Oh what a lovely tea party!

What was I thinking?

What in the hell was it that pushed me to the point where I thought I could handle the machine...control it?

The smoothed cement floor was cold, that is the first thing I remember. The floor was cold and I felt disoriented as hell, the kind of feeling that overcomes you when you stand up too fast...a head rush.

The walls were kind of off-green, light with scratchings all around them. I tried to stay calm, looking around slowly and squinting hard, trying to shake the eyesores in the blinding light coming from the buzzing flourescent bulbs running lenghtwise overhead. The room was small, the lights buzzed and a stainless steel toilet and faucet combo that is definately not found in the Sears catalog ran water lightly in the far corner of the room. I remember thinking how someone should really fix that and conserve that water.

There were no windows in the room save for one that sat about 8"x8" in the corner directly opposite the running toilet. Voyeurism makes me sick, but what gives me a far worse feeling in the pit of my stomach is the instance at which you realize you are in a room with a window that sits on a door with no visible handle. I was stuck here and there was no way out.

There is quite possibly no worse feeling I have ever felt than waking up on a freezing January morning incarcerated, knowing only that but a few hours before, you were sitting in a beautiful bar with beautiful people drinking beautiful scotch, and now you are sitting there in the cold, alone, and not sure what you have done that landed you here. Did I kill someone...all I could think of was vehicular manslaughter, a thought that choked me up and left me gasping for air.

I guess I consider myself lucky, looking at the situation. I was drunk beyond recognition. I drove my car in a blackout state, and nobody was hurt. Nothing was hurt except for my future, but knowing that I still have one is enough. Don't drink and drive, friends...it is never worth it.

NETWORK!

"Television is not the truth. Television is a goddamn amusement park. Television is a circus, a carnival, a traveling troupe of acrobats, story tellers, dancers, singers, jugglers, sideshow freaks, lion tamers and football players. We're in the boredom-killing business."
When Howard Beale (actor Peter Finch) shouts this to his hoard of listeners (60 million strong at the time), I start to feel chills that I imagine researchers probably felt upon discovering Nostradamus' last book.

Okay, so maybe that is taking things a wee bit too far, but come on, it's like Paddy Chayefsky wrote the character to be the perfect prophet, foretelling things not only in the present to near future, but in the distant future as well. Director Sidney Lumet's film is a perfect social criticism on the world of broadcast media. Although I only caught half of the film during our classes screening, I have to say that the film was quite an experience.

Television is the bane of my existence, and although I recognize it's importance in our popular culture, I can't help but find it completely useless in my life. I have not had cable aside from living within the four walls of my parents home, and that one time I spliced my landlord's cable as a special way to say "Thanks!" for raising my rent, but all in all I see television as evil. I read a study on childhood obesity, and it talked of how parents will overfeed their children if a television is on during eating times, as well as consume more themselves. Children learn from their parents and pick up tendencies, one of which can be overeating, which is affected indirectly by the television through the parents. Are you still with me?

When we were watching the film, I found myself really enjoying the theatre production that was Howard Beale. Everything he said made me smile a little, especially his rant on television in general. The film was a good insight into what it would be like working in the power-hungry, money-grubbing hands of television executives.

All in all I enjoyed the film, Faye Dunaway was a stone-cold fox and the film provided me with the most awkward sex scene I have seen aside from that of Ben Stiller's in the Heartbreak Kid remake, in which Malin Ackerman screams "Jackhammer me!" Old Ben had no clue.

My one gripe is that the ending sucked. It was meaningful, but much like the ending in Easy Rider, it is just like they gave up, but I am nobody to lecture on the importance of hard work and not procrastinating, therefore i will just shut up now.

Letting the Tiger out of the cage

With the month of March quickly coming to an end, people across the country are packing away their winter wear and surveying the aisles at malls and department stores in search of the newest spring fashions.

Although I like the warmth of the sunshine and the ability to wear shorts and flip-flops on a regular basis, the weather reports are not what have kept me in the habit of picking up the Kearney Hub on a day-to-day basis and tearing open the front page like a child opening presents at Christmas-time.

What draws my attention and has me teeming with anticipation is the fact that Spring not only means enjoyable weather, it also signifies the fact that golfers around the world are hitting the driving range in preparation for the Masters Tournament that will be held on April 8-11 at Augusta.

The tournament that is not only the Super Bowl of golf, but also one that will mark the return of the sport's favorite and most controversial son, Tiger Woods.

