Clothes (or: why I enjoy fashion but still like girls [or: how i learned to inflate my blog entry count] )

There is something fantastic about looking dapper. It’s often said that you look the way you feel, and though you’d assume that this is some outer reflection of how you are feeling emotionally on the inside, it can very much be the very inverse. That being, sometimes looking damn good on the outside makes you feel damn good on the inside. Once upon a time, I was deeply emasculated by my penchant for nice clothes. I worried that perhaps if I matched those shoes with my shirt too well, I might like boys. When puberty took me and my manhood (I mean that in more than one way) by the reigns, and my fondness for high fashion held true, I decided to embrace it shamelessly. Or at least, it was shameless, until I started writing this blog. Whose idea was this? I like girls. Pinky swear.

I’m seriously wondering what I’m going to write for the remainder of this blog now that I got my zippy intro out of the way. Mrs. A doesn’t read these, and I’m already 200 words in so I might as well seal the deal. Stream of consciousness? Go, go, and go (I had go, go, go but Microsoft Word told me it wasn’t grammatically correct). I like looking different than other people. Not just because I’m a douchebag hipster wannabe, although mind you that is absolutely what I am, but because the way most people dress is total poop and I like to look neat. I kiss girls sometimes so I'm still manly just reminding you. There’s also something real coolio about looking mighty fine in a nice dress clothes ensemble. I’m currently wearing a super snazzy blazer I purchased from Goodwill along with an exceptionally stylish shirt and tie, with vans on my feet to make it casual. That really illustrates my point, right? Right. 300 words. I like clothes. Wowza thanks for stopping by, you’re all the bomb! Don't forget that I like girls!

Valentines Day - Why I Like it an Awful Lot

I don't deny that Valentines Day is absolutely arbitrary. I have heard a million schpiels from a million lonely people about how Halmark invented the holiday to increase their card sales, and I understand that is very true. But who gives a poop? Columbus landed in the wrong place and took horrible advantage of the indigenous population and we get a school day off; is it that awful that we celebrate love for a day?

I love love. It sounds lame, sure, but absolute, unconditional adoration for someone is by far the sweetest sentiment humans are capable of. Love doesn't have to be about your boo thang. I love a lot of people in my life. I love my parents, I love my sister, I love my dog, I love my girlfriend, I love my best friends. The oft-expressed concept that "love" is a once in a lifetime feeling that people hand out far too easily is total bullshit. Love is a chemical attatchment in your brain that can come about between any two people that make each other infinitely happy, and like any other "high", it makes you feel fantastic. You can fall in love one hundred times in a lifetime. You might never fall in love (though you have to go out of your way to be narrcasistic asshole to accomplish this feat). It's still freaking fantastic.

For someone as hopelessly self-involved as me, it continues to astonish me how much pure joy I get out of making others happy. Almost every decision I make in my life has some alterior motive, or self-serving cause. But I legitimately love the feeling I get from doing something wonderful for someone. It's disarming and reassuring to realize that at the core of me, there actually is some genuine sweetness. And no holiday brings out this feeling more than Valentines Day. So yes, I'm going to set up an elaborate chain of gifts for my beautiful girlfriend and yes I'm going to write her a goopy letter and yes I'm going to shower her in cheesy compliments. Yes, I'm going to tell my parents I love them, and yes I'm going to give my best friend a hug and yes I'm going to call my sister tonight. And yes, I'm going to be fully aware February 14th is just another day of 365, and yes I'm going to care too much and yes I'm going to feel like a character out of a bad rom-com. I'm going to do all of that. And I'm going to love it.

I Wish I Could Play Guitar

Upon my conception, those dastardly genetic fairies played a very cruel trick on me. Perhaps they had a bad day at the fairy office, or didn't get done with all their TPS reports, but for whatever reason they deemed it necessary to pull a real dick-move on an the unsuspecting fetus occupying my mother's womb (how's that for imagery?). When Martin Alosha Robinson II was birthed in the fine town of Columbia, Missouri, out came a child who loved nothing in the world as much as he loved music. At the same time, out came a child who was completely incapable of carrying any semblance of a musical tune, horrifyingly unable to schematically grasp music in its simplest form. I'm not talking about two different babies.

