My apologies ladies and gents, for I have neglected you these past few weeks in favor of more pressing matters. You may be wondering, what does an unemployed, dependent, and royally pathetic art kid have in terms of important business? Well, I'll tell you. I was doing interviews for jobs I ended up not getting. HaHA! Yeah no, I know that's sad, but look at the bright side: I'm able to write to you about totally random crap again!
Speaking of, I've come to a conclusion that the State of Connecticut, despite the economic crisis, has such a swollen budget we've started to import our populations. My friend Dri use to say that it's such a monochromatic state we probably import our minorities. It wouldn't surprise me. But now, I have proof that CT Importations is a real thing:
I went to a lakeside beach with friends a couple days ago. It was a beautiful early summer day--baby blue skies, wispy clouds, and a cool breeze grazed the hillsides. It was absolutely perfect! We went swimming for well over an hour and then it caught our notice that a large crowd of people were swimming from the landing on the opposite shore to the beach where we were. There had to have been at least two dozen of them. It wasn't until the Normandy beach landing concluded that we noticed they were all lifeguards in training. Upon closer examination by swimming in the shallows--rather blatant in our gape mouthed stares, but we honestly couldn't give a fuck at that point--they were all extraordinarily good looking...with the exception of one hairy-backed fat guy and a gangly blond with horse teeth. And on even closer investigation--by this point we looked more like walruses making their way up the beach--they were all British.
Wait, wait, wait...why are two dozen Brits training to be lifeguards in Northwestern CT? YOU LIVE ON AN ISLAND for fucks sake, there should be enough water around for you to practice life guarding. Need a lake? Head north and ask the Scottish for a Loch, I'm sure they wouldn't mind. And why is everyone good looking? Did they wrangle the only hot residing civilians in England to be the ambassadors of British lifesavers in America? And for that matter, why did you pick CT to train? Why not MA, NY, NH, NJ, or ME?
My theory? CT is so presumptuous and spoiled that we've actually started to import European lifeguards because ripped local jail bait is simply not qualification enough to save our lives. This makes me wonder though: why do lifeguards have to be good looking? Okay, sure they're in their bathing suits all the time, they are going to be looked at a lot being they're the authority figure, and they have to be athletic. But really? We're honestly not going to care when we have a couple pints of lake or sea water in our lungs and are about to become fish food in the most literal sense. We will not give a fuck who saves us so long as someone does. But then again, that's just my opinion.
Coincidentally, I will be back to the lake hopefully soon. *innocent look* What?! I like the water! It has nothing to do with English lifeguards. Nope. Not at all.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
The Shrinkage Phenomenon: A Growing Epidemic
It was someone, I forget whom, that said global warming was a total fact and if you didn’t believe it, take a good look at the evolution of fashion in the past 50 years. It’s disappearing at a rapid rate, and something needs to be done!
I’m sure there are guys out there whimpering in protest, saying no! Keep it shrinking; we see nothing wrong with it. Did I say it was women’s’ clothing alone that is shrinking? No. Gentlemen, you are in just as much danger of this epidemic as we are and we’re generally not so keen on seeing as much as you are.
I first considered this when I sat in a diner for dinner the other night with my father during the first 90+-degree day of the summer. It was insufferably hot after a month of sixty-degree days, but fortunately the restaurant was air-conditioned. As we sat in our booth, enjoying salads and sandwiches, a couple in their late sixties came in and sat at the booth across from us. I kid not when I insist that the aging gentlemen was wearing severely cut off jean shorts—to the point of nearly seeing a turkey neck short—and a tank top that said “No Fat Chicks” on it, while the portly woman whom accompanied him (which I found slightly ironic) wore a cut off tank top (insert shudder here) and a jean skirt which I wouldn’t wish to see worn by even the tiniest of super models. It was so painful it was comical and it took even my best efforts to keep my eyes glued to my turkey club rather than the car crash sitting at the both beside us. If Versace were alive he’d want himself shot all over again.
You may contest that this one…unfortunate incident is isolated, and as any scientist and underpaid stoned out science teacher would contest that you need multiple instances of a singular result in order to form a proper theory. Agreed, so go to New York City in the summer and you’ll know shrinkage is not just for the older country couple. Everyone in summer is very close to losing it all…so to speak. It just seems that the elder country couple took a hint from the fashionistas and we all must suffer for it.
