Why do I do the things that I do?

Tim Tebow for President

2011-12-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

Tim Tebow would make a great president because the kid knows how to close a deficit.

That, and he's insanely popular despite a void of any meaningful professional accomplishments (or conventional talent), which seems to be a qualification in of itself. At least, that's what got the last guy elected.

Anybody but Obama, 2012!

The Year of Fear

2011-08-01T21:44:00.000-07:00

It's been almost a year since I last posted on here. It's not that I've forgotten how to write in the meantime, only that I've forgotten how to write things that make me smile.

It's been a hell of a year, and that's an understatement. What's happened in the interim, well no one really cares. But it's been a year of fear. Fear what? you ask. Well, if you have to ask you'll never know, and could never possibly understand.

In three weeks, I'll be moving to my third city in as many months. Fear is the great unknown. The abyss. I'm moving all over Texas, chasing a dream that I'm afraid I've already woken up from. A goal that Lebron James couldn't even dunk on. But I'm still plowing away after it. My plow has crashed over so many rocks by now, why bother to check to see if it's sharp anymore?

Fear is failure. Fear is stressing out about the worst possible outcome to the most thought out and well intentioned plan. Fear is not knowing where you'll be three months from now, or worse, knowing exactly where you will be and hating the thought of it. I don't want to be afraid like that. I want to hit the Fear Monger in his mouth.

So I'm plowing away at something. Making grandiose plans that may or may not come to fruition. I know exactly where I'll be three months from now. And no, I don't hate the thought of it. I hate the thought of wondering where I would be had I not made these plans. Probably grinding my plow to a smooth, dull edge. Just another rat in a race, but by the time we all get to the finish line the cheese will have spoiled.

So I bought some milk. I'm going to make my own cheddar. Watch me. Then I'm going to make myself sharpen the plow. These metaphors are ridiculous.

So here is why fear has been near this year. For the first time in my life, I started something I knew that I would be really really good at. I was afraid I'd blow it. The fear drove me to succeed. When I finish up school, I want to begin my career doing something that not many people get to do. Fear is that thought in my head saying I'll never reach that goal. Others will, but not me. So this fear is driving me beyond my comfort zone, to yet another city to chase after that dream. Fear is wondering whether I'll know what to do when I wake up and I'm actually living my dream.

This summer I climbed the tallest mountain peak in Texas. When I looked down over the edge I wasn't afraid of falling. When you fall like that, the outcome is predetermined. Since I can't fly, gravity would have taken me to the bottom. I'm okay with that. It's not an unknown ending. That's why I like heights. There are only two options, stay put or fall. At the end of the day, everyone knows the end result of either. It's situations where there is an unknown component that make me afraid. I don't like that. The big "maybe." That's why law school is terrifying. Everything is a "maybe."

As a matter of fact, I'd bet there's tons of lawyers who'd try to convince you that gravity isn't a consistent law of physics. But then how would you know the truth, if you've never taken the time to fall and experience gravity for yourself? Maybe you just get close enough to the edge to watch everyone else take the plunge. Then you know. You had nothing to be afraid of all along. If you stay away from the edge then you can never fall. It's simply not possible.

For me, what I want is just on the other side of the edge. Across a short ravine. If I stay put then I keep the status quo--safety. If I try to jump across, then maybe I don't make it so I fall. That's an unknown that I am afraid of. Maybe I'll be safe on the other side, maybe I won't.

I think I'm going to figure out how to build a bridge... I'm taking my cheese and my plow to the other side with me though.

The Deer are gone

2010-08-10T20:12:00.001-07:00

It only lasted for three days, with the deer, but I suppose the magical feeling will linger around for a little while longer. I don´t wish them to be dead or anything like that, but those attention whores have something coming to them! They were safe here! In the real world, not so much. Maybe once they see the six inch exit wound from a 30-.06 dripping out the backside of one of their compatriots, they will come back to my back yard where it is safe. Anyway I wish them the best.

This summer has been boring, and this next fall and spring are shaping up to be equally boring. Though I was insanely lonely, that one summer in New Jersey is what I want everyday of my life to be like. Lethally adventurous. This summer, instead, I'm blogging about five stupid fucking deer.

Blogging is cute, but I think I'm over it. Plus i'm jaded and have lost my sense of humor. I'm going to start writing short stories instead, but we'll see where that lands me. If you miss my blogging though, text me that you do, and maybe I'll come back with something to make me readership of three happy.

Insomnia is a funny thing

2010-07-27T00:28:00.000-07:00

I look forward to 7:56 every evening. In all seriousness, it is my favorite time of day. Typically, it lands right when dinner is over, dessert is served, and the table conversation is winding down. So what's so great about 7:56? It's when I get to run outside to my backyard with my binoculars and stare into the woods behind my house on the lookout for five red spots.

Nah, I'm not crazy, just obsessed. These five red spots, appearing suddenly out of nowhere from the lusciously green backdrop are my new friends, and I wish I had pictures to prove it.

So at somewhere around 7:56, right in the middle of my corner of suburbia, with trucks with big pipes driving past the street in front of my house and the clambering of wheels can be heard from neighbors taking walks with their baby strollers in tow, five brownish-red spots slowly emerge from the treeline towards the large grassy clearing behind my house.

They all have horns, one not so much as the rest, and now they also have names, well, because they are my friends. The smartest fucking deer you'll ever meet. They are led by Roger, the grayest of the heard, a nine-point with both mass and pretty nice spread. He above all the others would make a wall mount that any hunter would take pride in. The four others all have names also, Jeremy, D.O.A. Hank, and Cullen. They are all various sized eight points with summer red coats except for Cullen, a second year spike that is a cull buck and doesn't belong anywhere, including my backyard. The rest of their names are catchier, but I don't feel explaining why I was led to name Roger after the Jolly Roger, or while Hank is named after a Colts player that muffed an onside kick recovery in last years superbowl. Trust me though, its all a laugh riot.

