A Return to Normalcy

The history of man is riddled with a Darwinistic  penchant for change. From the use of spears to the use of guns; from mud huts to steel enforced towers; from slavery to hate crimes. It’s apart of life, this change, a natural order of reliable chaos.Therefore we must learn to evolve and adapt in order to survive within the rapid tides of change of this modern era.  It is important, however, that one does not forgo the quintessential basis from which he originates, for when he loses sight of that he loses sight of himself. It’s an evolution, not a revolution, for even the streets of late 18th century Paris returned to aristocratic dominance and civil unrest after the fires of revolt had burnt to ash, which had ultimately resulted in more harm than good.

It is with this ideology in mind that I announce a return to normalcy for this blog. In an effort to justify it’s existence and broaden it’s appeal, I lost sight of the purpose it stood for; to create a ‘not-safe-for-church’ environment where I could  publish my sarcastic essays, satirical musings, and cynical memoirs, to offend and humor the minds the those who read its pages. So I hearby retire the scum that has defiled these pages, in favor of doing what I do best: dancing on the other side of the political line and out of taste.

New Video: Neglected.

One dull and boring Tuesday afternoon, I got an idea. I would make a short video (under 3 minutes)  for every day of my remaining spring break, and submit it to the interwebz. I determined that such a course of action would keep me busy, prolong my procrastination of doing makeup schoolwork, and get me better acquainted with my new Canon 7D.

So I got to work, and created my first submission which is centered around a dusty piano of mine. It sits in a corner of the entry room, which has been turned into a makeshift office by my father who works from home. Check it out below, and please watch in HD. Feel free to Like it, and Subscribe to my videos while you’re at it.

View in HD

The only light I used was the light that came from outdoors through a nearby window, which wasn’t very much. However, these cameras are great in low light (though if I had a faster lens, it would have come out even better). I also decided early on that I would utilize dolly movements, however, I was without a proper dolly. So I grabbed an old skate board, through some 5-10lb weights on it for stability, and set a tripod with my mounted camera on top. However, it was wobbly as hell, an issue made worse by the high resting point of the camera. So I had to devise something else. Originally, I got a table with an adjustable height, added my long flat board, and used just the skateboard with a few weights. The low center of balance (without the tripod) minimized all wobble, which was nice. However, it was extremely limiting.

After some searching around the house, I found a collapsible dolly. Unlike the skateboard, there were two wheels firmly rooted to be perpendicular to frame, and set much further apart. So I lay it down, strapped a 5lb weight to the front, got a square board as a surface for the tripod, and weighted that down with a 10 lb weight. However, I had only two wheels and a dragging handle, which works, but isn’t ideal for smooth dollying. So, I placed the skateboard under the handle, and I was set. All I had to do was lay my “dolly track” (long strip of scrap plywood) and then place my makeshift dolly on top, adjust the tripod’s height, and set the camera up, and I was ready to roll. However, it took me some time to devise this ingenious contraption, and it took some effort to set up for each shot. Furthermore, while it was smooth, for the most part, a slow and consistent speed (and it had to be quite slow at a focal length between 50-100mm of closeup macro shots, otherwise it looked way to fast and I would start to get the dreaded “jello effect”).

When I finished, I started importing. Earlier I had found the perfect song for such a piece, a song titled Forever by Rob Costlow found on a royalty free music hosting site, http://www.audiofarm.org. However, I stayed up till midnight editing, even though I finished filming around 5pm, because of two things. First, it was Lost night. Second, H264 MOV files really butt heads with Sony Vegas. The playback was so choppy and inconsistent, I was practically editing blind, with little way to see the actual final product until I rendered it out. I’ve tried a number of conversions using both Prism and MPEG Streamclip, but they either don’t work with Sony Vegas, result in being just as hard to work with, or experience a resolution dump. So I sucked it up, and just dealt with it. Even though I captured and edited in 1080p, I exported at 720p for easier internet streaming, and even then the file was over 3gb in size. So I used prism to compress that to around 17mb. Big difference, but the resolution was maintained.

I know I am posting this on a Wednesday, but I am planning to film another video today, one that will be much shorter and much simpler… to an extent. When playing with fire, you never know what will happen.

I’m back for the time being.

