Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Blog resurrection, Part VI

Oooh, this is a big and angry one, names are named and fingers are pointed with short stabby motions at a lot of people. I can only chuckle as I look back at these posts because all this crap seemed so monumental at the time and now I don't give half a shit about any of it.

I had to readd the link to Marshall's book since the previous was broken. Read it, it'll fuck up your whole worldview and its way more creative than any of this shit I am rehashing for you.


First I have to give a shoutout to Marshall Brain, his online novel is superb and basically outlines how robots will be replacing us in the all to soon future. Here's a link to his stuff, look for the 'manna' book.

Secondly I have to include a great piece of conversation I overheard on the bus today.

Girl1: ...well i just hate that people think i am stupid when they find out i'm, like, religious and stuff.
Girl2: Its probably just because being seriously religious almost guarantees that you're biased towards all other religions. And intelligence is supposed to be more objective than that.
Girl1: Well, aren't like, athiests biased towards something...
Girl2: Yeah, the truth.

Good girl, what a heart warming thing to hear!

Ok, lets talk about neochauvinism. I can already hear the complaint wheels turning in your head (ladies) but this actually a practical an enlightened form of male/female interaction that I myself pioneered.

Consider the traditonal take on women by a chauvinist: Women are inferior in every way and exist only to serve men, and they better or i'll bitch slap them. Harsh words, as far as driving goes true...but not a very PC way of thinking.

So in the interest of misogyny reformation I have concocted a new and much more politically correct form of gender bias. A neochauvinist takes this stance: Women are indeed inferior, but only because they are raised that way and not due to genetics or some sort of biological flaw. Except for the skills of driving and specifically parallel parking. However, instead of shamefully taking advantage of this cultural rift between girls, we will simply fulfill the role of dominating male to the expectant girls already largely grown. Its our duty, since they expect it, we should satisfy the counter part of their conditioned lifestyle. Also, we should generously allow them the exclusive priviledge of allowing their daughters to follow in their mothers footsteps, though they'll of course be given the same choice of independence that their mothers have. Hell, we should extend our charity to even include teaching our sons exactly how girls expect to be treated and prepare our little men for their future little bitches.

Moving on.

Now since yesterday was a wholesomely bitter bunch of bullshit, I am going to offset it with today's somewhat lighter and sweeter tone. If you didn't read yesterday's post, do so now...then come back or you won't have a fucking clue what i'm talking about.

The 'secret' figures of legend in a loose and only partially chronological order.

Age 5, the Mirror and Red Pajamas.
I suppose at some point in every thinking person's life they come to a point where suddenly there presence in the world is made inescapably clear. For me, this happened circa age 5 one night at our old house on Overbrook. I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth of something and paused to look in the mirror. For some reason my gaze lingered longer as I felt a realization creeping up on me that would be the first definitively conscious thought in my little head. "That is ME in the mirror. I am the one doing these things and moving around in MY life." Though clad in red PJ's as mentioned I felt utterly naked and overwhelmed. What a concept! It still gives me shivers to look at my hand and ponder that it is me living this crazy life and that things aren't just happening because they do. Some happen because of me, and the immensity has not waned since.

Age 7ish, Grandpa Keipper. Anyone that knew Walter Keipper while he was alive knew that he was a grumpy, irritable and mean spirited old SOB. Yet he was an artist also. The hundreds of books of paintings and photos enthralled me, there was so much to see, so much to imagine. And somehow despite his rough and, lets face it, bastardly exterior he created art all by himself. Does this mean he just wasn't understood and that more artistic people would have found him more appealing? I doubt it very much. More likely he was much like me in a way. Maybe he didn't understand the world or the people in it so much, but he understood himself and that he stood apart from the rest in some ways only he knew and others he could not fathom. Though he was nearly impossible to talk to I always found his education and attitudes fascinating.

