I celebrated a close family member's birthday today. It wasn't huge. We had cake and some fast food. We all wished her a happy birthday and went on our way. Spent some time.
The thing is, we spend time over there as it is. Not that I don't enjoy it, it's just shouldn't that be special. I hate special treatment on my birthday. When I complete a project I've been working on or a goal I've been working towards, then pat me on the back. Hell, I'll take some cake too.
But the day I was born? Seriously? I get cake and stuff just because my mother managed to stretch her cervix to the breaking point or go through a procedure that gets an enormous scar? Then give her the damn cake.
Yet I love recognizing other's birthdays. Is it the same for everyone? We hate our own, and don't want any attention on ours but feel a compulsive need to give the other person what we know we don't have? Maybe it's an inferiority complex. I don't feel as if I've given that person enough, why should they give me an arbitrary gift? Because of tradition?
Why do we love to give. It's not the tax write-off, because this doesn't have one. I despise getting things, people spending money on me, and giving me things, when a simple "Hey, you were born today. Hope your mother didn't hurt too much". That's what it should be. Guilt day. "You stretched your mother's vagina beyond all comprehension. Don't you feel great" The cake would be a giant hole with a head sticking out. If you are female, you should have a football shoved through your vagina. (You don't want to know what happens to the males)
Are humans naturally giving? Do we naturally want to give things to people for nothing? Does society make us into Scrooges or Republicans? So if any one's birthday is today, have a cookie, unless you'd rather I'd forget about it and give it to someone else. Maybe it's that I have a lot of guilt from when I was a child and yelling at my mother to get me a sandwich on her birthday.
Did I ruin my entire birthday happiness because of a PB&J?
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Famous last words
Our last words are the most significant in the world, for the simple reason that they are the most remembered. They are the most talked about, the most claimed, the most interpreted, and the most sought after. Et tu, Brute, supposedly the last words of Julius Caesar. So romantic, so profound. A symbol of betrayal and treason. Suppose his last words were actually "Bring me a sandwich and some wine", only to be killed by Brutus and tragically never receiving his promised sandwich.
One of my favorites. Oscar Wilde. "Either those curtains go or I do".
H.G Wells. "Go away, I'm fine"
Graham Chapman. "Hello"
Conrad Hilton. "Leave the shower curtain on the inside of the tub"
Jesse James. "This picture is awful dusty"
Amazing isn't it. In a moment that is so somber, so reverent, we have this. Irreverence. If they were told they were about to die, would they have said something more meaningful. Hilton knew he was going to die. Did he just want to go out like a jackass? Or was it more. Would we give a deep thought at the end of life? Or laugh in the face of that eternal bitch death that beats the other eternal bitch life. Would you say goodbye, say something silly, say nothing at all?
Would you wish someone luck, give some advice, or just finish your goddamn sentence? Would you ask for a hand or question a motive? Speak a regret or bask in the glow of your own beautifully awful mortality? As we go through life we must always remember what is said, because of all the things these people said in their lives, all the things they could've said, this is what they chose. To those who can't choose their last words and expect many more, is it with regret? I imagine if I had to choose, I would spend all the time I had left obsessing about it. Would I wish my family good luck? Tell Jamie Rathsteader I loved her when I never had the courage to speak up in the second grade? Could I put all my sadness, all my happiness, all my regrets into one sentence? Maybe that's why Conrad said what he said. He knew he couldn't. Why try? Will we say "I left $100,000,000 buried under the -"? Will we feel we've said all we can, and say nothing at all?
To wrap this up, we would need some last words that permeate the human psyche. That makes us think. I prefer the last words of John Lennon over any other:
"So, should I just make it out to Mark or -".
Too soon? Fuck you.
One of my favorites. Oscar Wilde. "Either those curtains go or I do".
H.G Wells. "Go away, I'm fine"
Graham Chapman. "Hello"
Conrad Hilton. "Leave the shower curtain on the inside of the tub"
Jesse James. "This picture is awful dusty"
Amazing isn't it. In a moment that is so somber, so reverent, we have this. Irreverence. If they were told they were about to die, would they have said something more meaningful. Hilton knew he was going to die. Did he just want to go out like a jackass? Or was it more. Would we give a deep thought at the end of life? Or laugh in the face of that eternal bitch death that beats the other eternal bitch life. Would you say goodbye, say something silly, say nothing at all?
