There are times that I wish I could be addicted to something. While hanging out with the local chumps I hear the war stories of people that were an addict. There is nothing better than listening to someone recount an experience that led them through the streets of Philadelphia on a path of destruction to find that last little shit who wants to sell him some crack.
Some of the world’s fucked-up people are the people that interest me. If you are crazy and hear voices in your head I want to know who they are. Do they sound like Burt Reynolds or Sean Connery? I think it would absolutely amazing to have the ominous voice of Charlie Manson speaking to me at totally irrelevant times. How many people can say that a serial killer talks to them while they are commuting to work?
I don’t care who you are. You cannot tell me that you have not at least once thought about what it would be to labeled clinically insane. I’m not talking about slit-my-wrists-emo insane; I mean the people that walk through the halls of Ancora eating crayons and smearing Elmer’s glue on their tongue. These are the type of people that decide to mold their feces in the shape of the Pope, or weave a blanket out of the hair that they had shed.
I am a firm believer that half of these people lie about these craziness. It would be nice to be delusional and hear the voice of a raving madman for a couple of minutes. Unfortunately I am not the type of person to go through a drug induced stupor in order to hear a second or third voice in my head whisper sweet-nothings into my consciousness.
Obviously a vast majority of these people are crazy. But what about the people that aren’t? Maybe Elvis is really speaking to that a random lunatic and all he wants is another peanut-butter and fried banana sandwich. Who knows?
Oh what I would give to be crazy for a couple of hours. It might answer so many questions in my life.
When living in an apartment it has generally been an acceptable practice to take out the garbage on time, pay the electric and gas bills on time, and generally be a good neighbor to all of your fellow homosapiens. Another general practice is to make sure that the children that you have bore both in and out of wedlock are properly disciplined.
Now, back when I was a kid this meant listening to your mother, playing nicely with your siblings and doing what you were told. Back when I was a kid, if you did not do what you were told, Papa would come home and show you the wrath of God which usually resulted in you thinking twice the next time you decided to defy an order. If you were stupid enough to do the same thing more than twice then it was usually time to stop using the belt and starting using more inanimate objects: the door, the wall, a lawn chair.
When I moved into my new apartment in August, despite all of the usual expectations of an apartment in Newark, it was actually a rather pleasant experience. I had escaped the wrath of Residence Life deciding to turn on the air conditioning about the three weeks too late and a maintenance request taking longer than the trip to candy mountain to be serviced. The benefits most definitely outweighed the costs (and trust me, Residence Life despite all of their falters during my tenure there did not drop the ball when it came to that $750 cancellation fee).
That was until I found out there were two inexperienced parents living upstairs who decided to have children a little too early in their “relationship” (in quotes because I do not fully understand the situation regarding Mommy and Daddy). This meant that while I was watching a football game I had the second floor menaces screaming at the top of their lungs and playing their own game of “Who could be the loudest during the Giant’s football game?”
I am a firm supporter of parents having the ability to beat their children. The recent teachings about being a good “parent” and using “positive” reinforcement helps the development of children. We are living in an age where parents are scared to discipline their student because some gung-ho grammar school teacher will report them to child services.
I envision a future where we will begin outsourcing he beatings of our children to a paid service so that the liabilities can be transferred via ink on a paper. Because we are living in a world where we do not like to be responsible for our actions. But not I, because beating my child is one privilege of parenthood that I am absolutely looking forward to – DYFS, I’ll send you an IOU.
It is almost impossible not to get into the holiday spirit this time of year. As I walked through the campus this week the brisk air and the dusting of snow brought back the memories of Christmas past. For a few moments, in my half-buzzed state, I thought that I was Bill Murray and one of the three ghosts was about to pop out and bring me into my possible future obnoxious self. Of course after realizing the light was merely a reflection of a police siren I went back to my walk.
What is it about this time of year that makes everyone warm and fuzzy inside? Of course, at this point in life it signifies the end of another semester and the start of a short break before the next. But there are a few things that irk me enough to write an article about the stupid things that people do this time of year.
