Notes From Underground

Coping With Stress

2012-05-04T11:00:00.000-05:00

The other day I was at a dinner party and the topic of stress came up. By chance, someone there just happened to be a massage therapist. She went around rubbing everyone's back and shoulders for a while and telling them how tense they were and where they kept their stress. She also checked me, but for the longest time she couldn't find a single knot in my back or shoulders. She eventually did find one on the front of my right shoulder. She said that in comparison to the stress level of everyone else in the room, I was pretty much the Buddha.

Once this odd revelation about me being stress-proof came out, the topic shifted. Everyone wanted to know my secret, and to be honest, I did too. I offered that I drink too much and don't take care of myself. Everyone laughed and I had another sip of wine. Then everyone really started prodding me for answers. They asked what I did to keep stress at bay. It all felt odd because I haven't been sleeping well lately and I thought it was probably stress keeping me up. But no, loose as a goose. The real stress-heads in the bunch were starting to get insistent and since I really didn't have any insight I decided to fuck with them. I told everyone I just handle emotions better than everyone else because of my high emotional IQ. Someone called me a sociopath, we laughed. I had another sip of wine.

It went on like that for a while. Someone would ask me a question, I would give an answer with an air of superiority. Eventually, a few of them started getting a little upset or at least annoyed by my answers and attitude. I told them that they weren't really upset with me, they just didn't know how to cope with stress. That frustrated them more. I laughed and had another sip of wine.

When I got home I had an epiphany. I realized that the best way to deal with stress is by stressing everyone else out. That and drinking lots of wine.
____
Image taken from: http://vortextherapy.files.wordpress.com/2011/06/massage-therapy.jpg

Sabotage

2012-05-03T11:00:00.000-05:00

There was this corporate-type fellow and he worked way up on the top floor of this office-type building. He was at his desk, which was really quite swank, but no one knew he was there. It was 3 AM or some time like that. He was there late. I can't remember if it was because he had a big meeting with shareholders the next day or if it was because he was an alcoholic who hated his wife. It doesn't really matter because he isn't the interesting bit in any case. The hook, as they call it, is what this corporate-type fellow, in his office-type building saw when he picked up his balding-type head and peered through his brandy snifter.

He couldn't believe his bloodshot eyes. He rubbed them once. He rubbed them twice. Finally he convinced himself that what he saw actually was there. He walked through the glass doors and watched as the janitor, with a look of glee, picked up a waste-basket high in the air and dumped the refuse within, all over the tile. That wasn't all, he emptied out file cabinets, desk drawers and more until absolutely everything in the office was piled on the floor. The janitor put his hands on his hips, admiring his work, and he looked quite pleased. Just then, our corporate-type fellow inhaled quick and then let out a loud sneeze.

The silence was broken and the janitor looked at the man with a mortified stare. He had absolutely no idea the man had been there. They looked at each other and an awkward pause filled the air. Finally, the man asked:

"What the fuck are you doing?"
"Well, umm. Making a mess." The janitor replied.
Dumbfounded, the man asked: "Why?"
"Well, I don't really know to be honest. I suppose I was bored. Being a janitor isn't the most glamorous job in the world, but I'm good at what I do."
"You're good at what you do?" As the man disapprovingly looks around at the completely destroyed office.
"Well yeah, anyone can empty a few trash bins. Takes a hell of a janitor to clean up this sort of mess".
"So you mess everything up, just to have something to do?"
"Seems that way" said the janitor as he looked over at the empty bottle of brandy.
___
Image taken from: http://organizingqueen.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/messy_office.jpg

Jumbled

2012-04-24T22:09:00.001-05:00

I scream woe for the nameless, the blameless, the hopeless and cruel. I am repulsed by the happy, the daffy, the passionless and the fool. Their silly, smug faces bring tears to my eyes. The rage in my heart builds and then morphs. It becomes despair, desperation and at last self-degradation. I rip the wood from the walls and the sanity from their minds. Jumbled, mumbled, an altogether weird day.
____

The painting above is titled "Apparition" and was painted by Miguel Tio.

The Winter That Almost Wasn't, but nearly was.

2012-03-07T00:25:00.001-06:00

Winter is supposed to be the time of year where I embrace blogging and writing fully because I'm too cold, too whiny, and just too miserable to do anything else with my glamorized version of a hermit's life. I was so ready to do that this winter. It's part of my ritual. It's part of my cleansing process. I vent out all of the evils I inflicted upon myself and others over the previous year. It gives me a clean slate heading into the next spring and enough time to make sure that any crazy b****** I nearly knocked up the year before have either forgotten about me or passed off little Christopher as a child they had with their actual husband.

