing her through the grieving process dredged up a goodly amount of my own dark matter.
Talking to her about the sheer unfairness of it all reminded me of when I became an atheist. I think I was 13 at the time, but a traumatized memory is not always trustworthy. I was relating to her that I couldn't believe that a loving god would allow such a thing to happen to a nice little boy. Of course I also believed in dragons.
I still believe in dragons, but not in the same way. Much in this manner, I'm not really an atheist any more but I'm not necessarily what one would call a religious man. I have studied many religions and they are all crap...with tiny grains of truth scattered throughout.
They are very much akin to bad sci-fi movies: just enough science to be plausible with a whole lotta filler. There is always that one mind-blowing concept that gets past the studio execs, though; the one thing that makes sitting through to the end worthwhile.
I still don't know the answer, however, as to what lessons are to be learned from these failed unions or why this cosmic joke should be so funny. Every time I think about it, I'm right back in the shell of that hurt little boy. I know now that drama and conflict are part of the human experience, but it's not enough.
But...I paid my money and I'm gonna see all the movie. I paid.
I love you JJ. Be strong.
And for everyone else, please make sure to tell the people you love how you feel before reconciliation is improbable.
But what about Me?
One of my avid readers suggested that I get more personal on my blog since there are a blue million weirdos doing conspiracy, so here goes:
I was born and raised in Indiana by a couple of hippies. My dad is a Vietnam vet and was more of a biker/CB enthusiast, my mom was a mural artist (Mutha Murals) that painted anything that moved (dad did the body work).
We were pretty poor and had the worst house on the block. It was kind of a subdivision, tract housing kind of far away from the downtown area, and most of the neighbors were either upwardly mobile or retirees.
Well, my parents had all of these unsavory people (the clientele) going in & out of the house, motorcycles and an old, dead mercedes sitting in the lawn, wildly bedecked custom vans, and more than one crazy party. This was in the 70's, so one can probably imagine what was going on at those kind of shin-digs (I may elaborate at a later time, but for now I'll be discreet).
With this kind of traffic coming through, I had access to ideas & walks-of-life to which few kids get exposed. They were all pretty fringe characters that colored outside the lines and so opted to talk to me in a frank manner befitting an equal.
This coupled with my parents' honesty about the workings of the world gave me the perspective that is echoed here, so much later in my life. My dad had a lot to say about the gov't, having been given the short end of the stick like most of the vets of that era, and my mom had alternative views on America that eventually lead her to fight the corrupt Florida elections office in the 90's (she didn't buckle like a lot of faux-hippies that went coporate).
But here I am getting political again...I'll end on a high note by saying that I'm named after an A.A. Milne character. I'm Kristofer Robin from Winnie-the-Pooh. I know, it's painfully cute.
I was born and raised in Indiana by a couple of hippies. My dad is a Vietnam vet and was more of a biker/CB enthusiast, my mom was a mural artist (Mutha Murals) that painted anything that moved (dad did the body work).
We were pretty poor and had the worst house on the block. It was kind of a subdivision, tract housing kind of far away from the downtown area, and most of the neighbors were either upwardly mobile or retirees.
Well, my parents had all of these unsavory people (the clientele) going in & out of the house, motorcycles and an old, dead mercedes sitting in the lawn, wildly bedecked custom vans, and more than one crazy party. This was in the 70's, so one can probably imagine what was going on at those kind of shin-digs (I may elaborate at a later time, but for now I'll be discreet).
With this kind of traffic coming through, I had access to ideas & walks-of-life to which few kids get exposed. They were all pretty fringe characters that colored outside the lines and so opted to talk to me in a frank manner befitting an equal.
This coupled with my parents' honesty about the workings of the world gave me the perspective that is echoed here, so much later in my life. My dad had a lot to say about the gov't, having been given the short end of the stick like most of the vets of that era, and my mom had alternative views on America that eventually lead her to fight the corrupt Florida elections office in the 90's (she didn't buckle like a lot of faux-hippies that went coporate).
