Hyenas

Twenty minutes of silent driving past since Eddie picked Bobby C up from the airport. To Eddie's ten o'clock, the sun was getting ready for its daily plunge into the cold, distant horizon. The sun was about 3 fingers above the ground: 45 minutes of daylight. The city of Somewhere, Kansas was about 50 more miles. They'd be home before nightfall. Eddie knew this and assumed Bobby C did as well.

The radio wasn't on and several of the dashboard labels were worn down to incomprehensible smudges, but Eddie knew what everything did and knew what worked and didn't. Bobby C didn't have much baggage in Eddie's car, but Eddie had a lot of his own baggage in the backseat, where it was yesterday, last week and last month. The car also had a cruise control feature that required a trick with the buttons--so in a way it worked, but only for Eddie.

Some parts of Kansas look like how non-Kansans would expect Kansas to look. Other parts of Kansas don't look like Kansas. In the early winter the hills are covered with rough, patchy field grass. Brown, tan and sometimes with a tint of red thanks to a lowering sun. The fields were sleeping hyenas and breathed in a subtle unison with Eddie.

Bobby C had a scar above his left eyebrow and a matching one on his left cheek. Eddie didn't know what had happened but also knew fifty people would ask Bobby C within his first day of being back in town so it didn't seem worth it to have Bobby C tell the origin story 51 times. Eddie assumed Bobby C had lots of things to talk to lots of people about.

Bobby C was wearing dark sunglasses so Eddie wasn't even fully convinced his oldest friend was even awake until Bobby C read a text message. Bobby C gave no reaction to the message and didn't respond back. Eddie didn't know who sent the message nor what it said, but knew it was somebody who respected Bobby C's musical ability and had no reason to ever have heard of Eddie.

Eddie knew Bobby C could do and had done anything Eddie could or had done--plus more. It was just a matter of time before Bobby C would be discovered talented. Eddie hadn't even discovered his own talent yet. Neither had become nationally famous, but Eddie hadn't even become famous within the city he had known for 20 years and performed in for 10.

Eddie kept his soft eyes forward. Bobby C kept his head tilted to his window. The mini-hills and valleys contained scattered naked trees. They drove past an old gas station that had been abandoned years ago. Some of the boards over the windows were covered with graffiti, others had been stripped away for interior access. Shingles were missing and most paint had been weathered off. The building was still standing but the inside had been hallowed out. Weeds and stray grass grew along the edges and where gas pumps once stood. Cracks in the parking lot pavement spoke volumes about the decaying roadside monument.

Numbers and Plasma: Nick's Bloody Equations

Dollars earned donating plasma: 20 (factors: first donation of the week, 169 lbs)

Time spent donating plasma: 90 minutes

Time driving through Lawrence: 3 or 4 hours. Seriously. People in Lawrence, KS drive like their emergency break is locked in. Maybe I got stuck in a parade that nobody was watching. Or funeral procession. Both would explain that giant Snoopy balloon.

Number of parking spots: 35-45.

Number of cars that can reasonably park there: 20. Every single spot is marked "for compact cars," but since most people donating plasma can't afford Smartcars or even Geo's, that's asking a bit much. Perhaps the line painter assumed in five years everybody will be driving mopeds or Segways. Bust.

Number of people there who I assume consider themselves "professional plasma donating person": How many people were there total? Nobody was dressed to impress and a few weren't properly dressed at all. Come on people, it's November, and if it wasn't, you still need to wear more than an orange-stained tank top. Certainly gives People of Wal-Mart a run for it's money...if there was money at stake.

Number of CSI episodes watched: 2

Number of times characters said "semen": 38

Number of times I laughed at the word "semen": 37

Most terrifying thing I heard from an employee while sticking a patient: "Turtle's my favorite character. He just chills out and gets high. I'm so jealous of him!"

Number of times I've donated plasma this month: 1

Number of times I've compared it to anonymous prostitution: 3 (including this)

Likelihood that I'll spend the money on a book: 4:1

Likelihood that I'll not remember where I spent the money in a month: 1:1

On a scale of one to "Jaime Pressly," how trashy did I feel: Maybe a 6. So noticeably annoying but tolerable to some. Right around the "Prince of Persia" level, I suppose.

Times I considered the money insufficient compensation for my personal well-being: 100

Times I considered the money sufficient: 101

NFL Predictions: Week Twelve

So a Saints-Vikings NFC championship game would be more fun and more expected than anything the Superbowl can promise at this point. Those are probably the two best teams in the nation right now. Also, I'd like to say the NFL needs to change it's sudden-death overtime rules for one reason and one reason only: it's more fun to see both teams score more points.

Indianapolis at Houston (+2.5)
Not content to drive just other teams’ defensive coordinators furious, Peyton Manning has actually thrown down challenges to the Colts’ defense. The Ravens head coach Harbaugh made the exact same (wrong) fourth quarter call as Belichick two weeks ago and both underestimated the Colts defense after (arguably) over-estimating Manning. The mentality of “the undefeated Colts have to lose sometime” is comparable to Vegas gamblers chasing their losses in a vain effort to win them back. As a strike against the Colts though, Manning has been off his mark, statistically speaking, three weeks in a row and is due for a typically exceptional performance. Wait. Am I degenerate gambler? Whatever. Colts cover.

Kansas City at San Diego (-14.5)
The Chiefs aren’t 3 points better than the Steelers and the Chargers aren’t 29 points better than the Broncos, but here we are. San Diego smoked the Chiefs by 30 ka-blamos earlier this year, in KC. So, all else being even, the spread should be 32.5 in San Diego’s favor. But getting rid of Larry Johnson has worked better for the Chiefs than most wart removers and I’d say they are different team than three weeks ago. Now I expect a number things from this game: 1) Darren Sproles will drive defenders nuts 2) KSU fans, even if rooting for the Chiefs, will feel an unexplainable amount of pride when that happens and 3) for reasons I can't possibly explain, the Chiefs beat the spread.

Pittsburgh at Baltimore (even)
Ben Roethlisberger is out. Charlie Batch is out. Joseph Gordon-Levitt is in. No, Joe won’t be the starting quarterback for the Steelers this game but if he had an NFL career that consisted of only two passes, he’d have more experience than the actual starting QB: Dennis Dixon. The Ravens aren’t an easy defense for any quarterback (see: Manning’s performance). The Ravens are masters at losing close games but I’d say the best .500 team in the NFL. This is unusual, but the personalities on both defenses will probably be more than then their offensive counter-parts. This could be a game of James Farrior vs. Ray Lewis. Troy Polamula vs. Ed Reed. If the Ravens lose now, their season is over. Ravens win.

New England at New Orleans (-2.5)
I love what the Saints have become. Drew Brees replaced his arm with a t-shirt cannon, the defense scores almost 1 TD/game and Reggie Bush has settled into being the team acrobat. The Patriots will undoubtedly win their division but they are not the best team in the nation anymore--which I am thankful for. I have more fun watching football when other people are having more fun.

Patriots' Belichick after he won the goddamn Superbowl--has the man never even seen a smile?

Saint's Payton after he saved 15% or more on car insurance.

Low Class Pride

I sit in what would probably be called the interrogation room of the Washington, D.C. police station. I’m reluctant to call it an interrogation room because I don’t want to over dramatize my situation. It’s just a room. And the police are just about to ask me a couple of questions. The room looks like how you’d imagine it, largely thanks to the images in Hollywood movies. I wonder if maybe a lot of movie producers have found themselves in a similar room. But like I said, I don’t want to over dramatize my situation. Though I am by myself, under fluorescent lights, in front of a voice recorder and bleeding.

Officer Graves walks back in—I swear that’s his real name.

“Well, congratulations. I’ve been told to tell you that you’re fired.” Figures. “Want to talk about what happened?” Yeah. I can do that.

I work, er, worked at Mooven Group directly under CEO Preston Sterling. It’s the third biggest bank in the United States. So big, in fact, we hardly do any direct banking at all. Money is measured in the billions, that is, except for my paycheck.

“Enough jokes. Just tell the damn story.”

Fine. I was one of four personal assistants to Mr. Sterling. Actually he has a Ph.D. in economics so I guess he’s actually Dr. Sterling. He rose to the top by bundling thousands of poor-mortgages and selling them off, knowing they were toxic. He’s a genius. He turned down offers to teach at Yale, MIT, you name it. Anyway, the Mooven Group has diversified and changed not just the banking industry, but, well actually you’ve probably seen the commercials and slogan: ‘We’re Mooven the industry.’

“Yeah, those commercials suck.”

Well they worked. Business has been great. But because of the financial collapse, we were obviously one of the many banking companies to take the federal loans--which will be paid back to the taxpayer with interest. Earlier this week all of the major CEOs were called to testify before Congress as to why they needed more time to make the next quarterly payment. Mr. Sterling graciously brought along myself, Cooper, Sitton and Perry. We took the company plane but only because it’s a time-saver. The less time Mr. Sterling is traveling, the more time he can work on fixing this financial mess and getting money back to the taxpayers. Mr. Sterling isn’t going to succumb to some impractical inconvenience just because it sounds good for the cameras and Washington fat cats.

“Oppose to Mr. Wesley’s boys?”

Wesley and his…gang of assistants—it’s basically an army that follows him around—are total camera whores. He testified that he and his people ate food from a gas station on their drive to D.C. But that was only because he didn’t eat at the Wendy’s they first stopped at. An hour later though he’s starving to death and they have to pull into some Plug ‘n Chug and buy a packaged sandwich and bag of Doritos! So when Wesley’s lackeys start bragging about how their boss is in touch with real Americans, you can understand why I got angry.

“No, I don’t understand. Would you say Mr. Sterling, your former employer, is a nice man? Or pays you exceptionally well?”

