It was a hot june day and my ass was sticking to the seat of my girlfriend's car

It was a pretty successful trip up to the Great White North.  A skip and a jump from Lake Superior, in the middle of Northern Wisconsin on a beautiful, clear lake.  My friend also minimized his dumbassitude because his dad was up there with us.  His dad's a pretty cool guy, so all's well.  Did a shit load of fishing, and caught a bunch of stuff, my highlight being an 18 inch, 4 pound Smallmouth Bass.  Largest bass I have ever caught.  Pulled him up through twenty feet of water on a drop-shot leech.  Pretty effective.

I needed a couple of days to decompress, just because.  Haven't really felt like doing anything productive, but got roped into trying to donate plasma yesterday.  No go.  My friend keeps hitting snags with getting his ID issues sorted out, and i really don't want to donate by myself my first time.  I'm not a fan of needles.  But one has to do what one has to do.  So instead, after spending an hour at the DMV with no fruition, we decided to grab our tackle, and go fishing.  Specifically, picked up some chicken livers to go for catfish.  Yes.  Chicken Livers.  So like a couple of shiftless riverfolk, we headed over to the largest of area lakes, and threw our line in.  Five minutes later, my friend lands the biggest fish of the season so far for us, as well as a personal high for him.  A 13 lb, 33 inch monster channel catfish.  Sure, bigger exist.  Much bigger (Wisconsin's state record is like 40-some pounds).  But we've been having shit luck for monsters this season due to a shitty spring with threw off spawn for almost every species of fish.  But, fall is the great equalizer, and the monsters will come shallow to feed before winter when the water cools.  He pulled another one out, and I managed two more a couple of hours later (all about the same size, over a foot and a half in length).  Had this weird dude fucking dude keep talking to us.  At first it was alright, he was talking about how he used to catfish on a nearby river and get big fish, then he was talking about his drug addiction and how he was two weeks away from being off of probation or parole or something.  It was fucking strange.  You catch a big catfish, suddenly everyone starts talking to you about random shit.  What. The. Hell.

I've been putting some things off, and ignoring some other things.  Haven't answered the cause of my melancholy's calls or texts.  Leaving her in limbo for the time being.  I'll deal with that when I'm good and ready.  My youngest brother moved out off to college yesterday.  He's still pretty nearby, but so is my other brother, and I don't see him frequently, so whatevs.  Closer to feeling like I have my own place again.

Tomorrow marks the start of the Badger Football season, so I'll be off to Camp Randall with my grandmother to watch Wisconsin beat the University of Nevada-Las Vegas.

Getting The Fuck Out This Bitch

I'm prepping to head up into the woods with a friend and his parents.  Got invited, figured why not? Get out of this fucking black hole of a town and try to have a good time.  Get my mind off of things.  Because I'm feeling pretty down right now.

So my woman problems came to abrupt and shitty end.  Last night, I was hanging out with the focus of previous posts, my eponymous lady-friend.  She's moving to her new apartment today and starts her shiny new job on Monday.  And I took a gamble, and some advice from a few commentators of previous posts, decided to go for broke.  Did it big (ish. Big considering my nigh negative budget).  Have some nice looking flowers in the garden behind my house, picked some and wrapped them up.  Grabbed a bottle of shitty red wine.  Kicked my brother out of the house for three hours and cooked this simple yet very good pasta dish  I kind of just winged one night (I will admit, I'm a pretty good cook).  Invited her over, told her we'd get a pizza or something, she showed up, and blam!  Surprise dinner for two.  So we ate, had a couple of glasses of wine each, and were just kind of chilling in my basement watching the Big Lebowski (aka the most ROMANTIC MOVIE OF ALL TIME).  Anyways, we're having a good time, kind of cuddled up on my partially broken futon, and I gather up the nerve I'd been searching for, and go for broke.  I ask her where we were headed when she moved.  What she thought of what we had, and what could happen next.  I told her how I felt about her, and that yes, long distance is a bitch, but an hour and a half wasn't an difficult length to drive weekly or whatever.  And that she was worth it, and I thought we had something.  She said we did, and that if her life wasn't moving forward as fast as it was right now, we could try to see what happens.  But she had a lot on my plate, a future to look forward to, and I was just kind of stranded in limbo.  And she was sorry, and if we waited, and I got my life sorted out, we could see how we felt about each other in the future and go for it then.  And that regardless, we were still friends, and we were still going to be friends,  So I was kind of in shock, just kind of sat in silence until the movie ended, then i walked her out, told her not to go too crazy getting all her stuff moved, and she went home.  She texted me like two hours later seeing if I was alright, and I told her I'd need a while to decompress, and that I'd talk to her when I got back from my friend's cabin.

