A Proper History

kicking and screaming

2010-05-10T02:35:00.004-04:00

While reading Jonathan Wilson's preemptively declared excellent 'Inverting the Pyramid,' a history of tactics in world soccer, I ran into this paragraph:

The dispute, strangely, was not over the use of the hand, but over hacking - that is, whether kicking opponents in the shins should be allowed. F.W. Campbell of Blackheath was very much in favour. 'If you do away with [hacking],' he said, 'you will do away with all the courage and pluck of the game, and I will be bound to bring over a lot of Frenchmen who would beat you with a week's practice.' Sport, he appears to have felt, was about pain, brutality and manliness; without that, if it actually came down to skill, any old foreigner might be able to win.

Some context is needed. The dispute in question was over the initial rules in the game of soccer... namely, how to use the offside rule. However, as Wilson found peculiar, the real argument ended up being whether or not kicking other players should be allowed.

This sounds silly now, especially considering this event occurred roughly in 1860 or 1870... but is it really?

Kicking seems really petulant, but in a sport where the foot is the weapon of choice, kicking would've been considered the logical method of physical play. The NFL has the tackle, as wrapping up your arms around the ball carrier is allowed... the NHL has the armless body-check... NBA has it's pick... so, soccer would've had it's kick.

What reason was there for physicality in soccer? Well, let's return to Mr. Blackheath and requote:

'you will do away with all the courage and pluck of the game, and I will be bound to bring over a lot of Frenchmen who would beat you with a week's practice.'

So the pussies can't win... and the French were the ultimate pussies in 19th century England. The more things change...

So, as the thoughts of the time put it, anyone can learn to kick a ball, but we can separate the real men (the winners) from the pussies (the losers) via physical dominance manifested in the form of kicking a dude.

Fastforward a century and a half...

We live in a sporting society and in this society various masculine traits centered around a tolerance for pain and a penchant to inflict it are often coveted above skill and and ingenuity. It's better to physically batter your opponent into submission.

Case in point, the NHL playoffs... whereas, in the regular season, a premium is placed on calling relatively minor infractions and settling games with a pseudo-skills competition, the playoffs are another beast... the physicality is ratcheted up to 11 while the penalties drop by a similar margin.

It becomes more war of attrition... gameplans revolve around physically destroying the competition and grinding out a championship. Skill is a necessity... you won't win without the skill, but you won't win without your share of physical muck and grinders.

In reality, professional team sport is a mix of a physical grind and a skills show... to assume it is one way or the other is negligent.

Soccer found it's own ways to add physicality to the game regardless of kicking. Watch how slide tackles are followed through in professional matches, where elbows go during headers and basically everything that occurs during corner kicks... which are, as in the NHL, NFL, etc., let go in honor of fairness... the fairness of allowing each team to bend the rules and hurt each other as much as possible.

All ending in a circle. People are as they were. The English placed importance on physical brutality in sport a hundred-fifty years ago... well, they still do now. Surprise, surprise.

But that, in itself is unique: when facing attempted revolution in the particular game... an attempted way of modifying the thinking approaching this game, we find ways to circle back around and make sure that even though we left point A, we can still find our way back to it shortly after.

If there's a will, there's a way.

And nothings better than seeing some pussy get what's coming to him.

tom chrout

2009-10-20T16:54:00.004-04:00

Tom Chrout is a good man.
Tom Chrout works a steady job with a steady income.
Tom Chrout is a good family man.
Tom Chrout loves families so much that he's on his third.
Tom Chrout cleans his plate at dinner; there are starving kids in Africa, so he shouldn't take his excess for granted.
Tom Chrout only flirts with his secretary on occasion and fucks her even less frequently.
Tom Chrout pays his bills on time because he's a good man.
Tom Chrout gives to charities that are tax deductible.
Tom Chrout goes to church on Sundays because that is what good people do; he tells all of his friends that he goes to church and believes the word of God.
Tom Chrout prays for American soldiers and cares about American lives.
"Bring our boys back home," Tom Chrout whispers quietly to God.
Tom Chrout saw that a car bombing killed an American soldier and 15 Iraqis yesterday.
Tom Chrout wept and made time to pray for that American soldier and his American family.

"God bless America," Tom Chrout says.
"God bless you, Tom Chrout" God says.

repetition

2009-10-18T07:05:00.003-04:00

Passion Pit has been my passion for the past week. Synth? Check. Keyboard? Check. Guitar? Check. Bass? Check. Drums? Check. Excellent? Check.

It's amazing how many times I can go through one set of 11 songs taking up just about 45 minutes... over... and over... and over. It's great music and one of the most painful moments in recent memory, if only for a brief moment, was realizing I missed seeing them live by about a day.

My room is faintly lit by a lamp, tilted slightly to the ground as I sit in my bed, typing. To my right is the bouncing silhouette of my body, earphones placed firmly on my head as the opening track "Make Light" plays in the background, Michael Angelakos' youthful falsetto wailing with the electronic symphony of beats and samples.

I made a point to check out some of Passion Pit's live performances on YouTube earlier today. Hearing "Sleepyhead" in Connecticut, New York, New Jersey, Chicago, the festival circuit... Angelakos' falsetto hitting moments of brilliance and bedraggled depending on the day.

Once I write this, it will be written. Occasionally read, if I'm lucky, and rarely recited. My blessing.

But as a musician, how does one cope with the repetition? Angelakos' library consists of that single full length LP of 11 tracks and an EP containing mostly cross-over tracks. Okay, so "Sleepyhead" is first on the set list on Tuesday and now, let's make it seventh on Wednesday?

Or, once you've reached that peak, does the love and adoration of a fanbase, all focused on your talent and ability, make the feeling never get old despite the fact that all you are doing with every new performance is rehashing something old. For the fan? New.

For you? Old. Practice. Practice. Practice. Play. Repeat. Practice. Practice. Practice. Play. Repeat.

Or do you keep that fresh feeling?

Waking up a block from the ocean, smelling that thick, salty breeze every day of the week... soaking up the rays, one thinks and then utters: "I am alive."

Is that the feeling?