Would you wish someone luck, give some advice, or just finish your goddamn sentence? Would you ask for a hand or question a motive? Speak a regret or bask in the glow of your own beautifully awful mortality? As we go through life we must always remember what is said, because of all the things these people said in their lives, all the things they could've said, this is what they chose. To those who can't choose their last words and expect many more, is it with regret? I imagine if I had to choose, I would spend all the time I had left obsessing about it. Would I wish my family good luck? Tell Jamie Rathsteader I loved her when I never had the courage to speak up in the second grade? Could I put all my sadness, all my happiness, all my regrets into one sentence? Maybe that's why Conrad said what he said. He knew he couldn't. Why try? Will we say "I left $100,000,000 buried under the -"? Will we feel we've said all we can, and say nothing at all?
To wrap this up, we would need some last words that permeate the human psyche. That makes us think. I prefer the last words of John Lennon over any other:
"So, should I just make it out to Mark or -".
Too soon? Fuck you.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Thursday, September 11, 2008
So, heard about the big proton thing that's supposed to blow up the Earth?
Well, scientists have come within inches of killing us all again. I am talking of course about the Large Hadron Collider. I call it a proton boomy thing.
Because that's what it does. It makes protons go boom.
It's design seems like something Orson Scott Card would write about: A 17 mile long circular tube about 550 feet below ground. Unstable protons are fired directly at each other at 99.999999999 percent of the speed of light.
Sweet Jesus. During it's operation, the PBT will be accessed by 7000 scientists.
Imagine. String theory could be proven by this. We could find an actual tesseract. Dark energy. Time travel.
Or it may create a black hole at the point of impact and the Earth and everyone and everything in it, on it, around it would be separated into quarks, possibly splitting these atoms and causing trillions and trillions of atomic bombs which will then be drawn into a place so dense light can't escape, thereby imploding the Earth, the Sun, all the planets, and, if it works good, the entire Universe, bringing to life the Big Crunch theory and leaving everything a thin, black, matter less void.
Let's hope nobody's calculator goes on the fritz.
Can we rename this project "Pandora's Box"? Damn our curiosity.
P.S. I am no physicist, and if there are any of you are and wish to correct me, please do so.
Because that's what it does. It makes protons go boom.
It's design seems like something Orson Scott Card would write about: A 17 mile long circular tube about 550 feet below ground. Unstable protons are fired directly at each other at 99.999999999 percent of the speed of light.
Sweet Jesus. During it's operation, the PBT will be accessed by 7000 scientists.
Imagine. String theory could be proven by this. We could find an actual tesseract. Dark energy. Time travel.
Or it may create a black hole at the point of impact and the Earth and everyone and everything in it, on it, around it would be separated into quarks, possibly splitting these atoms and causing trillions and trillions of atomic bombs which will then be drawn into a place so dense light can't escape, thereby imploding the Earth, the Sun, all the planets, and, if it works good, the entire Universe, bringing to life the Big Crunch theory and leaving everything a thin, black, matter less void.
Let's hope nobody's calculator goes on the fritz.
Can we rename this project "Pandora's Box"? Damn our curiosity.
P.S. I am no physicist, and if there are any of you are and wish to correct me, please do so.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Suppose you were sleeping with Gisele....
If you were sleeping with Gisele, and then you fucked up your knee, would you still sleep with her.
What kind of question is that? If I was going NEAR Gisele and I broke my neck, I would crawl for her.
Brady broke, that cocky Lil bastard. He went down in the first game of the season. I was watching the Colts-Bears game. (DAMMIT PEYTON!)
I was so looking forward to someone knocking him on his ass again. I will always remember and cherish the look on his face after Eli got out of it and Tyree got the ball. The undefeated had fallen. The cockiest football player in the world had fallen. That sonofabitch who got his girlfriend pregnant then dumped her had just had his whole life flash before his eyes.
He got beat by Eli Manning.
What kind of question is that? If I was going NEAR Gisele and I broke my neck, I would crawl for her.
Brady broke, that cocky Lil bastard. He went down in the first game of the season. I was watching the Colts-Bears game. (DAMMIT PEYTON!)
