tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70873805745649164902024-03-05T11:32:42.439-08:00Principle of Reflection Described in PolaritiesUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-14518766765019531112015-02-22T10:28:00.002-08:002015-02-22T10:28:44.322-08:00XLIV LOSSI think or almost know that we all desire to be alone more often. I think it's true really because when else are we at ease? sometimes I think its hard to become alone, hard to withdraw from society, both the strangers and those we know, but on doing so there are so many rewards. It's hard to write because it forces a thread to be borne out all the way. the wonderfully frayed blossoms of thought that take place in a passive mind all wither away. there is just one long thought that you can see as a wake behind the sentence being typed out. it's hard not to go back and read what you have written. but then, really i haven't said anything. i'd like to tell you about my dream. and i'd like to tell you what i think about the first few pages of the article that i began reading that inspired me to sit down and begin writing this. should i be afraid to be discovered? there is a whole future of work and career ahead of me. of sitting down with people and needing them to take me seriously enough to pay me money for a service. and certainly part of seriousness is mystery. part of it is letting the mystery of your degree and what goes on in a school stand in for the individual mystery of what goes on in any one of our heads. i think we must all muddle through school in our own little way. but upon completion we all share that same receipt. and we all forget our individual muddling and look back and say, look at what i share with who i share it with. that must be me.<br />
<br />
what does lebron mean to me? is he the future man. the uber mensch and zarathustra? what does that stupid book mean to me? i remember eating a big peice of carrot cake and reading that book on a sunny day alone in a cafe while in college. i felt very grown up and alone in that moment. not lonely. i hardly ever remember being lonely in a moment. i remember eras of my life that were lonely. but it's hard to pinpoint one single moment with that feeling. maybe some feelings only reveal themselves in accumulation.<br />
<br />
here is a vein of thought that has been coming into my mind with some regularity. i don't know what it means but i think its connected to the heartbeat of my interest in sports. i mean 'vein' in the sense of mining for gold, not in the physical sense of a vein in my body. but the heartbeat thing. look, i don't know. i am trying to choose my words carefully and not complicate things more than they need to be. there must always be a best word for what you are trying to describe. enough dicking around, here goes;<br />
lebron is a national celebrity, a worldwide celebrity. he belongs to everybody. he can go from cleveland to miami but i dont know if he can go back home. and russell is that other celebrity. he is my waking celebrity, the celebrity of home. russell represents me to the rest of the world. if lebron represents me at all it is a very generic part of me. my americanness, my superiority maybe? i saw russ in the airport and shook. in my dream i saw the back of lebrons head. i saw him go into a futuristic tanning booth. <br />
<br />
i guess its better to fix your vacuum cleaner than follow some boring line of thought about sports celebrities. but i really need to note how real the seahawks are to me. the truth of my feelings. the mystery of their depths. the rug that i sit on while i write is much cleaner now.<br />
<br />
in the corner of this page there is a field that says 'complain to google'. that must be why that company is worth so much money. this little bullshit blog is saving me a fortune in therapist fees. and maybe its the thrill of being discovered that makes me write. it does take some sort of spark or spur to write. i mean, we could all write a thousand pages a day, that's how many thoughts race through our mind on one level of consciousness or another. if we just tapped into that unending brook of thought and our fingers could move fast enough and we had enough different pages open. yes i think we could record it all, all day and all night, all the thoughts. and there would be some gems among the muck.<br />
<br />
i think i want to hide myself at work. i must drive people away at work. i want to be a robot at work. i don't want to be known there. or perhaps, i don't want to be known as that. perhaps in my hubris i think i must be what i am doing. that i must disassociate from what i think i must do. i have less success that way. i know myself worse. maybe its okay if you are my boss and you are reading this right now. though i would be shocked. in the world of work there is always so much to read. and most of it is just as poorly written as this, but at least its about money. i dont really know what this is about. its like playing my guitar kind of. but more personal. or maybe just more developed.<br />
<br />
seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks, mariners, seahawks. i guess that's how i'll bide my time. how i'll demarcate how i feel when i look up and see buds on the trees. when i think about how long the summer is going to be. when i think about which time is real, when the trees have leaves or when they have not. which season is the one where life happens and which one is the one where we digest and recuperate. when is it okay to watch tv while the sun shines.<br />
<br />
here is the quote that makes me feel the best about the terrible feeling of watching us, the seahawks us, lose the superbowl XLIV;<br />
<br />
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It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”</h1>
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i saw it in a cadillac add on the back of the new yorker magazine. </h1>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-52341838486765057202013-05-17T11:03:00.003-07:002013-05-17T11:03:42.346-07:00Maranatha The Hippopotamus pt. 2Maranatha hid her beautiful hippopotamus head under a pile of straw<br />
She cried and cried into the dry straw, it itched her face<br />
and she stayed under her pile like that as the day went from afternoon to night time<br />
during the sunset, when the clouds to the west were all magenta and purple<br />
Maranatha's friend Timothy, the zoo keeper, entered the pen<br />
he brought with him some carrots and apples to calm her rumbling tummy<br />
he told her that its ok to fart sometimes, and its ok to feel embarrassed<br />
he told her the people loved her very much, they only wanted to see her happy<br />
but she was inconsolable, so her left her to cry<br />
and when he left his heart hurt for her so much he was distracted<br />
and he forgot to lock the pen door behind him<br />