Anyway, around 7:56 I run outside with the binoculars, as the neighborhood around me continues its commotion, and I watch these deer wander around the several acre clearing behind my house. Its the greatest part of my day.

None of that has anything to do with the purpose of this post. I just wanted to introduce my new friends to the world.

I don't sleep much anymore. No one really knows why, but I just don't sleep. So I'm going crazy. Crazier than I was even before now. However, restlessness moves one to do bizarre things, and I have succumbed to exceedingly odd behavior, like telling the world I have befriended hoofed animals, even though they, the animals, know nothing of my existence except that I am the strange guy with binoculars watching them every night.

Anyway, this post was dumb and i'll probably delete it the next time lucid thoughts enter my brain again. But it served its purpose, I'm finally tired enough to think about sleeping, and my five red spots have made it where many have not--out of the woods and into the neighborhood with internet fanfare for all to enjoy.

decision making

2010-05-20T00:36:00.000-07:00

What do Herman Mellville's Bartleby the Scrivener, and theoretical models of judicial decision making have in common? Well, for starters no one gives a shit about either, but the two do have interesting similarities.

Bartleby was a fictional common worker, law scribe to be exact, that simply began to prefer not to do anything in life--eating and work included. Thus his quintessential phrase, "I would prefer not to," when asked to do anything.

In judicial decision making, there are two models that attempt to make judicial decision making more understandable and predictable to the common man.

The Attitudinal Model of judicial decision making assumes justices are going to vote according to their own personal ideological preferences without considering external factors. This is called "sincere" voting as jurists will sincerely adhere toward making the choices they alone preference.

The Strategic Model asserts that members of the judiciary consider external forces when making decisions, thus balancing personal attitudinal preferences with foreign influences to arrive at a "sophisticated" intermediary decision. They try to obtain their sincere preferences, but in light of this unavailability due to external forces such as the president's views or congress's they shift voting accordingly.

And of course, none of this matters to anyone but that's why its on my blog....because it matters to me. In life, there are many things I would simply "prefer not to do." But occasionally I do them anyway--a sophisticated decision to make others happy and pleased by my actions. But, other times I act according to my sincere preferences and do whatever the hell it is that I want to without regard to anyone.

When I don't think about the repercussions of an action, then that is my sincere preferential decision. I thought of nothing else outside of what I wanted to do. When I consider what other people want or think before I act then of course that is a sophisticated maneuver derived from careful analytical considerations.

However, no one will ever know these things about me. If I happen to fuck someone over in life, was it a cold calculated procedure of malice, or did I make a snap judgment on a whim without considering the potential consequences of my actions? The world will never know! But I will.

Lastly, I would like to point out the beauty in life where a sophisticated decision perfectly coincides with a sincere preference to do something. Like calling an out-of-touch friend not only because I want to talk to them (sincere), but also because the gesture of my phone call will make them happy (sophisticated). Or, if I ignore a girl at a social function because I honestly don't want to talk to her (sincere), but also because another girl I would rather talk to might get mad or jealous, and this would avoid controversy (sophisticated). Or lastly, if I obligate myself to multiple social functions in one evening because I earnestly do want to go out (sincere), but I analytically choose to attend the one where I will have the best time (sophisticated). BOOM!

People misunderstand sincerity. They narrowly associate the term with good intentions. Not true. I can sincerely hate someone just as much as I can sincerely love them. The only thing that makes it sincere is if I'm making a decision where I intrinsically consider my intentions and preferences as the only factor.

Chew on that for a minute, and then realize that we are all selfish, sophisticated, and sincere assholes. Then read Bartleby the Scrivener, and realize that you control your own humanity by doing the things you prefer, and well calculated sophistic decisions are what make the world go round.

My own best friend is my own worst enemy.

2009-12-10T16:08:00.000-08:00

Cliche I know because this posts tittle coincides with that of a Blink 182 song, but I figured a few things out recently.

1) Friendship is completely arbitrary. Sure I have a few, but it now seems they are often gone due to travel, girlfriend sharing, and leaving the state for extended periods of time. Or, they too like me have become recluse. Or I no longer even try to call them to reconnect. Or I've been a really bad friend and terminated the friendship....this one happens the most often.

I've actually figured out that a man can only have so many friends. After they exceed X (the maximum amount of friends one can have), then they can't donate enough time and energy to foster a meaningful and fruitful relationship to continue on. And other friendships go by the wayside. So a man has "Best Friends" which are few in number, "Really Good Friends" which the number depends on how socially affluent one is, and "Friends" which are better than acquaintances, but they are seen with less intensity than the two former categories.

But, as you'll see with point number 2, i've decided to go in a little different direction with my life.

2)Having friends is messy, so I've decided to avoid it all together. I don't actually need friends. You see, I have myself, and I'm comfortable with that. Furthermore, people will always find a way to let you down. This is not true when the only person that you're counting on is yourself. So therefore I cannot let myself down, which is why becoming my own best friend is an outstanding idea.

If I need someone to go to a movie with, I just call myself up, and I'm always down for the trip. If I need someone to drink a beer with, then I ask myself, and Boom! Instant drinking buddy. I don't have to wait on time frames or alternative agendas, because I never have to wait on myself. When I'm good and ready to do something, I do it. Me and myself are so connected within our friendship that we always do what we want, when we want, and how we want without any unforeseen obstacles to our plan.