He doesn’t need to be nice, he’s my boss. And it doesn’t make sense to pay me more than I’ll work for.

“Why would you get into a street brawl with employees of a person you don’t know because they are employees of a person you don’t know? You’re a personal assistant, not a best friend to Preston Sterling. So why did you really fight those other boys?”

You’ll never understand. Unpopular CEOs of unpopular companies have their biggest fans, not amongst stockholders, but amongst their secretaries, assistants, servants, maids and janitors. It doesn’t matter how the personal employer acts or treats you. If you’re going to be a mistreated assistant, you want to be the mistreated assistant to the richest and most powerful. It’s bad enough having this job, but no one wants to be a nobody to the poor or weak.

What Are We Thankful For?

I hope everybody has a good Thanksgiving Day. I hope everyone has as good of a day as I ever wish anybody to have on any day (which is quite good). And if you're rooting for the same football teams as myself (Lions, Raiders, Giants), I hope your teams win.

However, I would also like to propose some notions that I would not suggest be discussed at the family dinner table. Nothing more vulgar than any thing previously read here, but as seen firsthand nothing quite kills family togetherness as abruptly (and loudly) as political controversy.

Thanksgiving is an American holiday. In fact, we could almost call it America Day (though a similar argument could be made for Independence Day, Memorial Day, Presidents' Day, Labor Day, Valentine's Day and, to a lesser extent, parent-teacher conferences). It's a complete celebration of American culture. The culture itself makes up the traditions. A dichotomy of cartoon characters and corporate mascots make up a parade sponsored by a department store and televised on no less than three TV networks. American football is as ingrained into the day; as is the joy, expectation and regret of eating too much. Then there are turkey sandwiches at night. And if we can keep the rampant and unconscionable consumerism from killing three people, then we as a country will have shown more restraint than last year's Black Friday.

American culture, I fear, is corporate culture. What is an "American" restaurant in other countries? McDonald's? What is an "American" restaurant in America? Chili's? This criticism is more appropriate to suburbs and small towns were nationalism is as boasted as it is unexamined. The melting pot has become coldly efficient. American culture is a gray goo of corporations, conformity and consistency. American culture should not include an Americanization process. Our culture should pride itself on diversity. That is American. Our history is made up of world cultures coming together, and I don't just mean in the grade-school-production-of-"The-First-Thanksgiving"-way. The cornerstone, hell, the whole foundation of America is built on equal freedom for anybody from anywhere in the world. We should be a collection of cultures, not one that appeals to the lowest common denominators of consumers. I don't want to believe cultural authenticity is a myth and I don't want to believe America is naturally face-less.

An American culture is based on our perceptions of the world from which we should be drawing our culture. However among much of America there is an indifference toward the global community at best and a cruel mockery at worst. The other countries are so incompetent at existing on their own, we still maintain over 750 bases in over 40 countries even after the Cold War, that's the logic, correct? Funny. Forgive me for not being convinced that the world has been more peaceful in the last 50 years thanks to this $600 billion-per-year endeavor.

Why are people more ready to consider themselves American citizens than world citizen? And why are those two different things? Why isn't there a collective responsibility to the world we live in? Aren't countries just arbitrary borders? Shouldn't I feel as connected to the 6.4 billion global people I don't know as the 300 million Americans I don't know? Why don't massive corporations believe stopping disease and starvation is profitable? Why does it cost leaders political capital?

I am thankful for more things than I care to list (most of which: family, friends and health). But that doesn't mean I'm done wishing for a better world. There haven't always been countries in the traditional sense we know and I believe a day will come when the notions of individual countries will change again. Maybe not in my lifetime, but they didn't get to space in Galileo's lifetime either (how's that for some ego-stroking?). In all sincerity, I would like to see a national change in Americanism and renewed perspectives on international organizations. I like being an American but I also know that just living in America doesn't make you a good American any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.There are times when we are 250 countries and there are times when we are one world. I believe the ReGeneration and the many generations after us will create, change, and unify an unprecedented global community.

And for that, I am thankful.

The November Skyscaper

These are all novel ideas but none are the one I'm looking for.

I know lots of short stories but I know more shorter ones. Some are true stories, the others just happened in my life.

I was told to get a job so I went to the store but they were all out. I went to the store across the street but they had sold out weeks ago. In fact, no store in town was selling jobs. Now I have to go online to find one.

I saw an exceptionally hairy man on campus one day--though I suppose it could have been an even more exceptionally hairy woman. Nonetheless, he was walking with a slouch and seemed to move in a hurried gait. I thought perhaps he was Sasquatch. He was blurry and dodged behind immense shrubbery. Or maybe it was just foliage. I chased him down all afternoon. When he walked through mud it was easy to follow his footprints. When he walked on the sidewalk, it was much more difficult. Growing tired I decided to pull a raw steak out of my back pack and put it on the ground. Within moments, the man-like Sasquatch approached. He asked for my steak and I granted it to him. I asked him if he was the famous Sasquatch. He said no, he was the other Sasquatch.

I was learning to type once and asked my teacher why there were indents on letters "F" and "J". On second thought, I might have just called them "bumps." My teacher said they were there so that blind people could type. I then asked how would blind people read what they typed. She didn't know the answer. Whoever invented the computer really messed up.

I was told pain/pleasure is physical and renewable in the Muslim afterlife. If your skin burns off in hell, it will grow back and you will keep getting burned. Conversely, in heaven, virginity is physical and renewable. I suppose this means you will keep getting disappointed. Aside from that, I've never understood the appeal of 72 virgins. When not having sex, do you think they all just talk about Star Trek?

I wear red shirts when I go to Target and wait for other customers to ask me where the hose nozzles are. I then point them in the wrong direction and follow from a distance. When they don't find the hose nozzles, I laugh and run away.

I knew a man once who shot flies with his revolver. He used to design video games so he was a very good shot. In fact, I don't think he ever missed one fly. But he was brutal. If he only wounded a fly with the first shot he would then get out of his chair so that he could stand over the helpless bug and execute it at point-blank range. When I went to the man's house I saw bullet holes in his bookshelf, sofa, refrigerator, walls, floor and doors. I understand why he shot flies but I don't understand why he shot everything else.

Latantent - the act or description of fraudulent information being included with factual information in hopes of going unnoticed.

This story is a skyscraper because it is made up of dozens of stories.

Tom Gunner and Lincoln Revisited

You know the first story of Tom Gunner and Lincoln
There were games with words and it left you thinkin’
This tale is stranger with a stranger, hope you don’t mind
But our heroes find themselves in the year nineteen ninety-nine

They mused and walked the ity-bity city
Just a two-man, problem-solving committee
Summer leaves left, fallers stayed to try
Like everyone else, they were asking why

You’re here for a problem, said a man with six strings
I am a master of all these crazy little things.
Name was Webster, he talked real fast
He had no future but a helluva past

Tom and Link knew the language, but he knew the words
Webster was a hawk in a world of birds
His bite had sting; his bark had bite
Didn’t matter if he was in the wrong or right

Why do we have a case? Asked Tom and Link
We all have problems said the man with a wink
Give me some change and I’ll give you some back
Ideas, not money, is what you lack

Internal, infernal rhyming is my game
Fighting all shame in the name of fame
Slacker Generation and a pop junk culture
Fights and death but no war for the soldier

I’ll stop spraying, start saying what game I’m playing
Its about old ideas, repackaged as new
Listen up close; don’t do as I do
Laugh, don’t pity this shitty little diddy

Two Mexican guys found themselves up north
Homeless and helpless on January fourth
They got lucky, couple blankets they found
Wrapped themselves up but couldn’t move around

Cut a hole in the middle; a pancho for each
Now they could move, it's the freedom of teach
Like you fellas, they didn’t seek glory
It’s the little wins that make a really good story

Prevent Y2K, maybe that’s why you’re here
Your problem is big but the answer ain’t clear
So you can’t help us out, said Link with no fears
No luck. Like a lot of solutions, yours will take ten years!

What am I Thinking?

So I was surfing the web the other day when I wondered if people still say "surfing the web." Seems more like the kind of new age lingo that would have gone bust with the dot-coms in 2000. Anymore people say stuff like "stumbling"or "Facebooking" when referring to their cyber-based activities. Just then, Joey Shababado, my roommate, waltzed into the living room.

"Whatcha doing?" he asked.
"Scuttering on the internet."
"What?"
"Stumbling."
"Oh. That's cool" he emphatically responded. "Today in class I sat next to Rachael, not for any real reason but blah blah blah and blah. Also blah blah."

Hugely is a funny word. Something can be "hugely important" in substitute of "very important." But "huge" means "big." Something can't be "bigly important." Or maybe it can. The English language changes so much I doubt anybody even says "bigly" anymore. Oh wait, Joey Shababado was still talking.

"Yeah?" I muster.
"Yeah," he confirms before continuing. "It's like that movie 'Boat Trip,' you ever see that?"
"Hell no."
"Well... in the movie two guys blah blah, blah blah, blah blah. Then Cuba Gooding, Jr., throws up on Vivica A. Fox and all blah blah blah. "

And what's the deal with that one statue? I think it's called "St. Wenceslas Riding a Dead Horse." That monument, or whatever, doesn't make any sense. Jeez. Europe sure has a lot of problems. I should just tell people I've been to Europe, it's not like they can prove I haven't been there. And pictures aren't bigly important. Everybody wins. Uh oh. Joey Shababado stopped talking.

"That's life for you, isn't it?" I suggest.
"Yeah. No kidding. Say, thanks for listening to me."
"Yeah, no problem."
"Talk to you later, man."

He went back into his room. I stayed on the computer, exuttering the internet. I have to stop making up these ornate, epigrammatic and latantent words.

I'm Going Ape For...

THE PLANET OF THE APES (1968).

This review contains spoilers: the planet is Earth.