what was Maranatha to do? She could stay crying and stay embarrassed and stay confused<br />
or she could go and start going and start exploring and see what the world held for her<br />
so she bolted<br />
light as a feather and nimble as a sparrow and quiet as a mouse and deft like a ninja<br />
she glided past the guileless guard<br />
she slipped by the noisy monkey cage<br />
she scooted by the lazy lion enclosure<br />
and she was right there at the back end of the zoo at the chain link fence<br />
the fence might have served some barrier to a smaller animal<br />
but Maranatha was not to be stopped<br />
she put one hefty foot up against the pole holding up the fence and applied a little pressure<br />
the entire section toppled over and she was off<br />
and she tip toed into the dark unknown woods<br />
<br />
Next Time; Green LakeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-41859108991109101892013-05-09T16:38:00.000-07:002013-05-09T16:38:06.654-07:00Maranatha the Hippopotamus pt. 1maranatha was very beautiful hippopotamus<br />
she lived in the woodland park zoo in seattle washington<br />
the people loved maranatha<br />
they would come from far and near to gaze at her laze about her pen<br />
she liked the people<br />
she at pumpkins for them<br />
she swam for them<br />
she yawned for them and they loved it<br />
what a mouth she had!<br />
then one fine day in may maranatha was plodding about her pen with no particular direction<br />
and she felt a very large of pumpkin shift from her upper to lower intestine<br />
she took another couple steps and a deep rumble started from the bottom of her stomach<br />
and it worked its way down her frame, shaking her as it went along<br />
in the next moment she was letting escape at an obscene noise from her behind<br />
it went on and on<br />
it could not be helped or stopped, and it felt good<br />
but the people were all laughing at her now<br />
her majesty escaped her<br />
she was so horribly embarrassed, she didnt think the people would ever respect her again<br />
she was devastated she didn't think she could ever recover from her embarrassment<br />
<br />
Next Time; The Escape!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-39405810557198083482013-04-29T10:43:00.001-07:002013-04-29T10:43:44.154-07:00a third of the workforcea man can learn a lot about himself in the woods. he can find his voice is more like the rich tonal chords of a wooden guitar than the whine of a puppy he once thought it was. its not always a safe thing to be traipsing about the woods looking for yourself. there are a lot of opportunities to stab yourself in the leg with stray twigs. opportunities to turn your ankle on a rock, or get your socks all wet and walk around in the miserable mud all day. but there are almost no opportunities to work in the woods. you will sweat and you will suffer, just like a man does at work. but you wouldn't add to the gross domestic product, or the economic value added, out there mincing through the pines.<br />
so why do it? why do something hard if your not adding anything. If your just looking for something thats in there ANYWAYS, why bother looking for it? Isn't it enough to know that its there. Safely bottled up and trapped. canned, locked in, sealed, placed, frozen.<br />
maybe its only there when your looking for it. i dont really know. i just march forward. on to the next lake, the next look out, the next summit. i itch my mosquito bites. i marvel at the stars, i note the silence of the night. it adds nothing, it changes nothing, and i do it still.<br />
and i know that someday soon it will end. the trail will find me in a parking lot. someone there to pick me up. remark on my skinniness. i wont have much to say, and that will be ok.<br />
and here in this interview room myself will be in a tightly sealed jar in my sternum. safe and muscled. so i will be charming, or i will come off poorly, or i will be silent and awkward. it wont change what is happening. i am in society to be judged. judged against my peers, judged against my historical averages. judged by my diction divided by my vocabulary. and that is work. its not work if no one is comparing it to something else. because no one mans vision, no matter how hard and clear, is perfect. its only through collaboration that we can come to an agreement.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-20051542561801144392013-04-26T13:45:00.002-07:002013-04-26T13:45:49.450-07:00sundry tomatoesI am so tired and lazy all of the time that i must have mono. what is my problem exactly? and then when its night time is the time when i have the energy to do the things. and i never have the focus. i want to do the things! i want to do the hard things, the admirable things, the worthwhile things. i want to really dig down deep inside and get into the nitty gritty of the things. i want to harness my potential, utilize my talent, go above and beyond. reach for the stars and get straight to the heart of the issue. i want to be a little bit naughty. i want to get away with a few things. i want to savor the moment. i want to enjoy shirking off. if only i could enjoy the shirking of responsibility. being a bad friend. being a bad boyfriend, a bad son, and bad athlete. haha. i wish i could make the smells these africans make. i wish i could make any of these food smells. my food smells are just hot Costco smells. they signify nothing. they are a puzzle piece for my strangely shaped stomach. i wish i was a bird. i wish my legs were stronger. i am seemingly indestructible and in imminent danger. i want a vietnamese sandwich and a trip to vietnam. where is a better therapist than typing into a blog that no one reads. i want no one to read. i want to bare my soul. my bear soul. i am a polar bear. she is a jaguar.<br />
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i one time spent the night alone on a beach in spain. it was a romantic notion of a husky boy. i was woefully unprepared. i had my backpack, containing all my things, a liter of cheap spanish beer, crackers. i spoke no spanish. i don't remember the towns name but it wasn't famous or notable. it was just a town on the beach in spain. i got to the beach far too early in the day. it was still time for swimming. a group of boys played soccer. they talked to me and i told them i planned to sleep on that beach that night. i was determined for adventure. i remember it being pretty scary. i broke off from some english speaking people on the bus i took to the town. they didn't want the same adventure i did. i walked through the town during the day and there was a depressing project full of very dark african people. i didn't know about that diaspora then, i thought it was just some weird anomaly, but it scared me just like everything in the world scares me.<br />
