A Bit of Midnight Poetry

Wow. Neglect. Oops. Also: I just had my first experience with a Starbucks cappuccino. Tastes like warm soy milk with a hint of vanilla. Never again.

Anyway, to my point. I'm taking a Creative Writing Workshop class this semester (it's the only class I haven't routinely skipped so far), and the format is really chill and I love it. The only two assignments we have are as follows: 1) Featured Author presentation, in which you bring in a few pieces and share, then engage the class in extremely off-topic discussions about the horrors of the fast food industry and David Bowie, and 2) the final portfolio, which only has to be twenty-four pages of writing, whether they're finished pieces or not. Easy, right?

So I've had something to share almost every week. Mostly, it's poetry, because my brain works too fast for anything longer. I have been writing poems since high school, and I never really liked any of it until now. Last Tuesday night, around midnight, I wrote a poem that had been rolling around in my head for a few days previous. It finally reached the point where, if I didn't write it down, I'd never be able to sleep again. This happens to me often.

It took me about ten or fifteen minutes to hammer out five, nine-line stanzas, but it felt like something was missing. About a half hour later, I added a sixth stanza, and the work was complete. I shared it in class last Friday, and didn't get nearly as much feedback as I had hoped for (probably because we had a substitute professor, for the first time in my two-year college career, and it was really strange), so I figured that posting it here may help me get some constructive criticism, or any thoughts in general. PLEASE? I AM BEGGING.

Here goes:

The days are harder now
I don't think they ever got easier
And they all grow together
Dull and monotonous
Like a never-ending elevator ride
Going down into the depths
Of the hell I don't believe in
But if the ride never stops
What's the point of the destination?

I'm not sure when you became him
Or he became you
Or if it even happened at all
If it even makes sense
Or maybe I just became something else
Completely different
If I became
Or can still become
Or even if I am anymore

I find that I have to focus on the little things
Like that broken staple on the floor
To distract myself from seeing the big picture
Because the big picture is true
It's my mind
In a frame on the wall
In a small, windowless room
Like the one I sit in to wait for him
But he never comes home

Now I'm sure that you took over
You became what he was
But he'll never be what you are
It's all just a sick, unhealthy obsession
Stemming from a small, windowless room
And a few notes
And the big picture
But he has one thing on you:
Reality

Cleansing the self is a daily ritual
The water is warm but not so hot
That it'll burn off the barrier that protects my heart
From him but not you
You always know what I wish I had the courage
To say or someone to say it to
I think you left a message in the fog on the mirror
But when I step out of the shower
There is nothing

Every night I go to sleep
With a strange taste in my mouth
Like when you're a child
And you go to sleep knowing
That there's a chocolate bar for you in the kitchen
But your mother won't let you
Have sweets before bed
My chocolate bar is 2,391 miles away
And I can't have it either

THE END

Please guys, really. Anyone who reads this blog or randomly stumbles upon it, I would really appreciate if you left some sort of comment. Love it? Hate it? DO I KNOW YOUR PAIN. Let me know! I think the reason my classmates didn't give feedback is because they were to distracted by my other weekly class ritual (and I'm not talking about flaunting my coffee or being a holier-than-thou vegan, because I totally do that too): music appreciation. I think everyone tries to anticipate my interesting taste in music, but they fail.

I've only been doing this regularly for two weeks, but so far I've played "I Am Trying Very Hard to be Here", by AFI (of course! What is music appreciation without my favorite band?) and "The Songs that Saved My Life", by Kill Hannah (another of my favorite bands). This week, I'm toying with the idea of "The Start of Something", by Voxtrot (great song, by the way!).

So again, please, criticize me! I need it! Hell, I'll even take music suggestions; I'm always looking for something new...or something old, as long as the lyrics grab my attention somehow.

A secondary note: I am the webmaster of the Gay-Straight Alliance at my college (Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan), and if anyone in the area is interested, we're having a Halloween-themed movie night this Friday, October 29, at 7 PM here at the school. Here's the link.

Happy Fall!

I'm a few days late. Sue me. Anyhoodles, happy fall, everyone! *breaks into intense "Fall Children" wailing* Ahem, sorry. But really, now begins my favorite time of year, so expect some major blog activity. Just not yet, because I didn't do my homework this weekend, and I should probably be doing it now instead of telling my fake readers that I didn't do my homework.

Heh, I'm going to do my homework now.

The Worst Disease of All: Hate

I am the boy who never finished high school, because I got called a fag every day.
I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.
I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.
I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.
We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.
I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.
I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.
I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.
I am the man who fears that I will never be able to be myself, to be free of this secret because I wont risk losing my family and friends.
We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.
I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.
I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.
I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.
I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.
I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.
I am the woman who died when the EMTs stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.
I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I didnt have to always deal with society hating me.
I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.
I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most: love.
I am the person ashamed to tell my own friends I'm a lesbian, because they constantly make fun of them.
I am the boy tied to a fence, beaten to a bloody pulp and left to die because two straight men wanted to teach me a lesson.

IF YOU BELIEVE THAT HOMOPHOBIA IS WRONG, REPOST THIS ON YOUR BLOG!

The Great American T.V. Obsession

Wow, this is late, but you know what? No matter what they tell you, TIME IS NOT LIMITLESS. Especially for those who don't even have enough time to sleep. Between work, school, and myself and my dog-like son being ill, I haven't had time to share the wonders of the 62nd (?) Annual Prime-time Emmy Awards.

Let's get one thing straight: Your parents were right when they told you as a kid that television rots your brain. But even I, who absolutely detests the premise of American "entertainment" these days, get sucked in. The T.V. sucks out your soul. Really, it does. But even so, I am fond of making fun of award shows, so I bring you my Comprehensive Prime-time Emmy Review, two weeks late. And perhaps in fragments.

Since T.V. is SO theatrical, the beginning of the Emmys was indeed theatrical. Unfortunately, it played up one show that was supposed to steal the award in each category in which it was nominated. That show was "Glee," which I have never seen, but have heard good things about, via the word-of-mouth phenomenon from, who else but my idol, Davey Havok, a fellow purveyor of the evils of the entertainment world.

Said introduction included many of the actors/actresses who were either nominated or involved in the production in some way: Joel McHale (whom I adore), Tina Fey, Randy Jackson, Betty White, Lea Michele etc. Oh, and Jimmy Fallon, who I can't stand, and was hosting the show. Said actors had to form their own "Glee" club in order to win tickets to the Emmys. What a concept. Of course, they performed a song together, and danced around, and the like.

When the show actually began, Fallon immediately pokes fun at Conan O'Brien (whom I also adore), who was nominated for one of too few episodes of "The Tonight Show." Then the segment of the show dedicated to comedy was introduced with a stupid song and some terrible space-age cartoon theme music.

COMEDY

Betty White and Neil Patrick Harris presented the first award (I love them both). I don't remember what the award was for, but I know that "Modern Family" won, and then some announcer guy started spewing random facts over the loudspeaker about the winners, and it was at this point that I realized I don't care that winner guy from "Modern Family" (the premise of which seems really stupid to me, but not quite on par with the idiocy of "Jersey Shore." Nothing beats that) wanted to be a clown when he was a kid. WHO CARES.

Thus followed a commercial. Why is every movie that comes out these days in 3D? Let me tell you something about 3D. People who were cursed with terrible eyesight and wear designer nerd glasses (read: me) can't fit the goddamn 3D glasses over their own Dolce and Gabana custom nerd frames. And if they don't have their own Dolce and Gabana custom nerd frames on, they can't see a goddamn thing. Just sayin'.

When the show resumed, we apparently found out that promiscuity is hilarious, and Tom Hanks without his Tom Hanks fro is not. Gay jokes are equally not hilarious, and neither is God, btw, fyi, jsyk.

REALITY

The world of television knows nothing about reality. This category only has two awards (thank deities), but that's still two too many. The only important things I learned from this segment of the show:

1. Kim Kardashian can't sing. The size of her ass hinders that ability.
2. Though I strongly dislke Oprah Winfrey for not giving me either a car or a humpback whale, I'm sad that this will be her last season of annoyance.

DRAMA

This is the part of the review in which I get lazy and don't feel like writing complete sentences (no really, I'm looking at my sheet of Emmy notes right now and going, "What the fuck was I trying to say?" so I'm going to copy those notes word for word). Bring on the fragments!

"House pisses me off. I MISS GODRIC! "Mad Men" = ruined for me by Jonny Radtke (ex-guitarist of Kill Hannah, current frontman of Polar Moon). "Lost" = ruined for me by aliens. Jerks who make fun of Conan O'Brien = DISLIKE! The guy that played Gary in "Early Edition," I LOVED that show. Still do. What is it with "Mad Men"? And God? "True Blood" and Joel McHale!

Season 2 of "Community" premiers September 23! Watch it!

Ann-Margaret! I love her! Only Elton John can be Elton John. Get a job, Jimmy Fallon. Although, props for such quick wardrobe changes. My theater days - I long for them. Oh my God. He's making fun of Billy Joe Armstrong. Maybe I can make amends with Jimmy Fallon after all. I hate Kevin Bacon, but I love "Footloose." Opposite of LFO. You know that one song, with the...yeah. Okay. Where did Kyra Sedgewick have her glasses, stuffed down her dress?

