PSA

http://www.nbc.com/The_Office/video/office_psa_thumb.shtml#video

Raging and Laughing, covered in Gouda

What possessed me to do it? Through the course of a simple game of Madden Football, I managed to destroy a perfectly functional wireless controller. The rage that coursed through me as the guy I played against scored on the cheapest hail mary bomb recorded in the history of video game athletics (McNabb drops back 15 yards, rolls out to the left, uncorks a 50 yd bomb that floats right into the outstretched tricep to Todd Pinkston as Chris McCalister feebly falls to Pinkston's feet, worshipping his video game deity), enough to uncork some choice vocal ejections. When the cursing didn't alleviate my disgust, I hurled the controller out of my hand, spinning to the wood floor below. The sound of plastic cracking preceded the tittering laughter of my opponent and further verbal diarrhea from my toilet mouth. Much like a golfer shattering his putter with fury, I looked at the mangled instrument with a helpless anger, which could only be alleviated with a misguided kick into the corner of the sofa.

Did this really happen? Yes. Two years ago, I raged on about video games. I haven't had an outburst since...until last night. My roommate was the Philadelphia Eagles, controlling the ever wily McNabb with patented scrambles and pinpoint accuracy. I was playing as the Baltimore Ravens, relishing the opportunity to release the hounds of hellacious defense. On a run up the left, Jamal Lewis, version 2004, pulls away from the line, savoring a steady trot to a sure touchdown when the roomy pulls the ultimate in bad video game behavior. He pauses the game. Sure, the doorbell rang, and waiting in the night was EV, ready to come in and go to sleep. However, as standardchuck maxim #5 states: you will never, ever impede the progression of a play in a game of Madden by using the pause button. Failure to do so should require a 2 month suspension from using the playstation and 72 hours of community service at the local GameSpot, cleaning the controllers of their demo machines after the grubby children play ratchet and clank. While we're at it, you'll also be required to wipe the droll from the mouths of their employees as they view the latest anime girl from video game covers. One should serve the mouth breathers if you resort to this sort of poor video game sportsmanship.

Why am I going all Phil Helmuth on this oversight? Here's the reason. When we started back up, I forgot what direction I was controlling poor Jamal. I slowed down his momentum when we un-paused, and he was tackled. No touchdown. The following play, a bit pissed, I tossed an interception, which the roomie returned for a touchdown. The rest of the game was ridiculous. I was in about as much control as Fredo would be if he were ordering the Sopranos in proper familial responsibilities. It was disgusting chaos.

So I tossed the controller. I cursed. I lost my cool. This is how far I've developed in the last few years. No forward progress, its like my temper were simply in a pause, and when action resumed, the same patterns of behavior popped out like Redenbacher. So simply, I will state this for the rest of the world to hear this: I can't change. The adaptation strategy that has help creatures evolve to their situation, to roll with the punches, to help Nicholas "bitchin' technology" Cage bring out his inner nebish and Meryl Streep out of her clothes...I don't have it anymore. I'm just a raging moth hidden behind a coy cocoon, ready to whomp up on your controllers. Boys, lock your games at home, cause Chuckzilla thinks it's clobbering time.

************************************************************************************

Additionally, had a great phone conversation with Kid W. Actual excerpts (based on my memory, which is fuzzier than a Q-Tip made of the downy hair of adolescent mustaches (see Adam Morrison)

Kid W(KW): I work with a lot of Wisconsin people.
Standardchuck (SC): Wisconsin, you mean the geographical area that is still reknowned for dairy products and ridiculous accents?
KW: (Fargo impersonation, which continues for a few lines) Oh yeah, we love cheese.
SC: Those people are...
KW: hicks.
SC: Exactly. So have you tried the cheese curds?
KW: Yeah, cheese curds.

I don't remember how it started, but then we started talking about using cheese for hair products. You know, using every day cheeses such as Velvetta for casual use, maybe some government cheese for when you're trying to dress down (head out to the dive bar to listen to "The Editors of Tapes and Sorrow," which CMJ compared to a mixture of Sigur Ros, Ted Leo, and a hint of NKOTB. Later that night, after ironically consuming Pabst Blue Ribbon, you take home a skinny girl who's really anorexic but passes it off as being to disinterested in life to really "get" food.), and you know, fancy cheeses like Swiss for those nights out at the Opera.

