I have something I need to get off my chest.
I have a Pinterest account. There, I’ve said it. To alleviate any angst that my revelation may have evoked, I will put your minds at ease and announce that the account has not been accessed in some time. In fact, one could say that I have and I haven’t a Pinterest account. It’s the equivalent of someone stating that they HAVE a humorous blog, but the content is humorless (maybe it’s nothing like that). Regardless, that time is behind me; and it’s a good thing too. My Y chromosomes were beginning to question their existence.
But before I get too carried away with my overly built up hostility towards Pinterest, let me inform you on what it helped me accomplish.
Those who have been diligently reading my blog know that I have been attempting to read a minimum of one book per month. This is difficult when all aspects of life coalesce into a heaping pile of
shit sunshine and flowers. You all know what I am saying…Okay, so maybe not all. Anyhow, more reading equates to more books. And more books…Well let me create a competent diagram to help everyone better under the complexity of it all:
I have done the reading, I have accumulated the books, and now I need a bookshelf. That is where Pinterest enters. The site has some pretty awesome Do It Yourself (DIY) projects, and who doesn’t love some good DIY? I found one that turned cheap crates into nice decorative bookshelves. Due to my lack of space at the moment, I only awarded myself three crates. (For all those mathematician majors, or minors, you are correct in your calculation of only two crates pictured below. For those who are seeing three, I’ll have what you are having.)
Once I had the proper tools, I began the transformation. I popped open the can of stain and slathered it onto the crate until the proper pigmentation. My antecedent knowledge on the aforementioned process was nil. After one crate, I could have been a member of the Black Hands. You could have called me Gavrilo Princip. (A little Serbian humor for you.) This meant that gloves were like batteries; not included. From that point forward, I embraced the stain and decorated my bod with the war paint. In all fairness, the fumes were beginning to saturate the air and I was on cloud nine. I suppose I also underestimated the word stain, because for the next two days my chest was speckled with the stuff. I could have been handed off to the victors at the Brit Awards. Preferably Lana Del Rey. Anyhow, enough about that. Here are the results:
Future…but with actual books.
There are only two positives that come from Valentine’s Day.
The first being Brach’s little candy hearts. I love those chalk candies. I pop them like House pops pills. (Bummer. This reminds me of the fact that House M.D is over and all my analogies involving that subject matter will soon be antiquated.) I devour those candy hearts like they are going out of style…Wait a second…This is, however, excellent news for my future spouse. I have designed a plan and all she will have to do to make me happy is to give me the “stuff”. A few pounds will suffice. As for this year, I have to buy it for myself on the Black Market. It is a little liquor store around the way, “Black’s Market and Deli;” delicious sandwiches.
The second is chocolate. This is not as luxurious of an item because its availability does not pertain to a specific duration of time. You may not be able to find exquisitely petite red boxes that scream “I’m getting lucky tonight!” or heart shaped chocolates, but chocolate is nevertheless present during every waking moment of one’s existence. Still, Valentine’s Day gives us, or shall I say me, the excuse to indulge. I put on my fat boy pants and go to town on that box. Nom-nom-nom-nom.
Which brings me to the point of all this. Why is it when you buy a Valentine’s box or classic See’s Candy assortment box that there is only ever one delicious piece of chocolate? And you know the piece I am talking about. The highly coveted caramel. The battle for that caramel piece gets intense too. Once that lid is lifted and the chocolates are exposed, it’s game time. The winner is that lucky sonofa%$#$# that get’s the golden egg: the chocolate caramel.
Here is how it goes down: I start this race by biting into one. Coconut? Flippin’ coconut? Why? Did I ask for an assortment of God’s most inadequate creations? Am I going to unearth Justin Bieber in the next one? This is horrible. I try a second chocolate. Nuts. If there is one way to quickly ruin a good thing it is by adding nuts to food products. Judging by past female reaction, that may be a quick way to ruin all good things. I bite the third chocolate. Some kind of dark yellow cream. Not horrible, and I’ll eat the entire chocolate, but by God I have to get back down to brass tacks and find that caramel. And it is usually in, on, or around this time that someone walks by and grabs a chocolate, and wouldn’t you know it, it is the caramel. It is upsetting. Not because I did not get the chocolate, I can live with that, but that they did not put in time for that caramel.
When it comes down to it, Forest Gump was right. Life is a box of chocolates; you never know what you’re going to get…in a box of chocolates. People have to experience the bad ones to know the true value of the good. Or they could just buy the box that states what each chocolate is, but that would negate this whole post. And that, my friends, is no Bolshevik.
I sit. And by sit, I mean lay down on my bed. I always do my best work in bed. I begin preparing myself for the writing task ahead of me. What will be the focus of my post? What topic will I hack the normalcy out of?