The original PLANET OF THE APES is arguably the best classic movie that people don’t watch anymore. Part of the blame is on the cataclysmic amount of parodies, all deriving from the same iconic, though over-emphasized, ending scene. The twist is not the whole movie, nor even in the best 5 moments. Like THE SIXTH SENSE, audiences have turned against a great movie because the ending made a monkey out of them. Guess what? There is a lot more to the movies than the endings. Also, part of the blame is on Tim Burton, who showed audiences a movie about a bunch of monkey business and nothing more. No, the 1968 film is incredible and I mean that in the least sarcastic way possible because when a movie’s flaws contribute to its greatness, that’s a pretty damn good movie.

The film starts off with Charlton Heston smoking a cigar in his spaceship while contemplating the vanity and violence that plagues mankind (completely disregarding that a global war was funding the space race that made his inter-stellar voyage possible). Regardless, his mentality is not applauded by the movie as he is then put in a world of like-minded individuals who hate humanity as much as himself. This is the self-destructive story of a misanthrope man vs. a misanthrope society. When this is the case in life, everyone is hurt. Lesson to viewers: lighten up. This message has since been lost on audiences over the last twenty years but should come back with a hopeful vengeance.

Then our heroes crash land on the planet--killing one of four astronauts--and travel around the desert landscape to a monotonous, eerie death march of blind exploration. Great moments ensue (including the best gay skinny dipping this side of ALEXANDER), two more ‘nauts drop and Heston becomes a temporary mute captive.

Before Heston regains his ability to swear, though never losing his ability to be belligerent, the movie hits upon another great concept relevant pre-moon landing and 40 years after the famous mooning. The monkeys in charge do not explore “The Forbidden Zone” because there is “nothing out there.” The undertone here is that wasting your time and resources is “forbidden.” Regarding space travel, this is the obvious counter-argument to going to Mars--or even the Moon again. There can be no discovery, no advancement at all, without exploration. But free your mind from spatial exploration. This is about education and cultural diversity. Exploring sciences and cultures lead to discoveries. Isolating oneself in anyway is never acceptable.

Shortly after, Heston vocally suggests the monkeys stop manhandling him and is put on trial, alongside his two staunch owners. This monkey trial has shades of the McCarthy communist hearings, as people are being tried for their beliefs rather than any actual crime, but the more overt message is the more appropriate one; and that’s the concept of “scientific heresy.” The science of Heston naturally learning to speak flies in the face of ancient, unalienable, scrolls. These scrolls, unlike science’s “theories,” are fact and allow any evidence put forth to be “contestable.” Note: Dr. Zaius asserts that science and religion are not in conflict with each other, but rather science is wrong until it agrees with religion. Hauntingly realistic, Zaius goes on to echo the sentiment that it is religion--not science--that holds together society. His views are so relevant and damned disagreeable that you want to choke your TV.

So science is found guilty of being secular and the apes of religion are shown to be apes of wrath by sentencing Heston to a fate rivaled only by his role in THE OMEGA MAN. Then somehow, Heston finds shaving cream, shaves, and helps uncover human fossils, including Senator Robert Byrd (zing!). Monkeys with guns show up, start some gorilla warfare and everybody ends up with a gun to their head—just how Heston likes it. Eventually Heston is freed but new-found knowledge is silenced and destroyed (also implying that the heroes, Cornelius, Zira and Lucius, are executed off-screen).

And as for the ending, I believe it was actually a parody itself, as the line “You blew it up! Damn you! Damn you all to hell!” is identical to the profanity-riddled ending of GONE WITH THE WIND. I guess I just really want to clarify that some of the most imperative movies to our time were actually made for another time. I don’t mean this as a smear against modern films, but rather an applaudment of classic films deserving of their classic status. Maybe a thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters could eventually produce a movie of this quality, but I highly doubt it. Unless they just did.

NFL Predictions: Week Eleven

Sorry I missed last week, but more important issues arose. On a season scale, I'm still going with New Orleans to win the NFC but am more aghast by the Bengals (I thought they had been run out of Cincinnati years ago!). Also, Peyton Manning for MVP.

Indianapolis at Baltimore (even)
Ever notice how in ten years, the Colts have never needed a "rebuilding" year? Manning could elevate the play of a team made up entirely of second-graders--as is getting damn close if the Colts can't have 206 healed bones in the backfield. I still don't think the Colts are strong enough as a team to win the Superbowl but they are strong enough to beat Baltimore. I would not have said that three weeks ago. Or two weeks ago. In fact, Baltimore's watered-down win against Cleveland on Monday hurt them even more in my eyes. The Ravens are going to need to score more than 16 points on the Colts to win this game. I don't think the Colts will go undefeated but I'm also tired of overselling the Ravens. Colts win.

Atlanta at New York (Giants) (-6.5)
Here's two teams I've lost a lot of hypothetical money on. In fact these teams are incredibly equal at every position and come from equal divisions (the NFC East can jump off a bridge). I suppose most people are even considering this game to be on a neutral field after the Giants' 2-2 home record. Problem is: it's not. It's a grass field 1000 miles north of the Falcons' indoor, bouncy rubber field. Also, the Falcons get collectively car sick as seen with their 1-4 road record. Maybe Matt Ryan needs to learn some fun road games or needs to stop feeding the team truckstop sandwiches. Whatever they do, they need to do it fast to save their season because the Giants are just competent enough to win this game with some dignity. Giants cover.

San Diego at Denver (even)
Another game Vegas odd-makers are considering a toss up. But I called it, Denver found away to completely blow another division title that was in their frosty little hands. I made the prediction and Denver has now dropped 3 in a row. Meanwhile the Chargers remembered they are a talented football team and won 4 in a row. Three weeks ago, the spread would have been seven points for Denver. Three weeks ago, everyone was high on Coach Josh McDaniel's charisma. If this was week one, the spread would have been seven in the Chargers favor. Both teams are 6-3. Oh god! We've traveled back in time to Week One! Chargers win.

New York (Jets) at New England (-10.5)
The Jets beat the Patriots earlier this year but since then the Jets have dropped 5 of 6 and the Patriots showed flashes of their 18-1 year. Belicheck made the wrong 4th quarter call against the Colts last Sunday and has something to prove because the Patriots aren't weak in any on-field personnel. I'd expect Belicheck to be as aggressive as ever and really "out-coach" Rex Ryan; in the way that I would get "out-coached" in a 1-on-1 basketball game with Lebron James. The Patriots'll pound the Jets so hard into the ground they just might strike oil. Look more for a score of 35-10. Or 45-3 if the paperboy threw Belicheck's Sunday read into the birdbath again. Patriots cover.

Bound Around Town

I am riding the bus and finding myself getting pissed every time the bus stops at a stop. Only one person gets on. I look ahead and see the next stop is only a block away. These stops should be consolidated. I can’t believe there is one person standing at the next stop. They could have walked over to the first stop and then the bus wouldn’t have to stop the second time, assuming nobody wanted off—and even if they did, they could get off at the first stop. I’ve got places to be. Step on the gas bus driver. Put a jalapeno in the tailpipe and let’s go! No, don’t stop. That person needs to walk anyway. I could walk faster than this. I won’t. But I could. I watch the one person get off and he almost trips. Such incompetence.

I pray that nobody saw me trip off the bus but somehow I know somebody did. Whatever. I don’t care about being clumsy. That’s who I am. Unless that’s why she left me. It’d make sense in the way that I can’t figure out any other reason she’d stop loving me. I feel so melodramatic, which makes me more melodramatic. I am a walking cliché. I hate when I think I’m in a movie when I’m just living life. I don't want to be lonely but I don't want to ever fall in love again. Love isn't rational and you can't trust something that's not rational. Just then I see a guy standing alongside the road; I wonder if he knows he’s not at a bus stop?

My roommate is always late. Here I am freezing my ass off on the street curb and he can’t drive ten blocks in as many minutes. Probably got lost. I answer my phone. You’re on your way? No kidding. I hang up. I need a drink and I need one bad. Not as badly as I need ten though. Hell, this might be a twenty-night. I’ve had a couple of those, I think. I’ve always been under the impression that anyone who doesn’t like college life is just too sober. We’re young, we’re meant to have as much fun as possible. And we usually do; at least when our friends pick us up when they say they will and not twenty minutes later. I see my roommate and flag him down.

Is that guy waving at me? No wait, it was for the car; good thing I didn't wave back. He's probably going to be blasted tonight. Good for him. I don’t know what I’m doing tonight. And that’s disappointing. I really need to read “Vacation” by Deb Olin Whatever but the damn library said the book was declared lost. Okay fine. But it was declared lost in February 1988! It was lost before I was born. At what point does the library admit the book is gone and get a new one? Calm down. I need to be cool. But now I know I can’t do my homework tonight and that’s disappointing. Maybe it’s already night. What time is it? I pull out my cell phone. Two pennies drop on the ground. Two pennies? Not worth it. I keep walking.

Two pennies? Excellent. It’s not a fortune, but now I have a buck seventy-eight. More than enough for a cheeseburger. That’s like four foods from the food pyramid. Cheese is one of the pillars of the pyramid, right? Wait. What pyramid has pillars? The system don't make a lick of sense. And definitely not a dollar and seventy-eight cents. I’m probably lucky they don’t sell seventy-eight cent lottery tickets. Or do they? And what the hell is that smell?

And what the hell is that smell? Does that lady think it's me? She shot me the stink-eye. What’s wrong with this world? Should have I said sorry? I don't smell; and I’m always saying sorry. I have to stop doing that. Starting tomorrow, because I’m definitely going to be saying sorry within the hour. Our relationship just isn’t working. I can’t control how I feel but I’m tired of feeling this way. I need a change in my life. Maybe it’s a change for the better, maybe not; but it’s a change. We’re too similar to be a couple but I hope we can stay friends. I just need somebody who isn’t like me, or maybe nobody at all. My life isn't where it should be. I envy that guy over there at the bus stop. There’s somebody who doesn’t give a shit about anything.

