A Random Rant

Just Saying

2010-04-18T20:04:00.002-04:00

Till Lindemann has a totally kickass voice. Seriously.

~musicalsparks

Moment of Silence

2010-04-16T21:21:00.002-04:00

I have decided against buying Red Velvet. Moment of silence for any happiness I would have had. None really in the foreseeable future. That would have been my only happiness that I can see but c'est la vie, am I right? (I am by the way, I took 8 years of French, I know what I'm talking about).

I cannot bring myself to part with that much money. Had I only had to spend $1500 I would have considered it more, but I doubt I could even have done it then. I really do dislike parting with money, even if it is to the detriment of my own happiness. The funny thing is, I'm not particularly "happy" that I saved the money, though I am relieved. There's a distinct difference between the two. What I'm saving for... I have little idea. Perhaps I've finally gone to another level of mad. Oh well.

~musicalsparks

Lovely

2010-04-13T20:38:00.006-04:00

I can't decide what to write. Should I comment on Ben Roethlisberger's latest? (I hope Pittsburgh doesn't suck too badly this year...)
Or that Red Velvet is finally up for sale? (and I'm considering spending money on him) (!)
Or that Steeley Steele is going to have to go on doxycycline? (AGAIN!)
Or that classes are almost over and my first year as a graduate RULED?
Or that I smell the wind of change in the air?
Or that I LOVE Gone with the Wind and that I want to see the movie in whole?

Or...

~musicalsparks

Basically

2010-03-28T16:52:00.001-04:00

Spring is here. I was pretty certain I'd never see beautiful green fields again but they're coming back so hooray.

I'm still adhering to my plan to procure Red Velvet. After that, when my checkbook recovers, I promise to save money. I want to feel like I'm special damn it, so I need to get things that are super rare. I won't get into how there are people younger than I who have single horses that could outvalue my entire collection. I know, I'm being ridiculous, but I don't really care. Stupid kids, I swear that... okay, I said I wouldn't get into it and I won't.

I am actually happy and somewhat content. I just need some Cheerio snacks and my book.

~musicalsparks

Resolution

2010-03-13T20:29:00.001-05:00

I have a new and probably not surprising "set the clocks forward an hour" resolution. Actually two, but I'm only writing about the one that is more amusing.

Firstly, "set the clocks forward an hour" resolutions are better than New Year's Resolutions, not only because I say so, but you get an hour head start. So... that makes more sense inside of my head.

You know the book Memoirs of a Geisha? I love that book by the way. Arthur Golden had interviewed a geisha and wrote down aspects of her story in Memoirs and kind of got in trouble since geisha life isn't supposed to be talked about. So he had to send her an "undisclosed amount of money." Which is where my resolution comes in.

I'm going to be a geisha! No, just kidding. You have to start when you're really young, and by geisha standards, I'm probably ancient as the mountains. No. But! My resolution is that I'm saving an undisclosed amount of money for the aforementioned and very beautiful Red Velvet.

I win because I wrote a longish blog that basically says, "I'm saving every single penny I have because I'm hell-bent on procuring a beautiful Breyer horse."

Yay it's almost spring and I'm joyous.

~musicalsparks

Announcement

2010-02-24T16:42:00.002-05:00

I'm just going to sell my entire Breyer collection. That's right, all 400 or so of them, and I'll keep maybe 100 that I really like and that are somewhat valuable. Maybe some 13 year old brat who always wins everything at the Breyerfest raffles will have their parents buy them from me for their birthday or Christmas or just because. What is WITH all of these young kids who aren't even 15 getting all of the super rare ones and then parading them around Youtube??? It's entirely unfair. A 12 year old wins the Joker (2 made, total). A 13 year old wins Red Velvet (25 made and I wanted that horse the day I SAW him, he's STUNNING). A 12 or 13 year old wins Prairie Storm (8 made) and parades him all over Youtube as her next star in Horse School Musical. Next thing I know, I'm going to learn that some 14 year old won Silver Screen and plays with him and wrecks him. Jesus.

Damn it I'm tired of not being able to have a super rare one. I've been collecting since I was like 5. I still want to buy the Joker, but I can't bring myself to spend $5000+ on something like that. Seriously, this is entirely unfair and, for the record, I officially protest this. I probably can't even go to Breyerfest this year and I haven't been in 11 years :(.

Not. Fair.

~musicalsparks

American Education

2010-02-10T22:12:00.000-05:00

HUGE rant

2010-01-26T16:18:00.002-05:00

You know, it's pretty clear that the world is seriously out to irritate me and pull the carpet out from under me. I'm so serious. Okay. Firstly, the disappearing things.

I've had it with things that I like disappearing. Whenever they discontinue foods, it's ALWAYS the one I happen to like. They used to have this Asian wan tan thing I liked. The brand made four flavors. Now I come to find out that the flavor I liked has been discontinued, although there are mysteriously five flavors now.

I used to love Better Cheddars. It's a very very rare day that I find those, and the last time I found them, they were all burny tasting. Also, they used to make cream cheese squirt cheese. Not anymore!

Don't even get me friggin started on the White Russian ice cream that doesn't even exist, anywhere. And don't even get me started on the Pink Floyd lounge pants in women's. I've already discussed this.