i went in the water for a while. which was dumb. the night was salty and scratchy. but it was part of the adventure. the doing of whatever i wanted. my sister was nine years old at the time. my grandmother had died a few months ago when i was in scotland. i didn't make it through the whole night on the beach. the wind coming off the Mediterranean was very cold. the Mediterranean is an ugly body of water. theres smoke that hovers above it and big rusty ships. it feels very much like a desert of water.<br />
i moved up from the beach and slept on some crab grass behind some palm trees so i couldn't be seen from the street. then when dawn came i emigrated to the train station to wait for the first train out of that town.<br />
i think it left a mark on me. like the scar on a chin of a friend of mine who fell off his scooter in thailand. i think there is a mark on someone who slept somewhere exposed, urban<br />
and unsafe. even though it was my choice. i chose that adventure. and i think it left a mark on me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-35232134837986117022013-04-24T11:01:00.002-07:002013-04-24T11:01:51.584-07:00terrorists will never wini work in an air traffic control tower at a small, regional airport. having a job is very nice, but the work is not fulfilling. you all understand how air traffic control works, i'm sure. planes land, planes take off, it goes on and on. planes can do all this without my help of course, but pilots are a pushy flock and need someone to organize them and set boundaries. can i land now? no, not yet. can i land now? someone else is landing right now, hold on. how about now? yes, now.<br />
<br />
there are some planes that would like to disregard my advice. these planes are flown by men who signify their aloofness by owning planes too new, powerful, and big for any possible need they have. planes painted maroon with tan leather pilots seats. when i direct them i am greeted with long, huffy silences. as if i might should apologize for ensuring your safety at the expense of four minutes.<br />
<br />
there are other planes though that direct themselves. i tell them what they already know. one plane in particular. it is a small blue and white plane with a single propeller. the pilot does not bring a lot to the table, conversationally, but he is easy to laugh. this plane stands out in particular though, because i am almost certain that the pilot, this jovial man, built it. who builds their own plane!<br />
<br />
this is a thought i often have during the times when nobody flies. nobody flies after lunch but before work is over. nobody flies right after breakfast. and sometimes when i am eating a hamburger in the cafeteria i think about the small blue and white plane. it is one thing to build a house, a boat, a car. but a plane? where are we? since when can humans, with their own hands, endow themselves with the power of flight? it is a blessing, it is an abhorrence, I cannot believe god exists.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-86423221687193161882013-04-23T10:39:00.001-07:002013-04-23T10:39:12.016-07:00there are eels in desertyou wake up. your girlfriend says goodbye as she leaves to go to work. you say something, in your moon-logic child mind. yes, she says, the water did spill. and it is saccharine sweet. you think about it when your alarm goes off a fraction of an hour later. and you turn off the alarm. you are tired but awake. awake and alone, rudderless. here you are in your bed. in your place where you belong. in the place where you begin and end every day. always you leave the bed, always you return. it is the best bed you have ever owned. and that means a lot. it means progress. it means you are knowing what you want and knowing how to get it. but does it mean you can support it. do you deserve it. you have had worse beds and worked harder for them. isn't that unfair. it is hard to spend this time in extacy. imagine if you could sleep like you do and every night the night before you had to wake early for a job you hated that seemed like it never would end. but life isn't like that. you are a little cowboy, and you ride through the desert before you ride through the forest. and thats just how the trees got planted.<br />
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i am smoking a joint in the queensbridge projects<br />
flying away, all swag<br />
and this finger pattern is me justifying my existence. what does it mean to be more conscious than the next? i am no happier for it. can you take it for granted, consciousness. can you feel undeserving of it. can you be working on appreciating it and finding a way to not be so undeserving.<br />
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when i was 31 years old i would wake from my light sleep to the sound a church bell alarm. the same phone i'd had since i was 26, with the alarm clock noises changed every six to eight months, just to keep things interesting. most of the time i would be hung over. all of the time i would be late. all of the time i would put something in my mouth to smoke. sometimes it was a cigarette, sometimes a weed pipe. getting through the day was not a celebration, it was a rehearsal of numbness. i knew somewhere in my heart that this was not best practice. i really had to do it though. sitting in a padded cell, with the sun making its motions across the sky without my oversight was too painful a vision, it had to be done.<br />
<br />
a business is built on two things; excellent customer relations and back breaking labor. i am no golden goose, but i understand that equation and in so doing make myself indispensable. so i listen to the single mothers and broken english. i can nod and sympathize, and give my condolences and my false hope. and i can turn back to my computer and work on the spreadsheets and the hoops brackets that make such class stasis possible.<br />
<br />
then i woke up on friends couch. coming down off a white drug high, it was raining outside, the apartment was disgusting. i decided to get a colorful tattoo of a hunt, with the hunted animal over my heart. then i decided to move to denmark. fuck it. fuck this job i hate, fuck these drugs, fuck the grind. i'm going to europe to eat pastries and wear scarves.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-89264668090434645222013-04-18T12:27:00.002-07:002013-04-18T12:28:03.162-07:00Kirkland of KentI can tell you now, with science on my side, that someday in the distant future everything that I am doing now that feels easy will seem hard. Despite the fact that I am a habitual easy road taker, despite the fact that I have little to no ability to turn down temptation. There will be a day in the future when I look back on this era and marvel at my ability to do regularly what I do daily. I wish I knew what that thing was. Is it waking up and sitting on the toilet immediately? Is it the ability to be endlessly distracted by the internet? The poop jokes? If I knew I could fortify that part of myself to make sure I never lose it. But no, it is some part of myself so deeply ingrained, to which I am so blind, which I take for granted on such a level that I am not aware it exists.<br />
