In layman's terms, the sky is freaking out. Jupiter is also visible at the moment. The closest thing I've seen in the past was the Deltaplex spotlights moving across low clouds, really nothing compared to aurora Borealis. Stuff like this usually doesn't excite me, (Planetary education, Weather, Dinosaurs) but If I could see a dinosaur in the sky from my driveway right now, I'd probably write about it on my blog. LOOK!
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
Fear and Loathing in a Retirement Home
When I was in the third grade, I was scared. I knew the calendar was slowly counting the days until it was time. The long strip of paper taunted me for almost a semester. The dotted lines, the directional arrows, the loops. I was convinced that I would never learn to write cursive.
Of course, teachers teach, and I picked it up at a normal pace, because... learners learn. With the exception of memorizing the entire multiplication table in 5th grade (up to the twelves anyways) nothing has really scared me the same way - until just recently.
The daily newspaper has two - countem - two crossword puzzles, I usually get 3/4 of each puzzle completed at work and try to do the "jumble" game, and try not to look over to the left side of the page. I get a nervous feeling in my stomach, much like the feeling in third grade. "when it comes up, I'll just change the subject", I think to myself, "I don't really NEED to know how, do I?". "whats going to happen when I'm in a retirement home?". Extreme boredom ensues. My eyes wander. I start to read.
The name of the column:
"Bridge"
I understand the elderly have about 50 years to learn how to play this game, but I'm sure none of them even fully understand it. I think the only person who knows every rule is Frank Stewart , the Tribune Media Services Columnist.
Every single day, Frank gathers up 3 other directions (I'm assuming they're friends of his) To set up some random bridge situation. I can tell from the example that there are four players (directions). They each have a seemingly random amount of cards from each suit. How did they get there? I don't know. Frank never gives any history, and I have no idea how these cards end up in the hands of four different directions, or what you're supposed to do with them. But Frank DOES ask a "Daily question". This man must be really old. The questions make no sense, they all end with "what do you say?". This is exactly like when the old men on my paper route would ask me, enthusiastically, "Whats the Word?". It's supposed to be some kind of trick - I think.
Example:
DAILY QUESTION
You hold (spade)10 8 6 5 2 (heart)9 (diamond)8 6 5 (club)A 10 8 7 Dealer, at your left, opens one diamond. Your partner doubles, you bid one spade and he raises to three spades. The opponents pass. What do you say?
ANSWER
You hold more values than you might have held. Partner's double obliged you to respond, and partner is betting you can take nine tricks even if your hand is hopeless. Since you actually have two tricks - a fifth spade and an ace - bid four spades.
HOLY SHIIT......Bridgers are misleading! "You hold more values than you might have held"? Yes, kindof like when Frank had more glasses of brandy than he might have had before writing the day's column, or how I have more quarters than I might have had because I'm magic.
FRANK IS PLAYING CALVIN CARDS!
Excerpts from other questions/answers, and the way I perceive them.
...But your queen is "working"... "she" is turning tricks to pay off "her" student loans.
"If partner raises to three spades, you'll try for a grand slam". Truckers' CB radio
banter..suggesting they stop at Denny's
"Pass" Like when I played Texas holdem that one time.
"What do you say?" Like the old guys on my paper route.
Every column starts with something to break the ice. In my case, it is the ice of total fear and confusion. Frank seems to understand my relationship with card games. I was once forced to join a game of euchre with a friend and two relative strangers. In a random coffee shop in a random neighborhood in Chicago, I was taught to play the game in 30 seconds by three people at once. These guys were serious about their euchre. They played as if it wasn't just a game. My teammate was getting very frustrated by my lack of enthusiasm, responsibility, and short term memory. That was the worst game of my life.
I guess I could blame it on my parents for never teaching me any card games. My grandma taught me how to play "War" but it is of no use now. My cousins taught me to play poker, but the game of poker is probably much too smoky for a retirement home recreation room. When I get old, and I'm chillin with my homies (the elderly always use slang terms from their good old days) I'm going to be totally left out, and I'm not going to dance with a hot chick (again, old timey slang) at the monthly dances, and no one is going to join me when I watch re-runs of elimidate on TV Land. No one will sit and reminisce about how every girl had a skippit in elementary school, and when everyone is playing bridge, I'm going to be sitting all alone. (with a snack pack, preferably) I'm going to be that guy that always hits on the nurse.