Here's what REALLY got me pissed off today. I happened to catch part of the Tyra Show, and she was saying what the new type of guy was that women liked. She's saying that the guys who have bigger stomachs and bellies are the new thing. You know what? That's just fabulous. Put it on the air so that 14 million people can see it, that women like bigger guys. Oh and don't forget the Internet for those who missed the show.

Thanks for doubling, trebling, etc... my competition. I mean, clearly, I've had so much success with guys that I could run my own mansion with a whole herd of big guys who I could choose from as I pleased if I was fortunate enough to have that much money. I'm totally that successful with guys. And it's definitely not hard enough already for me to find someone. Nah, I can easily find guys, I mean they, like, flock to me like city pigeons wherever I go. You know that song, It's Raining Men? (Shit maybe it was a movie I don't know right now) The weather totally does that for me. People always joke about having a black cloud of despair hanging over their heads. I happen to have a stormcloud that is full of men follow me around and it rains down beautiful big guys for me. It's friggin true, I shit you not, guys just fall into my waiting lap.

And for the record, I happen to think that guys who have big stomachs are cute, so thanks Tyra for making everyone snag up what I want.

I mean seriously, do I friggin catch a break? All I need to hear now is that guys want a woman who's got huge boobs or something. Oh wait! They already do! Makes me life so much friggin easier. Big boobs, yeah that'll never go out of fashion, fortunately for me right?!?!

Mark my words, pretty soon the single, nice, cute guy with a big belly is going to become as rare as the White Russian ice cream. Fantastic.

I've had it.

~musicalsparks

Those lines are supposed to be indented

2010-01-20T21:44:00.001-05:00

but oh well.

Nose

2010-01-20T21:38:00.001-05:00

What did you say?
I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you,
over your breathing.
The whistling noise your nose makes
becomes my mantra,
my center of focus,
and I forget that you are there.
That's when we both drift into sleep,
wrapped in ourselves.
But I keep waking up,
wondering if it's real,
wondering if it's right,
anxious, nervous, sweating.
Then you exhale,
and I am brought back to myself.
I am riding a sharp and biting wind,
or a sigh of relief,
or a loud sneeze
that's so unfeminine of you.
That's how I know
where you are.
Fuck, I have no right to be tired,
not when I haven't done anything,
but let you down,
and stare at your nose all night.
I let myself down more,
if you wanted to know.
And now that you're awake
I can go to sleep,
and dream about someone else,
as you reappear before me.

-----

I don't know. I was trying something new. I haven't written a poem in a long while.

The purpose of people

2010-01-08T17:11:00.003-05:00

Today, the express purpose of people I ran across, for the most part, has been to piss me off. I can't even remember most of them now because I'm so cold. I despise cold and wind. When I get married, which will be soon by God, we're moving to somewhere warm without howling arctic winds. Now my eye is twitching.

I was also saddened to learn that the cute guy who I like to find so I can pretend not to stare at him was not at work today for some reason. I know he works weekdays and has weekends off. Oh where are you B?

I also have hope that New England, as much as I dislike them, slaughters Baltimore this weekend. Baltimore, pffft, like they think they're going anywhere this year. Even if Tom Brady can't beat them, surely Peyton Manning will deliver a crushing blow to any hopes the ravens had of going to the Super Bowl.

I can't stop eating chocolate covered marshmellows... and why is it telling me that marshmellow is spelled wrong?

~musicalsparks

Incredible

2009-12-18T22:09:00.002-05:00

Firstly, I want to make a point that, at my wedding, which will happen in the next few years by God, there will be no children who are at the age of crying uncontrollably allowed. I will invariably piss off a bunch of people by saying that, my brother and his wife included. I don't care if kids who can sit still and be quiet for the ceremony are there. Also, if the children want to be kept in a separate building from my ceremony, that's okay.

What I DON'T want is this: when I look back over my wedding video (which I WILL do) I don't want to be distracted by a bunch of squalling children or children who are running around. Hell, I don't want to be distracted by that DURING the wedding! No it's not cute, and no, it's not excusable. Most importantly, this is MY and MY HUSBAND'S WEDDING. Preemptive strike: no, there will be NO ring bearer and NO flower girl. If you decide to bring your young crying age child to my ceremony, be advised: I will have duct tape on hand. After all, silence is golden... but duct tape is silver.

So anyway, my main reason for writing this was this. I heard about something called "My Tiny Hands," which sounded suspiciously like something that would annoy me. Sure enough, I went to that website. http://www.mytinyhands.com/

Are you freakin' kidding me? Come on parents, seriously, knock it off. People are not out to contaminate your child. And who goes around touching other peoples' kids?? I sure as hell don't.

I'm going to get a sign for my horses' stall. "Please wash your hands and wipe the bottom of your shoes. You could be carrying the strangles virus. If I get it, you could cost my mommy thousands of dollars. Do you really want to get a half-million dollar horse sick? :("

Seriously...

~musicalsparks

Also

2009-09-03T22:45:00.001-04:00

To the news, and everyone:

Please, no more about Michael Jackson.