So, this blog hasn’t quite been receiving the amount of attention it deserves, for I have been busy. So sorry to the couple of you who actually visit it on a semi-regular basis; however, pick up the pace! Honestly, how am I supposed to run a popular expository when there are only two of you. You come, you see, you go maybe once a day. That’s all fine and dandy, if not 49 daily visits short. I’m trying to create the illusion of grandeur, and you guys are sorely letting me down. So tape down those F5 keys if you must, but seriously, get your shit together.

So what have I been up too? Well, a certain someone’s debt has gone up $20.

In seriousness, I’ve been busy with film related pursuits. If you noticed, there is now an Awards/Acknowledgements tab above of which I have put my first and most recent acknowledgement of excellence on display, so there has been that. You can see the film here, and hopefully I’ll get the Film section on this site up and running soon. However, despite my success, it appears Jacob is a very dull boy. So, I did what anyone without talent does. Buy expensive shit to give myself an edge.

A Canon EOS 7D recently fell into my possession, subsequently granting me a one year cult membership absolutely free of charge. What cult you ask? I’ll just say DSLR Filmmaking. Google it, you lazy ass.

So why would I invest in such a progressive move? Sparkling flowers. That and the extreme ease of capturing shallow depth of fields, widening the range of my creative potential. It is also very small and light in comparison to my previous camera, the Panasonic DVX-100a, which will serve me very well in the coming week, during which I’ll be on a educational field trip in Washington, DC. I am expected to document the event, and since I’m going as a one man crew, I needed a one man camera. My 7D is roughly tantamount Indiana Jones’ whip. My fedora?-the one thing I can never leave behind? My good looks.

So what’s it like filming with such an HD beast? Well, I decided to find out by filming beasts. Horses to be exact. Andrew Jackson would be proud. There is a horse ranch lies across the way from my house, and I’ve never paid it much attention, however, this past Sunday, they were hosting an event and I thought it would be the perfect time to put my new toy through some paces. It’s a good thing I did, because my future difficulties became immediately apparent.

First and foremost is exposure. The 7D performs incredibly in low light, but such an advantage is a double bladed sword. It is way too exposed in sunlight, and since I was filming  at noon on a cloudless day, that became a real issue. DSLRs allow 3 options to control exposure: ISO, shutter speed, and aperture. However, when filming, you are forced to use certain shutter speeds depending on your frame rate. It doesn’t literally prevent you from using these other shutter speeds, but if you shoot 24fps and aren’t using a shutter speed of 1/50 second, it’s going to look like choppy shit. So cranking that up to 1/250 was out of the question. The highest I could go was 1/125 while shooting 60fps, which was fine for the moments I filmed the actual horses in action. I could then take that footage, put in a project set to 24fps, and slow the clips down to 40% of their original speed, without creating any extra frames. The end result are beautifully smooth movements of horses in full gallop. Bestiality never seemed so tempting.

Anyway, that left me with two options: ISO and aperture. So I set ISO as low as it would go, which is 100, and even then I was several stops too overexposed. Also, it is worth noting that an overexposed image is a lot worse than an underexposed once. You can’t recover detail lost in highlights, but you can in ‘cold’ areas. Now, aperture not only controls exposure, but your depth of field as well. The wider the aperture (the lower the number), the more diffused light the lens lets in, which is great for creating a shallow depth of field, the reason I got this camera. However, I could not set my aperture in the 3.5-8.0 range I was hoping for, instead I kept it between 18-22. Yes, that is a dramatic difference in focusing abilities. So, I was forced to keep my 28-135mm lens fully zoomed just to knock the background out of focus. Definitely not ideal.

So, is this a con to the camera? Actually, no. My troubles were mostly a lack of preparation on my part. Buy simply applying an ND filter, I could have fixed my exposure problem. Again, Google it you idiot.  Will I acquire on of these before DC? I would hope, but I’m counting on clouds to save my ass in that department. I couldn’t get a client project done in time for this trip, otherwise I would have some more spending cash and I would invest in an ND filter, but since I’m filming a documentary, sound is a pressing issue. The 7D has a built in mic, but aside from it being utter crap and lacking the ability to change/monitor audio levels, it is placed on the front of the camera, right next to the lens. Why is this bad? Because that means it is right next to the lens’ Image Stabilizer motor, a necessity (for handheld especially), so your audio is plagued by a subtle grind. Can I make it work? Sure, but it would be best to get an exterior recording device and use on of the nice condenser mics I have access too, but I am going solo, so that won’t work either. Instead, I have my eyes set on the Rode VideoMic. It’s cheap, but effective.

