Hey Blogosphere, I remember the first day we met, the excitement and the mystery of not knowing where our relationship would lead (as it turns out it will lead me to a media degree). We made some mistakes together and through these we have grown.
It is not you, it is me. Perhaps we will meet again in the future Blogosphere or maybe our paths are too different (a single tear is rolling down my cheek as I type this because my heart beats too, Blogosphere.....my heart beats too).
Our interests are worlds apart, you like listening to others complain, most of the people who have a devoted relationship with you abuse it. I cannot resist the temptation to abuse you no longer, Blogosphere. I do not wish you to carry the burden of my emotions and rants. You deserve better than to host my critiques of windows vista or a top ten list of something awesome.
I wish not to make you cry, the tears of a Blogosphere are both beautiful and troubling.
I will never forget you Blogosphere, you have taught me so much however you just are not the one for me. Facebook has stolen my fickle heart and it won't let go.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Monday, November 30, 2009
Blood Lust
Once there was a bed bug named Beatrice. Beatrice was good looking for a bed bug, she had a polka-dot dress (which is lower than the knee and thorax tight, Beatrice was a bit of an exhibitionist). She trudged along down the hallway, her beady little eyes searching for a new home. Suddenly warm air seeped underneath a door way. She immediately turned and walked into the warmth. Her tiny little legs sped up as she sensed the carbon dioxide drifting from her sleeping victims. Life was good, she had finally found two young men to feast on. Her twisted heart beat with a blood lust.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
The Day the Earth Turned Black
As a young Clinton Enns walked down the path towards school the sun beat down on him, but not in a punching in the face kind beat, it was more like love taps from the sun. A slight breeze wafted through a hedge and surrounded him like a blanket. The trees were green, with branches arching over the walkway. Clint adjusted his oversized backpack and trombone case he was carrying. He watched as his feet moved rhythmically along the path. He felt peace over come him and he was content.
Suddenly he looked up, feeling that someone or something was watching him. There lay a dog, curled up in the middle of the walkway. He just lay there ignoring all the children as they walked around him. He seemed to only be looking at the young Enns.
As he neared the dog he could not tear his eyes of off it. He lay there motionless, just watching. The dogs gaze was met till they were within feet of each other.
“Well, guess I’ll just walk around him then.” thought Clint. As Clint took the first step around the dog it jumped up and started barking loudly and angrily, or so this is how Clint interpreted it. Clint’s feet jumped a little in a surprised scared way. He let out a loud “STOP!”, this was all Clint could muster up. He yelled at the dog and it did not approach the little Enns boy. All around him his environment turned to black and all he saw was the dog and the path. He did not feel the sun or the breeze anymore, the green grass and trees were replaced by pitch black.
With the child’s heart still beating rapidly he walked backwards for a block, just watching the dog untrustingly. The dog stood there in the middle of the path, just watching not moving or even barking anymore.
The dog grew smaller in the distance. Clint turned around and was relieved to see that he was at school. The children played loudly on the playground. His eyes surveyed the scene as a feeling of comfort washed over him. Suddenly he could feel the sun and the cool summer breeze, he noticed again the green of the grass. It was then that he was filled with dread when he realized that he would have to walk the same way home.
That day Clint’s little heart was filled with dread. That dog was out of control and there was nothing Clint could do about it.
Suddenly he looked up, feeling that someone or something was watching him. There lay a dog, curled up in the middle of the walkway. He just lay there ignoring all the children as they walked around him. He seemed to only be looking at the young Enns.
As he neared the dog he could not tear his eyes of off it. He lay there motionless, just watching. The dogs gaze was met till they were within feet of each other.
“Well, guess I’ll just walk around him then.” thought Clint. As Clint took the first step around the dog it jumped up and started barking loudly and angrily, or so this is how Clint interpreted it. Clint’s feet jumped a little in a surprised scared way. He let out a loud “STOP!”, this was all Clint could muster up. He yelled at the dog and it did not approach the little Enns boy. All around him his environment turned to black and all he saw was the dog and the path. He did not feel the sun or the breeze anymore, the green grass and trees were replaced by pitch black.
With the child’s heart still beating rapidly he walked backwards for a block, just watching the dog untrustingly. The dog stood there in the middle of the path, just watching not moving or even barking anymore.
The dog grew smaller in the distance. Clint turned around and was relieved to see that he was at school. The children played loudly on the playground. His eyes surveyed the scene as a feeling of comfort washed over him. Suddenly he could feel the sun and the cool summer breeze, he noticed again the green of the grass. It was then that he was filled with dread when he realized that he would have to walk the same way home.
That day Clint’s little heart was filled with dread. That dog was out of control and there was nothing Clint could do about it.
Monday, November 23, 2009
A Revealing Monolouge
I went to a Matt Good concert on Saturday and as my friend and I waited in the parking lot, a certain hotel across the street caught our eyes. There stood, what appeared to be, a naked man in the window just watching the street down below. This is the tale of his plight.
I, the naked man, stand at the window watching the tiny clothed ants down below rush about. They walk hurriedly toward some unknown destination. Little do they know they run from themselves every morning when they put on their shirts and pants. They do not see themselves for who they really are, they are cowards of their very own self.
Cloths have hurled angst and sometimes an itchy discomfort at humanity. Every time I imprison myself with polyester or cotton I become the same as the rest. I hang my head in shame as I look at the shoes that drown my feet in sorrow.
They do not understand, all I want to do is buy some oranges. I feel a cold coming on and I need the vitamin C. If I were to buy an orange naked, the consequences society would enforce on me would be too great. Why can’t they understand? The clothed are the ones in the wrong. Perhaps the police should arrest the clothed. Free your selves free the naked I say!
A tear trickles down my cheek as I look down the road at the grocery store. I do not wipe this tear away, it reminds me of who I am. I am a man who is unaccepted in society, a man who has no friends, I am a pioneer blazing a trail in solitude but most of all I am the naked man.
I, the naked man, stand at the window watching the tiny clothed ants down below rush about. They walk hurriedly toward some unknown destination. Little do they know they run from themselves every morning when they put on their shirts and pants. They do not see themselves for who they really are, they are cowards of their very own self.
Cloths have hurled angst and sometimes an itchy discomfort at humanity. Every time I imprison myself with polyester or cotton I become the same as the rest. I hang my head in shame as I look at the shoes that drown my feet in sorrow.
They do not understand, all I want to do is buy some oranges. I feel a cold coming on and I need the vitamin C. If I were to buy an orange naked, the consequences society would enforce on me would be too great. Why can’t they understand? The clothed are the ones in the wrong. Perhaps the police should arrest the clothed. Free your selves free the naked I say!
A tear trickles down my cheek as I look down the road at the grocery store. I do not wipe this tear away, it reminds me of who I am. I am a man who is unaccepted in society, a man who has no friends, I am a pioneer blazing a trail in solitude but most of all I am the naked man.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Pickles are the Nicotine
Ronald McDonald has ruined my life, or made it better with its greasily delicious cheap meals ( I guess it depends which way you look at it). What’s worse is that they are open all night. I have gone on so many MacDonald runs late at night that it now feels strange to eat there during the day.