And I notice, to be a hero I do not necessarily need to follow the exact same path as my heroes. It is not necessary for me to sell crack to be like Jay-Z. I do not necessarily need to perform in tattered flannel to be like Kurt Cobain. I can be a faithful boring student boyfriend internet browser, grow up to be a mid level banker and maybe grow pot in my basement and still be my own hero. I don't know why. But this is clearly the healthy kind of thing to tell myself. Like eating a pair, but for my psyche.<br />
This is my writing exercise. It was not inspired. I might get joy from reading it later. An average drunk driver has driven drunk 80 times before their first DUI.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-22454025883871039232013-04-09T12:26:00.001-07:002013-04-09T12:26:53.122-07:00Maybe I Was Meant to do NothingWhen I was a younger man I thought of writing stories of an even younger me, building and sailing the boats I think I might be able to when I am older. I thought of the dories and the kayaks, and the garage at my childhood home. The smell of sawdust and epoxy, enjoyed through the filter of a gas mask. It would be a lot of work. The sanding, cutting, measuring, gluing, resting, sawing, drilling, opening, unscrewing, clamping. There would be a lot of clamping. Out on the lake though, in the reeds, in a boat of my own...It would all be worth it. Because I would be as a boy the man I hope to be. The job search of now wouldn't seem so daunting.<br />
I wouldn't feel quite so hopeless, so without a destiny. I after all, had built boats. Yes boats! Not just one. That would never do. I built one and I liked it, but I saw how it could be better. So in a manner consistent with my morals and ideals, I found a good home for my first boat. I knew the boat would be happy there, and the owners were happy to have it. They offered to pay me market value, but I could not accept. It was enough that she found somewhere good to be. Eventually though I relented and let them pay me at least for the materials used. And I set my sights on a larger project, to be done faster and better, with more expert hands.<br />
My first project was something of a puddle jumper. Something to poke through the reeds with. This next project was a little bit bigger. It would do more that float. It would take me away.<br />
But that was all another time. Something that I missed because I couldn't focus. I couldn't understand that value then, of cutting out the easy things for the things that are hard but worth it.<br />
And now I am a man without a boat, without a story about a boat, and without a passion. I am meant to do nothing. To reflect on the reflection in the water of a boat that I have built in my mind in 9 minutes. The water is still. Flecks spray off the bow as I paddle with a big dumb shit eating grin. In this world all my answers to questions scaled one through ten are smart, well informed, unique and insightful. I know what I want because I have a passion for passion. Employers love that.<br />
<br />
On a scale of one through ten how helpful is it to ask questions scaled one through ten?<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-25868818272624059962012-07-21T11:36:00.000-07:002012-07-21T11:36:45.612-07:00A million little b-holes shining in the nightthere is no time<br />
there is no apartment<br />
it is only me<br />
half drunk<br />
putting dishes in the sink<br />
performing surgery<br />
on birds of prey<br />
<br />
i am in quite the writey mood this morning. good for me. good for my brain. you know what i did? i drank some water before i went to bed. yeah, yeah thats the ticket. anyways, i wrote down my dream and then i wrote an email and i chatted online and now here i am writing this writing with my writing writing. i am so smart and amazing. and you know what else? i have to take a shit. a big shiny shit with sprinkles. oh its gonna be a doozy. a boozey doozy you floozy. yup, a nice big turd right in the old slop bucket. a brown gremlin. a dodge dart of a fart. a world apart. thats the poo that i'm gonna take. its probably gonna have some banh mi sandwich in there, some corn bread, some beans and tomatoes, some oranges, maybe some eggs and turkey bacon. look, the list goes on and on. whats important here is that i drank some coffee and it is giving my poo the old high step out the b-hole and into the ocean. thats where poo goes right? good, i thought so. i am writing this down pretty fast. does that mean that i'm going to regret it later? yeah! fuck yeah! i'm gonna regret the shit out of this. take that present. maybe i'll have donuts for my breakfast. or maybe for dinner. haha. silly slut joke from me. donuts are not dinner food, silly slut me. slut slut slut. fun word. real fun. i took out a yogurt to eat about an hour ago. i only kinda wanted to eat it then, but now it is warm and i have to poo. back in the fridge with you, you gay little yogurt cup. yup, someday these words will be famous and everyone will give me money blow jobs. perfect, perfect. ok, im done with this now.<br />
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Love,Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-56718508911323342962012-06-26T23:01:00.000-07:002012-06-26T23:03:54.520-07:002 of 2a very old man died last saturday<br />
surrounded by family in his bed<br />
the moon shone on waves of grain<br />
and the corn grew another leaf<br />
<br />
that old man was my dads dad, my grandfather. long for this earth he was. older than 90. three times as old as i am. 3.46 times as old as i am. maybe even more times older than i am. the last time i saw him we were at a hotel in new york. he bought me lunch. he was with his new wife of 30 years. we made small talk. his hearing was bad. gotta go back to work now. i love you, i'll see you later. well, that was a lie. the impending became the happening. we all die. we are all going to die. it will be specific when it happens to us. but the idea is so vague and far away. it is a horse on a hill and life is the yapping dog at our feet. dont kick the dog. dont ride the horse. go down to the river and go for a swim. let the sun burn your skin. you are in the desert. you are growing apples. this is your orchard. you are king of the bees. the bumps on your back are not an allergic reaction. thats just your body telling you you are narcissistic. some people want to feed that. some people will take your money and tell you your five greatest strengths. and then you sit at your computer and type away the time because you have good music on and you dont want to watch stupid television. its all so bad.