Here are a few more examples of the shrinkage phenomenon, with my thoughts:
Speedos. No one needs them besides Michael Phelps…oh wait! HE DOESN’T EVEN NEED THEM ANYMORE! STOP WEARING THEM! WE DON’T NEED TO SEE THE SHRINKAGE OF MR. HAPPY, TOO! Good Christ, I swear that the only people who wear them are fat fifty year olds, ugly Europeans, and fat and ugly fifty-year-old Europeans. It’s tragic. Also, I know bikinis have been big for some time, but even they have suffered due to the weather. Either that, or fabric has become a precious commodity. Ladies? If you have to root your bikini out of yourself—and I mean need an excavation crew with some C4 kind of rooting—constantly when you’re wearing it, it may be a sign of one or more of the following:
a)You’re single
b)You’ve gained a bit of weight since last summer and may need to take some time to get back to being the best you can look before attempting a beach expedition with that suit again.
c)It’s not your fault. Global warming is to blame.
Thongs. Oh lord. Skip the foreplay, guys and gals, and just go commando. I know many people just nickname them butt floss, which is pretty accurate, don’t get me wrong. But they kind of remind me of the arrows on airport runways. You know what I’m talking about? The kind that direct the pilot where to stick his machinery? Yeah, kind of like that, since it’s most likely with the girls who wear them that it’s a pretty accurate description…*looks around at the appalled faces* What?! Oh, don’t even try to tell me people who own thongs aren’t by probability sexually active, if not promiscuous! Now you’re just being naïve! On a related note, STOP BUYING THONGS FOR YOUR TWEENS! If you do, then make sure it’s an Everlast brand and has a padlock in the front.
Shrinkage, people, and it’s only getting worse. It’s absolutely terrifying when people are desperately clinging to the scraps of fabric that remain in the world that the fashion magnets distribute cynically to the masses. Perhaps they are testing us? Seeing how little fabric they need to use to make us happy? I didn’t realize we were rationing, but apparently we are. I’m clinging wholeheartedly to my long t-shirt and worn jeans in terror, hoping that they, too, will not be victimized.
Global warming is not a myth: fight the heat or soon we’ll all be naked and confused in some warped version of a worldwide morning after!
I’m sure there are guys out there whimpering in protest, saying no! Keep it shrinking; we see nothing wrong with it. Did I say it was women’s’ clothing alone that is shrinking? No. Gentlemen, you are in just as much danger of this epidemic as we are and we’re generally not so keen on seeing as much as you are.
I first considered this when I sat in a diner for dinner the other night with my father during the first 90+-degree day of the summer. It was insufferably hot after a month of sixty-degree days, but fortunately the restaurant was air-conditioned. As we sat in our booth, enjoying salads and sandwiches, a couple in their late sixties came in and sat at the booth across from us. I kid not when I insist that the aging gentlemen was wearing severely cut off jean shorts—to the point of nearly seeing a turkey neck short—and a tank top that said “No Fat Chicks” on it, while the portly woman whom accompanied him (which I found slightly ironic) wore a cut off tank top (insert shudder here) and a jean skirt which I wouldn’t wish to see worn by even the tiniest of super models. It was so painful it was comical and it took even my best efforts to keep my eyes glued to my turkey club rather than the car crash sitting at the both beside us. If Versace were alive he’d want himself shot all over again.
You may contest that this one…unfortunate incident is isolated, and as any scientist and underpaid stoned out science teacher would contest that you need multiple instances of a singular result in order to form a proper theory. Agreed, so go to New York City in the summer and you’ll know shrinkage is not just for the older country couple. Everyone in summer is very close to losing it all…so to speak. It just seems that the elder country couple took a hint from the fashionistas and we all must suffer for it.
Here are a few more examples of the shrinkage phenomenon, with my thoughts:
Speedos. No one needs them besides Michael Phelps…oh wait! HE DOESN’T EVEN NEED THEM ANYMORE! STOP WEARING THEM! WE DON’T NEED TO SEE THE SHRINKAGE OF MR. HAPPY, TOO! Good Christ, I swear that the only people who wear them are fat fifty year olds, ugly Europeans, and fat and ugly fifty-year-old Europeans. It’s tragic. Also, I know bikinis have been big for some time, but even they have suffered due to the weather. Either that, or fabric has become a precious commodity. Ladies? If you have to root your bikini out of yourself—and I mean need an excavation crew with some C4 kind of rooting—constantly when you’re wearing it, it may be a sign of one or more of the following:
a)You’re single
b)You’ve gained a bit of weight since last summer and may need to take some time to get back to being the best you can look before attempting a beach expedition with that suit again.
c)It’s not your fault. Global warming is to blame.