Although music in most all forms appeals to me, to unspeakable lengths, my true passion is rock. Rock is a very broad term, an all-encompassing mega-genre. When it began, rock was Elvis Presley knocking down barriers to the thrumming of guitar with his arousing hip-thrusts. Later, it was the Beatles popping ecstasy like aspirin plucking their acoustic guitars like foreign objects and on their better days upstaging Mr. Christ. Now, rock can be just about anything. Like a weird, dysfunctional family with overbearing parents, rock and roll has ceased to be a recognizable name and has instead diverged into bizarre, likely completely unrecognizable subgenres if not for the fact that they all carry their parents' trademark cleft lip. (that was a WAY better analogy in my head) 

Tool and Phish thrash their guitar and scream obscenity laden somethings at the top of their lungs. Blink 182 and Sum 41 mix hard rock ideals with poppy vocals, melodic guitar hooks and catchy choruses. Neutral Milk Hotel and Pavement combine intentionally shaky, too-cool-to-sing-conventionally mumblings with non-sequitur lyrics and confusing unaligned guitar strumming. Although I am more taken with some of the aforementioned sub-genres than others, they are all tolerable in their own capacity. They are united, however, by the guitar. I love the guitar.

I've tried to learn the guitar. It's not happening. Not only is it way more work than I will probably ever bring myself to accomplish solely on the empty fumes of self-motivation, but I can't do it. My hands fumble clumsily over the strings and my muscle memory fails me every time I attempt to deftly switch chords. If I one day by some miracle figured out how to play a song that doesn't begin with "Smoke" and end with "Water", it'd be pointless anyway because I'd have to carry around an aptly-voiced singer on my back at all times if I wished to put together any sort of performance. I do have a pretty big backpack...

Boo. I seriously want to play guitar.

The KFC Famous Bowl (Patterns of Development 3 - Definition)

I’ve had a hard day. Both of my parents just passed away in a tragic rhino accident, the lower half of my body has just been lost in a horrifying encounter with a paper shredder and they officially cancelled “Community” on NBC. What I need… is a pick me up. What I need… is a Kentucky Fried Chicken® “Famous Bowl”.


I remember my first famous bowl like it was yesterday (it wasn’t). I had just suffered an extraneous kick and yelling session at Tae Kwon Doe, and I was clearly completely drained both physically and emotionally. My agony must have been clear to my father, because when he picked me up, he decided to do something that would change my life.


We pulled up into the KFC drive-thru, and I was at awe with the poorly illuminated display laid before me. At first, I feared I may become lost in this world of seemingly endless fried chickens and might not be able to make a decision, but suddenly something caught my eye. The Famous Bowl.


Although I had planned to eat it at home, the aroma was overwhelming, and I succumbed to it’s deliciousness. What I tasted next was the most the most fantastic thing my tongue and I had ever been a part of (and yes, I thought of that and I stand by the sentiment).


Encapsulated in this little plastic sealed bowl is the most fabulous concoction ever known to man. First, savory, buttery, mashedy mashed potatoes are slopped onto the bottom of the bowl. Next, the fun begins. On top of these potatoes, in what I can only assume is a highly revered, perhaps even religious process, steaming, deliciously flavorful  brown chicken gravy is drizzled upon the potatoes with expert care. As the gravy is distributed in generous helpings, simultaneously, the popcorn chicken is artfully tossed about the forming man-sundae. Piping hot chicken breast, deep-fried to perfection and then rolled playfully about in an assemblage of the world’s finest salts, spices and breading before taking another lucky trip to the fryer. The colonel’s recipe at work. When it seems this meal possibly attain a higher level of succelentity, the unthinkable is done. Shredded cheese is sprinkled thoughtfully upon the melting-pot of culinary diversity, and the accumulated heat melds the cheddar goodness all upon the chicken, potato and gravy. Each spoonful is a spiritual experience. This… is food.


This… is the Famous Bowl.

Superman vs. Average American (Patterns of Development Part 2– Compare and Contrast)

Many long-lived questions have tugged at the human psyche since the dawn of time. Is there extraterrestrial life on other planets in our solar system? What will happen to us after we pass on? Is there a greater meaning to life as we know it? However, there is one other question equally ripe for discussion, perhaps the most unexplored psychological playground of all. What are the similarities and differences between Superman and an average human being?


At the surface, Superman and an average human being are quite similar! Perhaps even remarkably so! However, the deeper down you drill, the more you will discover about how truly different Superman and an average human being really are!


