I am so very, very done with stupid people.
Let's be clear from the beginning. I have no issue with those who DNA, fate, or Mommy's choice of recreational substances during pregnancy have forced into a life of limited intelligence due to disability. The mere fact that a majority of those individuals find ways to overcome those disabilities and lead fulfilling lives is truly heroic in my opinion. I also take no issue with those who suffer an injury that diminishes their capacity. It's not their fault, plain and simple.
My issue lies with the normal, everyday, modicum of intelligence bearing jagoff who can't seem to find a way to make it through their existence without pissing off the rest of the herd on a regular basis with their lack of common sense. Don't get me wrong, I like to laugh at a moron as much as the next person, but when their idiocy gets in the way of everyone progressing down the turnpike of life I tend to get a bit impatient.
I still stand by the idea that we as a race are getting stupider by the day. I remain thoroughly amazed that we need warnings on our coffee cups about the danger of hot liquids. I am constantly confounded by cars with warning labels regarding sticking an infant in the front seat and sitting too close to an air bag. It tickles me to no end that gas stations are switching to illustrated warnings about smoking at the pump instead of the written warning. I find it baffling that we have to spend tax revenues to build traffic islands to help people make the correct choice when turning right or left in traffic. Please note that I'm not talking about the random improvement here or there, but in the last two years I can think of three MAJOR construction projects on the roads (the new roundabouts on Hillborough Street around North Carolina State University, the removal of an entire lane of interstate at the intersection of I-40 and the Highway 70 bypass in Clayton, and a large chunk of Highway 70 through the city of Havelock) that we as taxpayers have had to pay for simply for the fact that too many of our brethren have decided to spontaneously thin the herd in those areas by not knowing how to properly merge into traffic or make a freaking left turn correctly.
Yes, I said thinning the herd. If you've ever seen a video of a busy city sidewalk and the sarcastic part of your brain hasn't occasionally made moo-ing noises, well, maybe you're in the wrong place at the moment. Face it, unique individuals among us are awesome but when you take humanity as a whole in all of its, well, glory, you have to admit that it may not be the most stellar of species. You are also correct if you made the intuitive leap that this concept is not exactly a negative in my opinion. There are some members of our herd that are just using our air and resources kids, in my somewhat less than humble opinion. When they finally find their particular choice of grand exit even the least jaded of us must admit it occasionally serves as a source of inadvertent public amusement. In fact, if you want to get down to the bare bones of it all, you almost have to acknowledge that every now and again it probably is a good thing to pour a little chlorine shock in the gene puddle anyway.
Look, we as individuals are all morons on occasion. While Alice can think of six impossible things before breakfast I can accomplish just as many feats of sheer dumbassery well before lunch time. All I ask is that we all try to apply that little notion of common sense at least when out in public. Is it necessary to go to WalMart at 2 in morning? Hey we all run out of batteries, cat litter, and whipped cream at inopportune times. Do you have to take a moment before running out to at least decently cover yourself? Please for the love of all that is holy. (Yes, I know the good folks at peopleofwalmart.com would disagree, but hey, we are striving for improvement here.) Are we all proud of little Johnny for getting his first smart phone and becoming part of the information age? Definitely. Does Johnny need to walk around with his music loudly playing from his jacket pocket like a personal soundtrack while he does his best Usher imitation down the aisle in a convenient store as if he really is little Michael reincarnated? Why God, oh why? Does little Johnny also need to have his fingers broken with a hammer for texting while driving and causing a three car pile up on I-40 that makes everyone else late for work while his ignorant ass makes it in on time? Let me get my tool box.
I guess when all is said and done you could say that I wistfully dream of simple things. I am nowhere near naieve enough to think we can fix people. We're dipshits at our very nature. Christmas lights still up in April anyone? All I really ask is that we try to strive for self improvement. Maybe, just maybe, if we all focus in on doing one less stupid thing in public today we could get the trend to catch on.
While the rest of us work on it, I'll sit here in front of the television and wait for the news report that good ol' Gus yanked the emergency brake on an Amtrak yet again because he thought he saw a pretty deer on the tracks.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Two Minutes and Thirty Seconds of Politics, With Apologies
I promise that this will be one of the few times that you will ever read anything remotely politically oriented on this blog. Normally I keep my personal politics, well, personal. Today, however, I have something I feel like I need to put out there.
For the record, I am a lifelong Independant. My political leanings and motivations fall based upon my opinions, not along the mandates of any particular party. I tend to try to think before I vote, no matter how ineffectual the realities of that vote may or may not be.
Unlike our status quo, I actually hope this doesn't offend anyone. If anything, I truly hope you share the core sentiment I'm about to express. Whether or not I like Obama or our current Congress has nothing truly to do with this, trust me.
I watched the State of the Union address Tuesday night. It left me, frankly, sad and a little disheartened. I like to envision myself as, at least in broad terms, a critical thinker with some leanings toward romanticism. As I listened to our popularly elected President speak, I found myself truly listening and imagining the picture of the country he was painting as he laid out his plans for the coming year(s). I found myself profoundly wishing we could truly be that country. Within that speech Obama created an image of our country where we worked together and supported one another on both a societal and a business level. He spun a web of ideas via tax reforms, fair trade enforcements, and business and education opportunities that showed a nation that cared deeply for the wellfare of its citizenry as well as its impact on the world at large. He showed a road paved with achievement through cooperation where 'Mission Accomplished' was not just a military phrase but a true feeling of national sentiment.
I am at heart a patriot. I truly love the United States. If this country was not founded as she was I couldn't say what I wish and do as I do. I hesitate to suggest that this blog would be allowed to exist in many countries and even in the ones that it would the content would be dramatically different on occasion.
Sadly, by the end of the address I was left with an odd taste in my mouth as if I had eaten too much rock candy. The entire speech closed and the reality of what we truly viewed set in. Obama created a beautiful sculpture while on stage last night of a country that truly functions. The problem lies in that he created it out of the verbal equivalent of spun sugar and sparkles, beautiful to look at but so fragile to the touch as to be ethereal. It's a beautiful image of this great nation but it left me with only one true response: I wish. I wish our politicians would put aside their petty nonsense and truly try to work together. I wish we could create that country from the ground up if need be. I wish our leadership, as a whole, would truly lead instead of spend their time telling us what they would like to do, if only...
I wish that that beautiful sculpture of spun sugar and ideas would be truly used a model for action and ideaology, not as yet another long form campaign promise and a target for criticism by yet another self serving bureaucrat who has become far too used to fat checks from lobbyists to be of any real service to their constituency.
I wish.