Thongs. Oh lord. Skip the foreplay, guys and gals, and just go commando. I know many people just nickname them butt floss, which is pretty accurate, don’t get me wrong. But they kind of remind me of the arrows on airport runways. You know what I’m talking about? The kind that direct the pilot where to stick his machinery? Yeah, kind of like that, since it’s most likely with the girls who wear them that it’s a pretty accurate description…*looks around at the appalled faces* What?! Oh, don’t even try to tell me people who own thongs aren’t by probability sexually active, if not promiscuous! Now you’re just being naïve! On a related note, STOP BUYING THONGS FOR YOUR TWEENS! If you do, then make sure it’s an Everlast brand and has a padlock in the front.
Shrinkage, people, and it’s only getting worse. It’s absolutely terrifying when people are desperately clinging to the scraps of fabric that remain in the world that the fashion magnets distribute cynically to the masses. Perhaps they are testing us? Seeing how little fabric they need to use to make us happy? I didn’t realize we were rationing, but apparently we are. I’m clinging wholeheartedly to my long t-shirt and worn jeans in terror, hoping that they, too, will not be victimized.
Global warming is not a myth: fight the heat or soon we’ll all be naked and confused in some warped version of a worldwide morning after!
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Passing Ponders: Go Handi-Carts, Go!
Question: Is it terribly wicked of me to want to hotwire the handicap carts that the supermarket--you know, the ones on the bike kind of things?--so that they go really really fast? I know it probably is, but can you imagine peoples' surprise when they get in these assistance carts and end up zooming around the store at 30-40mph? Some might not appreciate it, true...but you never know. Some may get a kick out of speed shopping! :D
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Junk Food for Thought: Bouncy Castle Catastrophe
BOUNCY CASTLE CATASTROPHE
I was riding home the other day and was passed by a truck carrying inflatable bouncy castles. It made me wonder—what would happen if the truck got into an accident? The following are answers provided by the CSC (Casually Sarcastic Crew):
TEDDY: EXTREME AIRBAG!!!
SPLUCAS: A bunch of neighborhood BBQ’s get a whole lot more interesting…or death and destruction.
KITTEH: A whole lotta fun!
RED: The cops & firemen at the scene have a party
C.S: That’s quite an image—the driver running around while firemen and police jump in the bouncy castles in their socks and squealing like little kids…
RED: Totally realistic.
JOURNEY: That’s not funny, dude. My brother died in a ball pit and I have a thing about inflatables!
C.S. Really?!
JOURNEY: …no. I’m totally fucking with you.
C.S. …really?
JOURNEY: …yes.
C.S. I’m confused.
JOURNEY: …good.
MARGARITA: I don’t know, but there is going to be some sad 3-year olds at their b-day.
LLAMA: IT WOULD ONLY BE THE BEST DAY EVER!
HAN: Why the hell are you asking me this???
Note: The Casual Sarcastic does not condone or promote tragedy. It just happens. The best we can do is laugh at life. If we can’t laugh, life would be a whole lot harder to live. Trust me.
I was riding home the other day and was passed by a truck carrying inflatable bouncy castles. It made me wonder—what would happen if the truck got into an accident? The following are answers provided by the CSC (Casually Sarcastic Crew):
TEDDY: EXTREME AIRBAG!!!
SPLUCAS: A bunch of neighborhood BBQ’s get a whole lot more interesting…or death and destruction.
KITTEH: A whole lotta fun!
RED: The cops & firemen at the scene have a party
C.S: That’s quite an image—the driver running around while firemen and police jump in the bouncy castles in their socks and squealing like little kids…
RED: Totally realistic.
JOURNEY: That’s not funny, dude. My brother died in a ball pit and I have a thing about inflatables!
C.S. Really?!
JOURNEY: …no. I’m totally fucking with you.
C.S. …really?
JOURNEY: …yes.
C.S. I’m confused.
JOURNEY: …good.
MARGARITA: I don’t know, but there is going to be some sad 3-year olds at their b-day.