We really are perfect for each other. I like to stay up late and watch pointless TV, and so does myself. I like to go out and meander and stir the pot a bit, and so does myself. In fact, myself and I both happen to love Bacon. Also, a little known fact is the only person I can truly sit down and read a book with without interruption is.....you guessed it myself. It's perfect. We literally have everything in common and we enjoy doing everything together. Who needs friends when you have that? He finishes my sentences, and I for him. Myself and I are the ideal package for how two friends can compliment one another.

3)Okay as the tittle prefaced a little bit, I have found that I actually can't stand myself. We do terrible things together without any moral advice from an outside source. My bad judgment is his, and his is mine. We effortlessly get ourselves into pickles because of our completely subjective corroboration on everything that could potentially lead to our demise. When my best friend is myself, then there isn't much room for others anyway. That gets messy when people try to get between us.

In fact I have come up with a name for myself. I call him self-ish. Self-ish and I do bad things together. We don't tend to think of others except ourselves, and we certainly don't go out of our way to accommodate other friends. In fact, my friend self-ish makes me skip classes, avoid functions that are important to others, and significantly not contribute to the world around me. We are both spiteful and judgmental.....sometimes we are more like a gang with our mob mentality.

4)So I'm here stuck being besties with my buddy self-ish here, or myself, or Steve. Whatever you wanna call him. It's becoming tricky to distinguish the two of us now. We're a pretty inseparable pair. Though slowly but steadily, we are still managing to take over the world..... or at least create one of our own where we can flourish. I think the latter is more true. When you are best friends with yourself then you live in your own place where other people aren't really all that welcome. It kinda sucks but it just goes with the territory I guess.

So I think its time that myself and I either get a divorce and move on with our lives, or we completely throw caution to the wind and run away together. Tricky stuff I know. Either way I'm slowly figuring out that I'm always going to have to deal with myself. Whether it be through alimony payments or a beautiful marriage. One way or another were stuck together. For better or for worse. My best friend is my own worst enemy. Thanks Blink 182 for ruining this for all of us.

Friendless

2009-09-29T18:18:00.000-07:00

I survived my birthday, but not by a lack of trying otherwise. It was slightly dangerous, and I can't thank anyone that was there enough for putting up with my ridiculousness. I would share more, but I'm not into that Tucker Max, I bring it harder than you crap.

So today I noticed that I had one less Facebook friend than I had yesterday, and frankly that pisses me off. I thought I was supposed to be the egotistical maniac that defriended people on a whim and not the other way around. The worst thing is that I'll never have any way of knowing who it was, unless of course they tell me. Then I'm going to beat them to death like that guy in Saw I did with the toilet bowl lid, except I'm going to use a keyboard, or maybe a shoe. Whatever is handy.

So who was this person? Why would they unfriend me? Are they someone I'd care about? Would I be proud if I was no longer associated with them on a web-based networking site? Were we close in person? Is there a reason why they did this, or did they just completely delete their profile so they could delete any evidence of a sketchy past to get a good job? Who was their favorite character on Entourage? If it was a girl, was it over something I said? Did you know that I've written this entire paragraph in interrogative form?

Anyway, that person can eat shit and die in a trashcan. Unless they did it by mistake, and in that case I'll forgive them....maybe. Totally depends on their opinion of Emmanuelle Chriqui.

Okay so its not a big deal. Really its not. I'm going to get over it. Like quickly. Screw them anyway.

But how could they do that to ME? Me of all people? I mean as a kid the White Ranger was my favorite! I'm a functioning definition of cool. People just suck, and apparently some can't see authentic value in true friendship. I would have totally been a really good Facebook friend to them if I knew who it was. We could have had that modem to modem connection that I soooo long for! Man! Their loss I guess. Selfish people just looking out for themselves, and what they need in a friendship. Didn't even for a second think about me and my needs, my need for internet bonding.

Whatever. I'm not really mad about it. But if anyone finds out about who it was, please tell me who it is, but don't tell anyone else. I just don't want to go to jail for the whole keyboard thing.

Aftermath Pt. 2 Keep a Good Thing Running

2009-09-23T23:23:00.000-07:00

Yeah Buddy. It's 1:24am on a typical Wednesday night. It's raining still yet again for the third straight day. I'm supposed to be writing a paper for some Political Science class. I'm not in the mood for that kind of writing tonight. So I sat down and thought about writing some other things.

Nope, nope and nope. Not happening. My fingers could not even begin to try and click keys in a form that transfer my thoughts onto the blank screen in front of me.

So I had an AHA! moment. This thing. This old blog. The one that got me a job writing for the school newspaper and saved my life that one lonely summer.

So here we are, you and I. Time's flown by since I last visited. And just to alleviate any worries you might have, I'm still kicking ass. Can't hold me back, no sir-ree. I think I'm coming back to this nasty habit for the time being. But I'm not telling anyone this time. I'm just going to let it all hang free and let my adventures become inspiration for all the rando lunatics that stumble on this on their never ending quest for free porn.

I haven't forgotten the rush this somehow gives me. And hopefully I'll come back with a little vengance. I turn 22 in two days, and let's be serious, considering the shit I've pulled in my lifetime, I count that as a moral victory. By the Grace of God, There Go I.

Last year on my 21st I spent the days at the Austin City Limits Festival, and the nights on 6th street. I can't beat that this year, but there is no telling what is lurching for me behind the corner. As long as I don't spend my birthday drinking Scotch by myself reading "Catcher in the Rye" I think I'll be fine. On the other side of that, as long as I don't spend it blindingly naked and throwing up on myself at the Brazos County Detention Center I think that will rule too. At this point what I'm looking at seems to be a warm intermediary--something that will fill my void for reckless, tactless uncultered fun and continually nurtures my inate will to live and be free. Like getting into a birthday cake fight with a bunch of oriental hookers. We'll see what happens.