Or maybe, as life, it's all a repetition, no matter how talented and creative we are?

Wake up. Eat. Go to work. Eat. Go Home. Eat. Sleep.

Get off the bus. Unload. Mic Check. "Sleepyhead." Encore. Reload. Get on the bus.

Conception. Get off the bus. Adolescence. Adulthood. The inevitable decline. Get on the bus.

the nature of authenticity

2009-10-09T22:49:00.004-04:00

I became a Deftones fan in high school... I want to say around 10th or 11th grade. I really liked the single "Change (In the House of Flies)and bought the CD it was featured on, "White Pony." The CD was hit-and-miss, but I liked it overall on the strength of it's better songs.

So, I considered myself a fan based off of these songs and began my considerable Deftones knowledge-gathering expedition. Where I now rely upon Wikipedia to quickly gather information on things that interest me, at that time I simply scoured the internet for whatever "Deftones" links popped up on Yahoo!

During my travels, I landed upon the Deftones OFFICIAL message board (not to be confused with all of those inferior unofficial ones). Reading through threads, I ran into the rant of a pissed off fan who said (near exact quote but, remember, this is 10 years ago):

I can't fucking stand all of these White Pony fans now that they're big on the radio. They don't know anything about the old shit, they're all just jumping on the bandwagon.

"FUCK THAT," I thought in my mind, with the caps lock clearly on. Whenever I'm a fan of something, I'm a REAL fan. I liked the Penguins when they sucked. I hate mainstream things... I'm totally independent in my likes and dislikes.

So, to prove how I didn't need to like what other people like and scour for other people's approvals, I went to the store and bought the two previous Deftones CDs that I hadn't heard. NOW I had their entire catalog and I was a REAL fan, just like that guy was talking about on the message board.

For the approval of some guy I don't know on a message board... in some digital pissing contest where I could prove that my stream was strong enough to stay on the boat.

I never talked to him again... as a matter of fact, I never talked to him, I merely read his post... but I'm glad that I was able to prove him wrong.

Ten years later, I still remember this event. Isn't it funny how fickle and proud we all are?

manifest destiny

2009-08-04T21:00:00.003-04:00

If you know me, you know that I recently to San Diego... if you didn't, now you know.

Awesome, we're all up to speed.

I took a non-traditional route to reach the left coast, seeing relatives in Dallas for a couple weeks before making the final two-day drive.

The most amazing part of the trip was an exquisitely timed drive through El Paso.

I had been driving for about 9-10 hours through the incredibly barren terrain of west Texas... not as barren as New Mexico and Arizona, especially Arizona, were, but full of ghost towns, oil refineries, rocks, and dust.

It wasn't boring, it was refreshing to see... I've been used to the topography of Pennsylvania, meaning an assload of hills and dilapidated roads, so it's nice to see something new with your own eyes for the first time.

That was essentially the point of the trip and why this portion of the trip was so special.

So, I'm approaching El Paso as the the sun begins to dip... off shades of orange and purple begin to fill the sky as the whispers of faint clouds still linger a bit, kind of like when you throw a little bit of fruit flavor into an ice cream or yogurt... just kind of trailing off, getting lost in the scheme of things.

Suddenly, over the horizon, I saw El Paso... totally breathtaking. Tiny little dots of light littering the landscape made up the whole of the horizon.

Just little dots of light splashing against a vibrant sky and overtly barren landscape was an amazing sight to behold... it totally took my breath away.

I texted everyone I knew, going off about how amazing it was. Unfortunately, I was too overwhelmed by the sudden influx of traffic to really take any good pictures... but the picture is still in my mind.

Those are the best times... the moments where human creation and ingenuity intersect with nature and create something unique and vibrant.

Completely unforgettable.

what i want to do.

2009-06-12T15:29:00.002-04:00

i want to write like the mutated bastard child of jello biafra and kurt vonnegut a week into a bender after deciding to try speed.

that's what i want to do.

ethos

2009-06-07T12:11:00.005-04:00

It may be beneficial for me to flesh out a basic ethos. At this point in life, I'm not sure if I avoid making a stand particular because of a lack in clarity over a situation or simply fear of commitment. But simply fleshing out what I actually hold to be true could help sort my mind.

Fundamental rights and truths:

I believe in the fundamental right of equality. Let us pretend, for a moment, that the arguments of eugenicists hold merit. That certain races and interbreeding can lead to diluted blood that has less potential than some other mixes, or lack there-of, of some other race.

Okay. And? Is this the best way to find the greatest, most efficient and effective society? By limiting the rights and abilities of others who you have a preconceived notion of being inferior? Perhaps 99 out of 100 of the maligned caste is a waste. But that one is a beautiful thing.

So you have to give everyone every chance that they can possibly have to succeed. Those who fail, fail. Those who succeed are rewarded. This is how it should be, regardless of race, sex, or personal belief. I will fight for this until the day that I die. It will not be solved in my lifetime, it will not be solved in any lifetime. But I will fight like hell for your right to ruin your own life in whatever way you see fit, no strings attached. And, when you don't fail, we'll celebrate.

I believe in the fundamental ability of choice that was bestowed upon me at birth. All that I am and all that I do is of my own choice, my own free will. An atheist who I take great pride in calling a friend likes to say “no gods, no masters.” I am not an atheist, but I like this. In the end, I am responsible for my decisions and I hold myself accountable.

We all go through a certain amount of programming as we mature. Much of our belief and ethic structures are derived from our upbringings. That's everything from our parents, family, friends, neighbors, climate, teachers, textbooks, etc. We are creatures of our own culture.

In the end, however, the only person that I can claim responsibility over is me, myself, and I. Whatever god created us, he left it for us to dictate our own lives and to survive in our own ways. Calvinist I am not; Deist I am not; call me a realist idealist.

God may be good, god may be great, god may be dead. Who knows... what I do know is that it's up to me to do my best and do what's right on my own without relying on guidance to create a proper moral code.

The power of prayer is over the mind. It gives one incredible self-belief. If there's a god, that being gave us the ability to govern, empower, and convince our selves to do anything.

When my grandmother cooks me a delicious meal, I thank her. She thanks god, but I thank her because I know she was able to do it on her own without help from anyone else.