Double cheeseburgers are just about the greatest thing, add fries and a coke and it is the greatest thing until the next day rolls around, that is. I will not explain the havoc that the cheeseburgers cause the next day, needless to say it is pretty gross. For some reason its the pickle that does me in. I don't really like pickles by themselves, but when laid on a meat patty with care, they are rather addicting.
Double cheeseburgers are just about the greatest thing, add fries and a coke and it is the greatest thing until the next day rolls around, that is. I will not explain the havoc that the cheeseburgers cause the next day, needless to say it is pretty gross. For some reason its the pickle that does me in. I don't really like pickles by themselves, but when laid on a meat patty with care, they are rather addicting.
Monday, November 16, 2009
My World
Here is what I see right now.
1) Speakers
2) My laptop
3) My very own shoes.
4) A text book that I should be reading
5) A shirt I hung with care, so as to let it dry
6) Not one but two full garbage cans
7) A bag full of books my roommate should be reading
8) A very messy bed with clothes strewn about it.
9) A laundry basket that serves as more of a book basket
10) A football called Wilson who is apparently wearing my toque
11) Cinder blocks
12) Some very old and gross curtains
13) Peeling paint
14) The door to my room that is partially open
15) There is a cheap desk full of dents and scratches somewhere underneath papers, electronics, snacks and textbooks.
16) A blogging website that does not allow me to format my entry the way I want it
1) Speakers
2) My laptop
3) My very own shoes.
4) A text book that I should be reading
5) A shirt I hung with care, so as to let it dry
6) Not one but two full garbage cans
7) A bag full of books my roommate should be reading
8) A very messy bed with clothes strewn about it.
9) A laundry basket that serves as more of a book basket
10) A football called Wilson who is apparently wearing my toque
11) Cinder blocks
12) Some very old and gross curtains
13) Peeling paint
14) The door to my room that is partially open
15) There is a cheap desk full of dents and scratches somewhere underneath papers, electronics, snacks and textbooks.
16) A blogging website that does not allow me to format my entry the way I want it
Friday, November 13, 2009
The Wrath of Howard
I thought a lot recently about a good friend of mine named Howard. Howard was a bat that my family owned when I was but an innocent, healthy young buck in the prime of my life. My dad and I discovered Howard one day when he was teaching me how to hunt wolverines with my bare hands. As I approached a cornered wolverine my dad jumped up and down with excitement yelling manly encouragements at me, such slogans as “MESS EM UP!” and “THAT FURRY HELL BEAST AINT GOT NOTHIN ON YOU!” (For some reason my dad had it out for wolverines, he always referred to them as furry hell beasts)
I puffed on the massive cigar nonchalantly as I cracked my knuckles and twisted my neck. The hell beast snarled and growled, the snot dripping from his mouth. I stepped forward staring the wolverine down. It crouched protectively over a bat it caught somehow. My teeth clenched the cigar in a vice like grip, smoke wafted out of my nostrils into the cold winter air. My eyes narrowed, this must be why my dad despises wolverines, they kill needlessly. After dealing with the wolverine we headed home with little Howard the bat in my hands. I cradled him softly as the massive truck swerved and ramped towards my homestead.
Being the trooper that Howard was he healed up real nice. Soon he out grew what comforts we could provide him and we were forced to loose him on nature. That day my whole family shed a tear. We had many wonderful memories of Howard, how he would bite guests in the neck, how he would scare the neighbour’s dog and children off our lawn but most of all we remembered how he touched our hearts.
His beady little eyes saw through our rough interiors and into our very souls.
I puffed on the massive cigar nonchalantly as I cracked my knuckles and twisted my neck. The hell beast snarled and growled, the snot dripping from his mouth. I stepped forward staring the wolverine down. It crouched protectively over a bat it caught somehow. My teeth clenched the cigar in a vice like grip, smoke wafted out of my nostrils into the cold winter air. My eyes narrowed, this must be why my dad despises wolverines, they kill needlessly. After dealing with the wolverine we headed home with little Howard the bat in my hands. I cradled him softly as the massive truck swerved and ramped towards my homestead.
Being the trooper that Howard was he healed up real nice. Soon he out grew what comforts we could provide him and we were forced to loose him on nature. That day my whole family shed a tear. We had many wonderful memories of Howard, how he would bite guests in the neck, how he would scare the neighbour’s dog and children off our lawn but most of all we remembered how he touched our hearts.
His beady little eyes saw through our rough interiors and into our very souls.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
O the Inspirational Possibilities
There is a old saying floating around out there that I don’t agree with in all situations. It goes like this, “Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.”
I think we should use curling as a metaphor for life. One could say “Yea that’s pretty close, average, I mean in curling that would not be on the button but It’s close enough.” or maybe they could say “In curling that rock wouldn’t be even close, in fact it would be taken off the rink.” or perhaps they could say something about setting up a guard around the button in an effort to make the shot impossible.
Why not compare life to pool? People could talk about dealing with obstacles, that seems to inspire people. “Hey, just jump that eight ball in your life and sink the twelve in the corner.” A man or woman could say enthusiastically. Why not?
I am sure there’s some correlation between forests and life, a thing about community. A person could say “Hey roots are important.” or some such thing.
The possibilities are endless.
I think we should use curling as a metaphor for life. One could say “Yea that’s pretty close, average, I mean in curling that would not be on the button but It’s close enough.” or maybe they could say “In curling that rock wouldn’t be even close, in fact it would be taken off the rink.” or perhaps they could say something about setting up a guard around the button in an effort to make the shot impossible.
Why not compare life to pool? People could talk about dealing with obstacles, that seems to inspire people. “Hey, just jump that eight ball in your life and sink the twelve in the corner.” A man or woman could say enthusiastically. Why not?
I am sure there’s some correlation between forests and life, a thing about community. A person could say “Hey roots are important.” or some such thing.
The possibilities are endless.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
The Red Baron of '91
There are points in everyone’s life where it marks a change in their character. For Josh it was when he realized he could jump real high, Dave changed when he discovered his superior brick throwing arm, Tim discovered a new life direction when he aced that quantum mechanics test in grade 3, Steve became bitter when staples refused to return his sparkly gel pens (even after all the girls made fun of him), Derek changed when he saw a truck rip donuts on his front lawn, Mark Jensen changed the day he heard an inspirational rap by Mr. T and I changed the day I got my drivers.
What a great day that was. I remember as if it was a few years back. The sun was probably shining, birds were more than likely chirping and I was basking in my new found freedom. I walked outside of the building where I got my drivers and drove home for the first time. From that day on I chauffeured my friends around town gleefully. My youthful exuberance willed the old van through many snow storms until I got my first car.
The fifty dollar tires kept me on the right path, the twisting engine almost shook me of the path but the steely beast kept trudging on. When the car roared to life heads turned towards what they originally thought was a lawn mower. Much to everyone’s surprise there was no lawn mower on the Superstore parking lot but rather a cherry red 1991 Pontiac Sunbird, "The Red Baron" as it affectionately became known as.
There was a hole in floor, the car did not start unless you jiggled the shifter, flooded the engine with gas and turned the key over for about 30 seconds, despite these unfavorable characteristics the machine never quit on me. It was as dependable as the seasons. Sure the lights did not turn on if it was too cold and the seal on the doors were broken but the car did what it was supposed to do.