VARIETY

The Olympics seem so long ago. Jews are so funny. So are Nazis. They should totes have a party. Did Green Day win a Tony for "American Idiot"? I don't even know. Ha, Mel Gibson. What is it with Jews? They're passing out poison at the Emmys. WHY. Once more, for the good times: GO TEAM CANADA! *ahem* CONAN! WIN! STICK IT TO THE CHIN! Fuck you, Jon Stewart. Conan totes deserved that after what happened to him. I'm so pissed. SO PISSED.

Television science? Television saviors? Television tragedy? (Note: That's a Blaqk Audio reference. See how I did that?) Dear George Clooney, WHAT. He frowns upon culture crash! Yay!

MOVIES AND MINISERIES

So pumped for "Kennedys." I wanna be one. Jack Kevorkian is my hero. I love Christina Applegate. Moira Teirney has no hair! Like for serious, Claire Daines? Alexander Skarsgaard is so tall. Who the hell is Temple Grandin? Al Pacino - he feels lucky, punk. Shut up, Al Pacino. They started playing the wrap music about five minutes ago. I'm such a pro at guessing winners. Hey Tom Selleck! My grandma has a crush on you! Oh "True Blood," you lost to "Mad Men"! How dare you?! I hate Jonny these days. Wow, "Glee" lost. I'm surprised.

IN MEMORIAM

"Gumby" creator?! Corey Haim?! Gary Coleman?! Rue McClanahan?! Brittany Murphy?! Dennis Hopper?!

LOL, Jewel makes Davey Havok faces while singing.

So, that's pretty much my review. Half informative, half fragment. Here's Shelby's take:

1. What are the Emmys, the ugly dress awards?
2. Eva Longoria Parker is really pretty.
3. That is a pink piano.
4. Billy Joe has blonde hair.
5. There's lots of old guys with big noses in Hollywood. How do you think plastic surgeons make money?

In a nut shell, T.V. rots your brain. So, in the words of Jade Puget, "Get off the Internet and go read a book." That is, of course, after you go read The Bible Blog. How's that for shameless self-promotion?

New Bible Blog!

Hey guys! I'm tired of the Bible monopolizing my personal blog, so I've decided to start God HIS OWN BLOG!

Check out the horrific hilarity here: andgodsaidwtf.blogspot.com

SOON.

I have been out of a computer and Interwebs forever. FOREVER. But I finally got my lovable laptop back and will have Interweb access soon. SOON. So expect more hilarity and Bible-blogginess soon. SOON.

SOON.

Genesis 18-34

I have a few important notes before we begin today's douchebaggery: 1) A Happy Five-Days-Late Brirthday(s) to two of my favorite people, Washington Capitals forward Brooks Laich, and AFI Tour Manager/all-around-nuisance Smith Puget. Happy Belated Birthday, guys! 2) For my own birthday, which was Friday, Shelby and I adopted a two-year-old Chihuahua we named Tweek. I'll post pictures later, I promise.

And so it begins...

In Genesis 18, God confirms that he will allow Sarah to give birth to a son. But she doesn't believe him, because she is old and menopausal. And because of this, she is no longer considered a woman. Seriously.
"...It ceased to be with Sarah after the manner of women (Genesis 18:11)."

The fear of God is confirmed later in the chapter. Also, God is mean, but Abraham convinces him not to kill someone for no apparent reason. Then there is old people sex. Yay.

In Genesis 19, God's angels go to Sodom to see Lot, Abraham's nephew, to determine whether or not the city is wicked. Lot convinces the men of the city to be nice to the angels, and even offers his daughters as a bargaining chip. What a nice guy. Much like Noah's family earlier in Genesis, Lot's family is considered to be the only uncorrupted in the city. And we still don't know why.

Later, God decides to destroy the city anyway, in true God-like fire-and-brimstone manner. Luckily, Lot and his family had the chance to escape, but Lot's wife is stupid and didn't listen to God when He said, 'Don't look back,' because she did, and was turned into a "pillar of salt." WHAT. Lot and his daughters made it safely to a cave in which they could stay, and then the best part happens:

Since their mother died, er, turned into salt, there is no one to bear Lot's children so his daughters do it themselves after they get him drunk enough. Holy fucking hell.

In Genesis 20, Abraham and Sarah are on the move again, and Abraham ends up lying about Sarah being his sister again, and God ends up punishing some innocent man again because Abraham lied again. Repetition, much? Only this time, God made all the women of the guy's house barren. Because gene extinction is the way to go. Doesn't that rightfully justify any type of genocide? Thanks, Judeo-Christianity, you rock!

In Genesis 21, a part of the Bible makes sense! It says, and I quote, "...Children suck..." And I couldn't agree more! More sense: Abraham's bastard son Ishmael gets an inheritance! Then God bribes Abraham again, and it goes back downhill. The number seven appears again, right after I stumbled upon the word wot. And I was like, "Wot?" Apparently, wot is the archaic verb for know. So there you go.

A large helping of douchebaggery occurs in Genesis 22. But first, Abraham saddles his ass, which made me LOL. But then, God (being what he is) tries to trick Abraham into offering his only son as a sacrifice on some alter that he was forced to build. Mind you, Abraham had to pay God to allow Sarah to finally become pregnant. What a waste of humanity and livestock.

Luckily, and angel came down and pretty much told Abraham, 'Oh yeah, God, he's just kidding! LOL, I can't believe you actually almost killed your son. LOL.' Then we're introduced to some kid named Buz. And Abraham has a concubine. Sweet.

In Genesis 23, the word sepulchre is mentioned quite a bit. And I'm ashamed of myself for this, because I should know what it means, but I don't. A sepulchre is a tomb, grave, or burial place. So there you go. The reason for the mentioning of a sepulchre: Sarah dies at 127 years old.

Abraham must find a burial site for his wife, so he buys some land from some Ephron dude, which includes a field and a cave (we are told this about ten times in a twenty verse chapter) for 400 silver shekels, whatever a shekel is. According to research, shekels were the base monetary unit in Israel until 1980. So there you go.

In Genesis 24, Abraham is hellbent on finding his son, Isaac, a wife. So he sends a servant out to Abraham's homeland, which is not Canaan, to find some random lady for Isaac to marry. Before the servant is sent, however, he must swear his mission to Abraham by placing his hand under Abraham's thigh. CREEP.

The servant stops by a well somewhere in Mesopotamia to essentially fish for a wife for Isaac. But really, he just prays for God to send him a lady that is predestined to be Isaac's wife. I was confused. See, in the first part of Genesis, it was stated that man was allowed to choose his own wife, but God picks them anyway. Awesome. So some guy comes to the well with some lady (Rebekah) and a whole bunch of sheep, and Abraham's servant drinks from Rebekah's pitcher, just like God said, and then Rebekah invites the servant into her house and we find out that the lady that is predestined to marry Isaac IS HIS COUSIN. WHAT IS WITH ALL THE INCEST.

The servant offers a dowry for Rebekah and her parents (some lady and Abraham's brother) accept, and give their blessing, which consists of this:
"...Be thou the mother of thousands of millions... (Genesis 24:60)."
Yay.

When Rebekah and the servant get back to Canaan, Isaac falls in love at first sight, and Rebekah veils herself before she meets her husband to be. OPPRESSION OF WOMEN, taken from the religion of Islam, which is the main religion of modern Mesopotamia, even though Christianity was supposedly created before Islam. Then Isaac grieves the death of his mother Sarah by getting laid.

In Genesis 25, Abraham finally dies at the age of 175, but not before he gives Isaac a big-ass inheritance and leaves his other children (born by concubines) out to dry. What a guy. Then Ishmael dies at the age of 137, and Isaac and his cousin make babies. Ew. Rebekah gets knocked up with twins, and God makes one twin the other's slave in the womb. WHAT.

When the twins, Esau and Jacob, are born, Esau is described as such:
"...Red all over like a hairy garment... (Genesis 25:25)."
WHAT.

Later, Jacob bribes Esau's birthright out of him with starvation. What a guy.

In Genesis 26, there is a famine. Big shock. Isaac is forced to move from Canaan with his wife Rebekah, and essentially becomes his father Abraham when he lies to the king of the land and says that Rebekah is his sister, not his wife. But God didn't punish this guy. Woah.

Isaac lives on the land of the random king until he builds up enough wealth to get him kicked out of the city because he's too powerful. Then he digged and builded a new city (direct grammar, by the way), and then Esau gets married to some Judith lady and Isaac and Rebekah get pissed.

Genesis 27 starts the story of Jacob. Rebekah and Isaac both favor different children, so parent provoked sibling rivalry ensues: hairy vs. smooth. Not kidding. Isaac is old, blind, and dying, so he tells Esau (his favorite) to go to the field and get some venison and he will earn a blessing. But Rebekah finds out and tells Jacob (her favorite) to slaughter a goat while Esau is out hunting and wear the skin on his hands and arms to trick Isaac into thinking he is Jacob. Isaac falls for it and gives Jacob Esau's blessing, which promises him the "fatness of Earth," among other things. Esau, on the other hand, gets screwed and becomes his brother's slave. Cool. This, of course, glorifies vengeance killing, but Rebekah saves Jacob from his evil brother.

Then, Rebekah worries about Jacob taking an unworthy wife.
"...If Jacob takes a wife of the daughters...of the land, what good shall my life do me (Genesis 27:46)?"
What a drama queen. Really.