What if god said to hate Latinos? That they were the least of his creations and should be looked down upon and excluded from society whenever possible. Would you do it? Would that decree make bigotry just and good?

What if there was someone telling me something that god believed and that I must do this or I will burn in hell and suffer eternal damnation? Am I to believe that person? Am I to marginalize a homosexual because someone claims the Bible gives them the right to do so? At one point, the Bible was used to justify slavery. But abolitionists knew what was right and just on their own. That is our task with every free, fresh, and pure wisp of air that passes through our lungs.

I believe in fundamental right to distrust those in power and believe in the power that distrust provides the people. Your status, your suit, your possession, your dollars mean nothing to me. Am I to trust you with my life based on how well your suit fits? Trust you with my brother's life? My sister's? Not even in the face of Armageddon will I sacrifice my cynicism.

I develop trust through personal interaction and evaluation. How can I trust a member of an institution who holds a firm belief in that institution and has consistently used that institution to rape and pillage? An institution that is easily able to exclude members due to their lack of monetary means, deeply ingrained racial and sexual biases and via simple fear mongering? Certainly there are exceptions... but exceptions are never the rule.

Distrust of government is an essential right and belief. Distrusting government forces the machine to start up. It's cogs must grind. Once the banal patriotism and jingoistic assaults that it instinctively fires at my mind are casually swatted away like the intellectual insects that they are, the machine is forced to produce a useful product: an answer.

You tell me you are a good guy. I'm sorry sir, but I believe I'll need a little more than that. What do I need? Facts. Produce them.

I believe in the fundamental flaw in and of the hereditary elite. Once again, your possession means nothing to me. A man of meager means born into meager means who dies a man of meager means means more to me than a man who means to grease the gears of the machine so that it's many machinations continue to produce his power.

Property? Nothing.
Pedigree? Nothing.
Dollars? Nothing.
Cents? Nothing.
Sense? Something.

I'm going to make you prove how important you are. Dressing up nice to play CEO or politician doesn't make me respect you. What makes me respect you is your mind. The decisions that are decided within it, the actions that are acted-upon because of it, the dreams that are defiantly dreamed within it's corridors.

Decide to act upon those dreams in defiance of those who dare to piss upon you with their power. There's the elite. You're not born with it. You can't ever touch or possess it. You can't hand it to someone. But, maybe, you can become it. It's hard to realize when you have reached that pinnacle. You're not suddenly on the Fortune 500 list or invited to the little elite gatherings between those sweetheart elitists who think their money can solve the problems of the world.

They're busy being the problem. The real elite are the ones preparing a solution to their self-masturbation.

There's more to be said, more to be written. This is just a start. I pray I never finish.

take a moment to question my belief in humanity

2009-06-05T15:01:00.003-04:00

I currently work as a canvasser. It's a temporary job that provides temporary solutions to persistent problems. I have some ethical issues with the process, but I know that, on the whole, I'm doing more good than harm.

Yesterday we finished up a short campaign working on behalf of Save The Children, a non-profit aid and relief organization for children around the world. Amazing cause and one I assumed people could easily rally around.

One assumes that until they get (real) responses like,

"Just move'em all north and that'll fix it."

"I can't take a minute for a starving child because I'm hungry for lunch."

"Sorry, I'm just here to buy myself a gift for my birthday."

"Oh no, I thought you said DOGS. I only donate to charities that support dogs, not children."

etc.

Now, I have no problem with a person not getting involved. People can get blindsided by a random person asking them to "take a minute for a starving child." I can deal with people not stopping if they're in a rush, they feel a little ambushed, or are just sincere in not being able to do it at the moment. No problem.

But, then you get some sweethearts like I got on my first day representing the cause:

"Ma'am, can you take a minute for a starving child?"

"Do you believe in abortion?"

"...what?"

"Do you believe in abortion?"

"Well, I'm here on behalf of Save the Children and our sole concern is..."

"No, not Save the Children. YOU. Do YOU believe in abortion?"

...ummm....

"I'm not sure if that's relevant, but, in a situation personally involving me I'd do my best to keep the child." (I'm pretty pro-choice. It's an honest response, but maybe it's a cop out.)

"Okay. If you had said you did, I'd have walked away. Let me see what you have."

As I'm about to start explaining everything to her, I turn my head to a a graphic sheet of paper I have in-hand and, as I turn to look back up at her after that four-five second span, she shoves .87 cents in my hand and quickly leaves.

The minimum we can accept is $5. We were looking for Child Sponsors but, in the end, whatever donations are given help.

But... we can't accept change. I would've told her this, but she was long gone before I could fully comprehend the ambush.

I told my coworker I needed to take a break because, in fact, I did. I thought about the whole thing, called my dad, sat in thought... it just irked me that the first thought out of someone's mind when someone asks to save a child is to go after abortion.

I realize the connotation of such a statement, but I can't comprehend someone's mind just leaping to the abortion argument like that.

So, I didn't know what to do... I only knew that I wanted to spite this woman. Someway, somehow, she couldn't win.

I finally decided on donating the $.87 to Planned Parenthood. I haven't gotten to it yet, but the money is sitting on my desk, waiting to be turned into a money order and provided as a symbolic donation with a letter as to why someone would give such a shoddy donation.

Spiting her with dishonesty and deception is the very least I could do.

he's been watching you for 25 years now

2009-06-02T02:53:00.003-04:00

Okay, so Obama's a pseudo-Socialist. But is he really?

Forgive me in advance for lack of statistical analysis or concrete opinion, this is all reflection and introspection. Self-admittedly, I am not a genius with economics... but I'm comfortable with basic principles in economic competition.

I started talking with a friend about this who is a self-identified Leninist. If you know my group of friends you obviously know who this is.

I brought up the (essentially) nationalization of General Motors and asked if she considered it a victory.

Not at all, she said. The ruling class was still in power. The workers don't own the means of production, it's still with a wealth-owned and driven government.

Point taken and a valid point at that.

Since the nationalization isn't doing anything to help the workers (in fact, it's using funds from workers to keep a failing institution afloat) it's against the basic tenets of socialism or communism.