LLAMA: IT WOULD ONLY BE THE BEST DAY EVER!
HAN: Why the hell are you asking me this???
Note: The Casual Sarcastic does not condone or promote tragedy. It just happens. The best we can do is laugh at life. If we can’t laugh, life would be a whole lot harder to live. Trust me.
Chivalry and the Modern Romance
“Chivalry!---why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and high affection---the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant ---Nobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her sword.” -Sir Walter Scott
CHIVALRY (N.) The combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, esp. courage, honor, courtesy, gallantry, justice, and readiness to help the weak.
What went wrong with chivalry in the last 500 years? Why did men give up the subtlety and gentility of wooing over time? My answer: insecurity and laziness. Proper wooing takes work, patience, and sacrifice on both sides and, with such a fast-paced society that we have these days, it’s not entirely surprising that assholianism reigns supreme. What rotten gamblers we are: we do not want to sacrifice, we do not want to risk, but we do insist on a guarantee that we get the prized happily-ever-after in the end. No wonder divorce rates are so high—we’re a bunch of insecure fakes! What is the point of romance and wooing without some risk of showing who you are or that you really care? Or, furthermore, what’s the point in romance and gentility and honoring your romantic counterpart with simple human civility when it’s so much easier to neglect, ignore, and emotionally abuse them into getting what you want? Ladies and gentlemen, just because something is easy does not make it moral, respectable, or fair. Life’s not fair? Kiss my ass, Confucius, because it’s pretty obvious you’re doing jack shit to fix that problem.
Guys, guess what. Women don’t like dicks. Girls like dicks, and you know why? They’re insecure. The women who do date dicks are the insecure girls all grown up; they don’t know that there are any other guys out there other than the dickheads they’ve dated. Nice guys don’t finish last: they just turn into dickheads because they are—you got it!—insecure and think it’s the only way to get a girl. Don’t pretend to be an abusive asshole, grow some balls, and put yourself out there for who you are. It’s harder, yes, but at least you’ll be an honest man rather than insecure emotional terrorist.
Gals, guess what. Guys don’t like bitches. I know, it may seem that way but believe you me they don’t. You know what they want? They want a compassionate, confident girl who’s not afraid to stand up for what she wants. That, ladies, does not make you a bitch. A powerful woman is threatening only to the insecure guy. But a woman who knows who she is and what she wants is a force to be reckoned with. Dating men is like training a dog: you date a dick and it’s like petting a dog when it bites you—you’re encouraging a bad habit. It’s not going to help your obvious self-esteem issues, and he’s not going to magically morph into Prince Charming no matter how good the sex is. End future emotional terrorism for women everywhere: Dump the Dick.
Chivalry is about respect for not only someone else, but yourself as well. It died due to centuries of self-preservation cynicism and can only be revived through honesty. Ladies, face it, you care. It’s in your nature to care no matter how much it will hurt you. It’s to be moderated, true, but not ignored. It’s just the way we’re programmed and if a guy doesn’t like you for the simple fact you give a shit, he’s not worth it anyway. Gentlemen, take the high road, put in the effort and be yourself. It’s harder but at least you’ll be honest. Pain is a part of life—if you try to live without pain you’re only half living. If a woman’s a bitch it’s because she’s found no reason not to be. Chicken-and-the-egg syndrome, guys: a bitch (a personification of negative energy) only became that way because someone made her that way (a dick transferring his own negative energy). Stop the cycle by giving her a reason to believe in you. If you’re successful, and she’s strong enough to believe in herself too, congratulations: you’ve inspired romantic faith. Chivalry is not dead; it just takes work and caring about something more than your own self.
CHIVALRY (N.) The combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, esp. courage, honor, courtesy, gallantry, justice, and readiness to help the weak.
What went wrong with chivalry in the last 500 years? Why did men give up the subtlety and gentility of wooing over time? My answer: insecurity and laziness. Proper wooing takes work, patience, and sacrifice on both sides and, with such a fast-paced society that we have these days, it’s not entirely surprising that assholianism reigns supreme. What rotten gamblers we are: we do not want to sacrifice, we do not want to risk, but we do insist on a guarantee that we get the prized happily-ever-after in the end. No wonder divorce rates are so high—we’re a bunch of insecure fakes! What is the point of romance and wooing without some risk of showing who you are or that you really care? Or, furthermore, what’s the point in romance and gentility and honoring your romantic counterpart with simple human civility when it’s so much easier to neglect, ignore, and emotionally abuse them into getting what you want? Ladies and gentlemen, just because something is easy does not make it moral, respectable, or fair. Life’s not fair? Kiss my ass, Confucius, because it’s pretty obvious you’re doing jack shit to fix that problem.