Yours,

~musicalsparks

Headlines that should not be headlines

2009-09-02T22:48:00.002-04:00

So they're not exactly headlines, but they are on my Yahoo homepage and they jump out at me. They are the popular searches and Yahoo basically screams for me to look at what everyone else is looking at too. Here are some examples of what people have been most interested in over the past week:

Swine Flu- who the hell is still worried about that? No, seriously, who still is freaking out about it? Why? I think I've said this before - the flu is the flu. I'm guessing that people are still freaked out because there are now different strains of the swine flu. Does this sound familiar? It should. We go through this shit every year. Different names for the same shitty little virus.
The "New Moon" Movie - for those fortunate enough not to know what this is, it's the sequel to the movie "Twilight." This is the perfect example of how stupid news reaches me, no matter how much I try to avoid it. I avoided "Twilight" like the plague (or swine flu haha!) and yet, I know that there are going to be two abysmal movies made after it. Thank God I never actually saw the movie. Ugh.
Kate Gosselin - nobody cares about her. I'm not even kidding. The people who were searching for her must have accidentally spelt someone's name wrong, because nobody in their right mind would even remember to care about her. Her/her husband's show is basically over, which is good, because all it did was reward people for having 8 kids. Anyone can do that.
The Octomom - the fact that someone actually gave that woman a show is beyond comprehension. Worse yet is that people are going to condone her by watching her show, which makes me want to vomit. I could do an entire separate rant on her, but she doesn't deserve it. She makes me angry enough to spit, and use flamethrowers on people.
A Pole Dancing Doll - um? I can't comment on this, I just found it interesting that such a toy was created. I'm going to guess there were a bunch of angry parents ranting about it, which is probably why it was a popular search.
Sex and the City 2 - I can't say this enough, but seriously, who fucking cares? A stupid show now has a second movie being made. Goody!

I find anything from scientificamerican.com far more interesting. I have to go read something from there, all of these shitty headlines have made my eyeballs dry up and pop like ... poppy things.

~musicalsparks

A Meaningful Metaphor

2009-07-28T21:47:00.003-04:00

My days of literature and all that are years behind me, so I'm not sure "metaphor" is the term I'm looking for, but the title has a nice ring to it. I'm a Geology major, soon to be starting my Masters in another science, so.

Anyhow, so here's my metaphor, which I just thought of today, and I can't believe nobody's thought of it sooner. Imagine a guy who is really strong and who is perpetually high and paranoid. This person also always has a gun on him, which he's not afraid to use, and has deadly aim. THAT is what I equate bears to.

They're big, rambling creatures, and if you happen to be blithely wandering through the woods, minding your own damn business, their paranoia radar goes batshit, and they smell you and think "HOLY SHIT I MUST DO MY BEST TO DESTROY THIS PERSON!!!!" whereupon they run you down, and bite your face off, which will probably still likely have a "what the fuck..?!?!" expression on its face, as well it should, as you did nothing wrong. They are perpetually trying to seek out and destroy you. They a bunch of shit, bears are.

~musicalsparks

Women are Liars... And So Are Men

2009-07-08T10:33:00.003-04:00

I dugg this article up about the five most common lies that women tell. Being a feminist, I couldn't resist stoking my own righteous indignation; I clicked on the link vigorously and with determination. I got to the third "lie" and, what do you know, I'm pissed off. Anyway, it has inspired me to write:

Five Signs That You And Your Partner Are Superficial Morons, And That You Deserve Each Other Because No One Else Can Make You Suffer As Much As You Should

1. You take advice on relationships from magazines and other sexist media such as askmen.com.

That's right, if you're taking tips from Vanity Fair or whatever stupid crap that is out there for men, then your relationship is probably doomed. This is not to say that you two lovebirds won't manage to cling onto each other for the rest of your days despite your idiocy. You'll just never be happy together. Remember, not all bad partners break up, and not all failed marriages end in divorce. In fact, looking at all of the mewling cabbages being carted around these days, I'd say that not enough relationships end when they should: the minute you open one of these magazines looking for advice. If you catch yourself reading one of these publications for any reason other than a good laugh or a quick reminder of the dire state of society as we know it, prepare yourself for a long, drawn-out life of misery and banality. Actually, if you catch yourself reading one of these, you'll just go on reading it because you are an idiot who deserves to suffer.

2. You talk behind your partner's back.

This is for people who find themselves badmouthing their significant others whenever those others aren't around. Badmouthing your partner behind his/her back is usually a sign: you're an asshole. It's also a sign that you need to have a serious talk with you partner, and probably break up. This isn't to say that you can't report your relationship problems and frustrations to a friend in order to get advice. That's different. Getting advice from friends is actually a sure-fire way to help your relationship (even if that means breaking up on good terms!). But these talks should only compliment talks with your significant other. Talking smack behind your partner's back really doesn't get you anywhere. If you find yourself needing to complain that much, but don't want to talk with your partner about whatever it is, just break up. Really, breaking up isn't such a big deal. Even divorce isn't so bad.