Another thing, the LCD. It’s a beautiful little LCD, but it is the only way to preview a shot, and it is much smaller than a fully blown up 1080p display. What looks like a perfect focus on it actually isn’t, and being new to this aspect of filmography, focus isn’t quite intuitive yet. So I pick my subject, zoom in 10x on the screen, and at that size I can properly focus my image. It’s a very involved process, and by no means fast. Now imagine doing that when the only display on the LCD is your reflection. Outdoors, it is dreadful. You are about as visually impared as Stevie Wonder at that point. So you move your focus ring, then use the same hand as a screen hood in an attempt to cut back on the reflection, and then proceed to adjust the focus again in a method math students prefer to refer to as “plug n’ chug”.

The final problem I encountered at the horse ranch was the difficulty to go handheld. It’s hard with any camera, if anything the 7D is easier than most, but when I am trying to balance a manual focus at the same time, I get  issues.  Also, when zoomed in at a 135mm focal length, every jerk and sway is enunciated. I brought a tripod to the event, but for the most part, I avoided using it for two reasons. I’m lazy, and taking that much more time to set up a shot wasn’t too appealing. Also, in DC,  I can’t be bogged down with gear. This is an educational/fun trip that I paid a lot of money to go on, so even though I am doing this documentary (which I want to do), I can’t get in people’s way and hold the group up. I need to be fast and compact, so I decided that it was best that I tackle the handheld challenges in an environment I could screw up without any repercussions.  I am looking at modifying a mono pod into a “body pod,” where I put the balance on my shoulders via strap as opposed to the ground, and when fully folded up, will be roughly 12 inches in size. It’s not the best, but it will have to do. Besides, as appealing as Zacuto’s products are, they are too damn expensive.

All things considered, I think the shoot went great. It was my first time going out with the camera, and it was a good opportunity to work out a few of the kinks in DSLR film making. Despite being overexposed and blind, I think the footage came out pretty good, and I’m in the process of editing it at the moment. Oh yes, that’s the other thing. As lovely as HD is, it’s a pain in the fucking ass to edit. Even with my quad core processor and 6gb of RAM, my editing program can hardly play back the footage, is extremely slow, and occasionally freezes up. Admittedly, this is also in part due to the fact that I am working with H246 encoded MOV files in a program that doesn’t really like working with those boys, but I lack proper HD codecs to convert my files into, otherwise it probably wouldn’t be much of an issue. So I probably won’t finish the cut before I depart for DC, but I have done a substantial amount. Below are some screen grabs, graded/ungraded. Check them out and let me know what you think! I’m fucking serious you two, it’s time you stop fiddling around like toddlers and start carrying this site’s views on your backs like work horses.

That is possibly my favorite thing about working with HD. Even the slightest of grading adjustments yield dramatic results. Even with an inadequate grading program, I am  much more able to replicate my vision. As you can tell, even though I fought against exposure, the depth of field is still there (though sadly not as dramatic, it’s more of a solid matte blur with such a narrow aperture) and the detail remained intact. I think for my next test, I am going to shoot some footage at night at an outdoor shopping mall. Over exposure to under exposure, I like it.

Dreams die at the DMV.

A little over a week ago, my father tore his ACL. For those of you that don’t know, or are too lazy to research it for yourselves, an ACL is a ligament in the knee that prevents it from wobbling or giving out. Simply put, my father is in a great deal of pain and has been confined to a sitting or laying position for the past several days.  His doctor ordered him to remain as immobile as possible, but like Colonel Custer and the Sioux Indians, my father isn’t one for standing down. Regardless, many of his daily tasks have fallen upon me, and many of these involve driving.

I have been driving for over a year now, that is, driving with a permit. Sure, it might be a bit peculiar that one has had a permit for over a year, when most 16 year old Americans have the 6th month marked down on their Facebook calendars, but that in itself is hardly interesting. Nor is the rebellious side of the same story, as in the empty passenger side. Illegal? Yes. Uncommon? Doubtful. However, despite my self-confidence, I always feared the day when I would become the victim of racial profiling. I mean, according to the ironic principles of karma, it is bound to happen sooner or later.