"Unlucky louie plays the dummy like a man buying stocks in a bear market. He knows his
finesses will lose, yet he stakes his contracts on them anyway".
Of course, teachers teach, and I picked it up at a normal pace, because... learners learn. With the exception of memorizing the entire multiplication table in 5th grade (up to the twelves anyways) nothing has really scared me the same way - until just recently.
The daily newspaper has two - countem - two crossword puzzles, I usually get 3/4 of each puzzle completed at work and try to do the "jumble" game, and try not to look over to the left side of the page. I get a nervous feeling in my stomach, much like the feeling in third grade. "when it comes up, I'll just change the subject", I think to myself, "I don't really NEED to know how, do I?". "whats going to happen when I'm in a retirement home?". Extreme boredom ensues. My eyes wander. I start to read.
The name of the column:
"Bridge"
I understand the elderly have about 50 years to learn how to play this game, but I'm sure none of them even fully understand it. I think the only person who knows every rule is Frank Stewart , the Tribune Media Services Columnist.
Every single day, Frank gathers up 3 other directions (I'm assuming they're friends of his) To set up some random bridge situation. I can tell from the example that there are four players (directions). They each have a seemingly random amount of cards from each suit. How did they get there? I don't know. Frank never gives any history, and I have no idea how these cards end up in the hands of four different directions, or what you're supposed to do with them. But Frank DOES ask a "Daily question". This man must be really old. The questions make no sense, they all end with "what do you say?". This is exactly like when the old men on my paper route would ask me, enthusiastically, "Whats the Word?". It's supposed to be some kind of trick - I think.
Example:
DAILY QUESTION
You hold (spade)10 8 6 5 2 (heart)9 (diamond)8 6 5 (club)A 10 8 7 Dealer, at your left, opens one diamond. Your partner doubles, you bid one spade and he raises to three spades. The opponents pass. What do you say?
ANSWER
You hold more values than you might have held. Partner's double obliged you to respond, and partner is betting you can take nine tricks even if your hand is hopeless. Since you actually have two tricks - a fifth spade and an ace - bid four spades.
HOLY SHIIT......Bridgers are misleading! "You hold more values than you might have held"? Yes, kindof like when Frank had more glasses of brandy than he might have had before writing the day's column, or how I have more quarters than I might have had because I'm magic.
FRANK IS PLAYING CALVIN CARDS!
Excerpts from other questions/answers, and the way I perceive them.
...But your queen is "working"... "she" is turning tricks to pay off "her" student loans.
"If partner raises to three spades, you'll try for a grand slam". Truckers' CB radio
banter..suggesting they stop at Denny's
"Pass" Like when I played Texas holdem that one time.
"What do you say?" Like the old guys on my paper route.
Every column starts with something to break the ice. In my case, it is the ice of total fear and confusion. Frank seems to understand my relationship with card games. I was once forced to join a game of euchre with a friend and two relative strangers. In a random coffee shop in a random neighborhood in Chicago, I was taught to play the game in 30 seconds by three people at once. These guys were serious about their euchre. They played as if it wasn't just a game. My teammate was getting very frustrated by my lack of enthusiasm, responsibility, and short term memory. That was the worst game of my life.
I guess I could blame it on my parents for never teaching me any card games. My grandma taught me how to play "War" but it is of no use now. My cousins taught me to play poker, but the game of poker is probably much too smoky for a retirement home recreation room. When I get old, and I'm chillin with my homies (the elderly always use slang terms from their good old days) I'm going to be totally left out, and I'm not going to dance with a hot chick (again, old timey slang) at the monthly dances, and no one is going to join me when I watch re-runs of elimidate on TV Land. No one will sit and reminisce about how every girl had a skippit in elementary school, and when everyone is playing bridge, I'm going to be sitting all alone. (with a snack pack, preferably) I'm going to be that guy that always hits on the nurse.
