Swearing and You

Recently, I read a report that I found very interesting:

"Teens are more likely to drop casual expletives, or "fillers" than the generation before them. Timothy Jay, author of Why We Curse and Cursing in America, estimates that the average teen uses roughly 80 to 90 swear words a day."

Now, I for one am appalled. But of course, it's not necessarily in the way you might think. You see, swearing used to mean something; it used to be a special way to express yourself. Back in the good old days, to swear was to briefly express a fit of passion about a subject, and the words you used, as well as how often, made other people see you in different ways. If someone went around swearing all the time, they were typically the average 1950's big bully who beat up on little guys and rode around in a convertible until some joker on a skateboard steered them into a pile of manure. Someone who never swore was either the goody two shoes or the honorable religious man who was above such things. But those in between, who swore occasionally, but not profusely, were the handsome, debonair, dashing yet roguish guys who all the girls wanted. But even so, it was just the right kind of swearing. It wasn't anything outlandish or vile; in fact the basis upon which a swear word was chosen was its placement in the sentence. It had to not just get the point of passion across, but also had to sound good doing so. Today's swear words don’t sound good, they just sound vile, and when used so often they sound lazy, as if the speaker really doesn't have that big a vocabulary and must revert to certain words that they remember best. Like a kid who can only describe objects as "things", only replacing "things" with "shoot" or "fudge" (well, you get what I mean.)

Think of historic moments in swearing. Rhett Butler's memorable and beloved "Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!" Rat in Wind In The Willows saying, "Toad, you ass." Mark Twain's various swears and remarks on swearing which would be too numerous to count. Benjamin Franklin's parable of the Man and his Jackass used to explain the inherent flaws of the requirement to own property to vote. Even God's Biblical prophet referred to what the people were selling for sacrifices as "mere refuse", essentially saying they were selling crap.

Compare to modern man's accounts of swearing. Rap songs like "Shake That ____" and "Back That ___ Up". The replacement of Give a Damn with Give a Sh__. Steve Martin's string of the F-word 19 times in a minute in Planes, Trains, and Automobiles; historic but undignified. South Park's goal at breaking the record for number of times the F-word could be used in a single 30 minute episode. The steady progression from "Gee" to "Stinks" to "Sucks" to "Blows". Even Tina Fey's remark during the last presidential campaign, declaring "B__ch is the new Black". Well, okay, that last one had alliteration and is kind of funny, but it still does not have the same dignified manner of swearing that Clark Gable and talking animals retained. If you can dress a rat in a suit and still seem classy when it swears in a kid's book, then modern swearing can be pulled off correctly.

It seems that today the most popular words are F___, Sh__, and B__ch, the three which I consider the most offensive and least attractive aurally. Sh__ and B__ch sound garish and jarring, they contain very sharp and biting sounds in them and offend the ears as much as the mind. F___ is simply overused, and beyond the nasty definition it actually has, is more or less an adjective for when you're too lazy to come up with a real one. The worst of all offenses is when the two of the three are combined, such as "That F___ing Sh__," or "That F___ing B__ch," or "That F___ing B__ch talk Sh__." Such words and strings of words are foul sounding and undignified, adding no personal passion in the statement and only striving to be as sharp, jarring and offensive as possible, the verbal equivalent of a Beastie Boys song. I for one am sick and tired, and outraged at going around to school and public places and having my ears assailed with such travesties of the English language. Where are the good swear words, like "Damn", "Jackass", and "B_____d", words that preserve a sense of personal interest, innovation in language, and maintain an affront to the subject's reputation, not their ears. I call for reform in the way we as a generation curse, I call for integrity in swearing!

The Only True Test of Skills

It is the prerogative of critics to judge who they believe to be the best (and the worst) performers in their given genre. Over the years, they have derived many forms of critiques and rhetoric to aid in their decision making process. In the media of cinema, there are actors who are appropriately decided to be the best and worst actors of all time. Decisions here seem to be made based on the versatility of roles and the intensity of individual performances. These are all well and good in deciding how good you consider an actor to be, but these judgments are so varied in their effect on people that they become difficult to truly gauge ability. Some critics may enjoy a performance and say that it delves into the subtlest of details with great results; other may deride the same role as being too little or too much. Either way, there is a problem with current method of judging an actor’s ability, and, dear audience, I believe I have found the solution.