This year was different though. It never really got very cold. Which means, I never really stopped working my second job. Which means, I made some decent cash on the side. Which means, f*** you Notes from Underground, you've only ever got me 20 dollars worth of advertising dollars and I need at least a hundred to see any of that in my pocket. Which means, AdSense, is a scam. Which would mean f*** you Google... but, I won't say that because you know my search history and there is some dark and demented s*** there that I'd rather not let the public see. So Google, I love you, no matter what.

Then, all of a sudden, it snowed, and I got deathly ill. Worst weekend of my life. I had the flu so damn bad. How bad, you ask? I haven't orgasmed in six days! Six! 6! I haven't done that since... Since... Well, I'm guessing since I was six. When I had chickenpox it only took three days. The clap? Five! I was worried I had prostate cancer for a while there. I haven't seen junk so inactive since
_____ married ______.

Winter got me, if only for a few days. It knew it couldn't let me slip through the cracks that easy. Not that I'm complaining, the winter, or lack-thereof, was awesome. Just meant I didn't get to spend much quality time with you fine folks. Which really is a shame, but you'll get over it. In less than six days, I'm sure. Merry Christmas, Happy New Years, hooray MLK day, and somebody pass the hand lotion.

I'll be back when it gets cold again.

One way or another...

2011-11-28T11:00:00.000-06:00

I'm a little off balance. I never realized it was a problem until I started veering right and discovered I'm more comfortable doing wrong. I've got this thing inside me that tells me not to care because when I do it turns out bad. Friends, family, lovers, co-workers, even strangers. It never goes the way it should. Heartbreak, anguish, disenchantment, even thoughts of destroying it all. I'm better off without me. I'm better off afraid. Not of the world, but of myself. Only I can destroy the things I love. The things I cherish. The things I hold most dear. I am my own keeper. Not even my own brothers can save me now.

I have thoughts like this all of the time. I'm tortured by them. I cannot escape my own paranoia or my own regrets. So much life lived, so much destroyed. I tell myself it is time to settle down. To build something, to create something. And, it is. I'm right but I cannot defeat this wrong. I torture myself and love others. The point? Amiss. It doesn't really matter now. It doesn't. I'll either defeat the demons inside me and move on or I'll vanquish myself and lay in the fire. Flesh burned, ashes in the amber. A shell, a memory. Defeat.

Or... rebirth. The man I always thought I would be... or the dust I always feared I would become. Nothing matters now. Fate will decide. Memories of laughter or fears of remorse. This moment will decide it all. Determine my destiny. Darkness and decay or light and new life. Time will tell. My story forgotten or rebirth bringing on revelation.

I drink for the lost, and awaken for the redeemed.
____

Image taken from: http://www.fightyourseattledui.com/images/DUIpic2.jpg

The Darkness

2011-11-07T11:00:00.000-06:00

Sometimes I forget myself. I tend to do it in the strangest of places. Like the bench at Union Station or the weight bench in my friend's garage. Little benchmarks of indiscretion scattered about the city. Reminders of pills popped, illicit baggies blowing in the wind and unprotected sex with women of questionable morals and vaginal hygiene.

I prayed to my gods in the hopes that they would let me play with their creations. Give me your deformed, your dismembered, your disingenuous monsters plotting to murder me. I'll enjoy and devour them all. Nothing is too fucked up. Nothing is too scary. Nothing is too shocking. I want more, more...

And then shit gets dark. Really dark. Drunk as shit and can't find the light switch in the bathroom dark. I go too far. I do things I'd regret someday if I wasn't a sociopath. I start to get scared. People start looking strange and foreign and they start to treat me like I'm foreign and strange. This isn't my place anymore. I shouldn't be here. I really shouldn't be here. I start to run from the fear. I trip over a little girl on her way to school and I scream before she starts to cry. Then I start crying and frantically look for a place to hide.

I see a fellow traveler. She's wearing sunglasses and looks haggard. I ask her for help and she gives me a sip of her coffee. I spit it out. It tastes like shit. That diabetic demon bitch has fooled me for the last time. She's slowed me down and I can't stop running. I can't burn out. Always running... Running from everything. Running from nothing, running for nothing. I can't. I just can't.
_____
Image taken from: http://maggiemcneill.files.wordpress.com/2010/11/man-in-dark-alley.jpg

The Contented Atheist: On the Weather

2011-09-28T11:00:00.000-05:00

Tom Skilling. Best weatherman in the world, prophet, and all around nice guy.