I think I missed the bus. I was a little late but aren’t buses usually a little late? Doesn’t really matter. I could wait here for the next twenty-four if I had to. I won’t. But I could. Nobody is expecting me anywhere. I see so many people it’s hard to image what they’re all thinking. Where they’re all going. It’s impossible. Sad really. Really sad if nobody wonders what I’m thinking. I should think something clever in case someone can read my thoughts. Shit. I can’t think of anything. I’m lonely, I’m sorry. If the city was my house I’d be under house arrest. That’s stupid. Okay, what if I knew this was my last twenty-four hours of loneliness? What if the entire rest of my life, I’d be with people? What would I do for my last day of solitude? The answer to that is what I am going to do today. Just as soon as the bus gets here.

My Process

A conceptual artist name Sol Lewitt wrote that "Perception of ideas leads to new ideas." I really hope he's right because I intend to struggle with my perception of ideas for some time.

Unable to think of a poetic or humorous transition, I'll just say Emily Dickinson is credited with writing over 1,700 poems. Most of these poems are between 8 and 16 lines. Is this impressive? Is she an impressive poet? These are two different answers. And I believe this because it is unfair to say a piece of work has more artistic value given its process, I think. Instead of 20th century literature, let's look at some movies.

Some of the greatest reviewed movies of all time were the most plagued by difficulties. Did the films become great because of their process? Or despite their process? Of course some difficulties indicate the movie is just bad (I'm looking at you WATCHMEN). If a movie was incredibly difficult or easy to make, does that even slightly alter your opinion about said movie? Or how about this: Separated by less than a year, THE MATRIX had the same production budget as WHAT WOMEN WANT.

/\

That's right:
these two films cost the exact same
\/

Does that make either movie more or less impressive? I'm going to cut out a lot of what I wanted to say to just hit the conclusion. Art can be impressive in process and in conclusion. A lot of conceptual and performance art is dedicated to the process, I think. But I would also say many movies are more dedicated to the process than conclusion. Many of the most popular movies are the most expensive. They are the most expensive because they are dedicated to the process of having realistic unreal elements (whether that be dragons, robots or A-list actors). But you can not buy originality, emotion or cerebral interest.

If a left-handed Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa right-handed, would you like it more?

Now if I were to write 365 short stories in one year, would that be more impressive than 200 equally good stories? Or 50? Or 10? Of course. Not writing a story doesn't help anybody. But on a side-by-side comparison the 365 stories are not individually as good as the 10. Perhaps the 365 stories bundled together speak stronger as one voice, as one piece; but I fear they are all only seen as one. The stories are like people; they don't see themselves as a bundle, they are individuals. Some may be related through over-lapping characters, but they should be able to stand alone.

And let me answer many questions I posed earlier: artistically, I only care about the process of art when it affects the conclusion. Process can be interesting in itself (ex: if a movie cost $500 million, that'd be interesting) but it speaks nothing of the movie or other artwork.

Process without meaning is nothing and I see it all around me, high budget or no. A technical or physical achievement does not add artistic value. Some people create so they can say they created. This is no different than saying, "the only absolute in the world is that this is the only absolute in the world." Congratulations, you have contributed nothing.

I am not going to write 365 stories, or 365 poems or blogs. I will not write a novel of the sake of writing a 500-page story. I will not write a feature-length script for the sake of saying I've now written twelve of them. I will not write when I have nothing to say. I hope the days will continue, but I am making the promise now, I will only write when I have words worth being read...and let that be my process.

Outsider Writer

Hey there everybody out in the cyber-universe…or cyber-verse.

I know you’d usually come here to read some of Nick Adams’s stories or reviews or whatever else he writes, but today you’re out of luck. Nick is taking the day off and I’m filling in.

I’m known as Jordan (Jordy for short), but my real name, ironically, is Nick, too. I just go by Jordy (Jordan for long) because everybody and there mother is named Nick. Actually I can only think of one kind of mother named Nick. jk! So anyways, I am righting this and I am what Nick would probably describe as “some jerk" he met in the library.

Nick and I met when he said he was going to light himself on fire in the library to no one in particular. Apparently he thought everyone was listening to their iPods and so they wouldn’t here him. Ironically, my iPod was stolen last week so I did here him.

Nick (it almost sounds like I’m writing an autobibliography in third person) didn’t want to write down his miseries but also needed to write a blog for his blog. Or a post for his blog. Or a blog for his website. I don’t really know the terms. So he asked me to come up with a story and upload it. Well I can’t just come up with stories on demand so I decided to just write his story that he didn’t want too write. I also thought about including zombies because zombies are awesome!!

But now this intro has taken awhile and I really do having some reading to do for my women's studies class--lots of hot chicks in that class ;). I guess Nick was just having a bad day. Or a boring day. He kept going and forth. Maybe those are the same for him. Nick also told me that “a wise motivational poster once said, ‘you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take’.” I think Nick was trying to be funny so I kind of laughed. Speaking of funny, Daniel Tosh is hilarious. I should have written a blog about him. Oh well. Maybe next time ;)

I once read about how the World’s Most Famous Daredevil hung himself. They say that throughout his whole career, he never actually thought he could jump over fifteen flaming on fire school buses or whatever. I don’t mean to say Nick is like that daredevil, but I thought it was kind of weird and Nick might like that. I don't know.

Well anyways I hope this counts for a story because I’m sopposed to meet the Thomas Twins at the union soon. They’re called the Thomas Twins but there not really twins. Actually I don’t even think there even sisters. Kind of ironic. Anyways, I hope Nick and everybody else feels better after reading it because sometimes when life is funny, we don’t get the joke until years later.

p.s. should I create my own blog? Cause this was kinda fun. jk! ;)

p.s.s for real....should I?

"Vacation" is All I Ever Wanted

I gave myself seven days to read Deb Olin Unferth’s “Vacation,” knowing nothing more than the title of the book and name of the author. After a couple of pages, I realized this wasn’t a typical picture-less book. As I kept reading, the story sank deeper and deeper into Nicaraguan jungles while detailing the frustrating impotence of a realist world inhabited by romantic-minded characters. All read and done, I had virtuously (and inadvertently) exceeded my aforementioned reading goal and finished the disheartening, yet somehow uplifting, saga in two days.

The most apparent device employed in the novel is the ever-shifting perspective of the story. The book starts off in the mind of a young Claire as she rides a train next to an odd, quiet man. When chapter two hits, the perspective shifts to a third-person point of view, following the odd, quiet man, now known as Myers. While this got my attention, it wasn’t a wholly new concept. In fact, I think the Animorph Chronicles employed the same technique when I was in fifth grade. However, any sensible pattern stops there as the story follows Myers for some time before switching, not to Claire again but to Grey. Later Myers’s wife regales the reader firsthand. Then Grey, a volunteer nurse, Myers again, Nicaraguan refugee, etc. In fact, no less than eight characters provide a point-of-view throughout the story, though there’s no page equality.

While this technique kept me guessing and interested in the same situation read multiple times, I would also fault it as the biggest flaw of the book. The half-dozen minor characters granted between 2-10 pages of perspective are not fleshed out to be whole characters themselves nor do any of them directly affect the story in a way more prominent characters could not or did not do. These side-character perspectives increased in frequency as the story went on but end up taking the reader to a mind they may not have wanted to be. After investing upwards of 200 pages to Myers and Grey (who by now is sick and missing in Panama, though still believing to be in Nicaragua) I find it unreasonable to be shoved into the viewpoint of a one-chapter, beach-fairing bikini model—again no pictures. What made the side characters in Nicaragua more important than the characters in New York or Syracuse from earlier in the story? This is just one of a few unanswerable questions sprinkled throughout the travelers’ stories.

On a smaller level, Unferth’s linguistic nuances strike a cord with me. She uses parallel repetition to a devastating effect as seen with, “my mother was hit by a car and she felt it and she died and we felt it.” What would normally be scoffed at by my English teachers rings of deep, (clumsy) poetry to me. These little repeated phrases sometimes immediately follow each other, sometimes separated by entire paragraphs. Putting a literary plant in the beginning of a story only to have the payoff chapters later is a common and powerful technique that can make an audience feel smart because then the ending is deserved, expected, fitting and original. On the smaller level, as from sentence to sentence, the effect is the same. I, if not readers in general, like the technique, employ it myself and believe Unferth executed it consistently throughout the story, unabated by the individual character perspectives.

And lastly, and briefly, I’d like to applaud Unferth’s unquoted, unqualified and unpunctuated dialogue snippets. I find this style easy to read and more natural than having every piece of dialogue followed with some variation (or not) of “Myers said.” I don’t mean to credit Unferth for inventing the style as Ernest Hemmingway, Cormac McCarthy and others beat her to the typewriter, but I appreciate it all the same and have found myself lifting the technique in some of my own narratives. (Nonsensical blog plug!)

Fortunately for readers of this review there are plenty more cultural and literary layers to this troubling and humorous excursion to a tragically failed paradise in Central America—including the relatively (or criminally) unmentioned plot. Regardless, this book successfully fires on far more cylinders than any reader can realistically ask of a book nowadays. Some vacations suck but this book doesn’t.

More Than a Zero

The incompetently lit living room reeked of mournful tobacco, which itself would be interrupted by the stronger scent of aimless pot in a few moments. The small collection of desolate souls had grown smaller since their last collection, now numbering four. Andy was the missing member.

Figures that Andy would be late again.
Don’t you read the newspaper? He put a bullet in his brain.