In Genesis 28, Isaac tells Jacob that he has to marry his cousin. WHY. Then Esau finds out and marries his cousin too. WHY.

On his way to pick up his cousin-wife, Jacob falls asleep (or is knocked out by God) and has a dream about a ladder to Heaven which God and angels can use to get to Earth. Then Jacob wakes up from the dream, makes a pillar out of his stone pillows and pours oil on it. WHY. OH, I GET IT. IT'S GOD'S HOUSE. WHAT.

Jacob gets some action from his cousin(s) in Genesis 29. He first meets Rachel and falls in love at first sight with her, you know, because it's predestined and all. LAME. In order to get to marry Rachel, Jacob must work for her father for seven years, but when those seven years are up, the one offered is is Rachel's older sister, Leah, because in their culture, it's disrespectful not to offer the firstborn first. So then, Jacob decides that he'll have both sisters as his wives (ew), so he serves another seven years for Rachel (for real this time). When they finally get married, God sees that Jacob loves Rachel more than Leah, so he makes Rachel barren. HA.

Rachel freaks out on Jacob in Genesis 30. When she finds out the Leah can have kids and she can't, she tells Jacob,
"...Give me children, or else I die (Genesis 30:1)."
That is so like a woman. IF I CANNOT BEAR CHILDREN, I AM WORTHLESS AND MY LIFE HAS NO MEANING. Sexist bullshit.

After more "Handmaid's Tale" references and Random Dan, part two, there is more sibling rivalry between Rachel and Leah, who basically have a birthing contest.

Jacob finally gets sick of working for Rachel and Leah's dad, Laban, so he takes his pay (half of Laban's flocks) and breeds them so his are the better livestock. Then he builds a fence for the livestock AND MAKES WHITE PAINT APPEAR ON THE WOOD. HOW. Then, the animals magically conceive when the drink. HOW. I guess there really is something in the water?

In Genesis 31, Jacob finally leaves Laban's city, and he carries his cattle with him. No, that's not a typo. Jacob carries his cattle on a seven day journey. Then Laban finds him and accuses him of taking his daughters hostage, even though THEY ARE HIS WIVES AND THEY WENT ON THEIR OWN ACCORD. Because girls BELONG to their fathers.

Laban came looking for them because the idols of his god were stolen, which justifies iconoclasm. Laban forgave them and they built a mound of stones and ate off them. WHAT. Those rocks then ended up being a witness to some crazy pact between Laban and Jacob, in which Jacob promises not to take any more wives.

In Genesis 32, Jacob sets out to find his twin brother Esau, even though the tables have turned and Jacob is afraid of Esau. The number two appears in this chapter quite frequently, so I researched the number two, which in numerology means partnership. So there you go.

Then there are she-asses, and Jacob teaches us how to bribe our brothers with livestock. Suddenly, Jacob is wrestling with someone on the side of the road and the someone is touching his thighs. CREEP. Then whoever is wrestling with Jacob tells him that his name is now Israel, and I got very confused. Then I made this revelation (ha, no pun intended): IT IS GOD. WHAT. GOD IS WRESTLING WITH JACOB ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD. WHY. Then it is said that Jews don't eat the hollows of thighs because God touched Jacob's, er, Israel's thigh during the fight. WHAT IS IT WITH THIGHS.

In Genesis 33, Jacob finds Esau and he bows to him seven times, and Esau "fell on his neck" trying to get to hug Jacob. Then Jacob offers him part of his herd, and Esau refuses, but Jacob is persistent ("TAKE IT! TAKE IT! TAKE IT!"). Then Jacob and Esau leave together to a new land and erect an alter to God.

In Genesis 34, it's raping time. Leah's daughter, Dinah, gets raped by some Shechem guy, but he really loves her. Really. Honestly. He wants to marry Dinah but her brothers, Simeon and Levi, make an excuse for them not to get married: Shechem is uncircumcised. So Shechem goes all crazy and makes the whole damn town chop off their dick skin so he can marry the girl he raped. WHAT.

Three days after the mass circumcision, Simeon and Levi kill every man in the city so Shechem can't marry their sister, and they took their asses. How rude. Then Jacob gets all pissed and comes out with this gem:
"...Ye have troubled me to make me stink among the inhabitants of the land... (Genesis 34:30)."
Then Simeon and Levi justify their killing by calling their sister a harlot. BECAUSE IT WAS TOTES HER FAULT THAT SHE WAS RAPED. I love the logic here.

The End, thank God. I don't think I could deal with more this review.

Genesis 1-17

Shall we begin then? Today's review, as the title suggests, will be The Book of Genesis, chapters 1-17.

In Genesis 1, God randomly appears out of nothing and creates everything in six days. On day one, God creates light and dark, which then becomes day and night. On the second day, God uses water to create everything else. He "divide[s] the waters from the waters," (any logical person should realize that if you divide water from water, you have nothing left) to create Heaven, which I had no idea was made of water. On day three, the rest of the water that is not Heaven becomes Earth. It is said that all lands gathered in one mass, which supports the scientific idea of the continental divide. On day four, God creates the sun, moon, and stars. On day five, God creates all sea creatures "after his own kind," which, if you think about it, could support reverse evolution. Finally, on day six, God creates land creatures and man (Adam). With the seventh day of the week, God instates a day of rest, because he is lazy; therefore, the week should begin with Monday, and end with Sunday (the day of rest), instead of beginning with the day of rest, because apparently, we are lazy.

Being an English major, I am already having a hard time with the grammar of the Bible, because "created he him," is not proper pronoun use. Also, being an animal rights activist, I am certainly disgusted by the fact that animal abuse is justified in Scripture:
"...Let them [man] have dominion over the fish...and over the fowl...and over the cattle...and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth (Genesis 1:26)."

I'm also having trouble with the creeping, too.

In Genesis 2, things grow on Earth, even though God does not make it rain. Remember how the earth is made of water? Yeah, well, in order to grow the Garden of Eden, it rains up from underground. WHAT. This is where things start getting screwy.

Even though chapter one says that God created Adam on the sixth day, chapter two states that Adam is "...Formed...of the dust of the ground..." after the day of rest. But most importantly, this is very similar to the classical Greek creation myth, in which Zeus molds Prometheus from clay. Hmm. After Adam is created, he is sent to "dress" the Garden of Eden, and is also giving the task of naming every living creature on the planet, because again, God is lazy. When this is finished, God drugs Adam and steals his rib to make him a wife, Eve. Then, there's some innuendo, and the act of sex becomes sacred (finally). Oh, and we learn that there a two trees in the Garden of Eden: The tree of life, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. These come into play very soon.

The myth of Adam and Eve is probably the most widely known Christian story. The myth is expanded in Genesis 3. There's a random serpent in the garden, which represents temptation. The serpent convinces Eve to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and she, in turn, convinces Adam to eat as well. Then the shit hits the fan.

First of all, God tells Adam and Eve not to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, just from the tree of life, which tells me that God wants everyone to be ignorant little peons that just shut up, do his bidding, and make babies. Awesome. But because Adam and Eve listened to the serpent, they are now smart enough to realize that they are naked (how do you seriously not know that you're naked?!), so they make clothing because they are ashamed of their nakedness. I also have a problem with this. There is absolutely no need to be ashamed of the human body in it's natural state. I don't understand how being ignorant and being naked go hand in hand.

Next, God comes down to the garden all pissed, and the men blame everything on Eve, because women are subservient. Then, God gets all sexist up on Eve to punish her:
"...I will greatly multiply thy sorrow and thy conception; in sorrow thou shalt bring forth children...he [thy husband] shall rule over thee (Genesis 3:16)."
So now woman's duty is to be miserable because she's a woman, and to bear children. Hear that, ladies?

The whole of chapter three relates to yet another Greek myth: Adam and Eve's knowledge of good and evil is akin to Prometheus's fire.

In Genesis 4, Adam and Eve make babies, Cain and Abel. God plays favorites because sheep are better than grain, so Cain kills Abel. God pretty much banishes Cain from his sight, but since God sees all, Cain has nowhere to go. He ends up somewhere east of Eden that no one cares about. Before Cain leaves, God tells him, essentially, if you fail at something, it is a sin. After more bad grammar, bigamy is glorified. Eventually, Eve bears another child, Seth, to replace their dead one. Great.

In Genesis 5, a whole bunch of people live to unfathomable ages. That's pretty much the entire chapter. "'So-and-so had these kids. He lived a number of years, 'and he died.'" Well, duh.

Genesis 6 begins the story of Noah and the Ark. In the beginning of the chapter, God's children are considered giants (Titans, anyone?). I honestly can't believe all the parallelism in this book.

God allows men to choose their wives (which is fantastic, thanks God!), but then turns around and says that man is inherently evil and that he regretted making them in the first place. Thanks, guy. He complains about the violence on earth, so what does he do? He uses violence to take everyone out. What a hypocrite.

So God tells Noah to build an ark and take two of each animal on board, plus his wife, three sons, and their wives, to prepare for God's flood. Because everyone is corrupt besides Noah and his family. WHY. God tells Noah what to do about twenty times. For real.

By Genesis 7, I started noticing mass repetition of the number seven. Seven days in a week. In seven days, God's gonna flood the earth. The animals come to the ark by sevens. The flood comes on February 17. According to research, in numerology, seven is the number of perfection. So there you go.