Elementary school, the Super Crushes. What it is about girls that captivates me is still elusive and mysterious. The easy answer would be that its simple sexual attraction due to the biological imperative or something to that effect. But I doubt it. Since age 5 there have been several girls that for whatever reason held my secret yet unswerving attention. Ashley King was the first from K to 3rd grade. Afterwards Blair Richey held the longest streak until 8th grade. Jenny wade replaced her as the object of my undying affection sometime between 7th and 8th and this attraction did not wane until she moved after 10th grade. After that I started dating so my preexperience ended. But holy crap there was so much energy devoted to these girls. I was so attracted and yet TERRIFIED to even talk to them. Jenny was different because we actually talked quite a bit and she was the first girl that I liked because of talking to her and not just the fantasies concocted by an over active imagination. As it stands they are all pretty much no longer acceptable for various reasons.

Transition to middle school, Spec Camp. Now I know that spec camp is like saying PIN number or ATM machine but there's no other good way to say it so fuck HYOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! This is where the greatest friendship of my life was first forged. Mike Hanzlik and I roomed together and had some of the better talks of my youth. Before then it was all just kind of fluffy stuff, but the origins of rhetoric can be traced right back to Catawba College that summer.

Mid Middle school, Wyoming. Now this was a confusing trip for me for several reasons. First I was just mercifully released from the tyranny of my 6th grade year and terrified by the prospect of returning. Second because I was 12 and puberty had just kicked my childhood away with a merciless iron boot. And third because there was a cute girl there that i wanted to talk to but she like LUCAS instead. Fucking miserable shit happened this trip. Having to deal with Amy's sister emily Nikki's brother and the cowboy's kid that put a fucking knife to my throat because of something i did or said to Wade. There was an incident that ranks legendary that made it worthwhile. One fun day we went on a trip that would involve a long ride, then an overnight stay at a campsite and a return ride the following day. Sounds nice right? Well if you like 4 hour rides through freezing rain, sleet, marble sized hail during the summer when you're not acclimatized and the only thing between your skin and the elements is a soaked pair of jeans and mickey mouse rain poncho then yeah it was awesome. Ok, so misery abounded. But there is a lesson at the end of this yellow brick road. Once we reached the campsite there was little increase in comfort (wet tents, no fires, that whiny bitch with dark hair...eeeesh). So until things got better situated the cowboys suggested we climb the hill to the west to see 'Red Ridge.' What the hell, why not? So we went, and it is etched in my mind as one of the most beautiful sights I have ever had the pleasure of beholding. Despite the intense discomfort, the reward of a powerful aesthetic memory made it all somehow worthwhile. It was several months before I decided on this because shortly after that I got hit by a fucking boulder that lucas rolled down the hill at me.

More to follow, its already bitched out on me twice today so I'm gonna go ahead and post this.

And here's the sequel!

Circa 9th Grade, The Oracle of Delphi. Now, legends have streamed out of greece so copiously we probably don't even realize how incredibly influential the greek myths and studies have been on our own society. Its fitting that the land that spawned the iliad and odyssey as well as like 1.21 jigaGods also played a crucial tone in the symphony of my psychosis. The family trip that brought us there was probably the first time I really enjoyed traveling and my first trip outside the US. The oracle was actually a person in the days of yore, but the site and some structures remain to denote where it was and how things happened. Tour guide ted, freshly mad from yelling at some germans, explained that we should climb up the path (it was about .5 miles) and contemplate when we get there. In my younger days I didn't really put stock in God or magic being real, but the possibility loomed large and I desired enlightenment. This desire captivated me, I literally lost the the group in my haste. Keep in mind it was hot enough to melt shoes and asphalt. Once I reached the top I didn't find a pool or fountain or even a statue or rock to whisper pagan rites over, it was just a little stadium area made of rock. So I sat down with the question "What have I been doing wrong my whole life, how can I change what i dislike and increase what I want to be." The heat and my exertion were such that as soon as I closed my eyes to think the whole world seemed to spin downwards to the left as if a gyroscope were using me to equalize its spin. A stunning realization similar to the mirror example hit me. I am out of control. Holy shit I am about to just fall over from just sitting here. Its hard trying to effect change in your life because you first have to admit that there is something you're doing wrong. People all tend to think 'i'm a good person' or at least 'i'm not as bad as some people' but there are way to many assholes for this to be true. So obviously many people are lying to themself, or taking the genocidal and psychotic among as their inferiors. Rather than rationalize myself into my own good graces I resolved to try and change, really change and not just bullshit my way through life. The 2SJ lyric comes to mind "Did you change the world, or your point of view?" It was a small step, and things didn't change over night, but persistence is something I do have. I mean, if I didn't could I have beaten Street Fighter 2 with Zangief? Ha, I think not.