No one was shocked. Cera even twitched a smile. Andy had a wicked sense of humor. The true “iron man” liked his irony. Andy was the first to point out the layers upon aggravating layers of irony in his aggrandizing character. Andy had become famous for his immunity to bullets. Cera had shot Andy on at least four different occasions. But now Andy was dead.

The group of comrades, not exactly friends, was not all that different from a group of former child celebrities. Awkward in their post-fame years. Did they make a difference in anybody’s life? Was their fame worth it? Was it even fame? Could they become famous again or is it their new job, new life, to be find solace in private obscurity? Fads have feelings, too. But Noah, Eva, Ling, Cera and the late (in more ways than one) Andy were not child celebrities. At least not in the traditional sense.

Noah took a drink of his beer and glared at the mocking liquid. Noah felt powerless. This was partially because he was a little drunk and partially because over the last five years Noah had lost his superhuman power of aqua-kenetics. There was a time when Noah could move water. He could hover raindrops and split seas. He replaced entire fire departments. There was a time.

Eva had a similar power but with plant life. Ling could speak any language and any dialect. Cera could control what people say, though not their thoughts. So maybe they weren’t super heroes. But they were special and helpful. They were respected and even loved. Now they were none of the above.

They had lost their powers gradually until eventually they were too normal. Years ago, Noah had wanted to be a sea captain, then not so much, then he started losing his power, then he completely turned away from the sea life. Eva was going to be a technological botanist but then got movie offers from studios. Some wanted her as an actress. Some wanted her for special effects. The green money became more important than the green wildlife. But nobody wanted her when she became like everybody else. Ling, Cera and Andy were similar, yet obviously different.

Wanting to be powerful isn’t enough reason to stay powerful. Greatness is how you take the journey, not the destination. Greatness requires enthusiasm and aberration.

I don’t think we should have these meetings anymore, suggested Noah.
I think they’re important, contested Eva.
I think they’re depressing.
Then leave.
I will.

Noah left as softly as a puddle evaporating.

Cera thought for a moment before speaking up.

So does that mean we aren’t having these meetings anymore?

My Reading Test

Theodor Seuss Geisel was born on March 2, 1904. He entered Dartmouth College in 1921 and became the editor in chief for the school’s humor magazine “Dartmouth Jack O’Latern”. One night he was caught drinking gin with some friends, against the Prohibition laws, and was forced to resign his position. However Geisel circumvented the barring by submitting articles and stories under a pen name until he went to Oxford University, where he got a degree in literature. During the Great Depression, Geisel drew and wrote advertisements for many companies, including Standard Oil and Flit—an insecticide.

At the advent of WWII, Geisel turned to drawing political cartoons. Later in the war, Giesel was hired by the army to make propaganda films, training films and documentaries. Not only would he go on to earn a Legion of Merit, but also won an Academy Award for Best Animated Short Film.

After the war, Geisel continued to write from his home in California. Though experiencing moderate success, he never won the coveted Newbery Medal. In 1954, LIFE magazine published a report about rising illiteracy among school children. Apparently the books children were meant to read were too boring. Outraged, a text book editor sent the childless Giesel a list of 400 words children should know and asked Giesel to cut the list down to 250 and write a book using only those words. Giesel was mostly successful--as he utilized 236 of them. The book was published and became a best seller.

And to this day the book is burned into the public's conscious as “The Cat in the Hat.”

Won't Shoot the Moon

Sam Rockwell by himself for an entire movie sounds pretty boring, so good thing after twenty minutes or so he finds another Sam Rockwell. Tragic hilarity ensues, albeit ends shortly after. MOON is a not-so-shining example of a movie that is so close to being great, that its flaws prove all the more glaring and hindering.

Sam Bell (Rockwell) plays a moon-mining astronaut on the verge of finishing up a three-year stint occupying and operating the H3 harvesters on the far side of the moon—H3 being a (very real) gas that powers 70% of the planet sometime in the future. Unlike current fuel-based companies, the one that employs Sam apparently has dirt under its unethical, yet well-funded, fingernails. Also, I found it nothing short of baffling that a single company not only controls 70% of the world’s energy, but that they have had such a rough fiscal year that they can only employ one person on the moon at a time.

But whatever. I’ve tossed away science fiction set-ups before; they’re not supposed to be completely realistic, even “hard” science fiction. However this movie drops the proverbial moon rock several more times. Sam with just weeks left in his contract, starts hallucinating visions we’ll never understand and gets involved in an accident. Something happens and bam, there’s another Sam. Who is the hallucination? Are either of them? Is this mysterious? (Answers: Neither, No and No) As the plots thickens, twists and gets ugly (not unlike Jared Fogle) Sam and the other Sam fail to ask the most obvious questions such as “Who was before us?” “Who is after us?” and even “Why are we here?” Instead the second act is filled with the character(s) trying to figure out if there is a conspiracy, to which the audience is emphatically aware.

I’d like to compare MOON to another low-budge, recent hard science fiction movie called SUNSHINE. SUNSHINE had problems, but it also went above and beyond any reasonable expectations of cinematography. The movie just looked phenomenal. MOON contents itself to a white, gray and occasionally off-white color palate that just remains flat and lifeless. Imagine a movie taking place in K-Mart. Like SUNSHINE, though, MOON was able to have a anthropomorphic main computer that proved the friend and foil to the astronauts. Amazingly both movies are able to steer the computers away from the near-retro bit-character H.A.L. and yet unique from each other.

Kevin Spacey provides the voice for the computer (Gerty) in MOON and to which I’m willing to give him more credit than in nearly any other film. Gerty manages to be a frustratingly realistic companion to Sam, making their dynamic the best social commentary in the movie. Gerty is genuinely programmed to help Sam but often gets in the way or repeatedly proposes the same solutions. Also, robotic compassion at this level is still quite limited as Gerty accidentally roughs up Sam pretty well. Automated customer service in a physical sense is a very scary and annoying thing (“I don’t remember my password! Let me talk to a real person! No, I did not say espanol!”). Basically computers with programed personalities will always be stupid.

I would usually describe an unengaging ninety-minute movie as merciful short, but in this case I was so convinced a larger point was going to be made (or at least an action sequence with a plus-three body count), that I was almost caught off guard by the brisk ending.

Unlike some space movies, MOON is neither good nor bad enough to be fun or even reach a mildly memorable level. But I guess we don't have to worry about drilling on the moon anytime soon; what with no wildlife in the area to kill, no hurricanes to reek havoc and natives to exploit, where's the fun?

I Apologize and Eloborate

Two days ago, I, Nick Adams, wrote a modern day fable intended to mimic the dark style of original Brothers' Grimm tales. In that effort, I failed.

I have implied, sometimes explicitly, that challenging people should be a goal of all artisans. However, there is no value in shocking people. Howard Stern is not an artisan of the airwaves and Uwe Boll does not make meaningful films. Challenging people is not the same as upsetting, horrifying or disgusting them. Anybody could make a movie, or write a story, about a man vomiting for two hours. And just because people wouldn't like it doesn't mean it's art.

Other people live in this world and writers should remember that when they write specifics. If you write a story about a guy whose father shoots himself, you better realize that there are people who have experienced that and will take it in a far different context than others who have not. Everybody in the audience brings something different the work they view. The best writers use the specifics to touch as many people personally as they can; they tap into the common human experience. Perhaps we don't all know what it is like to have a dog return home after a month in the wilderness, but we all know what it's like being reunited with a loved one.

While short notice, this is not a throw-away post. I am not over-selling my personal apology but rather trying to see one of the many bigger issues here. Artists (writers, paintings, filmmakers, photographers, etc) and all people have a responsibly to not be controlled by others but also have a responsibly to be controlled by themselves.

Another Facebook Chat

Jacob: I hadn't been feeling like myself lately so I did what any college student would do when needing medical advice.

Robby: you looked up the symptoms online?

Jacob: Yeah. I thought it might be psychological, though, so I went to what I assumed was a psychiatrist website: TherapistExpert.com.

Robby: therapistexpert.com?

Jacob: Yeah. It's not what I thought it was. I wouldn't recommend it.

Robby: noted.

Jacob: Any stories on your end?

Robby: uh, my roommate from last year came up and bar tended at a special Halloween dinner my house threw. long story short, i was dressed as a taco, and don't remember anything after 7:30.

Jacob: The morning after Halloween I woke up fully dressed with bath towels thrown around my room. Also some floss and my toothbrush were in the toilet. An empty bottle of rum on my desk mocked my (lack of) memory.

Robby: yeah, that'll happen.

Jacob: As long as neither of us got a dirty word shaved into the back of our heads, I think we're okay though.

Robby: true. though i was definitely hung over for a solid two and a half days.

Jacob: And I've been trying to convince people that "fart-ass" isn't a dirty word.

Robby: haha

The Robo-Buddy Fable

Once upon a time there was a little boy named Tony. Tony was an ordinary boy in most ways. He lived in a house with his mom and dad and went to school. However, Tony was different from other children in one curious way. He had everything. Tony had a cat, a dog and a turtle. He had a large bedroom inside his large house. And inside his large bedroom, Tony had nearly every toy. He even had lots of video games to play on the television in his room. Quite simply, Tony had it all.

But because Tony had so many toys and games, he didn’t play outside very much. He never played on a soccer team or basketball team because he could play sports video games in his room. Tony never played outside. He never became fast from chasing rabbits and he never learned to be quiet while fishing at the nearby pond.

Now Tony, like many children, could talk to animals in a way adults couldn’t. He could talk to his pets and all of the animals and birds outside. But unlike other children, Tony never became friends with the animals outside because he liked watching animals on TV better. Over time Tony’s cat, dog and turtle stopped talking to him since all he did was watch television and play video games, which they found boring. Tony never wanted to play fetch with his dog or pet his cat. The animals grew lazy, quiet and fat over the years. Even Tony’s turtle seemed to get lazier.