In modern society we have, for the most part, insulated ourselves from the temperamental bitch that is mother nature. Sure, sometimes she gets hormonal and knocks the shit out of us, but in our day-to-lives she is at most an annoyance. In our corner of the world mothers don't have nightmares in the fall because they are worried about their children freezing to death in the winter. If the rivers rise, we have flood insurance. Some, who aren't superstitious about getting hit by lightning, might even go so far as to say we've conquered nature (not me of course).

After living most of my life isolated from the effects of the weather, I always thought the idea that religion was created by people who were trying to make sense of the chaotic weather to be intuitively off. Part of the reason, sure, but not completely. I always leaned towards the idea that religion was started to help legitimize the leaders of society. Then again, that's what you'd probably expect a former political science major to think. This summer I did some roofing on the weekends and I have to say it may have changed my opinion some. Once you get to know people in the trade you come to find they are completely obsessed with the weather. For good reason, too. A week of rain means a week without pay.

I was talking to one of my roofing buddies yesterday about how much trouble this lingering rain is giving him. Basically, it's the end of the month, the rent is due in a few days, money problems lead to marital problems and for some reason these dark clouds just won't go away. He said he almost feels like he's being punished for something. It's irrational, but when times are tough, making that leap is understandable. The vast majority of us have done something that we believe we should be punished for. Guilt is an emotion we've all experienced. It eats at you, it is silent, and many times justice and/or forgiveness never come to bring us closure.

Combine our own need for punishment with seemingly random, punishing storms, throw in a god of thunder for good measure and you can see how religion might come about. It's just another way to make sense of an unpredictable world. If it wasn't for Tom Skilling on Channel 9, I wouldn't be able to figure any of this out either. Actually, I need to tune in tonight because I'm really curious as to why the hell the clouds have been going backwards all week. To hell with Zeus, I've got Tom. The closest thing you'll find to a deity in Chicago. Somehow, that kind of makes sense.

For previous editions of The Contented Atheist click here.

____

Image taken from: http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/photos-ak-snc1/v4224/180/54/87625716759/n87625716759_3087647_5618547.jpg

Simplicity

2011-09-27T11:00:00.000-05:00

As I was siting here looking over the blog stats that I used to so compulsively check only five months ago, I noticed that the only post that has been getting any hits is about Playboy and the only one getting any comments is about the Civil War. Classy masturbators and angry southerners are the only people visiting my little corner of cyberspace these days. Well, perhaps things haven't really changed that much after all.

The truth is, it's gloomy and miserable outside and that means it's about the time of year for me to start writing again. I have missed writing, but I haven't really missed it all. If that makes sense to you, then you are as confused a person as I am and I suggest you see a mental health professional immediately. Seriously, I wasn't trying to be funny.

Now, I will admit that I'm tempted to write one of those "I promise to be a better blogger" blogs, but I won't. Mostly because everyone hates those fucking blogs. You hate writing them, I hate reading them. They just suck.

Instead of offering up empty blogging promises I will share something that has always been a constant in my life: the pursuit of simple pleasures. After all, this is the season for them. Sandwiched between the excesses of summer and the holidays, we find a time where we can hopefully slow down and enjoy life at a less hectic pace.

For myself, writing is one of those simple pleasures, but so is that goop you feel all over your hand when you reach down into a hollowed out pumpkin. I love the touch of a warm body on a cold night or blazing through a favorite novel over the course of a rainy weekend. Laffy taffy, miniature snickers bars, scary movies, home-cooked meals, little kids in superman capes and Vincent Price will all make me smile at least once in the coming months.

I will enjoy each of those moments completely. I will celebrate their uniqueness and cherish the warmth their sameness brings. That, I can promise.

Worthless

2011-09-03T23:40:00.000-05:00

I improve the self-worth of the downtrodden. They begin to laugh and smile a little more and pheromones start to fill the air. Eventually they let me push my penis inside them. After that I disappear. I'm not sure if they are the illusion, or if I am.