Back to my unlawful joyrides, they have become quite frequent in the past several days, and fearing that inevitable karma, my father decided that it was time to stop holding out and take me to get a license.  I expressed little excitement one way or the other, seeing as how I would be driving regardless. If anything, I knew I was just setting myself up for defeat, failing the road test and walking out empty handed, down $7 and several hours in waiting.  However, it was not the failing that troubled me most, it was the walk of shame out of those doors, past the jail-bait blond with a fresh license in one hand and a cellphone in the other. I can only imagine the text reading: Liek omg!!! i can driv now : )))) I shudder at the thought.

In my brief and legally questionable driving career I have encountered many a hazard on the road, ranging from heavy rain to women. I use both hands when dealing with the latter.  From experience, I can say that the “fresh n’ blond” blend are at the top of the danger scale. If it’s not a cellphone, it’s a Starbucks cappuccino in their hand, or their boyfriend’s stick shift. No, I’m not talking about an actual stick shift, though for the record, they shouldn’t have their hands on one of those while driving, either.  It’s when I encounter these wonders of the road that I take a moment to avert my attention to the question: how did they ever pass the written exam? Let’s just say that they are better at using a “stick shift” than understanding the order of operations when it came to algebra.

The DMV is a very uninspiring place once you reach the waiting room.  Crummy plastic chairs, gray walls, and the current number being served, A113. You are E337.  Silent faces stare blankly forward, combating the temptations of rest; brightening after hearing their letter,  only to be restored to their former saturnine appearance when they don’t hear the corresponding number. Though few verbally express it, all await the moment a student driver crashes through the northern wall after forgetting to put their car in reverse.

When I am finally called up, I hand over my paperwork and current permit. After looking it all over, the lady across the desk frowns. “You know that this permit has expired, right?” Yes, yes I did. However, I was hoping to just charm my way through the experience, but when I saw the dejected and annoyed face of the nearing 60 year  woman across the desk, I quickly gave up hope.

“You’ll have to retake the written test.”

Rewind to a year ago, when I first took the exam.
November 22, 2008. “Sorry, but it looks like you have failed. Why don’t you study next time, cock sucker.”

Who cares about the weight of an infant in a car seat anyway?

At this point, I knew that I was not going to get my license that day, but swallowing some anxiety I approached the test taking area, hoping that by some stroke of grace I would pass. I think that now is a good time to say that at the DMV, logic is about as abundant as the excitement. Part of the reason I failed the my first written exam was that I had answer the questions I didn’t know through the due process of reason. After all, it had served me well in school, and I’m at the top of my class. But this isn’t school,  this isn’t the test sheet of life. This is the DMV.

If you park on an uphill slope, you better turn your damn wheels toward the curb. If you forget to use the emergency brake, and your car becomes possessed by gravity, the worst of your issues is a dented hub cap and a new parking spot on the sidewalk. I mean, that’s better than turning it away from the curb, where you have to count on friction saving the day, and I can tell you now that friction is a fickle bitch; and it is certainly better than keeping your wheels straight, where the car behind you is your emergency brake. But no, you put the passing traffic at risk by turning your wheels away from the damn curb. Forget that guaranteed stop, its better to not run people over on the sidewalk, even if such results are improbable. Oh, and if there is no curb, then by all means, turn your wheels toward the side of the street and risk running down little Timmy on his way to school! See if we care!

Alright, so I failed again, but this time, not only did I not get my license, I lost my permit in the process. I guess it was already expired, so it didn’t change anything, but it was still a low blow to the balls of pride. With my head hung low, I walked through the doors of shame, past the jail-bait blond with a new license in one hand a cell phone in another.

Liek OMG!!!! I cn driv now n their is this loser who faled XDDDD

When we got to the car, I took the keys from my dad, and drove us home anyway. I really stuck it to them.

Festivus.

So after nearly two days of putting this off, I suppose it’s time that I do the celebration justice. Why? Well, after two days of trying to put it out of my mind, I realized that it would never go away; so I’m just going to justify its obnoxious existence by immortalizing the night on the interwebs. Don’t get me wrong, Festivus is a great holiday, if not my favorite. Any day that excuses profanity directed at another idiot human being is good in my books. So why then do I avoid digging up this memory as if it were an AIDS ridden whore? No, not because I already buried the body, but because I did things no man could ever be proud of… and there wasn’t even alcohol involved. There was apple juice.