I call it The Muppet Factor. The roles that define an actor’s career can vary greatly, and too often their cultural significance relies on the ebb and flow of popularity. A role that seemed of the utmost importance at the time may in a few years seem to be making a big deal out of nothing or reflect upon what is later considered the belligerent views of the past. But Muppets? Muppets are timeless. Any actor (or any kind of performer, be it singer or host) who plays a role with Muppets will forever have a mark for or against their career. A scene interacting with Muppets will either make or break an actor, as can be seen many times throughout the past. Let me illustrate.


Upstaged!

If an actor gets totally upstaged by the Muppets, it will always be their own damn fault. It is a clear sign of them being simply not a very good performer. As you can see with Jimmy Fallon here, he is flustered, mildly confused, and just not very funny. It’s no wonder Elmo upstages him, and even Rosita doesn’t get his jokes. If a Muppet is way more entertaining than you in a joint scene, there is something seriously wrong with your craft, end of story.


Why So Serious?

Sometimes someone thinks they are way too cool, talented, or important to act with Muppets. I can safely say this about every performer who has ever existed: No, you are not too important to act with Muppets. No one is. There’s plenty of people who have engaged in petty contests with the Muppets (contests which they always lose). Marked either by performing with bored abandon (like Robert DeNiro pretending he’s Elmo) or simply aiming for too faux-lofty a subject (Peter Sellers telling Kermit about his own existential nightmare). But it’s Whoopi Goldberg who takes the cake by managing to be both bored and far too lofty as she reminds Hoots that she has neither wings nor feathers, and comes this close to forgetting it wasn’t still The Color Purple, all while glancing knowingly at the camera. There’s being proud of who you are, and being too proud to chat humanely with a talking owl. Poor Hoots.


But I’m Famous

Some people understand that either they’re not very good, or at that the Muppets are way better than they are. However, instead of simply owning up to this fact in a responsible way, or even striving to actually become better at their chosen profession, they try to mask this fact by simply pushing the Muppets to the backseat. Little Miley Cyrus here understands that in a Battle of the Bands, Dr. Teeth would kick her scrawny butt back Montana (that’s where she’s from, right?), so instead she practically cuts him out of the skit to make more room for her stage persona. I bet the Electric Mayhem thought they were going to get to play that night, but instead found their mikes cut and some pop playing over them.


Keep Trying

Not everyone is perfect, but there are those who give it their best regardless. They understand their limitations, and are perfectly able to compensate them simply by doing the best they can. The end result may end up maybe a little bit off, and while commendable it’s still not the best, though not for lack of trying.


The Best (go ahead, watch the whole episode)


The actor whose screen presence can match and compliment that of the Muppets, is among the top tier of performers. For instance here. Madeline Kahn has nothing to prove, no axe to grind, and in the end shows just how awesome she is by hosting one of the best episodes of the Muppet Show ever. If nothing else proves this method of judgment, this is it.

Wow. I surprised even myself with the efficiency of the Muppet Factor. You critics watching? This is the proper way to critique people. Now if anyone wants me, I’ll be forcibly guest teaching the Cinema History classes down at the community college.

Lessons of Love and Life... On Animal Crossing

As a lonely, socially inept teenager who happens to also own a Wii, it's not a far stretch to understand what I enjoy about Animal Crossing. Merry little townsfolk who are always happy to see you; a quaint atmosphere where you can beautify your town and watch your trees and flowers grow; even expand your house and fortify your savings by doing little more than dig up dinosaur fossils and catch bugs. Yes, my joyful little burg of Le Couer is a wondrous little place, a non twist ending version of Willoughby, even. It has several perks, mostly involving just cheering me up, but even beyond that there was one that I never expected to encounter. And that is the gaining of a better understanding of love.

I was just a shy city boy, moving to my little house in the countryside town of Le Couer, taking what help I could get from kindly cats on the train and friendly, if monetarily concerned, raccoon merchants. I just wanted to find a place to settle down, and settle down I did. And that was when I met... her. That beautiful, almost ethereal sprite, luring me in with her sweet siren song. She had smooth, fair skin; big, round, irresistible eyes; tall ears that flopped with a decadence only allowed to that most lovely of creatures.

Screenshots cannot do justice to this fair maid

Time went by, as time is wont to do. Spring brings its rich blessings of love to fruitation, and I do believe that there was a subtle spark between me and Tiffany. That was a glorious summer. But

as summer turns to fall, and leaves darken and descend to the ground, so does the treacherous heart grow cold over time. I am sad to say it, but she broke my heart. One day I showed up to her house, with a freshly picked bouquet of black roses (man, are those hard to grow), but what should I find but her house filled with moving boxes. O bitter day, O bitter sorrow of departure. There was nary a soul to console me after our tearful, final farewell. Never again shall I see her who broke my heart so open.

