Duh, lil' 'piph'nies

Sometimes I have "duh" moments.  Moments when super obvious things finally occur to me in real time and in real words.  The latest is the concept of "worth."

A person's worth is directly related to the amount of time one is willing to spend with or on them (notice the use of the words 'worth' and 'spend' which are obviously linked).  This means that a person's worth can be consistently quantified in units of time.  In other words, what a man's worth is may be answered by "2 hours."  A person is worth time.  People who are especially valuable (for one reason or another), remain present in timespace far beyond their actual living time.  Think of any now-dead historical figure.  They will be worth the aggregate total amount of time ever spent with or on them.  I think that I would like to add the personal caveat that time defined by negative energy (time spent bad mouthing a person, or perhaps planning and executing their assassination, just to give examples) is akin to negative time.  So here is a concrete example in super basic time: 

A ruler of a land.

Total amount of positive time spent on this person DURING their lifetime: 50,000 hours (remember, this would include time spent willingly WITH the person, as well as ON the person, which may include buying gifts or doing favors, or whatever).

Total amount of positive time spent on this person during all time AFTER their lifetime:  100,000 hours (students doing proud history projects in school, people debating this ruler's creative ruling style, et al)

Total amount of negative time spent on this person DURING lifetime: 65,000 hours (this person may have been a despot and a tyrant, which a large group of people constantly wishing them death and a few actually planning his assassination).

Totaly amount of negative time spent on this person AFTER lifetime:  750,00 hours (his legacy was well known by history).

This would mean that total positive time equaled 150,00 hours, while total negative time was worth 815,000 hours.  This human being's net worth was -665,000 hours.  This was not a worthy person.  This person COST existence that much time.

The fun part about this line of thinking is that it begs the question: How much time are you willing to spend on YOURSELF?  How long can you stand to be alone, without feeling the need to obtain company?  Your answer will apparently be directly related to your concept of self-worth.  Your self worth should always be a positive amount.  If you spend your time hating on your looks and your abilities, you are depreciating your own value.  You are devaluing your most abundant resource.  Stop it.  Start investing in your self, and your self worth will increase in value.  USUALLY, this translates into other's worths of you, as well, which will help give positive time back to creation, in turn helping to make up for the massive empty hole left by the aforementioned cruel leader. Anyways, this is sort of rambling, but I do believe that I've made my point.  Let's start reinvesting positive time into the universe in order to increase our worth and expand timespace.  Or, at the very least, let's start being  honest about how we rate the worthiness of our friends and family.  How much is that person ACTUALLY worth to you in measurable units?

Chasm of Color

The worst thing of us all is that we refuse to believe that we are only biology.  Granted, our current definition and concept of biology may be limited, but that does not mean that it isn't still what runs this place.  Hira Ratan Manek is alleged to be able to sustain himself completely by the rays of the sun.  No food.  Just water and the sun (and an occasional cup of tea, from what I understand).  Now, let's assume that this is real truth.  The fact that a task was accomplished which cannot be explained by current science is not a failing of that task, but of the science that seeks to define it.  It does not mean that the task can not be, but that science must apparently be expanded in order to accommodate the very observed notion that the task in fact, IS.

I wonder at times if Satan knows he is the devil?

We are all compelled by varying but ultimately equal forces (the net measure of influential forces involved is "decision" which occurs only in units of one since you cannot make two decisions about one single choice).
  
 So what I wonder is if people always assume that their decision is the right one at any given moment.  The word "right" may be argued, but that is inconsequential.  People may say, "Well, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time."  This statement can never be false.  Even if a person describes a decision process as feeling wrong even as they were going through it, the fact that they ultimately made one choice only means they decided in one direction only, and it is antithetical to human nature to choose damage (this is why suicide is so abhorrent to society, which should probably abhor the person who is so non-functioning in their societal demand that they feel it is a good idea to end things).  Actually, let me add to that parenthetical note I just made.  Most people who try to suicide themselves but end up surviving say that even while they were falling into the abyss, they were thinking "this is the wrong decision."  For more on this subject, look up the studies about people who survived suicide attempts from the Golden Gate Bridge.  Only a tiny percentage of them ever return to try to finish the job. I guess that isn't a true statement though.  The act of jumping was the right decision.  In retrospect, it may not have been the most beneficial decision, but it had to have been the right decision, or else it would not have been made by that person.  In any case, this is all just meandering around a general idea.  Not really important to anyone other than myself.

