Monday, February 28, 2005

baby driver

I went down to the health department today.

No, your favorite internet superstar does NOT have a raging case of gonorrhea. Those rumors are false, unfounded, and malicious.

I had to get the rest of my shots to go to college. Tetanus and the first of three hepatitis B immmunizations. I could've gone to a regular doctor, but I'm not paying forty five bucks a pop when I can pay $14 instead.

I'm just thankful I don't have to get the meningitis shot. 104 smackers. Yeah, not exactly within my preferred price range.

while down there, I counted at least eight children under the age of five of Latino descent. I, for one, think that these babies are the cutest things ever, even if they are scared of the big white dude with the tangled mass of blond hair.

There is nothing more American than seeing eight kids playing "I Spy" in two different languages simultaneously. It's so incredibly cute that I thought my eyeballs might melt off.

Trading tapes isn't fun anymore. I need to get some new connections outside of the normal outlets, because the normal outlets are now completely unsafe. People getting ripped off left and right isn't a good environment. What's worse is the people who build up reps for a year or more, then turn heel and take massive amounts of money in one pop.

That reminds me, I need two things: lucha and MMA. Maybe I should combine this and just get a comp of Super Porky MMA matches. On second thought, no.

But seriously, I need to get some more MMA. I watched the "Slams" video posted on DVDVR, and really enjoyed most of it. I love the UFC Hits videos available at my local Video Warehouse, and I really like the Ultimate Fighter when I can stay up for it. (Recaps on the weekend are the best.)

If TCF can get back to me on the specifics, I'll start writing my Wrestlemania Preview later this week. I just hope I can get to watch it this year.

I've reverted back to watching old comps, like Evenflow's High Flying Hostility. It might be the best comp of that kind of match, as every match is either a five-star or a complete spotfest. The last sequence I watched was the first Briscoes face-off, followed by Bret-Owen from WM X, followed by Tajiri vs. Super Crazy from ECW on TNN, and wrapped up with Eddie-Rey from Halloween Havoc '97.

Of all those, I really want to choose Bret-Owen as my favorite, but I love Eddie-Rey so much more. The reversal of the BT Bomb for the win is so brilliant, and Tenay puts it over just right. Even Heenan, who didn't usually get into the CW matches, got into this one.

Briscoes is just a complete spotfest, but I'm so much of a smark now that I can't watch it without literally yelling at the screen "HE JUST TOMBSTONED YOU, BURNING HAMMERED YOU, AND HALF-NELSON SUPLEXED YOU! YOU CAN'T JUST GET UP!"

I guess I'm just too much of a psych freak to enjoy a power-move spotfest. Top-rope spotfests I can watch all day, because the threshold for believability is lower. I can see a corkscrew splash not hurting you all that much, because it's just a splash with a twist. I can't say the same for a tombstone, because I've seen at least two people suffer severe injuries from that, plus the concept of dropping me square on my head hurts me a little more than the idea of someone falling on me.

It all goes back to the first real match I watched: Rey Mysterio vs. Dean Malenko. Dean worked the leg the entire match, with leglaces, anklelocks, and crabs. He went for the cloverleaf, but Rey crawled out of it and hit the shaky-legged hurricanrana for the duke. Simple psych, but effective. I guess I'm just spoiled.

Enough rambling for now. I'll try to get back to you tomorrow.


Saturday, February 26, 2005


Hello, world. I am somewhat sorry for the delay. I have been hellaciously sick for most of the week, moreso than usual.

It all started last week, as documented in the post from last Saturday. Sore throat, dizziness, nausea, and all the other great stuff that comes for me when my allergies act up. It's actually the way my sinuses are constructed: fluid builds up in my sinuses from allergies or whatever, then drains into both my ears (normal) and my stomach (not so normal). As a result, whenever I get a cold, it runs for about a week, because the stomach part of it lasts for five days longer than the actual cold.

ANd I'm essentially deaf for a couple of weeks due to the draining. It feels like I'm underwater. like that pressure in your ears.

I spent Monday in bed, mainly because it was a holiday and I generally don't do much on holidays, but also due to the cold.

Tuesday, I was supposed to go back to the coal mines, but I was just hitting the stomach part of the illness combo. So, I slept till 12:30 instead.

Wednesday, I go back to the sheep factory and find out that, no I didn't really miss anything, and no, missing today wouldn't have really mattered either. Or the rest of the week.

So went my week. The other two days are nothing. Today I watched Night 2 of the TPI and some of the Ric Flair DVD. That's about it.

As a consequence of my illness and accompanying insomnia, I've watched something like 50 hours of either ESPNews or Sportscenter. I can probably tell you the complete box score of any game in the past week, any sport you like.