It was this car that made me realize what character truly meant.
What a great day that was. I remember as if it was a few years back. The sun was probably shining, birds were more than likely chirping and I was basking in my new found freedom. I walked outside of the building where I got my drivers and drove home for the first time. From that day on I chauffeured my friends around town gleefully. My youthful exuberance willed the old van through many snow storms until I got my first car.
The fifty dollar tires kept me on the right path, the twisting engine almost shook me of the path but the steely beast kept trudging on. When the car roared to life heads turned towards what they originally thought was a lawn mower. Much to everyone’s surprise there was no lawn mower on the Superstore parking lot but rather a cherry red 1991 Pontiac Sunbird, "The Red Baron" as it affectionately became known as.
There was a hole in floor, the car did not start unless you jiggled the shifter, flooded the engine with gas and turned the key over for about 30 seconds, despite these unfavorable characteristics the machine never quit on me. It was as dependable as the seasons. Sure the lights did not turn on if it was too cold and the seal on the doors were broken but the car did what it was supposed to do.
It was this car that made me realize what character truly meant.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Vinegared Creativity
This blog thing is getting out of hand pretty slowly. It’s taken all semester but as of late I am running out of content. How do people keep these things going? I might have to resort to talking about my day or complain about a pet peeve of mine. Perhaps complain about politicians, the latest band that sold out or maybe do some reviews of some kind. My creativity is wearing thin, like a burnt roast chicken’s skin it’s withering away while it sits in a convection oven. I must find a way to symbolically deep fry my creativity to preserve it for at least a month. That or maybe I should preserve it like pickles. Maybe that is it. All my creativity needs is some vinegar, dills and a tight seal.
Monday, November 9, 2009
Room 201
As I neared room 201 in near Taylor I smelt something amiss in the air. I knocked on the door, the door that seemed to emit an odour of malicious intent. “I’M BUSY!” yelled a voice that sounded like it had eaten nails wrapped in sandpaper.
“Bu...but...but Steve, you said we were going to the ice cream parlour today.” I said innocently, with innocent wide eyes.
“I LIED!” said the now hacking voice. A tear rolled down my cheek for the succulent cookie dough ice cream.
“GO AWAY AND STOP CRYING GINGER!” The boomingly angry voice, flaming daggers from his eyes shot through the door and into my heart. “Steve... we need to talk.” I said soberly.
“Not really, but if you’re gonna be all stupid baby about it.” He replied condescendingly.
I slowly walked in the room, the evil atmosphere enveloped me. There sat Thomas Guenther, ignoring the evil that Steve was stirring up, staring at his laptop screen shaking with uncontrollable fear. Steve sat cross-legged on his bed, hunched over the sandpaper and nails he had been devouring. Wham! Suddenly a plate leapt from Steve’s hands and smashed me in the teeth. Steve laughed as a tooth fell out.
“I...I...thought we were friends Steve...” I stammered in shock.
“Get out.” Steve glared at me as he reached for his baseball bat with rusty knives super glued to it.
I looked into his eyes. I have seen that look before. I saw it the time he punched me while I was wheel chair bound.
“Get OUT!” Steve yelled as he approached with the bat. I turned around and ran down the hall.
This man has no heart.
“Bu...but...but Steve, you said we were going to the ice cream parlour today.” I said innocently, with innocent wide eyes.
“I LIED!” said the now hacking voice. A tear rolled down my cheek for the succulent cookie dough ice cream.
“GO AWAY AND STOP CRYING GINGER!” The boomingly angry voice, flaming daggers from his eyes shot through the door and into my heart. “Steve... we need to talk.” I said soberly.
“Not really, but if you’re gonna be all stupid baby about it.” He replied condescendingly.
I slowly walked in the room, the evil atmosphere enveloped me. There sat Thomas Guenther, ignoring the evil that Steve was stirring up, staring at his laptop screen shaking with uncontrollable fear. Steve sat cross-legged on his bed, hunched over the sandpaper and nails he had been devouring. Wham! Suddenly a plate leapt from Steve’s hands and smashed me in the teeth. Steve laughed as a tooth fell out.
“I...I...thought we were friends Steve...” I stammered in shock.
“Get out.” Steve glared at me as he reached for his baseball bat with rusty knives super glued to it.
I looked into his eyes. I have seen that look before. I saw it the time he punched me while I was wheel chair bound.
“Get OUT!” Steve yelled as he approached with the bat. I turned around and ran down the hall.
This man has no heart.
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Discussion
The other day I sat down with Rory Kelly in a Star Bucks to ask him a few questions. The following dialogue ensued.
“So Rory, I see you wear boxes now.” I stated as we sat down with our high class beverages.
“Yeah, it’s a thing I do now... boxes breathe better than standard wear.” He replied.
“At times I question your sanity Rory, this might be one of those times. I mean... spheres are much shapely.” I suggested.
“That’s a lie Clint... and you know it.” Said Rory as he burned his tongue on the coffee and spilt a bit on his box.
“Nah, think of it this way. People are typically called squares because they don’t go to parties. So, because spheres are the opposite of squares they must be all about the party, also there would be more wind resistance. That is not something you want when walking against the wind.” I explained, smiling at his coffee stained box shirt.
“Maybe I was not going for functionality, maybe I had an interview for a new job at a law firm. Law firms are not looking for a party, they are looking for a sharp dressed man. Everyone knows squares have sharp corners.” Said Rory as he wiped his box shirt with a wet nap.
“Man, everyone loves a little party, especially the lawyers.” I declared.
“What do you know about lawyers? You are not one nor do you know one!” Rory argued
“I know you and you are a lawyer.” I said.
That's where I will have to end the account of that discussion. I am hungry and food awaits.
“So Rory, I see you wear boxes now.” I stated as we sat down with our high class beverages.
“Yeah, it’s a thing I do now... boxes breathe better than standard wear.” He replied.
“At times I question your sanity Rory, this might be one of those times. I mean... spheres are much shapely.” I suggested.
“That’s a lie Clint... and you know it.” Said Rory as he burned his tongue on the coffee and spilt a bit on his box.
“Nah, think of it this way. People are typically called squares because they don’t go to parties. So, because spheres are the opposite of squares they must be all about the party, also there would be more wind resistance. That is not something you want when walking against the wind.” I explained, smiling at his coffee stained box shirt.
“Maybe I was not going for functionality, maybe I had an interview for a new job at a law firm. Law firms are not looking for a party, they are looking for a sharp dressed man. Everyone knows squares have sharp corners.” Said Rory as he wiped his box shirt with a wet nap.
“Man, everyone loves a little party, especially the lawyers.” I declared.
“What do you know about lawyers? You are not one nor do you know one!” Rory argued
“I know you and you are a lawyer.” I said.
That's where I will have to end the account of that discussion. I am hungry and food awaits.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Let the Children be
The legendary Jared Enns hails from a fantastic whimsical land, the likes of which no other man has seen. He writes poetry that flows like babbling brooks and, like most of the men featured on this blog, was voted one of the men most ogled in Vogue magazine. In fact many times these said oglers have cramped their own necks as he walks by.
