If You Build It, They Will Come.

Thursday, August 29, 2002

I am annoyed. Not about anything specific, I just feel slightly agitated. People get to me sometimes. Sometimes specific people, sometimes just people. Sometimes I wish I could talk to anyone.

Last night's post was extremely random.

There's someone I know I've wanted to smack for quite some time.

I hear myself in others, and I hate it. People will say things to me and I'll hear it and remember saying nearly the same thing, and it sucks because when it comes from someone else you realize how dumb it sounds. My roommate Jessica has this philosophy that if she likes a guy it's destined to fail. Or she says that anyway. And while this is not unsupported by any current success in love, it obviously sounds completely retarded. And I've heard myself say pretty much the same thing before. That's an interesting thought, but when you think about it from a gamblers point of view, it makes perfect sense to say that people generally don't fit together. Allow me to explain as Laura's dad would explain. With a two by two diagram that explains love.
A(-) ( 1 [A(-) B(-)] )( 2 [A(-) B(+)] )

A(+) ( 3 [A(+) B(-)] )( 4 [A(+) B(+)] )

1.) Do you have any idea how often this happens per day? Two people feel no attraction to each other. It happens at the drive thru window when she hands you your Whopper, in the mall as you pass her at the Gap. You pass litterally thousands of people who don't catch your eye everyday, and chances are they don't notice you either. Platonic friends that love never even came up with. You've got tons of people that just don't fit.

2,3.) But for some reason or another occasionally, one of you is attracted to the other. Only one of you. These are the tough ones. When you like some girl that can't even remember your name, it hurts. These are the ones you remember because it's "unfair." It's really not though, because you don't remember the times that it was the other way around. It's not your fault, it's not their fault, but it happens. I feel I'm unlucky in love because I was turned down by three girls in my life that I was absolutely crazy about. I used to think it was so unfair, as I chose not to remember the five or six girls I did the same thing to. It's not unfair, in fact I feel lucky that I've only had my heart broken as few times as I have.

4.) And this is the one that counts. And this is the one that most rarely happens. Figure it mathematically. Hypothetically, for every ten of the opposite sex there is one that you actually would like to get to know better. So there is a 9/10 chance you'll just pass by. A 1/10 chance that you'll actually like the person, and since the same rules apply to them, a 1/100 chance that you'll like each other. Love is luck. It's rare. But it's comforting, because while love is owed to no one, it is in this sense a statistical inevitability, because if I ask you to guess a number between 1 and 100 and give you all the chances you need, eventually you're going to get it. You may knock it out on the first try, it may take 100,000 tries. But statistically, it should happen.

I'm tired. I'm tired of this blog. It's pointless, it's ridiculous. It's thoughts of mine on everyday crap. Who else cares about this stuff than me? Why publish it for the world to see?

Do my thoughts matter? Am I really as great and worthy as I think I am?

If a high school were called "Thornapple Irving High School" it's initials on people's varsity jackets would be "TIHS." That would be exploited by their rivals.

Once I was niave. Today I am less niave.

She sells sea shells by the seashore.

I'm in hiding. From who? Everyone. Including me. I want to be free.


I can't stop coughing.

Old man Stauf built a house and filled it with his toys.

Schizophrenia, how many of ya got it?

Monday, August 26, 2002

If more people thought like us, the world would be a better place. Sadly, all that separates the way we think from the way they think is common sense.

Wednesday, August 21, 2002

He wanted to write something profound.

And as he sat there looking at the screen, he realized it wasn't in him. A blank spot waiting to be filled with his thoughts, a white canvas waiting to be beautiful, and he had nothing. His thoughts hid in his head, not daring to show themselves. He could hear their whispers, this was their favorite game. Staying still inside a quiet cluttered attic, lit only by the moonlight in a soft blueish hue, as he frantically searched for them. The cat playfully running from its owner, hiding under the bed as the tornado sirens are going off.

It was all on the tip of his tounge, waiting patiently for a nudge that shows no sign of coming. He wanted to believe in Santa Claus without being niave. He did not want to be a child. He wanted more than anything to believe in the fantastic, not because he wanted it to happen, but because it could. He felt hopeless, and he knew that if St. Nick could land on his roof with eight little reindeer, then anything was possible.

He didn't care about "anything," though, he cared only about "something."