But here I am getting political again...I'll end on a high note by saying that I'm named after an A.A. Milne character. I'm Kristofer Robin from Winnie-the-Pooh. I know, it's painfully cute.
Pirate Vs. Ninja
Yeah, I'm back on the pirate spiel, but the pirate brought a friend: the Ninja.
I am definitely more partial to the ninja phenomenon than pirates. I wanted to be one when I was a kid (thanks to movies like Enter the Ninja & American Ninja and the wierdos at the army surplus store). I bought throwing stars (shuriken) & nunchaku, dressed up like a ninja and even snuck out late at night to act like one (I was 10, so withhold judgement please).
Anyway, this entry isn't designed to hash-out the old internet farce of who would win in a fight. I am writing it for the 6 people that view this blog (or 1 person that came here 6 times) to ask which you think is cooler. Which would you rather be (or have you been) and why? Feel free to fill the comments area to bursting. I have opened it up to those without Blogger memberships.
Or visit RevRaikes.com and drop me a line. There is no deadline, but there is patent pending.
Bonus: if you watch anime, say whether you like Naruto or One-Piece more...
P.S. One-Piece sucks ass & Naruto is great. That's final (or is it).
Yes, it is.
focused blur
Let's get away from conspiracy crap for a second-
I was just remembering a time when I lived in Chicago when I was down. There were a lot of those times then. I was in my twenties and confised about a lot of things.
Well, I was just sitting at home, broke, and maybe a little drunk (as was often the case then). My roommate and longtime friend Dan comes busting in the door and claims to have gotten ahold of a Jeep.
Apparently a girl that I think was a little sweet on him had given him her keys because she was too far gone to drive home. Maybe he dropped her off, I don't remember. But, the main thing here was that he had a car.
We were all pretty poor then and my car had been pushed home months ago, left to sit on the street until I could fix it. And, kicks were sparse when you couldn't afford to go to any shows, so a joy-ride around town was a great idea on someone else's dime.
I grabbed my recently obtained Ween tape, Chocolate & Cheese, and we sped off down Damen Ave. to parts unknown. I think we may have buzzed a few housing developments and cruised the forbidden zone (South Side).
There weren't whole lot of memorable adventures, but the feeling I gleen from this memory is that of stolen moments of freedom. We could have been responsible and parked the car in front of our building and not taken that bottle of liguor along (I'm starting to recall some substance being present for the ride, if not alcohol), but that chance to spread our wings must have gotten us through at least another week.
And, I am still here to tell thee this tale. Thank you for obliging an old man with his youthful follies. I just think it's necessary to our souls (that live in a locked-down society) to take those borrowed moments that life gives us. Life is hard and we have to grab what we can while it's in front of our grubby little faces.
I was just remembering a time when I lived in Chicago when I was down. There were a lot of those times then. I was in my twenties and confised about a lot of things.
Well, I was just sitting at home, broke, and maybe a little drunk (as was often the case then). My roommate and longtime friend Dan comes busting in the door and claims to have gotten ahold of a Jeep.
Apparently a girl that I think was a little sweet on him had given him her keys because she was too far gone to drive home. Maybe he dropped her off, I don't remember. But, the main thing here was that he had a car.
We were all pretty poor then and my car had been pushed home months ago, left to sit on the street until I could fix it. And, kicks were sparse when you couldn't afford to go to any shows, so a joy-ride around town was a great idea on someone else's dime.
I grabbed my recently obtained Ween tape, Chocolate & Cheese, and we sped off down Damen Ave. to parts unknown. I think we may have buzzed a few housing developments and cruised the forbidden zone (South Side).
There weren't whole lot of memorable adventures, but the feeling I gleen from this memory is that of stolen moments of freedom. We could have been responsible and parked the car in front of our building and not taken that bottle of liguor along (I'm starting to recall some substance being present for the ride, if not alcohol), but that chance to spread our wings must have gotten us through at least another week.
And, I am still here to tell thee this tale. Thank you for obliging an old man with his youthful follies. I just think it's necessary to our souls (that live in a locked-down society) to take those borrowed moments that life gives us. Life is hard and we have to grab what we can while it's in front of our grubby little faces.
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