(By the way, special props should be given to John Kerry for sporting two black eyes and a broken nose on the floor of Congress during the State of the Union. These were supposedly the byproduct of a friendly game of hockey over the weekend. Don't necessary care for the man's politics, but I will definitely support a referendum to grant him +10 points on his man card.)
For the record, I am a lifelong Independant. My political leanings and motivations fall based upon my opinions, not along the mandates of any particular party. I tend to try to think before I vote, no matter how ineffectual the realities of that vote may or may not be.
Unlike our status quo, I actually hope this doesn't offend anyone. If anything, I truly hope you share the core sentiment I'm about to express. Whether or not I like Obama or our current Congress has nothing truly to do with this, trust me.
I watched the State of the Union address Tuesday night. It left me, frankly, sad and a little disheartened. I like to envision myself as, at least in broad terms, a critical thinker with some leanings toward romanticism. As I listened to our popularly elected President speak, I found myself truly listening and imagining the picture of the country he was painting as he laid out his plans for the coming year(s). I found myself profoundly wishing we could truly be that country. Within that speech Obama created an image of our country where we worked together and supported one another on both a societal and a business level. He spun a web of ideas via tax reforms, fair trade enforcements, and business and education opportunities that showed a nation that cared deeply for the wellfare of its citizenry as well as its impact on the world at large. He showed a road paved with achievement through cooperation where 'Mission Accomplished' was not just a military phrase but a true feeling of national sentiment.
I am at heart a patriot. I truly love the United States. If this country was not founded as she was I couldn't say what I wish and do as I do. I hesitate to suggest that this blog would be allowed to exist in many countries and even in the ones that it would the content would be dramatically different on occasion.
Sadly, by the end of the address I was left with an odd taste in my mouth as if I had eaten too much rock candy. The entire speech closed and the reality of what we truly viewed set in. Obama created a beautiful sculpture while on stage last night of a country that truly functions. The problem lies in that he created it out of the verbal equivalent of spun sugar and sparkles, beautiful to look at but so fragile to the touch as to be ethereal. It's a beautiful image of this great nation but it left me with only one true response: I wish. I wish our politicians would put aside their petty nonsense and truly try to work together. I wish we could create that country from the ground up if need be. I wish our leadership, as a whole, would truly lead instead of spend their time telling us what they would like to do, if only...
I wish that that beautiful sculpture of spun sugar and ideas would be truly used a model for action and ideaology, not as yet another long form campaign promise and a target for criticism by yet another self serving bureaucrat who has become far too used to fat checks from lobbyists to be of any real service to their constituency.
I wish.
(By the way, special props should be given to John Kerry for sporting two black eyes and a broken nose on the floor of Congress during the State of the Union. These were supposedly the byproduct of a friendly game of hockey over the weekend. Don't necessary care for the man's politics, but I will definitely support a referendum to grant him +10 points on his man card.)
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Oh Dammit, That Was Kryptonite Again, Wasn't It?
If you've ever bothered to open a Superman comic, have seen a cartoon, or been stuck in front of the odd movie or random episode of Smallville, I'm going to assume that (a) you speak at least a small variant of nerd and (b) you understand what Kryptonite is on at least a basic level. If you don't, well, I guess there's always Wikipedia. The thing that always cracked me up about Kryptonite is that depending on what the color du juor was that month at DC, it always had a different effect on ol' Kal-El. Never did two different colors do the same thing. Over the years there have been so many colors that I'm surprised that by now they haven't come up with a rainbow crystal of the stuff that makes Superman ditch the old reliable red and blue tights for oversized glasses, a snow leopard fur trimmed cape with matching hat and a neon green lounge suit. Think about it... Up, Up, and Oh-Darn-I-Think-I-Chipped-My-Pedicure-In-My-Open-Toed-Warrior-Sandals. Not to take the metaphor too far but I wonder... if Superman went flamboyant one day, who would be his sidekick? Carson Kressley?
Okay, before I go too far down the path here, let's try to get the ship back under control and get back on topic. A good friend of mine and I were having a discussion the other night regarding weaknesses and obsessions when it came to the opposite sex. Unfortunately, I have a VERY firm grasp on what my particular 'Kryptonite" was back in my single days. If you put me within ten yards of a tall red head with curly hair and an athletic build I would immediately lose IQ points. Saddle the poor lass with any form of brogue, be it Irish or even worse Scottish, and the chances of me being able to refrain from turning into a walking charicature of the old wolf-in-a-zoot-suit cartoons immediately goes from slim to don't even bother. What's worse, load her up with a bad case of smart ass to boot and I would be done. We're talking instantaneous de-evolution from moderately intelligent and erudite to fire-bad girl-pretty. Take any three of those five items from that list and I could normally be counted on to find a way to ruin a weekend pretty quickly. I've only met three in my life that were four of the five, thank God, and have yet to run into anyone with the perfect five of five. My fiance is a partial red head with curly hair and a strong case of smart ass. I think I'm pretty lucky actually. Any more and I'd never have a chance in this lifetime of ever winning an argument.
(And yes, before anyone who knows me very well calls b.s., there are a couple of additional factors that fall into those initial head-turner qualities in a woman that I haven't listed. However, as they aren't really relevant in any real way to my existence or social circle anymore, we'll just back burner those for another lifetime.)
My friend, on the other hand, has a more specific obsession. It's one particular person and this obsession has grown over a number of years. She has now made the determination that she will enlist whatever help she needs to, come hell or high water, to seal the deal with this poor bastard. I call the man a poor bastard because knowing my friend she will probably introduce him to some form of bedroom gymnastics involving a part of her body she refers to as 'magical' that will not only injure the man but probably soften his will to live and maintain an independant existence outside of the happy place in betwixt her thighs. To my friend all I can really say is Happy Hunting and make sure you take pictures. All the really good stories need a slide show, after all.
All of this back and forth discussion the other night got my brain working regarding the whole idea of why members of the opposite sex get our attention and what makes us as otherwise rational creatures take that leap to mentally challenged when the nookie monster raises its somewhat dissheveled head? Granted it also made about six people around us in that particular Starbucks highly uncomfortable, but alas, that is a story for another tme.
Sadly there is a simple answer to all of this. Nobody knows and I would challenge the notion that we even really want to understand that about ourselves at all anyway. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the science of attraction. Five minutes on Netflix and you can find a number of Discovery channel documentaries on pheremones and body signals and all that kind of stuff. What I wonder more is why certain things attract us as individuals, sometimes even to the point of distraction. As an example, I once met a woman at a bar who was only nominally interesting to me until I found out that she played poker, liked whiskey, and smoked cigars. Two weeks later the novel factor wore off and I realized she actually did annoy me, but that also is a story for another time, most likely never.