So what is it? That's the question. With that, I'm not sure if I have the answer. Maybe I do.

Obama says that he doesn't intend to keep control for long. We shall see. One thing it does allow is the government to have more power.

America's most storied automobile manufacturer is now owned by the government while the bank and housing systems are incredibly indebted. In the process, central becomes more necessary and useful.

Are jobs being saved? No. Most of these places are still hemorrhaging and jobs are being grated away.

Employment opportunities, however, are being created by the government. There's approximately 46,000+ available at the time of this posting.

So, workers are leaving the private sector for the government. It becomes stronger, increases.

What are we looking at here? Is it really a movement towards socialism? Is everything being brought together for the benefit of the whole? Or is the biggest business in the world becoming bigger?

Is it that easy to let words like socialism be thrown about as scare words when what's actually going is potentially much more vivid and focused?

No answers here, just a meditation leaving further questions to be answered.
And nothing will change in the immediate future.
But pay attention.

Keep on thinking.

Thought keeps current events and our history in proper context.

So, the only conclusion I have is to think. When something like this happens don't react... act.

A note about experience.

2009-04-01T00:43:00.002-04:00

Just because someone is old, doesn't mean they're right.
Just because someone is dead, doesn't mean they're right.

A lot of people got a lot of things wrong in the 18th century.

Declaration of Higher Intelligence

2009-03-28T17:47:00.003-04:00

As a proper precursor and starting point, I'd like to open by saying that my opinion on this may change. It is reasonable to change your mind when new information becomes available and an individual goes through considerable personal thought. Though this may be my opinion now, in the future, this could change.

And that's also the point of this.

Human instinct dictates we defend our lives. We are instinctively programed to fight for our lives. This is natural, okay, and our most obvious connection with the animal world. We all have the need to survive. When it comes to me or you, it's going to be me. Natural.

This seeps into other facets of human life, specifically and disconcertingly, discourse. We're all guilty of this.

I make an argument, you provide factual and contradictory information, and I respond with, in order of frequency:

1) Ad hominum.
2) Dismissal as false.
3) Change of Subject.
4) End of discussion.

We want to be right; we want our arguments to survive and be most accurate, regardless of whether they are or not. Our ideas survive if they are right and, concurrently, so do we. Flat Earthers decried ideas about the world being round, despite contradictory information that proved the theory being inaccurate available.

The problem with this is that it goes against the largest strength the human race: adaptability. What makes humanity special and unique is our capability to adapt and reason beyond that of any creature in the animal world.

We're built to be able to override our instinct. Our mind can tell us, "It's cold! I don't want to be in this cold!" And, as an animal, we'd be prone to go to an area where it's warmer.

We can do this. We can also remedy the situation. We can live in Siberia by creating proper clothing and tools to make the situation livable. The opposite may occur on the equator. We override our instinct to flee and adapt.

Human thought needs this as well.

We become stronger through growth of thought. Philosophers build upon one another. Hume and Socrates may be brilliant for their ideas at the time, but many aspects of their thinking has been outdated. Their thoughts were fundamental building blocks for further thought. We can still learn and build from them now, but we have, in the words of Fatboy Slim, "Come a Long Way, Baby."

Yet, this is opposed to modern opinion on the matter... to change your mind is to waffle, to be weak, and that's not something we can have. You must prove your side right, regardless of the facts, in order to defend the life of your thought.

Strength. A quality of survival. A poison to reason.

Sadly, this is preeminent in politics. Those who change their minds are "flip floppers" and weak.

What is wrong with our society? It is better to have someone who will be stubbornly wrong than own up to their mistake and remedy a horrible situation?

Is this how humanity will die? Pride? Global pissing contests?

The real strength is being able to stand your ground when you are right and own up to inaccuracies in your own discourse when you are incorrect. It is possible for me to be wrong on an issue and right on another. Thinking isn't like living on probation... if you find yourself wrong more than once, you're not going to intellectual jail.

It isn't Jeopardy. If I lose, I can still answer questions tomorrow.

Be warned, you may ask me for my opinion on something today and I may give you an answer. In a few days, my opinion may be the same. My opinion could also change. That doesn't make me unintelligent. That doesn't make me soft, a waffler, or lacking strength.

It makes me human.

the longest yard

2009-02-18T03:13:00.003-05:00

This past weekend I attended a competitive rugby competition for the first time, or, rather, a sevens tournament.

In normal rugby, each team has 15 players and compete over two 45 minute halves... in sevens, each side has seven players and play two seven minute halves.

The ideal of this competition is a higher scoring, faster paced match going over a shorter period of time in order to play several matches in a day.

The competition was known as the USA Sevens, part of the IRB's Sevens World Series, where teams from several different nations compete in two day tournaments in a myriad of nations for honors.

The USA's was in San Diego for the second or third consecutive year, my roommate is a rugger, so we went.

Now, the game didn't so much reel me in as did the atmosphere of the event. I'm a total schlock for international sports... and giving me an opportunity to follow a two day, sixteen team tournament is like lacing an addict's methadone with opium.

The USA played a good tournament, defeating Australia, Canada, and Kenya while losing by a single point to South Africa and in the semi-finals by one score to eventual champions Argentina.

But, the team of the tournament had to be Mexico.

Now, not being a big follower of rugby, I could still tell you that El Tri (are they called that in rugby too?) aren't really known as a rugby powerhouse. The USA are second tier, but Mexico are third world.

And it proved to be true... over their three first day matches, Mexico were outscored a combined 159-0... ouch.

The second day, as part of the losers bracket, didn't open much better for Mexico as they dropped their opener 50-0.

It was a sad spectacle because it wasn't as though they weren't trying, they were just completely and utterly outclassed. Japan lost all of their matches, but they at least were able to provide some sort of competition for their opponents... Mexico really was a fish out of water.

So, as they were down 31-0 against Canada in the final minute of their last match, Mexico managed to string a few passes together and approach the try zone, rugby's version of the endzone (or, rather, the endzone is football's version of the try zone, do some research).