It was soon that a new neighbor came to the neighborhood. At the behest of that mindless sheep who lives next door to me, I introduced myself. She was cute, I'll giver her that. She had a certain air of dignity as well as bubbliness to her, what with that little penguin waddle of hers. To say our relationship was doomed from the start would be true, but it was in no way her fault. Really, it was mine. My heart on the mend, I was merely on the rebound from Tiffany. Not ready was I to mend my heart and move on with my life, so it came as no surprise, and no particular heartache (at least not fresh heartache) when Aurora moved away but a month later.

But just as time marches steadily on, so does it heal all wounds. As the autumn leaves fell to the ground, so did I begin to come to terms with my loss, and soon felt ready to begin anew. The ebb and flow of neighbors coming and leaving this town soon brought Marina, a heavenly creature if I ever saw one, and as sweet as can be.

We're taking it slow, Marina and I; slow but steady. What the future holds, no one can say, not even that fortune telling cat downtown. No, I shall be content to live in the moment, and hold tightly my dearly beloved. For now, I am happy.

The Worst (or Greatest) SNL Skit Ever!

As you know, I don’t keep up to date with a whole lot of things. SNL is not one of those things. Unlike politics, the economy, the stock market, basic news, and higher education, SNL is important to me, and just about every Saturday night you’ll find me holding up the rabbit ears (seriously, even in the switch to digital, I still rely on rabbit ears), and pressed to the TV (quite literally, also because of the rabbit ears). And let me tell you, for a recent record of four episodes, this episode has been dynamite, until last weekend. Not to say they didn’t try, but when the best they can get out of a dead on Jimmy Stewart impression is a lengthy fart joke, and when two Kristen Wiig characters who I had hoped were gone for good returned, it’s time to drop the “Days Since an Accident” sign back to zero. To celebrate SNL’s most recent return to mediocrity, I have written the greatest skit featuring the worst (current) recurring characters. It will, unfortunately, never be acted out, as in real life, there aren’t enough Kristen Wiigs.