More often than not he can be found nursing injured baby pigeons back to health. His compassion for the rat like fowl has always been a great motivation for him. “They are just misunderstood, let them be.....let...them...be...” Said Jared to a kid with a pellet gun one day, as a single tear trickled down Jared's face.
Jared, in all seriousness, they are flying rats riddled with disease. Let the pellet gun toting children run free like the disease purging heroes they are.
More often than not he can be found nursing injured baby pigeons back to health. His compassion for the rat like fowl has always been a great motivation for him. “They are just misunderstood, let them be.....let...them...be...” Said Jared to a kid with a pellet gun one day, as a single tear trickled down Jared's face.
Jared, in all seriousness, they are flying rats riddled with disease. Let the pellet gun toting children run free like the disease purging heroes they are.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wardulon the Brick Thrower
David Ward, also known as David Wardulon, is a man of many talents. Many people have had their faces melted off during one of his many keytar solos. The way his fingers dance nimbly across the keys reminds one of a gazelle on the African plains. David’s artistic talents do not stop with the ivory and ebony, he also draws quite fantastically. The ladies frequent his Facebook profile if only to get a glimpse of his oil portraits and luxurious golden mane. Wardulon uses only the finest in hair products and accessories to keep up his Fabioesque image that the ladies have come to love.
Dr. Ward has oft been known to lose his temper on the arrogant. “This one time, I was driving down the road when, out of nowhere, a brick came sailing through the air and blew a hole in my engine block.” said one such arrogant victim. When asked why he did this David just grabbed a brick and nodded towards my engine block, eying it deviously. I had been warned.
All victimized engine blocks aside, David is a pretty solid guy. Not only this but he also plays a mean bass guitar.
Dr. Ward has oft been known to lose his temper on the arrogant. “This one time, I was driving down the road when, out of nowhere, a brick came sailing through the air and blew a hole in my engine block.” said one such arrogant victim. When asked why he did this David just grabbed a brick and nodded towards my engine block, eying it deviously. I had been warned.
All victimized engine blocks aside, David is a pretty solid guy. Not only this but he also plays a mean bass guitar.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Martial Cares
Martial Galay is the hero of southern Manitoba today as he saved a bus load of puppies from a plot that involved several criminals on the most wanted list. A multitude of Otterburne citizens watched helplessly as the criminals highjacked the school bus full of puppies and prepared to commit animal cruelty to them. “They were threatening to set fire to the puppies!” one citizen recalled while weeping uncontrollably.
It was after the criminals first declared their intentions, to set fire to the puppies, which a college student by the name of Martial Galay stepped forward to save from the deviants. “I tried to reason with them, but they refused to use logical reasoning. These were clearly some very disturbed individuals.” said Martial when asked if there was another way other than violence to end the conflict.
Martial ended up breaking all the deviant’s limbs in a desperate fight for the puppy’s lives. When asked about the encounter the fire chief had this to say “He was like a wild animal, there was no stopping him. It was like he was a mother bear and the puppies where his children.”
There were no deaths in Otterburne that day, the only injuries were the deviants.
It was after the criminals first declared their intentions, to set fire to the puppies, which a college student by the name of Martial Galay stepped forward to save from the deviants. “I tried to reason with them, but they refused to use logical reasoning. These were clearly some very disturbed individuals.” said Martial when asked if there was another way other than violence to end the conflict.
Martial ended up breaking all the deviant’s limbs in a desperate fight for the puppy’s lives. When asked about the encounter the fire chief had this to say “He was like a wild animal, there was no stopping him. It was like he was a mother bear and the puppies where his children.”
There were no deaths in Otterburne that day, the only injuries were the deviants.
Monday, October 26, 2009
A Timely Timizzle
Tim Hildebrand, much like Josh he has a selective diet. This man can be found being distant and thinking about better times in solitude or be found jokingly mingling around the campfire with the common folk and making the ladies swoon. Despite the swooning ladies Tim holds true to his pursuit of academic superiority. A professor, who shall remain nameless, had this to say about Timbo, “When T-bone first humbly walked into my class, I thought to myself, who is this...this... Michelangelo of academics.”. Later on the nameless professor realized that there is more to Timizzle than meets the eye when he stopped and captured several bank thieves while walking an old lady across the street whose cat was stuck in a tree. Tim went on to graduate from the college, earning several certificates, diplomas and doctorates.
Tim`s academic pursuits have landed him in Providence College and Seminary where he plans on adding to his repertoire of diplomas.
Tim`s academic pursuits have landed him in Providence College and Seminary where he plans on adding to his repertoire of diplomas.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Garbage Cans, a Book of Self
I think you can tell a lot about a person by what is in their trash can. Currently there reside in mine several empty cups of coffee, thus depicting me as a somewhat tired person who needs a boost of energy or also it could just be a reflection on how yellow my teeth are. Fortunately for me there is a tube of toothpaste that will run out soon and join my empty coffee cups in garbage comradeship.
There is also a bill from my last transaction at HMV. On this receipt are the following two items, the new Matt Good album and the book “Catch 22” by Joseph Heller. I think “Catch 22” says a few things about me. The book is very disjointed and follows no particular time line. It jumps back and forth along the plot line and in this way the book keeps my attention. I think the humour in it is clever and witty. “Catch 22” shows a different way of thinking about things. The album shows what kind of music I like, alternative rock from the 90s. Maybe it even shows that I am stuck in the 90s, I am not ashamed of this possibility (at least I am not stuck in the 80s).
My garbage can tells me a lot about myself however I do not advocate looking through someone else’s garbage can. That is unless you’re a raccoon, in which case you need the sustenance. I guess if you want a restraining order you could always look through a friends garbage can after eyeing them suspiciously for several weeks.
There is also a bill from my last transaction at HMV. On this receipt are the following two items, the new Matt Good album and the book “Catch 22” by Joseph Heller. I think “Catch 22” says a few things about me. The book is very disjointed and follows no particular time line. It jumps back and forth along the plot line and in this way the book keeps my attention. I think the humour in it is clever and witty. “Catch 22” shows a different way of thinking about things. The album shows what kind of music I like, alternative rock from the 90s. Maybe it even shows that I am stuck in the 90s, I am not ashamed of this possibility (at least I am not stuck in the 80s).
My garbage can tells me a lot about myself however I do not advocate looking through someone else’s garbage can. That is unless you’re a raccoon, in which case you need the sustenance. I guess if you want a restraining order you could always look through a friends garbage can after eyeing them suspiciously for several weeks.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Janice the Jumper from Janson
Josh, who is this mysterious enigma of a man, well I sat down with him today and we shared a few choice words. As it turns out Josh is a complex man, he eats some things but not other things. Not only does he have a selective diet but also is on the volley ball team at Providence College and Seminary. His fellow teammates have given him the affectionate nickname Jumping Janice.
On the surface level this name seems almost an insult, but is really a very well thought out complement. He acquired this nickname after getting in touch with his feminine side during an art show gallery where he not only participated, but also won a gold medal in the “Paint Flowers” category. The second half of the name comes from his unique talent for jumping not only the highest but also the furthest.
Jumping Janice, I salute you but also have this warning for you do not jump to high, the sun burns.