So, I barely slept, am leaving in about two hours, and have been listening to music all night while surfing random shit on the internet.  Music, I might add, that kind of parrots my feeling and mood.  I feel like a high school kid again, and my girlfriend just dumped me (metaphorically.  I never had a girlfriend in high school.  I was too weird and too fucked up).  I figure this is the last therapeutic act regarding this.  But it's just one more thing on top of other shit.  I need a win right now.  I need something to go my way, because I've just been languishing and unable to get anything to turn out the way I want it to.  Even something as simple as catching a monster fish when I'm up north this week.  Something.

I find it profound how Husker Du's catalogue can be so amazing and encompass so much passion and emotion in it.  Candy Apple Grey is my favorite bitter, depressing album, and this song is just savagely bleak and perfect for making a shitty mood worse to purge sadness from oneself.

Society's Expectations and the Human Response.

There are moments of clarity when a person looks around his surroundings and suddenly decides that he no longer wishes to take place in anything that can be considered society.  It happens in most cultures and civilizations of the world and ages past: the lone hermit, exiling himself (or herself, I guess, but I'm hard pressed to find a female example) to gain a better understanding of the world around him (or her, still trying to be inclusive).  The largest example would be, in a spiritual sense, the most well known: Siddhartha Guatama, the Buddha himself.  But, examples exist across a spectrum when one looks at asceticism in its more common affiliation with religious or spiritual practices.  Thomas Aquinas, noted medieval theologian and later saint spent much of his time living the life of a hermit in a more communal aspect: part of the Dominican order.  Jesus himself spent 40 days in the wilderness living the life of an ascetic.  Even to this day, in India and other predominantly Hindu nations, ascetics still exist living lives of spiritual purity  away from the common man.  Legends move past that.  The old man on the mountain, giving spiritual guidance and advice to those who make the treacherous journey.  Ascetics live together in some instances like monasteries of silent monks.  Asceticism also exists for predetermined amount of time, like during Ramadan for Muslims or Lent for Catholics.

However, despite it's affiliation with its more common spiritual side, or religious even, ascetics can and do exist within a secular society.  People who decide that they wish to make a wilderness sabbatical, or remove themselves from the "grid," or anyone who puts an ideology above physical comfort in order to better live it.  It's possible.  But, is it possible for an ascetic to be created out of a sense of removal from the world due to being simply "fed up?"  I say, yes.  It is.  And I don't understand why more people don't try it, or contemplate it at the very least.

Society can be, and often is, an oppressive system to the individual.  The constant monitoring by ones "peers," the constant self-driven sense to achieve normalcy, and the desires of society for normalcy.  For most individuals, that sense of normalcy is almost inherent.  Conditioned, if you will.  Go to school, listen to your parents, and eventually a young individual understands those concepts of what society wants and desires out of its inhabitants.  Some don't get it, and seek solace with like minded individuals.  Welcome to the world of subcultures.  When I was in college, I took an Intro to Sociology class.  It was interesting enough, but the generality of it kind of killed it for me.  That, and the professor was a super hot Japanese woman, and that was distracting.  Anyways, we had to write a paper on a pretty wide variety of topics, which included a subculture of our designation.  At the time, I was still really big into the punk scene, so I wrote this huge, in depth paper about punk ethics and the subculture.  But, it got me thinking.  Because I had looked perhaps a little to closely at my brothers and sisters in arms.  Foibles and concepts I didn't agree with arose, and I stopped identifying as a "punk" as it were.  The posturing and the constant questioning of legitimacy finally got to me, and while I still did and still do enjoy the music, that was that.  My refuge from mainstream society since I was 16 and first listened to the Clash in my friend's bronco came crashing down around me.  Subcultures are not a constant replacement for alienation from mainstream society.  Many of them are the response of youth, and when youth fades, so does association.  They are not a permanent solution to alienation most of the time.