After some more creeping, the flood finally comes.

In Genesis 8, the flood dries up. To make sure, Noah sends out a dove from the ark, which returns with an olive leaf, to signify that the water is gone and there is peace. This occurs on the first day of the first month, or New Year's. Noah builds God an alter and partakes in ritual animal sacrifice, even though he possesses the only living animals on the planet now. WHY. And then God apologizes for being a dick and killing everything. Oops. It's not their fault that they were born evil (but it should be God's).

Right off the bat in Genesis 9, God is condoning animal abuse again.
"...The fear of you and the dread of you shall be upon every beast of the earth, and upon every fowl...upon all that moveth upon the earth, and upon all the fishes...(Genesis 9:2)"
Noah saved all the animals from their demise, therefore he controls them. Uh, no.

Then, God justifies the whole, "an eye for an eye" philosophy. This is in a book that people live by.

Later, Noah gets drunk and naked, and one of his sons finds him. And because his son sees him naked, Noah forces him into slavery. WHAT. Then Noah dies at the age of 950. WHAT.

The division of countries takes place in Genesis 10. Oh, and there's some guy named Nimrod the Mighty Hunter.

In Genesis 11,someone builds a city out of brick and slime, but then God decides that he wants to break up his people and force them to learn different languages, seemingly so they can't communicate with each other and form a coup and overthrow him (or, that's my opinion anyway).

The city of Ur of the Chaldees is mentioned later on in the chapter. If you know your ancient history like I do, you will raise an eyebrow at that statement and vehemently deny that Ur ever had anything to do with the Chaldees. It was the Babylonians. FAIL.

The story of Abraham begins in Genesis 12. God orders Abraham, then called Abram, to leave his homeland to move to Canaan with his wife Sarai (Sarah). While crossing through Egypt, Abram is afraid that the Egyptians are going to try to mack on his wife and kill him in the process so he lies to them and says he is Sarai's brother instead. The plan backfires because the Pharaoh starts macking on Sarai anyway, until he finds out that Abram is really her husband. Even though the Pharaoh apologizes, he calls out Abram for lying (good), God sends plagues on Egypt anyway. WHAT A GUY.

In Genesis 13, Abram's nephew, Lot, goes to Jordan. That's it.

In Genesis 14, we learn that Siddim is "full of slimepits," whatever that means. Abram gets slaves, and we are introduced to Random Dan, who I assume is Abram's brother, who has been taken captive by a whole bunch of unrelated guys. Some king has a dale, which led me to the question, "What is a dale?" Well, friends, a dale is a broad valley. So there you go.

Genesis 15 explains the creation of the Hebrews. God appears to Abram in a vision and Abram complains because his wife Sarai cannot bear children. God says, in a nutshell, if you can count the stars, I'll give you a kid. And then God decides that he's only kidding, and makes a better bargain: a three-year-old cow, a three-year-old goat, a three-year-old ram, a turtledove, and a young pigeon for a kid. WHY. Abram must really want a kid, so he gives God the random animals, and then God turns around and says, again in a nutshell, oh, by the way, you kid's going to be a slave. Then God makes a pact with Abram and gives him all the land between the Nile and the Euphrates (AKA Palestine). If you're wondering about the number three: in numerology, three is the number of completion. So there you go.

Genesis 16 abounds with the stuff Margaret Atwood's "The Handmaid's Tale" is made of. Sarai is depressed that she can't have kids, so she gives her handmaid Hagar to Abram to procreate with. Abram agrees, for some unknown reason. What's more: Abram actually marries Hagar before they get it on. After Hagar gets knocked up, she starts hating Sarai, so Sarai kicks her out. Hagar runs away and is visited by an angel who pretty much tells her to suck it up and go be Sarai's slave. When Hagar's kid, Ishmael is finally born, Abram is 86 years old. Sick.

The shit hits the fan in Genesis 17. God talks about perfection, Abram falls "on his face" twice, God changes Abram's name to Abraham and Sarai's to Sarah (to deculturalize them, of course). Then God launches into a grand speech about circumcision. Ouch. He mandates that all followers of Abraham, whether the are his family or his slaves, must have their foreskin cut off at the age of eight days to maintain a promise to God, and if any man is uncircumcised, he is a broken soul. Is this sexual oppression or what?

By a miracle, God allows Sarah to give birth (at the age of ninety) to keep God's covenant going. Then Abraham goes home and has everyone circumcised, and at the end, has his ninety-nine year old foreskin chopped off with pride. Disgusting.

So, that's it for this review. Thank God. Expect the next chunk of Genesis in a few days.

And God Said, "WTF?!"

Life is an adventure, and blogging is an adventure, so let's go on an adventure. Here is where I drop the bomb.

I've been wanting to do this for a while, out of sheer boredom and a quest for knowledge: I am going to read the Bible.

Those of you that know me are probably choking on your own saliva at the moment. And if you randomly stumbled upon my blog, I'll explain something to you: I think all religion is bogus (yes, I just said bogus, and it's no longer the nineties). I don't believe in it, just like I don't believe in England. But I also don't believe in any scientific explanation of the creation of the universe. Why can't people just admit that they don't know what happened, instead of making up some bullshit?

I'll be reviewing the whole damn thing. Every book in both testaments will be broken up into parts, and I'll discuss the relevance of each passage to modern life, my own personal beliefs, and it's place in history. Plus lots of confusion and bitching.

Anywho, here it is, my new blog series: "And God Said, 'WTF?!' A Skeptic's Guide to the Bible." Enjoy.

Just Playin'

Hah, fooled you! After a few days of deliberation, I've decided to keep the delusion going, and I'm back with a joke, courtesy of Davey Havok.

What do you call a fish with no eyes?

*Ben Stein voice* Anyone? Anyone?

FSH! *laughs uncontrollably*

Bye Bye Bloggy

Cookie-Cut Delusions is shutting down for good. I'd say it's been fun, but I'd be lying again.

Travel Blog: Pentwater 2

You are cordially invited to the late-spring wedding of MomDad and "Uncle Tom," Saturday, May 29, 2010 at 4 PM. Wait, 3 PM. Okay, yeah, 4, at "Uncle Tom's cabin"...er, Dick and Joanie's house, at the corner of Lowell and S. Ellory (Ellery?) in Pentwater. Ludington? Definitely Pentwater. Dinner (fruit, veggies, and crappily made cheesy potatoes for the vegetarian guests, but plenty of bloody meaty meat for those cruelty-mongers) to follow. Don't forget to bring your own drug-free beverages, or you'll be stuck sucking down a caffeine-laden diet coke morosely. Formal dress optional and highly frowned upon.

Thursday: Learning last time from my terrible mistake of procrastination, I packed my brand-shiny-new duffel bag in the wee hours of Wednesday morning, but was still stuck doing laundry so I wouldn't roast to death in my usual wardrobe of skinny jeans. The heat being what it is, everyone was reluctant to do any heavy lifting, so it took a while for the car to get loaded and us to be on our way. Until we had to stop at Poppa's and drop off the directions. And pick up the dress. And we stopped for gas. And to pee. But by the time we finally got to Pentwater, Tom was grilling a 10 PM dinner for us, which consisted of soy burger, squash/zucchini (which I had been craving for centuries), fresh asparagus, and corn on the cob. Landon griped about not being able to go in the pool, which still wasn't filled up and harbored a temperature of a balmy 63 degrees, but finally MomDad caved and watched Landon make it to the first step of the ladder before realizing that the hot tub was a better venture. Ansley and I joined for a while, then retired after, so I could sleep like crap and get karate-chopped in the face by a sleeping child. Joy of joys.

Friday: We got up at 9:30, and soon after, both kids vacated the house and disappeared to Joanie's all day, leaving me, essentially, to my own devices (AKA: bottled water, Landon's blanket, and old "I Love Lucy" re-runs. I love Lucy), until Tom woke up at 11:30, at which point I relocated myself to the deck and the sunshine to stew in my own thoughts. MomDad didn't arise until nearly 1 PM, at which point I, starved beyond belief, devoured a slightly off-kilter piece of soy lasagna. MomDad booked a room at the hotel for Mom, then discovered that Poppa and the gang were no longer coming up that morning, due to Kelly's sciatica and Uncle Shaun's torn arm muscle. Then, some drama occurred with Aunt Renee, who couldn't find a room to book anywhere near Pentwater (even though no one bothered to look in Ludington), and I stalked MomDad with my box of hair color. Cue "Aunt Noell's Outdoor Hair Salon," and a word of advice: Never sit in the sun with hair color on your roots. Just give me a paperclip and a light socket and call me Carrot Top. Not kidding.

We left for Muskegon to shop for "Uncle Tom" wedding clothes and pool chemicals around 5:30. It was nice to hang out with adults for a while, as opposed to just the children, and it was great to get out of the house, and into civilization. Small towns cause me to grow weary quite quickly these days. We returned around 8 PM and hung out doing random stuff for a while. Mom and Shelby arrived around 10, while I enjoyed yet another soy burger (with fresh grilled mushrooms and onions) and more fresh asparagus. I gave Ansley a pitiful home manicure, and then we ventured to THE DAYS INN, not the Comfort Inn, in LUDINGTON, not Pentwater as we'd originally thought; it turned out to be a very seedy place, and I'm honestly surprised that we didn't all come back with full-body herpes. The bed was uncomfortable and I slept like shit again. Shocker.

