Quick Update:
I'm still capable of being more of an asshole than I had hoped as evidenced by my spooning watermelon juice onto a friend's jeans last night to win a futile argument. And then saying, "That's a victory for me."
I still hate the job that I have to start back to in the morning since it makes me feel like less of a man to be working for The Man. But then again, making money to support myself makes me feel like more of a man, so I guess the two cancel out. I'm still as much a man. I hope. What even is man?
I still can't cope with my sister since I managed to pass by her and make a silent joke without having to really talk to her the other night at the mall.
I still wonder if this album that the band is working on (mainly Rudy and I) will amount to anything at all. I really want to tour. I don't know if I'll be able to. The old plan was to be done by now so that we could start putting ourselves out there. I think I secretly hoped we'd get some attention before June so that somebody would book us a tour for the Summer. I should really stop keeping plans to myself.
Sorry, don't have any pictures of Jon in chaps yet.
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Entheogens
This greatly amusing comic has inspired me to try for faith in a whole new way. All I need to do is contact a local dealer and purchase some entheogens to form my own personal link to God. Why let a church/mosque/temple help me out with this? I can get all messed up and do it myself! LSD Religious Pamphlet
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
The Chipmunk's Story
I am a chipmunk. I live at the zoo, yo. I don't live IN the zoo... shit... that life's for suckas. I just live AT the zoo. I take what I want. I feel sorry for them animals all cooped up in their shitty cages, but hey, they got caught, and I'm free. Should have tried harder, suckas.
When I say I take what I want, I mean it. I don't need a soft life of waiting for each meal and eating from the hand of some bigass human-fuckin-being. Hell no! I make my own plans for dinner! That's real talk!
If I want to fall back on that ass with a bonafide gangsta lean, like just cold chill in my crib, then I make preparations so as I don't have to go out. I survey my hood (the Australian Outback or some shitty rendition of it) and I scurry across the stones till I smell a plate full of food. Mmmm, mmm, that shit gets my tail perky, know I'm sayin'?
Like the other day I went out to fill my cheeks and I could smell a plate of food somewhere near the bat exhibit. When I investigate, what should I find but that the fools enjoying that plate are a couple dumbass birds. Faggots, too, by the looks of that rainbow plumage.
Well they're on the inside and I'm on the outside. It's not only in the fuckin zoo where jailbirds are given better meals than free men. You gotta get used to that shit, though, that's life.
Getting to the cage is quite a scramble. Keeping out of sight from those loudmouth brats holding Dairy Queen cones is tough work, for sure. If I hear another snot-nosed punk call out "Hey mama, look at the cute little squirrel" I'm gonna go apeshit on his ass. Squirrel? Fuck those big-tailed monkey-ass niggas! Last thing in the world I'm gonna put up with is shortie belittling me with that kind of shit talking.
Anyway, I creep up on the cage outside the bat exhibit and start digging. Nothing comes easy. I hit a rock and I've gotta quit and find a better spot. So I creep over to the door, these are always a little loose, no barriers underground. I get underneath and then I realize I've gotta get under another door. They put two doors into these bird cages so that the zookeepers can always keep one closed, keep the birdbrains inside. Well, no amount of doors can keep me out. I smell that birdseed and those exotic nuts and grapes and... well you know, right? I gots to be about my food storing.
When I'm on the other side I stay under cover of the planted foliage, bushes and shit, till I'm under the plate. I'm about to make a go up the branch when I spot this damn guy.
He looks like a fag to me. Grey striped hoodie, short fucking shorts, tight t-shirt, half-assed beard, and blue mouth from a slushie he's holding. But even though he's watching, he's not making a show of it. This punk may look like a softie, but he's no squealer. He's not going to walk over to the zoo folks and tell em whats up in Gay Bird Cell #69. He'll keep it to himself. And that's all I need to know.
Go ahead and watch, punk. You might learn something.
Up the shrub I go, and the birds scatter. I doesn't matter how big they are, how sharp their claws, how long their beaks. Soft-ass animals know hard-ass animals when they see them, and I fit in the latter category. Best recognize.
That punk stares as I cram it in. I start with the seed first, pocket it in every crevice of my jaw that's too small to put the real goods. Then I start in on a nut, rolling it perfectly in my hands and nibbling away till it fits with the seeds. Then a grape, letting the juices soak what I've already got and making it easier to mash down for efficiency. After that I move to breadcrumbs, then back to seeds... the cycle continues.