Fancy Lad: Yes, Mr. Haversham, I do indeed enjoy Tristan LaCaveliere.
Mr. Haversham: Ah yes, and Ms. Featherpennies, I love your hair. Is that Boursin? It smells delightful.
Ms. Featherpennies: I'll such your cock for a thousand dollars. But Fancy Lad can't watch unless he pays 500 hundred.
Fancy Lad: Bitches is crazy.
(All laugh in unison as the string quartet reaches a crescendo as the scene dissolves with technical prowess)

Additionally, we progressed through many different topics, such as cheeses in cadavers, buffets at receptions, hikes, dirty clothes, and the random Wisconsin facts:

KW: I went hiking and saw a river moose.
SC: Where?
KW: St. Croix Falls.
SC: Oh. Huh. This is Wisconsin?
KW: Yeah, in 1900 land acquisition for Wisconsin's first state park began. The park became Interstate State Park located in St. Croix Falls.
SC: No way?!!
KW: Yeah you can totally check out other facts about Wisconsin on the internet?
SC: But I don't know where to get those kinds of interesting pieces of information about the Badger State...
KW: Go to http://www.50states.com/facts/wisconsin.htm
SC: Word?
KW: Double true; they've got the facts, son!

At this point, Kid W had to get off the phone. I miss that guy. He's great. An articulate, funny, absurd, yet serious and thoughtful individual.

That guy is one bad ass mamma-jamma. That's no hyperbole...Literally.

Three changes

1. I lost my temper at a student today...actually yelled at him in the hallway. They should revoke my license.

2. Started a post and then erased it. Self-censure...I must be getting older.

3. A tiny hair, singular, is growing out of my right nipple. Other than this unwelcome homesteader, I have a bare chest. Attractive, n'est pas?

Before I head out...

A couple of quick hit statements before I head to a party tonight:

1. Do not order pizza from Joe squared (located in Baltimore around Mt. Royal). The pizza was quite tasteless, lacking in both quality and quantity of toppings, with a square, flat bread that tasted remarkably like unsalted matzah. Horrible appetizers as well (exclusing a semi-decent fried mushrooms, but annoying small containers of marinara). I have never had such a joyless experience eating this crap.
2. Lady E is in DC while I head to a friend's fiance's birthday party. Let the good times roll.
3. Has there been a movie as uneven as "Bulletproof Monk?" I mean, its a comic book movie, yet I found myself thinking that you have to take your disbelief, suspend it over a bottomless hole, stab it with twenty or so rapiers, set it on fire, then drop it into the hole in order to watch this movie the whole way through. Yet, I watched it.
4. Black.White. is not an entertaining show. Let's teach white people, seems to be the central issue. A noble goal, but at the same time, please cast the show with people who are not brain-achingly annoying.
5. Why did "Cinderella Man" do so poorly? I watched it last night, and it was quite good, compared to some of the other crappy movies released by the man.
6. "Crash" is a damn good movie, but was I the only one thinking that the movie was incredibly similar to "Magnolia?" Snow fall, frogs fall, its all the same to me.
7. The Decemberists are simply amazing. More on this later.
8. Great music site, this guy was at SXSW, posted reviews and mp3s about indie bands: http://myoldkyhome.blogspot.com

Have a great night, America.

Oh well

There comes a time when you know you are beat.

The paralysis that overwhelms you as the seconds steadily beat away into a fine powder of crushed dreams.

The "what ifs" start immediately as you stare at the stretched smiles of your advesary, thinking about your cold shooting, or your failure to box out, or your inability to reverse the trend of losing.

All you can do is bit the inside of your lip, knowing that the dream is over.

To the Duke Blue Devils, thank you for an exciting, uncertain season of basketball. Two All-Americans, a tried and true system, and a good coach all added up to an unpredictable season of insane chokes vs. brillant individual play.

This was not the best Blue Devil team. However, a good year in all regards. Bitter-sweetly, Duke's ride is over.