The point is that the kid is back. Who knows for how long, but we're just gonna have to ride this wave together.

The Aftermath

2008-08-18T21:33:00.000-07:00

I'm alive and in Texas. I lived through the summer, and was able to capture a little bit of it to share with the world, and no, stop your comparisons to Anne Frank, I'm not that big of a deal. Yet. (Ha, just look at that. Yet - is a funny word when it's all by itself, but you normally never notice it. Yet.) Anyway, at the conclusion of this summer, in regard to all that I have experienced, said, and done, several things have become awe apparent to me and predictably I'm now going to write about them.

First, there aren't as many people as I would like to imagine reading this blog. I personally made my two roommates, mom, and two brothers read it, so they don't count. But for the other five or six of you plus the occasional straggler who stumbles upon this site; thank you for anonymously taking part in my tantrums and unsettling moments of poor self-esteem. Just the thought that someone out there actually cares enough about my life to spend part of their day reading about it, totally boosts my narcissistic attitudes to levels unmeasurable by even Barrack Obama's standards. But I write this for me, because at the time I really needed it. So maybe now I can look back and realize: "Wow, what a total lack of rational judgement to publicly advertise how much of a dildo you have become. That is depressing stuff no one should ever know under any circumstances, and yet (there it is again) you celebrated it so now everyone else can think you're a dildo too. You either have giant balls, or a complete lack of neural activity by leaving your life open to speculation and ridicule." Well friends, for the time being, I think I have giant balls. I was so detached from civilization that I had to reach back out somehow. I can only hope you appreciated my efforts as much as I enjoyed embarrassing myself.

Secondly, I had way too cool of a summer job not to tell the whole world about it. While you spent your days wishing your were dead as you stared at a computer screen full of spreadsheets and pointless junk mail to pass the time, I was proudly triumphing over death, paralyzation, and the fierce elements of summer. And I probably made more money than you did. Sure I took a complete dive off the grid while you went out and had an awesome time back home, but I would probably do it all over again if given the chance. Well, maybe not. But I still got to do some way cooler shit that you ever will. I'll get my fair share of spreadsheets throughout the course of my lifetime; but will you ever get to work on tall towers in the wilderness, admiring God's beautiful creation manifested in mountains, lakes, sunsets, bears, and the human creation of C4 explosives? You paced your days by only the occasional business call and the ever present ticking of some clock. I paced my days between the ground shaking and ear shattering booms from a high explosive ordinance testing facility. Beat that.

Thirdly, well I actually lost focus on what I'm trying to accomplish by writing all of this nonsense. I started out with this great inspirational list of reasons to justify my disclosures in this blog, but I think I lost some steam.

Anyway, I lived a pretty cool life this summer, and I guess I was just afraid that if I tried to come back and tell people about it, they would call me a liar because how could anything cool, adventurous, or exciting ever evolve out of New Jersey? So I decided to capture it in writing and pictures and share it with the world, or really only the hand full of people actually reading this. My only regret is that I didn't start doing this sooner.

So if this is your first time on my page, start back at my first post and read them upward in order. You will get a picture of a half-crazed man immersed in a bizarre world, with only his own thoughts to keep him company. And frankly, I think it is pretty entertaining. Hopefully I'll regain my sanity and my street cred back from all my friends whom I've exposed myself as a helpless lunatic to, and continue to live a very fulfilling life. In the meantime, maybe you'll learn something about living a life on the edge. Maybe you'll now appreciate me more for the turmoil I put myself through. Maybe you can give me the name of a reliable counselor I can now visit. Maybe you'll live vicariously through my stories and be jealous of me (and that's a pretty big maybe). Maybe you'll think I'm cool for having a blog. Or maybe you'll think I'm a giant dildo. Either way, I don't really care. I put it all out there for the world to judge so I hope you get a few laughs out of it.

I just want everyone to know I made it out alright. The mental anguish is now over. And I'm a much better person for doing it all with a smile on my face. Party Balls.

Ode to the Birth State of Jon Bon Jovi

2008-08-13T18:36:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling creative. Here's a poem for your reading entertainment because let's face it, I really have nothing better to do.

New Jersey sucks ass
It bites giant willy
I don't mean to be crass
But leaving home was silly

Now I'm stuck here
With a few days to go
Filled with a trembeling fear
That the bombs may just blow

I may never make it back
A life ending in vain
Fearing the squirrells may attack
I'm going insane

Friends back home having fun
While I have none at all
My skin gets burned by the sun
How about a fucking phone call?

Though I plan to perservere
Fate may say "No"
Your prayers may be sincere
But I may die tomorrow

So I say in closing
Before I turn out my light
My mind I may be losing
But I'm not going down without a fight

There's more where that came from.... well lets hope not. Because that sucked. I'm sorry but blogging is addicting, and I've used up my self alotted space for self loathing so I needed a little filler. I may yet make it back to Texas, but I can always say I lost my mind in New Jersey. If Mahmoud Ahmadinejad ever decideds to fling a nuke off our way, I hope this dreadful place gets hit first.

August 12, 2008 - The Day Steve Went Off the Reservation for Good.

2008-08-12T15:52:00.001-07:00

Consider this a cry for help. I, a man flirting with his wits end, have officially lost my mind. It's gone. Gone. Gone, gone.

