This is very liberating.
Now, when I open up my trusty little web browser, I have to remind myself that going to 'www.facebook.com' won't really do anything for me anymore.
I won't be seeing posts from people I hardly know, about inconsequential bullshit that never affects me.
I won't be advertised to by Facebook's partners. Nor will I unknowingly advertise to my 'friends' on behalf of said partners.
And by the way, this is permanent. There is no going back, and that itself is really pretty fucking awesome if you think about it.
I think I had like 120 friends or something like that. Women I've dated, old high school friends, some family members. That's it.
The ones who matter won't mind my absence on Facebook. They will be quite pacified, I'm sure, to keep our communications to the old-fashioned methods of e-mail and the occasional phone call.
So long, Facebook.
You have been unfriended.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Monday, February 20, 2012
I will miss you, Hilary.
Yesterday I was informed that a friend of mine, Hilary Weimer, lost her battle with colorectal cancer.
She was in her mid 20's.
We knew each other for about 5 years. We had dated some time ago and while things didn't work out romantically, we stayed friends ever since.
I am not kidding when I tell you this woman was one of the most vibrant, energetic, optimistic and friendly people I have EVER come across in my short 32 years of life.
And she was so...persistently...IMMERSED in life. That's the best way I can put it.
It's like she woke up every day on an epic quest to satisfy this undying thirst she had in her soul - a thirst for new experiences, new people and new things to think about.
She was like an addict when it came to education. She wanted more of it, ALL the time. And she wanted to talk about it...to bring you as her friend INTO it, to share her exuberance for it, an exuberance which just over...FLOWED.
I won't ever forget the time she convinced me to go on a snowshoeing adventure with her. I was content with sitting at home playing video games that afternoon, but she insisted.
She was like that. She could tell that something would be a GOOD thing and she would pursue it with the vigor of a Romanian gladiator.
She showed me that real optimism lives and in fact thrives. It's in the smiles and hearts of all people who have faith in humankind and who are truly good beings. It's unmistakable in some people, and Hilary was one of those people.
Today, I am having a hard time concentrating on much. I can't stop thinking about the void of LOGIC at play here...the fact that Hilary - someone so valuable and grateful for life - would be taken from this world before ME?
ME??? A guy ambivalent at BEST about the worth of his own life?
ME?!?
What a colossal, cosmic injustice. It serves as proof in the pudding that there isn't a God with good intentions and an all-touching hand. It proves the opposite.
It proves that this life is what we make it, and the people in it are there to share the ride with us, to teach us and to love us.
I don't need a God to know this. I just need the warmth, openness and graciousness of people like Hilary.
May another person like her, or indeed many of them, find their way into my life again.
I will never forget you Hilary. Rest in peace.
She was in her mid 20's.
We knew each other for about 5 years. We had dated some time ago and while things didn't work out romantically, we stayed friends ever since.
I am not kidding when I tell you this woman was one of the most vibrant, energetic, optimistic and friendly people I have EVER come across in my short 32 years of life.
And she was so...persistently...IMMERSED in life. That's the best way I can put it.
It's like she woke up every day on an epic quest to satisfy this undying thirst she had in her soul - a thirst for new experiences, new people and new things to think about.
She was like an addict when it came to education. She wanted more of it, ALL the time. And she wanted to talk about it...to bring you as her friend INTO it, to share her exuberance for it, an exuberance which just over...FLOWED.
I won't ever forget the time she convinced me to go on a snowshoeing adventure with her. I was content with sitting at home playing video games that afternoon, but she insisted.
She was like that. She could tell that something would be a GOOD thing and she would pursue it with the vigor of a Romanian gladiator.
She showed me that real optimism lives and in fact thrives. It's in the smiles and hearts of all people who have faith in humankind and who are truly good beings. It's unmistakable in some people, and Hilary was one of those people.
Today, I am having a hard time concentrating on much. I can't stop thinking about the void of LOGIC at play here...the fact that Hilary - someone so valuable and grateful for life - would be taken from this world before ME?
ME??? A guy ambivalent at BEST about the worth of his own life?
ME?!?
What a colossal, cosmic injustice. It serves as proof in the pudding that there isn't a God with good intentions and an all-touching hand. It proves the opposite.
It proves that this life is what we make it, and the people in it are there to share the ride with us, to teach us and to love us.
I don't need a God to know this. I just need the warmth, openness and graciousness of people like Hilary.
May another person like her, or indeed many of them, find their way into my life again.