*****

In other news, a story from the BBC. Moussaoui had information to track the hijackers of 9/11. FBI could have tracked down the criminals.

Yawn.

Do I really care? Should I care? Really, does America really care about the fact that Al Quida could have been stopped if information had been intercepted, or if someone had ordered extra surveillance, or if someone had volunteered more information? What does this news do for us?

Absolutely nothing: simply put, this type of story is a smoke screen, a what-if scenario that simply clouds us from the stark reality of the situation. The towers were struck, peoples died, and our response has been to disassemble the Taliban in Afghanistan and to depose Saddam Hussein. Meanwhile, Osama bin Laden continues sending low-fidelity messages like a pirate broadcaster, pumping up the volume from his hide-away in a complacent Arab country. Meanwhile, American lives are lost in rebel fighting so fierce that footage of actually fighting has been severely restricted in the US. Meanwhile, non-cooperative individuals the world around have voiced their displeasure of our actions in Iraq, future eroding confidence in the US faster than the dropping of the American economic credit rating.

Pointing fingers is the easy answer. Who dropped the ball, Brownie? Assessment of blame is a constructive activity when paired with the idea that future incidents will be handled in a better manner. However, for all of the improvement in Homeland Security, what happened in New Orleans? Weren't we funneling massive amounts of money so that we would be prepared for the aftermath of disaster stateside? Is it really the fault of a career bureaucrat who was overwhelmed and sent some fatutious emails?

This story is buried for a reason. It demonstrates the ridiculousness of our current government. Only with proper oversight provided by a responsible leadership can America raise itself to speak of stepping toward the future in pursuit of a global democracy. If this is the result of democracy, then Alexander Hamilton was correct. We are a mass of ignorant people lead by holy pied pipers.

*****

Finally, any Howard Stern fans, here's a poll question discussed on the show today: who will be fired first, Sal the Stockbroker or Richard?

The Clamor Answered/Rant about America (Sorry)

In response to the Carolina image that my sister sent me, I finally produced this little jpg. There's nothing sweeter than watching/listening to a true blue Carolina fan regressing inward as the action unfolds toward defeat. Especially if said fan has brow-beat you for a loss in the latest tobacco road battle.

It simply wasn't their time. Not only was this a team of freshmen, wet behind the ears and led by a poster boy for scared white boys (preternaturally skilled as Hanesbourgh is), but there were numerous bungles:

1. Calling for a press while in a tie game, having said press broken, resulting in a basket plus a foul. Roy Williams, you know better.
2. Having a point guard who seems to need a stronger prescription for Ritalin. Did you see him? He was running like a hopped up Ben Johnson chasing the Barry Bonds for some of the Clear.
   
3. Repeatedly fouling, over and over again, in a pitch-perfect mimicry of Michigan State's performance.
4. Having your touted freshman finish with 10 points.
5. Losing your cool against a very tough zone. This defense exposed the over-reliance of UNC to inside presence. Without outside shooting, you cannot beat a zone defense.
   

Obviously, this is easy to write from such a dispassionate perspective. UNC did their best, and I tip my hat(e) to a talented coach who pushed his guys to play better than I thought they would be capable of at this time.

Next year will be excellent for UNC. A great recruiting class, a year of seasoning to the present frosh, and the absence of David "am I really a senior" Noel, will all add up to a Sweet 16 berth at the very least for the boys in baby blue.

Baby blue...still doesn't look manly to me. Even if Jay-Z wears baby blue trainers.

In other tourney news, here are my Peter King-esque quick hit thoughts:

1. That UNC-W/Geo. Wash. game was wonderful. So was Tenn./Winthrop, Kansas/Bradley, UAB/Kentucky, UNC/Murray St, LSU/Texas AM, and Washington/Illinois. No wonder there is such madness.
2. How bummed are you if your Gerry McNamara?
3. NC State looked bad...very bad.
4. Duke looks great.
5. UConn doesn't look nearly as great.