My room is now complete geek heaven. My comp is sitting on my nightstand, monitor facing my bed so I don't even have to roll out of bed to play games or check my email. Or my website, which no one ever seems to check. Comments, people, comments. And hits. Communication in any form would be nice.

Watching TPI today, I realize something: there are actually people out there in worse physical condition than I am. Namely, Iceberg from NWA:Wildside. The man has to weigh 600 pounds. He gives me hope, in that I could concievably become a wrestler if I so chose. I am similar in physique to Tank, the worker of the team. I'm actually thinner than he is, too. Scary.

Speaking of wrestling, I have to write and perform a monologue for my Drama class. I know I'm going to do a promo, but I'm not concrete on the situation. I'm leaning towards "unbalanced face gets title stolen, describes how he will exact his revenge on the sneaky, underhanded heel". Also, I'm really partial to the "cocky-ass heel champion who isn't scared of the new blue-chip babyface gunning for his title". Then again, there's the simplest one for me to do, the one that actually fits my personality: Arn Anderson style. Slow, methodical, intricately detailed promo dancing around the subject till the end, where it all wraps up and genuinely gives you chills.

I really should try to convince either Ryan, Vince, or Ferrell to go down to Cornelia and see about getting some training. They might really like it. Or, they might really hate it.

I could do the psychological part of the job, but with the physical stuff I would falter. I can already plot out a match with a really good flow, with good psych and good timing, but it doesn't do me much good if I can't physically perform.

However, it works for Iceberg, and he seems to be getting some good bookings (NWA:W, IWA:MS, some mid-west indies, various little southern indies).

I'd make a kick-ass manager, though. And an even better announcer. (Anybody need a good hand who's familiar with digital editing, audio production, acting, and will work for peanuts and the opportunity to succeed?)

Most importantly, it might be fun, and it would prevent me from having to say "I could've been" later on.

We've reached the end of my ranting for the day. Check back soon, cause I plan to update more than I'm doing. I'll post results to personality quizzes if I have to.


Sunday, February 20, 2005

r.i.p Hunter S. Thompson

Just came over the AP newswire. Here's the link on Yahoo.

FMJ will be crushed, and I'm not kidding. I probably won't see him for a day or two.

Sad to see such a great writer go out in such a standard way. I always thought it would be some fiery explosion or some kind of massive overdose.

The world is weird sometimes.

no way out

I watched this tonight, and did a complete, play-by-play recap, mainly because I have no social life to speak of.

I'm letting CubsFan have first crack at it, but if he doesn't want it, I'll post it on here.

More later, sports fans.

Saturday, February 19, 2005

I just called

to say... I Love You.

Each and every one of you who reads this, whether you're a regular or just came in because Google linked you to one of my insane, rambling rants, I love you.

Maybe I should preface this with the disclaimer "I am just on the cusp of getting sick, my throat's sore, and my head's beginning to spin, yet I somehow have the motor skills necessary to type semi-coherently."

Also, "I will probably delete the majority of this when I wake up in the morning."

It's 12:43 AM on February 19, 2005, and I think I've passed the point where I give a shit. Life generally sucks, but I don't care.

I can't get a date, I can't afford a car, and I still have two books to buy in the Scientific American Book Club.

(Wow, as I typed that it seemed so superficial that it came out the other end and wound up profound. Cosmic.)

I was scooped on my date to the prom, but it doesn't matter, because most of my friends are still (and most likely will continue to be,) dateless. Anyone for a party at my house on Prom Night? No dress code, but there is a two-drink minimum.

Man, I can't think straight now. I've had a headache since about 1:00 PM Thursday, during the sterling presentation with Faith-Based Initiative consultant to President George W. Bush, policy advisor to the Governor of Arizona, friend and confidant of P.Diddy and Mariah Carey, renowned leadership consultant Byron V. Garrett, of Lifeworks101. And yes, he dropped more names than that, but I largely tuned him out after thirty seconds.

He sucked, as he was trying entirely too hard to seem "cool" in both situations I saw him in, the assembly and the "leadership conference". Here's a taste of Janus for you: in the assembly, in front of the whole school, he referenced Lil' Jon and Fat Joe. In the Leadership Conference (which contained maybe two black people besides himself), he went straight to the white-bread stuff, leaving out mention of urban celebrities and instead going to the Government name-dropping.

I hate people who act differently depending on their surroundings. I used to be that way, but then I realized it was easier to just be an all-around asshole all the time. I figure it's okay to be an asshole as long as you own up to it. I don't mind people who own up to being assholes, a la George Carlin. It's the people who are assholes, yet deny they're being assholes who bother me.