I will never forget you Hilary. Rest in peace.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thanks, but I Don't Need a Bigger Penis
This is what I was greeted with upon checking my e-mail this morning:
"Small member? Order male enhancement meds today"
"Women want you to have a bigger tool"
And finally, the one that made me cringe slightly:
"Add 4-6 inches to your pen1s in 6 weeks!"
4-6 inches? ...In 6 weeks? What?!
So I asked myself: "Self? Do you really want to be toting around a 10-12 inch man-handle everywhere you go, in addition to having to explain to potential lovers that you are a freak of nature and that you might actually rupture their spleen during lovemaking?"
I considered the question. Long and hard.
And um...no. I don't feel like having to roll my penis into a coil just so I can fit into my pants. I really don't feel like dealing with the stares from awestruck onlookers in the locker room, and I *really* don't feel like enduring the inevitable pain of my poor boy branch banging against my knees when I go for a run.
In an ideal world, my penis would magically appear when it's time to be used. At all other times maybe it would hide in a secret sheath somewhere, so I don't have to awkwardly adjust myself on airplane seats or when crossing my legs. But...that's just not reality.
Far from it.
Women won't ever know the joys of having to constantly port around their externally mounted reproductive bits. In fact, they get to wear things like yoga pants and 'boy shorts' without ever having to worry about their 'twig and berries' getting CRUSHED.
Count your blessings, ladies.
And don't give me this BS about having to deal with boobs. Those things are made mostly of fat. They don't contain hypersensitive nodules thick with nerves that run into your gut. In fact, they secrete milk sometimes. It's like you have a fucking SNACK BAR on your chest.
In summary, no, spam e-mail senders. I'm quite happy with my modestly apportioned package and I don't wish to become even more miserable than whatever merciless god created me to be.
"Small member? Order male enhancement meds today"
"Women want you to have a bigger tool"
And finally, the one that made me cringe slightly:
"Add 4-6 inches to your pen1s in 6 weeks!"
4-6 inches? ...In 6 weeks? What?!
So I asked myself: "Self? Do you really want to be toting around a 10-12 inch man-handle everywhere you go, in addition to having to explain to potential lovers that you are a freak of nature and that you might actually rupture their spleen during lovemaking?"
I considered the question. Long and hard.
And um...no. I don't feel like having to roll my penis into a coil just so I can fit into my pants. I really don't feel like dealing with the stares from awestruck onlookers in the locker room, and I *really* don't feel like enduring the inevitable pain of my poor boy branch banging against my knees when I go for a run.
In an ideal world, my penis would magically appear when it's time to be used. At all other times maybe it would hide in a secret sheath somewhere, so I don't have to awkwardly adjust myself on airplane seats or when crossing my legs. But...that's just not reality.
Far from it.
Women won't ever know the joys of having to constantly port around their externally mounted reproductive bits. In fact, they get to wear things like yoga pants and 'boy shorts' without ever having to worry about their 'twig and berries' getting CRUSHED.
Count your blessings, ladies.
And don't give me this BS about having to deal with boobs. Those things are made mostly of fat. They don't contain hypersensitive nodules thick with nerves that run into your gut. In fact, they secrete milk sometimes. It's like you have a fucking SNACK BAR on your chest.
In summary, no, spam e-mail senders. I'm quite happy with my modestly apportioned package and I don't wish to become even more miserable than whatever merciless god created me to be.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Hey infant - thanks for VOMITING on me
There I was, sitting on the tarmac at the Phoenix airport, happily reading my issue of Sexy Cyborgs Weekly when a young mother and her VERY small child approach me.
"That's my seat," she said (the mother, not the baby) "24A."
I acknowledged her and stood up to accommodate her passage into the window seat that she and her tiny human-ling were assigned. The two of them smelled a bit like baby powder (understandable) and synthetic motor oil (not very understandable) but I thought nothing of it.
The child was a boy from what I could gather. I am not very good at discerning the gender of babies, but the creature was wearing a blue baby-suit-thing so I suppose it was an educated guess. He only had two teeth - the lower, central two.
I have to admit, he was kind of cute in that "I'm-a-baby-it's-impossible-to-not-love-me-because-I-have-not-been-calloused-by-the-evils-of-the-world" way.
So I asked, "What's his name?"
"Jacob," she replied, "he's 4 months tomorrow." And with that comment, the young mother promptly whipped out her left breast and introduced it to the child's yawning little mouth. I was like whoah.
Boobs on a plane.