Finally, in unrelated news, I finally figured out what is bothering me so much about the state of television today. The mass media system has always pandered to the low-brow needs of middle America (yes, I'm talking about you, Heartland); thus the fumbling dissolution of miraculous programming such as the Upright Citizens Brigade, Arrested Development, The Book of Daniel, Threshold (yeah, it was semi-intelligent), Jack and Bobby, American Dreams, and Carnivale; but the persistence of imbecilic shows featuring non-funny fat men married to bitchy hot women, procedurals that let the viewer feel smart and sated with neatly wrapped endings, and the inevitable crime shows that reiterate the apparently hard to learn lessons that "crime doesn't pay," and "people are really mean sometimes." Why do these shows work while intelligently written, wonderfully entertaining programs go to TV Hell (great website of cancelled shows from 1998 to present)? I just want to be like Marge from Fargo and state that I just don't understand.

http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Bungalow/5014/TV_HELL.html

Well, here's the answer. I was talking to a student from a conservative, religious, affluent background about the topic of humor. He stated that most people who are intellectuals (his word) seem to like "nasty humor." He couldn't understand why boundaries had to be crossed or tread upon in order to be funny or cutting edge. Mirroring the writing of Mr. Purty in his book "A Case Against Irony," my student stated that safe humor is the best humor.

Safe humor. That's the reason why America is in the state that it currently finds itself mired in. We do not want to rock the boat, test the tensile strength of the fabric of American society.

That's why we do not revolt against a corrupt and unjust government run by a frat-boy monkey and his ne'er do well cronies, thumping their bibles, with each beat pretty pennies fall from the mouths of babes, an ATM all for the picking of the right-ly winged. This is why we drift rapidly back toward a society of back-alley wire hanger abortions, poverty mouthed children living in Reagan-error hypocrisy, and mindlessly angry American militia'ed up ready to knock off the neighborhood towel head.

This is not what America means to me. We need to ask questions, and not accept the spoutings of Bill O'Reilly. For that matter, don't whole-throat swallow Mike Moore or Al Franken...challenge what anyone is saying, find the painful humor and digest that unappetizing dissent. Maybe you'll see something and DO SOMETHING.

Media and culture has always tried to be a mirror for which society can size itself up. Document that freshman 15 that you gained, Mr. America, as you bungled through the 19th century. My, my, you weren't so good and pure, as the tape rolls of your behavior in the 20th. However, we've become accustomed and disenchanted: anything earnest is overturned with the power of cynicism, and anything that blasts through that wall is automatically censored, sanitized for your eyes and ears.

America doesn't want smart things. Those are for pretentious people who want to kill babies, help dope smugglers, and don't love this country. Lee Greenwood people don't like smart TV. So, congratulations, flip on the tube and enjoy your vapid singing idolatry, America, because I'm going to break the hell out of copyright laws and download all the HBO and FX shows I can before you legislate them away for indecency.

Oh yeah, and fuck you.

Random Thoughts

Went through a bunch of old papers as I unpacked boxes with the 'rents.

There were alot of people in my life that are now gone (or limited in contact)

This is going to be a post...just need to organize my thoughts.

***Appended 3.23.06***
To all the people I've disappointed: KY (i was confused), BH (i was young and scared), AD (i was so timid), AL (i loved you from afar until it was too late), KP (i don't function well with responsibility), HCR (time was not on our side), ML (i was impatient), ELF (i was unfair), KDS (i stayed with you too long/too patient), L19 (it shouldn't have happened), BP (the greatest minds often class), SC (i abused your trust), DO'G (let my lust get in the way), DF (i was too proud), GE (i chose a side), GN (why i didn't love you), EG (i was too insecure), ED (i'm too inconsistent), AS (i let you down), D+M (you expected so much more of me), JLN (i'm flawed), CB (i was lost), V (i've lost touch), SG (you were drunk), OG (i was drunk), SB (i was inexperienced), JD (i couldn't watch you fall), MW (i couldn't live up to those expectations), AC (i wasn't ready), DRL (i couldn't follow your footsteps), MB-L (i was ashamed), YGW (i flee), DG (i envied/wanted you), AC (i simply hated you), LE (i still hate you), AG (i couldn't), BA (i misrepresented myself), ADo (i'm still frightened by you), DK (i never was cool), DSL (i lost my way), CF (i did wrong by you), LR (i couldn't finish what i started), AT (i led you on), and all the others.