Saturday: Wedding day. The kids were scarce in the morning once again - not that I'm complaining. We all showered and checked out of the seedy motel (authentic crackhead style) and ventured to "Uncle Tom's" for breakfast. The house was quiet, until Poppa and the gang showed up (which was when I started feeling nauseous). Ansley made the long (less than 5 minutes walking) journey from Joanie's around 2:30, let me help her dress and do her make-up, then took off again, just to snub me for the rest of the day, then act pissed when I decided to leave early. It took Shelby and I forever to get ready (if an hour is forever, but it felt like it), and sometime in between, Uncle Shaun bashed his head on the truck and cut it open, Landon returned from the Netherworld, and Aunt Renee, Uncle Mike, and Aunt Rhonda showed up. By the time we actually got ready, we got kicked out of the house and walked (like streetwalkers, quite literally) to Dick and Joanie's.

When we got there, everyone was already staring at us condescendingly and simultaneously poisoning their livers. "Uncle Tom's" family is the typical in-law family: bitchy, pushy, controlling, and holier-than-thou. It took forever for the wedding to actually start, and I'm not sure that it was worth the wait. The ceremony itself only lasted about fifteen minutes, and I was stuck taking pictures - again, not complaining, since I got to use the Pentax, but the telephoto lens was being a pain in my ass, almost like the whole occasion. But here's some pics that Shelby took with the Samsung:

By the way, that is Poppa being a foreground douche. Oops.

After the ceremony, Shelby and I posed for pictures a while (Aunt Renee is somehow obsessed with how much we've grown up), then left to change out of our extremely overdressed state...but not before watching the unattainable, crashing object of Shelby's affection poison her liver at the age of sixteen. Gotta start 'em early these days.

We reappeared momentarily after resuming our normal, non-mainstream, creep-tastic style of dress (and the packing of my bags) to find that the moms were back at the house resuming their normal style of dress, so we partook in some grand theft auto and stole MomDad's car to drive back to "Uncle Tom's cabin" (it's his fault, he left the keys in the car) to pack my bags in Mom's car and let the dogs out. We reluctantly trucked back to Dick and Joanie's to eat before Joanie killed us for not eating. We we actually praised for our vegetarian lifestyle by both Aunt Renee and Tom's sister-in-law, Jennifer, who is a member of the raw foods movement. So she's a hippie and a slut. Woo.

We finally left at 7 PM, even though Mom had planned on leaving at 6. And we didn't leave without a giant slab of cake. Before we hit the road, eyelashes saved our lives at Pentwater Convenience, and as we got on I-96, Shelby had an accident in which Shelby's Arizona green tea dumped all over her seat (car and body), so we had to stop at a rest stop so she could change into her bathing suit bottoms and a borrowed pair of my pants. Soon after, my cellular device began to get service again and I was bombed with Tweets and Facebook updates (most of which I didn't care about). Faded radio stations and about an hour and a half later, we were finally nearing home. Hell, I even cheered about being back in Livingston County (something I'll never do again). And AT LAST, at about a quarter after 10 PM, we were home. Shelby and I passed some time with The Big Gay Sketch Show, and then retired to MY OWN bed, where I slept like a baby.

Next time we go to Pentwater, we'll make sure that: 1) there are no occasions for which to dress in formal attire (no one else knows the meaning of FORMAL), 2) "Uncle Tom's" family WILL NOT be there.

A Lesson in Human Compassion

Okay, so I'm not exactly the most caring person on the planet, but I'm learning. I recently joined peta2, and my eyes are opening to a whole new light.

Yeah, yeah, I'm a tree-hugging, animal-loving, Captain Planet nature freak. Sue me. My diet is almost completely organic vegetarian (full vegetarian, of course, just half-organic), and I talk to almost everyone I meet about the horrors of animal cruelty - corporate and domestic.

About fifteen minutes ago, I walked down to the lake at the end of my subdivision, and it brightened my heart to see kids playing with their puppies in the fields, little old ladies sunbathing with their cats, and on the way back to my house, I even saw a lady stop her van in the middle of the road to move a venturing turtle. I honestly hope that these are common sights that make everyone smile.

Unfortunately, most people don't know about the cruelty that animals experience; they're simply exploited for humanity and cultures that don't give a damn. Female cows experience menostasis (lack of menstruation) due to their living conditions on dairy farms. Before male cows are slaughtered, they are starved to cleanse the digestive system as not to contaminate their meat. Chickens, even on the supposedly cruelty-free free-range corporate farms, are scalded to death in order to have their feathers removed. Race dogs and horses are put to death or abandoned when they no longer perform as expected. Personally, I don't understand what gives humans the right to act as gods and destroy the lives of the creatures we share our planet with.

Please, visit peta2.com to find out what you can do to speak up for the other voices of Earth that have long been mute.

Don't forget to spay or neuter your pets, to drastically cut down on animal shelter population!

Travel Blog: Pentwater

Behold, my pitiful attempt at a travel blog. Here's why it's the first one:

1. I work Friday and Saturday, the prime travel days. I work weekends, and no one else in my family does, so if I do travel with them, I get screwed and have to take my only two days off work in order to go places.
2. My vehicle is not in the best condition for long distance travel. I'm lucky if I make it to Detroit and back.
3. I am poor. Travel requires at least some amount of money at some point.

Luckily, however, poor people have connections to other poor people who live at least some distance away. Aunt Noell's fiance Tom lives in a self-proclaimed village on Lake Michigan called Pentwater, which quickly became my home-away-from-home over Mother's Day weekend. I took plenty of pics and videos to share them with you, pretend readers!


Friday: The day began with some heavy procrastinating on my part (I blame Hunter Revenge on Yo Gabba Gabba), which ensured that we didn't leave the house until 6 PM on Friday, and we left in a torrential downpour, complete with thunder and lightning. Luckily, the kids occupied themselves by watching Old Dogs and some of The Simpsons Movie, leaving Aunt Noell and I to talk, and me free to film.


The trip up was almost uneventful, besides the three people hydroplaning off the road within a five mile stretch in Ingham County. And my tomato truck.



Around Ionia, things began to get interesting. The kids were done with their movies, and we were having a nice family chat when Aunt Noell let out a giant string of expletives, and exclaimed that she had lost track of the gas gauge, and that we had to stop. We were all thirsty anyway, and we needed to load up on snacks, so we stopped at a disgusting Pilot Truck Stop for fuel, sustenance, and urination. My favorite (that I didn't get a picture of because we were all being rushed) was the Intense Blend Coffee, which I had a cup of. It wasn't very intense.


Later, the "Are we there yet?" started. But we were almost there, so it didn't matter. Here's the end of our drive.

In town, on the way to Tom's, we passed a school that was about the size of my junior high school. I giggled and was like, "Is that the high school? It's so cute!" I quickly found out that the cute school was the only school. When we got to Tom's, I said something about it, and he told me that the Pentwater graduating class this year is only about forty people. I laughed.


After the grand tour of Tom's house, the first order of business was to test out the hot tub. Of course, mother nature had other plans for me, so I can say that my feet and calves thoroughly enjoyed taking a tub, while the rest of my body shivered and endured the misting rain. Bed was next, so I shacked up with my favorite T-Bag in Ansley's room, cuddled with Lambchop and Grover, and drifted to sleep to the sounds of Blaqk Audio.


Saturday: The weather was horridly cold, so most of my leisure was spent inside on Saturday. I was the first one up, but shortly after, everyone invaded the twin bed - even Hunter (a husky-shepherd mix) and Francis (a chow). After an epic Landon-Hunter forehead butt, Francis decided to ruin our party by jumping up on the bed, vomiting, and then running away. The rest of us evacuated to the living room in search of better pursuits, also known as breakfast, ala Chef Tom, and the rest of Avatar, ala Annoyance Landon.


The girls got sick of the movie and took another tub, while I bundled up and pursued photographic endeavors.


When they got bored, we all piled inside once more. I drew while they watched TV. Aunt Noell and Tom made the trip to Ludington (the closest actual town) to get Shelby and I our meatless meat. Later, Shelby and Ansley took a moped ride, while Landon hung out with his friend Wyatt (who we all hate - even Landon).

Most of the rest of the day was spent secretly working on Mother's Day projects in Tom's office, which features beautiful glass French doors and a greenhouse-like atrium.


Mom and Sadie arrived Saturday night, and Mom stayed in a hotel a ways down the street. By the end of the day, Ansley, Shelby, and I were exhausted, so we all went to bed early. In the same bed.


Sunday: On Mother's Day, the weather was absolutely better than the day previous. It was breezy, but the sun was shining. We presented our mothers with their presents: a chalk rendition of the woods outside the sliding glass door in the living room for Mom, and a hand-made shirt for Aunt Noell. Chef Tom made breakfast once again, and then everyone was left to their own devices for the morning. The girls rode mopeds again, Landon played Wii, the moms went to Ludington, and Tom...I don't actually know where Tom was, because I was napping on the lounge with Francis and Sadie.


When everyone returned from their individual expeditions, we gathered as a family and went into the village so I could take pictures. Our first stop was Pentwater Marina, which feeds directly into Lake Michigan.


Next, we visited a three-story antique shop, with which Aunt Noell and I fell love. The building was erected during the civil war, and still stood largely in its original condition.