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this is the moment you have been waiting for. all cold outside in the summer. all rain and gloom. all light and tomato plants. all potential. all dunks. well, someday you will break another bone. someday the problems of now will be the problems of then. you'll stop needing therapy and be old. you will accept things. you will peak. and then you will be on the glorious back slope. sliding down with your heels in the dirt. what can you do really to win the game? outlive the opponent. not in tennis. not in basketball. but in the real competition. in life. in the system of chaos. capitalism. marxism. buttholism. alcoholism. this is step two hundered and six oh four. i took four shits today. i wrote some letters and some emails. i told some lies. i smiled meekly. i accepted it. i woke up. i rode my bike. i woke my muscles up. a homeless man told me 'peace out man' and i looked him in the eye and smiled. peace out man. i dreamed i was in prison last night. then i got in my shitty car and drove away. my boots were too small.<br />
<br />
these are very specific images in my mind. these are memories that shape my ideas about a part of the world and a part of my family. a part of my own father and a part of my life. a part of my childhood that is a mystery. i still dont know what that smell was. or why i pissed in the bath tub and thought he wouldnt notice.<br />
<br />
last night before i called my sister and found out my grandfather had passed away i was riding my bike home in the dark after class. i thought about my own father, my grandfathers son. i thought about the day when he will pass away. and i thought i might play a tennis tournament for old men and win it in his honor. the thought was so beautiful and impossible that it made me cry. not pedaling, just letting gravity pull me down the hill to my home.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-82754916295618529972012-06-19T21:50:00.001-07:002012-06-19T21:53:04.093-07:00bowflexshit on a tit with a zit on it. then the tit zit pops and the shit gets in the sore. the zit ooze is rushing out while the poo goo is rushing in. its a violent cross tidal cesspool of white blood cells and brown poo juice. the infection becomes infected. it grows and grows until...third tit. tit on tit next to tit. infection tit.
i put my head in the haircut machine today. they've really worked out the kinks on those kinky little devils. my head is as clean and aerodynamic as an egg with wings. also that egg went through the dishwasher earlier, so it is clean and a little bit hardboiled and definitely not ever going to turn into a chicken. now my hats will fit more loosely and i will look like a true professional.
stats it horrible, i guess you probably could have guessed. there is something about teachers with strong asian accents that schools find irresistible when searching for statistics teachers. its probably because probability being pronounced 'probabirity' is so goddamn funny. anyways, i will work hard and get an A. then i will shit on the teacher behind her back. no, i will start with shitting on the teacher behind her back and then get an A. to all things order must be assigned. be not jealous jew for i am creator of all things, yay. trying to loose all the chunk on my belly so as to reveal the stomach muscles. then i will be happy. oh the happy i will be.
beans expand! shit son you dont even know. 6 cups makes a full bowl of beans. well this player knows what to pack when the apocalypse is nigh. some rice on the side. yum yum dum dum. lebron looks like am ubermensch. stronger, faster, smarter, meaner, funnier. if only i could have one more commercial shoved down my throat i'm sure i would be able to make a decision regarding the sandwich i should eat. is it subway? i have no way of knowing. my back cracks. i dunk. i take a dump. i bike. i eat. i clean. i cook. i am important. thank you nature. that sunshine does the trick. pimp.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeDk0__MMcqYgm9kbzO-2HsIbIGHGuYfj7SJMKXb8GsAm70n7MGHakfU7FxGBNdUxpR5VbCbPGsN-lr0Ii_L5Mnd78oqyWtGU-gldoP7s9Imak1rlzoRxBtM6r1JPQhdlrh7d2AiRLRQ/s1600/07_01265466.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="320" width="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeDk0__MMcqYgm9kbzO-2HsIbIGHGuYfj7SJMKXb8GsAm70n7MGHakfU7FxGBNdUxpR5VbCbPGsN-lr0Ii_L5Mnd78oqyWtGU-gldoP7s9Imak1rlzoRxBtM6r1JPQhdlrh7d2AiRLRQ/s320/07_01265466.jpg" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-330727326155832632012-03-25T20:18:00.002-07:002012-03-25T20:23:52.208-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0K1Sy0L4wKL4kXmU61mQP8GqqdIK09brcnk_jo-WFvb8D1yqJu8AOTCbRDenTn9axJ8QMpId3MuK7KhqyENxcPd5Ku0WQi229Y0GyfHV19jyZ8BRxgyrOfZ0_QbQgMPbnQmqVz4SPe4/s1600/Untitled.png"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0K1Sy0L4wKL4kXmU61mQP8GqqdIK09brcnk_jo-WFvb8D1yqJu8AOTCbRDenTn9axJ8QMpId3MuK7KhqyENxcPd5Ku0WQi229Y0GyfHV19jyZ8BRxgyrOfZ0_QbQgMPbnQmqVz4SPe4/s320/Untitled.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724041317990068946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAGplptstMpgkx18ZTqfq42vvmEhfH9rd5EFCGkyGnAxDptFsDcl5o3U4XGQmyhFVi-qGcjX7HaXs1ZBPehu8wvyqqzSjd90Mc_cv6xQ6vOs-2mhZGX6lnIair-KDO_DdxqijuVdLe5M/s1600/brandon-roy-dunk-bd7ae-1.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 306px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAGplptstMpgkx18ZTqfq42vvmEhfH9rd5EFCGkyGnAxDptFsDcl5o3U4XGQmyhFVi-qGcjX7HaXs1ZBPehu8wvyqqzSjd90Mc_cv6xQ6vOs-2mhZGX6lnIair-KDO_DdxqijuVdLe5M/s320/brandon-roy-dunk-bd7ae-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5724041312141105826" /></a><br />someone is a grumpy gus, and the someone is me, gus. i went to the haircut store today. right here in my very own bathroom. it did not go too well. but not too bad either. just emotionally draining. maybe what i need to do is...oh i yeah. i definitely need to watch more tv. oh god tv. you are so very very good to me, i couldnt live without you. well, not again anyways. america is bad. television is really bad. i think it makes me bad too. my brain bad. my throat hurts. i lost at basketball. i start school tomorrow. i am dumb. and ugly. with a poorly shaped head. oh the shape of my head. so lumpy. god i wish i had a sweet super aerodynamic head that used the wind like a sail. this has not been helpful. fuck you writing.