What I'd like to do is to open the floor, so to speak, to all my readers and ask a direct question:
What gets your attention / turns your head in members of the opposite sex? Obviously I'm not after the easy stuff like 'boobs' et al, but more of specific things about a person you find attractive. More specifically, I guess, is that I would like to know what is your particular Kryptonite? Feel free to respond in comments or via email if you prefer a more private venue.
I'm looking forward to your responses! I'll try and post some of the more interesting ones in a follow up posting within the next week.
Okay, before I go too far down the path here, let's try to get the ship back under control and get back on topic. A good friend of mine and I were having a discussion the other night regarding weaknesses and obsessions when it came to the opposite sex. Unfortunately, I have a VERY firm grasp on what my particular 'Kryptonite" was back in my single days. If you put me within ten yards of a tall red head with curly hair and an athletic build I would immediately lose IQ points. Saddle the poor lass with any form of brogue, be it Irish or even worse Scottish, and the chances of me being able to refrain from turning into a walking charicature of the old wolf-in-a-zoot-suit cartoons immediately goes from slim to don't even bother. What's worse, load her up with a bad case of smart ass to boot and I would be done. We're talking instantaneous de-evolution from moderately intelligent and erudite to fire-bad girl-pretty. Take any three of those five items from that list and I could normally be counted on to find a way to ruin a weekend pretty quickly. I've only met three in my life that were four of the five, thank God, and have yet to run into anyone with the perfect five of five. My fiance is a partial red head with curly hair and a strong case of smart ass. I think I'm pretty lucky actually. Any more and I'd never have a chance in this lifetime of ever winning an argument.
(And yes, before anyone who knows me very well calls b.s., there are a couple of additional factors that fall into those initial head-turner qualities in a woman that I haven't listed. However, as they aren't really relevant in any real way to my existence or social circle anymore, we'll just back burner those for another lifetime.)
My friend, on the other hand, has a more specific obsession. It's one particular person and this obsession has grown over a number of years. She has now made the determination that she will enlist whatever help she needs to, come hell or high water, to seal the deal with this poor bastard. I call the man a poor bastard because knowing my friend she will probably introduce him to some form of bedroom gymnastics involving a part of her body she refers to as 'magical' that will not only injure the man but probably soften his will to live and maintain an independant existence outside of the happy place in betwixt her thighs. To my friend all I can really say is Happy Hunting and make sure you take pictures. All the really good stories need a slide show, after all.
All of this back and forth discussion the other night got my brain working regarding the whole idea of why members of the opposite sex get our attention and what makes us as otherwise rational creatures take that leap to mentally challenged when the nookie monster raises its somewhat dissheveled head? Granted it also made about six people around us in that particular Starbucks highly uncomfortable, but alas, that is a story for another tme.
Sadly there is a simple answer to all of this. Nobody knows and I would challenge the notion that we even really want to understand that about ourselves at all anyway. Don't get me wrong, I'm not talking about the science of attraction. Five minutes on Netflix and you can find a number of Discovery channel documentaries on pheremones and body signals and all that kind of stuff. What I wonder more is why certain things attract us as individuals, sometimes even to the point of distraction. As an example, I once met a woman at a bar who was only nominally interesting to me until I found out that she played poker, liked whiskey, and smoked cigars. Two weeks later the novel factor wore off and I realized she actually did annoy me, but that also is a story for another time, most likely never.
What I'd like to do is to open the floor, so to speak, to all my readers and ask a direct question:
What gets your attention / turns your head in members of the opposite sex? Obviously I'm not after the easy stuff like 'boobs' et al, but more of specific things about a person you find attractive. More specifically, I guess, is that I would like to know what is your particular Kryptonite? Feel free to respond in comments or via email if you prefer a more private venue.
I'm looking forward to your responses! I'll try and post some of the more interesting ones in a follow up posting within the next week.
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Women Be Evil: A Field Observation
Oh the fairer sex, what amazing powers you all have over us poor mortal men. Gentlemen, admit it, every last one of us has done something amazingly stupid at one point or another in our lives for a woman or because of a woman. In fact, I'd be willing to bet you that if you got right down to it, down to the marrow as it were, we could empty a quarter to a third of the population of most prisons right now if we suddenly granted amnesty based on proof that a woman motivated the crime. Now ladies, don't take this as a condemnation, it's simply a statement of fact.
Women have a near mystical power over men. We accept it, encourage it, and allow it. It doesn't matter what age of man or woman either. All that matters is that we as men allow it (most of the time happily) and they as women know and, on occasion, use it for evil.
I've seen this illustrated many many times in my life. In fact, I've been victim to it many many times and have (literally) the scars to prove it from a few occasions. However, I saw it happen last night in such a blatant manner that I just had to share the story.
As I said, evil.
So late last night the fiance and I developed a sudden need for a burger. Okay, to be honest she just wanted some fries and I was suddenly actually hungry for the first time in over a week and felt the need to feed. I threw some clothes on, jumped in the truck, and hustled my little cookies toward the local golden arches. After placing my order I pulled through the drive through to see a rather tall young man, I'm assuming late teens or early twenties, engaged in a rather voracious lip lock with a smaller and very curvy little blonde thing. Hey, I'm all for everyone's right to the occasional PDA but they were (1) standing actually in the drive through lane, (2) were directly in full view of my headlights, and (3) were so busy getting a little handsy with each other that my front grill nearly ate them. They broke off the vacuum seal of their lip lock just before I decided to be a grumpy old fart and hit the horn. Assumingly for good measure he grabbed a very healthy chunk of her rear while she rather brazenly cupped him before running inside. The young gentleman at least had the single functioning brain cell with adequate blood supply left to raise his hand and apologize to me as he adjusted and made for his car.
I was ready to just continue to try to forget the little probably-more-lascivious-than-I-noticed-had-I-actually-been-paying-attention slobber festival that had just occurred in front of me when I saw the girl run behind the counter and approach the drive through window. Apprently she was supposed to be handing out my food but instead was otherwise engaged on safari for some wild cockasaurus. The window to both my truck and the restaurant was open and instead of receiving my food, I heard the following snippet of conversation:
Blonde to coworker: "Sorry that took a second."
Coworker: "Well?"
Blonde: "He said he would run home, take a shower and change, and come back and work the overnight shift so we can go party."
Coworker: "Damn girl, I don't know you get away with all the shit you do to him."
Blonde: "Yeah it's amazing the mileage you can get from one blowjob six months ago."