Before I go any further, I need to make sure you know what Festivus is. Do you? No? Well lucky for you, I have this here link full of very helpful information pertaining to the secular holiday. Now you know.

It was a calm Friday night, that 18th of December, and as I pulled my shopping cart into a parking spot, I knew it would be one that I would never forget. Unfortunately. Upon crossing that threshold, that I would not trespass again for another 6 hours, I was greeted by a pedophile. Seriously, what was a 19 year-old doing at a high school get-together? I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t the booze. Let’s just say that it was a good thing we were in a small apartment, all 12 of us. No, not really. I was just trying to be positive, and now I’ll stop.

We were treated to a bowl of fucking salad, which was to be followed by tomato fucking soup, but it was over fucking cooked. How the hell do you over fucking cook tomato fucking soup?! Not that I was disappointed, because it was tomato fucking soup, but instead we got some white fucking bread and pasta fucking casserole.  Bleach and carbs, what a fucking dinner. Now, I know what you’re thinking. Ya, that’s right, you’re undoubtedly thinking about my little culinary article. Well I agree, next time I’m cooking. The Haired Rustalian Pasta Salad of Polish Decent may not be seasonal, but at least it’s edible. Fuck.

After that, the Airing of Grievances began. For this, I have no regrets; I only wish that I hadn’t stumbled into a blind rage which blurred my hurling disappointments into one mudded memory of extreme pleasure. Though I do recall, as you surely do, a rather lengthy grievance involving an unpaid $67… Moving on, I also indulged in the pleasures on the other side of the fence, though I think they mostly entailed compliments as opposed to insults. Something about being “pretentious”, whatever that means.

With stomachs sick from diatribe and bad food, we kicked off the Feats of Strength, though our host pulled a fast one. Not only did we have to pin the maître de la maison, but everyone had to be both a challenger and challengee. However, I was challenged twice. Don’t fret!-for each time I came out on top with sports coat on back and class intact. Hank Moody would be proud.

I stood up to stretch my legs, and in the process I came across a pair of aviators that I had been holding as compensation for $67, that was, until the bastard stole them back from me. Regardless, there they were now, so I reached out and grabbed them. Unbeknownst to me, however, a game of Truth or Dare had started. In seconds, the very asshole who owed me sixty-seven dollars was on me, only he wasn’t there to take the aviators. No, he had come to take something else.

Excuse me as a exhale deeply for a moment. You see, as I relished in the turning point of a war, the beast that now was on me had been dared to… to rob me of the one thing I held dearer than money. My male-kiss virginity. I had been saving that for Jeremy Piven!- David Dechovny!- Johnny Depp! And who dared him to commit this atrocity? None other than his vixen of a girlfriend! I mean, in a way I was flattered. I’ve always known this to be every girl’s fantasy, and I felt privileged that I was chosen as its other half. Perhaps that was why I donned the aviators and went for it. However, this halcyon daze was short lived, and as I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be another way!

Well there wasn’t. After several minutes of vigorous self-defense, his lips collided with mine. It wasn’t sensual or anything, but it was enough. No longer were they pure.  As I sat there in a stupor of defeat, unsure of my life, I half-expected someone to exclaim “It’s a Festivus miracle!” Thankfully they did not, however the mood was anything but rightfully somber. No, excitement was in the air, and for the next 3 hours we continued to play a game of Truth or Dare of middle school proportions, and immaturity. By that I mean it was Festi-fucking-kissivus, for nearly every truth or dare was related to this rampant act of sex. At least I got him back by planting a juicy one of my own square on his lips, after I made him brush his teeth. Looks like I got the last laugh. Haha.

So there you have it, my first Festivus. I lost a good many things, like my dignity and my innocence, gained nothing, and I’m still short $67. To be honest though, I never had any hopes of getting it back that night. I’m just glad that I didn’t lose anything more. There I go again, being all positive and shit. The sad thing is, I’ll probably return for more next year.

The Goods: Not that Good (I’m so witty… unlike this film (I’m on a role!))