Head spinning again. Give me a minute.

Okay. I'm back.

Anyways, I'm gonna go furniture shopping tomorrow (new computer desk for my room), and, since we live in the mecca of high society, the first stop is Wal-Mart. Not knocking Wal-Mart, but I'd prefer to pay a little bit more and get something not made out of cardboard and sawdust.

Great, now the ghost of Sam Walton is gonna come after me.

Actually, I can probably get a better price at OfficeMax, in addition to better quality.

But Wal-Mart is closer, and there's also grocery shopping to be done. Ergo, Wally World is the destination for the fiesta nation.

I generally suck at video games, but I rock at THPS. I can bust out 10 million point combos and not blink. Then again, I can't get out of the first level of any Final Fantasy game.

Songs run through my head constantly, so to give a rundown of the past few minutes, "Land of a Thousand Dances," "I Am The Warrior", "Somebody to Love," "Mahna Mahna," and "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

That about sums it up, right?


Also. Blogger's Spell Check doesn't recognize P.Diddy, Google, or asshole. Weirdness.

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

sin city

I'm listening to the Flying Burrito Brothers, and all is right with the world.

I am a fan of nearly all types of music, be it bluegrass, bebop, bossanova, blues, or even boy bands. I'll listen to pretty much anything at least once.

I make an exception, though. If it's country, and it was produced after 1988, it is probably crap. Therefore I don't listen to it.

I really shouldn't dignify it with the misnomer "country". It's prefab pop pulp with the occasional steel guitar in the outro. That does NOT make it country. It just proves that Swedish pop impresarios have run out of things to do with string sections, and must move on to other instruments to ruin.

There are exclusions to my rule: if it's bluegrass (real bluegrass, i.e. Southern Thunder with Ricky Skaggs, whose album "Live at the Charleston Music Hall" should be in every music lover's collection, or Alison Krauss, who could probably sing the phonebook and I'd listen), I'll give it a listen.

For example, the only "new" bluegrass band that really sounds good to me is Nickel Creek. Mainly because the mandolin player (my chosen instrument) is amazing, and the fiddler is fantastic as well.

I have a soft spot in my heart for one country artist, though.

Dolly Parton.

Now, don't click the back button just yet. Hear me out.

Get her album of bluegrass covers of rock songs. Her version of "Shine" by Collective Soul is the best rendition of that song currently available. Also, "Stairway to Heaven" sounds much better with a mandolin and fiddle solo in the middle of it. (The fiddler and mandolinist (mandolinier?) from Nickel Creek are on that album, too.)

So, there's my semi-geeky musical incursion of the day. Flames, inquiries, professions of undying love can be sent to me here.

Like the card, Kate?

And, by the way, my Launch station has played the aforementioned FBB, followed by Joe Walsh's "Life's Been Good", and wrapped up with "She's On It" by the ever-lovable Beasties.

Eclectic? Yes.

Good? Definitely.

Monday, February 14, 2005

return of poetry

This time, it's for real.

Here goes:


My pulse quickens ever so slightly when
I see her foot twitch imperceptibly,
her mind deep in thought over a question.
Her answer is inevitably an
example of pure perfection, in its
content, complexity, and congruence.
Her relief is completely palpable.
She relaxes and focuses on her
next conquest, a surmountable struggle.
She delicately fingers her pencil,
pausing over each possibility.
Her pretty face is cast over with a
veneer of delicate concentration;
One choice, another choice, yet another.
Each passes her strong inspection unscathed
Leaving her no choice but to take a stab.
A seemingly random guess, guided by
a discreet divine hand, ensuring her
sweet success. O, how I wish I could be
the focus of such an intent gaze from
her. But, alas, it is not my fortune
to be the object of such desire.
Her heart belongs to academia,
guarding itself from such trivial acts
as responding to unrequited love.


There you have it.

Sunday, February 13, 2005

sweet, sweet victory

Sorry for my absence, but I've been trying to maintain somewhat of a life.

In my case, that means trying to get ten-year-old PC games to work.

I've got a fully functioning copy of Oregon Trail up and running through DOSBox, and it's sweet. All of the old school gameplay that we know and love.

That makes Carmen Sandiego, Oregon Trail, Leisure Suit Larrys 1-5, Stratego, and various D&D games that I've got on my computer. Smell the geekiness.

I really want to get a functioning copy of Apprentice or some other M:TG game. I'm too lazy to actually dig out a deck, and plus I'm not sociable enough to get a RL game going. I don't want to bother playing online, either. I want a competent AI opponent. It's not that much to ask for, is it?

