Planetary alignment, combined with financial hardship, has recently caused me to reconsider my terms of employment. I sought a new job within the Walla Walla wine industry which would stimulate me with more responsibility and get me off with more money. I found it and turned in my two weeks notice at my old job, assuming of course that I would work out my finals days and then move on gracefully.
Instead I was faced with one of those "You can't quit, you're fired!" sort of situations. So I have been enjoying Ten entire days of nothing to do. I have not had Ten days without responsibility in far longer than I can remember. Two hundred and Forty hours of reading left-behind newspapers at fastfood restaurants, luxuriously regarding all the Final Fantasy 10 cut-scenes, catching up on my Harry Potter in anticipation for the new book. Today I came to the ol' College student center to use the internet and blogue about my Summer Vacation.
I will be starting my new job Thursday, which brings me to my point. Much as I've enjoyed this break, it would be meaningless without the months of toil bookending both sides. Life is a dichotomy and I am unable to enjoy hanging with the sloths without having sprinted with the cheetahs.
I highly recommend the immediate acquisition of Neil Young's new archive release "Live at Massey Hall". The solo outing from 1971 features Mr. Young performing early hits and favorites in front of an enraptured audience in his home town of Toronto. Intimate arrangements of ordinarily bombastic songs such as Cowgirl in the Sand and Ohio provide valuable insight into Young's songwriting, while the live debut of Old Man (with a little biographical background) is heartbreaking and soul shattering.
6/18/07
6/7/07
Fiefdoms
I have, at this very moment, at least twenty families tied to my lands. These families work the fields in exchange for a very comfortable living. I tax them liberally, they give me 90% of their crops, and I allow them to survive the winters and sundry assaults from the barbarians of the forests. It's called symbiosis. They cannot defend themselves from barbarians, they are stupid serfs. They even have a soccer team called the Stupid Serfs, and they are soundly beaten by the Stable Squires each and every fortnightly game of "footy after the feast" where they run out into the fields and kick around a decapitated pig's head for many an hour after drinking several litres each of mead or barley wine, depending on who won the game of Cobbles and Bits during the feastly merriment.
I am a good noble and my serfs, while quite terrible athletes, make me proud enough with their drunken debauchery and semi-sufficient work during the harvest. If I had it my way I would empty my coffers and try to purchase the stable squires, but they are rather happy tending the horses and preparing the armor for the knights, and anyway they wouldn't much like working in the fields for the risk of ruining their perfectly-formed squires' haircuts. Perhaps I can buy some on a temporary basis, if for no other reason than to perhaps get a win under my belt after the next feast. This is quite a predicament I find myself in every feast that I hold. If I were to enact my noble right being head of the fiefdom I could easily take the squires from the knights and field them myself. I could win every soccer match, but without the squires the knights couldn't prepare to defend against the barbarian raids, and so my fiefdom would collapse or at the very least several serfs' cottages would be razed, which they do not enjoy. If I cancelled the feasts so that I wouldn't have to suffer a loss every fortnight, the serfs would become sullen and unhappy, and the harvest would suffer.
These are the problems invovled with running a fiefdom.
I am a good noble and my serfs, while quite terrible athletes, make me proud enough with their drunken debauchery and semi-sufficient work during the harvest. If I had it my way I would empty my coffers and try to purchase the stable squires, but they are rather happy tending the horses and preparing the armor for the knights, and anyway they wouldn't much like working in the fields for the risk of ruining their perfectly-formed squires' haircuts. Perhaps I can buy some on a temporary basis, if for no other reason than to perhaps get a win under my belt after the next feast. This is quite a predicament I find myself in every feast that I hold. If I were to enact my noble right being head of the fiefdom I could easily take the squires from the knights and field them myself. I could win every soccer match, but without the squires the knights couldn't prepare to defend against the barbarian raids, and so my fiefdom would collapse or at the very least several serfs' cottages would be razed, which they do not enjoy. If I cancelled the feasts so that I wouldn't have to suffer a loss every fortnight, the serfs would become sullen and unhappy, and the harvest would suffer.
These are the problems invovled with running a fiefdom.
6/6/07
Family Circus this is not.