___________
Image taken from: http://www.sdcitybeat.com/sandiego/article-6490-love-bites.html

New Heights

2011-07-25T11:00:00.000-05:00

I don't really have time to write in the summer. As much as I like words, writing them down just feels too much like summer school. I would much rather be out in the world having fun, enjoying the warm weather and checking out all the leggy dames in booty shorts with gams up to their necks. I also have a tendency to pick up random hobbies that keep me busy all summer. You may remember this from such blog posts as Guilty and My Summer as a Somali Pirate.

This summer's random hobby is... roofing. A buddy of mine owns a roofing company and I've been working for him on the weekends. Probably my worst idea for a summer hobby yet. The extra cash is nice, but somehow I managed to forget about my fear of heights until my first day on the job. At this point, however, I've mostly gotten over that fear and I've been flying up and down ladders all over the North Shore in the last month.

The work is hard and brutally hot at times, but it is also fulfilling in a way that my full-time gig isn't. I feel a real sense of satisfaction when I'm dead tired, covered in sweat and looking at something that I fixed with my own hands. You just don't get that feeling when you're pushing papers for the man. It's the kind of job that makes me feel I deserve a cold beer at quitting time, rather than one that makes me crave a stiff whiskey all day.

Sadly, between my regular job, the part-time gig, and my rampant alcoholism I just haven't really had much time for blogging. Fear not, loyal reader. Eventually, the cold will return and I'll revert back to a hermit-like existence in which I'll have plenty of time to write about what I experienced this summer in future blog posts such as: What it's like to be a Mexican, and, Male Prostitution: Good? Bad? or Giggity? Until then, know that you're in my thoughts even when I'm not thinking about you.

Reparations

2011-06-15T11:00:00.011-05:00

I'm kind of torn over the recent Tracy Morgan anti-gay rant. On the one hand I love Tracy Morgan and respect his right as a stand-up comedian to say whatever the hell he wants. Anytime I've ever watched him he has vomited hilarity. On the other side of the coin, I love the gays as well. I've written to my Congressmen and went to protests and whatnot and believe they should be given the same rights as everyone else. Hell, I even love gay stand-up comedians. After all, Ricky Gervais is easily one of the funniest comedians on the planet in my book.

As to Tracy Morgan saying that if his son came home sounding gay that he would "stab that little n***** to death", I get the feeling it was a bad joke in the wrong context (probably, I didn't hear the joke and if I'm being honest the way Tracy Morgan talks makes any random gibberish sound funny). I'm sure if Lisa Lampanelli made a joke about her son sounding gay and finished it with the punchline "stab that little n***** to death" she could make it work. Which is kind of funny because she's white and has probably f***** Tracy Morgan at some point. But, the gays love her so it's OK! It must be because before she goes on to tell incredibly offensive jokes about gay people she prefaces it by saying "first off I have to say that I love all of you c********** f******". I'm sure if Tracy would have said that first he would have had a little more luck. Or maybe not, there seems to be a perception out there that black males are particularly homophobic so maybe he has to overcome that stereotype before he can talk about these other stereotypes.

I know it seems rather ridiculous that two people could say the same thing with one being embraced and the other ostracized, but sometimes you need ridiculous solutions to ridiculous problems. With the Kobe Bryant incident, and now this, we're seeing the beginning stages of America as a society saying it's not OK to bully, chastise, or make fun of people because of their sexual preference anymore. It's kind of like the way white people were scared to say anything about black people in public for fear of being labeled a racist for all those years. Homophobia is the new racism. Weeding out misplaced hatred takes a generation or so but it clearly can be done. After all, no one thought a guy like Obama would be president now, just like not many would foresee us having a gay president 40 years from now (we will!).

I know the whole idea is kind of silly but it has been shown to work. The anti-PC crowd will hate it, but then again most of them hate everything anyway. It's our own fault. For far too long the punchline of any gay joke was a punch, just like for hundreds of years the lynch pin of any black joke was... well, you get the idea. It might not be 40 acres and a mule, but black comedians were able to monopolize making fun of black people years and we got some pretty damn good stand-ups out of it from Pryor, to Murphy, to Rock. All of whom did pretty well for themselves and that's the closest to reparations we'll ever get. Now the rest of us will have to fork out money to people like Mario Cantone, Ricky Gervais and other up and coming gay comedians if we want to see gay people getting made fun of professionally.

We'll be a funnier nation because of it.

Oh, and in case I ever screw up and write something that sounds homophobic, I would like to say that NoFU loves each and every single one of you wonderful cocksuckers.