In a press conference held last Tuesday, Woods made it known to the public that he has planned his return to the sport, which is a moment I have been looking forward to since his scandal-ridden leave of absence in mid-January.

"The Masters is where I won my first major and I view this tournament with great respect. After a long and necessary time away from the game, I feel like I'm ready to start my season at Augusta," Woods said during the conference.

His decision will no doubt bring forth many jeers from fans across the world, especially due to the fact that the tournament is one that requires only one thing of it’s participants aside from the ability to swing a club and knock a little ball into a hole…they must have a penis.

The Augusta National is a tournament that is all male, meaning that the Michelle Wie’s of the world will have to once again sit this one out.

There have already been reports of female protesters citing that Woods’ decision to return is one that suggests a continued lack of moral standing, and many have problems forgetting the fact that Woods refused to boycott the Master’s Tournament only a year ago for it’s refusal to allow a woman to play in the tournament, a decision made ironically to keep Woods out of the oft judgmental eyes of the controversy-hungry media.

Although this decision is one that is slowly coming back to haunt him, especially after his exploits in dalliance and infidelity, people need to remember that Woods' mere involvement in the game, let alone his prowess, is a positive mark for the sport that at one time only held color beneath the weight of a bag of clubs on a caddie’s shoulders.

When the tournament kicks off in a few short weeks, there is no doubt in my mind that all eyes will be focused hard on Woods, and although it is near impossible for him to play the course without any jests and jeers, I say that its about time we let Tiger out of his cage, so that he can get back to doing what he does best, which is continually changing the face of golf.

aches and pains

My collar bone aches, my head is pounding and it is bitter cold outside my bedroom window. Each gust of wind makes the tree branches tap tap tap and scratch scratch scratch like a cat on the wrong side of the door. I can't ride a bike because of my shoulder. I can't drive a car because of my alcoholic tendencies, and now the last thing I want to do is wander out into the freezing winds and make my way to work on the soles of my shoes. What ever happened to blissful ignorance? What ever happened to waking up and having a warm breakfast waiting? We grow up so fast and never seem to even notice how much we change each day. How could we? Today my hair is longer than it was when I fell asleep, but no matter, there is nothing I can do to stop it. This used to tear at me. I always felt like I was living on someone elses stopwatch, like if I didnt get something done in a timely manner the world would end. Well, here I sit today, aching head, aching shoulder, my mind screaming and my heart beating, and I gotta say it's been one helluva ride so far, and no matter what the train keeps rolling.

Give a little bit...

It wasn't until I reached the age of 18 that I realized just how wonderful life was if you lived it with the tribal mentality. Up until that point, although I would consider myself a nice, giving person, I was still what you would call materialistic. Sure I would lend out DVDs or let my buddies wear my shoes that they loved, but I always found myself making checklists and looking for any sign of a scuff mark on the newest pair of Nike Dunks I had recently loaned out. I would never call anyone out on a scuff or a scratched CD track, but I would get so angry. I was protective, much like most people in this world because I had bought the items.
As Dean Jacobs talked about today, some of the cheaper places to travel have the nicest and most honest people. This is because they still realize that every single person on this earth holds a certain value, something that we in America no longer take notice of as we are all too wrapped up in our day-to-day routines with our noses pressed to our Blackberry screens, our thumbs becoming our most frequented tools for communication.
How is it that we have come to this. I think of 1492. I think of Vonnegut, the most distinct voice in a sea of satirists, and about what he wrote in his famed novel, Breakfast of Champions. speaking of our first "inhabitants/discoverers", Vonnegut refers to our ancestors as pirates, because we essentially killed, maimed and enslaved our way to ownership of this now great nation we salute daily as the land of the free. But who is really free anymore. Vonnegut writes, "The chief weapon of the sea pirates, however, was their capacity to astonish. Nobody else could believe, until it was much too late, how heartless and greedy they were."
We used those peoples trust against them, a practice still used heavily in today's society. Deception in an undying fad and we are all in practice in some way shape or form. Even women who harmlessly chat up a guy with meaningless flirtation is using deception to get a drink without opening her pocketbook.
My parents always told me that I am way too giving and open with my possessions. At the bar, I generally spend more money buying my friends numerous drinks than I spend on my own self. In my home, many a time a person has remarked about anything from a painting to a t-shirt and how appealing they find it to be, and I will take it off its hanger and present it to them, no questions asked. All the food I buy I share, and I will often buy enough food for a week and make it all in one day, inviting some friends or roommates to dine with me. Some would just say I love being around people, Others would say that I was teeming with charm, most would say I am crazy but at least I can say I am happy.
I first learned the beauty and joy of tribal living when I met Ben, an artist friend and fellow Loper who was painting his way to a degree. Ben invited me over to his house one day (a totally random occurance) because we had met through a common friend. I almost felt honored by the fact that he remembered who I was let alone wanted to hang out with me.
The first time I ever set foot into Ben's apartment, it was like someone had crammed the entire set of The Rocky Horror Picture Show into space roughly 25 feet by 12 feet. There were mannequin heads, plastic arms, a stack of unused TV's, random strange articles of clothing and enough cans of paint to coat the apartment 100 times over. The fridge was stocked with beer and dumpster-dived food, and Ben reached in, grabbed a cold one and said "help yourself!"
I was in shock, because as I reached in slowly and picked up a can, Ben told me to eat something if I felt like it. Soon, with enough day-old foods to fill my stomach and enough golden brown goodness to wash it down, I found myself in the center of the room, sitting on the floor across from Ben. He was going off about life, and how pointless it is if you can't smile and enjoy yourself. He told me about giving, and how it makes him feel better to see someone else wearing one of his shirts and loving the way the fabric rubs against their skin in the breeze, and the elation that brought him was far greater than owning the shirt himself. As I was readying to leave, I saw a painting on his wall (their wasn't a space in the house void of artwork) and told him it was great. I stopped, stared at it for a moment and made my exit. The next day, as I got out of class, I returned to my dorm room in mens hall to find the painting leaning against my door with a note on it that said "Real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present - Albert Camus".