He wanted to be beautiful. He wanted to create. He wanted something. He felt wise beyond his years, and unappreciated within his own. He was loved. He is loved. He knows this. He forgets from time to time, because he is spoiled. He sees others smile, and he mocks them, because he has not found a smile of his own.

He has forgotten how to imagine. He has forgotten how to make-believe. He remembers playing G.I. Joe in his backyard thousands of times, everytime, except the first time. He wonders how it all started, he can't imagine suggesting such a ludicrous idea. That part of him is forever gone, and has given birth to a new part that knows how to tie a necktie. And as all these thoughts that so easily dripped out of him before now dance inside his head, he realizes that he cannot solve the puzzle. He can not remember how to let them go. They are static, frantic, insane, buzzing around his head like flies. And he can only hope to catch them without killing them.

He can feel his own brain, sitting deep inside his head. It sits there, near lifeless, yet somehow moving on the inside. He was groggy, slow, his eyes fought to open again after every blink. They could not hold out forever, they would eventually lose. He could feel his eyelids growing weaker.

He wondered if tomorrow would be the day. The day he would look back on for the rest of his life. Tomorrow could be the day he always remembered like it was yesterday. Maybe. The day he lost his arm. The day he won the lotto. The day he first saw her.

He knew he could be better. Better than what he is. And for the first time in his life he had a plan.

He dreamed. He loved to dream. He would love to dream and never wake up. To never hear a car horn, or a scream. To never see pain, to never see that woman with her protest signs. To never be cold, to never be hot. To never feel worried, sick, nervous, anger or fear again. To escape the cold light and cutting wind, the fingernails scraping on the chalkboard. Reality saturates him, hits him like a slap to the face every morning when his alarm goes off at 7:20. And at this point in his life he thinks he needs to feel alive. He has a great release, something that makes his heart beat, something worth moving for. It is his writing. And now that he stares at his blank screen, he daydreams. He hears his thoughts, and he knows they aren't coming out to play tonight.

His eyes turn to his brainkilling television. His thoughts aren't coming out, and now he doesn't care.

He doesn't want to dwell. Nothing profound is coming out tonight. Nothing profound to anyone else but himself. He wants to believe in Santa Claus without being niave. He wants the freedom to believe in something so beyond logic, that it would be generous to call it a longshot. He wants to believe in something.

Only one more longshot. That's all he thinks he'll ever need.

That is, of course, until he needs another one.

Sunday, August 18, 2002

Jack posted a blog a few days ago asking why we pay actors so much money. She said Vin Diesel gets 10M for a two hour movie. I feel the need to play Devils Advocate here. While I do agree that the other professions listed are much more worthy of 10M, the other professions don't rake in as much money. The film Titanic alone grossed 1.8 Billion dollars at the Box Office. Is that because of the cool special effects? Or perhaps the chilling story? Maybe. But I'm willing to bet it's got more to do with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslets boobs. And when you have the potential to rake in 1.8 billion dollars, but only if you get Leo, and Kate's boobs, you're willing to pay a little extra for them. The actors know this, and are more than willing to ask for it.

Unfortunately the same goes for athletes. People will go to a Cubs game for Sammy Sosa, so he's in high demand. As you can read on the blog I wrote on Aug 16, I don't mind, as long as it doesn't go to their heads. If you're raking in muchos denero for some easy thing, don't get indignant, because you are one lucky lucky bastard. You could be an underpaid overworked real hero, like a fireman or a cop, who are much more worthy of the money you say you deserve more of.

I'm going to kill her. So help me God, I'm going to just kill her. Never have I met someone that I just hate so much. I almost threw down today at work. Almost. My boss is a 40 year old married with kid fat ugly lady. She has no business managing a video game store. She's the type of person who yells at me for my numbers, though my numbers beat hers every week. She tells you to do it one way, and yells at you when you do. She's an idiot, a hypocrite, a slack ass, she has no people skills, no concept of how to run a business, no fresh ideas, shes a dinosaur, she could've run this store about 12 years ago. She did too, then it changed, and she didn't change with it. She's outdated, and she shows it. She asks why nothing got done.... the answer is usually that (a) it did get done, she just forgot what she asked us to do, (b) it didn't get done, she just forgot she told us not to do it, (c) it couldn't get done, because as soon as she told us to do it, she told us to do something else too, (d) it couldn't get done because I was too busy catching her lazy ass up with all the shit she was supposed to be doing during the week, but instead, left work a half hour early (while still on the clock) to go to the Disney store to buy her kid a toy, or sat in the back and talked to her other idiot fat ugly too old lady friend who she got a manager position in our store in Battle Creek (that store has gone to hell too.) She sees our DM as a threat because he won't stand for her old fashionness. I won't either. It's my opinion that that woman has no business running our store. She tells us to prep for inventory, then tells us to rearrange the store because she doesn't like the way it looks, the week before the full store inventory. When we struggle over which to do first, and since she's never lifted a f*%king finger in her own store for anything significant, or that needs to be done, but only to move everything to someplace else so no one knows where the hell anything is, she tells us to forget the inventory prep because we "run a pretty tight ship." Then inventory comes and she starts bitching at me because I had to do three or four seconds of extra work reading a few numbers, and inventory prep hadn't been done, "like she suggested."