I would compare myself with a marathon runner, who after 26.1 miles, mysteriously stops running, sits down, disrobes their person, goes ape shit, starts throwing those little tiny water cups at all of the race volunteers, fights back the police trying to restrain him with slurred versions of hay- makers, and inexplicably starts running in the wrong direction, naked, while screaming the words to Queens "I want to Break Free" as you people watch in shock. Well consider it a loose comparison, but now picture me: High up on some roof, the sun beating down hard on my skin, sunscreen burning at the open sores of the poison ivy wounds enshrining my forearms that refuse to heal, mosquito's feverishly trying to bite the preciously tender patch of skin behind my ears right below my hairline, my asbestos mask tightly digging at my scalp- twisting and pulling hairs all the while restricting my breathing to dull purrs of oxygen intake and exhalation, and me in my darkest time, curled in a ball, tears dripping onto the edges of my safety goggles, thinking terrible thoughts into the empty abyss that once was a seemingly brilliant mind, and proclaiming the words to "Jesus Loves Me" for all of the world to hear, if anyone but the vultures were actually listening. Yeah so you see well... maybe I should just stick to the marathon runner analogy. It's probably better for the both of us. There's probably not a need to relive these moments out here in the open but you know what they say-- "You really don't get to know someone until you read their personal blog about their pathetic life... and then you realize that "Oh my God you do actually know this person!" and it's embarrassing to all involved; so you sever the relationship, pray that no one could possibly ever link the two of you together, and hope for the best." .... or they say something to that affect anyway.

"But wait," you say, "Steve you only have to endure one more week of this trepidation, you can survive!" Good point I say, as I question your grammar usage of 'trepidation.' But, and yes there is a but, it's the count down of time that is chaffing at my existence. I am the man trapped in the desert for months, crawling his way to the ocean, only to find that the sand gets deeper and harder to scrape through once it unfolds into the beach, and once I arrive at the beach the vultures leave to make room for the seagulls- who still want to peck out my eyeballs! Maybe I've stopped making sense, because I just read that last analogy and well.... it doesn't really make sense. So because your confused, allow me to break it down for you.

Long summer in hell + loneliness + paranoia - total loss of self esteem * going back to Texas for a weekend and realizing your worst fear; the world is still spinning back home and people are having an awesome time without you there^3 + (1/2 ) - 16 * my breaking point * eleventeen thousand + five more days up here = You see where I'm coming from now, right? I've come so far, only to feel miles away. Or, 1,750 miles away actually.

I have a solution to relieve my anxious mind, and a great one at that, at lest it's fun to imagine. I've decided that upon returning home, I will travel to Mexico with full intentions of impregnating every women that I come into contact with (or that's at least willing to see me naked), and thus ensuring in fifteen years when my spawn are all grown and more than likely safely across the border, as is the trend these days, there will always be generations of my lineage back in Texas where it belongs. That way, no matter where I lay my head to rue my mortality, there will at least be some version of me back home in Texas where I truly belong. If you ever happen to inhale as much pesticide, asbestos, and yankee oxygen as I have this summer, then maybe this logic will be made clear to you as well. Until then, pray that my dingus doesn't rot off as I labor into the finer aspects of my ploy. (sorry Mom, gross image I know, and Dad, stop smiling).

I'm tired of being here. I miss everyone. Everyone! Yeah even those people who I've probably met only once, but were creepy enough to go ahead and add me on facebook; and now when we pass each other in the hallways at school it's pretty awkward because we haven't spoken since our initial meeting; like sometimes we say hi, and other times we pretend not to notice each other and duck our heads or pretend to tie our shoes (it's really awkward when we both pretend to tie our shoes at the same time, because that's my thing and you should get your own evasive maneuver) but they still got the link to this blog, are reading it now, and now you know me better, but I still really don't know you. Yeah well at least have piece of mind in knowing that I miss you.

Thats it. I've lost it completely. I'm now officially trying to communicate with facebook acquaintances through this shitty blog. I'm not sure whether it's better to judge the ineptitude of my life in person, or by reading this. Because when I read back through these things, I even think I must be crazy. Am I crazy? I must be crazy? Do you think I'm crazy? Never mind, these rhetorical questions only open up old wounds that may have healed in the past five minutes of venting, and I think you get the idea anyway.

I have so much more to say, but then again I'm running out of new material and I inevitably am going to get bored tomorrow and resort back to this, so in my best interest I'll leave you with this knowledge; these next five days will be an eternity, not just in dog years either. I can barely take it. Can you tell? So when you see me next, if you do at all because who knows I may actually like impregnating women with loose morals in Mexico, please pretend you missed me half as bad as I've missed you.

Here's a picture in closure: proving that no matter where you are, life can still be beautiful. (And no, I'm not talking about myself this time, check the background.)

Gravity?

2008-08-07T17:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I'm up on a roof I can't help but let my mind drift, and inevitably almost every single time it pulls me to the same conclusion. I think I'm going to jump. And then I want to do it really really badly, so badly that I migrate over to the edge and stand there, looking down at the ground, measuring the distance of the fall, and trying to convince me legs to just take one big hop. It won't hurt I tell myself. Bullshit yeah it might I tell myself right back. And then, almost every time this happens, I take two steps back, sit on the peak, and pout my life away. And I don't have to jump, maybe I could just step off, or pretend to fall and simply roll off; those wouldn't be bad ideas, but my body simply won't let me do it.

You see, it's not the jumping part that concerns me, I can do that no problem, it's the question of; what happens next that bothers me? Wait, maybe I'm painting the wrong picture here, allow me to back track. I think I may have convinced myself that I may be the only man alive who can fly! It would be so freaking cool! I just have to test my hypothesis thats all, and what better way than to take a dive from a few stories up? I have to know, I just have to, so I think I might just muster up the courage and take the leap to find out for certain. But I doubt I'll ever try, because I'm a pussy, and that's why I pout.

Anyway these are pictures to remind you of why it's good for you, not to be me.