10th Grade, Luke's house and the grand reunification. I am sure I spent about every other weekend hanging out, swimming or partying at luke belvard's pad. I mean, for kids that don't drink there just aren't many fun things to do that aren't expensive or difficult to recruit others to. It was refuge though, and probably helped my social life more than any other single factor until I started swimming. More so than just kickin' it with Flojo and associates it was at luke's that I started hanging out with mike again after many years of seperation. At the time (and this is a massive simplification) Mike was crazy as hell and extremely extroverted. I was much mellower but also less apt to talk to girls and all that cal. So we rubbed off on eachother (not physically you sick fucks) mentally and socially. We sharpened our mutual intellects on eachother and discussed everything under the sun. He cut back on drugs and shit, I got a pair of balls to make Ron Jeremy proud. Though there was some equilibrium we never merged into the same person like so many other people do with their best friends (see Matt Sides, Paul Chikes, Will Anderson) More than that, the two of us started hanging out with the girls again. Robin, Susan and Amber were all the time part of what we did and who we hung out. The girls were a stabilizing influence on both of us, if nothing but for my raging ego. Those were good times.

11th Grade, Journalism. This played a small part but is worth mention because this was the year that people in my class kind of got sick of the 'popular' group and for the most part stopped caring about them, I know i did. This was also a good chance for me to constantly bash Catherine Cole for being...well, herself. And since we had chemistry together also I got to crack on the Meredith's and others as well. It was glorious not giving a shit and all that. This was also the first year that I did really well in swimming. Remember 'Aquaman?' Well that originated this year, so did the swimming stories about the guy with the cross shaved out of his chest hair, the time when dennis almost got in a fight with a guy that i beat in the 500 and my first undefeated season in the 500 free. I was also not beaten in the 100 fly or 200 IM, but I only swam these at a few meets and conference would have produced someone to beat me.

12th grade, Yearbook, AP english, the last swim season, Hailey, religion and the Africa trip. I could write 39 pages about all this crap, but i'm only doing 1-2 sentence summaries in the order listed. Bonding with everyone was awesome and uniting against all the naysayers made yearbook and taking pictures for it fantastic. Mrs Smith is largely responsible for being the best teacher I had at concord high and AP english was where the most thought provoking happened by far. The medieval banquet and shattered shakespeare videos are some of the most memorable thigns I did in HS. The final swim season was a glorious realization of my longstanding dream to be able to talk shit with my relay team to other relays and then crushing them or losing so horribly it was still funny. I was also undefeated but barely thanks to the best swimming story ever. Hailey was mentioned but young life played a big part. We all make mistakes. Religion was also the norm, not in the gay new age 'jesus is my pal' type sense but in the Psalm 54 righteous pulp fiction quote reading vanquishing of foes and all that type. I loved it, not for my 'relationship' with God but the immense sense of power from believing that I was guided by a noble and powerful deity and others were less pure than I. The Africa trip was the single most powerful 17 days of my existence and it was a profound time of introspection, amazement and desire for improvement. Its also where I first got wasted.