During a late-spring day, Tony realized he was getting bored by television but he didn’t know what else to do. He realized he needed a friend but he didn’t know how to get anything except to ask his parents, so he did. The next day, Tony’s parents gave Tony a robot as tall as he was. The robot was made of metal and plastic and completely electric. The robot had lights for eyes and ten little moveable fingers. The robot could talk and said his name was “Robo-Buddy”, and immediately Tony loved him.

Robo-Buddy and Tony watched TV together and played many games. Sometimes they even went outside and Tony would try to teach Robo-Buddy to talk to the animals, but the animals were always scared of Robo-Buddy and ran away. Even Tony’s dog didn’t want to play fetch with Robo-Buddy. Likewise, Robo-Buddy didn’t like the animals and found the notion of talking to them “illogical”.

One hot summer day, Tony decided to do something different. He wanted to go to the pool. He hadn’t been to the pool in over two years but he didn’t want to go alone. Tony thought about calling some of neighborhood children or kids from his school, but he didn’t remember their phone numbers. In fact, he had forgotten almost all of their names. So with no one else to go with, Tony took Robo-Buddy.

At the pool, Tony saw lots of children splashing, yelling and playing and it all looked like so much fun. Tony instantly threw his towel and pool toys to the side and jumped into the water. What Tony didn’t notice though, was that he had jumped into the deep end. Tony desperately tried to keep his head above the water. Tony waved his arms around and tried kicking with his feet, but it was no use. Tony was going to drown. You see, Tony didn’t know how to swim because he never took swimming lessons like the other children. Apparently he never learned how to swim from watching television or playing underwater video games either. Meanwhile, Robo-Buddy, who was picking up Tony’s towel and toys, saw Tony drowning and immediately went towards the water. Robo-Buddy then jumped into the water near Tony.

But because Robo-Buddy was an electric robot, sparks shot out of him when he fell into the water. This electrocuted Tony and everyone else who was in the water nearby. Tony was the only one who died.

Not far from the pool, there was a park; and at the park several children played in the trees with the squirrels and birds, all of them completely unaware that a boy they rarely saw, Tony, had been killed by his toys.

Dear You

Dear You,

For a long time I felt like I was the star of my own life, but recently I’ve realized I am actually just a side character. Think about it, every major event in my life has involved You on some level. So I guess this is just me accepting my role and asking to play a bigger part. I think I can bring a lot of new elements to Your life and, by proxy, give myself much-needed depth.

It feels like yesterday that I came into Your life. Obviously it wasn’t real early in Your life, You have a whole life before meeting me. There are elements and histories of You that I could never possibly know; and You couldn’t just tell me a bunch of stories either, of course. There are other characters in Your life I just wouldn’t understand. And that’s okay, I don’t want to be Your equal, Your life isn’t an ensemble cast. You are the one narrating. All of Your life’s adventures are about You and what You learn from them. If I tell You a story about me, it’s only meant to teach You something, if not right away, then it must be foreshadowing. Or just a time-filler. You probably suffer through a lot of time-filler.

I suppose that’s the benefit to being a side character. I don’t have any filler because You know all about me. Sometimes You even think I’m a stereotype. Maybe not a stereotype You can name, but I definitely give You a “been there, done that” feeling sometimes, and for that I apologize.

Now this may get a little confusing, but stick with me; I don’t know how I’m feeling, only You do. You know what I’m going through. Maybe not the specifics, but the uncertainty. Of course You know that feeling. In fact, You’re probably feeling it worse—though nobody will ever know because it's just too complex to put into words, unlike my feelings.

I tried to be a part of Your life before. I sat next to You in class for a couple of weeks. I drew doodles of Godzilla fighting elephants on my notes; that was a good dose of comic relief. But apparently I was too flat or just didn’t “look the part” and so I lost my very small role in Your life. There was that time I made a couple of quips while riding the bus. Alone that didn’t mean anything, but it provided an example for the motif of weird people talking to You through Your life. I was Your friend once and again. We had some good moments but they were shallow, mindless entertainment. Maybe we'll have more.

I am a vestige of Your memory. I am a character yet to enter Your life. I am that character who has been around for a while and probably will be for some time. I jump in and out of Your life. Daily, weekly, monthly, annually. You learn about my life because it teaches You something about Yours. I entertain You. I make You think. I make You cry. I could say You do the same for me, but only as much as You know You do. That time I was angry? You knew what I was going through. When I was heart-broken, lonely, or proud; embarrassed, jealous and sick. You’ve been there. In many cases, You were physically there and can remember all the times I’ve been through all that. And all the other times, You heard about me through another side character.

Even if I would deny it, I do think about You all the time. Not in a creepy or obsessed way, but just in a general interest way. You are interesting. You are unlike anybody I know…which is exactly the same people You know (minus the people I don’t know, of course). You have changed my life. Hell, if You didn’t know me, I wouldn’t even have a life. You are so interesting, I want a promotion in Your life.

I don’t know how well You know “The Simpsons,” but it’s part of my character to be a huge Simpsons nerd. That said, I don’t want to be a Wendell anymore, I want to be a Milhouse. I don’t want to be a drone in Sector 6-G, I want to be Lenny or Carl. I don’t want to be Asa, Griff, Etch or Ox, I want to be Grandpa Simpson. I can add a new layer and dimension to Your life. We can go on adventures together. Again, I don’t need to be there every week, but I just don't want to be a "callback."

So I’ll let You think about this, as You must. But maybe that’ll mean I can come back in Your life, come into Your life for the first time or take on a bigger role. And that’s really what this is all about: You. You don’t want to think this blog entry is about You because surely I know other people and You are afraid of being narcissistic. But have no fear, this time Your self-centered tendencies are serving You correctly, I am talking to You and I wrote this so You would think about Your feelings toward me and Your feelings toward other people in Your life whom I do not know. And if after all this reassurance, You are still unconvinced I am talking to You, just call me, send me an email or ask next time You see me. Because I am so sure You have correctly figured out this is about You, I will promise I will confirm Your hope, fear and belief of such.

Thank You.

Tom Gunner and Lincoln

There are stories of a detective who never solves a case
But he has a best friend who he sees face to face
The eye is Tom Gunner and his pal Link is an artist
But together each mission they always try their hardest

Together to a jazz house they went one night
Looking for a poet who remained out of sight
Tom went to the bar and spoke under the sound
The bar keep approached after pouring a round

Tom put some money straight into the jar
He asked the bar keep to stay close, not too far
In a strange reversal Tom asked for an I.D.
“Help me please, I’m looking for a girl named Heidi.”

“She’s beautiful, busty, brilliant and blonde, too”
The bar keep didn’t know her but said that he wants to.
“No jokes, I’m a detector--a detective, whatever.”
But the bar keep knew nothing more, nothing more than ever.

Tom couldn’t find Link, but soon Link found him
Like the lights in the bar, Tom was a little dim
The two had a drink and decided to stay for the show
They were still on the case but had no where to go

Tom felt lost again and said the performer was wack
Link also like it more when there was just one Kerouac
So they left the jazz house, the case now a little harder
We’d have no problems said Tom if I was just a lil’ smarter

But then Link stopped Tom right then and right there
He said life is hard and people aren’t fair
Stay a detective and always look for the clues
And if you find nothing stay away from the blues.

And so ends part one of our multi-part story
If the rhyming was poor then I guess I’m so sorry
But there is something to know from this jig and this turn
Being smart is not knowledge but rather wanting to learn

Jobe Knows the Truth: Part Three of Three

And Mitch did go to The Lonely People Club meeting every week, but that ended up only being one more week. After that the group split up. There was no fight or anything, they just missed one week and never bothered to reschedule another meeting. Mitch continued to go to parties and movies, occasionally getting kicked out of both, but never saw any of the friends.

Then Mitch got a phone call one day from Pax. Pax was a pretty goofy guy but nobody ever questioned his heart, which was useful because not everybody could finish a story to a near stranger that started off with Pax getting abducted by aliens.

Pax had been walking down by the riverside campsite some night ago, near the area he and the rest of the group of friends used to camp out. There was no one there, which was odd because it was a beautiful night, actually every night that week had been beautiful. Anyway, Pax was blinded by a light that was all around him. He tried to turn away, thinking it was a car’s headlight, but every way he turned, there was light, that is until he realized the light was coming from above. And then a bunch of other crazy shit happened, and no he wasn’t probed, but he was dropped back down where he was and now has the urge to go back to that same place around that same time. Hell, he’ll camp out all night if he has to, Pax said.

So word got around and got around pretty quick. All of the old friends, and nobody else, aside from Mitch, came to the campsite that night and hung out to see if the aliens would indeed come back. Of course they weren’t just waiting around. They brought a Frisbee and Show (that old puppy), Cool Ranch Doritos, other food and drink and a pair of large tents. It was actually a pretty good party, so Mitch didn’t think much of it when Jobe sat next to him, a little ways from the group.

Because Mitch was the newest member of the circle of friends, Jobe felt like Mitch would be the best person to hear what he had to say.

“All day people were talking about if Pax was crazy or on drugs or downright lying. Not one person could completely believe any one theory. Some of us even got in fights about it. But whatever it was, Pax stood by it. Everyone had to come out here then. We haven’t all been together in months yet here we are, all having fun again. Just like the good old days. It’s like, for this brief moment, everything that’s happened since the last time we were all together never happened. It’s like we never left. But we did and we will. Pax is smart. He knows this. He also invested a lot of emotion into every friendship so it’s harder on him when we all drifted apart.”

Mitch didn’t understand Jobe’s point.

“Mitch, Pax was lying. He knows there won’t be any aliens because there wasn’t any earlier. He just wanted to bring everybody together. Outside of us, he has no friends. He has no social future so he can’t let go of the past. I’m glad he did something though, rather than wallowing in isolation.”

“This is all too confusing, Jobe.”