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-25496018511707568502012-03-21T23:51:00.002-07:002012-03-21T23:57:06.179-07:00hello introspection<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq7WPQ3vRWSNqYalznLS7WpksxmS9GBOfFSAOIZNcdVqbgh8VuXwxMGwt5x8jd4xP9RmLh1km3vpSDByCpu4ffUvWBfC8W0-S6Ezikq0oafCa31dj1kii7ia5eA-GbqV6hlNjwFVoR3E/s1600/P1010607.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq7WPQ3vRWSNqYalznLS7WpksxmS9GBOfFSAOIZNcdVqbgh8VuXwxMGwt5x8jd4xP9RmLh1km3vpSDByCpu4ffUvWBfC8W0-S6Ezikq0oafCa31dj1kii7ia5eA-GbqV6hlNjwFVoR3E/s320/P1010607.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5722611899290737810" /></a><br />not sick but morbid lifes too short<br />dont shorten it<br />stab me to death<br />with a fork for the sport of it<br />this sad behavior <br />dont encourage it<br /><br />hello sad songs and introspection, hello the other side of the moon and mars hill church. hello the wah mee massacre and fake walt whitman rambling on and on. hello to feeling a little lonely. hello liquid sunshine falling from the sky forever and ever. hello the underbelly of seattle. hello good dreams and being home. hello starting school. hello uneasiness. hello absolute honesty. hello honesty so deep and sharp it cuts to shreds all the colors except silver and blue. hello my craziness. hello goodbye to my political aspirations. hello saying things that have an intended affect on others rather than what i really feel. hello resentment. hello the unknown. you've got a habit.<br /><br />hello kansas sunset goodbyeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-89094267990074700722012-01-31T23:17:00.000-08:002012-01-31T23:18:44.444-08:00Strangulated Hernia<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28LnfMN2frycgKBbj-_TVERa4HmNNAHbvFaO9T_oGqhyphenhyphenomzQWwNP_U05iUGFmwletjRt0lW0Q7Te00k464K1MV0x9qNbtVdLj9sBJipojXyS3I3MB7DRrl-eZ_DDHH2ZqFFzAmPrBCN8/s1600/hockney+summer.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh28LnfMN2frycgKBbj-_TVERa4HmNNAHbvFaO9T_oGqhyphenhyphenomzQWwNP_U05iUGFmwletjRt0lW0Q7Te00k464K1MV0x9qNbtVdLj9sBJipojXyS3I3MB7DRrl-eZ_DDHH2ZqFFzAmPrBCN8/s320/hockney+summer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5704063255435677362" /></a><br />I want to be taken seriously, and more importantly, take my work seriously. <br /><br />I don’t want to focus on the failures of my past, but rather use negative energy to fuel rebirth<br /><br /> I understand the reason to put in effort is the expectation of a commensurate reward. <br /><br />I have a legitimate chance of nailing it and I want to nail it!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-78828322202185415182011-11-28T12:47:00.000-08:002011-11-28T12:48:09.003-08:00Two Weeks of InsanityHe put the rock in his pipe and put the butane flame to the butt of the glass. It jutted out from his lip at a crazy angle and when the heat hit the small rock it smoked and fumed and drew the dirty yellow vapor into his lungs. There was a harsh, sweet smelling, chemical burn and his eyes were transfixed on the blue of the clear yellow lighter that was catalyzing his meth. The smoke was potent and he began to see the light blue waters of American Samoa float up and up and his eyes looked down to see the gummed up and dirty dry concrete beneath his feet. He felt the sun rays hit his orange New York City skin. He believed in white sand, bone white and the red and white empty potato chip bag that lay there by his untied sneaker, he was a friendly crab scuttling home to his crabby wife. A fine watery line of spittle fell slowly from his mouth onto the ground and landed with a little splat. As he continued to stare deep into space and the bristled edge of his sneaker toe he began to believe that his eyes were as blue and piercing as the shallow ocean around American Samoa, he believed that his eyes were becoming paler and more beautiful, enticing, alluring…he dreamed with his eyes open until his neck muscles relaxed and he hit his head on the top of the phone box.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-63037215599520668992011-06-20T18:43:00.001-07:002011-06-20T18:43:55.758-07:00be cool, its just a C-<embed allowfullscreen="true" height="334" width="560" src="http://www.sciencefriday.com/embed/video/10233.swf" /><br /><br />My goals are modest and revolve more around the difference I can make in a community than any set number of dollars earned or clients served. The difference I want to make in the world with my MBA wont be measured in the number of new franchises opened or steak dinners I’ll be treated too. Instead I will satisfied to see closed store fronts lit up again with the hard work of an idealist entrepreneur. I want to see a world with less waste space, less expansion into nature and better use of the spaces already created by man. I want to use business and my knowledge of the workings of capital to efficiently and responsibly give people the ability to expand their ambitions from the realm of unknowing and imagination into the real world for the benefit of everyone in their community and beyond. I saw today a jet that will transport people from paris to Tokyo in just under three hours. But who benefits from such a machine? There will still be teaming slums in the suburbs of paris full of people who never have the opportunity to leave their daily troubles and foils, much less for a daily jaunt to Tokyo. I believe that as the world becomes smaller for some, the slums become more crowded and pressurized for others. The whole world of professionals is filled with pressure and stress. It’s imperative that you understand that I believe that these people are stressed. The high blood pressure and receding hairlines will not lie, a professional in a suit and tie staying late at the office is as stressed as any other man. I question though what it is that these people are stressed over. The world of professionals in the united states stopped producing things years ago. A twelve hour work day is not possible for those who have a physical aspect to their work. So those who choose to pursue professions that ask nothing of them physically are forgoing the world of the body, which is where instincts and humanity lie. Would any man work through the day if he valued the passage of time? For the people who work from sun up to sun down and well into the darkness of midnight the hours on the clock exist only to prove their dedication to work, however the actual quality of their contribution cannot be increased with each consecutive hour on the job. People require variety and spice in life. Money becomes a blinding driver of irrational behavior, dread and anxiety.