Eros-sistable

I'm what you would call a romantic realist when it comes to relationships. What does this mean exactly? Quite frankly, when I first thought up the term, I didn't really know, I just thought that it was an interesting sounding description. It wasn't until much later that I began to flesh the term out a bit. Rather than go by the exact definition as per literature and art, I have given it my own spin to be used when only dealing about affairs with the fairer sex.

What is explained here with most likely be elaborated upon in more specific posts.

Here's a prime example of what I mean: many starry eyed dreamers live their lives with the assumption that there is someone out there for everyone, a predetermined soulmate and you shall be thrust together by the hands of fate. It's a nice thought, really it is, but it just doesn't hold water. For one thing, if this were true, then there would be an exact one to one ratio of men to women. Although it's close, it's not quite close enough, leaving some poor schlubs with no one but themselves, so what do you say to them, "Sorry, I guess fate just doesn't think that you're worth loving." And this doesn't even include the gay and lesbian populations who suck up more of both teams.

It's not that I think the search for love is pointless. If you're lucky, you'll find somebody with whom you feel some special connection that only the two of you share. Then, if you're really lucky, you might feel a switch go off that makes you feel like this one is worth hanging onto. It's a gut reaction, you can't explain it, you can't reason with it. You can't logically justify love. I see people who do this and it drives me up a wall. You can't really say "I love him for this reason and this reason and this reason..." It doesn't work that way. Practicality comes into play when discussing, say, moving in together or something like that, but not in explaining why you feel a certain way about somebody. If I'm rejected by a woman, the only excuses I'll really accept are "I just don't feel the same way about you," and "I'm married." Girls who reason their way out of it are only shilling bullshit in an effort to spare one or both of our egos. Save it. I'm a big boy, I can handle a little rejection.

You have to work at love. You can't just sit around and expect Mr./Miss Right to fall into your lap. Get out there and play the game. A lot of frogs have to get kissed, and if one does happen to turn into a prince for you, then I wish you well in your happy future together, at least it might work out, nothing is really certain. A prince one day might turn out to be a frog in disguise. Just work at it and don't give up. And if it doesn't work out, don't think that you've lost your one shot at love with an amazing guy...give me a call!

Up next: My perfect woman.

1+1=64/(-24+7X8) ???!

Everybody today, especially the champions of civil liberties stand on their soapbaxes and hail the almighty goal of equality for all. Equality for women, for racial minorities, gays, short people, fat people, and so on, and so forth...

I say bugger to equality. What we need instead is fairness. Some folks (I'm thinking lexographers mostly) would argue that these two words are completely synonomous. That may be true in the dictionary, but every word has its connotative meanings that usually have a greater impact to the culture. This is why we can't use the word "crusade" in a speech without conjuring the ire of a religion critic.

All equality cares about is the bottom line. As long as the final outcome is the same, it really doesn't matter by which process takes places. The ends justify the means. Isn't this a rather Machiavellian approach for society? Besides, true equality is a mathematical concept that can never truly be achieved. Don't believe me? Get two hungry kids and cut a PBJ in half and let them choose who gets to eat which half.

What we need is fairness. Fairness takes into consideration the aspects of an individual in order to establish the best way to achieve maximum potential success. Which is the better scenario: A woman being paid the same rate as a man because it is mandated that it be so by society, or a woman being paid the same rate as a man because both demonstrate the same degree of work ethic, get things done on time in top-notch quality, and are determined to let nothing stand in the way of their productivity? The first one is equal, the second one is fair. Get it?

Equality is a blanket term that is the stuff of lame Miss America speech bullshit. It makes people feel good to hear, but it is really just a big jerk off. Fairness is subjective and relative. If you see your situation as fair, than you have no need to complain.

Life isn't fair, but neither is equality.