To those I disappoint currently, or will disappoint, I'm sorry.

One more night

There it is...this evening passes, and its so long to the folks. One more visit over...see you in another year.

What will have changed when I see my parents a year hence?

The Crime and the Glory

According to the 2004 statistics for crime in Baltimore City, the figures are a bit appalling:

47,726 incidents of crime (translating to 7,524.4 crime index per 1000 people)
11,667 murders
4,050 reported robberies
7,159 reported aggrevated assaults
36,059 reported crimes against property

All this from a city that has a reported population of 651,154 people.

Now, if you are a resident Baltimorean, this is no surprise. There is no shock when people discuss the crime in this city. When you say, "my car was broken into," in any other town, there is a sense of shock, a disturbance in an otherwise peaceful mind. Say the same phrase in Baltimore and the listener most likely will cluck their tongue in empathy, launching them into a story about a similar experience.

What gives? Where is the sense of outrage in this city? The only answers that local government cook up involve technologically advanced cameras that film unwatched footage of people walking around the corner to rob at gunpoint.

The main problem is that there is a willful ignorance toward the issue of crime. Who is the enemy? What does the thief or murderer look like? It would be easy to target certain groups of people, which is the tact that the city officials have followed. However, the only way to stop crime is to go to the root cause of crime: unhappiness. Our society is designed so that the all-mighty greenback has an iron-fisted grip of all people. Money is the cause of both supreme happiness and utter despiration.

However, what is the solution? We can't overturn our capitalist ways, try as extreme liberal groups might. Money is here to stay. So is bankrupcy, poverty, and living paycheck to paycheck. We as a society cannot undo the ills that plague us. We cannot stop the pain.

So here's my theory people: give crack out for free.

For those who have nowhere else to turn, self medication is the answer. Numb the pain, the mind is free from the unhappiness of the body. That's why people turn to this stuff. It feels good compared to the relative agony of conscious existence.

That's my bet why someone broke into my car last night. They didn't take anything. I had cleaned out my car in preparation for my parents' visit. However, they rifled through my glove compartment and through the interior, looking for money. That is the only explanation why they didn't take anything else: my satellite radio, the bag of sellable stuff in the trunk...like the last time my car was broken into, the bandit was after cash.

Imagine the frustration for this contemptable soul. No quarters for their dime bag.

How do we stop petty crime? We will never stop rape and murder under our current system. People are too willing to pay the price of getting caught: as Richard Wright intimated, what punishment is worse than living in America's ghettos? However, we can do something with these annoying crimes: give them what they want. Supply the soma to dull the pain. That, or let the bandits roam around rich people's houses. They can afford weekly replacement of vent glasses on their Bentleys.

To end this rant, I have one other story to share on a lighter note. My predictions for upsets in March Madness.

First Round

Texas A&M over Syracuse

NC State over California

Winthrop over Tennessee

Second Round

Bucknell over Memphis

Final Four: Duke, UCLA, UConn, and Villanova: UConn takes it all (and that prediction hurts as a Blue Devil fan)

The Power of Negative Thinking

Standard Chuck Axiom of the Day: To think the worst is to expect the best.

That is all...expect death, and the angel of life will shine down on you.

Also, watch March of Penguins. Good movie. Oh, and Tony Soprano got shot.

The Quick and the Dead

After dining on some papaya, plantain, and baked chicken, I've decided to turn in early. Before I slumber, here's a new way to contact me...

chuckna19 on aol instant messenger

Final thought before more insanity erupts, my sister arrives tomorrow and will be staying in this apartment with me and the visiting folks until the weekend. Will my sanity be strained, or will it be a jolly good time at the swimming hole?

unwicked lad

PS: the CVC does not have problems, she was simply backed up.

And then everything turned itself inside out

How can I compare the wonderous non-events of March, the idles of March as it were. All that build up, and very little explosion.

There is still possibilities for death.

Goodbye

Who so ever believed in me...