I was so looking forward to someone knocking him on his ass again. I will always remember and cherish the look on his face after Eli got out of it and Tyree got the ball. The undefeated had fallen. The cockiest football player in the world had fallen. That sonofabitch who got his girlfriend pregnant then dumped her had just had his whole life flash before his eyes.
He got beat by Eli Manning.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Protection of the innocent, the guilty, and that creepy guy at the mall.
This post was inspired by a comment by The Angel and Demon Within. I hope she doesn't mind the shout out, for it may attract the bandwidth-breaking traffic of the person who reads this blog.
Pseudonyms. There are many. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, more commonly known as Lewis Carroll. Often today suspected of being a pedophile. Is that why he called himself Lewis Carroll? Because when he had it, his relationship with the real Alice in Wonderland was considered perfectly normal.
Eric Arthur Blair. Political writer. More commonly known as George Orwell. Did he hide his identity because he didn't want Russia to kill him?
I wonder vaguely if others tried to use pseudonyms, but couldn't, because their name sounded so damn charismatic.
DO they use it to hide? Some do. Many anonymous bloggers use pseudonyms, myself included, because certain details could be, shall we say incriminating in later years. Some may use it to disassociate themselves with it, in their own mind. Perhaps David Berkowitz used the moniker "Son of Sam" to make himself believe he wasn't responsible for it..... Although with him, I think it was more so he wouldn't get arrested and executed for murder.
Yet that begs the question. They say serial killers like BTK are megalomaniacs of the highest degree, so why use a different name? Sure it's something to say the police can't find BTK, but another thing entirely to say they can't find Dennis Rader, who lives at this exact address.
Englebert Humperdinck.
Aw fuck, I'm not even going to try that one.
Is it the mystery? Is it more mysterious to say that "Opalia Darkknight" wrote a book than Jane Smithson?
Snicket does it to make the story seem interesting. Kal Penn does it to get more jobs. Voltaire did it because no one wants to think that the man who wrote Candide was 5 feet tall.
But if that's the case, why did Napoleon stick to it.
For all purposes, I shall remain nameless. I picked "Greg" because it's generic.
And to be perfectly clear, if anyone wouldn't tell the difference, I'd change it to....Phil. Or maybe Dick.
Pseudonyms. There are many. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, more commonly known as Lewis Carroll. Often today suspected of being a pedophile. Is that why he called himself Lewis Carroll? Because when he had it, his relationship with the real Alice in Wonderland was considered perfectly normal.
Eric Arthur Blair. Political writer. More commonly known as George Orwell. Did he hide his identity because he didn't want Russia to kill him?
I wonder vaguely if others tried to use pseudonyms, but couldn't, because their name sounded so damn charismatic.
DO they use it to hide? Some do. Many anonymous bloggers use pseudonyms, myself included, because certain details could be, shall we say incriminating in later years. Some may use it to disassociate themselves with it, in their own mind. Perhaps David Berkowitz used the moniker "Son of Sam" to make himself believe he wasn't responsible for it..... Although with him, I think it was more so he wouldn't get arrested and executed for murder.
Yet that begs the question. They say serial killers like BTK are megalomaniacs of the highest degree, so why use a different name? Sure it's something to say the police can't find BTK, but another thing entirely to say they can't find Dennis Rader, who lives at this exact address.
Englebert Humperdinck.
Aw fuck, I'm not even going to try that one.
Is it the mystery? Is it more mysterious to say that "Opalia Darkknight" wrote a book than Jane Smithson?
Snicket does it to make the story seem interesting. Kal Penn does it to get more jobs. Voltaire did it because no one wants to think that the man who wrote Candide was 5 feet tall.
But if that's the case, why did Napoleon stick to it.
For all purposes, I shall remain nameless. I picked "Greg" because it's generic.
And to be perfectly clear, if anyone wouldn't tell the difference, I'd change it to....Phil. Or maybe Dick.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Remember that cheese I told you about....
Well I am refusing to talk about it. It knows what it did...
Anyway, I have elected to continue writing for at least another 3 minutes.
Granted, it may happen in one sentence pieces that will annoy the hell out of you.
My blog, my rules.
Because there's nothing to talk about. There's some rubber cement on my desk. A friend of mine blacked out today. I'm going out of town tomorrow.