Then I'm interrupted. No, not the punk. Some shortie standing next to the punk. He sees me too, and he's getting ready to tell somebody about it. That shit will not stand.
I'm out.
Back to the ground, under the brush. Have to make it to the gate before the kid sees me.
Too late.
I tried to make a break but I can hear this fucking kid's mom now. "That's right sweetie, that chipmunk is stealing all their food."
Yeah, and I'll take your eyes if you don't shut the fuck up, bitch. I've gotta blow. I'm under the first door, making it towards the second. The punk in the grey hoodie is just watching me with understanding. I'd almost let him help me out here, but trusting is for suckas.
I'm under the second door. The brat that tattled is making like he's going to try and get to me now that I'm on the outside of the cage. He might get too close before I make it to a bush.
The punk steps out in front of him, says, "Don't worry about it," and the brat is stopped in his tracks.
I'm under a bush.
"Hey! Where'd he go?" the kid is loud as a fucking bullhorn.
The punk repeats, "Don't worry about it."
What a fucking hero. Not like I need that shit, but still, every little bit helps. When the kid gives up trying to spot me in my hiding space, I creep out to the punk's foot and look up, trying to show him some appreciation, just a look of recognition. I think he sees it.
The moment stops when I catch a whiff of stale popcorn and decide that I could probably use it to top off my load.
That's what it's all about. Get what you can, take what you can get, and don't regret your take.
When I say I take what I want, I mean it. I don't need a soft life of waiting for each meal and eating from the hand of some bigass human-fuckin-being. Hell no! I make my own plans for dinner! That's real talk!
If I want to fall back on that ass with a bonafide gangsta lean, like just cold chill in my crib, then I make preparations so as I don't have to go out. I survey my hood (the Australian Outback or some shitty rendition of it) and I scurry across the stones till I smell a plate full of food. Mmmm, mmm, that shit gets my tail perky, know I'm sayin'?
Like the other day I went out to fill my cheeks and I could smell a plate of food somewhere near the bat exhibit. When I investigate, what should I find but that the fools enjoying that plate are a couple dumbass birds. Faggots, too, by the looks of that rainbow plumage.
Well they're on the inside and I'm on the outside. It's not only in the fuckin zoo where jailbirds are given better meals than free men. You gotta get used to that shit, though, that's life.
Getting to the cage is quite a scramble. Keeping out of sight from those loudmouth brats holding Dairy Queen cones is tough work, for sure. If I hear another snot-nosed punk call out "Hey mama, look at the cute little squirrel" I'm gonna go apeshit on his ass. Squirrel? Fuck those big-tailed monkey-ass niggas! Last thing in the world I'm gonna put up with is shortie belittling me with that kind of shit talking.
Anyway, I creep up on the cage outside the bat exhibit and start digging. Nothing comes easy. I hit a rock and I've gotta quit and find a better spot. So I creep over to the door, these are always a little loose, no barriers underground. I get underneath and then I realize I've gotta get under another door. They put two doors into these bird cages so that the zookeepers can always keep one closed, keep the birdbrains inside. Well, no amount of doors can keep me out. I smell that birdseed and those exotic nuts and grapes and... well you know, right? I gots to be about my food storing.
When I'm on the other side I stay under cover of the planted foliage, bushes and shit, till I'm under the plate. I'm about to make a go up the branch when I spot this damn guy.
He looks like a fag to me. Grey striped hoodie, short fucking shorts, tight t-shirt, half-assed beard, and blue mouth from a slushie he's holding. But even though he's watching, he's not making a show of it. This punk may look like a softie, but he's no squealer. He's not going to walk over to the zoo folks and tell em whats up in Gay Bird Cell #69. He'll keep it to himself. And that's all I need to know.
Go ahead and watch, punk. You might learn something.
Up the shrub I go, and the birds scatter. I doesn't matter how big they are, how sharp their claws, how long their beaks. Soft-ass animals know hard-ass animals when they see them, and I fit in the latter category. Best recognize.
That punk stares as I cram it in. I start with the seed first, pocket it in every crevice of my jaw that's too small to put the real goods. Then I start in on a nut, rolling it perfectly in my hands and nibbling away till it fits with the seeds. Then a grape, letting the juices soak what I've already got and making it easier to mash down for efficiency. After that I move to breadcrumbs, then back to seeds... the cycle continues.