"Unlucky louie plays the dummy like a man buying stocks in a bear market. He knows his
finesses will lose, yet he stakes his contracts on them anyway".
Frank tries to help.
"As you'd imagine, Cy the Cynic views the government bureaucracy with grave suspicion.'if laughter is the best medicine', Cy told me, 'its a wonder the Food and Drug Administration Isnt trying to regulate it.' Cy enjoyed a horselaugh at the expense of today's West..."
Frank isn't helping.
I Could just wait it out like I did in '93. I could take a class through community education (believe it or not, these classes really do exist). But I really don't know what to do. Until judgment day arrives, I'll focus on the now, remembering that even the best players take the game too personally. "North needed a drink after today's deal". Even the best players are as confused as I am. "How could I know what was going on?" south asked glumly".
But no matter what life deals out, I'll always remember above all things that I can still take nine tricks.........even if my hand is hopeless.
But no matter what life deals out, I'll always remember above all things that I can still take nine tricks.........even if my hand is hopeless.
Monday, August 09, 2004
The Integrity League's Unexplained lack of integrity explained euphemistically. PLUS: Talk of Bears
If anyone actually checks up on this blog anymore, they would probably have noticed that I've been out of commission for quite some time - as far as blogging goes. One bad move and the whole system went down. This disastrous, bad luck induced Integrity Leauge domino effect has come to a halt on the screen of your personal computers, and for that I apologize. Apparently a domestic problem can lead to a life filled with sleeping. I shall explain in part: Due to a lack of communication, the comcast internet bill was never paid, therefore the internet stopped working? What kind of deal is that? Not only did the internet stop working, but the cable television stopped working. I've resorted to sleeping all day, much like a bear escapes the cold desolation of winter by sleeping in a cave all season. The only difference is my lack of stored animal carcasses, BUT, just like a bear, I hate hunting in the winter. (I have a refrigerator with some cheese, various condiments and bottled water in it, this is a great example of how we humans are at the top of the food chain).
I woke up the other day to find my roommate and her little brother hauling her computer away. It's not that big of a deal because without the internet the only thing I could really do with the computer was play solitaire - but for some reason she took the phone with her too. I am totally perplexed. I'm "scratching my head on this one". Why would she take the phone? Now I cant "buzz" people into the apartment building like I could at one point. No one really ever comes to visit me anyways, but without the internet, and without the ability to let people inside, I've become totally isolated in my own "cold desolate world". I have no choice but to Hibernate.
I commute to Hastings almost every weekend now, but I am usually too lazy or uninspired to type up a post from my parents' computer. In approximately 1.5 months I'll be back for good, I think. The integrity of the Integrity Leauge shall be fully restored. I will triumphantly return to my former typing glory. (Pay homage to my awesome red power).
I woke up the other day to find my roommate and her little brother hauling her computer away. It's not that big of a deal because without the internet the only thing I could really do with the computer was play solitaire - but for some reason she took the phone with her too. I am totally perplexed. I'm "scratching my head on this one". Why would she take the phone? Now I cant "buzz" people into the apartment building like I could at one point. No one really ever comes to visit me anyways, but without the internet, and without the ability to let people inside, I've become totally isolated in my own "cold desolate world". I have no choice but to Hibernate.
I commute to Hastings almost every weekend now, but I am usually too lazy or uninspired to type up a post from my parents' computer. In approximately 1.5 months I'll be back for good, I think. The integrity of the Integrity Leauge shall be fully restored. I will triumphantly return to my former typing glory. (Pay homage to my awesome red power).
Saturday, June 26, 2004
I'm like an 18 year old middle-aged man
I recently started working third shift, which wasn't too big of a change for me. Since my average bedtime while on second shift was 5 a.m. I figured an extra hour and a half of consciousness wouldn't be a big deal. Then I remembered all of my stupid sleeping problems.