Summer before college, Painting and Saranac. Saranac is the young life camp that I went to shortly after returning from Africa. Needless to say it was quite a let down. Don't get me wrong, the games and shit were awesome and the slide was killer. Braveheart day would have been awesome if the only thing we did was kidnap scuba steve and toss him into the water, but we also got to see Blake Theriot whoop EVERYONE's ass with a pugal stick. But the point was to go have fun and find jesus or else. One night after a bitingly disappointing question and answer session about supposed 'challenges' to the bible I was slowly coming to the conclusion that I had nothing in common with these people and that my whole stint with religion was the worst kind of farce. I broke down and wept for my dead faith, but these were merely tears of anger and not a sense of loss. It wasn't like the whole world fell over backwards and became a dead carcass like religious types would have you believe. More it was first the sadness of so many lost possibilities. Later I came to embrace the lack of God from the world not as a tragedy but as a blessing. With such freedom we can do wondrous things and not have to worry about an eternal punishment. No heaven sucks, but at least you don't have to worry about agonizing loneliness and torment until the end of existence. For a while, as I mentioned earlier, Hailey remained the only thread tying me to faith. As college rolled around and there were no more demons for me to exorcise I just stopped caring. The irony is she thought I was still a christian for the longest time, just because of a brief relapse. I never told her otherwise. She can live or die though.

The other big bad event there was work. Man kids in the phillipines making 7 cents a day had it easy compared to the shit I had to deal with. First, and I am not a morning person, I had to get up at 6 and drive 45 minutes with Harry J Stoots Sr. This guy was pretty much a nutcase. The guy had cancer but didn't take his pills because they made him jumpy (he had 3 kids though). He was also an ex army guy, and had a shitload of stories to go with it. Now having spent a good deal of time with such people as Thomas and other ROTC/army types I can say now just as I did then that he was full of shit. He could paint like a beast though, so I admired him for that. What killed me was his son. Little H as he was called was an interesting character. The guy had hair down to his lower back, rotten teeth and was more musclebound than almost anyone else I have ever seen. Being both a master at his craft and a raging alcoholic sparked many interesting conversations between us. Notably he cued me in to why the assholes get girls and invited me to one of the two whore houses in concord. For 15 bucks I could get whatever I wanted...I declined. After a few weeks working there I had mastered all the essentials of being an assistant painter. Edging, sanding, moving a metric ton of paint down the hot-ass hallway of an unfinished middle school and getting yelled at for stuff that I didn't do were just the veneer of my repertoire. Probably the low point of this job was when Little H burned down Harry's house and I had to do the work of 3 for a few days. That sucked, but I picked up a lot of good lessons for college. First, hard labor is a fucking mind killer. I can't count the number of terrifyingly inane, coarse and just fucking stupid shit I had to hear everyday. I loved working near the drywall guys though. None of them spoke english and they were the only other people with work ethics comparable to mine, at least I could pretend they were talking about something interesting. Second lesson, the asshole factor. Ok, if you think about it any girl is going to have times when her standards are lower than usual due to stress or loneliness. Girls are also notoriously bad at just getting rid of a useless boyfriend when this trend corrects itself. Now, given that the average standards of a girl are roughly comparable to her own physical attractiveness, you have to assume that most of the time an asshole or loser hitting on a girl would get shot down. However, on these rare occasions when girls happen to be more open (in more ways than one) the same girl would be susceptible. Here's the kicker, these guys with little or no value as human beings just hit on every girl they see, every chance they get, without any regard for the girl herself or whether they get rejected. Hence, these dipshits are more likely to score a honey, and she's probably not going to ditch his ass for any logical reason. So it makes perfect sense that assholes get girls a lot of the time. The one antidote (and it sucks because this is rarely available) to this problem is money. Money will always go well towards getting you laid if properly used/flaunted. The third and final lesson is not that people working shitty ass blue collar jobs are worthless, its that there are just as many fuckups and rejects that only have better jobs due to luck or family connections. So don't feel so god damned superior.