Then I'm interrupted. No, not the punk. Some shortie standing next to the punk. He sees me too, and he's getting ready to tell somebody about it. That shit will not stand.
I'm out.
Back to the ground, under the brush. Have to make it to the gate before the kid sees me.
Too late.
I tried to make a break but I can hear this fucking kid's mom now. "That's right sweetie, that chipmunk is stealing all their food."
Yeah, and I'll take your eyes if you don't shut the fuck up, bitch. I've gotta blow. I'm under the first door, making it towards the second. The punk in the grey hoodie is just watching me with understanding. I'd almost let him help me out here, but trusting is for suckas.
I'm under the second door. The brat that tattled is making like he's going to try and get to me now that I'm on the outside of the cage. He might get too close before I make it to a bush.
The punk steps out in front of him, says, "Don't worry about it," and the brat is stopped in his tracks.
I'm under a bush.
"Hey! Where'd he go?" the kid is loud as a fucking bullhorn.
The punk repeats, "Don't worry about it."
What a fucking hero. Not like I need that shit, but still, every little bit helps. When the kid gives up trying to spot me in my hiding space, I creep out to the punk's foot and look up, trying to show him some appreciation, just a look of recognition. I think he sees it.
The moment stops when I catch a whiff of stale popcorn and decide that I could probably use it to top off my load.
That's what it's all about. Get what you can, take what you can get, and don't regret your take.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
I Saw a Chipmunk Take What He Wanted
These little buggers take what they need. They don't play by rules. I need to get on this shit.
"Give it to me muthafucka"
"Yeah you, back the fuck up. Or die."
"I enjoy only the finest fucking wines and cheeses. Mmmm, mmm, bitch."
"I said fuck you, pay me my money!"
"Give it to me muthafucka""Yeah you, back the fuck up. Or die.""I enjoy only the finest fucking wines and cheeses. Mmmm, mmm, bitch.""I said fuck you, pay me my money!"Wednesday, April 9, 2008
This Is An Obsession
I am completely ridiculous. It's just after 4am and I've been up for the last hour with Firefox tabs on Radiohead's ticket sale page set to auto-refresh ever 5 seconds. So that I can spend money I don't have on tickets for the greatest band on Earth.
I need a bigger life. I have a life. It just doesn't keep me from doing stupid stuff like this. You know, sleeping on the futon in the living room because my every-half-hour alarms were driving my wife insane. I'm a sad strange little man.
I have all my personal information and credit card details on a notepad at the bottom of the screen so I can copy and paste with lightning speed. I'm a little worried that I might not have a w.a.s.t.e. account for tickets but... hell you don't care.
I figured out why they call it waste.
I have clocks set to three different timezones. I hope this works. This could be my last or only chance to see my favorite band ever. And one day I'll die a happier man knowing I got to see them.
I need a bigger life. I have a life. It just doesn't keep me from doing stupid stuff like this. You know, sleeping on the futon in the living room because my every-half-hour alarms were driving my wife insane. I'm a sad strange little man.
I have all my personal information and credit card details on a notepad at the bottom of the screen so I can copy and paste with lightning speed. I'm a little worried that I might not have a w.a.s.t.e. account for tickets but... hell you don't care.
I figured out why they call it waste.
I have clocks set to three different timezones. I hope this works. This could be my last or only chance to see my favorite band ever. And one day I'll die a happier man knowing I got to see them.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Some Goals
The thing is, I probably won't accomplish many, or any of these:
These are all hedonistic according to my new understanding of it. I think that despite minor pain and no immediate pleasure they will yield great gain in the future and allow me to avoid further pain. All except that last one. This picture is me reacting to mdf stupidity right now.
- Eat less
- Exercise 3-4 times a week
- Be sure to eat at least one healthy meal every day
- Spend less on food (eat out less)
- Practice guitar more regularly (weekends included)
- Bend to the whims of my spouse more often
- Go out of my way to befriend music department fags
These are all hedonistic according to my new understanding of it. I think that despite minor pain and no immediate pleasure they will yield great gain in the future and allow me to avoid further pain. All except that last one. This picture is me reacting to mdf stupidity right now.
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