Guys, guess what. Women don’t like dicks. Girls like dicks, and you know why? They’re insecure. The women who do date dicks are the insecure girls all grown up; they don’t know that there are any other guys out there other than the dickheads they’ve dated. Nice guys don’t finish last: they just turn into dickheads because they are—you got it!—insecure and think it’s the only way to get a girl. Don’t pretend to be an abusive asshole, grow some balls, and put yourself out there for who you are. It’s harder, yes, but at least you’ll be an honest man rather than insecure emotional terrorist.
Gals, guess what. Guys don’t like bitches. I know, it may seem that way but believe you me they don’t. You know what they want? They want a compassionate, confident girl who’s not afraid to stand up for what she wants. That, ladies, does not make you a bitch. A powerful woman is threatening only to the insecure guy. But a woman who knows who she is and what she wants is a force to be reckoned with. Dating men is like training a dog: you date a dick and it’s like petting a dog when it bites you—you’re encouraging a bad habit. It’s not going to help your obvious self-esteem issues, and he’s not going to magically morph into Prince Charming no matter how good the sex is. End future emotional terrorism for women everywhere: Dump the Dick.
Chivalry is about respect for not only someone else, but yourself as well. It died due to centuries of self-preservation cynicism and can only be revived through honesty. Ladies, face it, you care. It’s in your nature to care no matter how much it will hurt you. It’s to be moderated, true, but not ignored. It’s just the way we’re programmed and if a guy doesn’t like you for the simple fact you give a shit, he’s not worth it anyway. Gentlemen, take the high road, put in the effort and be yourself. It’s harder but at least you’ll be honest. Pain is a part of life—if you try to live without pain you’re only half living. If a woman’s a bitch it’s because she’s found no reason not to be. Chicken-and-the-egg syndrome, guys: a bitch (a personification of negative energy) only became that way because someone made her that way (a dick transferring his own negative energy). Stop the cycle by giving her a reason to believe in you. If you’re successful, and she’s strong enough to believe in herself too, congratulations: you’ve inspired romantic faith. Chivalry is not dead; it just takes work and caring about something more than your own self.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Welcome to My World
I am a Darwinist, a believer of Karma, good juju, that good vs. evil is a very fair fight, and that it is a distinct possibility, if not a probability, that I will most likely be going to a hell if there is one. I'm a people person mainly because I enjoy to see how they will rationalize action, good or bad. I love art and nature, mythology and literature, movies, masquerade, and mischief.
I write this not to provide a personal ad. I write this as a warning.
The point of this seemingly bizarre and pointless means of communicative cyberture is, ladies and gentlemen, simple: to observe. Guilty as I may be of not being as scientifically trained--I'm an art kid. No, I don't live in a box. Yes, I live with my parents. Yes, believe me, I know how sad that is.--or impartial as some, I still have eyes, ears and--as far as I can logically tell--some remnants of a brain that haven't been extinguished through stupidity of my own or of others over time. Therefore, I extend my right to observe, to criticize, and to retain hope that someday, somehow, this is going to be read by someone and get them to at least laugh, if not to think, argue, or--Mr. Deity forbid--agree.
The world around you is a strange place. Look around, you'll see what I mean soon enough.
I write this not to provide a personal ad. I write this as a warning.
The point of this seemingly bizarre and pointless means of communicative cyberture is, ladies and gentlemen, simple: to observe. Guilty as I may be of not being as scientifically trained--I'm an art kid. No, I don't live in a box. Yes, I live with my parents. Yes, believe me, I know how sad that is.--or impartial as some, I still have eyes, ears and--as far as I can logically tell--some remnants of a brain that haven't been extinguished through stupidity of my own or of others over time. Therefore, I extend my right to observe, to criticize, and to retain hope that someday, somehow, this is going to be read by someone and get them to at least laugh, if not to think, argue, or--Mr. Deity forbid--agree.
The world around you is a strange place. Look around, you'll see what I mean soon enough.
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