On the surface level this name seems almost an insult, but is really a very well thought out complement. He acquired this nickname after getting in touch with his feminine side during an art show gallery where he not only participated, but also won a gold medal in the “Paint Flowers” category. The second half of the name comes from his unique talent for jumping not only the highest but also the furthest.
Jumping Janice, I salute you but also have this warning for you do not jump to high, the sun burns.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Party hops
The other day I was at a pretty hopping party (that is to say the party was off the hook, not that it was a party were we hopped) and a thing was said. That thing was more of a statement. There was a general agreement that the body was not made to consume beer or pizza (let’s call it the body anti pizza theory). To which I said that even so, pizza and beer were made to be consumed (pizza consumption theory). This juxtaposition intrigued me despite of the generally baffled look on everyone else’s face. Does this render the body anti pizza theory irrelevant?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
JenSON and his Dirty Tricks
Some things are as unchanging as the hair on my face. Such is the case with this fellow named Mark JenSON. On one of his latest blog he depicts me as slanderous. Slander seems to be a term thrown around frequently these days, although mostly by this JenSON.
As for his legit wall, it is a mere distraction from the plague of quote walls that infects some dorms. Is not a quote wall just another form of legit wall? Typically a quote worthy of being etched eternally on the wall is accompanied by the originator of the quote. In this way the originator is seen as more “legit” than those of his or her peers who did not get this honour, following this logic the “quote wall” could be considered a form of a “legit wall”. Perhaps the “quote wall” is a subdivision of a “legit wall”. To further illustrate my point think of it in the terms of how Biologists classify animals. Take mammals for instance, they are classified by many different subcategories.
On a legit wall it appears a person could get on it by doing anything legit, not just making a delightful yet witty remark.
So JenSON, your legit wall is not as original as you once suspected. You have simply managed to create a generalized term to help classify the difference from a quote wall and a regular wall. Although arguably they could both be considered as having the same essence. I will explore this essence deeper throughout the year.
Stay tuned....this may get interesting....but probably not. Now go do something important.
As for his legit wall, it is a mere distraction from the plague of quote walls that infects some dorms. Is not a quote wall just another form of legit wall? Typically a quote worthy of being etched eternally on the wall is accompanied by the originator of the quote. In this way the originator is seen as more “legit” than those of his or her peers who did not get this honour, following this logic the “quote wall” could be considered a form of a “legit wall”. Perhaps the “quote wall” is a subdivision of a “legit wall”. To further illustrate my point think of it in the terms of how Biologists classify animals. Take mammals for instance, they are classified by many different subcategories.
On a legit wall it appears a person could get on it by doing anything legit, not just making a delightful yet witty remark.
So JenSON, your legit wall is not as original as you once suspected. You have simply managed to create a generalized term to help classify the difference from a quote wall and a regular wall. Although arguably they could both be considered as having the same essence. I will explore this essence deeper throughout the year.
Stay tuned....this may get interesting....but probably not. Now go do something important.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Hairy and the Jansonersons
Hairy till January is supposed to be an event riddled with great fun and hairy faces. It seems for me hairy till January elicits not a hairy face but jokes about how not hairy my face is. Jokes seem to be in abundance lately. Its fine, in their place I would do the same, in fact I have. My facial hair is considered gross if not awful in many intellectual circles (even the unintellectual circles have cast judgement on my baby face).
The hair on my usually handsome mug is very similar to that of a head on a pike. It is ugly and serves as a warning for those men who think they need not shave. They see me approach and think “Yeah, maybe I will shave regularly after all.” Or maybe more like “is that.......” and that as far as they get as they cower in fear of my apparent disregard for social norms. Soon I think people will begin throwing shavers and shaving cream at me.
I am like the neighbour who never mows his grass on time to the point where the residential value decreases and everyone has to sell their houses at bargain prices. Soon the people of my bay will black ball me, leaving me to plot my hairy, rejected revenge.
The hair on my usually handsome mug is very similar to that of a head on a pike. It is ugly and serves as a warning for those men who think they need not shave. They see me approach and think “Yeah, maybe I will shave regularly after all.” Or maybe more like “is that.......” and that as far as they get as they cower in fear of my apparent disregard for social norms. Soon I think people will begin throwing shavers and shaving cream at me.
I am like the neighbour who never mows his grass on time to the point where the residential value decreases and everyone has to sell their houses at bargain prices. Soon the people of my bay will black ball me, leaving me to plot my hairy, rejected revenge.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Refuge
As I step into the student life center, I leave behind the biting wind and uncomfortable rain. The climate controlled building envelops me in warm air. Andrew and I saunter over to the cafeteria, where a warm breakfast awaits us. I grab my plastic green tray and make my way towards the tater tots and bacon. There is no vigilant cafeteria staff member to serve me so I go ahead and grab my own tots and bacon. Something seems to be missing from this meal.
After acquiring the somewhat warm food it’s time to conquer the drink machines. I hold my tray out in front of me as I sheepishly make my way toward the drinks only to find out that many people have conquered it before me and there is no chocolate milk, yet another thing missing from my meal.
Next it’s time to find a table to sit down at. I survey the prospects. They all look the same, brown with a fake wood grain on top of them. Most of the tables are empty, except for three. A cafeteria staff member sits at the far end alone, almost as if she is sitting at the head of a table keeping all her children in check. My searching eyes settle on one table with a few people sitting already. As I sit they start talking about papers and the inevitable procrastination. I nod in agreement as I eat my bacon and tots. Small talk seems to be the nature of breakfast today, no one wants to think about philosophical or theological claims this early.
My bleary eyes notice a person sitting by himself a few tables down. He seems lonely almost as if he is waiting for something. After a few bites his eyes leave his food and drift around the cafeteria, just as one of these moments happen a few of his good friends sit down with him and start their own small talk.
Andrew finally joins me; with his edible breakfast treasures. For some unknown reason he uses chopsticks to eat his breakfast. I comment on the intriguing choice of cutlery. He looks at me and stabs a strawberry; lifting it to his mouth he unveils some watermelon. The conversation changes to how this stabbing action is not encouraged where they actually use chop sticks. Somehow the conversation goes from chop sticks to the German language to the Russian language. The connection between chop sticks and German evades me even as I try to draw the connection.
I can’t help but notice that the majority of people at the table have glasses. It strikes me as interesting that glasses used to be considered unfashionable but now are just an accessory to some people.
If not for the giant windows the giant room where I now sit would be incredibly drab. There seems to be a common theme of brown amongst everything in the cafeteria. The tables, chairs, floor, walls, ceiling and even the leaves outside are brown. The dark, cloudy sky seems gives me a sense of happiness, as if even the overcast autumn sky can inspire within me some sort of creativity.
Almost everyone leaves at the same time, tipping their cups over in preparation for putting their trays away. They leave Andrew, a guy I don’t know and me sitting with empty plates. The small talk continues on a while between the three of us until it is time to go back to class. I tip my cups in a sort of goodbye to my breakfast peers and place my tray among the rest of the trays. I step outside and make my way through the bitingly cold rain and the uncomfortable wind.