I don't much regret choices.  I don't much think that I've made a few bad turns.  The problem is when you extrapolate a current path based on your previous navigational decisions and try to orient yourself to the anticipated route.  This is when you realize that you are a slave to your biology.  You are universally compelled into making a million tiny decisions at every moment.

Let's take a person with a wheat gluten allergy as an example.  They have the allergy, but it isn't severe enough to kill them.  They maybe just break out a little bit, or have an upset stomach.  Every now and then, this person will decide that these discomforts are worth the treat.  The problem is, you aren't just deciding to have a rough night in the bathroom and a sudden need for more makeup.  You're also dealing with the discomforts of the depressed self esteem resulting from the complexion issues.  The ultimate damage to your internal organs from the flood of long absent insulin and other biochemicals that will be released.  The decreased motivation and drive to do important things that results from the low self esteem and inner malaise.  Hell, you're even dealing with the possibility that you'll find yourself stuck in the bathroom at an inopportune time.  Maybe this is the night that the new girlfriend feels comfortable enough to want to spend the night.  Maybe this is the night that you are the victim of a home invasion.  Who knows?  How ready can you really be for these things?  Not much, as far as I see it.

People assume that they are meant to live forever.  This is why we fight so adamantly against things like cancer and whatnot.  The funny irony here is that most of these cancers are caused so very easily by us, but cannot as easily be fixed.  Combine our generally damaging diet with the definitely toxic environment we live in daily (air, water, stress), and you don't have much of an argument for genetics.  Not that it matters, since there is no way to say whether you picked up your cancer somewhere along the family tree, or from the pesticides that lace the orange grove that you visit every year.  The point is, not every person who was ever born needs to never die.  Death is the ultimate proof of biological finality.  At some point, the puzzle falls apart and the pieces just won't fit together anymore.  What happens when we "beat" cancer?  Then there is no longer this tremendous limiting factor supplied to our population.  When the earth failed to keep our numbers in check, we decided to proliferate cancer.  Maybe we didn't do it consciously, but don't forget that we are all just stardust.  We are compelled by biology.  We are compelled by forces that appear to favor biological necessity or convenience.  Maybe we don't need to eat, but that it's just an easier way to keep moving than it is to stare at the sun for hours on end every day.  After we "cure" cancer, then we'll move on to the next thing, and the next thing after that until finally we've got so many people living for so long at a time that we can't make enough food, and the skies are so full of our byproducts that we can't see the sun either.  At this point, Cosmos pushes restart and we all starve to death.

In different places, I have different names, but that does not change who I am.  It also does not change the fact that I am an unending drill pointed at the heart of the Earth.  Someday you will all bask in the glow of warm molten rocks while I become one with them and create a light that engulfs all suns and consumes all black holes.