The crowd, naturally not a LARGE one, being in America, but somewhere around 15-18k, began to get a little excited... everyone realized Mexico had goose egged the entire competition and wanted to see them get some reward for their effort.

Time expired, but the match doesn't end in rugby until the ball is played out of bounds... and, through a slew of green and black jerseys, some Mexican who's name I will never know scored that fateful try, breaking the streak and bringing the crowd to their feet.

And I mean, it was a tremendous roar. Everyone appreciated the effort and the team not giving up. After four, at that point almost five, matches of getting totally pasted, who could blame them if they quit?

But they didn't, and when they scored that try, it was as though they had just won the event. It wasn't just a reaction of relief, it was of celebration.

After each team is eliminated, they're given the opportunity to take a lap around the stadium, to which the fans all give a positive response... Mexico's response was, by far, the most appreciated. Standing ovations from all, it even eclipsed that of the USA's, who were the most supported team at the event (Kenya being a close second).

Full credit to the Mexicans... by getting totally trounced and not giving up, they won the crowd over. Just proof that fans don't always want to root for the favorite, they can pull for little David trying to pull something off.

They were outscored 240 to 7... but, they'll always have that 7.

Congratulations! Your idol has crotch rot!

2009-02-13T17:08:00.004-05:00

Some quick, though slightly outdated (12/07), numbers:

1. 2.8 million new Chlamydia cases per year.
2. Women aged 15-19 had 2,862.7 cases per 100k people, 20-24 had 2797 per 100k reported that year.
3. Gonorrhea had 120.9 cases per 100k people, a rise of
4. Syphillus rates up 13.8 percent, mostly via men.

If I did a larger search, obviously, more statistics could be found... but there's a point, people have STDs.

Okay, now who has them? Odds are, very sexually active individuals who sleep with a high volume of partners.

Who would fall under this category?

(Both of them; Brian Austin Green? Seriously?)

That's not to say that anyone I just posted on here definitely does, they're just random celebrities/athletes who came to mind (well, not the first three). But they could!

Well, then you could say on that logic, "Well, so could you." This is true. And you could put my picture up there with nine other individuals and we'll say, "One or two of them is infected," and I wouldn't disagree with that.

But, with what I'm putting up, from a random sampling, four or five of nine could be infected. That's my theory.

Seriously. How much ass do you think Geno pulls? Wilt Chamberlain claimed he slept with 10,000 women in his life... maybe an exaggeration... but the potential is there when you have the star power and the baller dollars.

Just based on common sense, a guy like Jeter, who's dick is all over the place, should have

I mean, Vick and D-Wade have been caught publically knowingly spreading, while Magic Johnson's johnson isn't so magic anymore. Robbie Alomar possibly.

But, these are professional athletes and entertainers. They're constantly being given this royal treatment for being rich, famous, talented, etc. So, they're all good, clean guys.

Now, if someone has an STD, that doesn't make them a bad person. That's life, things happen to people.

However, history has shown that some have been caught, in this lifestyle, just hiding the fact they have a problem and going on with what they do.

I'd almost guarantee Jeter's pieces is thirteen shades of green, but he's the pinnacle of a clean cut professional athlete.

Logically, the people getting the most ass are the most likely to contract an STD. If you've got, roughly, 4-5 million Americans contracting something a year, what's a good estimate for a percentage of Hollywood and the professional sporting world being infected?

40-60%? Not unlikely.

audrey hepburn is the personification of elegance

2009-01-06T02:47:00.003-05:00

Tonight I feel as though my life has been validated... not so much for what I have accomplished, but the fact that I have a life and it is so full of opportunity.

It's about 1:45am right now and I'm completely and utterly restless. I just feel as though there's something that can and should be done, but I have no idea how to focus myself... find a bit of a center, and attack it.

But, it's okay... because I still have my life.

It's weird how moments like this occur when my burgeoning cynicism and innate self-optimism collide... I've developed this intense suspicion and mistrust of so many individuals and institutions.

The people I do trust, I trust to a fault... the people I don't must pass through a gauntlet in my mind.

Perhaps the person I place too much trust in is myself? I don't exactly have an excellent track record of proper decision making.

So, we work our way down to this question: What is a proper decision? Should I be thinking completely utilitarian? Perhaps in an absolutist sense?

Or is there something else out there? Something that hasn't been written, hasn't been described, is yet untouched and unclassified?

My stomach continues to churn at the thought of it. I hope I wake up feeling like this in the morning every morning.

an almost rambling rant that has a vague point

2008-12-12T18:30:00.004-05:00

Estimated forecast for Thursday, December 11th, 2008:

Rain. Miserable rain. The misery of the rain will be compounded by temperatures hovering around 38-40 degrees Fahrenheit for the majority of the day before dipping below 35 degress around 5:00pm est.

For those who know me, hockey is an integral part of my life. For the certain social aspects that lacked for me in high school, hockey more than adequately made up for their absence.

There were victories.
There were defeats, though, fortunately, less defeats than victories.
There were friends made.
There were memories.

Hockey has always been a very important tool in the construction of myself.

During the last few weeks, perhaps the last playoff run of recreational hockey that I'll ever have in Western Pennsylvania, I've added a bit more emphasis than normal to winning.

When I play, it is all heart... I know what I'm doing, the skill isn't all there, but the mind and the will is. At times I let the heart take over a little too much and I criticize players for doing things I'd probably screw up on as well, but the intention is there.

I want to win. And, as this is my last series, the will to win is strong.

My team, Atlas in the current manifestation, finished 3rd in the league, though not impressively... our quarterfinal series was a best of three in which we lost the first game, a tight contest.

At this, the second matchup, we were outnumbered approximately 14 to 7... a pretty drastic number... that gives them nearly 3 full lines, while we played with one individual offensive and defensive substitution.

Regardless, we came out and played on a surface that lacked a covering roof and was under the assault of rain, hail, slush, and... absolutely nothing of any good.

On the near boards, and by near I mean near the benches, a tremendous puddle of absolute bullshit amassed... cold water and slush accumulated and players, myself amongst the group, attempted to avoid the catastrophe of precipitation.