Let me start by saying, I really wanted this film to be good. Why? Because it had Jeremy Piven (that man makes me wetter than a Shetland Pony at a car wash). However, as the minutes wore on and the “jokes” racked up, I began to realize that this is quite possibly the worst movie I have ever seen. Granted, I have lived a fortunate life, in that I have somehow managed to avoid  the shit that plagues the motion picture industry (except for Year One…); so I use the term “worst movie I have ever seen” lightly. Actually, instead of providing this festering pile of sex-driven comedy with an arbitrary label, let me put it this way: I considered watching Twilight instead. Yes, a sparkling vampire nearly had a greater appeal to my inner gay than Jeremy Piven. Fuck.

Imagine someone came up to you and said, “Why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side!” and then, for no reason, blurts out, “It’s a fucking chicken!”
That is what every joke is like in The Goods.

To show you what I mean, take this scene for example. In it, Don Ready (Jeremy Piven) and has entourage of salesmen (and woman) are at a strip club. Baps, a girl with boobs, and Black Dude are in their own secluded corner, and the following dialog ensues.

Black Dude: “Baps, I am going to tell you something I haven’t told anyone before… I never made love to a woman.”
Baps: “You’re a virgin?”
Black Dude: “No, I’ve had sex with many girls.
I tore them up.
Pile-drived their holes.
43 years of fucking.
Penetrated plenty of women.
Jackhammerin’ it up.
Did the 69
…142
…298
…∞.
Jammed the carrot in the juicer.
Put the pen in the pen pocket.
Gopher in her hole.
Baguette in the Belfry.
Made pound cake.
*Several sexual innuendos later*
But I never made love to a women.
Baps: “Well, Black Dude, I’m going to tell you something that I haven’t told anyone… I want to have sex with a 10 year old boy.”
Black Dude: “What?”
Baps: “He has the body of a 30-year old man. I don’t know who’s to blame.”
Black Dude: “You the adult, you to blame.”
*Pause for audience laughter*
Black Dude: “A fucking chicken!”

Okay, so I added the last part, but you get the idea. Comedy and context got a divorce, and every punchline is followed by an unnecessary explanation and contemplative silence. Silence that says, “Why am I still watching this?”

Dammit, I can’t do it. I can’t possibly write a review for this movie. It brings back painful memories and vivid images of Edward Cullen’s sparking pecks. So, to keep it simple; The Goods is not good. No really, it fucking sucks.

Victoria Murray

It was many and many a block ago,
In this room two-nineteen
I quarreled with a maiden whom you may know
By the name of Victoria Murray
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to hate yet be loved by me.

I was a child, and she was a child
In this room two-nineteen
And we shared a love that wasn’t quite love
I and my Victoria Murray
A love that went only one way
For she had no interest in me.

And this was the reason that, long ago
In this room two-nineteen
A rage let loose, insulting
My elusive Victoria Murray
So that our AP teacher came
And sat her away from me
Sat her several seats away
In this room two-nineteen.

This maiden, who now seemed quite content
Was envious of me –
Yes! That was the reason (as all you know
In this room two-nineteen)
The maiden ran from her “Prince Charming”
That intolerable Victoria Murray.

But my love it was stronger by far than the hate
Held by her for me
All in spite, you see –
So one day, out the door, a package of the floor
Her restraining order for me?!
I swore in a horror at the name that was signed
By the lovely Victoria Murray
An order that shattered my dreams at their seams
Of the lovley Victoria Murray
How she intends my demise with those dotted i’s
Of the lovely Victoria Murray
And so now I laugh, while holding my sides
With my darling– my darling– wherever she hides
At this joke shared by we
At her desk in two-nineteen.