Every wonder about the effects of confluence, or the meeting of two or more things in a single point, on day to day life? Take, for example, any of the numerous essays by James Burke in "Circles." For a more mundane example, how about this:


Woke today after my upstairs neighbors decided to have a party that rocked until 4am, thus rephase, woke after barely sleeping. Today is the day before P-Day, the eve prior to a possible familial cataclysm, and I need to have my wits upon me, as William Wallace would say.

Truthfully, the partying didn't bother me so much, as Bravo decided to show Braveheart at 1am (at that hour, why not have the cursing and the gratuitous violence...there aren't any toddlers hanging around the telly at that hour...except for toddlers who have irresponsible parents, who wouldn't really care if their child watched an Englishman's skull being bashed in old school style).

Whilst shuffling about this morning, I realized that I was preparing my room for the wrong reason. THEY (the P1 generation to my F1) wanted a spic-and-span room, one in which everything is in its place, and nothing is out of place. I would be much more comfortable residing in a grimy hovel.

So, I started a mental rebellion. I imagined making the room as dirty as possible, including importing in some fresh Scottish peat to cover the floor, giving the room a perceptible swampy vibe. The ambiance would have been refreshing.

While in the middle of the dream, I come to with a startling realization. I was moving things around from point A to B when I noticed in my right hand a tape dispenser (Scotch Tape!) and an aerosol container that promised to coat certain objects with a layer of Scotch Guard. Really.


Thus, the existence of God: This intersection of fact and fiction, with the backing of my reading a book (hardly a book, more a pulp) called Angels and Demons by the author of DaVinci Code, Dan Brown. In it, there are references to specific coincidences that shape up to prove a conspiracy. Isn't that what its all about?

Find meaning in anything and truly believe, people!

- This message from the Ad Council of Faith and Interdependence

The Car and How Impending Doom Is Upon Me

First off, a hearty "thank you" to the people at Brentwood Automotive for fixing the Honda. Honest, hardworking people who deserve your business. Great mechanics.

http://www.brentwoodauto.com/index.html

Now, onto the news. My parents are flying into town on Monday, for their annual long visit. The world of Chuck has changed much since their last visit, and I'm in for a grilling. The powers of Mom, especially, to make me squirm as she probes deeper into my scattered mind for evidence to use against me. This is not hyperbole, she actually searches for info, then with said info, clobber me with verbal barrages until I am shuddering on the floor, bruised and defeated. Such power does my mother have.

Meanwhile, Dad will be reading a book, pretending like he doesn't hear anything...that is, until Mom pulls a "do you hear what your son is saying" routine.

Yeehaw.

So, until the parental storm passes, pray for me, America, that you will see me again after the Korean storm hurls through Chuck-land.

That's that.

The Rarity of the Mid-Week Post

Teaching...a profession not conducive to regular blog posts. Before I turn in tonight, an email my sister sent me.



Ouch.

Standing Water

How many times does a person have to say something in order to be heard? Sometimes, there seems to be a riotous insanity that surrounds a single voice, howling desert surges, so that the only hearing is the singular buzz of static.

On Golden West

Brunch with ELV after a wild evening of watching hoops and staying up into the wee hours of the morning playing the updated staple of my generation, Oregon Trail 5.

Golden West Cafe is a funky location that serves southwest inspired food with an odd fetish for asian tastes. There are plenty of better reviews of this restaurant on the internet, and I am not going to try to emulate their cheers for this Hampden institution.

What I did want to note was that there were diners who came into the restaurant as we were finishing our meals (polenta vs. salmon omelette). A child, a lovely little baby, had on a head wrap thing (baby hat is it?) that had little teddy bear ears.

Standard Chuck Maxim 50: Dress your babies up as cute woodland creatures.

Come on, that's freakin' adorable.

Old Vauxy Pics

Pictures of Vauxy as a little thing.



...but cats are still evil.