Appearance-wise, their correlations draw a mixed bag. Though Superman and an average man both are host to classic features such as noses, eyes, ears, mouths, torsos, legs, arms, hair, feet, hands, and with some leap of faith, reproductive organs, there are several key aesthetic differences as well. Although an average man traditionally dresses in classic 21^st century garb; jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, perhaps for some average men formal wear, Superman is usually outfitted in a drastically unalike get-up. Superman prefers to go about in a vibrant blue, red and yellow costume that hugs his incredibly rugged, sculpted physique, equipped with a giant letter “S” plastered across his chest, and a cape draped about his shoulders.  Average man, in most cases, is notably without said cape.


In terms of natural ability, there are similar parallels to be drawn, though once again there is an eventual fork in the figurative road. While an average human and Superman are both quite similar in the fact that they are both sentient beings who thrive off of such essential processes such as respiration, and both are capable of communication through such hallmarks of the homosapien as talking, there is a surprisingly stark contrast between the two beyond this point. While average man is capable of such feats as leaping several feet in a single bound, operating within the normal confines of time and space, and lifting things a bit heavier than themselves; Superman is capable of completing tasks like flying, turning back time and destroying several-thousand pound metal vehicles with  his hands.


All in all, I feel it is hard to come to a conclusion as to a clear “superior” between an average human being and Superman. Both entities are with their areas of expertise, and their obvious flaws. Although I feel I’ve done a proper job here of addressing all possible vantage points of the infamous question, I think people will probably battle with its answer until the dawn of time.

How to BS an AP Lang Blog Entry (Patterns of Development Part 1 – Process Analysis)

The AP Language Comprehension offered course plays an incredibly vital role in the sculpting of a proficient language arts student.  One necessity entailed by enrollment in this class (AP Language Comprehension, for those who forgot) is the routine maintenance and completion of an AP Language Comprehension “blog”. This is essentially an expansive collection of different writing samples that both show off your writing skills and hopefully fulfill course requirements while simultaneously generating thoroughly entertaining literature for your readers while applying the immensely important terms of language expected to be learned by aspiring scholars participating in AP Language Comprehension. In the following article I will give a comprehensive breakdown of the imperative abilities and concepts that you should attempt to grasp if seeking  to be prosperous in the class of AP Language Comprehension.

·         Have a long drawn out introduction paragraph. This not only demonstrates an incredibly impressive understanding of the ever-popular “beginning, middle, end” model employed in many articles of writing, especially in AP Language Comprehension, but it also is very effective in knocking out some of that much maligned word count minimum enforced by your likely fabulous instructor in the course of AP Language Comprehension.

·         Use the largest words at your immediate disposal. If you have a massive arsenal of vocabulary words at your disposal, using the most obnoxiously descriptive, yet still applicable term is a great way to make your teacher in AP Language Comprehension, and potential readers go, “Wow! This guy is a total douche!”. Not only that, but this practice can also give writers additional, deeper emotional insight into your life, perhaps allowing your most adept fans to infer from the sentence “I valiantly removed myself from divan and acquired a beaker of aqua, afore hesitating to scuff my irritated anus, which was urgently without a scuff prior to such event” not only that you got out of bed and scratched your ass, but connoting that your probably own a thesaurus.

·         Reiterate yourself as much as possible. Repeat yourself as many times as you can without it coming off as horribly obvious that you are just attempting to drain your word count. Always use the longest possible variant of each word; never NY, New York. In the class of AP Language Comprehension, it is very important to know these tricks of the trade.

·         Never write more than you have to. Set yourself a word limit, and once achieved, simply

I Hate Most People (and most people hate me)

It's strange how much I dislike people at their core. I consider myself to enjoy life for the most part. In fact, I have no serious qualms with society or anything, as much as this blog would leave you to believe otherwise, mainly due to the fact that I've learned to be okay with the fact that most people, organizations, religions, businesses, and about any other sect... all suck. And though I can now take this in stride and live life to the fullest, when I sit down and think about it, man, I seriously hate people.

Perhaps the thing that makes people so hateable is we're capable of just about anything. No one really hates dogs because they're not smart enough to get into your head. Many hate cats, but that's because cats are awful. But people, we're so intelligent (speaking in relative terms...) that we are constantly pushing the boundaries of our freedom, constantly manipulating, constantly testing consequences; ultimately, constantly trying to do nothing but satisfy ourselves. I simultaneously love and hate it.