“Then just forget everything else and remember this-”

“Okay.”

“One action is greater than a thousand intentions."

NFL Predications: Week Nine

Lessons from last week: Eli Manning reads defenses like I read Arabic, Ed Reed can knock a person's eyebrows off and the New Orleans Saints should be booking their Superbowl plane tickets now.

Baltimore at Cincinnati (+2.5)
Man I totally called the Ravens public spanking of the Broncos last week. The bye week will probably hurt Cincinnati this time around because you better believe the Ravens D will crash into them with a recklessness rivaled only by a drunken L.A. cab driver. And someone should hit them. Seriously, Chad Ochocinco can go to the Hall of Fame when he buys a tour pass. Also Joe Flacco is learning how to steer the offense and will probably make the Bengals' crowd eat a big plate of "shut the hell up" by the end of the first quarter. Because the Ravens have lost three critical games, they're basically playing in the playoffs right now--and I think they know it. Ravens cover because if they lose against Cincinnati again, they'll need a series of miracles last seen 3,000 miles away. Which brings me to...

San Diego at New York (Giants) (-4.5)
The Giants started 5-0, talked about another Superbowl then absolutely crashed their next three games by a total score of 132 to 6, or something like that. Regardless, now the first five victories don't look so impressive and the next 8 games look a lot harder. Likewise, the Chargers have only notched up four victories and two of those were against the Raiders--who can only find the stadium every other week. The Giants have gaping defensive problems and L.T. still shows life every once in a while. The announcers will talk incessantly about Eli Manning getting traded from the Chargers to the Giants in exchange for Phillip Rivers and six barrels of protein powder but this game will be about the running backs. I'm not ready to say the Chargers are good enough to walk across the country and beat a city pumped on World Series testosterone, but they aren't losing by a whole touchdown either. Chargers beat the spread.

Dallas at Philadelphia (-2.5)
The Eagles are number one in takeaways, in the league. Cowboys are ranked 26th. Donovan McNabb could throw a beach ball to his receivers and the Cowboys' secondary would be helpless. Any Dallas supporter will flaunt Miles Austin as the best golden receiver since AirBud II; but really, I don't care. How many Superbowl rings do star wide outs Terrell Owns, Chad Ochocinco and Randy Moss have combined? Hint: as many as I do. Also Tony Romo cries when people boo him and this game is going to be in a very angry city. Philadelphia covers and I'll say that until the spread jumps by more than seven points.

Pittsburgh at Denver (+2.5)
Shit. I don't know why I chose to predict this game. The Steelers have a bye week after an unexpectedly great game against the Vikings but the Broncos have already beaten some serious teams at Mile High Stadium. The Steelers are probably going to make me tear out my long beautiful hair if I pick them. Even if the Broncos lose they've only got 3 or 4 hard games left on their schedule; they couldn't lose the division, again, right? Right? Dammit. I think both teams are going to make me tear my hair out. Forget the numbers, this is a gut instinct. Actually forget my gut, in the event of a draw, I go with the experienced team. Steelers win by 3 and Sportscenter jumps off the Bronco bandwagon as if it was on fire.

Jobe Knows the Truth: Part Two of Three

Later that week, Mitch went to the coffee shop for the club meeting. The philosophy club didn’t start off as a philosophy club but rather just a club for people to come and make friends. Since then, they’ve slowed on making friends but engaged in all discussions that could raise the level of thought in society. Regardless, they kept the old, self-deprecating yet inarguably fitting name: “The Lonely People Club.”

“Unity by Individuality.” That was their motto. For the last few days, or at least the last few minutes, Mitch had been trying to thinking of really philosophical shit. Instead all he could think of were awesome movie titles, even if he couldn’t think the story that would go with the titles. “The Excalibur Project” “Deal Breaker” and “The Citadel Project” were only three of his best.

Mitch met lots of people and would remember none of them at first, including Gary (who Mitch forgot three more times). There was Gary, Sydney, J.C, Sophia, Don, Cassidy, Sophia (a different one), Jobe, Emma (who preferred to be called Bella), Lane, Opi (or O.P.) and Pax. Also Cooper would have usually been there but he had an acapella performance two towns over that afternoon.

“Are we different than our parents thirty years ago?”

“Yes. People don’t work like they used to. More importance is placed on time and flexibility, not money and consistency. Nobody wants to work at a one place his or her whole life anymore. It’s almost embarrassing for young people to say they’ve worked one job for several years. Our values are like that, too. Less security for more freedom. Everyone has time to be a philosopher now, not just hippie extremists.”

“You can’t generalize a generation’s values like that. I’d like to turn everyone’s attention to a start-up company that is called “Protestors for Hire.” They’ll support any side of any controversy for the right price. Now this is professionalism at its best. But its also culturally significant because they raise the level of discussion in society, which is what we are trying to do.”

“No. They’re just turning up the volume. We want to raise the level of thought, not discussion. By overtly appealing to as many people as possible, they can, and almost have to, appeal to the lowest common denominators. They can then create and spread outrageous lies and opinions. There are more beneficial ways to indicate passion about an issue than shouting misconceptions at motorists, however anyone can shout misconceptions at motorists and so that’s why they do it.”

“These Protestors for Hire may be loud, but they aren’t idiots. They’ve already figured out that it’s always a stronger argument to be for something rather than against anything—even if it’s superficial. No one is “anti-choice, i.e. freedom” but rather “pro-life.” By the same token, no one is “anti-life”.”

Mitch sat baffled. He got sidetracked long ago thinking about what his parents were like thirty years ago and hadn’t paid attention to what anyone had said. He helped himself to more Cool Ranch Doritos. But what did he think, everyone wanted to know.

“Well. It’s weird but when I get kicked out of a movie theater I prefer it to be a manager and not some whatever employee. It’s never fun, but it’s easier also when the manager is kind of a jerk. You know?” Mitch waited for a response that nobody was giving him. “That’s philosophical, or something, right?”

“I agree with Mitch. What’s the point of pushing something that doesn’t push back, or is already going in your direction? Rebelliousness needs authority. Mitch, you should come here every week.”

Jobe Knows the Truth: Part One of Three

Mitch looked down at his hand and read the address. 825 Mc…something. Obviously the street’s name wasn’t “Mc…something” but Mitch could now longer make out the sweaty gibberish. He wasn’t too worried though. He looked at the rocking house’s address. 825. The street? McDormand. McDormand could be a “Mc…something.”

The affable Mitch walked into the college party. Though to be more accurate, Mitch was trying to act “affable.” And to be even more accurate, Mitch didn’t know he was trying to act “affable” because he didn’t know the meaning of the word “affable.” Regardless, Mitch hit a wall of bodies in the large, furniture-less living room.

“What’s in front of everybody?” Mitch asked to no one and everyone.
“The keg,” someone responded.
“Oh.”

Mitch turned around to walk away but found people right behind him. Mitch whipped his head all around and saw he had been completely surrounded. He was no longer at the back of the group but now trapped in the middle of a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd of young people trying to get to the waterhole without any actual movement.

“Don’t panic, man” a voice said to Mitch, who turns around to see a hilariously nondescript guy standing next to him called Gary. "It's kind of like riding the city bus." Mitch gets bumped rough in the back a couple of times.

"Get off my damn shoe fat ass," suggests another party-goer instantly lost in the crowd.

"Actually it's exactly like riding the city bus," Mitch offers back to Gary.

Gary was one-fifth of a failed GAP campaign to reach out to a new customer base. Gary used to be an “Average Model.” He was a model for the average guy. No ripped abs. No charming dimples. He wasn’t ugly, as he wasn’t a part of the “Ugly Model” campaign, but he was vanilla. During the brief modeling stint, Gary became somewhat philosophical about the term “average.” He didn’t understand if average people are the most common people (see: mode), the statistical average (see: mean) or the perfect center of a given population (see: median). Even his philosophizing rarely broke beyond the average modern day philosopher.

“You’re a philosopher, really? Say something philosophic-y!”
“Uh…an army can’t create peace, it can only create control.”
“Wow….but can’t they also create planes and tanks and stuff?”
“I think you should come to a philosophy club meeting, Mitch.”

Mitch was hesitant. It wasn’t that he was against smoking pot--in fact he got high twenty minutes ago--, as he imagined that what philosophizing required, but meeting people can be terrifying. Gary decided not to push the subject and instead mentioned how he should have brought his dog named Show. Show had Show Syndrome, which is a disease that was discovered in Show. Show, despite being ten years ago, appeared to look like a physically healthy puppy of maybe 6 months of age. It was the cutest disease any dog has ever had and the one aspect of life that was truly unique for Gary.

Show was a strange dog in other ways, too. For instance, he likes Doritos but only Cool Ranch style. That’s why someone always brings Cool Ranch Doritos to the philosophy club meetings.

“Wait. There’s going to be chips at the meeting?” picked up Mitch.
“Yeah.”
“And beer for dipping?”
“Sure. Wait. What?”
“I’m there!”

Avant-Garde Trailer

http://www.avatarmovie.com/

In response to such creative laziness and technical over-achieving, I've decided to write my own preview for a forth-coming blockbuster. It goes like this:

“You Jake Scully? I’d like to talk to you about a fresh start, at a new studio. You’d be making a difference.”
“I became a producer for the hardship. I told myself I can make any story any man can. All I ever wanted was a single thing worth writing for.”
“Ladies and gentleman, you are not on a set anymore. You are in Pandora.”
“You should see your faces.”
“We have an ingenious population called the Artists. They are very hard to teach.”
“This is why we are here. Because this little gray movie could sell for 20 million a theater.”
“Their film so happens to be in the richest theater and they need to relocate.”
“Those crazies are threatening our whole operation. We are the brink of losing money and you’re supposed to be finding a ridiculous solution!”