3. Jealousy.

The occasional tinge of jealousy is normal, but jealously is just one of those emotions that serves no real purpose. Normally one just needs to let it go. Unfortunately, many people can't let it go, and they brood upon the jealousy even when there was nothing to be jealous of in the first place. If you're one of these people, then you have security issues. The same goes if you're the type of person who is always trying to make your partner jealous. These latter morons are the worst: they associate jealousy with love and caring, and go out of their way to make their partners jealous just to fuel their own egotistic insecurities. What you need to do in these cases is stop it. Jealousy is much like smoking: it's very addictive and the best way to quit is to never give in. That means discussing with your partner what makes you jealous, or why you feel that you want to make your partner jealous. Usually the answer is that you're a bad person. That's something you might also want to work on.

4. You make assumptions.

If you find yourself making assumptions about your significant other, it's not because you know the person very well--it's because you suck. These assumptions range anywhere from assuming that your partner is always lying to assuming that s/he is trying to make your life difficult. Humans are too deep and complex to make assumptions about them on any occasion. People who really get along and who have been together for a long time may find that they're able to guess each other's opinions, but remember that, whatever his/her opinions may be, your partner has reached them for reasons that you can't even begin to understand. Any assumption you make without then consulting your partner is basically reducing your partner to little more than an idea. You no longer see your partner for who s/he really is. You see him/her as the assumptions you made about him/her, which means you're actually seeing yourself in a fictional character you made up. Ever notice that good relationships are democratic and open? No, you're a fucknut.

5. You don't talk about and seek to improve sex.

Sex is not the most important aspect of a relationship, but it sure as hell is up there. One way to know that you still love your loved one is if you are still having good sex. A huge part of love is sexual attraction, and sexual attraction, like anything else, changes over time. If you're not talking about sex with you significant other and trying new things, chances are that one or both of you are bored by your sex, or will be bored in due time. Contrary to popular belief, men can satisfy women, if they are smart enough to ask what the women want. Also contrary to popular belief, men won't fuck anything that spreads its legs long enough. We have needs too. In fact, one of those needs it the need to satisfy a lady, so, really, talking about how to improve sex is just a win-win situation. Shouldn't improving sex just be an obvious goal to begin with? You're all cunt lagers.

To Be a Bicycle Seat

2009-06-27T04:39:00.002-04:00

I wrote a poem yesterday while I was in Freiburg, sitting at a bar and watching students go by. I think it's a pretty funny poem.

To be a bicycle seat.
That sure would be neat.
To stay warm between your thighs
As you exercise.

Sweat that trickles makes me groan.
Proof that you love what you own.
Sadly your work during the day
Will with nights rain be washed away

Never sit up and give me air.
I'd rather that you just sat there
As I'm slowly smothered to death,
Taking you in with my last breath.

My dog eats worms

2009-06-15T19:52:00.002-04:00

Yeah. She goes out onto the patio in the afternoon and finds all the worms that have died during the night and dried up on the patio. Then she literally scampers around, scarfing them up. If you point one out to her with your foot, she makes a beeline for you and snarfles that up too. It's pretty hysterical to watch. She's the biggest pest ever but she's really funny. Actually when she was doing it today, she snarfled one up too quickly, choked and coughed a piece of a worm up.

I really have a twisted sense of humor. Heh....

~musicalsparks

Oink

2009-06-11T18:20:00.003-04:00

Seriously, I don't want to hear about the swine flu anymore. It's apparently a pandemic now, which is ridiculous. It's the flu. I know people have died from it, but that's just the cosmos saying stay the hell out of Mexico. Do. Not. Go. To. Mexico. Who wants to go there anyhow? I mean I guess there's Cancun and everything, but there are other islands that are less parasite ridden. Wonder why it's called swine flu anyhow. I'm sure a simple search on the internet would give me this answer but eh.

Deadliest Catch is an amazing show. I think that instead of sending bratty kids to jail to scare them, they should go on one of the fishing boats on that show. They should go on the Northwestern, becuase not only is Sig awesome, but he's also a taskmaster. I mean, the bratty kids get scared for maybe a few hours in jail. On the Northwestern, Sig would have them fishing in scary as hell weather, with huge killer icy waves coming up, as it snows and there are high winds, in the middle of the Bering Sea. For 48 hours. All the while there are lots of angry men screaming at you constantly, not to hurt the huge crabs that are pinching you. Woe to the person who kills one of those crabs. And also, Sig is Norwegian and there's a tradition, where, for good luck, someone has to bite the head off of some fish, and eat the innards. And fishermen are the most superstitious lot, so the bratty kids would be forced to do that too. I wouldn't stand in the way of these half-crazed men and their very hard-earned money. And they do this for weeks on end. That would humble the little brats. "Oh I hate my mommy cos she cares for me. Mommy lets me do anything I want, and I don't care if I hurt her feelings." On Sig's ship they'd beg for mommy, every day. And then the crew would grind said brat down. It would be amazing, and prove that there is at least a little bit of justice in this world for me, that I can sit down and watch some obnoxious brat break down and sob. Heh.

Edit: check it out http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vLPQUAZIdk
Who's laughing now, brats?
~musicalsparks

Yeah so

2009-05-21T20:49:00.002-04:00

I'm still mad. This is because the beatles are still around, and they enrage me with their continued existence. I also know that after the last two die, their stuff will keep on being re-released and re-re-re-re-re-released. Ad infinitum.