Aunt Noell's next request was the homemade fudge/coffee shop, which has a gorgeous facade. Inside, the owner (an older lady) was busy with customers when the phone rang, so she asked some old guy to answer the phone. Turns out the old guy used to be the mayor. Quaint.


Finally, we visited the beach, which is what I had been waiting for. I've seen Lake Michigan from the Milwaukee side, but the beach honestly wasn't that great over there. In Pentwater, it's a whole different story.


At the end of the pier, there are a bunch of big, flat rocks known as The Mermaid Rocks.


Perfect for photo ops.


When we got back to the house, we enjoyed our Mother's Day ice cream cake before Mom and Sadie left for home. The rest of us hung out and played "ImagineIff...", a really sweet board game. Aunt Noell and the kidlets took one last tub before we packed up and headed out...almost. We stopped at Tom's parents' to wish his mom, Joanie, a Happy Mother's Day, but it turned into a half hour trip, so we didn't leave Pentwater until 7:40-ish.


On the way home, we occupied ourselves by playing the alphabet game. We stopped for food in a piss-ant town called Coopersville, where the following dialogue occurred:


Shelby: What town am I in?
McDonald's Guy: You're in Coopersville.
Shelby: Where?
McDonald's Guy/Ansley/Me: Coopersville.
Shelby: (disgustedly) Oh...


After Coopersville, the backseat got a little crazy with tickling, laughter, and milkshake toes. Shortly after, the kids all fell asleep, and Aunt Noell and I cruised home while blasting I Heard a Voice, much to Ansley's chagrin. We finally made it home around 11 PM.

Go Get 'Em, Ernie

It's funny how a sport can make you feel. Like you're part of a family. Like you're on top of the world. Like that same world is crashing down upon you. I'm not sure about other cities around the world, but I know for sure that in Detroit, we live, breathe, and die with our sports teams.

Death is another one of those funny things. It doesn't matter who has passed: it still leaves a hole.

Last night, Detroit Tigers broadcaster of fifty-five years, Ernie Harwell, lost his one year battle with bile-duct cancer. The Tigers just won't be the same.

Go Get 'Em, Ernie! You'll be missed.

The Last Line of Defence

WOAH MAN...it's been over a month. I've been busy, busy, busy with moving, lines, turtles, paint samples, rollerskates, kids, sharpabrabulls, playoffs, and exploring the world of horrendous fashion. So at last, I've had a seat with my carrot cake and raspberry soy mocha to tell my non-existent readers a little story.

The Red Wings have advanced to the second round of the playoffs, but unfortuantely, the Capitals fell in a terrifically action-packed game seven to the Habs (vomit), even after being up three games to one early on. It made me have a sad.

Overall, in honor of the playoffs on Versus and Jacques Martin's excellent coaching style, I have made a list. In the last three games of the Habs' series against the Caps, Martin decided to dress seven defencemen instead of the regulation six. After Versus announcers pointed this out, I constructed a list of the seven defencemen I'd like to undress (in no particular order):

Larry Murphy: I have honestly had a crush on Larry Murphy since he began playing for the Red Wings in the early nineties. Now, the fact that he's a commentator (that doesn't even sound like a legit word) for the Wings, on top of four Stanley Cups in twenty-one seasons, just adds to the flavor. He's played for six teams and been traded on deadline day numerous times. Murphy, whom I affectionately refer to as MuMu, was inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame in 2004, and thus has earned a place on my list.

Jonathan Ericsson: He called me a thief! To my face! Besides that, he's the next generation of Red Wings defencemen. Tall, dark, and handsome, The Big E was drafted 291 in the 2002 draft, making him the last overall player that year. He originally started out as a center, but was permanently placed on defensive duty by Wings scout Hakan Andersson. Ericsson won the Cup with the Wings in 2008, and is never afraid to show his scrappy side. I love myself a bad-boy.

Shea Weber: As a Wings fan, I hate Nashville with a burning passion. But as a secret Canadian, I love this Preds' defenceman. He won us the gold medal!

Sergei Fedorov: Okay, okay. I know that technically, Feds is a forward, but there were a few years in his heyday in the nineties in which he played defense for the Wings under coach-extrordianaire Scotty Bowman. Thus Uncle Tennis (don't even ask) is one of the defensemen I'd like to undress. With three Cups, two Selkes, a Pearson, a Hart, three gold medals, and a bronze and silver each under his belt, Fedorov is one of the most decorated Russian players in NHL history. Too bad he abandoned us to play with his little brother for the Metallurg Magnitogorsk in the KHL. I've been crushing on Feds since 1995, and I don't think I'll be stopping anytime soon. He is, and probably will always remain, my favorite hockey player of all time.

Mike Green: Oh boy. As far as I'm concerned, Greenie should be knighted or something. The Caps blue-line Adonis has the record for consecutive goals scored by a defenseman. Green doesn't have any awards to his name yet, but he's still got many years ahead of him in his hockey career.

Kris Letang: This should be against the law. No Wings fan should ever think about undressing a Pen. But come on, it's Tanger! Swoon! In 2009, the Penguins won the cup, and Letang also has two gold medals from the World Junior Championship. What a sensitive, soft-spoken cutie.

Duncan Keith: Rounding out the end of the list his Hawks d-man Duncan Keith. Me and my forbidden fruit, I tell you what... Keith has a gold and a silver medal to his name, and is in the top blue-line pairing in Chicago. As a part of the Hawks revival, Keith has tons of talent and the perfect place to display it.

Runners Up: Marc Staal, Chris Chelios, Ray Bourque

On another defenseman-esque note: Happy Belated 40th Birthday to Wings captain Nick Lidstrom. Now go get the Sharks, bitch! Round two starts tonight at nine sharp. Be there, or be a Sharks fan.

In Soviet Russia...

Jarome is for hockey!

Thanks, Peanut, you're a genius.

Fragment Blog 2

Very delayed. Resulting from two consecutive Wings games. Thanks to Abby for third paragraph fragments.

Got to game super early. Bert jerseys, Uncle Tennis, and Joe rectangles. Lots of waiting and shivering - shouldn't have believed the weather report. Accidental trippings, rock-kicking, guys with cameras, and inaugural jerseys. Douchebags galore. Hockey virgins and female Hunters. Bitchy ushers with cancer sticks, and not being able to find camp due to the wind. Puck bunnies in spike heels getting entirely too close. Wafting body odor and cancer smoke, mixed with cheap perfume. Blue hair and more small boys. Geography lessons from the people mover. Publicity! And knowing how culture crash celebrities feel. A Fire Inside to speed up the time. Still obsessing about Dion and Verge Fest. Bert rules? Drooling for Timmy's, and imagining the smell of meatless Caesar's. Goal hats and cheesy Journey songs. He Who Laughs Last references. Unlocking doors. People getting lost while looking for the people mover, and wondering how that happens. Phone blogging and shoulder abuse. Redneck music in downtown Detroit. Scalpers. Douchey couple, round two, except more annoying. Bright red hair with a Mickey Mouse hoodie - please let fashion be dispelled. Photographers out of work. Flash, flash, car crash! We're no fixtures. Katie dancing. Dog tags for veterans night. A Timmy's slower than Brighton's and monstrous meatless pizzas - two of them! Long, broken straws demonstrate inadequacy during warm up. Black Eyed Peas and Celtic Wolfman. Attack to the mullets and a singular douchebag in a Hossa jersey. Wings on fire and Wild get rough. Squirts who score on themselves. Green stick tape. Pizza smell everywhere. I wanna ride the zamboni! Europe and intermission country singers. Pretending to be Italian. Gaggles of puck bunnies in heels with liver poison. Picking on Shorty No-Balls. Man, that douche was trippin'! Loud mouth DJ and lame Garth Brooks wannabe, and blocking it out with Prayer Position.

Hyper out of minds. Vest, mind brooms, vehicles on ice, and mullet bonding. Short jokes and seat jumping. The city of Ontario and knee pain. Douchey pelvic thrusting, bad stoppage music, and sore throats. Little Drapers. Swedish chefs, announcers who can't make up their minds, and spreading Army. Michael Jackson is dead. Epic neck pain. Jehovah's Witnesses and Sacrilege. Wishing for student rush tickets to the Pens game. Wishing for a signed Mule puck. Usher invasion, shitty commercials, and more geography. More Brighton, unfortunately. Dancing like whores. Corrigan is everywhere!

Ref hop and lottery tickets. Mind broom makes Jim a hooker. Free pizza. Wings won, but no fries for us. Shut up, douchebag! Drunk Homer fan. Darren's fun in the garage. Checkered fedoras, lost cars, and giraffe purses. More Italian impersonators. Lost voices and boogers. No Miss Murder. No sax before the game - they did it after. Long wait in the garage. Douche-hattery everywhere. The chorus of car alarms. Are we ever going to get out of here?! SKY SPI. Creeper guy staring at Peanut. Little old lady got mutilated last night. Still twelve degrees. EATDIRT. Doug does not play everything. Bass douchebag behind us. It's raining. People need to learn how to drive. Almost plowed into car and trucks. Popo letting us go through red - Peanut doesn't notice. Pretty casino. O'blivions Corktown Cafe. Hobo at the corner. Dear ramp, I hate you. Log Cabin Avenue. Green liver poison. Slim Shady by 8 Mile Road. Sabbath, anyone? This rain sucks. Gaga cover of Michael Jackson. Cluster-fuck of I-96. Stay awake, stay alert, stay alive...stay fresh! Peanut is a doofus. Green Day...good Green Day. Shift Darren, shift! Drop Peanut off - looking ahead to a rainy drive home. Nothing on the radio, as usual. Let's listen to it pour. Quiet dog and parental units. A long awaited urination, just to be refilled. Another Ansley-free bedside. Fresh jammies, and another crash. Up at 6:30 AM for work. There will never be enough coffee.