Women have called me many things, one does not include being chivalrous, but I most definitely take the time to hold the door open for the poor schlep behind me in the blistering cold. Unfortunately, it seems that this said individual wearing sorority letters was not taught the same manners as I. She neglected to hold the door open for me not once, not twice, but three times as I was walking into Laurel Hall. My only guess was that I wasn’t good looking enough and she hoped to help me by letting the door slam into my face.
A few years ago, maybe a decade, there were soccer moms killing each other in line at KB Toys for a Tickle-Me-Elmo doll. Does your kid really need this doll so much that you are willing to fight tooth and nail with another parent for it? This damn thing was made by kids in China or Taiwan working for a few cents per day. These poor little children were pricking their fingers sewing up the hole on your new daughter’s doll. Do you really want to blood of the innocent Chinese children, including a crazed parent, on your hands so that your daughter feels with the in crowd?
No matter how early you decide to get up there is always some asshole that decided to wake his children up at the crack of dawn to beat you to the roads. This prick resembles everything that is considered evil about holiday traffic. He is the guy that “forgets” to use the blinker when he is changing lanes on the highway, the same guy that double parks in the morning at Wawa when you are getting coffee, and often can be seen doing ninety-five on the Parkway in a minivan.
There is often an epic battle going on between myself and said individual. The man looks over at me when we are going through the tollbooth and locks his gaze onto me; I now have a target painted on my forehead. At this point I must now accept his challenge, as a man, in order to preserve the sanctity of my manhood. In my soul I know that it is going to be a longwinded battle of vehicular knowledge and my ability to be stealth in my speeding and lawbreaking practices. In the end, like Highlander, there can be only one.
Footnote: Please be sure to have a safe and happy holiday season. Be sure to allow sorority women through doors after you, avoid eye contact with men driving minivans and make sure that soccer mom doesn’t kill you for the next Tickle-Me-Elmo doll. You can heed my words as truth, fiction or somewhere in between; I’m a stubborn, obnoxious, humble, sometimes ignorant (and rarely arrogant) bastard, but I choose my words carefully. You should too, because sticks and stones might break bones, but as Imus can attest – words most definitely hurt you.
There are few things that are better in life than relaxing at home, drinking and watching the football game while gorging yourself on turkey and mashed potatoes. Then, as sure as the hands on a clock, that tryptophan invites his amino acid buddies in and the next think you know there serotonin is hookin’ on the corner double-fisting a beer and a bottle of Jack. Whilst this internal battle between amino acids waged on, your cousin tried to make brownies in an ez-bake oven and the dog is in the back yard chasing an alligator-rat.
You would be amazed the things that you miss when you are in a state of relaxation, but more so, the amazement comes when you realize that you held a full conversation with someone during that ordeal. There are some things that should not be said to family members, I firmly constitute full disclosure amongst immediate family, but your Grandmother doesn’t need to know about your sexual escapades with a girl that you thought was named Susan.
There is nearly an absolute certainty to Spring Break that often gets overlooked when people fly home, go on a road trip, or end up in Cancun. This concept, which has been celebrated publicly for over one hundred years, was originally intended as a religious day of worship, but now has involved into my favorite holiday of the year.
That’s right ladies and gentleman, the root of part of my heritage will be satisfied soon, because Saint Patrick’s Day is less than a week away. As soon as that little rodent came out of his hole at the beginning of February I could already smell the corned beef and cabbage on my plate. I will put the finishing touches on my party plans, head out to the local store to buy the survival supplies and, of course, green food coloring.
Before all of you immediately think that my only plan this weekend is to pour liquor down my throat with a plastic tube, well, I can tell you that its not my only plan! There, of course, are the unforgettable memories that are shared between friends on this great holiday that only comes once a year. You know, those pictures of you with your hand around your buddy and making an embarrassing face, or an obscene gesture.