Erin Go Home

St. Patrick's Day: a holiday where everyone is Irish for a day. A time for building community and a chance to let loose and have a little fun...[insert jerking motion here]

I find it amazing that Americans have managed to wrestle the wheel of St. Patrick's Day away from the Irish in such a spectacular fashion. I mean, do people really need that much of an excuse to go out and get drunk with their friends? Does green beer possess some magical ability to make your buzz even more enjoyable? If so, than go buy some green food coloring (it's cheap, I promise) and make your own green beer without having to corrupt a perfectly good holiday. I mean, why exactly does everyone want to be Irish for a day anyway? What is it about being Irish that is so desirable to make you want to renounce your own national identity?

I'll be clear here: I am not Irish. I'm one-eighth Irish on my mother's side, but that's it. I'm no more Irish than I am German, French, Welsh, or [rumored to be]Polish. I do not identify with the Irish culture in any way. I'm American. I do have a healthy respect for the Irish people, their culture (especially their songs and stories), and their contribution to the history of the US. But I have no idea what it is like to be Irish, nor do most other people.

My view is this: unless you are fresh off the boat or have an Irish ID, you're really going to have to sell me on why you consider yourself Irish, or any other culture for that matter. The culture with which you identify is an integral part of your identity. Heck, you may choose to reject the whole idea of identifying with a culture and merely identify yourself as yourself, nothing more. That's fine too. But you shouldn't choose this on a whim, and you sure as hell shouldn't put on a green hat and get blind-drunk to solidify your feelings of personal self-worth.

St. Patrick's Day is a religious feast day for the [real]Irish to commemorate the death of St. Patrick, the man who introduced Christianity to Ireland. That's it. No parade, no gay Irish protestors demanding to take place in a parade, no leprechauns, no green beer, none of that crap. A catholic holiday for Irish catholics. Go to mass and have a nice day. I'm not catholic, so I don't bother to celebrate. I don't need an excuse to drink, and if you do, that might be an early sign of alcoholism.

You don't get people lining the streets on Columbus Day in Armani suits and drinking chianti in an effort to be Italian for a day, or donning tooks and chowing down on back bacon for Boxing Day. We don't rise up and overthow the Czar on May Day and institute a corrupt communist government. What makes Ireland special here?

Don't we have plenty of holidays as a nation already. I mean, we don't even get the day off for crying out loud. Is that really worth celebrating? I get more jazzed about Labor Day, and not just because it's my birthday. Let the Irish have their Irish holiday, and let's stick to American holidays. And if you still have the need to guzzle a green beer or five, then go back to Ireland, you lousy drunk!

Bumper Sticker Philosophy

I'm going to put this right out in front here to get it out of the way: I have a beef with Philosophy. This isn't to say that I don't think that every person has the right to look up at the night sky or whatever and think abut the nature of everything; it's part of who we are. Where I have a problem is in Philosophy with a capital "P", the formal systemization of determining human thought that is discussed in the parlors of Paris and the classrooms of universities. I should know. I'm bombarded with this stuff constantly. I'm not so much against the teachers teaching it, it is their job after all, but it's the hearing other students go on and on about how they just read "Atlas Shrugged" and how their lives have been changed forever. You're right, your life has been changed: you've just become older having read through a forest-and-a-half of paper that would proabably have been better used for toilet tissue.

This is not just about Ayn Rand though, although I do have my own issues with her, it's about the whole idea of Philosophy. What is it about these men and women throughout history that gives them the apparent answers to the questions that we all ask but will never find an answer for. C'mon, you know them: Why are we here? What happens when we're not here anymore? What is morality? What defines good and evil? Why does horse shit smell so bad, yet remain crucial to the horse's existence?

I have no problem with ideas. Ideas are great. They make people think and are behind the best things that humanity has to offer. But at some point, usually after the original idea creator is long dead, some ideas get warped and corrupted and become schools of Philosophy. I mean, did Aristotle really set out to create the basis for all science and empirical thinking, or did he just think, "So you say your dick's bigger than mine? Prove it!"