And that is where it stops.
I’ve realized something important about myself from my writing methodology. I am a wannabe loner. And by this I mean I want to establish an idea and catechize it alone, but I do not. My process is a little different.
Here is how it works: I prod the kitchen of my mind and find the correct ingredients to prepare my idea. This is difficult to do. Imagine being in a five star restaurant’s kitchen. Imagine all those rare succulent delicacies and piquant seasonings. The all too ample amount of the finest cookery spread throughout the islands, counters, and cupboards. Just imagine. Now times that by forty-two; the answer to life, universe, and everything; and you have the innards of my minds kitchen. May I remind you, this is just the kitchen. Once the required ingredients are obtained, I make dough. Yes, flour and water. When the mixture has accumulated into a solid mass, I make magic happen. I take that dough, the essence of my idea, and I do what any decent chef would do; I slap it. I slappa da dough! This is the most climacteric step in the entire ordeal.
This is where it goes from solo to a show yo.
In Mighty Morphin Power Ranger terms, this is where my Tyrannosaurus Dinozord joins forces and becomes the Megazord.
Or, in my kitchen analogy, it’s where I slap people in the face with floury dough. A much kneaded process. Hitting people with my idea both literally and figuratively allows my mind to churn. There feedback, albeit often irrelevant to the direction I take, aids me in flushing out that wondrous dough into a pizza masterpiece. Once this is done, I slather on the tomato sauce (glue of my story), overload it with cheese (the jokes), and sprinkle on some pepperonis (no symbolism, I just like pepperonis). And viola! A bost is porn.
While this blog is comprised of 93% of my own ideas, that 7% of others insight is a tremendous boost in making what is great, brilliant. I am not completely alone in my process. I can’t be. Hence, I am just a wannabe loner.
Have you ever thought: “Wow, I just can’t get enough of these titillating thoughts. I wish there was a way in which I could have all of the greatest recorded material in one place!”
Look no further. You postulated, predicted, inferred, and guessed it. Here is the greatest collection of videos from Titillating Thoughts that has EVER been assembled. It has screechy vocal chords, skits, celebrity impersonations, AND MORE. This collection has it all. And if that wasn’t enough, if you order now you will get all the videos PLUS a pair of nail clippers WITH FREE nail filer, yes I said FREE! Just call the number below to order this:
1-800-Ifyouareinterestedinsendingmemoneycomment (We’ll be in touch.)
[Shipping & handling fees will be $19.89. It is non-refundable. Asian woman sold separately.]
Note: Videos are in chronological order.
“Leaving On a Jet Plane” – (2012): This is just a casual performance. I am trying to sing while playing a little diddy on my guitar.
“The Girl” – (2012): A semi-decent acapella cover of City and Colour.
“Kiss to Build a Dream On” – (2012): A karaoke version of a Louis Armstrong classic. It is done by and in the style of Louis Armstrong and Kermit the Frog.
“Believe” – (2011): A karaoke Brooks and Dunn rendition done by yours truly. If you like country music, here you go.
“The Break Through” – (2010): My hip-hop single. Aight?
“Guy Love” – (2010): Let’s face the facts. Scrubs is the best show ever. A tribute to it. Allow the hilarity to ensue.
“The Do-Do’s” – (2008): An underrated video. From an outsiders prospective it is a stupid simple concept and took too long to make. From my perspective it is flippin’-amazing. Fun stuff. Also, has a little bonus song in the last portion of the video.
“I’m Yours” – (2008): A cover of Jason Mraz’s song. One of our first…And last band videos.
“Anti-Drug Commercial” – (2008): Great concept.
There you have it!
Feel free to post your thoughts and vote on your favorite of the bunch.