Thinking about Thinking Styles

I have a functioning mind, which is more than many pathetic excuses for conscious beings could “say”. Then again, I suppose a series of short grunts followed by an exasperated gurgle could be seen as a form of lingual communication by the more sympathetic members of society. Regardless, it goes without saying that I enjoy using this reliable piece of hardware in my head, so when it comes to my personal thinking style I prefer to do just that, think. No jumping into the lion’s den for me, unless I had carefully contemplated suicide and realized that the overconsumption of Tylenol was too cliché. If you think about it, if I went with the latter, then the possible headlines in the local paper might read “Another Teenage Girl Kills Herself Over Mr. I-Can’t-Have-Him” or “State Board Considers A Federally Funded Dump for ‘White Trash’”. No, consumption by lion defeats consumption of drugs by a landslide. However, while totally badass, jumping into the lion’s den may be seen as falling into the lion’s den, meaning an accidental death not intentional suicide; which may result in a series of C-SPAN debates over zoo safety protocol as opposed the much preferred heated debates about my own life and why I’d wish to take it. And if this prolonged array of rebuttals didn’t bastardize my existence, the lion cubs sure would. They practically rank up there with kittens and baby seals on the cuteness scale. Next thing you know, there’s a video on YouTube titled “CUTEST LION KITTEH EVAR!!1!” displaying the adorable ruffian with food stuck in his teeth. That’s right, me, you fucking cunt.

My presented talent at a highschool talent show.

Wow, just… wow… What a great audience. At the moment, I’m totally overcome with shock and joy. Never did I see myself standing where I am now, as the undisputed victor of this talent show. Haha. Actually, I lied. I knew from the start that I’d trounce the competition, and that is why I have come prepared with the acceptance speech I behold now. So without further ado:

Greetings,

Before I raise anchor and set sail in this ship on the sea of revelation, of which I plan to part like Moses, I’d like to take a moment to thank the judges for recognizing my superior talent; and you, the audience, for applauding my greatness like the sycophants you are. But most importantly, I thank me, myself, and I for a job well done. Mission accomplished.

I tell you now that many a day was spent preparing for this fateful night, readying the act that has brought me to where I am now, spreading thanks and acknowledging those that I’ve stepped on in my climb to the top. Though, I dare say, I think I might have spent more time preparing this acceptance speech, knowing the inevitability of its deliverance. Actually, to be quite honest, I feared  that those countless hours in preparation for victory would all be for naught. As it turns out, I was right. Upon viewing my competition I realized that I could have come completely unprepared and still find myself standing where I am now, on top the tallest peak of Mount Everest, ice picks in expert hands, looking down upon the shabby hills  of lesser “genius”.  Now, I don’t mean to sound pretentious, but I fear that should I have phrased it any other way, I’d risk my competition acquiring the delusion that their acts were actually good.  But I digress.

(Pause. Smile humbly at the audience.)

It was a couple hours ago, on the roof of my house, sipping on a virgin pina coloda and enjoying the world below me, ignoring the pressure that beat down upon my back like the heat of the sun, that the wise words of a fellow maverick came to mind. In his Inaugural Address of 1961, John F. Kennedy said:

In the long history of the world, only a few generations have been granted the role of defending freedom in its hour of maximum danger. I do not shrink from this responsibility — I welcome it. I do not believe that any of us would exchange places with any other people or any other generation. The energy, the faith, the devotion which we bring to this endeavor will light our country and all who serve it. And the glow from that fire can truly light the world.

And so, my fellow Americans, ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.

It goes without saying that my mind was blown all over my face.  So as I lay on the roof of my humble abode, passed out from heat exhaustion, I came to the sudden revelation that my success was greater than freedom itself. That I had been granted the opportunity to define talent, and defend it.  If my fan club was not a nation yet, it soon would be, and so the time had arrived for me to not ask what my country could do for me, but what I could do for my fan club.

And now we return to the start, like a high school dropout that returns home, full of determination and literary knowledge. I readdress you, young hopefuls and aspiring talentees, and poise the question, “How can you beat that which has already won?” Let me spare you the effort and confirm that you can’t. So it is with a sure mind and the utmost confidence that I say, “I’m better than you”. Thank you, and goodnight.

My Take on the Russian Haired Sausage

So the other day, my friend came across an internet delicacy, the Russian Haired Sausage of Russian blogger design. Upon discovering its brilliance, I was too quickly ensnared in its loops of pasta. So I set out to create my own variation of the dish:

The Hairy Rustalian Pasta Salad of Polish Decent
Ingredients:
1 Polish Sausage
Spaghetti Pasta
Romain Lettuce
Tomato
Sprinkled shredded Cheddar Jack
Topped with a homemade dressing of…
…Apple Vinegar
…Virgin Olive Oil
…Butter
…Garlic Salt
…Pepper
…Italian Herb

The outcome?

Yes, it was delicious.