Now at this point, she was beginning to hand my food out the window to me. The process was made difficult for her by the fact that I had completely lost my composure and was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Have you ever gotten so cracked up that you suddenly stop making noise and are fighting for air? Yeah boys and girls, I was there!
The blonde suddenly looked rather embarrassed and began to turn red. "Did you just hear us?" she asked me while actually having the audacity to look appalled.
All I could think of to say was "What are you, like 35?" I swear all I could think of was that this girl was playing that poor boy so superbly that Candace Bushnell or the CW needed to hire her for source material immediately before the fall pilot season hits.
"No, I'm like 19." she replied and her look turned toward one of disgust as she shoved my sack of food at me and wrinkled her nose visibly.
I laughed until I pulled in my driveway ten minutes later.
Women are evil and they are apparently training them younger and younger these days. You know, I think I might have actually been in college before I ran into my first woman with those kind of skills and she was a Literature and Theater major.
God help these poor young bucks today. If those predators are in the wild at that young of an age... WOW.
Women have a near mystical power over men. We accept it, encourage it, and allow it. It doesn't matter what age of man or woman either. All that matters is that we as men allow it (most of the time happily) and they as women know and, on occasion, use it for evil.
I've seen this illustrated many many times in my life. In fact, I've been victim to it many many times and have (literally) the scars to prove it from a few occasions. However, I saw it happen last night in such a blatant manner that I just had to share the story.
As I said, evil.
So late last night the fiance and I developed a sudden need for a burger. Okay, to be honest she just wanted some fries and I was suddenly actually hungry for the first time in over a week and felt the need to feed. I threw some clothes on, jumped in the truck, and hustled my little cookies toward the local golden arches. After placing my order I pulled through the drive through to see a rather tall young man, I'm assuming late teens or early twenties, engaged in a rather voracious lip lock with a smaller and very curvy little blonde thing. Hey, I'm all for everyone's right to the occasional PDA but they were (1) standing actually in the drive through lane, (2) were directly in full view of my headlights, and (3) were so busy getting a little handsy with each other that my front grill nearly ate them. They broke off the vacuum seal of their lip lock just before I decided to be a grumpy old fart and hit the horn. Assumingly for good measure he grabbed a very healthy chunk of her rear while she rather brazenly cupped him before running inside. The young gentleman at least had the single functioning brain cell with adequate blood supply left to raise his hand and apologize to me as he adjusted and made for his car.
I was ready to just continue to try to forget the little probably-more-lascivious-than-I-noticed-had-I-actually-been-paying-attention slobber festival that had just occurred in front of me when I saw the girl run behind the counter and approach the drive through window. Apprently she was supposed to be handing out my food but instead was otherwise engaged on safari for some wild cockasaurus. The window to both my truck and the restaurant was open and instead of receiving my food, I heard the following snippet of conversation:
Blonde to coworker: "Sorry that took a second."
Coworker: "Well?"
Blonde: "He said he would run home, take a shower and change, and come back and work the overnight shift so we can go party."
Coworker: "Damn girl, I don't know you get away with all the shit you do to him."
Blonde: "Yeah it's amazing the mileage you can get from one blowjob six months ago."
Now at this point, she was beginning to hand my food out the window to me. The process was made difficult for her by the fact that I had completely lost my composure and was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. Have you ever gotten so cracked up that you suddenly stop making noise and are fighting for air? Yeah boys and girls, I was there!
The blonde suddenly looked rather embarrassed and began to turn red. "Did you just hear us?" she asked me while actually having the audacity to look appalled.
All I could think of to say was "What are you, like 35?" I swear all I could think of was that this girl was playing that poor boy so superbly that Candace Bushnell or the CW needed to hire her for source material immediately before the fall pilot season hits.
"No, I'm like 19." she replied and her look turned toward one of disgust as she shoved my sack of food at me and wrinkled her nose visibly.
I laughed until I pulled in my driveway ten minutes later.
Women are evil and they are apparently training them younger and younger these days. You know, I think I might have actually been in college before I ran into my first woman with those kind of skills and she was a Literature and Theater major.
God help these poor young bucks today. If those predators are in the wild at that young of an age... WOW.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
40 Weight Motor Oil, 20 Feet of Logging Chain, and a Case of Chocolate Magic Shell
Guess what kiddies? Your buddy the Cynical Sarcastic is finally back from his protracted week long bout with the nastiest stomach flu he or his doctor has ever heard of in recent memory. I'm telling you folks, this mess was pure evil. We're talking the-end-of-the-third-season-of-Buffy-when-Angel-goes-evil-on-Slayer-nookie evil. Yes, I swear to you this virus was mean enough I think it even killed a gypsy computer teacher.
Yeah, you got the reference. It's okay though, we won't tell anyone else.
So to crib Varsity Blues as shamelessly as possible: I'M BACK, PUKING ROWDY!!!
And it just so happens that there's a reprobative finger sniffing little ass gremlin who has found themselves so squarely in my sights that I'm actually having a hard time trying to figure out which Weapon of Massive Psychological Destruction to unleash upon the wanktard.
So what's on my mind today boys and girls?
Well why don't you just go on ahead and get comfortable while I get good and wound up.
We might be here for a bit.
Over the past week I have had a number of people call to check in on me while I have been as extremely ill as I have. I'm not usually the sickly kind of dude so I guess it struck some folks as unusual. Well, one of the calls I received was from a pseudo-friend from back in the days when I lived in Asheville. I'm not even Facebook friends with this bundle of goo so I'm not even sure how they found me but hey, whatever works. This female person who will remain nameless (mostly because she's probably gonna want to sue somebody by the time I get finished today) was calling to say hello since we hadn't talked in forever blah blah, blah, blah blah blah blah. Mind you I'm so sick at the time that talking was effort but hey, I can be pleasant even when I'm doing my best hourly impersonation of the Technicolor Yawn. The conversation was benign enough and blessedly short until she made some offhanded comment about the fact that she and her husband were about to pull their kids out of their preschool because she found out that some of 'THOSE' people brought their kids there.
For those of you that know me fairly well, allow me to drop back out of the pocket just a second and catch everyone else up on a few things. Three things shocked me at this point in the conversation: (1) This individual conned some poor monkey into marrying her hateful, bitter, and condescending ass, (2) That disturbing mental image of a conjugal union managed to bear fruit and provide this cretin with two little crotch dumplings of her own to ruin, and (3) that in the year 2012 her now apparently well off and underfucked little twenty years late to be a REAL yuppie behind had the audacity to refer to ANYONE as 'those people.'
WHAT THE FUCK JUST DOESN'T SEEM TO COVER IT, NOW DOES IT?
Now, granted, I was extremely unwell at the time so maybe that should excuse the next thing that came out of my dumbass mouth. "What people," I had to ask like a moron?