Alas, my efforts were for naught... during a line change, I accidentally stepped into the nasty muck and the ruse was over: I could not avoid the entrapment of the pool of hate.

So, I didn't. And in that fact, I had an advantage over the rest of the field. I didn't care from that point on how soaked I got... in the end, I was drenched head to toe, not necessarily a good sign.

But, I was fully ready to go into the conditions in order to play effective defense... and the weather I hated became and interesting fact of the game.

We came back late and won, eventually taking the series. During that particular game, with us up late, I took the ball into the corner of our opponents' zone... and wrestled with players, getting as low as I could, in an effort to prevent them from being able to attack our zone.

It wasn't very pretty, but it was effective... I scratched and clawed in the incredibly shitty water, holding off just enough to help us preserve the win. It wasn't all me, that's definitely for sure... but those last few, grueling seconds were something I would've loved to have put on my resume.

Regardless, we won.

The next round came to an ignominious end, as I managed to make a run at a particular player, of a particular mindset that I did not condone, that failed... giving the opposition a power play during the last 20 seconds of a 1-0 victory that they were able to ride out.

We had finished.

But, I played through the muck and the bullshit of the 11th.

It was weather I will never, ever want to play in again... and it was one of the most memorable, beloved games of my life.

It was a game I would never want to play in again, but it's a game I will always remember.

This is why, as Lawrie Sanchez once said, the memories keep you warm at night... not the money, but the memories.

Guy who doesn't like theater writes book.

2008-12-02T20:16:00.004-05:00

It's 1632. You're a puritan named William Prynne, known in certain circles as "Slick Willie" for reasons referred to later that didn't actually lead to him getting that nickname because I just made it up.

Anyways, you're Prynne and you look like this:

Okay... for the third time, you're William Prynne and you have a sweet skull cap. You also hate theater. Plays suck and are faggy.

Or, rather, plays are a bunch of "sinfull, heathenish, lewde, ungodly spectacles, and most pernicious corruptions," you say.

You have this to say and much more in the great epic title of the great epic of your lifetime, thusly known as, in the abridged format, the Histriomastix.

Histriomastix is the nickname for your book, basically like shortening Bartholomew down to Bart or The Artist Formerly Known As Prince to Jackoff.

The actual title of Prynne's 1000 page epic, and great inspiration for me to post a blog entry for the first time in approximately five months is:

Histrio-mastix.The players scourge, or, actors tragædie, divided into two parts. Wherein it is largely evidenced, by divers arguments, by the concurring authorities and resolutions of sundry texts of Scripture, That popular stage-playes are sinfull, heathenish, lewde, ungodly spectacles, and most pernicious corruptions; condemned in all ages, as intolerable mischiefes to churches, to republickes, to the manners, mindes, and soules of men. And that the profession of play-poets, of stage-players; together with the penning, acting, and frequenting of stage-playes, are unlawfull, infamous and misbeseeming Christians. All pretences to the contrary are here likewise fully answered; and the unlawfulnes of acting, of beholding academicall enterludes, briefly discussed; besides sundry other particulars concerning dancing, dicing, health-drinking, &c. of which the table will informe you.

This is blatantly awesome and involves more self-masturbatory practice than his privates recieved in his damnedly long lifetime. The book was so awesome that it got the attention of the royal court... who decided to imprison him.

See, Prynne thought it would be a sweet idea to hate on women acting in the book and call them whores. The Queen, at the time, had speaking roles in a few plays and was a pretty obvious fan of the art form. Whoopsie.

Wikipedia tells me he was imprisoned, fined £5,000, and sentenced to have part of his ears removed.

Eventually, being "Slick Willie" he was able to negotiate down to a reasonable sentence of having all of his ears cut off and "SL" tattooed on his face for "Seditious Libel."

Proving that the good die young and old pricks never kick the bucket, he lived to be 69 while timeless authors he chose to criticize, like Marlowe and Shakespeare didn't come close.

I'm just getting into reading Nietzsche. When he wrote, "God is dead," I think the fact of Prynne being able to publish 1,000 pages of purile trash drove him to this conclusion.

As what he actually saw in this way was becoming less distinct every day, even things that were quite near...

2008-07-15T09:09:00.000-04:00

In "The Metamorphosis" by Franz Kafka, the story opens up with the reader learning of the protagonist, Gregor, being turned into a "giant vermin." For clarification, though it is never spelled out, a "vermin" seemed to be a giant insect matching the appearance of a cockroach or beetle.

Much of the story is of how a man's values are very much displaced in the quick separation between him, his humanity and his family.

Over the course of reading this story, an image stuck with me ( maybe due to my recent inclination to look at things from an aspect of assessing what the necessities of life should be).

For weeks, maybe months, Gregor has been stuck in his room... a beast who would prefer to stay hidden in a dark corner than interact with his family, for fear of scaring them. Only the love of his sister, feeding him rotted food, is keeping him alive.

Gregor is losing his grip on his humanity without really realizing it... just living as what he is has changed his priorities. However, he occasionally makes time to push a chair over to the lone window in his room and look out of the window.

He stares out of the window onto the street where, on most days, he would go to work.

He sees the busy hospital that always had patients running in and out, causing all sorts of havoc.

He sees traffic in the streets, familiar faces, and all sorts of human interaction.

Watching people live in this manner gives Gregor a certain inner peace and keeps him feeling human... for a time. But as time passes, so does this feeling and his feelings turn to sadness.

Gregor eventually realizes that such interactions are impossible for him.

The window is a prison, keeping him confined in his room, the wretched creation that he is. What was once an image of happiness, nostalgia, and pride becomes another form of torture for his already tortured soul.

The power of a few words in describing this kind of hit me. It's weird when something profoundly impacts you. The impact doesn't have to have a distinct or direct meaning... you just can feel it when an it happens.

They say a picture is worth a thousand words... 3/4ths of a page painted one of the most vivid and moving pictures I've ever had in my life.

The image is very distinct in my mind...

...a dark room with a bit of pale moonlight shining through a large glass pane. A beetle, the largest beetle in the world, both in size and sorrow, is propped upon a chair just looking out into the streets.