But, I digress.  To some people, that time comes when they witness society's wants and needs are in direct conflict to there own wants and needs.  And, self-preservation kicks in.  So you assimilate, or remove yourself from society.  Or, in a completely ballsy act, try to change it.  But let's be reasonable here.  One person of moderate to little importance is not going to change the course of the collective.  It's like David and Goliath, only instead, David's a fucking midget, and Goliath is a goliath from Star Craft and is a veteran of Arcturus's war (ten years later and I still remember the Terran campaign. Fuck yeah).  Needless to say, it's damn near one sided.  So, you, as one of the alienated, must make a decision: fight or flight.  Burn out or fade away.

So I look at the world around me, and wonder which decision to make today.  It's incredibly apparent: there are things around me that I despise, and things around me I want to change, but I do not have the ability to enact said change.  So, I can adopt a defeatist attitude and attempt to assimilate, which I have been attempting most of my life, or get radical.  Children don't want to be astronauts or painters anymore.  They want cash monies, bitches, and material goods.  It's the progression of the success of the modern era.  I've mentioned that I don't belong in this age before, and I stand by that.  I don't belong in any previous age either, except for possibly the renaissance, but even then, I'm no visionary or luminary.  Just a guy with blind ambition and minimal motivation.  I play games like Fallout and watch Mad Max, realizing that is the age I belong in.  My rabid appetite for knowledge, and my wish to be left alone by most people ensures it.  Not to be some warrior of the wastes, some Ayatollah of Rock'n'rollah, but to be a man on the mountain.  Hording the knowledge of the past and granting it to those I deem worthy.  An ascetic, but without the sense of spirituality or religion, because I am a spiritual black hole.  So I sit here, daydreaming and typing, listening to Bob Dylan while I slowly knock back a bottle of red wine, hoping that the path in front of me goes where I want it to.  I see forest and jungle on either side, and if the path zigs before it zags, I will pull the machete from my side and help me hack and slash my way to where I want to go.  All I know is that probably 90% of the time, this picture sums up my thoughts on this place and this idea around me...

So, because I'm listening to Robert Dylan and knocking back a glass or four of wine, here's the man himself

I am the goddamn devil in sheep's clothing, and all I can do is tempt people who are without temptation while I slowly devolve into obscurity

I broke the one promise I have ever made. I drove while drunk. And I feel like the lowest form of low, and the pure hatred I feel for myself dwarves that of a neutron star-fucker.

Like a Nihilistic Emerson, or a Cynical Norman Mailer

So I've been doing some thinking on my end, and a little bit of drinking, and I realized something positive among all the general negativity that I experience and emit like it's going out of style. This goes back to my second-to-last post. And It has given me an idea for a change of pace within my own personal blogosphere (I hate that word). I feel like I have stagnated over the past couple of months, and that maybe, just maybe, all this general self-deprecation isn't super proactive. The positive support has been nice, and welcome, but I feel like I've been ignoring my roots. Or not. This blog wasn't created to BE anything. It was part of an engine that is a possible collection of funds. Which has fizzled. And yet, Here I return, day after day. Is it some otherworldy need or a an unconscious suggestion implanted by google? Who knows. Who really cares? The reality is this: I like my blog. I like my followers. I like reading my followers' blogs. But, I have become bored with posting the same general things again. I see blogging as therapeutic. That may not change. But something will.

I see an interesting development in my post "The Putridity of a Diseased World and the Guillotine that Will Finish it Off." It's the change I wanted. I love to write. In the end, it doesn't really matter what (though fiction is pretty boss, and the ladies melt over some poetry). But, I don't think I'm man enough to post my more creative ideas for brutal criticism (maybe we'll get to that later). When I boil down "Putridity," it reminds me of essays previously written long ago when I was still a bright-eyed idealist, albeit a little more cynical and nihilistic. So, expect an "essay" in the loosest sense of the term about every week or so. Compiled, but not edited because I don't care too much about grammatical errors at the moment. And, barring negative feedback, I will hopefully continue until I run out of ideas or my blog combusts or the internet gets shut down.