"You know," this labially challenged trustee of priviledge and personal pharmacists replied. "The gays."
Needless to say the phone went dead fairly quickly and if I'm not totally misremembering the situation I believe I ranted at a dead phone line for a good ten minutes before falling back to sleep. I know it started with "you ignorant bitch" and included my patented line inquiring as to which mickey-mouse-fantasia-broomstick-army-your-parents-were-on-leave-from-when-your-simple-ass-was-conceived and then went from there.
And so this brings me to my topic for today: Sexual Diversity.
My dear readers, there are so many things in this world to get upset about or develop prejudices over. I personally hate stupid people. I can't help it, I just do. But when it comes to what two or three or however many consenting adults do in the privacy of their own bedroom, I mean really, why do we even care? Straight-Gay-Bi-Tri WHAT THE HELL EVER! Does it really matter people? Really? Are we still that cloistered in our thinking as a society? Do we still judge people based on their bedroom activities because someone else convinced us it was wrong? Not to be mean here, but I'm even talking to you ultra-conservatives. Unless you can prove to me that God Almighty came to you through one of his angels and personally told you that any definition of sexuality and family other than the traditional construct is immoral, I'm sorry but at some point someone else read it in a book and made the argument to you that it was right and you bought in. Am I saying you're wrong? No. Am I saying you have just as much right to your opinion as the next group of fudge packing butt ninjas who choose to sodomize each other in a daisy chain while wearing burlap sacks on a main runway at the airport while they take turns licking flaming tequila off of a scalded teddy bear while waiting for the great god Bacchus to descend and take them to Valhalla? Yes. That's all.
(Author's Note: Sorry to offend anyone if I'm misquoting the exact deity in question in the preceeding description of ritual. I was laughing too hard to hold the video camera still and the audio got a little muffled. I mean, let's be real. Even missionary position is pretty funny when viewed in the right circumstances. Don't believe me? Try watching your favorite porno with the volume down while Hanson's MmmBop plays in the background. Classic.)
Folks, what you do in the privacy of your bedroom, as long as it doesn't harm anyone permanently or break any real laws is your freakin' business. If any of us were EVER to be fully judged for the nonsense we've pulled in the name of sexual discovery, exploration, or conquest it would not be a good situation. Guys, it's kind of like this. How would you like if your boss could fire you based on knowing about the time you snatched open your towel and did the Mr. Happy Dance at your wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/Great Dane, etc? I mean, we've all had our little Forgetting Sarah Marshall impersonation, right?
Haven't we?
Guys?
Or was it just me?
Shit........
Oh fuck it, I'll have to just own that one then. At least I had the sense to stop doing it after I saw it done in that movie. Once Marshall from How I Met Your Mother did it, I can't in good conscience allow myself to do it again. Unless I was very drunk of course. That's the only time where almost anything, including attempting to pee in a linen closet, is basically forgiveable.
But I digress, big time, once again. All I'm saying here is that by this point in our evolution as a culture, species, and country is it really okay for anyone to still harbor that ridiculous of a prejudice? Sure, it's their right. But is it okay for them to act on it in a way that will impact their children? Not so easy of an answer, is it?
To wrap this up and go back to my meds, I'll leave you all with this. If you have a problem with people with different sexual preferences than yours, I encourage you to embrace your own beliefs wholeheartedly yet silently and in a profound manner.
In other words: SHUT THE HELL UP AND GO FUCK YOURSELF.
Yeah, you got the reference. It's okay though, we won't tell anyone else.
So to crib Varsity Blues as shamelessly as possible: I'M BACK, PUKING ROWDY!!!
And it just so happens that there's a reprobative finger sniffing little ass gremlin who has found themselves so squarely in my sights that I'm actually having a hard time trying to figure out which Weapon of Massive Psychological Destruction to unleash upon the wanktard.
So what's on my mind today boys and girls?
Well why don't you just go on ahead and get comfortable while I get good and wound up.
We might be here for a bit.
Over the past week I have had a number of people call to check in on me while I have been as extremely ill as I have. I'm not usually the sickly kind of dude so I guess it struck some folks as unusual. Well, one of the calls I received was from a pseudo-friend from back in the days when I lived in Asheville. I'm not even Facebook friends with this bundle of goo so I'm not even sure how they found me but hey, whatever works. This female person who will remain nameless (mostly because she's probably gonna want to sue somebody by the time I get finished today) was calling to say hello since we hadn't talked in forever blah blah, blah, blah blah blah blah. Mind you I'm so sick at the time that talking was effort but hey, I can be pleasant even when I'm doing my best hourly impersonation of the Technicolor Yawn. The conversation was benign enough and blessedly short until she made some offhanded comment about the fact that she and her husband were about to pull their kids out of their preschool because she found out that some of 'THOSE' people brought their kids there.
For those of you that know me fairly well, allow me to drop back out of the pocket just a second and catch everyone else up on a few things. Three things shocked me at this point in the conversation: (1) This individual conned some poor monkey into marrying her hateful, bitter, and condescending ass, (2) That disturbing mental image of a conjugal union managed to bear fruit and provide this cretin with two little crotch dumplings of her own to ruin, and (3) that in the year 2012 her now apparently well off and underfucked little twenty years late to be a REAL yuppie behind had the audacity to refer to ANYONE as 'those people.'
WHAT THE FUCK JUST DOESN'T SEEM TO COVER IT, NOW DOES IT?
Now, granted, I was extremely unwell at the time so maybe that should excuse the next thing that came out of my dumbass mouth. "What people," I had to ask like a moron?
"You know," this labially challenged trustee of priviledge and personal pharmacists replied. "The gays."
Needless to say the phone went dead fairly quickly and if I'm not totally misremembering the situation I believe I ranted at a dead phone line for a good ten minutes before falling back to sleep. I know it started with "you ignorant bitch" and included my patented line inquiring as to which mickey-mouse-fantasia-broomstick-army-your-parents-were-on-leave-from-when-your-simple-ass-was-conceived and then went from there.
And so this brings me to my topic for today: Sexual Diversity.