Books. Only a letter away from having my complete interest…You know, ’cause I love to cook and all. Ahem. Ahem. Still, I stand not at ease with books, but at attention. I love a finely worded sentence that when woven together with one thousand six hundred and ninety-one others, placed on a delicate roll of parchment, and professionally bound, construct a book. Books provide me with a mind-bind fond-bond experience! Once upon a time I thought about becoming a librarian. (Sidenote: Are you aware that all librarians have master degrees? I was completely unaware of the educational prowess it took to become a librarian. It turns out that you do not just need a pair of glasses.) Instead I settled upon a career in teaching. Just the same, fortune and fame are not in my future. Only an ample amount of free time awaits me. Such is the horrible trade-off (>.>). But with that time I can read these books that I have so fervently excreted over. Ever hear of the white album? Yeah…
I enter into sporadic spurts when involved in books. There will be months on end that I only read for necessity, and not out of the necessity of pleasure. Then, out of the fog (because the blue is limited in my realm), I will immerse myself in word soaked paper and read. I have been tracking my progress with GoodReads.com; a site I suggest you join and friend me, even if we are not actually friends and it is just a mutual agreement to criticize one another’s atrocious reading selections. Well, your atrocious reading selections, unless of course you are reading what I am. Then it is okay. Straight up. Word. Speaking of such, I do not care for the phrase: “The book is too wordy.” It is a book. It consists of nothing but words. And I know what they mean, but before we fix the book, let’s fix their vocabulary. Too wordy? Gah! I digress…
Now that I have expressed my interest in books and have established the amount of time I have to read such wonders; I need to find them. This is where I stand at another ill-slated front. Do I buy, borrow, or steal? I want to start defining my book collection, but I do not want to forfeit appropriate currency to build it. I have found myself wavering on a borrow/buy concept. First I will borrow the book from el biblioteca (library). I like borrowing from the library; the books have character. They are soiled and worn. Just imagine all the fecal matter that has been disposed of in the presence of one book. That is a lot of shits. And with shits, comes innovation – ideas. Or maybe just shitty ideas. On that same topic, I often wonder which is dirtier, a pornographic magazine or a library book? That’s a good ‘ole mind tickler. Anyhow, I borrow the book, read it, and if I enjoy its contents I will splurge the three dollars at a thrift store or Amazon PRIME and purchase that book for my collection. I know, this concept leaves people dumbfounded. Why would I buy a book I have just read and have no intention of reading it again anytime soon? Good question. No equally good answer. Because my bookshelf is bare? Because I want to support the authors (who are mostly dead)? Because I want my collection of books to be a representation of myself? Science fiction and fantasy mixed in with a touch of non-fiction and historical accuracy. Not all in one book of course, but that’s not to say that it can’t be. Historically accurate fantasy. Do you believe in magic? Perhaps in a young girls heart…Or maybe I buy the book just because…I do what I want.
It’s the most wonderful time of the year…Or at least it is according to the lovable tunes of the frequency modulation. And quite honestly, I concur. Who doesn’t love Christmas time?
If you do not love Christmas, get out.
No, seriously. #Serious. See, I am even using hashtags. Yeah. This just got real.
The hoary winter winds are the perfect way to usher in a White Christmas. However, a frosty blow does not necessarily correlate into a snowy peak. If you catch my drift. (That, my friends, was a wind-pun trifecta.) There is nothing finer than when the weather outside is frightful. It awards the opportunity to consummate one’s affection of hot chocolate. Toss a candy cane in that cup of bliss; it and I will both melt. Yes, it is a marvelous thing, until…You get to the bottom. Culminating under all those delicious tastes of chocolately goodness is the sip of hell. And although I know that it is coming, I still place that cup on my lips and tilt it back. The peppermint aroma vigorously penetrates my nostrils and that nip of hot chocolate slips down my pallet; except there is little chocolate and peppermint galore. It burns like the DICKens…Hm. That might be a less holiday friendly burn. Regardless of burns, it is a sure fire way to clear your respiratory system if you think you might be falling victim to the pneumonic plague (Christmas cheer isn’t the only thing that is infectious this time of year).
Then, once the nostrils are clear of mucous membranes, you can embrace the fir. I know I do. I gravitate towards Christmas tree lots. It’s an addiction really. Smelling the sweet needles of joy. I don’t garden, but come Christmas time that is the department you will find me in. I am more of a Noble Fir man myself, but from time to time I have an afFIR with a Grand Fir. Other times I find that I just PINE for a Scotch. And no, that is not short for a Scotch Pine…Sometimes I just want a drink.
Add the lights (Go big or go home), carols (fa la la la), holiday goodies (popcorn balls and mint & chip cookies), and I can’t forget the movies. Christmas brings back claymation at its finest. Except for “The Leprechauns Christmas Gold.” Come on now leprechauns, you have your day. Yes you are green and look like little elves, but no. Not Christmas. I prefer to stick with the classics. My two favorite Christmas films are “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” and “White Christmas.” And then we have the always awesome Doctor Who Christmas special.
All the fine traditions of Christmas take me back to a simpler time. Each year is like a trip with the Ghost of Christmas past (I always picture Jiminy Cricket); reminiscing. Yet as I grow older, my childish joys diminish. The magic of Christmas is a gift that can fade. That is until I see the excitement on little children’s faces when they speak of Santa Claus. That is something that I look forward to replicating with my own devilish offspring someday. The magic of Christmas…
Hmmm…It got a little sentimental right there. Unintentionally so.