I'm going to talk to the DM about her. I need to call him tomorrow anyway. Tonight was inventory, I got home a half hour ago. It's now 11:40pm. Bambi did the schedule. She left tonight right after me. But where as she has the next day and a half off, I open bright and early tomorrow. I sat there when she did it. "I'm going to have you open, and, jeez, I'm taking the next day off.... hmm, actually, the next two days off." The bitch is going to die.

After ranting, I feel a little better. Not much. I need to punch something, hard. Where's the cat....

Just kidding.

-the joe

Saturday, August 17, 2002

Aug 14, 2002.

Right now I don’t have an internet connection, so I’m writing this in Word, with the idea that when I get a drill to put a hole in the floor so I can get an Ethernet wire down here, I’ll post this on my blog site.

I hate GLAAD. The Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation. Don’t misread that. I don’t hate gays and lesbians. I hate hypocrisy. I hate the power of stupid people in large groups. Like the hardcore Christians that say every life is sacred, so they kill abortion doctors. GLAAD is the exact same monster. It’s a group against defamation, which means it’s a PC Army. I’m a big fan of live and let live. GLAAD wants people to believe they are too. But they are not. They are a group that intends to end all intolerance by promoting intolerance of their own. Take, for example, Eminem. I’m a big fan of Eminem. The man said, “There is a positive message in my music, and it’s ‘f*ck you.’” If you can’t understand how that could be a positive message, then you probably don’t get any of it. They just had a show called “Ultimate Albums” on VH1, and the show was all about “The Marshall Mathers LP.” On it, they talked about the making of the album, and the backlash from GLAAD. One of the outspoken GLAAD members said, “It’s as if they’re saying you can say anything on an album and sell it to people.” Yeah genius, this great country that doesn’t persecute you for being gay, also has this thing called the First Amendment, which basically says you can say anything on an album and sell it to people. Is it hate speech? Only if you want it to be. Half of what you say could be considered hate speech as well. Think of it like this….

Farmer Jim says, “Being gay is a sin. It says so in the Bible. If you are gay, you are going to hell.”

This is what GLAAD calls ignorance and intolerance.

Gay Billy says, “Being gay is not a sin, I haven’t been punished by God, I don’t know what you were reading, but it isn’t right. You are ignorant and intolerant.”

This is what GLAAD calls enlightening. However, if you really look at it, while Jim is crapping on Billy’s lifestyle, Billy is crapping on Jim’s religion. Jim is anti-gay, Billy is anti-christian conservative. So who is really the one promoting intolerance?

Personally I think Jim and Billy are both assholes for trying to push their beliefs on someone else.

And Christ, when are people going to learn, if you want to make an album go away, don’t protest and picket it. Nothing sells an album faster than controversy. Ice-T’s Cop Killer wasn’t going anywhere until George Bush held a press conference about it. If you want Eminem to stop selling so many albums, don’t stand outside the Grammy’s with signs. The Marshall Mathers LP sold 7 million copies in the first 5 months. A lot of that was your fault. So put your damn signs down. No one is going to listen to Eminem and decide it’s ok to kill someone because they’re gay, because Slim Shady says so. No one is going to decide gay people are bad because of some punk kid from 8 Mile in Detroit. You say you get a lot of hate mail from Eminem fans. I’m curious, would this count as hate mail?