My dear readers, there are so many things in this world to get upset about or develop prejudices over. I personally hate stupid people. I can't help it, I just do. But when it comes to what two or three or however many consenting adults do in the privacy of their own bedroom, I mean really, why do we even care? Straight-Gay-Bi-Tri WHAT THE HELL EVER! Does it really matter people? Really? Are we still that cloistered in our thinking as a society? Do we still judge people based on their bedroom activities because someone else convinced us it was wrong? Not to be mean here, but I'm even talking to you ultra-conservatives. Unless you can prove to me that God Almighty came to you through one of his angels and personally told you that any definition of sexuality and family other than the traditional construct is immoral, I'm sorry but at some point someone else read it in a book and made the argument to you that it was right and you bought in. Am I saying you're wrong? No. Am I saying you have just as much right to your opinion as the next group of fudge packing butt ninjas who choose to sodomize each other in a daisy chain while wearing burlap sacks on a main runway at the airport while they take turns licking flaming tequila off of a scalded teddy bear while waiting for the great god Bacchus to descend and take them to Valhalla? Yes. That's all.
(Author's Note: Sorry to offend anyone if I'm misquoting the exact deity in question in the preceeding description of ritual. I was laughing too hard to hold the video camera still and the audio got a little muffled. I mean, let's be real. Even missionary position is pretty funny when viewed in the right circumstances. Don't believe me? Try watching your favorite porno with the volume down while Hanson's MmmBop plays in the background. Classic.)
Folks, what you do in the privacy of your bedroom, as long as it doesn't harm anyone permanently or break any real laws is your freakin' business. If any of us were EVER to be fully judged for the nonsense we've pulled in the name of sexual discovery, exploration, or conquest it would not be a good situation. Guys, it's kind of like this. How would you like if your boss could fire you based on knowing about the time you snatched open your towel and did the Mr. Happy Dance at your wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/Great Dane, etc? I mean, we've all had our little Forgetting Sarah Marshall impersonation, right?
Haven't we?
Guys?
Or was it just me?
Shit........
Oh fuck it, I'll have to just own that one then. At least I had the sense to stop doing it after I saw it done in that movie. Once Marshall from How I Met Your Mother did it, I can't in good conscience allow myself to do it again. Unless I was very drunk of course. That's the only time where almost anything, including attempting to pee in a linen closet, is basically forgiveable.
But I digress, big time, once again. All I'm saying here is that by this point in our evolution as a culture, species, and country is it really okay for anyone to still harbor that ridiculous of a prejudice? Sure, it's their right. But is it okay for them to act on it in a way that will impact their children? Not so easy of an answer, is it?
To wrap this up and go back to my meds, I'll leave you all with this. If you have a problem with people with different sexual preferences than yours, I encourage you to embrace your own beliefs wholeheartedly yet silently and in a profound manner.
In other words: SHUT THE HELL UP AND GO FUCK YOURSELF.
The Mother of All Shameless Plugs
I would like to take a minute to publicly congratulate my friend and fellow author Meghan Kelley on the publication of her novella Clockwork.
The book is currently available through CreateSpace (#3714168) and will be available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other book stores shortly. I will update everyone when the other outlets are ready to go.
Her first novel, Cursing Fate, is also available through the usual outlets as well.
Meghan is a fellow member the Proud Failures Writing Group here in the Raleigh area. Check out her stuff, stalk her on Facebook, but whatever you do buy some of the woman's work!
Well whaddya know. The Cynical Sarcastic now has its first official endorsement.
Maybe I should apologize to Meghan now, huh?
(UPDATED 1/21/12) Clockwork is now available on Barnes and Noble Nook!
The book is currently available through CreateSpace (#3714168) and will be available through Amazon, Barnes and Noble and other book stores shortly. I will update everyone when the other outlets are ready to go.
Her first novel, Cursing Fate, is also available through the usual outlets as well.
Meghan is a fellow member the Proud Failures Writing Group here in the Raleigh area. Check out her stuff, stalk her on Facebook, but whatever you do buy some of the woman's work!
Well whaddya know. The Cynical Sarcastic now has its first official endorsement.
Maybe I should apologize to Meghan now, huh?
(UPDATED 1/21/12) Clockwork is now available on Barnes and Noble Nook!
Monday, January 16, 2012
The Sound Of Silence
For nearly the last week I have been sidelined with a severe stomach virus.
The Cynical Sarcastic will be back up and smart-assing as soon as I can be relatively sure that I won't have to compose any portion of the next entry in near proximity of the porcelain god.
Thanks for your patience.
The Cynical Sarcastic will be back up and smart-assing as soon as I can be relatively sure that I won't have to compose any portion of the next entry in near proximity of the porcelain god.
Thanks for your patience.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
You Are What You Eat / Read / Ingest / Where Was I Going With This?
I'd love to have the audacity to sit here and type out a blog post where I could denounce garbage television, crappy movies, bad books and the overall sea of inane banality that we are all currently treading water through on a daily basis. I'd be happy to rant and rave against it all and unabashedly rail at the corporate whoremongering that allows all that tripe to sneak through our televisions, computer screens and whatever particular way you take your print media these days. (Just as a side note, when did it become necessary to have more than one electronic reader? I overheard someone actually bragging to a friend in Starbucks the other day about having a new Kindle Fire for her magazines, a Nook for her books and some off brand piece of junk she bought just to use at her beach house. Is this really necessary? Wait, hold on, I know what that is... *cough* DOUCHEBAG *cough*... ) I'd even be proud to state that as a writer I'm focusing on developing and delivering the great American novel, something that critics and scholars alike will fall in love with and school children will debate for a hundred years after I'm dead and gone.
The fact, ladies and gentlemen, is that I can't do or say any of those things. I can't denounce any of it really, well, except for the douchebaguette (feminine of douchebag, anyone?) from Starbucks the other day. To be completely honest, I'm probably going to end up contributing to it in the long run. The third page of the novel I'm completing features a man waking up naked and hung over at his kitchen table while his wife's cat licks the exposed head of his penis. Trust me on this one kids, F. Scott Fitzgerald I just ain't.
So why bother? What's our purpose here today? Well, I heard something on the radio this morning that got me thinking and I thought a little dialogue might be in order. I was listening to Bob and the Showgram on G105 in Raleigh (yes, a little plug and shout out for Bob, Mike, Erica, and Peanut Butter) and there was a discussion about faith, religion, good versus evil and all the other good stuff that Bob and Company pull out of the closet on occasion to really rankle up the masses first thing in the morning. (You have always been and forever will be da man Bob and please keep right on doin' what you're doin' sir!) During the discussion it was mentioned that in an informal survey it was noted that more people were interested in seeing The Devil Inside than were interested in more traditional religious fare such as The Passion of the Christ. In parlance, I believe the direct quote was more along the lines of 'would rather see a devil movie than a God movie.'
And that's where my little brain starting turning...