Philosophy is intended to provide insight into the intricacies of human thought, yet the only people who understand it are introverted intellectuals and emo barristas who thought that it would be cool to major in Philosophy in college. They have shanghai'd the greater wisdom of the universe for themselves. Or have they?

Does it take a library of texts and an honors class to be considered a legitimate philosophy? I would argue no. I truly believe that the best insight to the inner workings of the mind and the universe are not in these places, but in a much more common place. People's cars. Bumper stickers, or at least the idea of bumper stickers, speaks more to the greater good. Charles Schultz said, "There's a difference between philosophy and a bumper sticker," and it's true. Philosophy is a bloated and overrated area of knowledge that takes perfectly reasonable and understandable premises and twists and perverts them into something so complex and incomprehensible that it takes four years and $80,000 to even get the slightest idea of what it's about. Bumper stickers on the other hand are short, easy-to-read sayings that are designed to arouse a response in the reader, as well as provide insight into the owner of the sticker.

Many people like some bumper stickers because they are simply "cute" sayings that they want to share. Ok, but look just a little deeper. Sound bites are more potent and eloquent in their brevity than a plethora of philosophy books. We don't need them explained to us because, on a gut level, we immediately understand the message that the "cute" little phrase is getting across. Even if the interpretation is not the intended one, it is still making you think.

Philosphers are just assholes who walk around and explain jokes to you, and if there is one absolute in the universe, a joke is not funny if you have to explain it afterwards. Just read that last sentence and you'll get it. Don't bother with the rest of this post.

Trying not to blow an O-Ring

I haven't been able to come up with my A-game lately. Creativity is a cruel gift to possess. It comes to different people in different amounts. Some people are overflowing with an abundance of creativity and never seem to run out of good ideas. And on the other side of the coin, there are people whose idea of creativity is repeating a joke that some guy said at work. You don't choose to be creative. Creativity chooses you. You can't force it. Oh Lordy, don't try to force it!

Have you ever tried to just sit down and bang out something original? I don't recommend it. You'll try to force yourself and eventually you're going to rupture something. You might even accidentally take a shit from thinking so hard. Then you have to spend the rest of the evening cleaning up your own fecal matter. Not my idea of a good night. Or, what is most likely to happen, you'll tear your brain. You will get the mental equivalent of a hemorrhoid. And it's just as painful as the butt variety. What makes it worse, there's no preperation-h for a brain hemorrhoid. There's no little tube that you can swab on the inside of you ear and suddenly you can do math again. Doesn't work that way. And how do I know this? Because I am not a doctor, that's how!

Having said all of this for seemingly no real reason (but then again, what does have any real reason to it?), it leads me to my point. And that point is sharp; I poked myself with it and it drew blood, then I had to clean that up. Again, not my ideal evening.

Eh, goodnight folks.

Love comes in all shapes

It may be because we stand upon the threshold of spring, but I've been thinking about this season and it's trademarked feelings of love. But not everyone is fated to fall in love with that one person whom we were destined to be with.

Many will become ensnared in that most cliched of theatrical devices: the love triangle. You all know what this is. Two guys/girls/one of each vie for the heart of the same man/woman. But why is there only a triangle, surely there has to be more than one complicated relationship type out there.

How about a love square? Two people going after two different people, but are romantically linked to one or both of the other two people as well. Or a pentagon, hexagon, septagon, or octagon? Nonagon is where things really start to get kinky.

There's the love star of David, where two completely independent love triangles find themsleves at the same place and time.

If there are enough people involved and they are all at radically different points in their lives, does the shape become three dimensional, like a cube or a pyramid. If you want to see some really fucked up shit, look for a love icosahedron.

Perhaps there's even a love circle, where there are no definite points, only a continuum of infinitely connectable locations. This is the one that the sluts like.