Ben asked me to keep the painting, but much how I had come to hold it was the only way he ever wanted others to hold it. I was so touched by this that I began spending all my time at Ben's house. I met dozens of people and learned many lessons about life. During the time I spent there, I had seen at least 50 people find shelter on Ben's couch or under his staircase, it was like a flophouse for artists. Ben never once asked anything of me or those people, yet he gave so much of himself. Over the years I have held and passed on nearly 25-30 of his works, and they now hang in houses throughout the state...a few have even left the country. I have given away brand new shoes (never worn dunks at $145 once even), half of my wardrobe, books, movies, food, a TV and more drinks than one could imagine. I have housed more than 50 people, sometimes up to a week at a time, and I have trusted every person I have come into contact with.
Sure it has bitten me in the ass on a few occasions, but for the most part, I would say that I have lived a wonderfully happy life amidst my friends and our never-dying giving tree. I guess what I am saying is that our talk with Dean really made me realize just how much I value my life, my friends and the choices I have made.

yakka foob tubbawup gazork wizzbang coca cola fireman.

Noah Gundersen wrote, "Time is a fast car passing me by. I'm getting older and it feels alright." As I sit here in my 24th year of living in this glorious "*land of the free" I start to realize that although we are all getting older, there is really no reason to feel alright about it. I have tried everything, from taking batteries out of clocks to never turning my calendar over at the start of a new month, but all in all, everyday that I wake up, I look and feel old. Older. My hair is getting thinner, my back is already developing aches and pains, and I am just waiting for the day that my hip goes out and I can no longer achieve an erection without the help of a pill. Don't get me wrong people, that stage of my life is far off from the present, but that doesn't mean it won't seem like just a day ago I was sixteen and running my car into a ditch about the time i reach 80. It seems to me like I am always chasing time, but like a dog on a leash, I ca only chase that fast car to the borders that have been laid out for me. Predetermined. Everything is timing. Fuck time. I think I will just start watching NASCAR in a cut-off Def Leppard t-shirt and homemade jean shorts, drink a shitload of Pepsi and Busch Light, put some Garth Brooks on the stereo and try to find my place here in the midwest, because God knows if I will ever escape this flatland of nothingness that holds me captive, so I may as well get accustomed to it. Drink Bleach, robots are coming to kill us all. What? What? OK Yeah. Dramamine Dramamine Evolution Revolution Retribution Self-Destruction Coitus Coitus Coitus COITUS Octopus arms in a sea of red, Horror Show Horror Show Whorer Show Bedlam Bedlam its all a fucking dream and merrily merrily merrily we float down a river of rootbeer, therefore we are root beer floats. Mare Night Night night nite nite Nightmare its all a nightmare its all a N.I.G.H.T.M.A.R.E. dream dream dream the day away . I love Chai Tea and cigarettes floating in an ashtray on a rainy day in august. I love snowfall in the summer. Absurdity is blissfulness. Blissfulness is Masturbation. Masturbation is life. Sex is Neat. NEAT.




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