Opens in a restaurant; Nicolas Fehn, skewed political commentator, sits with Jean K. Jean, French comedian, are sitting together at a table, waiting for others to arrive.
Nicolas Fehn (holding a newspaper): Say, have you seen these headlines, Jean? They can’t print that!
Jean K. Jean: Man, where is everybody? I’ve been waiting to eat so long, I could eat a dozen Toblerone bars! (Shouts) Merci beaucoup!
Nicolas Fehn: No, look Jean, when you’re trying to make a joke… You have to say things that… Look, when people are laughing… No one thinks that… If I could borrow your ear… At you, not with you, at you not with…
(Is interrupted by the door opening, and in walks Kathy Lee Gifford and Hoda Kotb.)
Kathy Lee (In a “funny” voice): Oh, hey fellas, this here is a fellas table, so Hoda, you’re sitting here. Get it? Fellas… (mouths “what?”)
Hoda: I get it…
(More and more tired, recurring characters enter the restaurant, and sit in the seats. Finally, when everyone is present, DJ Dynasty Handbag takes a microphone at the front of the room.)
DJ Dynasty Handbag: Alright, is everybody here? Okay, then I have some bad news to tell you all. I have recently heard word that the higher ups are finally getting as fed up with us as the audience is.
T-Shane: Yeah, as fed up as Britney Spears at an all you can eat buffet. Amiright?
DJ Dynasty Handbag: Ooh-ee, T-Shane. Did you forget you’re not a hot air balloon, cause all that just came out is hot… No, sorry, now is not the time for falling back on stale diatribe. This is important, people, because if we don’t get our acts together, we are all cancelled.
Penelope (Pops out of nowhere, and talking in a “funny” voice): I’m already cancelled, except I’m still here, and that just means I can’t be cancelled, cause I’m like the cancellation undead, I’m totally a zombie…
DJ Dynasty Handbag: Well, regardless, this is a dangerous situation for all of us, because if we don’t manage to come up with some new material… (pauses as an arrow is shot into his shoulder) Now, who did that?!
Gilly (armed with a cross bow, and talking in a “funny” voice): Sorry. (Gilly theme song plays)
Lorenzo McInstosh (savagely jumping in Gilly’s face): You think that craps funny? Cause if you like shooting people so much with arrows, how bout you try fighting a whole war among the stars armed with nothing but a cross bow, even though you’re seven feet tall, and even then they won’t give you a medal, cause this here is REAL!
DJ Dynasty Handbag: Look, people I’m serious here, we need to get some new material or they will cancel us!
Jon Bovi: Well then it’s a good thing that we have some new material in the form of our newest opposite cover song, “He Says You Have to Go Away”. And a 1, 2, 3, 4 (singing) He says, you have to go away, there’s plenty of places they can call someone else’s…
DJ Dynasty Handbag: No, guys, that isn’t new material, you’re just going to great lengths to ensure no one has ever made the same joke as you even though its involves something entirely unoriginal
Jon Bovi: What? What? What?
Nicolas Fehn: Well, I’m totally new material, also, and I can show you if you’ll just let me read from this newspaper…
DJ Dynasty Handbag: NO!
Nicolas Fehn: Hey look, I have just as much a right as anyone to… You know what’s great about this country… This here… This here is a map on the back of the Declaration… You don’t have this kind of freedom in… What a country… say, have you ever hunted lions in the Scottish highlands?
DJ Dynast Handbag: ENOUGH! Will someone here please come up with something original so we don’t all get cancelled?
Penelope: I have plenty of things that are new and original, I’m one hundred percent original, and I’m always new because I have a radio uplink to a supercomputer that writes new jokes for me every second, and I have a mutant ability to constantly regenerate so I’m always new, and I also have metal claws…
Kathy Lee Gifford: Hey, you want some original material, I’m sure I can come up with a double entendre about new material and then say Hoda’s name funny. Hoda Kotb, Yoda Kotb, Soda Popb, Grope a Hot Me, TeleDocMe, Gotta Go Pee…
DJ Dynasty Handbag: Are you just about done?
Kathy Lee Gifford: …North Dakota Fanny.
DJ Dynasty Handbag: Look, guys, I didn’t want to tell you this, but there is a bomb underneath this restaurant hooked up to a Stale-O-Meter, and by my calculations, we’ve used up almost all of our stale jokes. It can only take a couple more stale jokes before we all go up in smoke.
Hoda Kotb: Handbag’s right, we’ve got to create some actually decent sketches for once, and not just for our own survival, but to fulfill the purpose which was our duty from our very creation: to entertain viewers. Because, in the long run, it is not important whether we recur, or do not recur; explode, or not explode; but instead, what matters is whether we entertain. And I for one haven’t been entertained, so why would anyone in the audience? We have failed in our mission, the mission that makes our existence not just possible, but legitimate, and if we do not see the error of our ways, turn from this path of folly, and march on to righteous hilarity, then we are not worth saving.
(Long time of silence)
Penelope (slowly, deferentially stands): I...

I'm Mad As Hell...

...And I'm not going to watch this anymore!

Ladies and gentlemen (of, um, the blog), haven't you said these (or some variation of these) words several times in the past. I'm talking of course about that age old, most American of medias, television (specifically TV dramas), and even more importantly, I'm talking about how terrible it is right now. But unfortunately, unlike the economy, wars, and global warming, this seems to be an affliction only suffered by America. This is a travesty! America invented television, and yet television gives us nothing but a terrifying amalgamation of the worst shows in the world, and canceling those very few that are actually good.

Now, I do believe that there isn’t a man, woman, or child on this planet that could honestly say that I am a patriot. But even I am forced to cry out that we deserve better. Even still, I believe in blame where blame is due, and in this case America must share a decent percentage of the blame for our own televisual misfortunes. They say that the best way to improve yourself is to look to the most successful person in a field and copy what they produce as legally as possible, and this is what I suggest we as Americans do. After all, it seems to be working out so far in the field of sitcoms. But in terms of televised dramas we haven’t been doing that well enough. Right about now, science fiction (okay, the British and French share the credit for that one, although sci-fi is ours) seems to be the big thing in TV drama, and yet for all the efforts we put out (Lost, Heroes, Journeyman, Flash Forward, and even this new reboot of V seem to fall into this category), we get lengthy shots of attractive people in extraordinary situations standing around and looking confused and/or aloof. Didn’t Nathan get the memo? Look away from the camera, like you don’t even care it’s there. No wonder he got fired.