The problems stem from when I was still living at home, I slept on the bed from hell. The bed wasn't hellish in and of itself, but my stupid back problems plus the mildly uncomfortable bed created the beginning of the aforementioned stupid sleeping problems (I slept on the damn thing for approximately 16 years). My only refuge was the couch in the living room. The couch was the only place in my house where I could lay comfortably, until my parents decided the room needed a stylistic overhaul and gave it away in favor of a hard-as-a-board and too-short-to-lay-on love seat and two chairs (sacrificing function in favor of form). Why would anyone prefer a love seat and two odd chairs?
Suddenly I had no suitable resting place at all! Imagine having a life. Now imagine that your life is TOTALLY UNCOMFORTABLE!
When I moved to Grand Rapids 3 months ago, I bought a futon. Futons are cheap, and can magically turn into a sofa, so of course, it was the smart decision. I knew I was making a good choice when it came to comfort, afterall, I had laid on my brother's futon for all of 5 seconds and it seemed comfortable. I was wrong. Even after purchasing a neato memory foam mattress pad, I can still feel the bars underneath.
Flash forward to today. I get out of work at 6:00 a.m. Since I started my new shift, I've been progressively staying up later and later. Its currently 9:18 a.m. and I'm still wide awake.
On Thursday, I gave up on the concept of "normal" sleep, and just decided not to sleep at all. I came home, laid down for a hour, and got up.
A miracle! I came home on Friday morning and after 35 hours, slept for an astonishing 14 hours.
I now have in my possession a totally comfortable couch (bought for $10), a couch that could easily beat up any given futon, love seat or odd chair. When I close the door to the bedroom, the rest of the apartment is as dark as night. 24 hour darkness has always been a dream of mine which proves to me that dreams do come true. I still stay up too late, and my back still hurts, but at least I have something comfortable to go lay on.
The problems stem from when I was still living at home, I slept on the bed from hell. The bed wasn't hellish in and of itself, but my stupid back problems plus the mildly uncomfortable bed created the beginning of the aforementioned stupid sleeping problems (I slept on the damn thing for approximately 16 years). My only refuge was the couch in the living room. The couch was the only place in my house where I could lay comfortably, until my parents decided the room needed a stylistic overhaul and gave it away in favor of a hard-as-a-board and too-short-to-lay-on love seat and two chairs (sacrificing function in favor of form). Why would anyone prefer a love seat and two odd chairs?
Suddenly I had no suitable resting place at all! Imagine having a life. Now imagine that your life is TOTALLY UNCOMFORTABLE!
When I moved to Grand Rapids 3 months ago, I bought a futon. Futons are cheap, and can magically turn into a sofa, so of course, it was the smart decision. I knew I was making a good choice when it came to comfort, afterall, I had laid on my brother's futon for all of 5 seconds and it seemed comfortable. I was wrong. Even after purchasing a neato memory foam mattress pad, I can still feel the bars underneath.
Flash forward to today. I get out of work at 6:00 a.m. Since I started my new shift, I've been progressively staying up later and later. Its currently 9:18 a.m. and I'm still wide awake.
On Thursday, I gave up on the concept of "normal" sleep, and just decided not to sleep at all. I came home, laid down for a hour, and got up.
A miracle! I came home on Friday morning and after 35 hours, slept for an astonishing 14 hours.
I now have in my possession a totally comfortable couch (bought for $10), a couch that could easily beat up any given futon, love seat or odd chair. When I close the door to the bedroom, the rest of the apartment is as dark as night. 24 hour darkness has always been a dream of mine which proves to me that dreams do come true. I still stay up too late, and my back still hurts, but at least I have something comfortable to go lay on.
Thursday, June 17, 2004
A lack of substance: writing about writing
So I realize, now, one week after starting this blog, I have nothing substantial to write about. After numerous brainstorming sessions, short drives, swinging, fishing, sleeping, showering and many other writers block remedies failed to help me out, I came up with some pointers to help me to create a quality blog. A starting point.
1. Fiction is good.
It seems that I’m not the Josiah I used to be. The old me wrote about anything and everything, my walls were covered with random phrases, (phrases I came up with when I was by a wall). I had those special crayons that would wash off of the side of the bathtub, incase I wanted to write in the shower. Every time I came into contact with a pretty girl, I would write on her and she would run away…. So I just stopped writing. Interesting eh? IT WAS ALL FICTION!! Sadly, my fictional life is much more interesting that my non-fictional life.