If the old sayings regarding you are what you eat are true, a.k.a. eat a lot of fat greasy food and become a fat greasy dude, I wonder if the same goes for your grey matter as well? Well, we hear constantly about the dangers of desensitizing children through exposure to adult material at too early of an age. Does the same apply to us as adults? If we continually expose ourselves to horrific images and depictions of brutal and sadistic violence on a repetitive basis, will we also not become so used to it that it no longer seems quite so horrible. If we continually focus on the misery of others and make the sociopathically disturbed machinations of criminals a form of entertainment (yes you Discovery ID), will we not start to accept that as quasi-normal albeit fringe behavior? If we are forced to watch one more episode of Wonder Pets for any reason whatsoever will anyone really blame us if we go ape shit in the middle of a parking lot somewhere and begin to re-enact Charlton Heston’s ‘you maniacs’ speech? Oh no wait, that’s just me...
I guess what it gets down to in the long run is that you moderate what you consume for entertainment. Look, I’ll be very honest. This is all coming from a man who’s nearly forty years old, loves heavy metal and thinks Serenity and The Expendables are two of the best movies made in the last two decades. I’m no critic or, based on that last statement, probably even a really good judge of quality entertainment. My thought is simply this: spread it out a little. Try new things. Actually buy a book and read it. Not just the e-book mind you, but the real honest to God book. (That’s another rant for another day, trust me.) Or better yet, just cut off the television, Xbox, Playstation, Wii, DVR, iPad, or whatever other means by which you forcibly rape your own brain with quality stimulation and just go the hell outside for a bit. Trust me, your brain will appreciate it. It gets a little sore on occasion.
And with all that being said, it’s time to run for now. I’ve got two episodes each of Bones and Castle to catch up on.
You Keep What You Kill... and Other Lessons from Vin Diesel
Did you know that when the Boogeyman goes to bed at night, he looks under his bed for this guy? OMG!
Yep, I'm yanking your chain once again. Bad joke number 304 from your friend at the Cynical Sarcastic. Sorry, guess that's what you get when I watch The Chronicles of Riddick and Fast Five back to back in the middle of the night for no apparent reason whatsoever other than insomnia.
I'll be back shortly with the real post for the week, I swear.
Next on the C.S.: You Are What You Watch...
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
In Response
The Cynical Sarcastic received some email ladies and gentlemen! Wow, first I get comments and now actual email. Gee, thanks, and I almost mean that sincerely.
Just kidding by the way. Feel free to drop a line at any time.
But on to the response. I received an email from someone whom I don't know from an address I don't recognize who was kind enough to tell me that they really like and enjoy what I have to say on the blog but feels that I shouldn't use profanity as often as I do.
Well 'Bethany,' to quote Kevin Smith who I am fairly certain was not the first to say this:
FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK
Yes dear 'Bethany' I am mocking you, but only good naturedly. For a slightly more mature explaination of my position, allow me to direct you to George Carlin's "Seven Words You Can't Say on Television." It has its own wiki site so you should be good to go if the YouTube video isn't working.
Okay, all kidding aside, here's my official Cynical Sarcastic statement regarding profanity. I consider profanity to be an artform. You have to remember that all profanity is, no matter who says it or how or when, is a word or collection of words that are uttered to create a response based upon their negative social connotation. It's words people, pure and simple. Deal with it. Do I swear constantly in my daily life? No. Do I swear in front of my parents and inlaws? Not often, but out of respect not out of some inane societal pressure. Do I swear in church? Once and honestly that did not work out well. I was thirteen. You can guess from there but suffice it to say Bibles leave no marks. Do I think profanity is a sin. No. Actually, to be honest, I'm pretty sure God is a fan of blue humor. You've seen a platypus right? I think the term 'fucked up' might have first been uttered by the angel that placed that little bugger on the planet during creation. Do I swear to intentionally offend? Definitely, particularly when there's a point to be made. Look at it like this: I use profanity in my writing like you'd use a Sharpie marker.
So anyway, in summation, thank you for your note Ms. Bethany. I can't change who I am nor can I change how I express myself at this point. If you'd gotten to me twenty years ago we could have talked. People swear, it's a fact of life. The characters in my fiction swear, some of them much worse than I ever aspire to in real life. Why? It's who they are, just like I am who I am and you are who you are.
Dear Bethany, if you will, do me just one favor even if you never read my blog again. Sometime during the course of the next week, while you are somewhere that doing so would definitely raise a number of eyebrows, drop a loud public f-bomb. Just one, just once. Do it and smile your biggest Cheshire-cat-I-just-got-away-with-something smile. I promise you it will be one of the more interesting days you've had recently. Think of it as self-improvement with a little C.S. flair!
Just kidding by the way. Feel free to drop a line at any time.
But on to the response. I received an email from someone whom I don't know from an address I don't recognize who was kind enough to tell me that they really like and enjoy what I have to say on the blog but feels that I shouldn't use profanity as often as I do.
Well 'Bethany,' to quote Kevin Smith who I am fairly certain was not the first to say this:
FUCK FUCKITY FUCK FUCK FUCK
Yes dear 'Bethany' I am mocking you, but only good naturedly. For a slightly more mature explaination of my position, allow me to direct you to George Carlin's "Seven Words You Can't Say on Television." It has its own wiki site so you should be good to go if the YouTube video isn't working.
Okay, all kidding aside, here's my official Cynical Sarcastic statement regarding profanity. I consider profanity to be an artform. You have to remember that all profanity is, no matter who says it or how or when, is a word or collection of words that are uttered to create a response based upon their negative social connotation. It's words people, pure and simple. Deal with it. Do I swear constantly in my daily life? No. Do I swear in front of my parents and inlaws? Not often, but out of respect not out of some inane societal pressure. Do I swear in church? Once and honestly that did not work out well. I was thirteen. You can guess from there but suffice it to say Bibles leave no marks. Do I think profanity is a sin. No. Actually, to be honest, I'm pretty sure God is a fan of blue humor. You've seen a platypus right? I think the term 'fucked up' might have first been uttered by the angel that placed that little bugger on the planet during creation. Do I swear to intentionally offend? Definitely, particularly when there's a point to be made. Look at it like this: I use profanity in my writing like you'd use a Sharpie marker.
So anyway, in summation, thank you for your note Ms. Bethany. I can't change who I am nor can I change how I express myself at this point. If you'd gotten to me twenty years ago we could have talked. People swear, it's a fact of life. The characters in my fiction swear, some of them much worse than I ever aspire to in real life. Why? It's who they are, just like I am who I am and you are who you are.
Dear Bethany, if you will, do me just one favor even if you never read my blog again. Sometime during the course of the next week, while you are somewhere that doing so would definitely raise a number of eyebrows, drop a loud public f-bomb. Just one, just once. Do it and smile your biggest Cheshire-cat-I-just-got-away-with-something smile. I promise you it will be one of the more interesting days you've had recently. Think of it as self-improvement with a little C.S. flair!