Personally, I believe that everyone should do what they want to do as long as it isn’t hurting anyone. If you’re gay, be gay. Is Eminem hurting you? Hurting your feelings? Making you feel different? You are different. I’m not going to sugar coat this at all, you are different. Most people in this country are not gay. If you are gay, you are different than most people in this country. It’s that simple. It doesn’t mean you’re wrong, it just means you’re different, you’ll have different paths to take in life than others. Others will have a hard time understanding what you go through, because they don’t go through it. I’m a white male. I’m the butt of a lot of jokes. I can’t dance, I can’t jump, I can’t play basketball, I’m nerdy, I’m a honky, trailer park, hillbilly redneck who enjoys NASCAR and sleeping with my sister. Do I need to start an organization to get a bunch of white guys together and picket outside of Chris Rock’s house, saying “No more white defamation?” I think Chris Rock is funny as hell. Especially when he makes fun of white people. Why does everyone have to be so serious? Why can’t we all just laugh at ourselves?

You call Eminem homophobic because he hates gay people. First, he doesn’t hate gay people, and second, homophobic means he fears gay people. He did a duet with Elton John for god sake. A good one too. Those middle fingers he raised after the song were for you. You called it fake, and a way to further his hateful agenda. He sang a song with ELTON JOHN!! Elton gets it, why can’t you?

Because you don’t want to get it. You want to hate someone. You need Eminem like Superman needs Lex Luthor. Without someone to hate, GLAAD has no purpose. A group against defamation, that survives through defamation. And none of you idiots see the hypocrisy in that.

Never underestimate the power of stupid people in large groups.

Aug 16, 2002.

So after ranting about GLAAD, I’d like to talk about another group of uppity idiots. The MLB Players Association.

A baseball strike date was set today for August 30, 2002. Now I’ll be the first to tell you I’m not completely informed on this whole situation. But you really don’t have to be. Why does a union go on strike? Because they believe they are being treated unfairly. There is nothing more pathetic than a professional athlete going on strike. This is not only affecting the players and owners, this is also affecting the fans and the stadium workers. The fans are out of luck because there is no more baseball to watch. It doesn’t even matter though because first of all, there aren’t that many baseball fans left, and second of all the NFL preseason is on now. Baseball could go on strike, and America for the most part, could let it go completely unnoticed. And I hope to god that that happens. I just feel bad for the hot dog vendors, the guys who sell programs and those big foam hands, and the ticket takers. Because of these selfish bastards, they’re all out of a job. And they for the most part couldn’t care less. These spoiled, pampered “athletes” have lost touch with reality in thinking that the act of injecting yourself with steroids, hitting a ball with a stick, and running 360 feet is some kind of art form, and they deserve millions for it.

I heard some guy on The Best Damn Sports Show Period who supported the strike, asking the question, “Some of these guys have a family to support, and you expect them to do that on only $200,000 a year?” I know people who work two jobs to support a family, and do it on $18,000. Never, ever in my life have I wanted to hit someone as much as I wanted to hit this guy. When asked about the stadium workers, he felt no sympathy, saying that they should’ve picked another job. These are the big heads baseball players get when some of them receive a quarter of a billion dollars over ten years.

Personally I support the strike too. The MLB still hasn’t recovered fully from the last strike. I hope this one kills it. I hope the strike gets settled, and suddenly no one shows up at baseball games anymore. I hope everyone is as sick of this as I am. Is it any wonder the fans have lost interest? They can’t respect the players anymore.

If I were king of the world, the first thing I would do is make it illegal for semis to pass each other on a two lane highway. The second thing I would do is settle this baseball issue once and for all.

King Joseph’s Decree for Baseball.

I. If the MLB players union decides to strike, each players individual salary will be divided up into how much they would make per game, and then for every game missed, the people who are employed by the individual stadiums will receive a check for an equal percentage of the mass player salary forfeited.
II. This however is not as great as it sounds, because the maximum a player can receive as a salary is $1,000,000 per year. The maximum a team is allowed to spend on their players is $1,000,000 per player. In the real world, making seven figures is still pretty damn good, but if you don’t like it or don’t think it’s fair, fine, quit, and enjoy looking for a real job. I’m sure there are plenty of people in the minor leagues would love to get their hands on a chance to play at Fenway and get $1,000,000 a year for it.
III. No more steroids. If you get caught with steroids, you’re booted out. Every athlete is required to go through drug screening. They do it in high school, they do it in college, and if we need to do it in the pros, we’ll do it in the pros.

You guys sound like spoiled children. And if King Joseph needs to play daddy and slap you around and get you to grow up and get over yourselves, then I’d be more than happy to.

If only I were King.