And I also had the misfortune of meeting people who also enraged me yesterday. The instant I met these people, I knew they were going to make me mad, somehow. Sure enough they did. I won't repeat what they were saying, as it was incredibly ridiculous and not a little racist. And also, of course, they were very snotty, like "well we're from place X, and our kid went to school X, therefore we're special and better than everyone else on the entire planet."

I guess it's a good thing for them that money buys real allies, respect, an intelligent, well-mannered and well-adjusted kid and common sense. Oh, wait...

People like that always fail to impress me.

~musicalsparks

A New Gripe

2009-05-20T04:39:00.005-04:00

I have a new gripe with Germans. To be fair, this is not so much a gripe with Germans as it is with yuppie mothers. To be even fairer, this is not so much a gripe with yuppie mothers as it is a gripe with one particular yuppie mother who walks up and down our street, praying to Xenu. Or something.

Have you ever seen a baby on an operating table? It is truly a tragic image. It juxtaposes the innocence and symbolism of life that is newborn baby with the bleakness and sterility of an operating room. It is pretty much an image that universally invokes sadness and a sense of loss or helplessness in seeing what is in its essence humankind's future undergoing the uncertainty that should be spared this cherished and lovable creature.

Now imagine that you could invoke those exact feelings in yourself and in everyone around you wherever you go!

That's right. I'm talking about baby carriages that look like operating tables. Yes, they exist. Don't pretend that they don't. I know they exist. I've seen at least two.

The first time I saw one, I couldn't help but stare. There was a mother pushing her baby child on what can only be described as a Star Trek crash cart. The infant child lay naked and uncertain of itself under a bright, white light as its mother, who was wearing all white, pushed the cart and stared expressionlessly into the baby's frightened face.

Okay, I'm exaggerating just a little. But that is exactly the image I had in my mind as the yuppie mother walked by.

Now, the way I see it, there are only three reasons a mother would push her baby around on a futuristic crash cart.

(1) She is expecting the baby to have heart failure at any minute, and this is a rather keen way to avoid wasting time as the paramedics transfer her baby from a normal carriage to a real crash cart.

To me, this first scenario is the least likely scenario. And that's because, as everyone knows, mothers don't actually like their children. Quite the opposite. What with changing diapers constantly, the whining, waking you up in the middle of the night, preventing you from having a proper sex life with multiple partners, and not to mention the boogers and snot and whatnot, you mothers really hate your children. So that's why, when you're pushing your mewling cabbages around in your fancy carts, you are constantly thinking of ways to push the cart in front of oncoming traffic and make it look like an accident. What you don't realize is that men also hate babies, and if you did it the rest humankind would congratulate you for your contribution to population control. Given this hard and undeniable fact about mothers, I very much doubt that this particular mother has thought ahead so much in order to save her child from possible heart complications. Indeed, with the carelessness of most mothers, I'm surprised children make it to the age of three.

(2) The second reason is Scientology. I am going to be very honest here, and say that I don't really know much about Scientology. I am also going to go out on a limb, and say that you probably don't know much about Scientology, either. As with most things, however, you and I probably know enough about Scientology to be able to make fun of it. So the crash cart from space is probably actually an Alter of Scientology. You see, only an all-American religion like Scientology would have a mobile alter, because America is the land of mobility. It could be that this particular yuppie mother pushes her baby around on an alter on the off chance that the world will come to an end, and she wants to be ready to sacrifice her own flesh and blood child so that her soul will be spared in the Great Purging (does Scientology have a Great Purging? Answer: ALL religions have a Great Purging).

Now this scenario is only slightly more likely that the first one. I actually can't imagine, after reading three or four paragraphs on Wikipedia, that any Scientologists are intelligent enough to think that far ahead.

(3) The third reason is by far the most likely of the three. I'm basically just revisiting the first scenario, but turning it on its head. You see, mothers really do loathe their children. However, because mothers are under the impression that the law would intervene if they outright killed their children, some mothers must resort to emotional scarring as a means of relieving their hatred and loathing. (As a note of seriousness, emotional scarring is NOT a crime in the industrialized nations. It should be. You may be thinking that we have laws to prevent abuse. No we don't. If we did, parents would not be allowed to tell their children that they will go to hell unless they do what their parents say. Religion would have been eradicated within a generation of the passing of such a law, trust me. Just look at all of the disorders and neurosis, and tell me that many parents don't practice emotional scarring as part of their daily routine). So what did this mother do? She put her kid on an operating table. How does this scar the kid? Well, for one, it will make the kid always feel comfortable on an operating table. Aside from developing a morbid affinity for operating rooms, the kid will probably become a hypochondriac as an adult. The crash cart carriage also has the effect of making perfect strangers look down at the child with the sense of sadness and helplessness, as discussed above, present in their facial expressions. The kid will only know those two emotions, and will come to expect nothing else from perfect strangers for the rest of its long, miserable life.

Happy belated Mother's Day, Mom!

This Should Never Happen

2009-05-13T08:01:00.008-04:00

The following is an account of one of the greater evils in a man's everyday life. Very few men would be willing to admit this happened. However, it is funny, and this is a comic website. What has happened has since found itself near the top of the list of reasons that there is not just, kind and loving god. It is, in fact, proof that we live in the bowels of a cruel, human-loathing divine personification of a leach that feeds off of misery and chaos.