2. Avoid unnecessary drama caused by writing about people. If anyone is familiar with “Xanga”, it’s a web log community that seems to be designed to hurt peoples’ feelings, or to tell people how they’ve hurt yours (at least in the local xanga community). It seems that everyone who writes purposely writes about someone else, knowing full well that the “someone” in question has a subscription to, or is a regular viewer of said xanga. It forms a circle. Before you know it, the internet is making you cry, and that’s not very cool. People forgot how to deal with their serious personal problems and started discarding them on the internet, yes, the public internet.
3. Don’t purposely misspell things. A couple misspellings here and there are nothing to scoff at, but when you start typing “ur” instead of “you are”, “your” or “you’re, you’re crossing a line. Soon we will all forget how cool the word “your” looks! Just stare at it for awhile and you’ll understand why “UR” is such a horrible “word”. I guess that’s it for pointers
I seriously lack when it comes to keeping anyone’s attention, however, I’m very good at giving my attention to someone who says something purely intriguing. For example, just yesterday, I was talking to a friend and she started off her sentence with “I read a good article in the New Yorker today”. After hearing this one little statement, I realized how uncultured and lazy I am. She read The New Yorker, where as I slept all day. I don’t read anything, let alone The New Yorker! Maybe it’s just the sophisticated sounding title, or maybe I just realized that people I know read The New Yorker and I don’t. Maybe it all subliminally tied in with my writing dilemma. She reads The New Yorker and she happens to be a really good writer. I know now what I have to do.
The same thing goes with comedic effect. I lack the comedic genius to make anyone come back to this page in hopes of laughing again, if they ever did in the first place. Another friend once made the statement “fork in anus is the new cellar door”…………How can I compete with that? How can anyone compete with that?
1. Fiction is good.
It seems that I’m not the Josiah I used to be. The old me wrote about anything and everything, my walls were covered with random phrases, (phrases I came up with when I was by a wall). I had those special crayons that would wash off of the side of the bathtub, incase I wanted to write in the shower. Every time I came into contact with a pretty girl, I would write on her and she would run away…. So I just stopped writing. Interesting eh? IT WAS ALL FICTION!! Sadly, my fictional life is much more interesting that my non-fictional life.
2. Avoid unnecessary drama caused by writing about people. If anyone is familiar with “Xanga”, it’s a web log community that seems to be designed to hurt peoples’ feelings, or to tell people how they’ve hurt yours (at least in the local xanga community). It seems that everyone who writes purposely writes about someone else, knowing full well that the “someone” in question has a subscription to, or is a regular viewer of said xanga. It forms a circle. Before you know it, the internet is making you cry, and that’s not very cool. People forgot how to deal with their serious personal problems and started discarding them on the internet, yes, the public internet.
3. Don’t purposely misspell things. A couple misspellings here and there are nothing to scoff at, but when you start typing “ur” instead of “you are”, “your” or “you’re, you’re crossing a line. Soon we will all forget how cool the word “your” looks! Just stare at it for awhile and you’ll understand why “UR” is such a horrible “word”. I guess that’s it for pointers
I seriously lack when it comes to keeping anyone’s attention, however, I’m very good at giving my attention to someone who says something purely intriguing. For example, just yesterday, I was talking to a friend and she started off her sentence with “I read a good article in the New Yorker today”. After hearing this one little statement, I realized how uncultured and lazy I am. She read The New Yorker, where as I slept all day. I don’t read anything, let alone The New Yorker! Maybe it’s just the sophisticated sounding title, or maybe I just realized that people I know read The New Yorker and I don’t. Maybe it all subliminally tied in with my writing dilemma. She reads The New Yorker and she happens to be a really good writer. I know now what I have to do.
The same thing goes with comedic effect. I lack the comedic genius to make anyone come back to this page in hopes of laughing again, if they ever did in the first place. Another friend once made the statement “fork in anus is the new cellar door”…………How can I compete with that? How can anyone compete with that?
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
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