Monday, January 2, 2012
Scars and Souvenirs
One of my favorite bands, Theory of a Deadman, released an album in 2010 entitled Scars and Souvenirs. It's with a nod and a thank you to that particular group of underappreciated geniuses that I'd like to take a moment to 'Say Goodbye' to 2011. Yes, I used a song title in a sentence, deal with it. 'By the Way' (look, I did it again) if you're not familiar with Theory of a Deadman, check out their video page on YouTube or their entire catalog on iTunes. It should come as 'No Surprise' (one more just for giggles) how much you'll like these guys if you are into rock even in the slightest!
The whole notion of scars and souvenirs, at least for our purposes, is the thought that the events of our lives leave a mark upon us. Whether it's a bad relationship, a horrible job, that really good bar fight, or even that one weekend you'd never remember if it wasn't for a jerk best friend and a camera phone, our lives leave impressions on us. Whether these impressions are visible or not, well in my slightly less than humble opinion, usually the more horrific the scarring the more incredible the story.
You know, one of the reasons I began writing the C.S. initially was that I wanted a place to share an opinion or two with those few unfortunates who chose to read what I had to say. In the first few months that I've been up and blathering I've foisted more than just a couple of my ideas out there into the universe. Now, however, I want to take just a few lines to get more than just a little real on this whole topic.
I've been kicking around this rock for nearly forty years now and while I will never ever ever even attempt to pretend to possess any level of wisdom whatsoever, I have actually learned a thing or two from hard won experience. My own scars and souvenirs so to speak. Now admittedly I have more than the usual amount of concrete between my ears so I may not always catch on to what the universe is trying to teach me but I have actually learned a couple of things along the way. One of those is near and dear to me and I'd like to share it, if you'll indulge me:
The Cynical Sarcastic's Life Lesson for 2012:
Stop worrying what everyone else thinks and be proud of who you are and what it took to get to where you are in life!
Seriously kids, you'd think by watching and listening to us all as we run around in our little rat races that we loving refer to as our day to day existence that we are actually ashamed to be ourselves. You have lived your life to this point and all your past experiences, mistakes, drunken escapades, prison stories, and one crazy night in Antiguas all go into who you are. They make you unique and irreplaceable as a person. Ten people born on the same day in the same hospital/barn as you have had ten very different lives. I'd bet every penny I will ever have on that fact. The question is do you actually see value in yourself for that fact?
The same goes for aging, scarring, disfigurement or whatever makes you think you're ugly. Do you see all that grey hair sprouting on top of your head Mr. Just for Men? Guess what, you earned it, if for nothing else but you managed to hang out on our little rock just long enough to start going grey. You're scarred up from some nasty accident? Check out the dude who just won Dancing with Stars. The man looks like what happens when you throw a Ken doll on the gas grill but he takes pride in earning his injuries by fighting for our country. You lost a leg due to an illness? You're still here, right?
Take a look at this picture:
This particular gentleman, aside from needing to make an appointment to get a zipper pull tattoo at the base of that amazing piece of scarring, beat a brain tumor in 2011. That scar means he'll survive to keep on living to experience new things and tell new stories. It also means that one of my oldest friends isn't going anywhere and I need to stop being remiss in getting my ass to the western side of the state and get up there to buy a brother dinner pretty soon! I can promise you one thing about this man though my dear readers: you won't hear him bitch and moan about a scar on the back of his head when you consider the alternative!
So that's about all I've got today on the subject of scars and souvenirs boys and girls. If you're at all anything like me you can account for just about every nick, cut, and mark on your own hide and I'm willing to bet that there are some pretty good stories around some of them. Just remember that those stories, your past, make you unique and that you should be proud and find value in yourself for that very reason.
Here's to a great 2012. I'm looking forward to finding out what kind of scars and souvenirs I'm going to end up with by the time 2013 gets here!
The whole notion of scars and souvenirs, at least for our purposes, is the thought that the events of our lives leave a mark upon us. Whether it's a bad relationship, a horrible job, that really good bar fight, or even that one weekend you'd never remember if it wasn't for a jerk best friend and a camera phone, our lives leave impressions on us. Whether these impressions are visible or not, well in my slightly less than humble opinion, usually the more horrific the scarring the more incredible the story.
You know, one of the reasons I began writing the C.S. initially was that I wanted a place to share an opinion or two with those few unfortunates who chose to read what I had to say. In the first few months that I've been up and blathering I've foisted more than just a couple of my ideas out there into the universe. Now, however, I want to take just a few lines to get more than just a little real on this whole topic.
I've been kicking around this rock for nearly forty years now and while I will never ever ever even attempt to pretend to possess any level of wisdom whatsoever, I have actually learned a thing or two from hard won experience. My own scars and souvenirs so to speak. Now admittedly I have more than the usual amount of concrete between my ears so I may not always catch on to what the universe is trying to teach me but I have actually learned a couple of things along the way. One of those is near and dear to me and I'd like to share it, if you'll indulge me:
The Cynical Sarcastic's Life Lesson for 2012:
Stop worrying what everyone else thinks and be proud of who you are and what it took to get to where you are in life!
Seriously kids, you'd think by watching and listening to us all as we run around in our little rat races that we loving refer to as our day to day existence that we are actually ashamed to be ourselves. You have lived your life to this point and all your past experiences, mistakes, drunken escapades, prison stories, and one crazy night in Antiguas all go into who you are. They make you unique and irreplaceable as a person. Ten people born on the same day in the same hospital/barn as you have had ten very different lives. I'd bet every penny I will ever have on that fact. The question is do you actually see value in yourself for that fact?
The same goes for aging, scarring, disfigurement or whatever makes you think you're ugly. Do you see all that grey hair sprouting on top of your head Mr. Just for Men? Guess what, you earned it, if for nothing else but you managed to hang out on our little rock just long enough to start going grey. You're scarred up from some nasty accident? Check out the dude who just won Dancing with Stars. The man looks like what happens when you throw a Ken doll on the gas grill but he takes pride in earning his injuries by fighting for our country. You lost a leg due to an illness? You're still here, right?
Take a look at this picture:
So that's about all I've got today on the subject of scars and souvenirs boys and girls. If you're at all anything like me you can account for just about every nick, cut, and mark on your own hide and I'm willing to bet that there are some pretty good stories around some of them. Just remember that those stories, your past, make you unique and that you should be proud and find value in yourself for that very reason.
Here's to a great 2012. I'm looking forward to finding out what kind of scars and souvenirs I'm going to end up with by the time 2013 gets here!
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