But, how many days a year can you buy obscene amounts of alcohol, gather together with some of your best friends in the world, consume caloricaly, disgusting amounts of beef, and blame it all on the Roman Catholics? All the while, able to wear a green wig, hats, necklaces and clothing – and not looking like an absolute freak, or the jolly green giant?
That’s right, all of those great things mashed into one big happy bundle of joy. I could not ask for a better holiday, in fact, I would not want to ask for a better holiday!
Saint Patrick’s Day is one of those holidays that you should avoid the eldest members of your family at all costs. You don’t want to be sloppy drunk, wearing your birthday suit and holding a mug of beer in your hands. That’s just not good form my friends, please be sure to keep all of your clothes on, because these are not the types of stories that you want your parents to be telling your kids.
Remember, everyone is Irish on Saint Patrick’s Day!
Most people cherish the moments that they have with their family, and unfortunately, the majority of people that move on with their lives only see the family on the holidays. If you so happen to sticking around home during the holiday, make sure to spend some time with those that you do not get to see too often, and make sure that the next time that you decide to go over your portfolio of Kama Sutra with Grandma, make sure to leave out the nitty-gritty. She does not want to hear that your nickname is “John Wayne” in bed, and that the girl whose name you vaguely remember as Susan wore a pair of leather boots with spurs.
You wouldn’t want to receive a hand-knitted sweater with a picture of a leather saddle on it, would you? Didn’t think so. Keep the sexual innuendos away from Grandma.
As I have gotten older and older there have been less and less on television that interests me to a point where I would call myself a “follower” of a particular television show. While watching some Saturday morning cartoons I ask myself: Were cartoons this horrible when I was watching them years ago? But after doing some quick mathematics (and remembering a little from economics) I am starting to believe that due to the fact there are more and more channels available the amount of quality programming goes down.
There has been a resurrection of television from when I was a kid. I am starting to see older movies on television more often, the Cartoon Network has been playing the older episodes of ‘Scooby Doo’ and it seems that every week on television ‘My Cousin Vinny’ can be found on one channel or another.
I have found my pleasure in ‘House’ on FOX, more recently ‘Reaper’ on the WB and the ‘Bionic Woman’ on NBC. There were gambles taken with ‘Firefly’ (that proved to only gain a second life after the series was canceled) and ‘Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles.’ But the television bigwigs are being way too cautious with programming and refusing to take gambles with new ideas.
Even the movie industry is falling back on old franchises to bring moviegoers back to the silver screen. Over the break ‘Alien vs. Predator’ hit the screens near Christmas, ‘Star Trek’ had a teaser trailer at the beginning of ‘Cloverfield’ and for the past six months Sly has been all over the screen with ‘Rambo.’
The executives of the major film companies would like to blame the fact movie sales have been at all time lows due to piracy, but the fact of the matter is that we don’t like purchasing a steaming pile of shit. Even if the odor has been disguised the fact still remains: the vast majority of movies lately have been crap.
Now, the fact has been obviously seen due to all of the re-makes, spin-offs and reruns we seen on television and in theaters. Unfortunately, the reason all comes down to the same thing regardless of which industry: money. It costs money to produce a new franchise that nine times out of ten wouldn’t yield the same result if they just slapped another ‘Star Trek’ movie together with a big name director attached.
I am tired of the same thing. Most of the innovation in the technology industry comes from start-ups, research universities or rogue elements of a bigger corporation. It all comes down to the little guy. When a single person has a great idea, the perseverance and rolls the dice: that’s when great things happen.
Hopefully a few good things come out of this Writer’s Guild strike. One thing I would like to see are more gambles being taken with relatively unknown writers. There are thousands of novels out there with great stories that when I finish reading them I think, “Damn this could totally be a great movie.”
So I hope that the industry will stop making a debauchery of my childhood. I am tired of seeing some half-assed adaptation of great movies (‘Alien vs. Predator’ immediately comes to mind) and I am tired of seeing the same television on all three hundred unnecessary channels. We should all tell the entertainment industries to grow a pair and stop blaming their lack of creativity on us.