Well, I guess I can talk about something. Movies or books.
What about the Dark Knight? No, already been done too much.
Nineteen Eighty-Four? Awesome book, but no.
Why don't I do a restaurant review. What about not.
The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism? Makes a good message about the flaws of a functioning society and how to maintain the upper class in a position of absolute power while the bourgeois are kept in a point of eternal war with no end, thus paralyzing the distribution of goods while still maintaining the functioning economic growth needed for the gears of society to keep going and at the same time keeping them in a state of ignorance while the lowest class struggles to survive and could only possibly empower themselves via revolution of utmost proportions but will never do so because of the admitted goal of the upper class to have power as it's own end rather than change involves the complete and utter destruction of free and independent thought, but no.
I suppose I could make a complete post out of possible things to do, but I really don't feel like it.
So I'll just leave you hanging for a while. Or forever.
Or just for the weekend.
Anyway, I have elected to continue writing for at least another 3 minutes.
Granted, it may happen in one sentence pieces that will annoy the hell out of you.
My blog, my rules.
Because there's nothing to talk about. There's some rubber cement on my desk. A friend of mine blacked out today. I'm going out of town tomorrow.
Well, I guess I can talk about something. Movies or books.
What about the Dark Knight? No, already been done too much.
Nineteen Eighty-Four? Awesome book, but no.
Why don't I do a restaurant review. What about not.
The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism? Makes a good message about the flaws of a functioning society and how to maintain the upper class in a position of absolute power while the bourgeois are kept in a point of eternal war with no end, thus paralyzing the distribution of goods while still maintaining the functioning economic growth needed for the gears of society to keep going and at the same time keeping them in a state of ignorance while the lowest class struggles to survive and could only possibly empower themselves via revolution of utmost proportions but will never do so because of the admitted goal of the upper class to have power as it's own end rather than change involves the complete and utter destruction of free and independent thought, but no.
I suppose I could make a complete post out of possible things to do, but I really don't feel like it.
So I'll just leave you hanging for a while. Or forever.
Or just for the weekend.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
If I'm being completely honest, I have no intention of ever doing anything productive here
It's true. I am totally apathetic to this blog as of right now. Perhaps I will have an epiphany and elect to painstakingly type out my innermost dreams and fears for all the world to see under the pseudonym of "Greg".
Then again, maybe I'll be a cheeky bastard and leave this, until some random soul, two years from now, looks at a comment "Greg" made on someone's blog and find his merry way here only to discover two posts, one adorably witty one here, and another one about the moldy cheese in my refrigerator to be posted in six weeks.
My title is Apathetic Empathy for a reason. I can tell for a fact you want to know what it is, but I really just don't give a shit. I could also have called it Empathetic Apathy, but I've noticed that I like the word "Apathetic" more than "Empathetic"
I really don't care what you call me, but my aformentioned pseudonym is "Greg". I've actually never been a fan of that name, and chose it on the fly.
Does revealing this fact make anyone take me less seriously? Does it make people assume I am a liar? Will anyone be liking it up to this point and say "OMUGOSH, EETZ NOT HIS RAEL NAEM!!!!1111" and abandon it to the wolves?
You can call me Apathetic Empathizer if you wish. You can call me Betty St. Divine if you want. Call me anything you want.
Just don't call the thought police.
Then again, maybe I'll be a cheeky bastard and leave this, until some random soul, two years from now, looks at a comment "Greg" made on someone's blog and find his merry way here only to discover two posts, one adorably witty one here, and another one about the moldy cheese in my refrigerator to be posted in six weeks.
My title is Apathetic Empathy for a reason. I can tell for a fact you want to know what it is, but I really just don't give a shit. I could also have called it Empathetic Apathy, but I've noticed that I like the word "Apathetic" more than "Empathetic"
I really don't care what you call me, but my aformentioned pseudonym is "Greg". I've actually never been a fan of that name, and chose it on the fly.
Does revealing this fact make anyone take me less seriously? Does it make people assume I am a liar? Will anyone be liking it up to this point and say "OMUGOSH, EETZ NOT HIS RAEL NAEM!!!!1111" and abandon it to the wolves?
You can call me Apathetic Empathizer if you wish. You can call me Betty St. Divine if you want. Call me anything you want.
Just don't call the thought police.
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