The agony and the ecstasy

The Tarheels of North Carolina were simply out-performing the Duke Blue Devils, and I was sitting dejected on the floor as ELV slept soundly on the couch. The roomie had left, claiming exhaustion, but still I sat, eyes glued to the screen in a mixture of serene hopelessness and abject un-feeling. The team that I cheered for did not appear to want to be on that wood court, but rather anywhere else. Perhaps Coach K wanted a nice cold mint julep in his hand as he sinks ever deeper into his overstuffed armchair. Maybe Redick wanted to flip through a catalogue tailored to those who will be exceedingly wealthy from NBA money. For sure, Melchionni wanted an icy pack on his ankle held in place by a busty communications major.

The worst thing about this loss came from the notion that Duke should have won. They are the number one ranked team (until the next poll is published) and everyone touted that fact that this was Duke's game to win. Humbled by the Seminoles, there was no way that the hated rivals would win, especially surrounded by the heaving bosoms of the crazies. However, Duke is not that good this year. As Dickie V noted, coherently I might add, this team is an overacheiving bunch. The only way to beat North Carolina, more than any other team in any other game, is by willing a victory...and there was no will in Durham tonight.

While I pondered the lost opportunities of the game, I picked up a copy of "The Spoken Word Revolution," an excellent introduction to slam and hip hop poetry. In an article entitled "The Future of Language," Saul Williams wrote that the future of language would involve us getting closer and closer to being able to articulate the unspoken. In other words, there are words that don't exist, things in this world that is not encapsulated by a spoken utterance. Where is the word for that moment after exhilaration, that emptiness that pokes your heart as you sigh, fooling yourself that its contentment. What do you say when you hear the worst news about a happening to someone you know, but not in a close relationship? Surely, the most appropriate response isn't "Wow," or "I'm so sorry."

Take for instance the missed free throws by Darius Washington last year. Would you describe that soul crushing? Agonized? Defeated? Something else, a moment so heavy that crumpled the body of a young man and mesmerized a nation. How can you celebrate while one man's misery is so clearly broadcast for everyone's viewing enjoyment? The eternal om could have been the only sound appropriate to drown out the screams shielded behind his jersey.

Why am I writing so dejectedly after a regular season tobacco road game? I think the cruelty of March Madness, a perfect encapsulation of our American Dream, is becoming apparent to me. We dream about successes that match on par with our aspirations. Whether it be money to live comfortably, lust for an attractive sexual mate, or admiration from the others surrounding you, we all want to win the game and be the hero. We want to cut down the nets in symbolic freedom of having to hang around the sidelines and silently swish for the achievements of others. Yet, for every human who becomes a champion, thousands lay at his feet, vanquished.

So, enjoy the victory. Defeat is all around, in siege, raising a war cry that rings throughout the land.

Hard Sleep/Random Zombie Ramble

Waking up in the mid-afternoon. I can't seem to get my circadian cycle to fit in with the rest of the natural world. Been happening since the last year of high school. Can't break habit. Must rest. Restlessness. Destroying. Normalcy.

Why does it seem that there are different types of sleep? More specifically, what kind of sleeping am I doing when I wake up with my neck, back, and knees aching with discomfort? Perhaps consciousness is a dream and I am merely falling awake. Perhaps I have finally joined the ranks of the walking un-awake.

Zombies. Of all the creations of horror movies and stories, zombies frighten me the most. I think that there is something to be said about their mindless stumble toward human sweet meat. But of all the zombies in all the movies, I think some of them really outshone the others. So, in honor of the proximity of Les Oscars, here are my nominees for various zombie movie awards.


Scariest Zombies
A. Dawn of the Dead (remake)
B. 28 Days Later
C. Night of the Living Dead (original)
D. Zombie (1979)



Funkiest Zombies: Hands down, the winners are the zombies from Michael Jackson's Thriller, followed by Peter Jackson's Dead Alive.

Sexiest Zombie: Easily Tara Reid

Coolest Zombie Spoken Scene:
A. Brains Brains Brains from Night of the Living Dead (Remake)
B. I'm going to swallow your soul in Army of Darkness
C. Crazy little girl roar in Dawn of the Dead (Remake)
D. Anything uttered in Plan 9
E. George W's pitch perfect zombie yowl in State of the Union (04)

This is something to see

Shark takes out kayak

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n23_IsU4Uic&feature=Discussed&page=1&t=m&f=b

matrix pingpong

http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-8079411349144989883

Disassemble

From Perry Bible Fellowship, http://www.cheston.com/pbf/#

Short Script: Scratching

At a local Ruby Tuesdays, corner booth, pre-no smoking ban era, two men are sitting across from one another, killing time as they wait for their standard entrees. Both professionals in cubicles, they have their ties undone, enjoying their second pint for a penny. Jim, late 20's, and Paul, mid 30's, converse.