So now, I ask for feedback. Thoughts? Comments? Negative or positive. I don't want to alter the course of enjoyment too much, but I like writing, and I like writing with a little more purpose behind it than I have been.

Unexpected Vistors Bearing Gifts of Gold, Frankensence, and Methamphetamine

So, that last blog post, I was like a little fucked up when i compiled it.  I don't know what that means, but everything in it is true, and I think that, except one thing.  There was a comment, and I'm going to reply to it in the most direct manner possible: I am not planning on becoming an hero.  Do I think that down the line I might? Yes.  I don't see it in the near future, but I keep it as a distinct possibility later in life.  But it will still take a lot.  It's like a contingency plan of sorts.

So I had kind of a crazy fun weekend.  And I'm going to start at the beginning.  So I got wasted Thursday with some friends, and wrote that beautiful little blog post.  I tried to go to sleep at like 6 in the morning, fell asleep at 8, and by ten was woken up by my brother because someone was at the door for me.  Turned out it was a friend of mine from high school, who I haven't seen in like three years.  After high school, he joined the navy.  Then he got kicked out, and now he lives on the west coast in a pop-up trailer.  And, he may be the dumbest person I know. But he's loyal.  But his time in the navy has turned him into two things:  sexist and racist.  He's always been a little racist, which everyone just ignored, but now, he's super racist.  The fact that he is sexist is pretty shocking news, because he was always super respectful to girls in high school.  Still consumed by sex like every other teenage boy, but not a doucher or anything.  Not anymore.  So I'm looking at this situation, and in a pretty heavy thought on it.  We've got history, and I can trust him to have my back, but he's changed in a bad way, and expels thoughts and ideas that I don't agree with at all.

Anyway, I didn't sleep after that, and spent the afternoon painting a garage for my grandmother, earning some dough.  So I was tired, and unable to sleep.  And then, a friend of mine called me and informed me that he was in a bad way.  So I brought a bottle of wine over, and we had a good old fashion brodown.  Got shitty, wandered around.  Then, we decided we were going to snort Ritalin.  For all you uniformed individuals, there are two things that you need to know about Ritalin: first, that it is the same as speed, but in a lower dose; and when you send 60 milligrams up your nose, your mind races and you formulate ideas.  ADVISORY: i do not advocate the use of prescription drugs for recreational reasons.  So, this would break the roughly three year embargo on drug use that has not been either prescribed, alcohol, or nicotine.  But, such is life.  My friend and I sat around, talking, watching movies (not really, background noise), and listening to music.  We talked about everything.  About him moving out of his little town which is like a twin sister of my little town, separated by four miles of highway.  And women.  So, 7 am rolled around, and I went home.  And I couldn't fall asleep.  I was tired, and the Ritalin had more than wore off, but my mind wouldn't shut the fuck up.  i couldn't stop thinking.

I drifted off to sleep a few times, before getting up to prepare for a trip I embarked on.  I went with one of my best friends, and an acquaintance of mine who I do not like because he is annoying as hell.  We headed two hours north, to meet my lady friend and help her move a king-size mattress to her parent's house in the aforementioned small sister town.  She invited the annoying guy for some reason unknown to me.  We get up there after a fun time on the road, including me flashing my man-breasts at people we pass, grabbing cardboard crowns from burger king, and listening to all sorts of music.  So we go pick up some drinks, and settle in to her empty apartment.  Pull out a deck of cards, and I proceed to teach her how to play Euchre, which is almost the Midwest's national card game.  Play a couple of games, she's my partner and we win.  Then, decide to boogie to the bars.  We were in a small city with a university of less than 10,000 students.  Head to the first bar, rap videos playing on big screen tvs, packed with people by the bar, and like 8 sub-species of bros having a dance off in the corner.  Have one drink, and move on.  End up at a bar with a band playing.  Kind of blues-rock stuff, local students by the looks of it.  No cover, grab a beer and listen.  Look over and see who the drummer is.  My friend Mike.  The drummer for both bands that I was a part of in college.  I had forgotten he was from this city.  And he sees me.  And he motions me towards the stage, and he tells the rest of his band of our musical history.  And they ask me if I want to rock with them.  So I did.  And it was fun as shit.  We only did two songs, a cover of "Born Under a Bad Sign" by Cream, and "Rehab" by Down, as we quickly tried to figure out songs we all knew.  I just did vocals, as their lead singer used their spare guitar for a rhythm.  Our timing was off, but it was still fun as shit.  I have not done that in years.  My friends were impressed, the bar was half paying attention and the band members themselves were very friendly and pretty cool guys.  So we threw back some beers against the other bands playing (too mediocre for me to list here), and headed back to the apartment.  Completely wasted.  And with no end in site.  Kept drinking, and all four of us passed out on the king-sized mattress.  Three dudes and a lady.  Dear Penthouse forum...