And while we're going with this geometry metaphor, what about your average, run o' the mill couple? They are simply a line segment. Two tiny points with a single connection between them. Not very exciting is it? It's not a shape. It's barely even two dimensional. Who wants that?

And then there are the dots. The single people who have no one with which to draw a line. The dots like to collect and be themselves, without really caring about the other shapes. And when someone finally does come along and connect all the dots, it makes a pretty little picture that's a hell of a lot better than some pissant triangle or line, that's for damn sure. But dots aren't technically shapes, so they have no business being mentioned.

Of couse, I'm a romantic.

Genie-Meeny-Miny-Mo

It's a converstaion that I would venture to guess that everyone has had at some point: if you found a magic lamp that had a genie in it who would grant you three wishes, what would you wish for? This kind of question is only truly answerable by a child who has no knowledge of the workings of the world. Once you reach the age when you can see the world for what it is, you can't answer this question and expect to get what you want. The best contract lawyer in the world could not wish for something without it backfiring in the most horrible way. Probably my favorite redition of the ironic wish is the short story "The Monkey's Paw" just because it's so dark, yet throws light on the whole genie bullshit.

So, let's break down some of the most popular wishes that people tend to think of:

Super Powers
Nobody is content being a normal schmuck like everyone else. Deep down, we all want to fly, or turn invisible or have super strength or any other manner of superhuman abilities. Sounds cool right? Wrong! Consider the Spiderman priniciple for one. "With great power, comes great responsability." We've all heard that malarchy a million times, probably because it's true. How many federal air laws will you break by flying around a city? The FAA would ground you before you even got to save your first kitten in a tree. If you're going to have the power of invisibility, you can't just sneak around watching people have sex, you have to use it for the betterment of humanity, otherwise you will waste it, and people will demonize you for squandering great talent and you will be alone and miserable and you will try to kill yourself, but you can't because you're impervious to harm! No thanks.

Also consider what superpowers could do to your physiology. Our homeostasis is maintained for certain perameters. If you were to suddenly add an immense new factor into the equasion, who knows what kind of effects it will have on your body. Even if you just, say, wanted to be an expert musician, or something like that, you'd become an unparalleled musical talent, but guess what? You're now too autistic to poo by yourself because you're now a savant.

"Ok then," you say, "I'll just have my powers via some sort of magical amulet or something so that my body is not directly altered." Sure, if you don't mind living in a constant paranoia that someone may try and steal it, so how can you enjoy that? Face it, there's a reason we don't have superpowers.

Wealth
Another popular wish contender is money, scratch, sweet coin, dolla' dolla' bill, y'all. Now I'm not an accountant or an economist, but money doesn't just appear out of thin air. The money you get has effectively been stolen from someone else. Even if it came from a lot of people, one of them could have been a little old lady who has barely enough to afford food, heating, and her antipsychotic medication. If you take that away, she will either starve, freeze, or go completely apeshit and kill seventeen people before turning the gun on herself. All for your material gain. For shame!

So let's assume that the money does just materialize out of nowhere; I assume that you wil then procede to spend it on crap that you've always wanted. Your sudden influx of currency will cause inflation, effectively lessening the value of your newly gotten gains. Shooting yourself in the foot much?

World Peace
Everybody like this one. You wish that everyone in the world would get along and live in harmony. There'd be no more wars, no more violence, complete and utter tranquility right? Humans have certain aggressive tendencies engrained in our DNA, if nothing else as a hangover from when we lived in trees and killed smaller monkeys for food and for funny hand-puppets. All of that pent up aggression, rage, and hatred would just bottle up with no outlet. The death rates from stroke and heart disease would increase exponentially. How long will peace last? Do you establish a time table for peace, and at its expiration, all of that pent up aggression would vent in what could quite possibly be the destruction of humanity? If you don't put a time cap on the peace, what happens if aliens decide to attack, or even better, they sat around and waited for us to achieve world peace before attacking? Good job, your naive pipe-dream ended up killing everyone.