Meanwhile the British, arguably the host nation of the greatest current TV, sit back weekly and (as a nation, mind you) enjoy a new episode of Doctor Who. How does it compare to American television? Well, within the four seasons that the new series alone has accrued, they’ve saved the Earth, the Universe, time itself, and then reality itself all from different and separate enemies. And… Heroes is still fighting Sylar, and Lost doesn’t know what the island actually is (which, in a way, makes it the only show right now that doesn’t know what it’s own setting is, or at least isn’t telling the audience.) Journeyman and Flash Forward seem to be more time travel oriented shows; however Journeyman decided that past the whole time traveling to random points thing, no actual science fiction was actually needed and it could fall back on marriage complications to pass the time. The entire point of Flash Forward deals with awaiting a future event where we already know what happens. This means that either they get to the end of the season and finish the story with what we already have seen, or its popularity leads them to slowing down the time between now and the big reveal, which will inevitably make for a longer couple of months within the story than the time dilution of Archie comics. Lastly, V may have aliens, but really it’s just one group of aliens, which is at this point pretty weak in sci-fi terms. Unless they suddenly give us a cantina full of new species, we’re dealing with a threat that Doctor Who can (and has) whipped in one episode.

What I propose is simple. First, pick out what Doctor Who does well. I’m going to say, an overall tone that is more “happy-go-lucky in space” instead of “moping around because I have superpowers/am stuck on Action Island”; make the characters do something other than look dejected and sulkily discuss how bad things are; and have actually interesting things happen. Somewhere along the line it seems as if American television somehow lost its dictionary, and when it got it back, found that the E section had been ripped out so they couldn’t look up what “entertaining” meant. They’ve forgotten that Star Wars and Indiana Jones are more fun to watch than the cinematic equivalent of Junior High politics (stretched out over six seasons, of course, and taunting you with the broken promise of time travel, aliens, robots, or something). They forgot that nice, kind, good natured protagonists saving the day are in fact better than sexy people bickering. Lastly, it has been entirely forgotten that an emotional scene is far more effective when it is interspersed among lighter fare, and that when your entire show is one long heartbreak, it immediately loses its dramatic edge after about two episodes. So America, you know what to do. Copy the Hell out of Doctor Who in tone and ideas, and maybe, just maybe, we won’t have to combine the Primetime Emmy’s with the Daytime Emmy’s.

Still not convinced? Okay, how’s this for proof:

Every single episode.

EVERY SINGLE EPISODE!

The Trouble With GaGa

This post has been a long time coming, but I am notoriously behind on the times, so I’m just getting to it now (seriously, the last time I listened to the radio, Hanson was in style.) The point is, I’m just now finding out about this whole Lady GaGa thing. Now, I’ve heard the name get thrown around, but it took me a while to actually hear a song. Specifically, I had to look her up on YouTube once I found out she’d be on SNL. Let me just say to the uninitiated (as I was), the things I saw on the videos are currently burned into my retinas, and I’m not sure they will ever go away. But past that there was little more than repetitive techno beats with blithely nihilistic and inane lyrics. I had to listen to parts of four songs before I actually found one that had a discernable melody. It’s a sad realization that unlike the crappy pop songs from the 90’s which had memorable (albeit annoying) tunes, the crappy pop music from today has really no true tune, just a series of noises ran through digital programs that occasionally resemble words. Entirely unimpressed, I ended up watching her segments of SNL anyways out of boredom. You might understand why I’d be surprised when this happened:



Taken aback, I went to the most reliable source online to find info on what other music she’s done. After all, I hated “Black Horse and the Cherry Tree”, but love everything else KT Tunstall does. Reading her bio and musical description on Wikipedia, she apparently started singing in the womb, learned piano by 4, wrote a ballad at 12, and spent college performing piano pieces based on European philosophers. From the description of what she can do and the comparisons made, she should be making the equivalent of David Bowie’s “Life on Mars” sung by Freddie Mercury and played by the love child of Billy Joel and Gershwin. But going back to reality, what we got is a bubble headed fashionista droning “muh muh muh muh”. Oh, fate is cruel.

So here it is. Lady GaGa, if you’re reading this, please, think about what you’re doing. The world has enough pop tunes with pseudo electronica beats (Madonna will only retire once she dies, and we all know that’s not going to happen.) We need real music, something you physically are capable of making. Think of the children, GaGa. Think of the children.

There's No Such Thing as a "Free Time"

Oh, where does the time go? I'm not entirely certain, but I just know time management of any kind is really hard. Here I am, in the middle of the day, entirely unable to focus on what I know I'm supposed to be doing.