No. F U(FO)

2011-06-09T11:00:00.006-05:00

At times I feel a bit like an alien. These peculiar creatures are always entering, leaving and reentering my life. I have conversations with them, study them, learn to understand them, and sometimes I even develop enough of an affinity for them to care about what happens to them. Of course, I eventually snap out of it and realize that I am just the same as they are.

I am a human being. I eat, sleep, fuck, and rebel against the thought that I'm just like all the rest of humanity. It sounds mundane, but it's not so bad. Anyway, it sure beats the hell out of being a dung beetle. A well-trained eye will notice our physical differences and our individual idiosyncrasies the same way an aardvarkologist can separate aardvark A from aardvark B. From the perspective of an alien though, everyone looks the same.

Instead of fighting it, I'm learning to embrace the sameness of us. I've noticed that when I do, I feel less like an alien and begin to really live. I'm only just beginning to realize this. That's why I still have to intellectually justify it with a meaningless blog post. Just like everyone else.
____
Image taken from: http://www.wallpapersahead.com/paranormal?pid=55

Heat

2011-06-07T11:00:00.003-05:00

If there is anything as pleasurable as sitting on the porch and sipping an ice cold Corona on a hot night in the windy city I have yet to find it. Well, at least not anything a gentleman and a scholar such as myself would mention.

Summer has finally arrived and I couldn't be happier. My only regret is that I don't get a summer vacation anymore. I would sell my soul to waste the next few months of the year in my own little bubble while hustle, bustle and booty shorts swarmed around my sanctuary.
____
Image taken from here: http://blog.catalyststudios.com/2005/06/how-design-conference-chicago-05.html

Have it Both Ways, I Insist.

2011-06-06T11:00:00.011-05:00

I'm not exactly sure why but I've always taken a severe umbrage anytime anyone makes a statement that doesn't make sense. At the same time I have a habit of blurting out completely absurd sentences all day long. This, of course, makes me a hypocrite. Which isn't really so bad. When you think about it, being a hypocrite is extremely advantageous if you're good at it. You can say one thing and then do whatever the hell you want. It is terrifically easy and I'm not really sure why it hasn't been embraced more in society. There aren't as many hypocrites as we say there are, it's just that when one is exposed we feel such intense glee that it feels like it happens more often.

People often hold up politicians as models of hypocrisy in action. Sure, there are a few, but for the vast majority of politicians it simply isn't true. Most politicians say one thing and then do nothing. That isn't hypocrisy, it's laziness. I come from a "do what I say, not what I do" world. Where I grew up hypocrisy had a different name. It was called parenting. No sane parent would say it's OK for a child to do the things that I've done (no matter how good it felt). Socrates was sentenced to death thousands of years ago for corrupting the youth. He wasn't a hypocrite and look what happened.

[INSERT YOUR OWN CONCLUSION HERE]
_____
Image taken from: http://www.justsaypictures.com/images/contradiction-what-contradiction.jpg

She Tastes Like Music

2011-06-05T11:00:00.001-05:00

She wore Johnny Cash t-shirts and was eager when performing fellatio. Obviously she was the love of my life. I even proposed, but her daddy didn't like me much. He was a big Johnny Cash fan, too. The problem was that he loved his shotgun and daughter just as much as the Man in Black.

I ended up leaving her for a skinny chic that liked the Ramones. She was nice and all, but the head felt kind of sedated. I enjoy her company, but I find myself developing a secret wanderlust. I checked out Miss Metallica, that silly White Stripes girl and even this woman I worked with that loved The Beatles. The latter had potential, but she always looked half dead to me.

I miss my girl in black. As much as I'd love to live in the past I just can't. For now I'll just ride things out with Ramona until a girl in a Frank Zappa tee comes along to blow... my mind. You perverts.
___
Image taken from: http://media.photobucket.com/image/johnnie%20cash/lehappy/P1130675225.jpg

In my day...

2011-06-04T11:00:00.002-05:00

Last night I was having a conversation over the internet about what it was like before the internet. It's such a vague memory now even though the internet only really became a part of my life about a decade ago. I try to comprehend what life without the internet was like and I always come up short. I vaguely remember being at a mall and using a pay phone to call someone to come pick me up.

I remember there were these things called pagers which you could call but they would only beep. I would dial a number at a pay phone. Then I would enter something like 420-20-911, followed by my phone number. Sometimes they would call back, other times I'd have to go find them. I never have to find anyone anymore. I don't have to even remember anything anymore. I was never much good at remembering things anyway.