After acquiring the somewhat warm food it’s time to conquer the drink machines. I hold my tray out in front of me as I sheepishly make my way toward the drinks only to find out that many people have conquered it before me and there is no chocolate milk, yet another thing missing from my meal.
Next it’s time to find a table to sit down at. I survey the prospects. They all look the same, brown with a fake wood grain on top of them. Most of the tables are empty, except for three. A cafeteria staff member sits at the far end alone, almost as if she is sitting at the head of a table keeping all her children in check. My searching eyes settle on one table with a few people sitting already. As I sit they start talking about papers and the inevitable procrastination. I nod in agreement as I eat my bacon and tots. Small talk seems to be the nature of breakfast today, no one wants to think about philosophical or theological claims this early.
My bleary eyes notice a person sitting by himself a few tables down. He seems lonely almost as if he is waiting for something. After a few bites his eyes leave his food and drift around the cafeteria, just as one of these moments happen a few of his good friends sit down with him and start their own small talk.
Andrew finally joins me; with his edible breakfast treasures. For some unknown reason he uses chopsticks to eat his breakfast. I comment on the intriguing choice of cutlery. He looks at me and stabs a strawberry; lifting it to his mouth he unveils some watermelon. The conversation changes to how this stabbing action is not encouraged where they actually use chop sticks. Somehow the conversation goes from chop sticks to the German language to the Russian language. The connection between chop sticks and German evades me even as I try to draw the connection.
I can’t help but notice that the majority of people at the table have glasses. It strikes me as interesting that glasses used to be considered unfashionable but now are just an accessory to some people.
If not for the giant windows the giant room where I now sit would be incredibly drab. There seems to be a common theme of brown amongst everything in the cafeteria. The tables, chairs, floor, walls, ceiling and even the leaves outside are brown. The dark, cloudy sky seems gives me a sense of happiness, as if even the overcast autumn sky can inspire within me some sort of creativity.
Almost everyone leaves at the same time, tipping their cups over in preparation for putting their trays away. They leave Andrew, a guy I don’t know and me sitting with empty plates. The small talk continues on a while between the three of us until it is time to go back to class. I tip my cups in a sort of goodbye to my breakfast peers and place my tray among the rest of the trays. I step outside and make my way through the bitingly cold rain and the uncomfortable wind.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
A Raisiny Revolution
So today I made several delicious cookies. They were not only oatmeal cookies but we also made some peanut butter cookies. Man, they were good. Not only was there oatmeal but also raisins. I used to think raisins were not good at all, but I gave them a chance anyway and they turned out to be pretty awesome. I mean I would still not want to eat them alone or anything (they are no bacon, of that I am sure) but they did taste good amongst the cookies.
In conclusion, the party is where the raisins at.
In conclusion, the party is where the raisins at.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Money Trees and Truck Men Hybrids
The other day I was wrestling a bear and I got to thinking, what do I want to be when I finish school. I think my friend Derek said it best when he said “When I grow up I want to be a truck!” This exuberant young man had it right. Aim for the impossible. In doing this his ambitions will make him keep on trucking past the average person. This man is going places, possibly high end managerial places. I’m talking about the president of the Mint or some such thing. Money may not grow on trees but it is made in factories and watering this money tree will be none other than Derek.
I tip my hat to you and your go getter attitude Derek.
I tip my hat to you and your go getter attitude Derek.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
BRAAAAP! (thats the sound a monster truck makes!)
Okay so sports have come to my attention and how much I dislike them. I don't even like watching them! Unless it's a Blood Sport, that was a fantastic movie. I'm talking, I don't even care about any team, like ANY. Here are some commandments of sport.
1. Money
2. Every sport shall involve trampolines
3. Every sport shall involve fireworks and/or laser shows
4. Trucks, they all need monster trucks
5. Essence of sport shall not change
6. Only drug testing for drugs to kick out the sober ones
7. Needs a little Jack Nicholson
8. Feral dogs roaming court
9. Some sort of rocket propulsion
- which part the rocket is attached to depends on sport (maybe feet or knees?)
10. Commitment
Those are just a few things (improvements if you will) that need to be implemented (especially for Toronto because they just suck).
1. Money
2. Every sport shall involve trampolines
3. Every sport shall involve fireworks and/or laser shows
4. Trucks, they all need monster trucks
5. Essence of sport shall not change
6. Only drug testing for drugs to kick out the sober ones
7. Needs a little Jack Nicholson
8. Feral dogs roaming court
9. Some sort of rocket propulsion
- which part the rocket is attached to depends on sport (maybe feet or knees?)
10. Commitment
Those are just a few things (improvements if you will) that need to be implemented (especially for Toronto because they just suck).
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
The Truth
There has been a hole in my blog’s heart, a hole that can only be filled with truth rather than impossible claims about awesome things. In order to fill that hole today’s entry will not be exaggerated. The reason for me doing this blog is for the sake of grades. I am doing entries for my class called “writing for the media”, which is offered at the prestigious Providence College and Seminary.
At times I wonder were this degree will take me, that is my Communications degree. Will I get a decent job? Will I be stuck doing something I loathe because of some sense of duty or will I have a career that I enjoy? My aim, so far in life, is not to become rich and very successful. All I want right now is a steady income I can live comfortably with and as I do not have that I do not feel content with where I am.
Being content where I am has always been hard for me. I see people making a difference somehow, doing something with tangible benefits. They see the fruits of their labours and can be proud in what they have done. Take carpentry versus almost any job at a factory. A carpenter has many different problems they must contend with. A good carpenter figures out solutions to make a house not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing. They look at what they have done and have physical proof that they did something of worth.
In a factory you do your part, pass on the unfinished product to the next person down the line and thus never really see the final product or what impact it has on the customer’s life. This experience may not be shared by everyone, but this is how I felt as a factory employee.
Earning money for doing something I came to loathe seemed as if I was willing to defile my time somehow just to earn money. I became an angry, bitter person, wondering what I was doing with my life and thinking I was wasting it. After one particularly hard week of work I decided the only way to get out of the rut was to jump out with both feet, no hesitation. So I picked up an application for Providence
College and Seminary in an attempt to be at a place I was comfortable with.
Getting a job at a factory, coming to Providence, finishing high school and getting baptized are all things that I thought would make me content, but so far I have felt nothing even close to content. That nagging questions still remains, what am I doing?
At times I wonder were this degree will take me, that is my Communications degree. Will I get a decent job? Will I be stuck doing something I loathe because of some sense of duty or will I have a career that I enjoy? My aim, so far in life, is not to become rich and very successful. All I want right now is a steady income I can live comfortably with and as I do not have that I do not feel content with where I am.
Being content where I am has always been hard for me. I see people making a difference somehow, doing something with tangible benefits. They see the fruits of their labours and can be proud in what they have done. Take carpentry versus almost any job at a factory. A carpenter has many different problems they must contend with. A good carpenter figures out solutions to make a house not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing. They look at what they have done and have physical proof that they did something of worth.
In a factory you do your part, pass on the unfinished product to the next person down the line and thus never really see the final product or what impact it has on the customer’s life. This experience may not be shared by everyone, but this is how I felt as a factory employee.