In conclusion, if you find a genie in a magic lamp and he wants to grant you three wishes, tell him to go bugger off. I think that genies and their ilk get off on watching our wishes backfire on us. The concept of genies did start out as minor demons in Islamic mythology. But, if you just can't resist the opportunity to get three wishes, do youself a favor: make them small, make them petty, and make tham selfish, like exact change for the bus, or an extra piece of cheese in your lunchable. The bigger you wish, the worse off you'll be.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Musical Memories

I'm up late evading sleep because I can't stop thinking about someone. Someone who is very near and dear to my heart. Our tale is a long and tempestuous one. I've known her for a long time now, God, it feels like forever sometimes. Our best years were in high school. I would see her almost every day, and on the days where I didn't, I always wished that I had. I could express anything with her; it didn't matter if I was feeling sad, happy, or just wanted to screw around for a little bit. She was always there for me, and I did my best to take care of her so that what we had would last.

Alas, all that was was not fated to be ever lasting. Things changed once I started college. I didn't see her as often; maybe a couple times around the holidays when I would be home for a few days. Although I could sense the fading between us, I did nothing to stop it. I had my own new pursuits to follow. Studying, classes, new friends, it was all so new and exciting. I just didn't have the time for her that I used to. I had not realized how much I miss her until I finally realized how long it has really been. Now I sit here, thinking of her curvy body, her melodious voice, and the feeling that I used to get when I held her in my hands.

I'm speaking of course of my cello, Charlynne. I miss the feel of her strings on my fingers, the smooth gliding of the bow across her, creating such beautiful tones that were so full of expression. I finally see that my priorities were not straight, and haven't been for quite a long while. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to reconcile with you, baby. The next time I'm around, I'm going to dust you off from that corner of the living room, unzip your casing, get you nice and tuned up, and play you just like I used to. We can do some soft light tunes, or just go crazy and do some old hardcore plucking the way we used to do it. I just want you to know...no, I need you to know, that I miss you and the place that you used to have in my life, Charlynne. I know that it can't be like it used to be, but what's stopping us from starting a new chapter, even better than anything that we used to have? Whatever happens, it has to begin with me. We'll be back to fiddlin' before you know it.

Vice-Guy Syndrome

Since the dawn of civilization, mankind has been cursed with the sin of vice. Easy relief from the burdens and hardships of the everyday grind has proven to remain a popular, and lucrative pursuit. However, there is a problem with drugs, alcohol, gambling, and even sex. Each one of these activities can give you a good high, but the subsequent consequences are often far worse and create a cyclical lifestyle of just trying to catch up with feeling normal.

I'm not here to preach for the abolition of this type of behavior. I recognize that there is an innate desire to feel good, and many people will continue to fulfill that goal via cheap and easy means. It is those people whom I am chiefly addressing. rather than waste your time and money on drug dealers, hookers and ponies, I propose a better way.

The crux of my proposal is hinged on the fact that you get high, then you come down, feel like crap, and get high again. The hangover and the withdrawl negate any pleasure that was felt previously. So, what needs to be done is to have the pain precede the high, and be eclipsed by the waves of pleasure that follow. So how can this be done?

If you want a high that will banish unbearable pain all you need to do is this: First, drink a considerable quantity of water, 3-5 glasses should be fine if you are already properly hydrated. You might need to augment this amount in accordance with your own personal physiology. Then, just go about your usual business. In a few hours, you should get the familiar urge to urinate. This next step is crucial; you hold it. Yes, resist the need to pee and just hold it. Hold it until you feel compelled to take part in the bizarre ritual of the "Pee Dance". (note: only hold it until you get the pee dance urge. Holding it too long can cause UTI's and other problems, so don't get greedy and overdo it) Now all you have to do is go to the nearest restroom and do your business. You've all done it before, so you know the massive wave of euphoria that washes over you as you release all of that pent-up urine. Gents, you might even want to sit down for this one in case you get a little weak in the kness from it. And the best part is, no downer afterwards, you can just go back to work with the unspoiled memory of micturition bliss.