I still remember my old house number, my grandma's number and the number of a few of my friends. I think that's kind of cool, but it is also going to date me horribly. I'm probably the youngest person alive that remembers a life before technology. When I'm 60 I'm going to be telling all these young whipper-snappers what it was like before facebook and twitter. Then I'll get really annoyed because they'll ask me what facebook and twitter are. I'll laugh and say, that's how I used to stalk your mom. Then I'll smile and say, if only birth control was digitized.

The Picture of Dorian Gray: A Review

2011-06-03T11:00:00.008-05:00

Oscar Wilde was quite an interesting character in the literary scheme of things. He was incredibly irreverent and witty and he has to be one of the most quotable people in history. If you don't believe me just read a page of his quotes, they're incredible. He was both decadent and defiant. He scandalized society when he had an openly gay relationship back when you could still get sentenced to prison camps for that sort of thing (which he was). He led a most extraordinary life and if anyone out there has ever read a good biography on him please let me know. He seems like my type of fellow.

Even if you haven't read The Picture of Dorian Gray you've probably heard the story. Dorian Gray is an extremely attractive young man whose portrait ages but he doesn't. For some reason or another I had always thought that if he looked at his own portrait he would automatically age but I think I must have gotten that idea from an episode of Scooby-Doo or something. At the urging of the always interesting Lord Henry, Dorian sets upon a path of decadence and debauchery that would wear down and rob the youth of any normal man but the effects can only be seen upon Dorian's painting.

Thanks to this innovative premise, Wilde is able to take jabs at the superficiality of society throughout the book. We talk often as a society about the importance of moral virtue and other such high-minded ideals yet studies show that good-looking people on average have higher incomes than the rest of society. Dorian isn't shunned by Victorian society for his infamous immoral deeds, but is instead continually embraced because of his beauty. I sort of liken it to the way a man will put up with all sorts of craziness from a woman because she's really, really hot. There is a seductive quality to great beauty that few, if any of us, are immune to.

At first I had trouble linking the plot with the aestheticism of which Oscar Wilde was a leading proponent. The work of art portrayed in this novel indeed served a very clear function and alluded to the moral consequences of Dorian's actions. Then I began to think that perhaps Dorian was the work of art himself. Because Dorian Gray was a piece of art, his intrinsic value came from the way he looked alone and all of the immorality in his personality doesn't matter in an artistic sense because he is nice to look at. Aestheticism says that art has value simply because it is beautiful, there is no need to look at moral or political underpinnings to enjoy a piece of art. Sort of how we still appreciate Alice in Wonderland despite the fact that Lewis Carroll was probably a pedophile. We can separate the art from the artist and the message the artist may have been trying to portray.

I'm not sure I buy into my own theory but I needed something for this review, damnit. Half of the fun of this book, after all, is all of the questions it raises on numerous philosophical subjects (some of which I haven't even mentioned here in the interest of brevity). The rest of the joy comes from simply enjoying Oscar Wilde's wit. Because of his charm he is able to craft a heavily philosophical novel with an intriguing story without all of the excess of say an Atlas Shrugged. If you're interested in art and the philosophy behind art then I highly recommend you give this one a read.

Up next, Prometheus Bound .
_____

To read my previous book reviews click here.

Dear Alice,

2011-06-01T11:00:00.006-05:00

You've wasted my time, my life, my love and my mind! I thoroughly despise you. If you died tomorrow I'd skip your funeral. Tragically enough, you'll never perish. Not even the brightest flames in Salem could burn a witch like you.

I should hire some back-alley, voodoo priestess to curse you with paralysis then pay an out of work tailor to string you up like a marionette. I could hide in the rafters and as the curtains opened I would finally be the one to pull your strings. The children would gather, laugh, hoot and holler as I paraded you around. The harlot now led by the ignoble buffoon.

They'd love you, I'm sure of it. Ever the little actress, always the self-aware performer. They would marvel at how real you looked and shudder in terror at your haunting brown eyes. When I was done toying with you, my doll, my love, I would drag you to the top of the Brooklyn Bridge. From there we would give our final show. Fin! Finito! Our finale! I'd cut the strings and watch you spin into the hood of a Toyota. Alas, I know I'd follow you down, for even in death I cannot escape you.
___
Image taken from: http://scaweblog.gmu.edu/?m=200812

Crime and Catharsis

2011-05-31T11:00:00.012-05:00

I called him Young Raskolnikov. He was obsessed with treasure and committed crimes to get it. Deep down he was really just a broken person desperately seeking punishment. One morning, as I sat out on the stoop, I saw him running down the street screaming like the bastard of some sort of mythical banshee. His white shirt was covered in blood. He dropped to his knees, began to cry and remained there until captain Porfiry and his boys showed up.