Let me begin by describing my bowel movements. My turds are large. Very large. I basically don't poop until my body produces something the size of a toddler. I take this as the reason that I am such a contented person. Like most men, the magnitude and duration of my satisfaction and contentment is directly proportional to the mass and volume of my stool. I am a very happy person.

And then I came to Germany, the land of demonic toilets. On the North American continent I had been deceived. I had been led to believe that, whatever the design and make, the basic shape of a toilet was universal. This is because, when all is said and done, the toilet has one function, and one function alone: to dispose of human bodily waste. The Romans knew that the most effective way to get rid of waste is with water. The inventor of the toilet knew this as well, and hence our toilets are designed such that the waste falls directly into water and awaits to be flushed away. It is the universality and common sense practicality of this feature that makes us so satisfied to hear the plopping sound of a good deed being done.

But no, that's too good for the Germans. The Germans excel at all things swine. They drive like swine, they eat like swine, and if swine could speak, they would speak German. This even extends to their hygienic habits. So, when the German inventor looked at the toilet for the first time, marking the gentle balance of form and function that, like many household objects, had slowly evolved over the centuries into a practical, and dare I say, elegant creation, he thought to himself, "How can I make this suck?"

The subtle change that he implemented is so simple that it could be called beautiful, if the resulting creation was not, indeed, an abomination. Six inches. It took only six inches to destroy one of the greatest inventions mankind has ever seen. The hole, through which shit and piss must pass, was moved six inches forward to the front of the bowl. Taking its place is a shallow, porcelain shelf.

I am willing to give the Germans the benefit of the doubt and assume that the design is meant to save water. It is a noble goal--and it fails miserably. It fails for two reasons. The first is that one must flush the Teutonic toilet after every use. I can hear them now, "Eww! Gross! You don't flush after every use?" No, I do not, and for the conscientious among us not flushing after every use is a good habit to get into. It saves water. No one needs to flush after every use, unless you are a racehorse. And, no, the toilet doesn't need to begin to smell for one to save water.

But saving water is impossible with the German abominable snow-toilet. That little shelf of porcelain means that one's pee is not mixed with a few cups of water, and therefore diluted. If you never knew, pee begins to smell when it reacts with the air and changes its chemical composition. Water means that the pee reacts more slowly, and the pee takes longer to smell. But the Teutonic toilet shelf means that your pee is left in a shallow puddle at near to full concentration. The shallowness and lack of water means that your pee has a greater surface area that reacts with air, and your pee begins to smell within a matter of hours. The end result is that you must flush if you don't want your toilet to end up smelling like a toilet, and instead of flushing maybe two or three times a day (maybe more, depending on how many people use the toilet and how long they're at home), a household ends up flushing 6 to 12 times a day. That's a lot of water, even if your toilet is modern.

And shitting is even worse. With the German toilet, the turd is deposited onto a porcelain shelf. Turds stick to porcelain, if you have never noticed. That is an undeniable fact. And without being able to float into water, the entire turd is left to sit and stick to your toilet. In the best case scenario, the turd flushes with one go, leaving a long brown streak that must be brushed away. In the worst case scenario, the turd doesn't flush after three tries, and you end up using the toilet brush to push the turd into the hole and then flushing.

That, in itself, should never happen. The people who sold you that toilet should be put on trial and punished severely. No one should have to do more work beyond wiping and flushing. Sometimes it may be necessary to spray something into the toilet to make it smell better (usually after a night at the carnival).

It gets worse. My mammoth turds tend to be very long. In a a normal toilet, the turd breaks the surface of the water while it is still being pushed through my sphincter. In the German toilet from hell, the turd is laid slowly in a spiral, like soft-serve icecream. This is the setup for a disaster.

Imagine, if you will, you are walking through a forest, and you bare witness to the felling of a mighty oak. You stop to watch as the great tree teeters hesitantly on one spot, slowly begins to lean in one direction, and then comes racing down with an earth-shattering crash. In mid-fall the top of the tree brushes the lower branches of its neighbors, sending off a fluttering shower of leaves and loose bark to be scattered by the wind.

Now imagine that this mighty oak is a turd, and the lower branches are your testicles. That's right, what I am saying is that a turd fell and brushed the bottom of my balls. That is to say, the top of the turd smeared agains my lower scrotum.

That should never happen. THAT SHOULD NEVER FUCKING HAPPEN! Why did it happen?

Answer: the German throne of Satan. With the all-American toilet, the water gives way to the turd and the turd falls straight down. Sometimes you are inconvenienced by a gentle splash of cold water meeting your rectum and sending a shiver through your nether regions. But even this has a positive side, because the water makes it that much easier to wipe.

Porcelain, however, does not gave way to the turd. In fact, the German toilet is a good demonstration of how two objects cannot share the same space at the same time. Instead, the turd ends up swirling, and, when it falls, it falls sideways. Against your balls.

No man should get shit on his testicles. That should not happen. There is no god.