You can not see the sorrow on his face, for emotion is impossible to detect in a "vermin." But, the bleak background and out of context surroundings in his darkness give the situation away.

There is not much else to see in the room, as the moonlight provides the only necessary light. There is no movement in the room, yet there's this certain contradiction of malaise and activity as Gregor sorrowfully stares out onto the street.

For about a week after I read this passage, the image would interrupt my thoughts at the most random moments.

Playing hockey, helping renovate a building, out at the bar... Gregor forlornly staring off into an unreachable past would occasionally jump into my mind.

It reminds me of a Nietzsche quote that I, to be honest, read first in the amazing, epic Watchmen:

"He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you."

The Optimist's Manifesto

2008-05-26T23:30:00.002-04:00

If you're a sports fan... die hard, bandwagon, casual or otherwise (if there is an otherwise), there is never acceptable reason to watch a match without a smile on your face, faith in your heart, and total optimism that the team you are supporting can carry the match.

Sports are entertainment at it's purest, most visceral form. You are raised supporting a company with a cartoonish logo that is ingrained in your brain throughout your formative years.

You learn your ABCs.
You learn about the birds and the bees.
You learn how to drive.
And you learn that winning the Stanley Cup, Super Bowl, or whatever overvalued piece of hardware that your club strives for is the equivalent of the rapture.

You learn where your allegiances are supposed to lie based on your upbringing.. 95% of the time due to geographic location.

This ends up becoming the equivalent of rooting for bank tellers at Mellon or the cook at Kings (though, I usually do root for him/her to provide me with something that doesn't suck, so there's some more merit to this). You're rooting for someone who's being paid to do a job.

It's almost the equivalent of that commercial where Peyton Manning is rooting for random people doing random, unspectacular jobs. It's laughed off as farcical, but it's the equivalent of what us, we whom have so little to fellate ourselves over, do to those deities of celluloid.

But, you don't view it that way, do you? It's almost a part of your heart and soul. It's a company with the best public relations ever... one that you feel is doing a service for you and your community by trying to win against other communities.

So we get done doing that jobs that are well under the scope of what is necessary on TV. We go home, and we prepare to watch these games.

People are educated, during the early process where we learn that sports = life, that not doing something that people root for isn't really worth it.

Well, it's worth it to get some money so that you can live... but, it's not fulfilling. And your dead end job that can barely pay the dead end bills caused as your dead end marriage pushes against the spongy walls of your gradually deadening brain.

Your brain eventually starts to give way to such self doubt and you live a life of increasing unfulfillment.

But there's something to be excited for! The (HOME TEAM!)s play on (M-T-W-TH-F-SA-S)!! Sweet!

Life has become a never ending carousel of redundancy but, luckily enough, there's something to live for.

Unfortunately you, like many others, go into the game with the same mindset you go into each day.

No hope.
Expecting the worst.
Demanding the best.
No pleasure with a win.
Total angst with a loss.

This is not how to view sports.
This is not how to live life.

What's the point of going into a match with no expectations? Do you go to the movies expecting to see a piece of shit, and, if the film exceeds expectations, you are simply satisfied?

How is this worth dropping $80 on a ticket? How is it worth spending three hours in front of a television? Dreading the inevitable?

Learn to enjoy each moment of your life doing whatever it is you do.

Working.
Eating.
Sleeping.
Watching sports.

Or at least be hopeful of good things to come. What's the point of spending most of your life expecting loss?

Is it that fulfilling when you win something? You've spent so much time being unhappy during the ride that, once you reach the destination, it's hard to build yourself up for the happy conclusion.

I've learned that, even as things are shitty, it's best to hope for the best. Maybe the best won't come and you'll end up with the worst, but you'll have the best of times while you do your best at doing your worst.

And even in doing the worst, you've become the best at something.
It's an achievement.

Something to be proud of? Probably not... but you've reached a destination. It then becomes time to plot your next course and have some hope that you'll reach that happy ending.

Guess what? You've just spent 15 of the last 16 years with hope in your heart. Wonder how that's affected your life during the 21 hours you don't spend rooting, optimistically, for your team to win.

Over the 147 hours in the week that you weren't dreading tomorrow.

Over the lifetime that you'll spend not hoping a slug finds it's way into your brain.

...and Marx is claiming it was offside!

2008-02-28T20:55:00.002-05:00

BEWAREoftheSTEVE: i saw the best monty python sketch ever today
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: it was the philosophers world cup final
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: and they announce these big lineups with all these thinkers
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: like nietschze and socrates
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: and they all run up and are all getting warmed up
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: and they go!
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: and everyone spends the entire 90 minutes thinking... just walking in a circle
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: a silly exercise on monty python? or a scathing critique of the human mind
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: YOU TELL ME NIKKI
NicoleAsha87: human mind :-D
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: that wasn't an answer... that was a repeat of two words i used
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: bullshit
NicoleAsha87: leave me alone :-(
BEWAREoftheSTEVE: yeah, that really solves social problems

so really... i think it's really funny and also a scathing critique of the pointlessness of human thought and philosophy. If any one of these guys takes the initiative to just get the ball and kick it, they'd win the match. Instead they're too busy wrapped up in their own thoughts.

Finally, Archimedes has an idea with about a minute left in the match and takes the ball, crosses it to Socrates who scores on a header to give the Greeks a 1-0 win over the Germans.

The Germans, however, begin arguing the call... "Hegel is arguing that reality is merely an a priori adjunct of non-naturalistic ethics, Kant via the categorical imperative is holding that ontologically it exists only in the imagination, and Marx is claiming it was offside."

Marx was right. It was offside. Which is also him making a materialist observation... in tune with Marxism.

Three minutes of brilliance. I need to read more so I can write something like this... or get much, much smarter.

NIHILISM OF THE DAY:

Mein Führer! I can walk!

2008-02-18T17:53:00.004-05:00

The man pictured above is Peter Sellers... or, rather, Sellers playing Dr. Strangelove in the aptly titled film 'Dr. Strangelove (or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb).'