If you have an idea for a story, short-film or series don’t be afraid to tell other people. Get the word out and start filming some amateur footage. Who knows, maybe you’ll be able to convince the idiots spending millions of dollars on liquid feces such as ‘Norbit.’
I usually make it a habit not to talk about classes that I am currently taking. It makes for some awkward situations. But there are times that I simply can’t resist (or, as it is with this case, have nothing else to write about).
The first day that I started a particular class this semester caused me to immediately become so enraged that I wanted to rush to the registrar and yell at someone. Some of the required curriculum at this university boggles my mind. What is the meaning of forcing a student, some of which are commuters with full time jobs, to perform community service in order to get a grade in class?
What really ticked me off was the fact that I am indeed paying for this community service through my tuition fees. The grade that I would be getting at the end of the semester would have something to do with how well I can write a paper based upon my experience slaving myself away for some non-profit organization.
What, you’re telling me I can’t just stand on the corner in Newark with a cardboard sign that says, “Will work IT for free (non-profits only, please)?”
But what originally got me thinking about this was if there was any benefit to the university for having its students perform community service on behalf of their class. Of course, there was an existing list of organizations needing free help.
I am going to be liberal with the mathematics here, but lets say that there are twenty students in the class. That means that each semester, for each enrolled student in this class full of twenty students, now has to perform community service.
I’m not quite sure how many sections are being taught this semester, but lets say that there are sixty students enrolled in three sections of this particular course. Each student must perform thirty hours of community service.
Okay, keep up.
That is twenty students, three sections, and thirty hours per student. That means this school, utilizing my quite liberal calculation, is squeezing eighteen hundred hours of community service per semester out of the student’s wallets. That’s a lot of free labor.
There are some people that might think that community service builds character. But shouldn’t that be my choice to give up my precious hours (that are far and few as it already is)?
While I am in college, slaving away with a paper and pencil at math and physics problems, I don’t expect my university to take advantage of me. That, of course, is reserved for my future employer that wishes me to on-call seven days a week twenty four hours a day.
So what’s next? Are we going to be required to perform a campus cleanup as part of our humanities curriculum?
Before the hate mail and phone calls from administrators start to file in I want to make it clear: I am not against community service. I am against this being in a required class. If this class was an elective, and it was upfront that I would need to perform said requirements, then I would absolutely have no complaint (I would just not take the course). But that’s not the case, is it?
If you are going to dangle the “A” above my head like I am dog at least let me choose a company that I am going to learn something at. I enjoy the challenge of something new. I would much rather have the option of working for a company for thirty hours where I would learn something other than how my existing skills that I learned outside of academia are being slaved out to an organization that should be putting money into the economy.
I am pretty sure how much I am worth, but because this school will be my future alma mater (someday, if I am finally able to pass that damn Calculus III class) I will charge the New Jersey minimum wage of $7.15 per hour. New Jersey Institute of Technology, you owe me $214.50, before state and federal taxes.
I’m sure the check will be in the mail.
I began thinking the other day, “What would happen if the crackheads united and decided to declare war against all of us sober people?”
This got me into delving a little deeper than I wanted to think (I actually should have been concerned with the shower I was taking). How many people out there are crackheads in hiding? Just like alcoholism are there functional crackheads? We may be amongst crackheads and not even know it. Those people who come in every day that look like they went out a little late last night and drank a hundred dollars worth of alcohol; they may be a fucking crackhead.
This is all the more interesting because what if the crackheads decided to hold an uprising? The only line of defense we would have would be crack, because as everyone knows the only way to stop a crackhead is with an offering of crack. If the crackheads were to takeover we would all now need to either become a crackhead ourselves or be the mindless slave that harvests in the fields working the crack to the blessing of the supreme crackhead leader.
Get a dog. Because one thing that is certain is that dogs know where crackheads are. Just like they are able to sniff the ass of another pooch and notice if they had shat on my lawn, they immediately know who a crackhead is. Its like fried into their brain. Be nice to your pet, because when the crackheads decide to hold an uprising we’re going to need their expertise in the world of hunting out the crazies.