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-371584883597411902011-03-03T15:56:00.000-08:002011-03-03T16:04:17.950-08:00to get ahead of the curve<embed src="http://www.npr.org/v2/?i=134163005&m=134171342&t=video" height="386" wmode="opaque" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" width="400" base="http://www.npr.org"></embed><br />Well several shorts memories ago we could have hardly seen such a thing as the present moment. Luckily through advances in medical science and calmness we now realize that the time we are experiencing now is in fact predertimined not from some fantastical place in the future where we are one with the universe but in fact from the ignorance that we expatriate with every moment we are alive and curious. Time was when we did not know who we were or what time was, and as luck would have it gaining the knowledge of a definition of time or in fact more likely creating that definition out of free air did not in fact endow us with any true knowledge of the mechanics of this concept of time, much less the abiliity to manipulate it or move through it in a fluid manner. Rather we are a set of images hastily strung together by a brain designed through generations to create a fluid sense of the world for the purposes of survival and surface level sanity. The eye moves and the pan is edited out instantaneously by the brain. All things look smooth. All looks are seamless. even though optically this is impossible, truly understanding the mechanics of such a thing are beyond the scope of the human experience. Even knowing that there is a limit to the human experience is probably not an ideal trait in an ideally happy person, but I suppose that is not what I am going for and it never was. And to whom should I credit this great deal of knowledge and unhappiness. To whom can I attribute fault. Applying it to myself seems a little unwieldy since I have already imbibed and been of so much unhappy knowledge. None of what I have learned leads me to believe that there is a great god in the sky who is capable of handling the responsibility of my disappointment in the human experience. I think then, that I shall blame all my unhappiness on the next very fat person that I see on the street. Not only fat, but tall too. Someone behind whom I could be totally eclipsed. Only a person of that girth, who is capable of concealing and holding my entire physical being would be capable of holding my entire set of nonsensical disappointments and unhappinesses. I would be pleased to find this person and probably reward them with an unwieldy stare. They could hold all of my fears and all of my hopes in their heavy, slow moving frame.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-27055968218044610192011-02-15T15:08:00.001-08:002011-02-15T15:08:50.455-08:00Fishes? Vietnamese Nonsense? Fuck Yeah!<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/19024503" width="400" height="268" frameborder="0"></iframe><p><a href="http://vimeo.com/19024503">Air Waves "Humdrum"</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/megazord">Megazord</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-32013320845968964862011-01-30T13:15:00.000-08:002011-01-30T13:16:46.099-08:00Dippity DO IT<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmMnAyFxpolaFLv9KrVKbCLH5ebdC_I3yAZuyD9GHLGDyMvuqQLnvZ6nsfA5TtZLQusuumayN4q7hh3UpbA_MGCGngcTJ5p5paklVe9e7HtvhjgjS61gvqtEOr5GgHSP82j6ToeBiXEI/s1600/slide_16641_232404_large.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 128px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXmMnAyFxpolaFLv9KrVKbCLH5ebdC_I3yAZuyD9GHLGDyMvuqQLnvZ6nsfA5TtZLQusuumayN4q7hh3UpbA_MGCGngcTJ5p5paklVe9e7HtvhjgjS61gvqtEOr5GgHSP82j6ToeBiXEI/s320/slide_16641_232404_large.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568090699928616242" /></a><br />Yesterday I got my wisdom teeth out. An 11 o’clock appointment and the day off work. So the morning was naturally a gut wrenching affair. There was the high of not having work, and the gut wrenching of having an appointment for a tooth chiseling later. I rose with my girlfriend as she got ready to go to work. Normally I would have made myself a large and sweet breakfast but because I wanted to be put under for the tooth removal I could not eat before my appointment. So instead of making a breakfast, eating it, and cleaning up in the hours I had before the dentist, I decided to get a workout in. I threw on some shorts, a fleece and a hat and busted out the door. I had a nice little workout with some high knees stair stepping, a little weight lifting, and most lovely of all no meatheading. Then, with about an hour to go before my appointment I removed myself from the gym and headed home. On the short walk back home there is a stretch of sidewalk that is, despite new york law, perpetually un shoveled from the snow. It’s a stretch of about 30 or 40 feet with one trammeled path way and the accumulation of a years worth of snow on either side. It is, to say the least, quite a hindrance for the able bodied. And for those of feeble strength of ability it is an impassable obstacle. Well, on this particular day I found a member of our society who met the description of someone perfectly incapable of passing such a daunting test. As I turned the corner to face this dicey path my eyes