That's a sign reminding me of my impeding doom, and the other two are of me and my asbestos mask. Also a reminder of my impeding doom. Now you know why I wish I could fly out of here.

Maybe Blowing Up Wouldn't be Such a Bad Idea?

2008-08-04T15:53:00.000-07:00

So my life, my life, my life..... I do not know where to begin this story, but I must be quick to point out that wherever I start it, you must understand that this just coincides with every other misadventure that has taken shape to become my life for the past three months or so. I don't know, I just don't, but something- maybe even someone has cursed me. And it is all too far beyond my comprehension; but undoubtedly the Wheels of Life are churning against me. It's not just an attitude or a mindset, although I suspect I lost my ability to make any kind of rational judgment a while ago, but there truly is an evil force creeping behind me in the shadows- waiting to rain on my parade the first time it sees me outside without an umbrella. Anyway, now I think I know where I can start it.....

In the car on the way to the airport, I the proud cocky bastard that I am, sit bragging to my Uncle (who coincidently has the exact same name as me, even though I'm not named for him. How does that make for an awkward family dynamic.... thanks Dad,) about how smoothly, perfectly, and flawless my plot to fly back to Texas and move into my new house was going to go.
"Don't worry Steve-o, I got this whole thing all hatched out-- the perfect plan. Everything is taken care of, I'll see you in two days. Trust me."
He looks at me, smiles, then laughs, " Haha, okay...we'll see."
"What do you mean 'We'll see?' Huh? You have no idea, I've worked this all out, my friends are great they won't let me down."
"Ha and that's your problem... your relying on too many people, someone is going to let you down somewhere."

On the inside I had a nice laugh at his expense. I mean what does he know? He doesn't have the slightest concept of how tightly I wrapped up every detail of "My Plan." The thing was impenetrable at worst! But maybe, just maybe, if I could have kept the thoughts inside my head silent at that exact moment I might have actually heard the sound of God laughing at me too.

So I just tipped my hand, blew my cover so to speak.... you probably can guess the rest of the story but let me share some thoughts with you first. When Robert Burns penned, "The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry," he wrote that with me in mind. My plan had the same fate as the first Apollo mission, it was destined to be a disaster before it ever had a chance to take flight. So there goes my life. Long story short, I spent my time and sadly my money to fly back "home" just to sit and watch my life go the way of the Mohican's.

Helplessly I arrived and was made known that I wouldn't be allowed to get the key to my new place because [someone who's name I will with hold because I'm contemplating slitting his eyeballs out with razor blades, or maybe even a dull penny, and do not want anyone to know it was me who did it] neglected to turn on the utilities at our house, and the reality company [who's name I will also with hold because the whole lot of them may face a similar fate] won't let me move in. Admittedly there were complications to his plight, but I'm going to hold a grudge until I find an adequate way to blackmail that treasonous foe of a friend into letting me post incriminating pictures of them on the internet; wearing womens stilettos, a pink wig, a cherry red G-string, and holding a sign that reads, "Will let you slip me Rohypnol for cigarettes." Then I'll call it even.... let this be your fair warning, Clark.

What's worse is that we had ample time, resources, and contacts to allow me to salvage "The Plan" and find a way to move in. But predictably we fumbled, botched, foiled, dis triumphed, orphaned [read: screwed it all to hell] every possible outlet that we may have had to get my disgruntled self into my new place. So we all dropped the ball, but I payed for it, literally. Now I still have no new home. My junk is scattered all about my old house (thank God for room mates who actually care about my well being and let me stay for two weeks after my lease has ended.) And the worst part of it all is that I'm back in Jersey only to mew over my rage and deal with it the best way I know how.... lash out and spread rage through the internet!!!! Sure the legal ramifications of it beat the hell out of retribution, dull pennies, and blackmail, but this whole debacle is further proof that I really need to get to the bottom of who is jabbing needles into some voodoo doll molded to my likeness.

To say the least, I still had a great time in Texas [read: waaaaaayyyy too good of a time considering my fallible circumstances], and I don't regret flying down for the weekend. However, inevitably I will soon regret flying back, I know I did today, but that's a whole 'nuther story for another time when the "feelings" begin to cripple my judgment once more and I resort back to this thing.

So thanks to everyone who drove me too and fro from the airport, around college station, and might still be curiously reading this to try and sympathize with me and my current destruction. To my roommates, old and new, for putting up with my shit, and everyone else who pretended to care when I doomed them with my presence. And to you Robert Burns, you senile old bastard, I guess you were right after all.

I'm going to wind up dead out here.

2008-07-31T16:03:00.000-07:00

Judging by the frequency in which I post these things, you may now realize that I have waaaaaaaaayyyyyy too much time on my hands. Which is true, but it gives me something to finally look forward to at the end of the day other than my usual shower, crappy meal at some lame Chinese take-out place, and going to sleep at ten o'clock. Besides I have lot's too say, not just now but all the time believe me, and I'm going to get it off my chest somehow damn it. Plus this beats the hell out of paying $300 an hour to say the same thing to a therapist.

Anyway, I finally made a new friend today: Ernie the Frog. Our relationship worked great because he's a great listener, but on the downside he pees in your hand if you squeeze him too hard. I also found we have a lot in common him and I, and no it has nothing to do with peeing in your hand when under pressure. We both agreed that in the environment we live in, everything and I mean everything seems like it is out to kill us.