Reevaluating the shit

It is part of every responsible person's duty to periodically reevaluate their feelings and decisions on various experiences. For myself, this includes past relationships, conversations, career plans, and personal creeds. Of course, the most obvious things for me to reconsider occasionally are Julee, med school, and straight edge.
The Julee thing is fairly open and shut. I think that I maybe should have stuck with Danette that night at prom, but then everything nowadays would be upside down. I don't know that I'd even be able to have this sort of reflection. I'd probably be a kinesiology student still, for instance. I don't know, it's impossible to say what could have been. I still occasionally miss Julee, but I am mostly glad that I'm away from her. I have developed a new taste for women, and a new appreciation as well. I see now that if I were to meet Julee NOW, I wouldn't be all that interested in her, really.
Medical school is too vague to talk about. I wonder if it is the right decision, but I don't think that I'm ready to commit to either side.
Straight edge demands reflection. Any reason that I have for STAYING straight edge will probably be different than any reason I had for BECOMING straight edge. I wonder if I'm not depriving myself of something, as opposed to protecting. I still generally view alcohol and drugs and casual sex as detrimental to spiritual fulfillment, but is it really so black and white? Small amounts of alcohol or weed can actually have beneficial effects on the body (and the soul, according to some), so why do we take such a hard line stance? Should not the stance be against getting drunk as opposed to drinking? Is it true that you can not have an honest opinion on a situation to which you are unexperienced? Because I've never been high, can I really say that I don't see any spiritual betterment in doing so? This is not the same thing as abortion.
Someone who has never known love cannot say that it isn't important to them, I don't think. Someone who has never had sex cannot say that sex is not important to them, unless they throw an asterisk on the end of that statement. And what about the word love? In an effort to retain the sacred aspect of SOMEthing, I used to hold back my affection. I was separated. Kisses considered too valuable. Sex considered distant. The word itself saved for unique situations. Maybe we'd be better people if we didn't overload that word, or put too great of expectations on it. Why can't we redefine love? People claim that using the word too often devalues it. This may be true, and in fact probably is. But that's why we have poetry, isn't it? We can prove the level of our love (love is a spectrum, after all) by our actions, more so than we'd ever be able to with words. Sometimes it may be better for us to tell someone we love them, even if we don't LOVE THEM. Why is there some weird quota involved here? It feels like we attribute the word to a feeling we had with someone at some point, and then we only use it again when we achieve the same feeling or something greater. If we do THAT, I fear that we might be OVERvaluing the word. Why not just love everyone, but be aware that perhaps we love some people more than others, and that the word may not always mean the same thing every time we use it? The danger lies in the interpretation of the word by the other person. If I tell someone that I love them, they may not understand exactly how I feel. Once again, poetry comes into our lives and demands that single words only superficially represent the way that we feel. Didn't Adam tell me that the Japanese don't say "I love you," but rather use a word that basically means "loving" or is a verb for a loving feeling experienced at that moment? This makes more sense to me. In this way, we are not locking ourselves into a designated height of expression, but rather just saying "At THIS moment, I feel something for you that it tremendously positive and enjoyable." However, I wouldn't dare say that to a girlfriend who just said she loves me, lest she cut my testicles off.
So what's the point? Love is transient and subjective. How we feel at any point is only how we feel at THAT point. If I'm laying next to someone and I feel my mouth forming the words, "I love you," maybe I'll just say it. Or maybe I'll preface it and protect my own future heart by saying. "At this moment, I feel love for you." It's hard to say.
Is the whole straightedge thing similar to veganism? I don't know. I feel like since I have already categorized the animal products industry as a negative thing, I cannot partake at all. In other words, I've decided that it is bad, so for me to support it would just be hypocritical in the most damaging way. It isn't even really possible to say, "veganism is too hard, I'm going to just have a little bit of cheese now and then," because I know that it ISN'T too hard. Or maybe it is, but I like to think that we ought to allow things into our lives that we know are hard, because it makes us better. If it really IS too hard, then you don't just throw it out the window. You strive and strive for it, and actually do the best that you can. You don't just SAY that you're trying your hardest. I mean, I think that I'd rather you didn't try at all than to lie to everyone and lower your standards. The point though is that I don't necessarily consider alcohol and weed to be the same as like meat and fur. The meat and fur are damaging and destructive in their production, and my consumption thereof only encourages that. My support further enhances the idea that man has been given unchecked domination over all of creation. That we can decide who dies and why. We're all just creatures. Weed and/or alcohol are only as bad as the people who consume them. Getting drunk is damaging, but is DRINKING that bad? Some of the most respected and peaceful peoples in the history of peoples enjoyed the occasional drink (or smoke). Who else might I be? And besides, people who are straight edge are usually just scared, honestly. Scared of various things, but scared nonetheless. Maybe of their past, or their family's past. Maybe of the future, or a lack thereof. It's hard to say.

Stranger Dazier

I am sitting at a window. A girl who looks like Chelsea is outside playing with her daughter and husband. The small orange trees outside the window move slightly because of the wind, and the flowers move even more. I'm hot. Espresso hits me like a flaming brick, and I just had two shots in a very quick drink. I catch a draft every so often from someone opening a door behind me, and I think that I'm feeling what the trees feel. I've decided that I like the sound of wind through pine trees. It is a nonviolent brushing noise that is like a very large man walking heavily. Intimidating for no reason at all. The steam wand makes a good attempt at impression, and I have to wonder about the serendipity of things. I look at friends often and think, "How can they still not know who I am?" It occurs to me that Leslie does, which is odd. We don't see each other, and I always feel like I'm sort of bothering her at least a little bit, or like she has so many fun friends and I'm always too serious. At the same time though, I really do tell her things. Not that all of my friends have betrayed me (most have not), but I really believe her when she says that she won't tell anyone. Maybe it's because we don't have any overlapping circles; rays pointed in different directions. She is moving to Tucson. I am sad about this for no reason. I don't see her now, even though we live within ten or fifteen miles of each other. I hope that she does well where she's going. Maybe I like that she does what I feel like I cannot do. She moves through her world with blinders on. She is just running straight forward towards nothing at all, not letting heavy people slow her down. She is living largely for her own purposes, which she isn't even sure of. She goes to California. I feel like I'm tied down. Like if I leave, people will die. I am in the crowd on which she is being carried, maybe. If I am rooted in the ground, blowing straight up with all of my breath, she is the person that I'm keeping aloft. The roots are what worry me. They aren't my body. They are the invasive tendrils of beautiful dying things. Little orange trees stand up against gentle winds, but they are in the pots that I put them in. I'm constantly nailing metal hoops around wooden pots. I need to make metal pots for more trees.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20080327/ts_nm/merck_fda_dc