Another thing, unrelated to "the beatles"

2009-05-11T14:05:00.002-04:00

I've been thinking a lot about this horse I knew. I used to board my own horse at a facility. I dunno, I've had my Steeler for 10 years next month, and we were at the place for maybe 4 years? Somewhere some years maybe got lost.... sheesh I dunno, maybe I've had Steele 11 years now, but he'll always be a baby to me. Anyway, about this other horse.

He is/was a Holsteiner. A darkish bay with a little star and he had a white sock on his hind leg. Maybe more than one sock. Short little body, but this made him a phenomenal jumper. He could trot easily over a 3'6" oxer. Fiery personality but not a pain in the ass. I think he is/was in a lot of pain really. I think he took to beating up other horses in the field, also maybe because he was in pain. On the ground, I remember he liked me, but used to stand in the back of his stall. He loved, loved, loved being groomed. He may have been gelded late, but also, that could go back to pain. He was gorgeous. I really really miss him. If he hadn't been bitey (and I know horses beat each other up, but this guy could be really really studdish/bad) on other horses, I would have wanted him, but I didn't want anyone hurting Steele. I couldn't. I showed him at a barn show of ours once. Maybe twice? Fantastic. I think we took third. Despite everything, I loved his personality. I miss him, and I have lately been wondering whatever happened to him. If he's still alive, I'd really think about buying him, assuming he wouldn't attempt to kill my other horses. But I have a friend too who does horse massage. I dunno. I just really miss him. Oh Leo, where are you?

~musicalsparks

Friends Don't Let Friends ...

2009-04-23T23:31:00.002-04:00

Paint ANYTHING with a crackle finish. Before you ask questions, here's a crackle finish http://www.homedecoratingcoach.com/images/crackle.jpg

Don't do it. Yeah, okay it looks kinda cool, but there are two very major disadvantages. Firstly, to get a crackle finish to look like that ... well, it requires much patience, time, and discipline. Seriously. I'm a good painter, (not as good as my mom, granted) and I painted all of my furniture in my room with this finish. It turned out so-so, but not spectacular. Not stellar. Not fabulous. Just so-so.

So now, I'm redoing all of the furniture in my room, as I want it all to be black. Black is chic and clean looking. I figure, "Okay, I'll sand off the finish, throw on some primer and put two coats of black on." Oh... but this is SO not the case. I'll explain why.

You must understand what exactly a crackle finish is. Mine is originally a sky blue (where the white is in the picture) and a purple colour (where the black colour is in the picture.) However, after I painted the sky blue, and waited for it to dry, I had to paint on a clear layer of adhesive stuff that essentially made it so that the purple wouldn't stick all the way, which makes it "crackle." See where this is going?

Yeah. So you can't really just sand off the paint, because you have to get (okay, I have five notes playing over and over in my head and I don't have the slightest idea where they came from) that adhesive layer off. Ho-ho!

So. Everything must be stripped. And not just once. Twice! So here's the process you must go through if you have a crackle finish piece of furniture you wish to change to a sleek, single colour.

1. Paint on the stripper stuff (which, by the way, is the strangest, seaweed/oceany/old corn smell ever -- it's really screwing badly with my head. And you have to put it in a metal pan and not let it get on your hands. I put mine in a plastic pan and it got all over me... )
2. Wait 15 - 20 minutes.
3. Scrape off the stripper stuff.
4. Repeat steps 1-3.
5. Let everything dry.
6. Sand the piece of furniture.
7. Put primer on there (well, actually I think my furniture turned out better without primer).
8. Let it dry.
9. Paint on first coat of colour.
10. Let it dry.
11. Paint on final coat of colour.
12. Death from asphyxiation.

So in conclusion, with regard to painting furniture with crackle, or any related finishes, I advise highly against it.

In other news, this morning, some dude kept on asking me if he could "borrow" my credit card, and then if he could "borrow" some cash from me. Where do these loonies come from?

~musicalsparks

Man's Best Friend

2009-04-17T05:27:00.002-04:00

Subdued Egyptian bitches begot sons
Who became friends of man, licking his hand.
The same hand that feeds is the hand that shuns,
And buries his best friend beneath the sand--
Seeing-eye dogs to find the other side.
Left to themselves on the dark, lonely ride,
Our faithful friends don't lead the Exodus;
It is their right to feast upon our hide.
Without disguise, nothing remains of us:
Bobby can't recognize Odysseus.

--
--
--

This is the first poem I've been able to complete in a long time. If it doesn't make sense to you, keep in mind that nothing I do makes sense. Plus, poems aren't supposed to make sense. But if you're REALLY eager to know what the hell this poem is about, read the following essay by Emmanuel Levinas--a man renowned for making sense by not making any sense. I'm pretty sure it's illegal for me to post the essay here, but Bobby wouldn't mind.

Emmanuel Levinas

"The Name of a Dog, or Natural Rights.

    You shall be men consecrated to me; therefore you shall not eat any flesh that is torn by beasts in the field; you shall cast it to the dogs. (Exodus 22:31).