I am clumsy and awkward. I have spent my entire life finely honing in my coordination abilities but for the love of God I still can't even eat a hot dog without my shirt looking like I just had a nose bleed. So for me to work the way that I do in the places that I do; I feel like I'm tempting Fate, and what's worse is that I now believe that Fate has caught on to my unworthy invasion of it's reputation and may now be out for retribution. I've been pretty lucky thus far, with some serious close calls, but I have this suspicion that from now until my departure from this wretched place, I need to seriously watch my ass. Here's why:

I have subdivided the main threats on my life and general existence into three categories, with included explanations of them all. And oh, quick recap in case you don't know, I work on a military base square in the middle of the forest, surrounded by mountains, and every day in my life is like an episode of National Geographic gone wrong. Maybe I'll start making sense now.

Category one: Things that without a shadow of a doubt will kill me given the chance, and not only that, but they will most likely lead to closed casket funerals. What's that you say? Oh you just wanted to see my face one last time? Ha too bad, you should have been a better friend and never let me go to New Jersey in the first place. This is what you get, some friend you were..... Anyway before I get too worked up and drift back into 'feeling sorry for myself ' mode; no questions asked if one of these things does happen, barring an act of God, I will die.

Lightning strike- In the lightning rod business, this is fear #1 for obvious reasons.
Falling off a roof- risk of breaking my neck, skull, or impaling my body on a shovel.
Getting blown up- I work around bombs, though I have a healthy respect for them, they inevitably are going blow up someday. - incineration, catastrophic disfiguring of body parts, or death by being crushed under debris may follow.

Picture time: It says ,"Do not Enter." Bet you can't guess what we had to do.... we entered.

Category two: Things that quite possibly, maybe, sorta, kinda, may or may not finding a way to kill me. Given the right conditions and circumstances one of these things theoretically should succeed in sucking the life right our of my body, but then again maybe not. I'm trying my best guys, but like I said one can really only punch Fate in the balls so many times before it decides to have Mickey the Bear sneak up on you in the woods, take your bear virginity from you, dismember you limb from limb while it eats you alive, only to go back to his stupid pillaging bear friends to brag about how he is now the most bad ass bear in the woods because he now bear fucks and eats humans, all the while Petey and Wally the Bears are still trying to figure out how to catch and eat guys like Ernie the Frog (I mean he's so small!!! Never stood a chance...)

Driving ground rods into underground transformers- electroshock- the vultures can eat me fried.
Heat stroke- the roofs sometimes get up around 110 degrees or more... vultures can eat me baked
Bears - see above.
Snakes- copperheads, timber rattlers, and plus I have pretty soft skin = easy puncture wound capacity
Vomit Asphyxiation- not all that really a threat out here, but still it can happen to anyone, anytime. Consider yourselves warned.
Skin Cancer- over exposure to sun light. Okay so I'm kinda pushing it now but this really could wind up to bite me in the ass along down the road.

Pictures: Mickey the Bear, and one lucky snake because we didn't run his ass over.

Category three: Okay none of these will actually kill me. Won't even get close, but please someone some where pretend to care because these are all annoying the hell out of me. I can now safely say I've experienced every bug bite, bee sting, rash, hive, bump, bruise, cut and scrape that is known to mankind, but I'm all the worse for it.

Biting bugs- mosquitoes, ants, and black flies.
Bees, Wasps, Hornets- I have been a pen cushion this summer for these bastards.
Cutting myself- no not like you think it means, I'm clumsy and work with sharp tools. Do the math
Poison Ivy, thorn bushes and every other green plant that decides to change the chemical/physical well being of my skin.- I have gone through more bottles of ointment than games Barry Zito is going to wind up losing this season.
Other woodland creatures- encounters with rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, frogs, deer etc. don't always go oh so smoothly.

So when Winston Churchill said, "there is nothing to fear, but fear itself," he must have put a little too much scotch in his English tea. Because for me, in the real world, everything is out to get me. And frankly I'm getting tired of worrying. A combination of categories two or three would almost certainly be fatal. Think of me getting bitten by a snake, then falling into a poison ivy bush, only to have a quarry of rogue squirrels kill me just for sport. The threat is real my friends, and I just might not make it. It's almost like a race too see what happens first, me getting myself killed vs. me losing me freaking mind thinking about not getting myself killed.

Sorry if this whole thing was morbid to anyone. Sorry mom because I wrote 'fuck' in there once. So for all intensive purposes count on seeing my happy ass back in Texas in a few weeks (tomorrow for a lucky few of you maybe), and we'll pretend that I'm not 1750 miles away embarrassing myself via a public forum. But honestly someone out there, start writing the eulogy for my funeral just in case. Oh and keep the love flowing, I appreciate it.

I got high today

2008-07-29T18:56:00.000-07:00

Yep, still alive, today was tricky but I made it. And based on the flurry of comments (two) I received since last nights post, I have decided to keep up the experiment. I mean, who doesn't want to read about my life right? I just have to get the truth out there, and I'm confident I'll find my viewing niche. (Probably people with equally pathetic lives, who use me to feel better about themselves)

Anyway like I said, still alive but this is what I did today:

That is me, installing a rod, about 240 feet in the air.

This is the picture I took of my cousin Andy, he was about 30 feet below me on a high beam, but you can see the trees far below:

This is what the tower looked like from the bottom up:

And this is me, proving that I'm still alive, and one with Curtis who I work with, I think he's cool because he has two gold teeth. Other than that this man doesn't do shit.

So yeah the tittle of this post is a little misleading. I can picture some of my friends making some lame Ben Harper quote and saying, "hell yeah steveo," some of them saying, "Your going to hell you know," and others sitting in their rooms enjoying their lives because they are never going to bother reading any of this. But ideally I like to picture that third group as all girls, and consequently naked. Any way, in the interest of keeping things entertaining, I had to throw in a teaser. And no, to those of you still wondering, I did not participate in any illegal activities today, other than littering my band-aid wrapper out the window of the work truck, but I'm not gonna count that one. (I cut the dog snot out of my finger, but that's just another chapter in the antagonizing list of the difficulty my body has gone through, and im saving all that for a rainy day)

So as you may imagine, up on that tower, a lot of things were racing through my head and I would now like to take the time to share with you my thought process as I contemplated my impeding doom:

"Things I like: living, breathing, and not being dead.
Things I don't like: not living, not breathing, and being dead.