FDA probes suicide risk in Merck Singulair

15 minutes ago

U.S. health regulators are probing a possible connection between Merck & Co's Singulair asthma drug and suicidal behavior, the Food and Drug Administration said on Thursday.

The FDA said it is reviewing the issue after receiving reports of mood and behavior changes, suicidal thinking and suicide in patients who took the drug, which is used to treat stuffy nose, sneezing and other allergy symptoms as well as asthma.

The agency did not say how many reports it had received.

While no definite link to the drug has been established, the FDA said it has asked Merck to evaluate its data for more information on the risk. The agency said it expects it to take up to nine months to finish its own review.

The FDA said it is also reviewing reports of behavioral changes in patients taking other similar drugs, including AstraZeneca's Accolate and Critical Therapeutics Inc's Zyflo but has not yet decided whether further investigation is needed.

Merck earlier added information about the risk of tremors, depression, anxiousness and suicidal behavior to Singulair's label.

Representatives for Merck had no immediate comment.

Shares of Merck were off 31 cents at $44.39 in morning trade on the New York Stock Exchange.

(Reporting by Kim Dixon and Susan Heavey, editing by Dave Zimmerman)

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She may be on to something

So Ashlee may be on to something that is a little deeper than I'd previously suspected. She makes fun of me for seemingly attracting girls with massive problems (emotional, financial, et al). I've always sort of thought very little of this occurrence, since it never really BOTHERED me, per se. However, with the slight happening of this morning in mind, I wonder if there is some other force at work.

I was chilling at The Coffee Shop, doing homework and hanging out and whatever. There are a number of girls now working there that I don't know, and one of them is Birdhand. I call her this because when she puts her hands together (like if cupping to catch water) there is a tattoo formed between the two that looks like she is holding a dead bird. Anywho, I was making smallesque talk like I do with coffee girls, and she sat down and started talking to me. She mentioned in stride how things changed for her when some dude died (this may or may not be a fiance or husband or something, as she IS wearing an engagement ring and a wedding band). Well, anyways, I've always sort of been drawn to her. I don't know if I would say attracted, although she IS the cutest thing ever, and I AM attracted to her. I mean that I have always felt more compelled to her than to other girls in the shop in general. She always seems pretty happy, though I've never believed her. I have a feeling that the loss she was talking about is sort of recent, and major. I am suspecting that she lost her fiance, though I have no real basis for that. And now I can't wait to talk to her again. This is essentially the same story as with Delux (Plain Jane), though I have even less reason to believe she is damaged. Watch out though, I'm expecting massive emotional scarring in at least one of these two.

The point = I think that there may be something about me that puts certain people at ease. Generally, "certain people" tends to mean people with a need to talk, or people who have some unresolved and/or unexamined issues. We'll see.

Neutral Milk Hotel's Legacy

The Salinger of Indie Rock: What happened to Jeff Mangum?
By Taylor Clark
Posted Tuesday, Feb. 26, 2008, at 1:45 PM ET
Jeff MangumJeff Mangum

Ten years ago this month, a songwriter from nowhere and his ramshackle band brought out one of the few truly great albums of this generation, a musical curio so gloriously odd that it almost defies explanation. The group called itself Neutral Milk Hotel, and the record, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea, is a concept album about Anne Frank in which vocals about lost Siamese twins and semen-stained mountaintops mingle with the sounds of musical saws, fuzzy tape loops, and an amateur psychedelic brass band. It seems like a formula that would blister your eardrums, yet Aeroplane is a gorgeous, much adored work of art. In 2003, the alternative music magazine Magnet dubbed it the best album of the past decade—better than Nirvana, better than Radiohead.