I went out and bought two old PS2 games, THPS3 and NHL2001. Nothing beats old games at 10% of the price. After unlocking all of THPS3, it looks promising. I've still got to get back into my old skills, though.

Haven't cracked NHL2001 open yet. I'm not expecting much, but it was only $1.99. I should get my money's worth.

Now, on to the wrestling. I am still watching TPI 2004, and I haven't even gotten past the first round.

I LOVED Strong/Joe. I've never really liked any Joe matches before, but I liked Strong. Roderick brings a believable sense of psych to the match.

Joe was great in this, giving when he should have and getting when he should have. He bumps great for a big man (note: for those unacquainted with Samoa Joe, he's my size, but he can do somersault flips from the inside of the ring over the ropes to the floor. Impressive to say the least). And,. as usual, he delivers some of the stiffest (note: not fake) punches, chops, and kicks I've ever seen, in wrestling or out.

Roderick really impressed me here, with his ability to hold the match together with a well-timed hope spot or huge bump. His kick to the face at the end was brilliant, and I was standing up and shouting right along with the crowd, despite my location watching on tape.

In other matches, Double C vs Nigel was good, but should have been given more time. I like my matwork wacky and European-based, and there was tons of it here. Double C is the new hotness. He's a great cocky heel (see the other quad shot shows if you don't believe me) and he's got a good technical base that is reminiscent, yet not derivative, of Hero.

Enough wrasslin'. I doubt any of you read that, or if you did, understood much of it. You all need some old Nitro tapes stat, to make you all remember when you liked wrestling.

Remeber when tape trading was fun, and not a constant run from the promotions? Oh yeah, that's when the promotions actually made enough money on the gate to support themselves. Never mind. Bad business models galore. Just keep in mind that you can't copy a live experience, and you can actually get people to come to shows if you promote it in the area, whether it be TV or flyers or radio giveaways or whatever.

Also, I should probably get a group of friends together to go up to Cornelia to Wildside. From what I hear, it may be too late already. Not that I could actually convince anybody that I know to go, anyway.

I've been having really vivid dreams lately (sometimes about you, my wonderful readers), and they're split 50/50 between disturbingly realistic and Dali-esque surrealism. What's weird is that the realistic ones are scarier than the off the wall ones.

No more psychoses and neuroses. If I get around to it, I've got some poetry to put up here, that I think is pretty good and, when I showed it to someone whose opinion I respect, told me I should submit it to the Georgia Young Authors contest. Iambic Pentameter rules the school, bitches.

I'm officially signed up for Gainesville, and my major is English. Now I just have to worry about actually graduating and not screwing myself over before August.

Four day weekend next weekend, and I'm excited about it. I'll have a chance to set up that farking computer that's been sitting in my living room for a week and a half. It's not really setting up the computer that's the hard part, but it's moving all the furniture to get to the computer that is the pain.

Later, biznatches.

Monday, February 07, 2005

you're nobody till somebody...

...kills you

See what I did there? It's called a bait and switch. Wonderful ain't it?

(Prize to the first white boy or girl to guess the source of the title.)

SO I went to the Star Student and Chamber of Commerce banquet on Saturday. Basically, I got to see stupid poeple who paid $50 a plate to eat bad food and listen to the luminaries of Barrow County society prattle on about how much they love the county, the people, and want to see them exploited at all costs. They made this delightful little video intent on promoting the County to "the state, the nation, and the world at large." My tax dollars at work.

I know understand why rich people drink: to put up with other rich people.

I thought about seeing if I could pass for 21 and sneaking a drink, but, alas, it was a cash bar, and I have a rule about paying to get drunk.

The way I see it, these people paid $50 a plate, they deserve to get drunk for no extra cost, as the food was nowhere near worth even $20 a plate. Boneless skinless chicken breasts, mashed sweet potatoes, an arugala salad, and some kind of chocolate cake, which was the only redeeming dish.

I haven't watched any wrestling lately besides my weekly Raw fix, which is coming up in a few minutes. I haven't really watched anything since last Monday, and I fell asleep at ten then. Somebody who trades send me something. Go wild. I'll watch it and review it here.

As a matter of fact, that goes for any recorded medium. Send me a movie, a CD, porn, a sporting event, even a paintingn or sculpture, and I'll review it and post it here. Plus, I'll insert a subliminal message of your kill joey choice.

I'm gonna see if I can't get up to Wuxtry this weekend, and fill some holes in my CD collection. Outkast, Chemical Brothers, and Wu-Tang are on my list, but I'll accept suggestions as long as they're combined with money to buy said suggestion.