Oh, and here's some devil music for you guys: Electric Wizard with "Black Mass"

The Putridity of a Diseased World and the Guillotine that Will Finish it Off

I look around the world, and I am disappointed by what I see.  I'm not on my high horse: I'm a brutal cynic, a spiteful excuse for a human being who cannot, or will not, enact the change needed to better himself and is almost incapable of connecting with another human being without browbeating or subversion.  I can come to terms with that.  I believe that I do not fully belong in this time, or in any previous time.  I'm aware that I don't fit in, even around the dejected and outcast people that I keep as companions, and I know that when I finally give up and slip out of this mortal coil, it will be by my own hand.  Since I was a young boy, as early as I can remember, I was pretty sure I wouldn't last past the age of 25 for some macabre reason.  So, I'm two months in on my 25th birthday, and I wonder if that was true.  But this isn't about me.  I wish it was.  But it isn't.  This is about humanity.  In the most general, whole aspect of it.  It's not inclusive, either.  It is exclusive almost, because there are points that I wonder how many people in this world are truly deserving of the title.

I am not a superstitious or spiritual person.  Those traits were ground out of me long ago by what I saw as an unjust and cruel world.  Yet, humans are the children of gods.  From the time that shamans first uttered creation tales, we have been considered the offspring of the divine.  Even today, as technology and science has wrested understanding from the previously unintelligible, the majority of people on this planet believe they were created in the image of an omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent deity.  That is some heavy shit whether you believe it or not.  And yet, with the majority of the world doesn't act like it.

We fight each other.  Over money, over property, over religion.  We kill each other, over less.  We try to profit over each other, because of random values we assign to metal that is only precious because of it's relative scarcity to obtain by the general population.  We can't get along with our neighbors, let alone people who look, act, or believe differently than we do.  So, are we the children of gods?  The recipients of the sacred fire that Prometheus gave to us at risk of his own life?  Are we taking advantage of that gift?

We are at the precipice of humanity's greatest accomplishments and marvels.  People say it isn't the future doesn't occur until we have jet packs or flying cars.  But we can transfer large quantities of information on electricity, across the globe.  We can create devices the size of a small book that can hold an entire library's worth of information.  We can fly through sky and space utilizing knowledge and technology that our ancestor's couldn't even speculate a hundred years ago.  We cured polio and smallpox, treat HIV, which just over a decade ago was a death sentence.  We cannot cure cancer yet, but every day that passes, we get closer and closer.  Right now in time, the only limit to what we can achieve is the physical limitations of nature, and we bend them every day.  We carry that divine fire within us.  We need to act accordingly.

So what to do with the situation?  Anything.  Build something with with your hands.  Read a book about a topic you know nothing about.  Help someone solve a problem.  Go out into the world, and utilize that which makes us great.  Reach out and remind yourself why you are important.  Be majestic and powerful.  Remind yourself and others that we are greatest as a collective.  Together, we designed and built the architectural marvels of the world.  Together, we can bring our erstwhile brothers and sisters together, and guide them into a unified future.  And I will catalog it.  Because when i sit and think deeply about it, that was what I was meant to do.  I was meant to watch others, and recognize their achievements.