First let me assure you that I am quite happy with the species that I ended up in, and I would much prefer this sect of the animal kingdom to an unaware, yet probably quite pleasant existence as a housepet, or awesome jungle monkey. I recognize the total greatness of what we as a species are able to do, and that our accomplishments are a complete product of our freedom. This freedom, like most other good things, comes as a dual edged sword. Along with the ability to solve horrible diseases and impossibly prolong our own existence, we also hold the ability to make fart noises with our mouths, or argue over what episode of Two and a Half Men is best (answer: none).

But unfortunately, I have this same free will everyone else does. I too, have the freedom of abstract thought, self serving mentality and fleeting conscience. Perhaps if I was alone on this planet, this way of operating would work out perfectly for me. Actually, it would; I've gone over this in my head. I'd be the president of no one and I'd sit on a giant 10 story high trash mound in a desolate world like the one in Wall-E and watch movies all day. Which are all starring, written and directed by me.

I'm not alone in this world, however. So essentially, I just have to deal with the fact that deep down, everyone is out to serve their own best interest, and more often than not, they will piss me off. Fine, I can do that. I'll just harbor resentment in the meantime.

Illuminati - Congratulations, Scientology, you're no longer the stupidest train of thought practiced!

Imagine for a second that there is a secret underground organization who is unbeknownst to you running every single facet of your daily life. Government? They're all over it. Massive corporations like Microsoft? Yeah, them too. Rappers? For some reason, yes, rappers as well. Now what if I told you this was all totally true. One massive conspiracy has been operating under your very noses, not really effecting you in any way at all, but most certainly being very malicious in some scary ways that are too difficult for you to fathom. Did I mention they caused 9/11? AND made Eminem sell his soul to the devil?! Those bastards!

What'd you just say? That's the stupidest thing you've ever read?! There's no practical way that any sort of giant undertaking could be performed at this large scale for so long without someone eventually intervening?!? I was afraid it would have to come to this...

press play.

Imagine for a second... that there is a secret underground organization who is unbeknownst to you running every single facet of your daily life. Government?...They're all over it. Massive corporations like Microsoft?!?... Yeah, them too. Rappers?... For some reason, yes, rappers as well. Now... what if I told you this was all totally true. One massive conspiracy has been operating under your very noses... not really effecting you in any way at all... but most certainly being very malicious in some scary ways that are too difficult for you to fathom. Did I mention they caused 9/11? AND made Eminem sell his soul to the devil?!

you can turn that off now.

Suddenly it makes sense, right!?! Oh man, we are in some deep shit! How did we not notice this!?!

For those that aren't familiar with Illuminati, I hopefully summed it all right up there for you. If you actually were intrigued by that little pitch, I recommend you go look up more Illuminati conspiracy videos on YouTube, or perhaps shoot yourself in the hip and bleed out for a good, painful while. I mean, well, since you already have a hip and all, you might as well do that one.

If it's not clear, I absolutely despise people who believe in Illuminati. Badly. Their hearts are in the right place, maybe, and I'm actually quite the fan of open thinking... but eventually you just have to stop being a moron. I can't bother myself to go over every suggested facet of Illuminati, both because I feel I might get stupider every time I repeat any of that tin foil hat jargon, and because it's pretty much impossible. According to active Illuminati-ists (really catchy, right?), there is literally just about nothing that isn't somehow controlled by Illuminati. The economy, the presidential office, the entertainment industry, foreign policy, warfare, it's all under the reign of one invisible group of people with no notable members. And of course, all of that can be logically traced back to one little symbol...

Because that sash translates to "New World Order"... because this super incredibly secret organization is actually ran by the Riddler and they decided to hide hints to their evil deeds on our currency. Right.

hey guys yeah they totally bought it. completely thrown off the trail. i'll wire you that 3 billion dollars now bro make sure to remember to operate some elaborate terrorist attacks on our own country.

oh darn! this isn't my email to Al Gore, Bill Gates, Warren Buffet and Kanye West!

Pop Culture References - The Only Thing More Awful than Tila Tequila

I invite you to go one complete day without the aid of pop culture. No discussion of the Karidashian wedding, no debate over the dismissal of Penn State figurehead Joe Paterno, no quoting Mean Girls line for line with your galpals (we can really just do that everyday, if you'd like). Pop culture seems like about the only culture we have today*, literally meaning...well...popular culture!