Earning money for doing something I came to loathe seemed as if I was willing to defile my time somehow just to earn money. I became an angry, bitter person, wondering what I was doing with my life and thinking I was wasting it. After one particularly hard week of work I decided the only way to get out of the rut was to jump out with both feet, no hesitation. So I picked up an application for Providence
College and Seminary in an attempt to be at a place I was comfortable with.
Getting a job at a factory, coming to Providence, finishing high school and getting baptized are all things that I thought would make me content, but so far I have felt nothing even close to content. That nagging questions still remains, what am I doing?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
A Province like no other
Some things never change, like Saskatchewan. From it's thunderous golden plains to the other thunderous golden plains there is a little of something for everyone. That is why a trip is being planned to conquer the province. The former rival to my blog will be going as well. Hopefully not to much Tom-foolery will be afoot.
The plan is to survive off the land, make some multigrain bread with grain hand picked from the fields. I have heard first hand accounts of men staying alive for multiple days on bread and water alone while keeping up a high standard of living.
At times I look back on this idea and think its a bad one, but then I think to myself "Hey, there is at least one evening of thought put into this, also just because we are going to Saskatchewan it does not mean we must visit Regina."
The plan is to survive off the land, make some multigrain bread with grain hand picked from the fields. I have heard first hand accounts of men staying alive for multiple days on bread and water alone while keeping up a high standard of living.
At times I look back on this idea and think its a bad one, but then I think to myself "Hey, there is at least one evening of thought put into this, also just because we are going to Saskatchewan it does not mean we must visit Regina."
Monday, September 28, 2009
The Feral Wolves of Vengance
It has come to my attention that, despite having several entries, I have not written anything about myself. The blog-o-sphere knows nothing about me and as trust in any relationship requires knowledge of the other it seems appropriate I share my life story with the internet real quick.
I have always been a person of upstanding noble character and high physical prowess. Since I was a young child people often found me wrestling wild animals. Soon this became a danger to the animals health and several men from my village were assigned to hold me back whenever a feral badger or bear would be seen.
By the time I was eight wolves were extinct in Europe because of my devil-may-care attitude towards vicious animals. I hated those wolves and everything they stood for, also they killed everything I loved and held dear to my heart.
After my youthful exploits in Europe I made my way across the sea to Canada, with nothing but the back stroke.
Well I think that's all that needs to be said for now. Have a good day internet.
I have always been a person of upstanding noble character and high physical prowess. Since I was a young child people often found me wrestling wild animals. Soon this became a danger to the animals health and several men from my village were assigned to hold me back whenever a feral badger or bear would be seen.
By the time I was eight wolves were extinct in Europe because of my devil-may-care attitude towards vicious animals. I hated those wolves and everything they stood for, also they killed everything I loved and held dear to my heart.
After my youthful exploits in Europe I made my way across the sea to Canada, with nothing but the back stroke.
Well I think that's all that needs to be said for now. Have a good day internet.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
David Hollowaty is My Friend.
So Mark, I see we have mixed social websites... again. I think talking about Facebook on a blog then posting that blog on Facebook is a bit redundant. After much pondering and careful deliberation I have determined David Hollowaty to be the coolest in any book, be it Facebook, a phone book or even one of them fancy calligraphy books. In fact he is one of the most lovable zebras I have ever met.
Your insights are both profound and relevant. They strike a cord in my mental wanderings. With an every increasing population on Facebook we need to know how to utilize this new found social tool for the betterment of society, not like those corporate big wigs up in Regina. O those Reginites and their big wigs.
Your insights are both profound and relevant. They strike a cord in my mental wanderings. With an every increasing population on Facebook we need to know how to utilize this new found social tool for the betterment of society, not like those corporate big wigs up in Regina. O those Reginites and their big wigs.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Almost Markvalry
So I noticed that a fellow student from the school of party has started a blog (http://markimusmaximus.blogspot.com/). I do not consider this a rival blog....yet. Although he has not crossed the threshold into rival blog (blogvalry?) he is shaking hands with the cliff edge.
I warn you, he slanders. He sees blogs as a way to defame celebrities as well as compare my roommate with types of fossilized dinosaurs (what’s his deal?). Well Mr.Jensen, or should I say Mr.JenSON, if you were a dinosaur you would be the yellow bellied triceratops.
It is no secret that he is a part of my party entourage, I assure you this is merely out of human decency. Mark JenSON.... doesn’t be getting all up in ma grill!
I warn you, he slanders. He sees blogs as a way to defame celebrities as well as compare my roommate with types of fossilized dinosaurs (what’s his deal?). Well Mr.Jensen, or should I say Mr.JenSON, if you were a dinosaur you would be the yellow bellied triceratops.
It is no secret that he is a part of my party entourage, I assure you this is merely out of human decency. Mark JenSON.... doesn’t be getting all up in ma grill!
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Apples to Exp
The other day I played some apples to apples, yes there was ladies there, but more importantly Mark “the party bone” Jensen and Kunal the “voice of reason” Marwaha where there. Before I go any further I would like to point out that I won 100% of the time, just putting it out there. I mean it’s not really a big deal, I’m just saying. It was then that I had an epiphany. Getting to know someone is allott like an RPG, what with all the cliques and all. You have to work your way up to the more popular cliques. It’s like we dudes were about level 2 and they were all like level 30 with the church bonus.
So there the party found themselves out numbered and without the strongest adventurer, Mark “the real deal” Gareau. He had other affairs to tend to. This brought the overall exp down about a few points. However we detected a weakness in their sense of humour and Mark, Kunal and I jumped on it with many a filarious joke. We gained about 15 exp, which is pretty good.
So there the party found themselves out numbered and without the strongest adventurer, Mark “the real deal” Gareau. He had other affairs to tend to. This brought the overall exp down about a few points. However we detected a weakness in their sense of humour and Mark, Kunal and I jumped on it with many a filarious joke. We gained about 15 exp, which is pretty good.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
M-Bone to the Fillet o Jensen
There is a legend walking the humble halls of Bergen, the sound of his steps strike anticipation into the common partier’s heart and mind. Mark Jensen loves the party.
Not only does he love the party but also doughnut flavoured chips. It is unclear as to where he gets these chips from. Some say the elusive chips are from Saskatchewan, this is very unlikely as he has renounced his Saskatchewanianness and opted to be known as a Brooklynian in light of his newest muses. These include none other than the linguistic magicians commonly known as Dr.Dre and Tupac.
Mr.Jensen is very concerned about social well being; this is obvious in his constant concern for janitorial cleanliness. He can be often be found mopping rugs and vacuuming the fake plants. When confronted on this act of apparent insanity he rhymes a thought provoking argument about goats in relation to life.
Mark Jensen, we all know who he is, if you don’t you need to turn the party knob up till breaks off the great times amp.
Not only does he love the party but also doughnut flavoured chips. It is unclear as to where he gets these chips from. Some say the elusive chips are from Saskatchewan, this is very unlikely as he has renounced his Saskatchewanianness and opted to be known as a Brooklynian in light of his newest muses. These include none other than the linguistic magicians commonly known as Dr.Dre and Tupac.
Mr.Jensen is very concerned about social well being; this is obvious in his constant concern for janitorial cleanliness. He can be often be found mopping rugs and vacuuming the fake plants. When confronted on this act of apparent insanity he rhymes a thought provoking argument about goats in relation to life.