They slapped the cuffs on him and hauled him away. He looked at me from the back of the squad car and I saw a smile on his face. He'd finally met his destiny of detainment. If only he hadn't hurt so many others in his pursuit of discipline. Sometimes freedom can only be found in chains. Sometimes being told you're bad is the only way to ease the pain.
_______
Image taken from: http://media.photobucket.com/image/handcuffed%20man/derekdman16/Handcuffed.jpg

Just so everyone knows...

2011-05-25T20:16:00.001-05:00

I'm not dead or anything, just have a lot on my plate right now. Some good, some annoying, but I'm doing OK. Thanks to all of you whom expressed concern. I'll be back sooner or later.

Game Time

2011-05-15T11:00:00.003-05:00

Not sure how many basketball fans are out there but I'm f****** excited about this. I've been waiting for this match-up all year and if you're a fan of the NBA you have been too. The three best basketball players in the world will be on the court tonight and Chicago will be rocking. The best thing about this series? This is only year one of a rivalry that is going to dominate the NBA for the next 6 or 7 years.

Bulls in 7. Derrick Rose for President!

Standing Mute

2011-05-13T14:33:00.001-05:00

For the last 48 hours I've been maintaining blog silence in a protest against the Chinese government's stringent censorship policies with regards to the internet. I planned this protest as a personal statement and I've been completely blown away by how the Blogger community has responded. Not only was my blog silent, but all of the blogs I follow, and thousands of others as well. I am deeply, deeply moved. Thank you for helping me to make this powerful statement. Truly, our silence has been heard.
_____
Image taken from: http://desertpeace.wordpress.com/2011/01/08/i-will-not-be-silenced-by-the-israeli-government/

The Contented Atheist: On Religion in America

2011-05-11T11:00:00.011-05:00

Any atheist that lived through the Bush years knows that those were dark, dark times. To be honest, anyone with half a brain knows that period wasn't exactly a high point in American history. For a while there "Christian Conservatives" ruled the world and even normally pragmatic atheists thought it was the end of the world (or at least planned to move to Canada). The religious rhetoric has been toned down considerably since then, but sometimes when I'm walking alone at night I think that a gang of christian conservatives is going to abduct me in an unmarked van, take me to Gitmo, tape my eyelids and condition me to vomit anytime someone says "evolution".

Whenever I start hearing a bunch of stuff on the news that makes me think we're all f***** I look to the people around me and I get a little bit more faith in the human race (figuratively, not literally, we all know there wouldn't be much actual f***** going on with those prudes in charge). For a laugh, one night some friends and I actually counted the number of people we know that regularly go to church and compared it to the number of people we know that wear cubic zirconium laced Jesus pieces. In the final tally, the 'Ye's had it.

It was a silly, half drunk experiment but it alludes to something interesting. There is a hardcore group of Americans that are ultra-religious and very scary, we'll call them Evangelicals. However, there are a ton of people that wear religion like jewelry instead of as a guiding force in their life. For example did you know that 70% of Americans that believe in God, believe that there are many paths to eternal life? More than two thirds of religious Americans don't believe that there is only one true religion! When I saw that number it really surprised me. It makes me think that while 78% of Americans are Christians, most aren't as fervent and intolerant as we are led to believe.

Another interesting stat? 16.1% of Americans are not affiliated with any religion which strangely makes "unaffiliated" the fastest growing religion in America. Looking at stats from the Pew Forum study on Religion & Public Life (click here) opened up my eyes to how much gray area there is when it comes to religion in America. It isn't "us" v. "them". It's "us" v. "them", with about 50% "meh" in between.

For previous entries in The Contented Atheist series click here.
____
Image taken from: http://instantworlddomination.com/constitution-united-states/religion-in-america-church-and-state/

Mother F*****

2011-05-10T11:00:00.002-05:00

Until last year I'd never really dated a woman with children. It's not like I was completely opposed to the idea, but it never really came up. I think it has something to do with being the oldest of four and having a very protective and parental streak myself. It makes me sympathize with mothers rather than looking at them as objects of my sexual desire. It's something I'm working on. After all, this is 2011 and I should be objectifying all women equally.