So the next time someone offers you a hit on a joint or a snort of smack, just say, "Sorry man, I gotta go take a wee."

The guys ask you to split a bottle of Jack Daniels, "Sorry guys, I gotta take a wee."

A lady of the evening promises you a good time in the alley around the corner, "Sorry babe, I gotta go take a wee."

The sheer urgency of feeling that your bladder is about to burst will take priority over everything else, saving you from spending your hard-earned cash on something that will only make you feel worse later.

So life got you down? Feel the pressures of life just building up on you until you feel like you can't take it any more? The answer's right in your bathroom, or at least the nearest potted plant.

I think of everything

Tell me if this scenario sounds familiar:

You are in the middle of a wonderfully enthralling conversation with a man/woman whom you find attractive. Everything is going great, and all the signs are there that he/she is interested in you (wide smiling, prolonged eye contact, some playful teasing, etc.). So, you get up the gusto to casually and confidently as him/her out for a cup of coffee, and what do you get in response? "Oh, I would love to, but I'm in a relationship right now."

Why does this cruel trick of society continue to persist. Is there any letdown as big as investing time and energy into a conversation with your ultimate goal being thrown back in your face as a total waste. Am I coming off as bitter? If so, it's not my intent; although this has happened to me more times than I would like. Of all the girls that I have developed crushes on since sixth grade when I discovered the fairer sex, 75 percent of them revealed that they were in some sort of relationship when I finally got up the nerve to ask them out.

This is why I propose a sociological experiment of sorts (probably the first of many): Every man and woman should wear an indicator of their romantic status, indicating that he or she is either single or in a relationship. It will not be as binding as, say, a wedding ring, but it will provide a clear and obvious indicator that you have a shot. It should be visible at all times and in any environment, so that you can look across a crowded club and immediately tell who is worth pursuing and who will either ignore you, or worse, jerk you around with false flirting.

Now, a means if display must be determined. A sandwich board is no good for both practical and aesthetic reasons. Mobility is hampered greatly, and important qualities such as body shape are obscured, so that's out. A particular type or style of clothing is indicative and more low key, but dress is an important expression of free speech, and since I'm not here to stomp out the Constitution, out it goes. Some sort ritualistic scarring for those in a relationship might work, however if someone were to disfigure his or her face in some sort of accident, then this will merely cause confusion, and since they are already deformed, the odds at finding love are slim, so that's no good.

For every solution, there is a drawback, except one: Love Monkeys. If you are single and actively seeking companionship, then go down to your local DMV office and register for a Love Monkey, which you will then recieve in 2-4 weeks pending a background check. It is a small primate, ideally a monkey, but they'll have alternatives such as tarsiers and bush babies if you just have to have something that is a little more unique, and for a small fee, you will gain ownership of this monkey who will then sit on your shoulder at all times as a signal that says, "Hey there, ladies! Who's ready for some romance?" These monkeys will be trained by special behavorists to ensure that the Love Monkey's goal is only to accentuate the status of the client, not to leap around and act foolish by throwing fecal matter around, because for most, that is just simply not attractive. Each Love Monkey will be registered to a corresponding serial number, and this will be the monkey's ID. After all, these are working primates, not your personal pets to name as you please.

Now I can already hear the naysayers out there, but hear me out. For one, the Love Monkey is a great conversation starter. You meet an attractive young lady in the line at Starbucks:

"Say, is that a Love Monkey?"

"Why yes, it is."

"Aren't they just the greatest? I don't know where I'd be without mine."

"Me neither."

"Would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?"

"I'd be delighted. Thanks, Love Monkey!"