Mark Jensen, we all know who he is, if you don’t you need to turn the party knob up till breaks off the great times amp.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Barrel Rollin All Over Those World Records
Today as I was doing sick barrel rolls on my rocket bike a very interesting thing happened. In mid barrel roll, a position often referred to as “upside down” by those who are prominent in the sport, my mind started wondering. Now the rocket bike always requires your full attention. Everyone knows you don’t rocket bike unless you are completely sober, be it emotionally, spiritually or even physically sober. They are harsh mistresses and can be as deadly as a cobra/grizzly bear hybrid, however when treated right they give more than they take.
As I flew gracefully through the air my mind started thinking about other things, mainly about the rising minimum wage, I land the rocket bike perfectly. Almost as if the thunderous beast of awesome is an extension of me. It has become my legs; I am one with the rocket bike (this might also be partially because my pants melted to the bike). I went on to shatter a few records today, but I’m not in it for the glory.
As I flew gracefully through the air my mind started thinking about other things, mainly about the rising minimum wage, I land the rocket bike perfectly. Almost as if the thunderous beast of awesome is an extension of me. It has become my legs; I am one with the rocket bike (this might also be partially because my pants melted to the bike). I went on to shatter a few records today, but I’m not in it for the glory.
Friday, September 18, 2009
Gary Loves Ham
Because nothing of interest has happened to me, as of late, I started thinking about what would make my life more interesting. Well there is super powers, perhaps a different global location or maybe even if I ate something spicy and overripe. You put those things together and you get a great movie idea I'm pretty sure. Here is an example:
Main Character
a neat dude who eats ham alot
has super strength
lives in a jungle somewhere
name might be Gary Clark
Antagonist
a mad man who is against eating pig meat
is cunning
smells much like a pig
could go by the name of Franz Frankly
Premise
Gary eats his morning ham
Gary gets sick because someone maliciously unplugged his refrigerator
He knows exactly who did it, due to an equally maliciously written note of hate
This note was found on the refrigerator door, heinously taped there
Our protagonist finds out that everyone's favorite chilled foods have gone bad because of a similar fate
a livid Gary sets out to end this madness
along the way Gary might find others to help him with his cause
Gary ends up winning during a heated battle of yelling and brutal physical encounters
If I ate more perishable food items the content in this blog would be significantly improved.
Main Character
a neat dude who eats ham alot
has super strength
lives in a jungle somewhere
name might be Gary Clark
Antagonist
a mad man who is against eating pig meat
is cunning
smells much like a pig
could go by the name of Franz Frankly
Premise
Gary eats his morning ham
Gary gets sick because someone maliciously unplugged his refrigerator
He knows exactly who did it, due to an equally maliciously written note of hate
This note was found on the refrigerator door, heinously taped there
Our protagonist finds out that everyone's favorite chilled foods have gone bad because of a similar fate
a livid Gary sets out to end this madness
along the way Gary might find others to help him with his cause
Gary ends up winning during a heated battle of yelling and brutal physical encounters
If I ate more perishable food items the content in this blog would be significantly improved.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Reflection as a Event
As I reflect on another day I realize that, much like yesterday nothing has happened. Unless you count reflection as an event. In which case today was very eventful. I did much scholarly reflectioning, one might say I am a reflectioneer, on several scholarly topics. Some of these topics included horticulture and pros and cons between thick and thin pizza crust. I determined thick crust is significantly better than the alternative, for obvious reasons that I do not think i need to explain.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Andrew Bergenesque
Andrew Bergen need I say more? Probably. Andrew is pretty good looking and enjoys making movies because it involves being creative. He has made about 9 movies so far, all of them done in a documentary style with bits of humor in them. Andrew likes the epic movies and epic scenes, his favorite scenes being ones with falling.
Not only does he make movies but he currently attends Providence Bible College and seminary. He first applied with the reason of attending a bible college. This changed as he attended and has more defined reasons. The main reasons are, get his degree, learn more about music and see God move in this place.
In conclusion Andrew is pretty neat.Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Rest
Every now and again everyone gets a day when things happen. Be it negative or just plain old awesome. This was not one of these days. During days such as these I take an adventure, a quest towards scholarly enlightenment if you will. It all started when I walked into my dorm room and looked through the window at the wonderful Rat River in all its murky glory. Not so much reflectively as just boringly, but even the mighty Rat River could not hold my attention for long. I turned around and looked at my room in awe. The painted cinder block walls encased me, no pictures or posters covered them. there was a distinctive line drawn through the middle of the room. My clothes spread out amongst the video games and Xbox controllers. My room mate's side perfectly maintained and manicured like a Budweiser Clydesdale.
I start reading a book that I need to report on. I get a few pages in and sleep creeps up on me. My eyes slowly slide closed. The deep sleep transports me to a place of empty blackness. Ambition is put aside for a while.
Today I was not so much enlightened as merely well rested. Tomorrow something may happen. Who knows maybe a dog will fight a bear in a canoe or something.
I start reading a book that I need to report on. I get a few pages in and sleep creeps up on me. My eyes slowly slide closed. The deep sleep transports me to a place of empty blackness. Ambition is put aside for a while.
Today I was not so much enlightened as merely well rested. Tomorrow something may happen. Who knows maybe a dog will fight a bear in a canoe or something.
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Student Life Center
As I write this blog, sitting on a soft leather couch with my feet on a coffee table, the air conditioned atmosphere wraps me in dry, cool air. Two students are playing pool making the occasional joke and chuckling. They theorize and argue which ball they will attempt to sink and which would be the easiest from what angle.
The TV is on the TSN channel, most of the people in the room are currently athletes. The pale and fake looking host asks the athletes seemingly random questions like "How many nights have you stayed in the Holiday Inn". The questions have no flow between them, I am frustrated with the show.
I turn my attention to my blog again. The pool game is still going, the two guys next to me still talking about what classes they have, who they have them with and at what time. A typical conversation between college friends who have not seen each other since last year.
My laptop is getting warm and canceling out the air conditioned air. The sun bursts through the windows an heats the other couches, making them unbearable. Maybe shorts would have been a wiser choice.
The TV is on the TSN channel, most of the people in the room are currently athletes. The pale and fake looking host asks the athletes seemingly random questions like "How many nights have you stayed in the Holiday Inn". The questions have no flow between them, I am frustrated with the show.
I turn my attention to my blog again. The pool game is still going, the two guys next to me still talking about what classes they have, who they have them with and at what time. A typical conversation between college friends who have not seen each other since last year.
My laptop is getting warm and canceling out the air conditioned air. The sun bursts through the windows an heats the other couches, making them unbearable. Maybe shorts would have been a wiser choice.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Barrel Rollin
Well its been a while since I last visited this whimsical site. Let me start this off by saying what happened today. Pretty much nothing aside from the average students life, going to classes, reading texts and doing barrel rolls on rocket bikes. Sounds awesome doesn't it? That's because it is. I am pretty sure it ranks right up there with wrestling cougars. DISCLAIMER :I am not talking about desperate middle aged women, when i say cougars I mean the wild animals.
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