I shudder to think where i might have gone had certain childhood tendencies been encouraged or unchecked...

posted by Seth # 3:19 PM

So its about time I call out a certain key aspect of my philosophy not yet mentioned. In this oasis from the ocean of stress and work I feel like I should directly address my current romantic...umm, debacle. But first I have to explain 'figures of legend.'

It should be pretty self explanatory, but here's a definition anyways: Figures of legend are the people, places and events that carry a high absolute value of emotional import. These can be past or future ideals, an evening of crucial decisions or a great disappointment leaving you fraught with 'what ifs' and 'maybe if i had just done this...

I'm glad you understand.

Some general FL's are fairly obvious to one's friends and family. But there are also secrets that we keep about an opportunity lost or gained. Some of my obvious examples are...Robin, i've known her forever, Natalie, First love/lay etc. my swimming stories and triumphs, almost all of my breakups and showdowns.

What makes a figure of legend so important is its ability to define a point or period in your life as either a crucial turn or a giant possibility. Sometimes it is things that make us feel good or bad, but also its whether we consider them good or bad that determines legend status. Now if you know my penchant for punnett squares you know what is coming... a crucial example from my past.

Pleasure from doing good: This is so obvious. Can you think of it? Oh well, it was the time that Wade and I beat the unholy shit out of Sean Christie and his bitch friend. Maybe fighting is bad but these two were enemies that tried to pick on an innocent and we righteously vanquished them. God it was sweet.

Disdain from doing good: Probably the strongest test to my one moral *to never cheat on or with someone in a serious relationship* was a certain night at UNCCH. This was when Dan and Natalie were a fairly new couple and I wanted her back. Details aside, I had the chance to kiss her (she practically begged me to, no lie) but I did not. Yes I have wondered since if I might have shattered them asunder and made her my own again for all the rest of my life. But I have also since considered this the strongest test to my resolve and I did not yield to temptation. Almost any other guy I can think of would have just gone ahead and kissed her. Forgive me, but is it not a good and noble intention to strive for legitmacy. I don't want to be held an exception to even my own rules.

Pleasure from doing evil: Another obvious jab into my late highschool years. My stint with religion as it related to Hailey Poarch. Now I don't hold it against anyone to do some soul searching and try and find enlightenment via superstition because I have been there. And I don't really care if someone less pious tries to date a fanatic, its a mistake we all make at some point. But the intersecting consequence was, I consider, utter blasphemy. In hindsight, it was my inexplicable attraction to Hailey that pushed religion into a matter of importance. Not that I hadn't thought about or even taken things seriously before, but this demanded immediate scrutiny. I suppose in a way I wanted to convert her just as much as she wanted my brain swept clean and handed over to Jesus a sparkling tabula rasa. I have done some things I regret for girls, but lying to myself and trying to sacrifice judgement for happiness are two sins I am happily repentant from. The lure of religion is that its such an easy path, not the straight and narrow morally for me (there just weren't any moral changes i would have had to make, jsut a committment to attribute my choices to faith rather than myself.)

Disdain from doing evil: Everytime I lied because I had an idea about something and decided to make up a story about it I felt guilty. Everytime I punched Wade, or shot him with a marble or hit him with a golf club I felt bad. Guilt sucks, so I try to avoid it by not doing things that make me feel like a dick, usually bad things.

Now there are many more, and many instances for each category that I could literally spend the rest of my life accounting for. So instead I'll switch the focus over to my breakup figures of legend and notably which were not noteworthy.

In chronological order: Alison Crawford, dating time 3 weeks, she dumped me, this was because of infidelity. Coping: I spent 7 months turning the chlorinated waters of the sportscenter pool into froth by swimming like a demon of neptune. Positive effects: I lost a shit load of weight and gained a shit load of confidence.

Gina Ambrosini (not noteworthy, 2 months dating, 2 weeks feeling bad about our mutual breakup)

Hailey Poarch, half-dating time 8 months (=4 real months) she stopped talking to me because I told her that i was not going to be a religious faker anymore and she flipped out. Notably she immediately looked past the consequences of this revelation *Ie me going to hell forever* and managed to turn it around into 'this is awful, i was having such a bad week now I find out you don't believe in god.' And she whimpered about it, but fuck her. IT HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU OR YOUR PSYCHOTICALLY NARROW MIND!