I'd also never tried out the whole cougar thing that was all the rage at the time either. She was 9 years older than me, is that enough of an age difference to be considered a cougar? I wasn't sure so I called her a puma. She said "like the shoe"? It was then that I realized this relationship wasn't going very far. Since I didn't end up getting a whole lot out of the relationship I figured I ought to pass on what I learned in the interest of science. Before anyone asks, no, she never knew I had a blog and won't be seeing this.

Don't assume that older women only want casual relationships. I incorrectly thought that because I was nearly a decade younger than her that it automatically made me just a fling to her. Normally I like to get the expectations conversation out of the way relatively early but I didn't even bother this time until she introduced me to someone as "boyfriend". I'm still not entirely sure that it's possible to just have a f*** buddy, feelings always seem to creep in somewhere.
Don't be too hard on your kids if they don't like the guy. Particularly if they're boys. If some guy that was only 10 years older than me was banging my mom we wouldn't exactly be buddy buddy either. If the guy doesn't understand that then it's probably not going anywhere anyway.
Romance! A night out for a woman with children is much more precious than it is to a woman without. In all likelihood she called in some favors from friends to babysit and stressed over what to wear for hours because its been forever since she's been out. Appreciate it, shave, buy some flowers, go somewhere nice and don't forget the foreplay. Bring your A-Game and it'll definitely be worth the effort. Then again, if she's out every night ready to slut it up when she should be at home teaching little Timmy to read get the hell out of there.
Don't expect the guy to do any sort of parenting at all. The last thing any guy ever wants to hear is "you ain't my daddy" or "are you my new daddy?". In fact, the first few times he meets your kids that's all he'll be thinking about.
If you aren't ready to date a woman with kids don't date a woman with kids. It's not really that different from what you would expect it to be like.
If the relationship ends it doesn't automatically mean that it was because of your kids. It may even turn out that in the end he liked the kids more than he liked you. Sometimes relationships just don't work out.

As a whole it was an interesting experience and I don't have any hard feelings. Like any relationship there were good times mixed with bad. For the record, NoFU is not to be held responsible if anyone actually takes any of this advice. I really just wanted to write a post on this topic with that title because it made me chuckle.

I hope my findings help to expand the scope of scientific knowledge on the topic and I am currently accepting applications from 20 year old women for an experiment in which I study the effects of dating a woman nine years younger than me. Obviously, this is purely in the interest of science.
____
Image taken from: http://singleparentsource.wordpress.com/

Toys

2011-05-09T11:00:00.001-05:00

I've always sought out the broken ones. Sometimes for repairs, mostly for play. As a child, I thought that if I took the best parts from all of my toys I could create some sort of super toy. The arms of He-Man provide strength; Stretch Armstrong's torso adds flexibility; the legs of a Ninja Turtle for dexterity; Batman's head for brains, cunning and a cool mask; and an arsenal supplied by G.I. Joe.

Once my own personal 80's themed Frankenstein was complete it didn't really look like much. If you use a little imagination, however, you have the most kick-ass toy on the playground.

Now that I've grown up I noticed that I do the same thing with women. I'll find myself making strange lists in my head that are filled with statements like "Tina Fey's sense of humor"; "an ass like that girl from the video store"; and so on and so forth. Of course, when a person with as many eccentricities as myself gets to making a list of that sort you become aware that no one will ever really be able to check off every single box. So what can one do? Well, use a little imagination of course.

You start to attribute qualities to her that she doesn't possess. Sometimes they even help and start developing characteristics they never had before. To convince yourself that you aren't settling, you start to overlook the fact that she has no ambition and a laugh so annoying that it gives you goosebumps. It's difficult at first, but eventually it gets easier. Especially because when the lights are dimmed and she wears a push-up bra it almost does look like she has breasts like Salma Hayek. Once you've got yourself completely fooled it's nearly impossible to tell that the only thing keeping your girlfriend's head on her shoulders is a piece of electrical tape.

With any luck you'll realize that you need to stop trying to create your own perfect little transformer and start to see the person on the other side of the table for who she actually is, instead of who you want her to be. She may not be everything you once thought you wanted, but I bet your dog will never bury her leg in the back yard. You'll start using your imagination less and less and figure out what you actually need more and more. Yes, if you work hard at it, you will find that special girl that shows you how much better reality is than fiction and you'll live happily ever after. OK, well, the last part isn't exactly guaranteed. Old habits die hard I guess. Me and my imagination...
____
Image taken from: http://www.he-man.org/forums/boards/showthread.php?t=154132&page=5