BAWWWWW how adorable. 4 months. I wish I could remember what life was like at 4 months, considering the simple pleasures of eating pureed peaches all the time and occasionally getting to work a nipple with my gums in a public place. But no such luck. My first memory is of going to the emergency room with a life-threatening case of chickenpox. FML.
Anyway, as the tiny carbon-based bundle of joy was snacking on his mother's mammary glands I thought briefly about Lamborghinis. Just because, well, Lamborghinis are awesome. That thought quickly turned to one of me dieing in a blazing inferno as the airplane's engines roared to life and we lifted off from Phoenix.
I always have visions of agonizing death when flying. It's part of the charm of air travel for me.
About half an hour into the flight I was awoken by little Jacob pulling at my hair. His mother was asleep and Jacob was feeling froggy, apparently. So, I humored him. I let his tiny fingers wrap around my thumb and we played tug-of-war for a bit until something absolutely traumatic happened.
Jacob looked me dead in the eyes, threw back his head, and projectile vomited all over my freshly-pressed dress shirt.
I now had a yellow-white streak of breast-milk-and-stomach-acid solution slowly coursing down my chest, seeping into my undershirt and creating a generally unpleasant scenario for not just me, but for all passengers within a 20 foot radius. The smell was dry heave inducing.
I was now faced with a difficult decision. Do I wake the mother up and let her know that her demon-child assaulted me with an eruption of her breast milk? Or do I not bother, and retreat into the rear lavatory to 'freshen up' a bit?
I opted for the latter. The mother looked quite exhausted and after all - Mother's Day was in 2 days.
So, I got up out of my seat and trudged back to the lavatory, through no less than 20 aisles of passengers...almost ALL of whom were looking at me like I was a homeless mutant with an incurable, contagious disease. I just smiled politely and tried in vain to cover with my hands the disgusting scar of baby yak criss-crossing my chest.
Eventually I made it back to my seat to find that the mother was now awake, and the baby was soundly asleep. They had swapped out. *I*, on the other hand, was wearing a shirt half-soaked in water, with a look of defeat on my face.
The mother looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "WTF is wrong with you stay away from me" and I guess that's understandable.
She had no clue that her son barfed all over my work clothes.
The rest of the flight went well enough. I made it through my trip without much incident, and on my return flight I remember thinking, "That baby is going to grow into a boy and then into a man...he is going to go to college and make a bunch of friends, and he'll likely live a generally good life."
"But there's no way in hell he's going to remember losing his lunch all over a stranger on a goddamned plane flight from Phoenix to Denver."
"That's my seat," she said (the mother, not the baby) "24A."
I acknowledged her and stood up to accommodate her passage into the window seat that she and her tiny human-ling were assigned. The two of them smelled a bit like baby powder (understandable) and synthetic motor oil (not very understandable) but I thought nothing of it.
The child was a boy from what I could gather. I am not very good at discerning the gender of babies, but the creature was wearing a blue baby-suit-thing so I suppose it was an educated guess. He only had two teeth - the lower, central two.
I have to admit, he was kind of cute in that "I'm-a-baby-it's-impossible-to-not-love-me-because-I-have-not-been-calloused-by-the-evils-of-the-world" way.
So I asked, "What's his name?"
"Jacob," she replied, "he's 4 months tomorrow." And with that comment, the young mother promptly whipped out her left breast and introduced it to the child's yawning little mouth. I was like whoah.
Boobs on a plane.
BAWWWWW how adorable. 4 months. I wish I could remember what life was like at 4 months, considering the simple pleasures of eating pureed peaches all the time and occasionally getting to work a nipple with my gums in a public place. But no such luck. My first memory is of going to the emergency room with a life-threatening case of chickenpox. FML.
Anyway, as the tiny carbon-based bundle of joy was snacking on his mother's mammary glands I thought briefly about Lamborghinis. Just because, well, Lamborghinis are awesome. That thought quickly turned to one of me dieing in a blazing inferno as the airplane's engines roared to life and we lifted off from Phoenix.
I always have visions of agonizing death when flying. It's part of the charm of air travel for me.
About half an hour into the flight I was awoken by little Jacob pulling at my hair. His mother was asleep and Jacob was feeling froggy, apparently. So, I humored him. I let his tiny fingers wrap around my thumb and we played tug-of-war for a bit until something absolutely traumatic happened.
Jacob looked me dead in the eyes, threw back his head, and projectile vomited all over my freshly-pressed dress shirt.