My Life as a Country Music Song, and I Fucking Hate Country (Or, What I During Summer Vacation, and Why I Should be Tried in the Hague)

I had the macabre thought today that yes, my life is turning into a country music song.  And yes, I can tolerate most music, but not country.  Not at all.  So let's go through a little checklist:

My dog is gone [*] - Oh yeah, this one is a staple.  Maybe not generally in the same sense as putting your dog down, but I stand by it.
My woman left me [*] - A redneck crooning about his girl leaving?  You better fucking believe that's a country song.  My case? She's leaving me eventually.  By September at the latest.  Ok, yeah.  This is a stretch.  She's not my "girl" in the official term, like a country song, but she might as well be.  So fuck it, counting.
My Truck don't work [*] - It best be made in 'murrica you know? Another stretch.  Mine works, but the exhaust is loud as shit, which means it's failing, which means I can get pulled over and ticketed.  Also, i don't drive a truck.  It's a two-door, and it's an import.  Fuck you Zac Brown.  When American automakers finally manufacture a four-cylinder 1.8 liter engine that can run like an Impreza, let me know.  Until then, it's called CAPITALISM, YOU DENSE FUCK.
Went to the fishin' hole [*] - Goddamn it.  Guilty again.  Why? Because I enjoy subjugating lesser animals.  Or because it's fun.  Either one.  Also, came up fucking empty again today.  Tomorrow, I'm going to pull some carp out of the god-forsaken lake in my town.  Fun fact: my angling idol, Jeremy Wade, as made famous in the show River Monsters, was an avid carp angler in his 20s.  Me? Not so much.  I just want to catch some fish, regardless of how terrible an invasive species they are
GOD BLESS THE USA [ ] - Ha.  Not even close.  If I had the means and the power, I'd burn Washington DC to the ground like it was 1814 and I was Robert Ross.  (For those who either sucked at American {or possible British} history, or are from a different country and therefore not required to know anything about this country, Robert Ross was the Commander of the British forces during the War of 1812.  He orchestrated the Burning of Washington in retaliation for American raids against Canada.)  I've been let down.  By the party I voted for (Democrats), by the party in control of the house (Republicans), and by the children that held the entire legislature hostage because they don't understand anything and use shitty, assholish buzzwords to confuse and stupify idiot independent voters (the Tea Party).  I'm sick of it.  I'm sick of the blind idealism of the left, where they accomplish nothing because they're too terrified to give up power, and the rampant corporatism of the Right, where they claim so much, lie, and slowly betray the Americans that aren't rich or corporations.  Obama let me down.  Scott Walker pissed me off.  Politics tire me.  There was once a time where I was a bright-eyed idealist, sure that the left would be victorious, and save me from pitfalls and problems.  I mean, I can't be a bitter enough asshole to vote Republican, but I just want the two parties to stop.  Stop this bullshit bickering, stop with childish name-calling, listen to the rational thinking American people, and get our fucking shit on TRACK.  So, Lee-fucking-Greenwood, shut the fuck up, suck another Jingoistic infused dick, and realize that loving America isn't "patriotic." Hating America is.  Calling America's bullshit out.  Belittling America.  Because America is like that crazy girl you dated in college.  When you were nice to her, she was insane, but when you were borderline abusive? (verbal, not physical) She was normal.  So you criticized her.  And you felt like a piece of shit.  And she wouldn't listen except when you were a dick.  Because when you asked her to take her fucking medication, she'd go crazy, but when you yelled at her, she did it.  And after the initial excitement of a new relationship fell apart, and you were face to face with a crazy bitch, you couldn't stand by and just let it go with kind words.  Because eventually, a year down the road, probably longer in America's case, she'll run into you at a bar, and thank you for dumping her.  And she'll tell you that she's happy and functional.  That she has a fiance.  And you'll apologize, because you're not really a dick at heart, but you were sick of shit going crazy, and were scared at points.  But she'll tell you it's ok.  Her entire life, people enabled her.  That she just needed one person to call her on her bullshit.  That she went to therapy.  That she was happy.  And you'll die a little inside, because before it went to shit, you liked the girl.  But you'll be happy.  Because even though you went through hell emotionally, she's better. (Yes, this is based on a true story).
Jesus is just alright with me [ ] - Another miss.  Nice try, Toby Keith, but I'm not falling for that shit again.  To be Fair, I have no problem with kindly, religious people.  Shit, that's what my grandparents are.  It's the lunatics.  Just like everything else, the crazies ruin everything.  Christianity? Evangelicalism.  Islam?  The Ayatollah.  There are more examples, but those are some pretty good examples.  Fuck the Ayatollah.  Fuck Pat Robertson, Fuck Jerry Falwell (may he burn in the hell he condemned so many people to), Fuck Billy Graham, Fuck Fred Phelps.
Nascar [ ] - Fuck Nascar.  Seriously.  You will never catch me for that, Taylor Swift.  Never.  And yes, I would fuck the shit out of you.  I would wreck you.  Give me a call sometime.