Kelly Odom, dating time 2 months, i dumped her, this was because she is a shallow fake bitch with really annoying friends, jokes, laughs and I was sick of her crybaby self deprecating bullshit. Coping: I wrote the 95 reasons why I dislike her and felt much much better for it. I regret ever dating her to this day, she is a waste of human components.

Kristina Krupp (not noteworthy, 3 weeks dating, a couple sad talks and we were ok, things just didn't work out)

Natalie Marie Jones (not the girl from concord mind you) dating time 4 months, i broke up with her and then she refused to take me back later. Coping: I wrote 55 sonnets, personified human anguish and stewed in impotence about what a fuckhead she chose over me during my semester with mono. I also made a few scathing stories about revenge and described in detail what I imagine it would be like to slit a man's throat and feel the blood run over the backs of your knuckles. Everything from the sound of bone tearing through skin to the warmth of human gravy on my hands. Positive effects: My toying with writing became a full fledged hobby and I began to seriously consider doing more with it.

Kristy Lynn Huneycutt (Bunn) Dating time...something like 4.5 months, we broke up 3 times, i broke up with her once and she dumped me twice though all were her fault. In the final solution I was not as into her as she wanted me to be and she is a lying hypocrite that doesn't understand that fucking someone is not the same as having a committment and that a big physical transgression with almost no emotional attachment is about the same as a smaller physical infraction while professing supposed feelings of "love" (and yeah, the quotes indicate sarcasm) Coping: Well I haven't had time to think about it as much as I probably ought to but when i think of something worthy to undertake (a positive project or active vengeance i have not decided) Positive effects: Swimming! Bringing balance into my life is a much bigger priority than dealing with a headstrong headcase that can't seperate emotions from sex.

Maybe I will talk more about some secret figures of legend, but I have to outline something that just goes to show that women are indeed evil, and that people never fundamentally change. No i'm not going back to the religion attempt, though it makes a good example. I am going back to Alison, the first one.

Violence begets violence they say. Well stupid girls barely holding onto the reigns of their feelings drives guys mad with frustrated pleas for some kind of sanity or stability. Alison provoked the swiftest and greatest response...because she is an enemy and meeting an enemy head on is always a possibility you must ready yourself for. While she went to school and got fat and a loser boyfriend (for 4 years, ha) I grew stronger and my anger smoldered, just waiting for a time to lash out.

But I didn't see her for 4.5 years so it kind of fizzled. Perhaps I should have seen this coming, or recoiled myself to destroy her the second she walked into my life, but I forgot about her so it wasn't important. Then, under the lure of an incredibly easy lay (i mean it was apparent from the second i saw her, it would hvae been harder to try and not fuck her) I made the mistake of reaquainting with her.

And it bit me in the ass, because there was an incident after Bunn and I were sleeping together than I also boned alison. But no committment means no harm, also being discouraged from wanting to date her made bunn somewhat peevish and difficult to get along with outside of bed. At any rate, this inevitably resurfaced when Bunn and Alison became friends. So long story short, without even confirming whether it was true or not Bunn goes out and makes out with some guy. More importantly she criticised me for not telling her. She recounted a similar incident involving her kissing 3-4 different guys during a drinking game. First consider which is sluttier, then ponder this. She seemed so hellbent on the truth but completely neglected to mention another incident of her making out with a backstabbing crybaby fuckhead. (I hope you read this Johnny, you dick) So pride dictates that I can't be with her regardless of what she wants.

And the worst is that this last revelation only came to me a few days ago, until then I didn't have a problem with her...but there is no reason for me to trust her nor any reason to believe that we ever loved eachother. Cest la vi.
posted by Seth # 12:10 PM

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