It's funny, because culture has such a completely different connotation once separated from "popular". The word culture inspires mental images of Paris or Rome, candle lit dinners, a glass of expensive wine as you watch a foreign film you can't understand. Now don't tell anyone as you slide popular right before it, no big deal, it's an innocent enough word on its own. All of a sudden Hulk Hogan is stomping on your romantic evening and Snooki is getting wasted off of your imported wine. Images of Rome and Paris are quickly replaced by pictures of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie (not that those are bad mental images to have, by any means).

A lot of names you might recognize in that last paragraph, right? Maybe they made that paragraph a little funnier; that was what they were supposed to do. But why!? Why do we get kicks by interjecting the lives of people who will never know us, will never even ponder for a second our existence, into our own, and acting as if the intimate details of their liveliness somehow concern us in any way? I'm not pleading innocence, because I'm in the exact same boat as you guys. I'll laugh when Seth MacFarlane does ANOTHER cut-away gag making fun of Sarah Jessica Parker, or whoever the hell it is this time. I'll enjoy it when we all discuss how horrible of an actor Nicholas Cage is, and continue to ponder how he persists to book starring roles in high budget films. But all the while, is it not a bit pathetic?

My best guess is that we enjoy pop culture references because they give us an outlet. We all love talking poop about other people. Friends, teachers, coworkers, family; sometimes you just need to rip on someone. But as gratifying as this can sometimes be, it's also not usually the wisest of action, as it can lead to treacherous consequences like the tearing of friendship bracelets, the failing of classes, the lack of employment, or the loss of a wedding ring. So instead of jeopardizing personal relationships we've built over years with people we see all the time, we channel our negative energy towards someone who could not possible care less. While they are all living "the life" up in the clouds, we are living the life without quotation marks, down on the surface miles below them. So it feels good to yell hurtful things at them from down low, even though they can't hear us. Even as thousands of us prod at them, they don't even notice us, as they're far too busy doing super cool famous people things. We can't bother them, because we don't exist. On the other hand, we get to find a largely harmless outlet for our natural urge to gossip. Reevaluating, now: stupid as they may be, pop culture references may be keeping the American institutions of marriage, business, camaraderie and education afloat. Keep up the good work, Family Guy.
*best read with nose upturned, disapproving sneer and fingers daintily wrapped around a glass of chardonnay. moncocle is optional

Vulgarity - Why the %$#& Not?

(content warning. strong language. hopefully with the title, that's a given)

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Damn. Hell. Fuck. Shit. Ass. Bitch. Bastard. (that was quick, right?)

What was your reaction just now, reading that? Did you feel outraged? Did you think it was an obnoxious display of gratuity? Did you consider closing out of this blog right then and there?

Any of those reactions are plausible, and really, they're understandable. Well, actually, sort of. Yeah, they're understandable in the immediate sense of the word, I mean, you can relate. "Swear words" are offensive and often make people uncomfortable; or at least shock them a bit. But in the true sense of the word, is that really UNDERSTANDABLE? Yes, you can sympathize with the notion of swear words holding some dangerous, hurtful connotations, but do you really understand why? If you do, clearly you should be writing this blog, because me scratching this surface here is about as deep as my proverbial drill goes. So just for kicks and giggles (my S-bomb ammo is already out), let me give you some food for thought. I found it on this scratch-covered surface.

Yes, those words are offensive. Let me offer a late apology to all of the elderly mink-coat, hand-monocle wearing British ladies I just imagined fainting after reading the beginning of this entry. Now let me offer an apology to all of the still conscious people who just had to read that last sentence. Now let me apologize to Ms. A for making her read this blog entry. Damn, what was I saying? (oops, sorry again, british mink monocle ladies) Right. Those words are offensive. But why?

It baffles me the way certain words are considered outrageous and awful, and others aren't. Yes, the F-bomb is horrible and offensive, I understand that. But can anyone explain to me why? Or at very least, how that was decided? Words are all the same thing: a combination of letters/sounds. D-U-C-K. Awh, isn't that sweet, how cute, everyone loves waterfowl! Kick out that "D", drop in an "F" and suddenly you can't hear it in a theater until you're 17.

Was there a conference where they just decided what words were taboo and which were acceptable? I can only assume that at one point there was a table full of sophisticated men in important people business suits, sitting about a table with a couple of old moncole mink coat ladies, and they just shot off ideas.

Car?

...Good.

Plate?

...Good.

Chair?

...Good.

Ass?

...can I hear that one again?

The word was "ass", sir.

...what an absolutely dreadful, unpleasant sounding word! We shall not have it!

(British mink monocle ladies faint in unison)