Paul: Well, that's what Anton said.
Jim: Damn.
Paul: You know, if these IT guys would just do what they're getting paid for, then maybe I could get some work done.
Jim: I hear ya.

Jim leans over and fumbles under the table. Paul continues to rant.

Paul: Well, did you hear about the situation upstairs? The old man is gonna blow if the quarterly numbers don't add up. New York is anxious about...(distracted)...what the hell are you doing?
Jim: Scratching my feet.
Paul: Disgusting.
Jim: Got bad athelete's feet. Right on the side of foot. Three itchy little islands.
Paul: Ick.
Jim: Worst thing is, scratched them so much that they're oozing.
Paul: Alright, dude, that's sick. Change the topic.
Jim: Yeah. So you were saying.
Paul: Yeah, well, the thing is...

Jim continues to scratch.

Paul: Stop already.
Jim: I'm listening.
Paul: I can't, you're distracting me. We're in a restaurant, for crying out loud.
Jim: That tinactin doesn't do anything for me.
Paul: Christ
Jim: Alright, I'm stopping

Uncomfortable silence. Jim starts drumming his fingers on the table.

Paul: hey, could you stop that?
Jim: sorry, that bother you?
Paul: Nah, feet germs, on the table?!
Jim: Oh
Paul: you're disgusting, i'm out of here.
Jim: don't want your food? Its coming out in a second.
Paul: Nah
Jim: Oh, by the way.
Paul: Yeah?
Jim: I fucked your wife.

End.

First Post: Palak Paneer, Poker, and the Patter of Paws

and so it begins...



Turns out this evening will end just like many of my recent Friday nights. Details of my Friday events will not be posted, as boredom would consume anyone who happens into this poor man's plog. Why was web log shortened to blog? Why not we-be-log, or the Job-ian i-log? Random thought, has anyone ingested a Stuckey's Pecan Log and not experienced a nostalgic sense of triumph? Not because of the sugary taste-explosion, but rather, in a "I just spat in the faces of all health experts by eating that" act. Not that I had one recently, but anything anti-medical rationale is groovy with me.




So, tonight, had some Indian food with the virtuous and upright ELV (all names initialized for maximal confidentiality, or IFMC). Two things to note from this seemingly unimportant event, both becoming maxims for me to live by.

1. Palak paneer, that staple North Indian dish, is delicious with rice and na'an. Palak paneer is incredible when consumed with rice, na'an, and Yuengling while watching the Big Lebowski with ELV. Palak paneer becomes down-right life changing if consumed after having salted kipper snack for lunch. StandardChuck maxim #46: Never eat salted kipper snack.

2. We purchased a bottle of Pinot Grigio from a local merchant, the Schnapps Shop. StandarcChuck maxim #7: Do not purchase wine from any place that sells exclusively wines priced under $15. The fluid, judging from one sip, smelled faintly of sour cabbage juice and tasted like something squeezed from an old wet sponge used to clean a spill of Olive Garden house white wine. A complex flavor, yes, but you should not be able to detect a hint of peat in a wine.




Played some online poker. First of all, is it O.K. to be simulateously excited playing in a hand and also bored out of one's mind? I don't know why I play. I don't win enough to make it worth my while, and it hasn't been much fun. Perhaps the utterly-hubristic human drive of greed has enveloped me and now my mind has released the hormone of disgust to break me of this cutthroat time waster. From now on, I'll stick to watching Phil Ivey looking intensely bored on ESPN.

Finally (this inaugural post is too darn long), I have to mention the surgical procedure that Cantankerous Vauxy Cat (CVC) had her woman-surgery today. Heeding the sermon of Bob Barker, Vauxy is now less of a woman, and yet holds her tail up proudly, despite a shorn belly.