Second paragraph reference to short jokes: "Rafalski? For hooking? What, did he hit him in the chest?" Best joke ever.

Fragment Blog 1

A blog in fragments. Because fragments are awesome. Stole the idea from the Crash Love iTunes LP. So here it is. Fragment blog. Hopefully the first of many.

Sleeping with knees everywhere. Going to the couch to be stared at by Mom and Aunt Noell and garbage-licking anchor dog. Sleeping like crap because of convicted felon cousin who is being stupid again. Waking up to Landon staring at me. Beautiful Thieves on MTV 2. Napping in the morning to A Fire Inside and the Shelby-riffic/garbage kiss wake-up. Dudesons with Abby, Flames game with Dad lacking Dion, but with added gabbing, screaming squirts, douchey Calgary fans, onion breath, and unnecessary knee touching. Being sandwiched to Dad's side, except when I send him to find vegetarian food on the concourse that has no exploitation. Flinching at the name Dave and secretly imagining him in the seat next to me - totally out of his element. Phone blogging in fragments. Lady Gaga dance-off during the first intermission with a contestant named Adam. Looking out for douchebags in Hossa jerseys and puck-bunnies during a scoreless first period, and trying not to slip on spilled liver poison when seat jumping is required. Pretending to be Italian and ducking flying Caesar's.

A rowdy second period, which sparks an internal powerplay debate, douchey Calgary fans stay douchey while hometown fans get douchier. More knee touching. Game rivalries nearly turn into a war with the entire country of Canada. A chorus of boos gives way to the mother of all headaches. Kids in Crosby jerseys and old people in Toronto ones. Black pants with brown boots, pre-ripped jeans and coach purses, drunkenness are not fashionable. Intermission leads to imagining Jade on figure skates. Sticky, dried liver poison and a refill for Dad. The sudden urge to pee, but not doing it for fear of long lines and public restrooms. Complaining about the music choice and noise meter, which is a lie. The throwing of objects onto the ice surface is prohibited, but the throwing of peanut shells at opposing fans isn't - it should be. Razzing Kipper and taking it too far. Wings score two, Calgary one. Lots of hits and opinionated fans in a packed house. Creeper Flames fans looking for cronies. Olympic boycott for ruining American/Canadian diplomacy. Head is pounding worse than Kill Caustic at the State in November. Enlightening discovery of Timmy's on the concourse, which is perfect for the coffee addict hockey fan.

Sucking it up and using the facilities. Finding out Bert fans exist, and laughing at that fact. Not being able to get away from Brighton, even while in Detroit. Being weirded out at the sight of a little boy in the ladies' room., and coming back to a tied game. Goalies who score on themselves and refs who call nothing. Still more knee touching. Howard chants and offsetting team cheers, once again. More Italian impersonators and people on the jumbotron devouring their free bloody-meaty-meat pizza. Wasted powerplays and realizing that the Flamer douchebag two rows down has a space in his faux-hawk for his sunglasses, even though the Joe is a dungeon. Wondering what fraction of cow was used to make the arena hostess's leather jacket. Marveling at how far a child's voice can carry and how drunks can't coordinate their yelling. Wishing my section won free Timmy's, and then considering that my bad luck would never let that happen. Bad movie montage and a slow-clap catastrophe. Strobe-induced seizures and people picking on Jon. Momentum shifts, trying not to give up, and foot-tapping to stoppage music. Trying not to yawn and fighting to keep my eyes open. Preparing for the long trek home by LOLing at cheesy animations. Missing Darren, Tater, and May, because the Flames could really use having their asses handed to them. The follies of the noise meter making ears ring and heads spin, and listening to omniscient fans' chatter makes it worse. Weezer and more drunk, loud fans. Dad complaints - can't wait for Milwaukee and Ottawa. Flames empty-netter, Calgary wins, and the wings are back out of the playoffs. Tunnel potholes, cancer-sticks, and bald tires on road patches. Weddings, roommates, lack of laser hair removal billboards, stuck semi trucks, traffic jams, and speed limits. Curing headaches with A Fire Inside. Finally, warm spring nights, mud, and honey bees, dad in a drunken stupor, the dog, peach tea, trucks lit up like Christmas trees, and cows? Deserted back roads, empty parking spaces nearly void of snow, the other dog, who is surprisingly quiet. An Ansley-free bedside! More A Fire Inside, and more phone blogging. The end of a funky hair day. And then, there was a crash, and out like a light.

One of Those Days

Have you ever had one of those days? Because yesterday, I had one of those days. The ones where this happens:

You wake up and make your daily pot of coffee, only to have the foam from the chocolate soy milk you put in it bubble up over the brim of your cup and spill everywhere.

Your mom calls you and yells at you for your checking account supposedly being seventy dollars in the hole, even though your bank is stupid and has screwed you over before, so you're pretty sure it's not your fault.

You're late for work because your grandma called you while you were making your soy chicken salad to talk to you about absolutely nothing for a half hour, which delays you from eating.

Because you were already late, you don't take the time to make yourself look presentable, so the only cosmetics you have on are concealer, eyeliner, and the remains of your mascara, which happens to be really chunky and gross.

When you finally get to work, your boss is crabby, so he takes it out on the closest person, which happens to be you.

A customer at work decides to lecture you on marriage after you answer the phone and are accused of being your boss's wife (and this thoroughly disgusts you). What's more: The guy was a regular consumer of liver poison, with self-declared bad fashion.

Your manager is really sick, and now you feel a sore throat coming on.

Another co-worker decides to glare at you, un-intimidatingly, because you're using your break to talk on the phone to your best friend, even though said co-worker used his to further his chance of lung cancer.

When you get home after work, your dad is drunk.

You and your sister decide to go to your favorite restaurant for dinner, and the waitress makes a mistake on your order, which leads to two vegetarians with twisted looks on their faces picking chicken out of their vegetable stir-frys. The waitress, who was really nice, apologized profusely and made you feel like a jerk for saying something about it. On the plus side, she alters your bill for the "inconvenience," but you end up eating too much, and are in a bad mood for the rest of the night.

When you finally go to bed, you don't fall asleep for hours because the guy who lives in your basement is talking quite loudly, and is playing terrible country music through his new DVD player. Ain't that somethin, y'all?

Thankfully, so far at least, today is a better day. The sun is shining again, and it's the weather is supposed to be nice, so I'm going to go bask in it with my sister and my best friend. Order will be restored.

Jesus Crosby

Thanks for winning me the gold, man. Can I go back to hating you now?

The Return of MomDad, Anchor Dog, and The Demon Children of Biscayne Boulevard

Heh, another long title. Oops. Anywho, that's right folks, my aunt - along with her two kids and their dog - have moved back in to my mom's house for a bit. So that means plenty of blog fuel.

They moved back in on Wednesday, so not much to talk about, besides the removal of a pillow barrier, with a swift knee plant to my back. I was also kicked out of my own bed by Anchor Dog, who is a black lab-pitbull mix. Fun stuff.

Depressing news: I was atrociously lied to about the availability of the Davey Havok Macbeth Studio Project (unless I'm too stupid to find them on the Loserkids website), so no walking on stars for me...yet.

Canada vs. Russia or Sid vs. Alex?

You may not be able to tell this from my incessant music-oriented ramblings, but my real passion lies in the brutish world of sporting - namely hockey. I'd take an open skate over an exclusive sound check any day, and stepping skate on frozen tundra is like coming home after a long and tedious family vacation. With my whole damn family. I think I'm secretly Canadian, and was adopted, which is why I'm totally gunning for Team Canada in this year's Winter Olympics, which began last Friday.

First off, I want to send my congrats to Team Canada on their first gold medal on home turf (home snow?) in men's moguls.

Anyway, Olympic hockey - the highlight of the competition in my eyes - begins today, so I thought I'd check the status of our sport from the mothership, NHL Network. Since the NHL isn't really functional at the moment, we just get the usual radio shows and one other feature replayed extremely redundantly while a large portion of NHL players are fighting for their countries in Vancouver, British Columbia. That program is:

Sid the Kid vs. Alexander the Great: The Olympians.

Oh boy. This comparison has been made since they both broke into the league in 2005. It was old then. It's ancient and inaccurate now.

Sid the Kid, or Pittsburgh Penguins' captain Sidney Crosby, is a native of Cole Harbour, Nova Scotia. He was drafted first overall in the lockout lottery in 2005, and has been the face of the league since. Not only does he have many awards to his name, Crosby has near-singlehandedly saved the Penguins franchise from financial destruction, and in 2009 became the youngest captain in history to hoist the Stanley Cup after beating the Detroit Red Wings. The only reason I'm not bitter is because I called it at the beginning of the season. This year, Crosby is participating in his first Olympic games, but is no stranger to representing Canada in international play.

Personally, I would hardly consider Crosby a "kid." He's accomplished much in his career, though he's only twenty-two years old.