Lets wrap things up. Thank goodness I am dealing with words and not wrapping paper because it would be a mess. Too late for that you say? Ho Ho Ho…Funny. Let me attempt it anyway. I just want to congratulate a specific someone on their early Christmas present and wish the rest of you a Merry Chr…Bah humbug!
Ha. No really, Merry Christmas!
I am obsessed with examining minor menial tasks and how people perform them. Lately, I have been busting academia nuts into spoonfuls of A+ wordage. In the process of writing my essays, I have noticed there are times in which my mind sputters and I absent mindedly write the same word twice.
An example: “They call me DJ Oriental because I lay down down crazy tracks.”
I thought this tantalizing incident to be of interest only to myself, but after further debation and observation…I am not the only one suffering from this brain flatulence. It is a prevalent phenomenon that appears to be only privy to those who are aboard the key; or those who use a keyboard. I have yet to read a handwritten document that demonstrates these traits. Then again, if it doesn’t have the all powerful red squiggly line under it, I assume everything is hunky-dory. All hail the red squiggly line!
The part that is most intriguing is what occurs during that short circuiting. Where does our mind go during the brevity of the moment? Are life’s greatest mysteries solved in the blink of an eye? Well, that is a little farfetched…for everyone else that is. I, myself, am quite capable of such measures, but just as capable of forgetting them in the same breath, or blink. My attention to analogies is short, it is like the…I am sure for that instant I have stopped wondering what’s in a wonder ball and have no longer pondered over the locality of the beef. If only I could recapture my epiphanies I could make the world a bett…well, no, that’s a lie; it would probably be the same.
There appear to be different types of mind blips. They can be quite frightening too. It is one thing when they occur in the privacy of my own home, but what about when they happen while driving? I experience these on an almost daily basis. I will be driving and enter a daze only to snap out of it a few minutes later. In the process of that daze I am to recall point F and point K, but you see (or should I say U C. Heh heh) I am not able to recollect the mid section. Who knows how many people I have slaughtered or even worse how many stops signs I have bypassed. Hm, come to think of it, I always snap out of my stupor due to oddly placed speed bumps. In my defense, who places a speed bump in the middle of a crosswalk?
I know I am not the only one to have these blips, absent mindedness, stupors, dazes, brain flatulence. How has it affected you? Do you ever think, “I hope no law enforcement shows up at my door or I receive a ticket in the mail?” Or maybe it’s more simplistic for you, and you only have to worry about grammar Nazis.
Or maybe I am the only one experiencing this and people are only agreeing with me that they too are suffering from said issue so that I may maintain my last strain of sanity.
The drug of obsession, still sought with severity.
The frantic pursuit is bogged with despair,
The ecstasy remnants daubed with err.
The needle’s depleted, the traces remain.
The presence retreated, the memories engrained.
The euphoric sensation, emotionally thwarted.
The attainable elucidation is perplexed and distorted.
My addiction is plain, happiness my fixation.
My ability to obtain, manifested in desolation.
And so I remain enslaved to humanistic desires.
Immersed in cessation and what the future transpires.
I’ve been engrossed in absent minded automobile steering during my exstintsive. (You see what I did there? To save internet space I conducted a merger of extensive and stint…Hm, although, now, this explanation of such Tom Foolery negates my initial purpose. Pooey.) I have been incorporating the aforementioned activity to alleviate the contention that is circumnavigating the vessels of my mind.
Is this an effective strategy?
After heavy scrutinization I have established a concluded concurment. The strategy is effective given proper auditory balance. In layman’s terms that means: do not listen to melancholy melodies sad songs. To achieve happiness one has to want it. The band that puts me right in the head (Am I ever truly right in the head?) is Vampire Weekend. Even their glumified songs sound chipper. And so I just tune in, turn off, drop out, drop in, switch off, switch on and explode.
Explode you say? No. I type it apple-slice; get with it.
Anyhow, I have noticed explosions of road rage. Actually, I am unsure if what I do would be consider road rage. Perhaps it dons no classification. I question this so because during the act of, typed road rage, I am lacking true anger and aggression. Let me explain…
When performing the activity, I have this need to adhere to my code of driving. Rule #34 states that if driving on a two lane road and a merger is approaching that I should speed past the car in the opposite lane so that I am not forced to suffer sitting behind one more car. So I try to speed past them in attempt to secure the first place position. Usually I am successful in my expeditions, but I never quite think it through.
So what happens? I get to drive slowly behind the semi that is now directly in front of me.
I suppose I live for the instantaneous high. Unlike others I know, who drive like EMT’s juiced on coffee and smoothie kicks, my driving is pretty sane, so I thoroughly enjoy these little victories. Also, if you ever saw my car, you would realize that speeding or being a dare-devil is not in the CARds.
Here is one song from Vampire Weekend. I like the meaning.