met on the other side with a very old woman, maybe five feet tall at most, with a cane and a walker. She stood befuddled at the edge of the shoveled walkway trying to muster a strategy or the strength to navigate a path through the snow. My brain clicked into philanthropy mode and I sprang into action. I walked over confidently in my running shoes and shorts and asked the old lady if perhaps she needed a hand. She replied in the affirmative and I began by carrying her walker over the path, then I returned for her. I took her gingerly by her gloved hand and we began across the path, her walking down the trammeled path which was no wider that two feet set together, and I stomping through the powdery stuff. A man came the other way while we were making our way across and seemed quite befuddled as to why we didn’t get out of his way, this old woman and I. It didn’t come as a total surprise that this man expected the weak and feeble to move at his discretion, as he, like most people of this city was a self centered asshole. He eventually saw his only route was to move into the deep snow and around us. We then continued on our way and reached our destination. She requested I bend down, which I obliged, and she gave me a nice old lady kiss right on the cheek that was to become swollen and sore after my surgery.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-85320751982652315152011-01-27T14:49:00.000-08:002011-01-27T15:16:37.152-08:00Toney Bagels<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90HiLkCIsNNfZla5ti4EBB9tYNq4cBvGZkRYL-ysSKlbyzXKzGsmVy-7pvd0sGgLxqwHUzEit56HR1U3XC8lXDg31wBWRm3bcbpr-It3YvpgaBe5-Iq3fRCkS161ffOuBfvg8jzFfc1g/s1600/snowstorm-moncton.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj90HiLkCIsNNfZla5ti4EBB9tYNq4cBvGZkRYL-ysSKlbyzXKzGsmVy-7pvd0sGgLxqwHUzEit56HR1U3XC8lXDg31wBWRm3bcbpr-It3YvpgaBe5-Iq3fRCkS161ffOuBfvg8jzFfc1g/s320/snowstorm-moncton.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5567007061695634690" /></a><br />The single best part of my day, any given day, is saying the term 'bitch maid'. It just brightens everything up. <br /><br />Yesterday I was waiting on the elevator in my apartment to go get my laundry in the basement. Upstairs one flight I heard some commotion, someone banging on someone elses door. Then I hear a yell from up there 'aye man, hey bro, hey'. Well, that isn't ever a good sign and its never something I respond to. But, I happened to have some flip flop sandals on, so the mans voice yells again, 'bro, sandals, do you know where D3 is at?' Well, this is interesting, because a. I live in apartment 3D, and b. my girlfriend was expecting a package. Now, it is 1030 at night, and this person, were he a delivery man, is more ambitious than any delivery man I have ever encountered. But my interest was peeked. So I walk over to the bottom of the stairway and ask this person if he is delivering a package. The look on his chunky unshaven white face said fuck no, and his mouth said; 'nah, my ni--a lives there, I cant find him'. Aha, of course. 'Ok, well I dont think he's around here man' I say' 'why not yo, where the fuck is D3' 'well, I live in 3D and I dont think your...I dont think your friend lives there'. At this point the elevator shows up, small, cramped, slow elevator that it is. 'Hey wait, hold that elevator' the man says, and I do. He rambles down the stairs and comes right up to me. He is sopping wet with melted snow, he goes up to my chin and smells like cheap sweet wine. 'So you dont know Spanish rick?' 'no, I dont anyone named rick' so the man gets in the elevator, and though I think for a second about sending him off into the night on his own, the elevator is very very slow. So I decide to get into a compact space with no immediate escape route along with this intoxicated distraught stranger. 'my mans went to court today and I haven't been able to find him since, damn, I'm trying to find him' 'oh, wow' 'when I find him I'ma beat his ass' 'aha'. I had directed the elevator to the basement, and the man, drunk and distraught as he was, had neglected to press any buttons. So we arrived in the basement. 'where the fuck we at?' 'this is the basement, I'm getting my laundry' 'alright, be good' and the elevator doors closed and he was on his way.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-2844292778019377722010-11-12T11:09:00.000-08:002010-11-12T11:10:01.489-08:00american tv land<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcmp9hH-u4WWdFLyjx0BURgLcZftZ_9P1faDkAWYE_-bCx6rcvtaY_dHZtyAsviSLiXUaZvJY3ZEU_mmcbRQD119S5-n3M_M9Bzq7L8kvavk2s9b-Sw2LIjfzFRbcagre7JKNZae7rLg/s1600/5141404212_4be843e482_b%255B1%255D.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUcmp9hH-u4WWdFLyjx0BURgLcZftZ_9P1faDkAWYE_-bCx6rcvtaY_dHZtyAsviSLiXUaZvJY3ZEU_mmcbRQD119S5-n3M_M9Bzq7L8kvavk2s9b-Sw2LIjfzFRbcagre7JKNZae7rLg/s320/5141404212_4be843e482_b%255B1%255D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538742519385680626" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-1012409066823532002010-11-10T06:39:00.001-08:002010-11-10T06:39:54.572-08:00Americans Crazy?<embed src="http://www.npr.org/v2/?i=130079590&m=130086381&t=video" height="386" wmode="opaque" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" width="400" base="http://www.npr.org"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-71796602716155265012010-11-09T07:27:00.001-08:002010-11-09T07:27:24.639-08:00Russians - Crazy 2<iframe width="480" height="373" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" id="nyt_video_player" title="New York Times Video - Embed Player" src="http://graphics8.nytimes.com/bcvideo/1.0/iframe/embed.html?videoId=1248069280321&playerType=embed"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7087380574564916490.post-75663298273000278232010-11-08T09:31:00.001-08:002010-11-08T09:31:57.398-08:00Russians - Crazy<embed src="http://www.npr.org/v2/?i=131104376&m=131109650&t=video" height="386" wmode="opaque" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowFullScreen="true" width="400" base="http://www.npr.org"></embed>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0