Homework is a killer this week, as apparently it's now "get some filler grades" time right before the first progress reports come out. I expect to have an A in all my classes (unlike some of you, I'm sure,) but if I don't, I'll chalk it up to shitty teachers. I've got two who might turn out to be problems, and one that's likely to stir up trouble, apparently because he can't get laid. Just my theory, though.

That, or he's worried about the pending rape charges against a member of his fraternity, who happened to commit this indiscretion while said teacher was an active member of the frat. See, not only is she suing the perp, but she's suing the frat, too.

I'd be worried too, if I was a dumbass jock frat brother.

That's not to say all people who belong to frats are dumbasses, just my personal experience with one particular member.

Oh yeah, forget everything in the past three paragraphs. Sonmething about being sworn to secrecy. I'm sure you won't tell.

Keep it on the down-low anyway.


Tuesday, February 01, 2005

call and answer

I've reached Ferrell's Paradox in terms of my relationships with the fairer sex.

For those of you who didn't sit at my lunch table today, this is when you can flirt with moderate success with mildly attractive females, yet meet with metaphoric brick walls when presented with either
  1. An above average looking female, or
  2. a female you're actually interested in.

Sucks, don't it?

Enough about my non-existant love life. Too morose for you motherfuckers.

EDIT: Is it me, or is there a Barenaked Ladies song for every occasion?


Queen - Step on Me

Know what I said when I saw you crying
Hang on that's folly
I was weak in the head I believed your lying
You're just a bad memory
My life was going to be better
My why could I never ever see she'd step on me

Well I talked to your friend just the other day
I was gonna look and raise a smile
And she hid a smile and she ain't like you
Been asleep from all the journeys a little while
My life was going to be better
My why could I never ever see she'd step on me
Step on me, step on me, step on me

Now it's so good I won't waste my time
On a two year old picture of you
Oh now that you're gone everything's fine
But you probably think that we're through
My life was going to be better
My why could I never ever see she'd step on me
Step on me, step on me, step on me

Now it's so good I won't waste my time
On a two year old picture of you
Oh now that you're gone everything's fine
But you probably think that we're through
My life was going to be better
My why could I never ever see she'd step on me
Never ever see she'd step on me


Pixies - The Holiday Song

Well sit right down my wicked son
And let me tell you a story
About the boy who fell from glory
And how he was a wicked son

This ain't no holiday
But it always turns out this way
Here I am with my hand

He took his sister from his head
And then painted her on the sheets
And then rolled her up in grass and trees
And they kissed 'till they were dead

This ain't no holiday
But it always turns out this way
Here I am, with my hand

Well sit right down my evil son
And let me tell you a story
About the boy who fell from glory
And how he was a wicked son

This ain't no holiday
But it always turns out this way
Here I am, with my hand

This ain't no holiday
But it always turns out this way
Here I am, with my hand


The Cure - Close To Me

I've waited hours for this
I've made myself so sick
I wish I'd stayed asleep today
I never thought that this day would end
I never thought that tonight could ever be
This close to me

Just try to see in the dark
Just try to make it work
To feel the fear before you're here
I make the shapes come much too close
I pull my eyes out
Hold my breath
And wait until I shake

But if I had your faith
Then I could make it safe and clean
If only I was sure
That my head on the door was a dream

I've waited hours for this
I've made myself so sick
I wish I'd stayed asleep today
I never thought that this day would end
I never thought that tonight could ever be
This close to me

But if I had your face
I could make it safe and clean
If only I was sure
That my head on the door
Was a dream


Matthew Sweet - Thought I Knew You

I thought I knew you
I was in for a surprise
I let my love flow
From my heart into your eyes

And then I found out
That there was nothing I could know or guess about you
You'd go as far as you could go

And it took me years to figure out
That there was nothing I could give to you

And years to figure out
That there was nothing you would take from me

And how can I describe
The way you slowly took my hope away

And all of the time
I thought I knew you

Smashing Pumpkins - To Forgive

Ten times removed
I forget about where it all began
Bastard son of a bastard son of
A wild eyed child of the sun
And right as rain, I'm not the same but
I feel the same, I feel nothing
Holding back the fool again
Holding back the fool pretends
I forget to forget nothing is important
Holding back the fool again
I sensed my loss
Before I even learned to talk
And I remember my birthdays
Empty party afternoons won't come back
Holding back the fool again
Holding back the fool pretends
I forget to forget nothing is important
Holding back the fool again
I forget to forget me
I forget to forget you see
Nothing is important to me
I knew my loss
Before I even learned to speak
And all along, I knew it was wrong
But I played along, with my birthday song
Holding back the fool again
Holding back the fool pretends
I forget to forget nothing is important
Holding back the fool again


There's your sad bastard music for the day. Go forth and prosper.


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