Is the biblical verse guilty, as one will later accuse it, of attaching too much importance to what 'goes into man's mouth' and not enough to what comes out? Unless the sight of flesh torn by beasts in the field seems meat too strong fro the digestion of the honest man who, even if he is a carnivore, still feels he is watched over by God. This flesh torn by beasts in the field, and the remains of bloody struggles between wild animals that half-devour one another, from the strong species to the weak, will be sublimated by intelligence into hunting games. THis spectacle suggesting the horrors of war, this devouring within species, will provide men with the artistic emotions of the Kriegspiel. Such ideas make one lose one's appetite! In face, they can also come to you at the family table, as you plunge your fork into your roast. There is enough, there, to make you a vegetarian again. If we are to believe Genesis, Adam, the father of us all, was one! There is, at least, enough there to make us want to limit, throught various interdictions, the butchery the every day claims our 'consecrated' mouths! But enough of this theology! It is the dog mentioned at the end of the verse that I am especially interested in. I am thinking of Bobby.
    So who is this dog at the end of the verse? Someone who disrupts society's games (or Society itself) and is consequently given a cold reception [que l'on reçoit comme en chien dans un jeu de quilles]? Someone whom we acuse of being rabid when we are trying to drown him? Someone who is given the dirtiest work--a dog's live--and whom we leave outside in all weathers, when it is raining cats and dogs, even during those awful periods when you would not put a dog out in it? But all these, in spite of their misery, reject the affront of a repulsive prey.
    So does it concern the beast that has lost the last noble vestiges of its wild nature, the crouching, servile, contemptible dog? Or, in the twilight [entre chien et loup] (and what light in the world is not already this dusk?), does it concern the one who is a wolf [loup] under his dogged faithfulness, and thirsts after blood, be it coagulated or fresh?
    But enough of allegories! We have read too many fables and we are still taking the name of a dog in the figurative sense. So, in the terms of a venerable hermeneutics, more ancient than La Fontaine, orally transmitted from early antiquity--the hermeneutics of the talmudic Doctors--this biblical text, troubled by parables, here challenges the metaphor: in Exodus 22:31, the dog is a dog. Literally a dog! Beyond all scruples, by virtue of its happy nature and direct thoughts, the dog transforms all this flesh cast to it in the field into good flesh. The feast is its right.
    High hermeneutics, however, which is so caught up here in a word-for-word approach, allows itself to explain the paradox of a pure nature leading to rights.
    It therefore unearths some frogotten dogs lying in a subordinate proposition in another verse from Exodus. In Chapter 11, verse 7, strange dogs are struck by a light in the middle of the night. They will not growl! But around them a world is emerging. For this is the fatal night of the 'death of the first-born' of Egypt. Israel is about to be released from the house of bondage. Slaves who served the slaves of the State will henceforth follow the most high Voice, the most free path. It is a figure of humanity! Man's freedom is that of an emancipated man remembering his servitude and feeling solidarity for all enslaved people. A rabble of slaves will celebrate this high mystery of man, and 'not a dog shall growl'. At the supreme hour of his institution, with neither ethics nor logos, the dog will attest to the dignity of its person. This is what the friend of man means. There is a transcendence in the animal! And the clear verse with which we began is given a new meaning. It reminds us of the debt that is always open.
    But perhaps the subtle exegesis we are quoting gets lost in rhetoric? Indeed?
    There were seventy of us in a forestry commando unit for Jewish prisoners of war in Nazi Germany. An extraordinary coincidence was the fact that the camp bore the number 1492, the year of the expulsion of the Jews from Spain under the Catholic Ferdinand V. The French uniform still protected us from Hitlerian violence. But the other men, called free, who had dealings with us or gave us work or orders or even a smile--and the children and women who passed by and sometimes raised their eyes--stripped us of our human skin. We were subhuman, a gang of apes. A small inner murmur, the strength and wretchedness of persecuted people, reminded us of our essence as thinking creatures, but we were no longer part of the world. Our comings and goings, our sorrow and laughter, illnesses and distractions, the work of our hands and the anguish of our eyes, the letters we received from France and those accepted for our families--all that passed in parenthesis. We were beings entrapped int heir species; despite all their vocabulary, beings without language. Racism is not a biological concept anti-Semitism is the archetype fo all internment. Social aggression, itself, merely imitates this model. It shuts people away in a class, deprives them of expression and condemns them to being 'signifiers without a signified' and from there to violence and fighting. How can we deliver a message about our humanity which, from behind the bars of quotation marks, will come across as anything other than monkey talk?
    And then, about halfway through our long captivity, for a few short weeks, before the sentinels chased him away, a wandering dog entered our lives. One day he came to meet this rabble as we returned under guard from work. He survived in some wild patch in the region of the camp. But we called him Bobby, and exotic name, as one does with a cherished dog. He would appear at morning assembly and was waiting for us as we returned, jumping up and down and barking in delight. For him, there was no doubt that we were men.
    Perhaps the dog that recognized Ulysses beneath his disguise on his return from the Odyssey was a forebear of our own. But no, no! There, they were in Ithaca and the Fatherland. Here, we were nowhere. This dog was the last Kantian in Nazi Germany, without the brain needed to universalize maxims and drives. He was a descendant of the dogs of Egypt. And his friendly growling, his animal faith, was born from the silence of his forefathers on the banks of the Nile.

From Difficult Freedom: Essays on Judaism by Emmanuel Levinas. Translated by Sean Hand. London: The Athlone Press. © Emmanuel Levinas 1990. 151-153.