While the record sells better today than ever, you won't see Neutral Milk Hotel onstage anytime soon because, for all intents and purposes, they've vanished into thin air. At the end of Aeroplane's final song, you can hear Jeff Mangum—the band's singer, songwriter, and all-around mastermind—set down his guitar and walk off, and, minus a few months of under-the-radar touring, that's exactly what Mangum did in real life. When the major labels and the glossy magazines and the half-crazed fans came calling, Mangum never responded. There was no breakup announcement, no reason given for the radio silence—he just faded out. After a decade of speculation, sightings, and hoaxes, his story remains a mystery: Why did he decide to disappear? And where has Mangum gone?

Even before his public vanishing act, Mangum was something of an elusive character. Raised in the arts vortex of Ruston, La., he bristled at his hometown's jocks-and-booze ethic and hoped from an early age to unchain his creative spirit. In the early '90s, Mangum and a few friends formed a now-legendary collective called Elephant Six, which grew to encompass dozens of strangely named bands creating eclectic music mostly for their own enjoyment. Yet Mangum himself seldom stayed in one place for long; he constantly hopped from city to city, acoustic guitar in hand. At home in the collective's base of Athens, Ga., or out on his peregrinations, Mangum cut a strange figure: a long-locked, intense-looking man with a gale-strength singing voice who liked to wear garish thrift-store sweaters and embellish the cuffs of his pants with cartoon sketchings.
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Because he suffered from night terrors, Mangum often stayed up until dawn working on his songs, sometimes addressing them to the ghosts in a haunted closet. At first, this method produced modest results: His first album, On Avery Island (1996), showed flashes of promise but had its sludgy and spotty patches. One day, Mangum wandered into a bookstore and happened upon a copy of Anne Frank's The Diary of a Young Girl. The book consumed him. After finishing it, he spent a few days crying over Frank's story. As he told a Puncture magazine interviewer before Aeroplane's release, "I would go to bed every night and have dreams about having a time machine and somehow I'd have the ability to move through time and space freely, and save Anne Frank. Do you think that's embarrassing?" The songs and lyrics he started writing about Frank could be so nightmarish in vision that Mangum grew afraid of what was issuing from his brain: verses about "pianos filled with flames" and eating "tomatoes and radio wires." At times, he seems possessed, singing on Aeroplane's title track, "Anna's ghost all around/ Hear her voice as it's rolling and ringing through me."

In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is so expansive in its weirdness that one of its 11 songs is a rollicking bagpipe jam—yet it would be wrong to call it a "cult" record, since that would imply it's some sort of flawed art-school project. Sure, Aeroplane occasionally sounds like a mariachi circus fed through a broken amplifier, but it all weaves together as Mangum guides the proceedings with percussive guitar strumming, singalong melodies, and his booming, emotive voice. The album plays like a document from a parallel-universe version of the 1940s, inlaid with Mangum's haunting lyrics: "And here's where your mother sleeps/ And here is the room where your brothers were born/ Indentions in the sheets/ Where their bodies once moved but don't move anymore." Aeroplane isn't about airtight instrumentation or tricky songwriting—most of the songs have just three or four chords—but about a remarkable range of feeling put into melody. (Mangum recorded his part of the song "Oh Comely" in one scratch take, at the end of which you can hear a stunned band member yell "Holy shit!" in the background.)

When Aeroplane first debuted, sales took a while to warm up. Those who found the record would appear at shows and (to the annoyance of many audience members) collectively drown out Mangum's singing with their own rendition, but this was still indie music's dark, pre-blog era. By the time magazines started paying attention, toward the end of 1998, Mangum already had one foot out the door. Worn down by months of touring, he grew fed up with discussing himself and explaining his lyrics, eventually declining to accept any calls—yet friends say he still fixated on every word written about him. As his bandmates pressed him to capitalize on Neutral Milk Hotel's success, he withdrew more and more. When R.E.M. offered a chance to open for them, he said no. And for the last decade, that's nearly all he's said.