Don't look down, don't look down, oh man, oh shit I think I just kinda looked down..... yep I sure did. Oh boy that's really far. My knees are now shaking, and I think I just..... wait yes, oh no false alarm. Almost peed myself. New checklist:
Things I don't like: not living, not breathing, being dead, looking down, and peeing myself.

Steve, whatever you do, in no circumstances whatsoever will you pee yourself. Fight it, fight it man, falling and dying is okay, but dying with with a warm, moist, urine stain on your limp body is in no way acceptable. If I go out, I'm going out with dignity damn it. "

Inevitably I looked down, alot. The view was freaking incredible and I just couldn't resit the urge, but in no way was it healthy. Looking up at it, it didn't seem that high, but the scaffolding i was working on kept swaying every time I shifted my weight. This made the urge to scream, pee, cry, or just let go and get it all over with seem even more inviting, but i didn't. So I conquered the dragon and now I'm here to brag about it, which is what I'm doing. Maybe next time you see me, God willing, you'll look at me in a different light knowing that I, in the most perilous of times, fought the good fight and didn't soil myself.

Other than that, today was pretty darn uneventful.

Loneliness leads to boredom leads to blogging

2008-07-28T18:41:00.000-07:00

So where do I start? Ah yes, I'm in a hotel room in somewhere in New Jersey. I have no idea where, nor do I really care; every township, borough, and city kinda just blurs together up here. I do know if I finally do lose my mind, I can make it to New York in about half an hour, and this summer that thought has had a prevalent presence in the back of my mind. I also know that tomorrow when my alarm goes off before the sun decides to start shining, I will once again question my sanity and why I decide to do the things that I do. By 7:30 I will be happily (term used loosely) perched atop of some roof, probably made of asbestos, holding in my hand a copper rod designed to attract lightning, and praying to God that today will once again be the day that the tons of high quality explosives beneath my feet do not unexpectedly decide to detonate. Yes, I just used asbestos, lightning attracting, and high explosives in the same sentence. What does not kill us must decidedly make us stronger I suppose, but then again, it doesn't seem to be working for me.

Back to the asbestos. The roofs are made of an asbestos and concrete mix, and the walls are terra cotta tile. This is so that if the building blows up, the debris will be minimized and the explosion contained. Heh, what a comfort. What about me? Where am I factored into the "oh shit" contingency plan? I don't think I am. So I just make sure that a lightning strike won't rake havoc on this military compound. I've always been told the odds of getting struck by lightning are worse than winning the lottery, but I guess you can say I have the distinct advantage of working with the lucky numbers- the conducting rods. Have I ever mentioned i severely question my decision making capabilities?

Enough about my boring job, onto my boring life. I guess my main motivation for these ensuing disclosures is your pity; seeing as how am cut off from civilization, I have a void from lack of actual human interactions, and pity flowing across your modem to mine seems comforting right now. But instead of pity I must say, how about a freaking phone call? Right now I would love to hear from anyone, anyone including but not limited to: people who know me, might know me, or don't know me (I'm reconsidering unblocking my number so telemarketers can talk to me), people who love me, hate me, are apathetic to my general existence, my dog Missy (Missy, if you learn how to read and stumble upon this, hit me up!!!! And I'm really sorry I kicked you all those times, spit in your dog food, and chased you with the lawnmower. I would really love to hear from you girl. It would mean alot), old girlfriends, potential new girlfriends (Yeah!), girls who are friends, anyone, yeah anyone in general would be great, except for old girlfriends I might have lied about that one.

So yeah, um I'm lonely. That pretty much sums it all up. Well im remarkably lonely actually. Its bad enough that I have now resorted to the world wide web to advertise my demise from being a functioning person to a bleak, shameless, selfish, cold, hypercritical, hypocritical, critically lame shell of a human being. I don't have any friends up here, and how could I? I work out of town five days a week, live with my Uncle and his family on the weekends, and go to church once a week in Philadelphia. However, I do have my co-workers. But I will refrain from saying anymore because libel is a serious threat in this day and age, and any further exploration on my opinions of them could lead me into financial distress that only Bear Sterns might imagine. So in short I'm a loser, even more so than when I was in the seventh grade and I locked my clothes and towel in my locker while I took a shower after athletics, and cried- alone and naked in the locker room because under the stress I forgot my combination. If only had I know it was taped on the back of the lock the whole time... Anyway, I think I've now approached levels way beyond that point. Now I cry every time I think of my friends when I watch the sun set. Haha, that was a joke? Oh boy, I know I only have three weeks left here, but my true fear is that my deterioration has reached beyond the point of no turning back.

When I return home, will people recognize me? They haven't seen my face in months. Ha but the joke is on them because I have seen all of theirs. Hundreds and hundreds of times. On facebook..... yeah maybe I should stop confessing. Ha, this leads my to my one true solstice of the summer. A website I've found call www.grouphug.us. You can confess with 100% anonymity and impunity for everyone to read. Reading what other people have posted about their own crummy lives makes mine seem so much less crummy, albeit mine is still impressively crummy, and it makes me laugh every-single-time. If you are bored enough to be reading this, you should read that next.

Anyway that is enough for my first time, I have to wake up tomorrow and try not to explode. Please leave comments, I will be impressed if anyone actually sees this, and oh yeah better yet, how about a phone call?