I now had a yellow-white streak of breast-milk-and-stomach-acid solution slowly coursing down my chest, seeping into my undershirt and creating a generally unpleasant scenario for not just me, but for all passengers within a 20 foot radius. The smell was dry heave inducing.
I was now faced with a difficult decision. Do I wake the mother up and let her know that her demon-child assaulted me with an eruption of her breast milk? Or do I not bother, and retreat into the rear lavatory to 'freshen up' a bit?
I opted for the latter. The mother looked quite exhausted and after all - Mother's Day was in 2 days.
So, I got up out of my seat and trudged back to the lavatory, through no less than 20 aisles of passengers...almost ALL of whom were looking at me like I was a homeless mutant with an incurable, contagious disease. I just smiled politely and tried in vain to cover with my hands the disgusting scar of baby yak criss-crossing my chest.
Eventually I made it back to my seat to find that the mother was now awake, and the baby was soundly asleep. They had swapped out. *I*, on the other hand, was wearing a shirt half-soaked in water, with a look of defeat on my face.
The mother looked at me quizzically, as if to say, "WTF is wrong with you stay away from me" and I guess that's understandable.
She had no clue that her son barfed all over my work clothes.
The rest of the flight went well enough. I made it through my trip without much incident, and on my return flight I remember thinking, "That baby is going to grow into a boy and then into a man...he is going to go to college and make a bunch of friends, and he'll likely live a generally good life."
"But there's no way in hell he's going to remember losing his lunch all over a stranger on a goddamned plane flight from Phoenix to Denver."
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Yesterday I went around picking up trash...
A few weeks ago, there was a large renovation project taking place at my apartment complex. They were replacing the roofs of the units and doing some painting.
After this renovation was complete, I noticed that the workers had left a few things of value behind. One of these things was a roll of industrial garbage bags, each probably 50 gallons large. There might have been 10 or so bags in the roll.
Upon finding it during a morning walk with my dog, I grabbed the roll and took it home with me. Who can't find a use for some heavy duty garbage bags?
Yesterday, I decided to put one of these bags to use. It was a bit cold and damp after work but I decided to spend some time picking up trash on the block that I live on. It's not that there's a trash problem in Westminster...it's quite the opposite in fact. This place is remarkably clean.
So I started off on my quest for errant trash - big ass trash bag in hand. What I found along the way didn't really surprise me but I did smile after coming across a woman's discarded shopping list, which I found soaked and crumpled in the roots of a roadside bush. The list went something like this:
- 1 bra
- 2 panties
- razor
- toilet paper (fluffy kind)
- hand lotion
- food
A few of the items on this list were scratched off, presumably, because the woman had managed to buy the items. I'm also presuming she is in fact a woman, barring the possibility that it could have been a man shopping for ladies undergarments either for his partner or for himself, were he to have a fetish for such dress.
Anyway, as I was standing there on the side of the road with cars zooming by and me growing increasingly wetter due to the falling drizzle, I smiled. It was more of a knowing grin actually, because I realized I was holding a piece of paper that at some point meant something to someone. It, at a time, had real value, because it was a way of helping someone accomplish what most would consider a pretty banal task, namely shopping for underwear and toiletries.
And it just happened that I ended up being the one to find this list, assist it on it's journey into the trash bin, and enjoy a brief moment of involvement in someone else's life without their knowing.
I ended up gathering about 15 pounds of trash yesterday over the course of an hour and a half.
When I returned home I greeted my dog with a hug and concluded the evening with some reading and a few pieces of pizza.
After this renovation was complete, I noticed that the workers had left a few things of value behind. One of these things was a roll of industrial garbage bags, each probably 50 gallons large. There might have been 10 or so bags in the roll.
Upon finding it during a morning walk with my dog, I grabbed the roll and took it home with me. Who can't find a use for some heavy duty garbage bags?
Yesterday, I decided to put one of these bags to use. It was a bit cold and damp after work but I decided to spend some time picking up trash on the block that I live on. It's not that there's a trash problem in Westminster...it's quite the opposite in fact. This place is remarkably clean.
So I started off on my quest for errant trash - big ass trash bag in hand. What I found along the way didn't really surprise me but I did smile after coming across a woman's discarded shopping list, which I found soaked and crumpled in the roots of a roadside bush. The list went something like this:
- 1 bra
- 2 panties
- razor
- toilet paper (fluffy kind)
- hand lotion
- food
A few of the items on this list were scratched off, presumably, because the woman had managed to buy the items. I'm also presuming she is in fact a woman, barring the possibility that it could have been a man shopping for ladies undergarments either for his partner or for himself, were he to have a fetish for such dress.
