|
| I'm sitting here, because there's no other way to type effectively. I'm sitting here and I'm thinking. i guess really I'm just trying my very best not to think, because that's human nature, and more often than not how I think best. I'm sitting here listening to David Cross and Seether and I'm thinking about the nineties and I can actually... feel my brain getting hot. I mean I can actually, literally, feel the blood pumping to somewhere in the back of my brain. It's probably some kind of stroke, but I'm not worried.
I wonder about these kids. Us. I mean... you and me. I wonder if and how the nineties could have gone differently.
I wonder if I'm starting to get old. Starting to get stuck in the past. I miss The Vines, The Strokes, Jet. I wonder if anybody even remembers them. I resent our culture's need to constantly push forward, yet progress slowly only through time. I look over and I see an old man watching a video on collegehumor.com and I wonder if he knew who Donald Glover was before I did. I wonder if any of that even fucking matters because NBC is explosively shitting its way into a hole so fast that the weight of any more new programming would probably cause it to implode. I'm talking about a black hole here, specifically.
I wonder how long it will take the government to realize that it can use the internet as a tool for connecting the unemployed to employers.
I wonder when the last time you were really honest with yourself was.
When's the last time you were really sorry?
-Maverick©
falcon punch
P.S.
Here's a hyperlink for that ass. You should read all of it. http://nymag.com/nymag/toc/20091116/
| | |
| Maybe after awhile of periodically looking at yourself in the mirror and thinking that you should get a haircut, you should get a haircut. Maybe when other people frequently start suggesting to you that you should get a haircut, you should get a haircut. But certainly when you begin to have recurring dreams about the savior of the inevitable zombie apocalypse (you) resuscitating humanity due to a haircut, you should get in the car and lose twenty bucks.
With everyone away for one reason or another, it's nice that my grandparents have been staying at my house for about two weeks or so. I'm not really sure how long it's really been though, because the normal voyage I take down the river of my days has been disrupted by their massive delta. I'm sure I'm bound to wind up (mentally) somewhere in fucking orbit due to (or perhaps in spite of) the implacable and indeed wholly irrational ebb and flow of their current. What I am saying is that my life is a hotel, and they are Taiwan.
I'm whipping both my language dick and my topical tits out today in fact due to their supreme, empirical reign over my television. In this they are mechanical. Chris Matthews at five, Jeopardy at seven, Seinfeld at 7:30, whatever's on at nine. CNN to fill in the gaps. It's like a goddamn fever dream, and it is a dangerous situation. I think I can actually feel myself turning into one of these American People everyone's always talking about. Maybe soon I'll start strapping guns to my leg and walking into townhall meetings hosted by John Huges' widow about Birther's rights in Miley Cyrus's new strip pole healthcare plan to yell at Hillary Clinton (who is the secretary of state, not her husband) about how two people on my Twitter feed were kidnapped by North Korea and are now being held in The Place for Politics for the ransom of exactly six organs from New Jersey and a political official from South Carolina.
Or maybe I'll just turn off the TV and go outside.
Maybe.
-Maverick©
mechanical lions
| | |
| This isn't the most profound or well written post of all time (as a disclaimer) but I had some shit I was thinking about and wanted to write it down. Sorry.
I've been thinking a lot about habits lately. You know, in case you were wondering. Good habits, bad habits. The things we do. During the winter I wore my Maverik lacrosse hoodie a lot. Every day, really. And just about every day someone would say something clever to me about it. Did I vote for McCain. Where is Goose. Your jacket is spelled wrong. But nobody ever asked why I was wearing it or what it actually meant to me. I completed the fifty state quarter collection a couple of months ago, but for some reason every time I receive change in a transaction I still check to see what the quarters are. I know I've got them all, but every quarter I've come across in the past ten years I have turned over to check and see if it's one I don't have yet. That's probably thousands of dollars in quarters, I think maybe this might be a habit I retain for the rest of my life.
The rest of my life.
Keeping yourself busy is a dangerous thing. Running on adrenaline for months at a time you begin to forget what serenity is. And then when you finally get a moment to breathe, you find yourself surrounded with people you love doing shots of vodka and chasing it with whiskey. I'm not saying that's a bad thing, it's just...I'm melancholy I suppose. I'm done with school on Tuesday for the summer. They've given us a little three day weekend because they love to tease. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with myself over the next twelve weeks (maybe I'll turn into an almond), but I'm slowly becoming terrified. I hate being alone. I mean, I really hate it. It makes me restless, afraid.
Are you breathing?
-Maverick©
maybe i should hate you for this
| | |
| I called Apple the other week inquiring about their ability to grant the equivalent of a stay of execution for my sanity. Basically, I had an external hard drive that decided to take a permanent vacation and bring all of my goddamned fucking files with it. So, all my music. Thus, Apple Care. It was helpful. Mostly harmless, I guess you'd say. Maybe not. They were able to give me all of my library minus a couple hundred songs that were no longer available in the store. Well, that's not exactly right. They were available, I just had to pay thirty cents per song to download the iTunes Plus version of it. Even though they aren't charging $1.30 anymore for Plus versions of song. Does that make sense? I don't know. Fuck that garbage.
The smart people tell us to keep a backup of all our earthly (see: digital) posessions in case of disaster. What they don't tell you, obviously, is to keep a backup of your backup of your backup because hey, computers are fickle and illogical. I had to think very hard for a very long time about whether I was even comfortable with the concept of storing algebraic formulas on my goddamn TI eighty three, so I don't know how or when I reached the point that it was acceptable to store the majority of my most precious material possesions in a fucking plastic box whose power source is a continuous stream of fire from a hole in the wall. I often worry about what would happen if the President dropped his BlackBerry in the toilet. Would we see yet another one of these?
-Maverick©
Egyptian decor coloring logic
| | |
| If karma is an actual thing (if it was tangible, even) I think it would without a doubt manifest itself in the form of the New York City public transportation system. I have never had an easier time than I had today. Maybe it's me getting to know the system or something, but I doubt it because the amazing weekend I've just had points to something perhaps only slightly bigger. Or, maybe I'm making too big a thing out of it. Basically what I'm saying is- way to go MTA. Keep up the good work.
The weekend has become more of an ideal for me- something to strive for rather than something I can actually achieve. Unlike perfection or a conscience that isn't riddled with a thousand things I might've done wrong in the last five minutes, the weekend is slowly transforming into a thing of myth. Something that seems somehow to happen to everyone else, but I fear will never happen to me.
I walk through my days full with the knowledge secure somewhere in the back of my brain (if that is indeed a grammatically correct sentence I think I deserve a fucking Pulitzer) that my potty training is complete, I have full bladder control, I will never again wet the bed or pee my pants. I've had this knowledge for a good ten years or so (give or take. Who knows? Not me. I never...) except my world was shattered the other day when I was more-than casually observing The Trailer, as it will be henceforth known. I think I might have peed a little. Well, that's not fair. It might not have been pee.
But would you understand if I, (the biggest Aaron Sorkin/West Wing fan in the fucking world) upon discovering today that none other than Richard Schiff would be speaking on Friday at the Atlantic, maybe perhaps soiled myself a little?
Just a little.
Like three drops.
-Maverick©
the same old mess
P.S. I realize, as I'm sure you will, that Richard Schiff's wikipedia picture might be the worst picture of anyone ever taken. Ever. So, if you feel like changing it to a more flattering one, I'm sure he'd be much obliged. Or something.
| | |
|