As Aeroplane's legend began to build, Mangum kept himself busy by having a total nervous breakdown. Laura Carter, his then-girlfriend, told the Atlanta alt-weekly Creative Loafing that he spent entire days sitting in his house in a state of near panic, wearing a pair of old slippers and doing absolutely nothing. He became paranoid, hoarding rice for the inevitable post-Y2K apocalypse. Since 1998, Mangum has rejected every interview request save one 2002 conversation with Pitchfork in which he explained his meltdown. "I went through a period, after Aeroplane, when a lot of the basic assumptions I held about reality started crumbling," he said. One of those assumptions was that music would somehow erase his problems. "I guess I had this idea that if we all created our dream we could live happily ever after," he continued. "So when so many of our dreams had come true and yet I still saw that so many of my friends were in a lot of pain … I saw their pain from a different perspective and realized that I can't just sing my way out of all this suffering."

It took Mangum years to rebuild himself after this spiritual crisis—and since part of that crisis was his recognition that music would never save him from his demons, he couldn't very well embark on another record. So he wandered the globe to find spiritual balance, even spending time in a monastery. (Aeroplane's steady sales helped finance the quest; the album still moves a reported 25,000 copies a year.) Occasionally, Mangum flitted ever so briefly into the public eye. He released a disc of field recordings of Bulgarian folk music, then disappeared. Calling himself "Jefferson," he hosted a late-night radio show on New Jersey's WFMU a few times until he was discovered, then vanished once again. Sometimes he'll appear onstage at friends' rock shows for a song, sending the crowd into paroxysms—but when those friends suggest he record his own music, they say he becomes evasive.

Mangum's continued silence has angered some fans, who accuse him of being selfish or "indifferent to his talent," as if musical ability comes with some sort of obligation to society. At least once a year, someone writes a hoax message from Mangum and posts it online—generally throwing in some fanciful verbal junk to bilk fans into believing it's the genius himself wielding the keyboard. Some have announced forthcoming records or tours, while others have revealed the long-hidden sources of Mangum's misanthropy; they've all been debunked. All we really know for sure is this: According to his record label, Mangum now lives in New York City. He recently married filmmaker Astra Taylor. Friends say he still creates art and that he seems "very happy." If he has plans to record more music, he hasn't told anyone.

And if Aeroplane really is Jeff Mangum's final statement to the universe, maybe we should be happy with that—not because of some tired line about going out at your peak (which he likely didn't reach), but because his story is a kind of modern fable. Many fans see his disappearance only in selfish terms: They've been deprived of more great music for no good reason. They can't understand why Mangum would shun success just to shuffle through his days, and, indeed, when musicians abandon this much promise, the culprit is usually drugs or debilitating accidents or people named Yoko. So he must have gone nuts, right? Well, no. After all, what if Mangum is just being honest? What if he poured his life into achieving musical success only to discover that it wasn't going to make him happy, so he elected to make a clean break and move on? We should all be so crazy.

As always, though, hope for Mangum's return still glimmers. Last month brought news that he may play a guy in a lobster suit in a soon-to-be-released conceptual film. But who knows? You can't see inside the suit.

Celebrities Doing Stupid Crap In Front of Paparazzi pt I

So everyone has been posting these pictures of Jennifer Aniston on vacation with Courteney Cox. It's basically the both of them wearing trampy bikinis and sitting around. Pretty boring really, but I guess if you're a stalker you love this kind of shit. But my point is why do celebrities do ridiculous things in front of paparazzi? Here's a shot of Jennifer Aniston, and one of Courteney Cox's totally not sexy ass crack:





Are they legitimately unaware of paparazzi constantly taking their picture, or are they intentionally slutting up their pictures so as to get themselves back into relevance?

Here is Lindsay Lohan getting her ass felt up by some skeevy Italian guy who is also apparently unzipping his pants. This looks like it was taken by one of his buddies who now has a few bucks in his pocket:



Oh, and just for fun, here is a hilarious picture of Sarah Michelle Gellar and I think that Freddie Prinze, Jr guy. She literally fell on like a three inch wave, so the intensity of her facial expression is way out of hand.







btw, I got most of these from What Would Tyler Durden Do?