Alexander "the Great" Ovechkin was taken first overall by the Washington Capitals in 2004. The Moscow, Russia native's rookie season was delayed due to the NHL Lockout, but it didn't slow him down any. Upon breaking into the league, Ovechkin was awarded the title of Rookie of the Year, narrowly beating out Crosby, and has since won a slew of scoring titles, but as of yet, his name does not appear on the Stanley Cup. This season is looking up for the young Capitals team, as Ovechkin was named captain last month, and the team sits atop the league standings. Ovechkin has represented Mother Russia in the 2006 Olympics in Torin, Italy, but the team missed out on receiving a medal.

Alexander is great, if I do say so myself.

I made the mistake of watching the program, in which the NHL Network played up the comparisons between the two immensely different players, and, like the rest of the national media, made Ovechkin look like the bad guy.

Crosby thrives on making the play, whereas Ovechkin is more of a goal scorer. Cosby is known for his two-way play, and excels at being a face-off center. Ovechkin, who usually plays left wing, is an explosive offensive force, scoring goals from insane angles and positions on the ice.

Hockey fans have been hearing this since day one. The part that really baffled me about the comparison was that the NHL Network had the balls to compare their off-ice lives as well. Crosby is extremely private, and his agent, Pat Brisson, makes most of his deals for him. Ovechkin adores the limelight, and is constantly spotted out on the town in DC hamming it up and being his usual, colorful self. He doesn't even have an agent - when he signed his thirteen-year deal with the Capitals, he had his mother with him.

Crosby, though the face of the NHL, has few endorsement deals (his most recognizable deals are with Reebok, Tim Horton's, and Gatorade), whereas Ovechkin has elevated himself to walking billboard status. And he's seen as the bad guy for that. If you ask me, the NHL should be kissing asses and thanking lucky stars that they've got such an available and current spokesman.

Crosby is seen as a wholesome, blushing figure; Ovechkin is the party-hearty bad boy. A suspension last month further projected the aggressive, ruthless appearance.

But the program had taken this to a whole new level, pitting the home countries of the superstars against each other - presumably for gold. While this is the match-up that I'm looking for, I feel like the NHL Network could have presented it as Canada vs. Russia, not Sid vs. Alex. We get enough of that during the season.

On another Still-relating-to-the-Olympics-but-not-even-remotely-close-to-hockey note, congrats to China's pair skating powerhouse of Shen/Zhou on their gold medal last night, and also to China's Pang/Tong on a nearly flawless free skate program which elevated them to a silver medal. Oh, and a shout-out to the participating members of the Battle crew: Sandra, Dick,

Jamie, Dave, and Scott. Can't wait 'til next season!

Tonight at 7 pm EST, it's men's hockey! Canada vs. Norway. GO CANADA!

Note: I have no idea why my line breaks aren't showing up, sorry.

Best News of My Life

I just discovered the best news of my life: Davey Havok's collaboration with Macbeth Footwear is in my price range! You could have these puppies for only $60!

Do I like the blue or the black? I can't decide...

In other Best News of My Life news, AFI's new video Beautiful Thieves came out at 6 AM yesterday, and guess who hauled their ass out of bed to watch it? That's right: ME! The video is absolutely fantastic and you should check it out here.

On yet another note involving AFI: today is drummer Adam Carson's birthday.

Happy birthday, Adam!

And the Grammy goes to...

So, as everyone out in pop culture land should know, the 52nd Annual Grammy Awards were held last night at the Staples Center in LA, and for the first time in a long while, I actually watched them. I also wrote a review of them, just for all the wonderful people that read my blog. Hah, who am I kidding? No one reads this blog; I wrote the review because I was bored out of my mind. And I only watched them because I was hoping for another Kanye West freak out.

So, ladies and gentlemen, the Grammys:

The night kicked off with a performance by the forever fabulous Lady Gaga. Totally wasn't expecting Elton John, but hey, I like him too, so it was all good.

Too bad Beyonce won song of the year. Poor Kanye couldn't continue to pick on Taylor Swift. Well, guess what, Beyonce? Imma let your writers finish, but I think Lady Gaga had the best song of all year! Of all year!

What's with Green Day performing with the cast of their musical? Musical? Indeed. After American Idiot, they got supremely annoying, but this is just the icing on the stop-caring-about-politics-and-go-back-to-being-the-Bay-Area-punk-ass-kids-that-everyone-loved-in-the-early-nineties cake.

Taylor Swift win count: one. Kanye West interruption count: zero. Apparently he didn't think that George Strait had a better country record than Taylor. It's a very sad day in the music industry when an artist has to thank their label for letting them write all their own songs. This is why I despise country music.

If Beyonce were a boy, would she sing "If I Were a Girl"? Wait, now she's covering Alanis Morissette?! Dear... holy shit! I'm so distraught over this, I can't even write an angry letter! I don't even know who to address it to!

So, that Canadian guy who sings "Hallelujah" won a Lifetime Achievement Award. Where's Claude Lemieux's? (see also: Battle of the Blades)

I adore Pink. I still need her new record. I admire her guts. I could never spin from the rafters of the Staples Center, nearly nude, in a rubber band-like contraption without vomiting or having an anxiety attack. Or both.

Dear Miranda Lambert, I love you, but your dress is bad. Signed, me.

Why isn't the alternative scene aptly represented at the Grammys? The Ting Tings and Silversun Pickups both lost to some obscure country band for best new artist. And I guess AC/DC won their first Grammy ever last night, even though Back in Black is the best selling record of all time worldwide. Of all time!

It's Miley! In a skanky ass dress. Big shocker.

Oh my God, the Jonas Brothers!

Spinal Tap is back?! They lost best comedic record because this time, their amps weren't on eleven.

Single of the year: Use Somebody, by Kings of Leon, whom I despise. Seriously guy, get a new voice. A less annoying one. And, they're self-labeled drunks. They totally deserve a Grammy for shitty music and alcohol promotion.

What? Jamie Foxx and T-Pain got pretty theatrical for their introduction. Heh, rappers attempting opera. Hell, rappers attempting music is hilarious as it is. And Slash? Slash, honey, I know all your side projects have bombed (I blame Axl), but you don't have to sell out and help rappers.

Dear Justin Beiber, tell your testicles to drop, please. Signed, me.

Alice Cooper! How could you tell me that Green Day had the best rock record of the year?! I am disappoint. Okay, so I secretly liked Billy Joe Armstrong in Live Freaky! Die Freaky! Don't tell anyone.

For real, who the hell is the Zac Brown Band? I don't think I can call myself a music nerd anymore because of these people!

Dear Ryan Seacrest, the seventeen year old girl you're introducing is taller than you. Fail. Signed, me. Taylor win count: three. Kanye interruption count: zero. So Taylor Swift can play guitar, but can she play more than four notes? What's this - a collaboration with Stevie Nicks? I didn't expect that. God, every time I find something wrong with Taylor Swift, she redeems herself by singing "Rhiannon" with Stevie Nicks (or something equally as great). I might actually have to own up to liking Taylor Swift now. Damn.

Lionel Ritchie can do it "All Night Long". A Michael Jackson tribute in 3D? Okay then. Celine Dion (I hate you, Calgary. You know why.) and Usher actually sound good together. With Carrie Underwood and Jennifer Hudson, not so much. I am not crying, I swear. Oh my God, two of his kids accepted his Lifetime Achievement Award. Now I am definitely not crying. Damn you, Micheal Jackson. Why did you die?!

Dear Sheryl Crow, your earrings are massive and could probably be used to kill someone. Just wanted to make sure you're aware of this. Signed, me.

Dear Bon Jovi, I'm so sick of you that I fast-forwarded through all three of your performances. Try not to take it personally. Also, of course the fans want to hear "Livin' on a Prayer". It is quintessential Bon Jovi from before I was born; thank random deities that I didn't have to hear it on every radio station in existence in its heyday. Signed, me.

What is a rap/sung collaboration? Okay, I guess Jay Z, Kanye, and Rihanna are. And, alas, no Kanye in attendance, which is why he hasn't wreaked havoc on society yet.

Haiti Relief rambling from Wyclef Jean. Awesome.

Grammy museum? Sounds like a waste of money to me.

Adam Sandler, I love you. Dave Matthews, I don't love you, sorry.

Dude, Ricky Martin, shut up. Beyonce won best female for "Halo". I'm sure that wherever Kanye West is, he's ecstatic that Beyonce is finally getting the recognition she deserves!

Mama said knock LL Cool J out. Who the hell is Maxwell?

In memoriam: Michael Jackson, DJ AM, Les Paul. Great Les Paul tribute. Loved it. Best performance of the night, by far.

The unanswerable questions of the final performance: Why does Quentin Tarantino think he's so cool? Since when did Travis Barker start wearing shirts? Is rap really considered music? What is going on with the sound? Where the hell did Eminem get those ugly shoes? Didn't that Drake guy play on Degrassi: The Next Generation? How could he win a Grammy before his first record is even released? Can I hate rap but absolutely adore Eminem without sounding like a hypocrite?

Record of the year: Fearless, by Taylor Swift. Now I'm really upset that Kanye West wasn't there; Taylor beat out I am Sasha Fierce, by Beyonce. Final tally - Taylor: four. Kanye: zero.

All in all: Same shit, different Grammys. Fail.