Anyone who knows my current situation understands that I technically have a lot of free time. I have neither a job nor school to worry about, and it turns out that without responsibilities like that, the day is actually quite a bit longer than you might think. Unfortunately, with that free time comes the necessity of using it to look for a job so that you won't have that same free time anymore. Kind of a Catch-22, I know, but it's how the rules of the planet seem to work. Like that Eskimo parable wherein the man made a discovery when he tried to bring the bonfire with him while he fished, you can't have your kayak and heat it, too. Or something to that effect. Either way, this is my situation. I have several projects I would like to work on (a comic, a novel, training myself to hone my human echo location abilities to become a non blind Daredevil). All these things require time and effort, and while I always have a ready supply of effort, and currently have a surplus of time, every ounce of publicly taught common sense tells me that spending this free time on something as trivial as projects I want to do is a bad idea, so when I do spend the days working on something like that, I always have this sickening level of dread that by using the time "selfishly", I'm missing out on some grand opportunity to better myself, get a job, get rich, and eventually retire. Because of my taking time off and working on something I'm vaguely interested in, I am dooming all of my descendents to a life of perpetual poverty and probably slavery when in the near future this legendary, lower-class-hating figure some people refer to as "the Obama" descends from his throne in the lofty, celestial heavens at the end of every 500 years to inevitably enslave the poorest in society and make them serve the higher and more prosperous. In this mythological future society that they speak of on that wisest and most reliable of news outlets (Fox), I want my kids to be the oppressors who violently exploit the slave class, not the other way around, and it appears the only way I can ensure this will happen is to give up my dreams and aspirations, and trudge my way into the job market, or something similar to it.

Then again, as I have learned over the last week or two spent actively job hunting and taking the occasional odd jobs at barely humane levels of pay (Grandma, that Batman painting I did was worth way more than $20) is that I, like most of America, hate working. There is a reason they call it "funemployment", after all, because while you may be dirt poor, eating out of garbage cans, and begging for enough cash to spend on the rent for your cardboard box, you don't have to deal with paper jams, carpal tunnel syndrome, or office politics. And boy, I hate that office politics. My sister has a job, and you know what she gets out of it? Spending money and canker sores, that's what! I don't have a job, and you know what I get out of it? Nothing! That's right, and like they say, no thing is good thing, am I right? Well, no, but that's beside the point. I may not have my job, but I have my dignity (until the guy at the Pawn Shop can give me a good price for it). And I plan on keeping it that way. I'll take this free time, and I'll do something great with it, like pen a beautiful novel to be remembered for centuries, or illustrate a glorious web comic that brings joy and enlightenment to the internet, or compose a tear jerking symphony that brings man and beast together in peace to the glorious sounds of music. But wait, I can't do any of those things, not without some form of supplies. And to get the supplies I need money, and to get the money, I need a job, and to get a job, I must sacrifice my free time. Oh crap, I'm back to square one.

Hmm... I need to think about this. While I contemplate how to deal with this issue, I'm going to go ahead and play some video games. Animal Crossing will get these mind grapes going for the next few hours...

Introductions

Hello, and good evening. You don't know me, but I like to write things. I'd like to start by saying what I typically write about, but let's face it, there is no typical thing I write about. If I'm going to write about something, the basic rule is that it's odd enough to stand out from the rest of the things floating around in my head. I've written about sirens on motorcycles, I've written about Willaim Shakespeare in High School, one time I rewrote Pride and Prejudice with nanobots (and I did it before there were zombies). The inspiration for things I write about is also just as varied, and makes even less sense (although it often has some subconsious reflection on Don Quixote, which you might have noticed from my blog title if you watched as much Wishbone as I did growing up). I've gotten ideas from things like graffiti, to grocery store visits, to the prospect of training attack rats to jump off the brim of my hat. I am completely serious here.

The point is I like to write, and I like to write about lots of different, and often strange, things. I've written dramatically and comedically (between you and me, I prefer the comedic, though my best is probably somewhere in between.) Now I've been looking around for a while, and I've noticed that there are some very interesting people, with very interesting things to say, and that some of these people express these things in blogs. And a couple years now of admiring the things other people said, I suddenly thought to myself, "Hey, I think I'm interesting. And I think the things I say are interesting. So what should I do?" And after scratching out the idea of training an army of psychic apes, I decided to start a blog.

So, here we are. Blog time. I'm not always going to be entirely sure what to say here, but I generally am able to come up with something to say, albiet at last minute some times. If I can say so myself, they're usually pretty good. Like this one. This here is pretty good, although not as good as what I'm going to write. What I'm going to write is going to be so great, you won't be able to believe it. Just wait. You'll see. You'll all see.