Anyway, as I was standing there on the side of the road with cars zooming by and me growing increasingly wetter due to the falling drizzle, I smiled. It was more of a knowing grin actually, because I realized I was holding a piece of paper that at some point meant something to someone. It, at a time, had real value, because it was a way of helping someone accomplish what most would consider a pretty banal task, namely shopping for underwear and toiletries.
And it just happened that I ended up being the one to find this list, assist it on it's journey into the trash bin, and enjoy a brief moment of involvement in someone else's life without their knowing.
I ended up gathering about 15 pounds of trash yesterday over the course of an hour and a half.
When I returned home I greeted my dog with a hug and concluded the evening with some reading and a few pieces of pizza.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Lyman Ward Military Academy Hazing, Beatings article
http://www.insidehazing.com/letters_view.php?id=8
The above link describes the atrocities at LWMA (Lyman Ward Military Academy) as they're told by the parents of cadets attending the academy.
In 2005 at least 8 lawsuits were filed against Lyman Ward Military School, and to this day at least a dozen are still unresolved.
http://www.insidehazing.com/letters_view.php?id=8
It's stuff like this that gets swept UNDER THE RUG and removed from internet search engines in a pathetic (yet effective) attempt by the academy to keep these awful incidents under wraps.
The above link describes the atrocities at LWMA (Lyman Ward Military Academy) as they're told by the parents of cadets attending the academy.
In 2005 at least 8 lawsuits were filed against Lyman Ward Military School, and to this day at least a dozen are still unresolved.
http://www.insidehazing.com/letters_view.php?id=8
It's stuff like this that gets swept UNDER THE RUG and removed from internet search engines in a pathetic (yet effective) attempt by the academy to keep these awful incidents under wraps.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Patchwork Peace
I began my day today with a certain peace that I haven't felt in a while.
I can remember ending my day yesterday with a long meditation session just before bed, and I can't help but think that the early retiring and focused relaxation contributed to this morning's levity.
But it's more than that.
I'm tripping through memories of when I was a boy, remembering the very specific calm I experienced when I sat in a stream with only my shorts on, letting the flow of the water course over my shoulders. Laying down on the rocks in that stream was sort of a respite from the confusing, awkward time I was having as a teenager. Now that I am older, I appreciate more the value of completely forgetting the worries of the world and retreating into the mind for solace.
The true, undeniable peace I can reach through meditation and focused relaxation puts any artificial means of euphoria to shame. 20 minutes of deadening my thoughts and completely isolating my consciousness from external stimulus is equal to or better than any drug I've tried.
5-6 years ago, this kind of disciplined rest would have been impossible. I was far too concerned with ego and projected image to really be able to cut off the world and reside in my own mind.
Many things since my childhood have contributed to my current level of peace, not the least of which is music. Then there's my attention to physical health and nutrition. Also, the intentional simplicity in my life attained by not constantly adding material things to my domain and always opting for the less complex lifestyle.
I'm excited to see where else I can go with this kind of living. I'm curious about which patch will be added that elevates me to yet a higher, more transcendent way of living.
I can remember ending my day yesterday with a long meditation session just before bed, and I can't help but think that the early retiring and focused relaxation contributed to this morning's levity.
But it's more than that.
I'm tripping through memories of when I was a boy, remembering the very specific calm I experienced when I sat in a stream with only my shorts on, letting the flow of the water course over my shoulders. Laying down on the rocks in that stream was sort of a respite from the confusing, awkward time I was having as a teenager. Now that I am older, I appreciate more the value of completely forgetting the worries of the world and retreating into the mind for solace.
The true, undeniable peace I can reach through meditation and focused relaxation puts any artificial means of euphoria to shame. 20 minutes of deadening my thoughts and completely isolating my consciousness from external stimulus is equal to or better than any drug I've tried.
5-6 years ago, this kind of disciplined rest would have been impossible. I was far too concerned with ego and projected image to really be able to cut off the world and reside in my own mind.
Many things since my childhood have contributed to my current level of peace, not the least of which is music. Then there's my attention to physical health and nutrition. Also, the intentional simplicity in my life attained by not constantly adding material things to my domain and always opting for the less complex lifestyle.
I'm excited to see where else I can go with this kind of living. I'm curious about which patch will be added that elevates me to yet a higher, more transcendent way of living.
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