This is only the ideal scenario. Let's say that you didn't hit it off the way you wanted it to; face it: some people just do not do well together. At least when you go home, you won't be alone, you'll have your Love Monkey to keep you company, provide light entertainment, and sit down to watch the game with you.

Other critics will cite the fact that having a monkey is too high maintenance. There's food, shelter, cleaning up all of the monkey shit, all in all a real headache, but consider this for a moment. Once you establish yourself in a realtionship, you return your Love Monkey so that he can be reused and given to some other lonely schmuk looking to change his life. Once you have obtained a signifcant other, you'll only have to deal with paying for dinner dates, letting her stay over at your place, and dealing with all of her shit, so really, you break even.

On second thought, you might just want to stick with the monkey.

I have a dream...

In the last week or so, I've been having some of the most vivid and frequent dreams that I can remember for quite a long time. This is also the first time that my dreams have had a reasonably consistent theme to them. Don't know exactly what they mean yet, if anything, but it still got me thinking.

Dreams are some of the weirdest phenomena that our minds experience. Nobody really knows for sure what they are for. Sure there have been, and still are, scientists strapping guinea pigs (both the figurative and literal varieties) to all manner of brain wave readers in the effort to understand what exactly happens when we drift off into Sleepyland, but in the end, dreams still have that oddly mystical quality to them.

Where else can a person experience both the highest pleasures that actually cause disappointment when you awake or create such terror that you swear that you'll never fall asleep again? It would be nice if folks like Freud were right and every component of a dream came neatly gift wrapped with a meaning, but I just can't buy it, at least completely. I wonder what it was like for the first man to have a dream. Did he wake up with a jolt and think, "What in the hell was that?!" (in the appropriate communication method for an early homonid of course).

The purpose for dreams is just as diverse as the group that has them (read: everybody). Some people are inspired to create beautiful works of art, some believe that they are speaking with God, some completely change their lifestyle, and some merely dismiss it as a systematic rehashing of the waking hours. Which one is the right one? Depends, are you asking a scientist or a holy man? An artist or a skeptic?

Who is to say that dreams even have a single definite purpose? Just like a lot of other things in life, we get what we want out of something. You see an image of St. Christopher on a potato chip? Good for you; put it on your dashboard for some good juju. If you look at a potato chip and see salty, oily goodness: chow down, then have another because you can never have just one.

Just remember this: we could just as easily be the subjects of someone else's dream. Right now. As you read this sentence. The person could wake up and then ---*

All I need now is a bottle of champagne

So, here I am at a new and bold venture that is the blogosphere. I've resisted for a long time now, but I've recently adopted a new lassaiz faire attitude, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. Now the question to be posed is this: with the already overcrowded realm of people expressing themselves, with it more often than not merely amounting to little else than drivel, what can I possibly accomplish that will seperate me from the rest of the pack?

My answer is this: quite possibly nothing at all. I'm not an innovator, a radical, a revolutionary, a genius, a moron, or anyone who feels anything that hasn't been felt by throngs of people throughout history. I don't have a soapbox, and I don't have any agenda to push. What I do do is watch. I like to observe this little carnival called life and check out all of its rides, games, cheats, customers, and shady characters who make it run.

I can't promise any breakthroughs or life-changing epiphanies (although who knows, someone might get lucky), but I can guarentee that whatever ends up getting plunked onto this little experiment will mean something to at least one person.

Alright, that's my end of the bargain, now it's your turn. Raise your right hand (don't put it on the computer screen though, I know how frustrating they can be to clean) and repeat after me:

I, , do hereby pledge my undying loyalty to the Supreme Overlord, Iaoai, and will mindlessly follow any order that he bestows unto me, even if it is at the cost of my own life. I will seek out new disciples and bring them into the fold and bathe them in the warm, tingly light of the magnanimous and all-powerful Iaoai. Gorilla, Magilla Gorilla for Sale!

All seriousness aside, open hearts, open minds, open doors here, people. It works for the Methodists, it works for me.