“The concept is to drive these remotely controlled bodies called Avant-Gardes. They are grown from combining good ideas with science fiction mumbo-jumbo.”
“An idiot in an Avant-Garde body. That’s a worthless mix.”
“You get me what I need and I’ll see to it that you get your McGuffin. Your real McGuffin.”
“Hell yeah, dude.”
“Looks like you.”
“This is your Avant-Garde.”
“Just relax and let your mind go blank. Shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“Too easy!”

“Jake. It’s real simple. I want you to learn from the inside. I want you to gain their trust.”
“You should not be here. Go back!”
“I speak English broken.”
“You’re hired.”
“Haven’t got lost in the art gallery, have you?”
“You forget what demographic you’re playing to?”
“The strong push around the weak and everybody makes a movie about it.”
“You got probably two and half hours, maybe three.”
“You knew this would happen?”
“Everything changed with 3-D.”
“Jake it’s crazy here. Cameron is filming and there’s no stopping him!”
“You’re going up against special effects with wit and originality.”
“Nonsensical response.”

“They sent us a message: That they can make whatever they want. But we will send them a message back: That is our time!”
“We’re cheering!”

From Somewhere to Something

There was a man who wanted to go somewhere. He didn't know where but he wanted to go. That's when he learned about a city called Somewhere. It sounded like a great place: Somewhere. But then his plans fell through and he could not go to Somewhere. Perhaps some other day he will go to Somewhere. In the meantime though he learned about a game. A fun game to be played with friends. The game was called Something.

Political Predictions: Get on the Crazy Train!

The next presidential election is only some 36 months away so I figure I better start making wildly speculative predictions about political hopefuls.

First off, Obama will be favored to win. I can’t see a likely scenario that would leave him as politically stagnant as Jimmy Carter in 1980--if for no other reason than from the ability to learn from Jimmy Carter in 1980. The economy isn’t wholly predictable, but the wars in the Middle East are. In both cases, I wouldn’t get too excited for either party. Even if America is attacked again by al-Qaeda or whoever, I think as many people would rally around Obama (if not more) than would say, “Told ya’ so! Obama weakened America!” Though no one outside of a radio talk show would actually say that.

But the Republican party, well, they get to have a little more fun. Unlike my football predictions, we won’t know how badly I blew these for quite a while.

President Obama vs. Mitt Romney (+15)
In short, I don’t think Mitt Romney brings enough firepower to the table. He’s a leader in many polls right now but I think he got there from default. He never disappeared from the world of politics and never devastated his campaign with a PR blunder or one-state strategy (ala Rudy Guilliani). But Romney doesn’t cover any relevant electoral math and isn’t trusted by the far right that I’ll detail shortly. Actually I’ll just do it now.

President Obama vs. Sarah Palin (+30)
They say there is no Republican candidate that will keep Republicans at home on Election Day. Palin would put that theory to the test. Her image as the “Alaskan Maverick” was whacked by McCain’s team, mocked gratuitously by comedians and wholly ignored by Obama last election. Palin (eventually) takes the right-wing stance with near radical fervor on every single issue giving her a dedicated, and vocal, fanbase but little broad appeal. I don’t know if she could get a running mate to really energize moderate conservatives, but it’d have to be a cool, collected, intelligent and politically-experienced guy…who would actually do better as the front-end of a ticket.

President Obama vs. Mike Huckabee (+7)
Of the “obvious” candidates, I like Huckabee’s chances best (if I was Republican). He never had a chance in 2008 due to name recognition, but that’s no longer a problem. By staying in the race long after McCain had mathematically won, Huckabee was essentially running for 2012. Long before Obama won, he was going to win and a lot of people picked up on that pretty quickly. Huckabee got a lot of exposure, made friends on SNL and has since landed his own show on FOX News. From what I’ve watched, Huckabee believes if people could pay less taxes and would go to church every Sunday, America’s problems should be solved. If he stays on a positive message while running against an incumbent, his chances aren’t bad--I give him even odds for being our next vice-presidential hopeful.

President Obama vs. Piyush “Bobby” Jindal (+15)
Won’t happen. Jindal has said he’s not running in 2012; oppose to the more expected answer “It’s too early to think about that, I’m focused with my duties at hand, etc, etc.”. They say Jindal is eloquent but he’s hidden it pretty well in my opinion. They also say Jindal is a “moderate” Republican but I think that’s only because Democrats praised him for successfully organizing a statewide evacuation in 2008 for Hurricane Gustuv. I haven’t read anything he’s done that could possibly earn him criticism from even ultra-conservative Republicans. As a side note, think any liberal pundit will constantly refer to him as “Piysh Jindal” in an effort to emphasize his “other-ness”? Yeah, if it's ever going to be his time, it's not now.

President Obama vs. Charlie Crist (+95)
Even more won’t happen. Crist is running for Senate in 2010. If he wins he’ll be running with the senatorial experience Obama had except he’ll be running against Obama (now with four more years of presidential experience than any Republican in the country, aside from George H.W. Bush). If Crist loses the senatorial seat, he can no longer promise Florida to the Republican party (a previous major selling point). Take my word, Crist isn’t running for president in 2012, he’s only 53, he’s running for 2016.

NOTE: Every Republican I've mentioned is or was a governor because I feel that is a critical component when taking on an incumbent president. Since conservatives can't attack Obama's lack of experience anymore, they themselves need to prove executive experience. Against incumbent presidents, governors fare far better than senators. For precedent, look at the elections in 2004, 1996, 1992, 1984, 1980, 1976, etc.

This is getting a little longer than I anticipated, so names you will know 30 months from now: Gov. Tim Pawlenty, Gov. Haley Barbour and Gov. Gary E. Johnson. As a Democrat, I strongly consider (and almost fear) any of their potential. As a (hypothetical) Republican, I'd take my chances with any combination of these three for the two-person ticket before going back to the 2008 hopefuls.

Math, Hideyoshi and Remodernism

Okay, I’m going to type this fast, so you’ll just need to read it fast to keep up. Also, I’ll make sure to include a quick joke at the end.

As much as I enjoy reading—or watching movies for that matter—I acknowledge it can be an inactive pursuit. The best I can hope for is to be influenced by someone else’s work. But this also means I should always hope to be influenced by someone else’s work. Therefore it does me little good to re-read or re-view similar works time and time again; I would gain no new experience and no new knowledge--aside from what I can apply from my own life in between viewings.

Fear springs from ignorance. Fear leads to anger…and really at this point, nobody is getting any positives.

An original thought is something special. Original thoughts can be, and usually are inspired by previous works. A+B=C. If “C” is an original thought, it doesn’t really matter what A and B are. The problem arises when people think in the vein of A+B=AB. This isn’t a thought. This is mental regurgitation and, like all regurgitation, it’s gross.

Testify when you have a thought.

Imagine you have a defining thought about society, your generation, group of friends or lawn mower. Now that thought does nobody any good if nobody else can ever elaborate on it. Your thought should spawn from the aforementioned influenced of “A” and “B” to make “C”; but now your “C” can be used by somebody else as an “A” or “B” to make their own “C” thought.

Calling a political leader “Hitler” is not a new thought. It’s a case of “AB” thinking. “Hitler to Obama” is a broad, inaccurate comparison. And (arguably) worse: it’s unoriginal. This comparison thought contributes nothing itself and has no hope of inspiring anything else. If frustrated, why not compare President Obama to 16th century, Japanese ruler, Toyotomi Hideyoshi? It’s obscure, to be sure, but at least has potential for someone to spur a new thought--or at least learn a little history.

And esoteric comparisons aren’t the only form of new thoughts; they are just easy markers of creativity--take my word for it that I mean to be modest. Creativity can be expressed any number of ways but can usually be broke down to the ability to see similarities in two unlike things. Example: firecrackers are loud, gunshots are loud, maybe you can use firecrackers to distract from the gunshot noise (NOTE: example taken from “The Departed”—do not infer any personal criminal intentions).

But murderous gangsters and writers aren’t the only creative ones. Scientists need to use creativity all the time in even the most regimented studies and experiments. Most prolifically, they need to creatively explain what they are doing in layman’s terms. Kurt Vonnegut once said, “Any scientist who couldn't explain to an eight-year-old what he was doing was a charlatan.” What good is particle accelerator if people can't understand it's results?

Creativity, or even in a broader term: creation, is interesting. Old techniques used creatively can be interesting. Certain techniques in fiction like patterns, plants and payoffs (to be demonstrated later) make people feel smart. But there are other techniques that can make audiences feel smart, some of them I don’t know, some of them nobody knows…yet. And this is where we get into creative experimenting.

Experimenters know when they are experimenting. They know they are being original and their attempts at originality do not take away from that. It’s nearly impossible to write a book without reading one or painting a picture with out seeing one. In that sense, everything is going to be a representation or reflection of a previous work. But remodernism tries to work away from the influence of individual works and rather find its influence in life—whether or not that life includes previous creative works.

Someone told me I can’t try to be the leader of revolution. But their assertion was not true at all. As an artist, I can search for and break new ground. As a historian, I can predict the outcomes of my, and others’, actions. I’m not trying to be a leader; I just want to know who the leaders are and what they are doing.

Remodernism, like modernism, is a belief that traditional forms of society have become dated. The world is different than it was and will be different than it is now. Experimentation is healthy, necessary and never-ending. However, linear time will not allow us to revert back to clear “modernism,” especially since the reign of post-modernism--which seems more focused on irony, absurdities and the end, or meaninglessness, of growth.

A writer writing about a writer isn’t inherently post-modern, modern, remodern or experimental. What issues it tackles, what themes it raises, what style it's done in, are what make the story what it is. Life is interesting, and creative; if that’s not realism, than I guess I’m an optimist.

And for my foreshadowed quick joke: “Two Irish men walk out of a bar…”

Ha!