So that's the gist of it.  In reality, i guess I'm 3/6 on the whole thing, so take that as you will.  So here I am, early Friday morning, jumping from random blog to random blog, pausing to gaze at the sun-burned titties of some random woman who posted them on her blog.  And then reading her blog, about Henry Rollins and Jello Biafra, and talking another look at those sun-burned titties, and being like, yeah, I'd totally go there.  But you are probably out of my league.  So maybe, you would like to go slumming sometime?  Then, I realize what a fucking creeper that makes me.  So I'll die a little inside.  Why?  Because what's reincarnated from the ashes is going to be better.  Stronger.  More capable.  Cultured.  Sexy.  And I'll walk into a bar and give a look that can evaporate a woman's panties from 30 paces.  And I'll challenge men to duels.  And climb Everest.  Get drunk with Ernest Hemingway when I go to the afterlife to take a temporary job ferrying dead souls across the river Styx.

So, I'm going to utter this.  Thanks for reading this long, rambling post.  Thanks for reading all these posts.  Recently, my blog reached 500 comments across all my postings.  That's pretty cool.  And wouldn't have happened without you guys.  Kudos.

This is a song by Cage the Elephant.  I really like it.  I hope you do too.

Withdrawal Symptoms: Initially Optimistic, Now Tedious and Bullshit

Once I made it through the first two weeks with only a couple of puffs on a cigarette, I was feeling optimistic.  Then, the withdrawal symptoms kicked in.  Now, I'm not going to be all "omg, it's so hard, I can't do it." I'm over the hump, the symptoms will begin to get better.  I'm also not going to be "this is the hardest thing EVAR!" because for me, it's not.  Yeah, I've been smoking around 3 packs a week since the age of 18, but that's a pretty short amount of time compared to the general amount of time before most dedicated smokers quit.  And, by quitting cold turkeyish, I kind of brought this bullshit on myself.  I could very well ask my dad to pick me up gum, or the patch, and he would, because he was damn sure not a fan of me smoking, but I'm pretty confident right now.  The biggest pain in the ass symptom, a sore throat, is beginning to subside.  Now if I can get past the mental bullshit, like insomnia, lethargy, and a general "strangeness" in my brain, I'll be all good.  Because it's been putting a few projects on hold.  Stuff I really want to get done, and move forward on.

Also, thanks to everyone for the kind words and sympathy after my dog was put to sleep.  Here's an song that is pretty uncharacteristic of me, but I actually really like:

Monday, You are the Devil

Well, we put my dog to sleep today. Pretty bummed about that. His name was Tucker, he was a collie, and was 11 years old.  We had him for 10 years, got him from a farm when he was one.  His previous owners were moving and couldn't take him with them, and they left him at a farm that raised collies.  My mom found the add in the paper, called them up, and we drove an hour to see if he was the dog we wanted.  The farm wouldn't keep him because he didn't have papers, but he was most definitely a purebred.

Much like many large, purebred dogs, Tucker started having health problems as he approached 10 years.  Hips, internal issues, that kind of stuff.  The past couple of months, he's been having accidents on the floors frequently, and sometimes he couldn't make it up the stairs in front of our house.  Yesterday, he was eating, fell down, and couldn't get back up for a couple of hours.  That was pretty much the final decision.  We knew he didn't have a long time, but his quality of life had deteriorated so much, that the decision was made for us.  He didn't like being carried, and he couldn't go for long walks anymore, and he constantly tripped and fell.  So, my dad called up our vet, and they put him to sleep this afternoon.  I didn't go with, didn't want to.  Would have been a little much.  So, here I am, watching TV, missing my dog.  He wasn't the smartest dog, but he was my dog.