I fell in love with this movie three years ago when I was having my wisdom teeth removed. Sitting in my house all day, on a weird high of vicodin and sugar, I watched it for the first time and was sucked in by such an eternally relevant satire. It made me fall in love with the art of satire to a serious degree, though I've been unable to write something that takes advantage of satire to the length that I'd like to.

Despite several name actors of the era being featured in this film, the undoubted star was Peter Sellars, famous for his star roll in the Pink Panther films. In Dr. Strangelove, Sellers plays up his ability to don multiple personalities by featuring as three separate characters:

Col. Lionel Mandrake: A nervy British officer.

President Merkin Muffey: The generally level headed leader of the free world.

Dr. Strangelove: A highly eccentric German scientist.

The first time I watched Dr. Strangelove, I didn't realize until a long way through the movie that at least two of them were Sellers. I was unfamiliar with his work and was totally duped. The entire movie does a job of attempting to dupe the audience, and this is the one joke that most everyone was in on and I, on the other hand, was left out of.

Now, I've seen actors attempt to play multiple roles. Watch Spy Kids 3-D sometime and Stallone will show you how it isn't done.

(No, Sylvester. No.)

I could write a million things about Strangelove, but I found myself reading a lot about Peter Sellers recently and choose to focus on him. Part of Wikipedia's entry on him describes Sellers:

"His exceptional ability to speak in a wide variety of different accents (e.g., French, Indian, American, British, German), along with his talent to portray a highly diverse range of characters, contributed to his immense success both as radio personality and screen actor and earned him many national and international nominations and awards. Many of his depictions of various characters and cultural stereotypes have become ingrained in the public's perception of his work."

Shortly after, I ran into this quote from Sellers himself:

"If you ask me to play myself, I will not know what to do. I do not know who or what I am."

Is this the price you pay to be artistically and creatively exceptional? I really struggle thinking of brilliant individuals who don't have some major personal demons. You read about Sellers and you learn about his drug addiction, four wives, insecurity issues and other problems. But, you don't remember Peter Sellers for that. You remember him for being able to spit out random characters like material was chew and he was spitting genius into 35 mm.

So, people know he's fucked up... but that's not his memory. Polanski fucked a 13 year old, but we remember him for Chinatown.

Not only that, but you go into the drug usage. Sellers died at 55 from a massive heart attack, but this was spurred by his drug use weakening his heart significantly over the course of his life. Is drug usage the demon of fame or is it a price you pay for excellence?

Professional athletes are being murdered by public opinion for drug usage, but take note of the fact that the majority of those being hammered are successful. Is this any different than Sellers smoking a J to help ease his quickly collapsing mind? Using a substance to help enchance his performance?

Watching Method Man smoke up on stage before going off on a song? Comedians and writers getting their best material while they're high off of their asses? A truck driver downing Red Bull to stay awake? Drinking a protein shake before working out?

I seriously digressed there, but this is more of a exercise than totally focused writing. The point I'm more trying to get at is the fact that there seems to be a correlation between mental strength and weakness when it comes to creativity and general sound judgement.

The question for myself is: Which would I choose (if it were a choice?)

To me, the answer is simple.

Alas, poor Iggle Video...

2008-02-14T11:47:00.003-05:00

I learned Iggle Video was closing earlier this week AND that they were selling their entire stock for relatively decent prices. So, I grabbed a jar with about $30 worth of pennies and assaulted the Coin Star machine before making my way to the dilapidated ruins of what once fueled my childhood video game obsession.

New titles were going for $10 a pop... fuck that. Catalogue and previously viewed titles, however, were strutting their stuff for 3 /$10. Taking my ungainful unemployment into account, I limited myself to choosing three. But what three?

Because I'm a retard and search for way too many metaphors in my life, the choosing of only three videos became like some quest for for definition as to who I was from what remained of bare racks.

The final cut was:

1) Dr. Strangelove
2) Unforgiven
3) Bulworth

Movies that missed the cut? Platoon. Dark City.

In retrospect, I think I maybe should've nabbed Dark City over Bulworth. I think Dark City is one of the most underrated movies ever, and I underrated it. I kind of just busted a nut when I saw Bulworth sitting there, waiting to be taken.

The other two are Oscar winners, and Dr. Strangelove is probably the greatest satire I've ever seen. Coming from someone who has a habit of spitting out douchey sarcasm, Dr. Strangelove is like a love for me.

So...

Dr.Strangelove? Yeah, that's kinda me.
Unforgiven? A revenge western. Eh, maybe lacking a little, but it's excellent.
Bulworth? Morally, kind of. Especially since there's about 4 seconds of a RZA song in it.

BULLSHIT OF THE DAY: Ice.

Fuck ice. Really. Except in hockey, fuck ice. Also, fuck this guy for liking the ice. He should realize it's cold and fucks with your car and everything else. Fuck him and fuck ice.

Deuce-Eleven

2008-02-11T17:42:00.000-05:00

I don't really have anything in particular I want to write. I just want to write, but really don't have any inspiration at the moment. Maybe just throwing stuff out there will kind of inspire me? I hope so.

The paragraph break represents me taking a second to try and think REALLY hard of something to go off about, but failing to think of something beyond my general realm of daily thought. These daily thoughts include:

Hockey
Wu-Tang
Poker
The Bar

It's quasi-sad, minus the quasi part. I think I'll just keep forcing myself to write until I start not sucking at it. I couldn't really even think of a title so I just threw the date up. How shitty is that? SHIT-TAY.

SONG OF THE DAY: Iron God Chamber

This is from one of Masta Killa's albums, even though I'm not a real big fan of his. The first two verses, by U-God and RZA, are hot. U-God has such a deep, bass voice that comes out well well on the right beat, especially when he brings it aggressively.

RZA's verse is pretty good too... one where he gets on a roll, and RZA is my favorite rapper to listen to when he gets into a good string. I love the lyrics in the first half of it, and about half-way through he just starts throwing out a shit load of great rhymes and similes. It's not his most profound rap, but it just sucks me in and gets me really into the beat when he can just rape it like that.

Method Man brings it pretty good, but I don't know many tracks I don't like him on. Masta Killa rarely is recognizable to me in a track where he doesn't start spelling his name out.

Guess I found something to write about.