Visions of greatness

I can see myself doing things. Great things. Actually, usually things so great that they are hard for most other to envision themselves doing. Completing an Ironman. Running 100 miles. Curing cancer. My photo on the covers of magazines. Being remembered, and for good reason. I sometimes get embarrassed about it. Sometimes though, I am excited about it. Does that make me selfish? Are these visions of the future, or just the dreams of a hopeless man? Does everyone have these images? Do people only have images of things within their reach? Does the two digit IQ working as a checkout girl really see herself being internationally loved? Is the 57 year old man with dental problems riding on top of that tractor up the road just waiting for his big break? Do people know their limitations? What about the person who has been told that he has no limitation? My dad once told me that he wasn't worried about me. He was confident that no matter what I chose to do, I'd be successful to the highest degree. He told me this in the middle of me worrying about choosing a major and a life path. It ended the conversation. I wonder if he is right. I wonder if there is anything that I cannot do. Is this arrogance? If I completely dedicated myself to any one thing would I be the world's best at that thing? If I decide that I am only here to end cancer or AIDs or something, does that mean that I'm actually going to cure those things? Is it really just a matter of me deciding where to point myself? And what happens if I'm wrong? If I dedicate my life to curing cancer, and then I don't, does my existence justify itself or not? Is there a failure of life? I wonder these things while I sit here thinking about what I'll say to GQ in my interview after I win the nobel. Will I call them out for their consumerist stances? Should I only grant interviews to Adbusters and other grassroots and cause-based publications? Hard questions to answer.

I'm off for a run.

My type's phenotype

Bottom up:

Feet: Just SLIGHTLY larger than average, though not overly bone-filled or lean or sharp.

Calves: Larger than average, though not like fatty at all. I like a little muscle here.

Knees: No sagging.

Quads: Muscular shape, but no separation due to leanness.

Hamstrings: Muscle. Hook. It. Up. One of my favorite places. A nice curve. Mmm, tasty.

Butt: Thick due to muscular foundation, not fat. Cellulite not welcome here.

Waist: Smaller the better.

Stomach: I like to know that there is a six pack hiding under there, but I don't necessarily want to see it all the time. Just the side lines, and the oblique definition (another one of my favorite areas).

Boobs: Traditionally I pursue girls who are flat in the name of athleticism. I am not much of a breast man type (I prefer legs), but my ideal chick is otherwise athletic and lean with C cups. I don't like them too big. Although, Duffy might be edging up on some Ds. Side boob is one of the hottest things ever.

Arms: Um, what the fuck ever, so long as they aren't all flabby or trackmarked.



Here is a graphical representation of what I just described (my perfect female's body):



okay, so since it's apparently not obvious, this specimen is Jessica Biel

The revolution will have two wheels

I'm the first and only person in the history of Jesus' creation (the internet) to combine "AquaSource" and "014729" in the same website/page.

http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&client=
firefox-a&rls=org.mozilla%3Aen-US%3Aofficial&q=
AquaSource+%2B014729&btnG=Search

Showerheads and conspiracy

So I was going to make an entry about my new showerhead, but I may have instead uncovered a massive cover up.

The brand is AquaSource. The Item/Article # is 014729. I bought it from Lowe's.

Lowe's doesn't even list the brand "AquaSource" on their website, and that item number brings nothing up. A Yahoo seach for "AquaSource 014729" yielded this:

"We did not find results for: AquaSource 014729. Try the suggestions below or type a new query above."

Not ONE single result? On the INTERNETS?!?! There are like two billion webpages per person on the earth, and not ONE of them used "AquaSource" and "014729"??? Not even the company that produces this thing?!

Worrisome.

So then I search just for "AquaSource" and find some hippy ass shit selling algae in a bottle (http://www.aquasource.co.uk/Products/products.html)

So then I search for "Aqua Source" and get "#
Aqua Source Irrigation of Atlanta. RainBird Select Contractor ...
Aqua Source Irrigation has earned a distinguished reputation in the residential ... Aqua Source Irrigation services a broad range of commercial and residential ...
www.aquasourcega.com - 8k - Cached "

Bullshit.

So THEN I try "Aqua Source Faucets" and get nothing helpful at all.

I look on the box for a website, and get only this: www.lgsourcing.com which turns out to be basically a non site, but it does show me that LG is just Lowe's distribution company, and probably also their manufacturer. I'm pretty sure that AquaSource is just Lowe's generic brand, but this is all very confusing.

Does my faucet even exist? I really just wanted to post a picture and an annoyingly wordy description of its capabilities, but that has proven to be an impossible task. More on this breaking development as it occurs.

"“My roommate says, I'm going to take a shower and shave, does anyone need to use the bathroom? It's like some weird quiz where he reveals the answer first.”

-Mitch Hedberg