The Perry Bible Fellowship is an online webcomic I have been reading for some time. The dark humor is second to none and makes me laugh my ass off with each new update. The artwork is also really superior to anything else I've seen online with few exceptions. I post this particular comic only because of the recent talk of Super Smash Brothers, and it's relationship to the fateful Mario featured in this PBF classic posted several weeks ago.
6/5/07
The best of recent news
The blog is humming again, or at least I'm saying that because I have snapped out of whatever recent tech funk I was in and am back on this regularly. I'm not going to let my complete ignorance of all things Cormac hold me back so onward we march with something that I probably called something else awhile back with regards to news updates.
Jesus, talk about emasculating an entire nation, for Pete's sake.
I post this at the risk of sounding like even more of an anti-technology caveman than I already am, but wow, that is nuts. Can they do it with toilet paper?
Lane needs to rein these bitches in. Google Maps is often a lifesaver but I think big brother is getting too much of a hard on with this new feature that actually lets you fucking see people and cars and shit. That is too much. Seriously, I think this is more advanced than most spy technology up to like 1980. That and the talking paper is enough to make me want to retreat to Laos, except oh wait, talk about spy novel material jesus, hope you enjoyed slogging through this puppy!
Jesus, talk about emasculating an entire nation, for Pete's sake.
I post this at the risk of sounding like even more of an anti-technology caveman than I already am, but wow, that is nuts. Can they do it with toilet paper?
Lane needs to rein these bitches in. Google Maps is often a lifesaver but I think big brother is getting too much of a hard on with this new feature that actually lets you fucking see people and cars and shit. That is too much. Seriously, I think this is more advanced than most spy technology up to like 1980. That and the talking paper is enough to make me want to retreat to Laos, except oh wait, talk about spy novel material jesus, hope you enjoyed slogging through this puppy!
Oprah Interviews Cormac
http://www2.oprah.com/obc_classic/featbook/road/interview/road_interview_main.jhtml
There are 5 interview segments. Discuss.
There are 5 interview segments. Discuss.
6/4/07
The highest glory in sports
The home run is the highest glory in all of sports. Boom. There it is. That will probably be only of the many bold statements this post contains (my penis is 13 inches long and that is lucky as shit!)
Seriously, other sports have their glory, the basket made, the putt sank (or even the hole in one), the touchdown, the goal, first place, but there is nothing on earth as exhilarating and majestic as a home run, especially in America where the soccer goal can hardly compete although to its credit it is fucking glorious.
I write this today for two reasons. The first of which is that I hit a home run. For those monstro blog readers who have played softball with me you know I am a singles hitter, a quick runner, and a good fielder. This makes me valuable to a team, but power I have not. I am on a co-ed team in an SF city league and we kinda suck, we were 3-4 going into our last game tonight so we were just playing for our dignity. THe opposing pitcher didn't like how much spirit we had since we huddle and cheer before each inning so he sarcastically quipped to me to "hurry your prayer meetings along" so we could play more since the games are time limited. I took offense since we are a jewish-themed team and since I was leading off, decided to rock his world. He tossed a pitch and I hit the softball probably farther than I will ever hit another softball in this lifetime of mine, well over the right-center fielders head and took off. Now I've been in the woods backpacking for four days so I have some mighty blisters but this was the first and probably only chance I'd ever have to hit a legit homer and I knew it so I chugged hard and slid totally needlessly across home. It was a glorious personal moment, there is no doubt about it.
I got home tonight around 11pm to find the A's-Red Sox (fuckers) game in the bottom of the 11th inning with Eric Chavez at the plate. He swung and deposited a pitch into the bleachers to achieve the proverbial "walk-off" and was mobbed by teammates showing clear and pure faces of joy and glee despite the fact they are paid millions to do this shit.
The home run is holy.
For a game that some might say is the classical music of sports, baseball truly does not have much action. Much like its cousin outside of America, soccer, the game moves slowly and scores happen very infrequently in the average game. However, like the goal in soccer, the home run is the blossom in the desert, the earth shattering way to break the silence usually reserved only for tinny hollywood pics. Few things on earth can simultaneously evoke pain in some, glory in others and bring a crowd of tens of thousands to their feet as if they were one.
The home run is where it's at.
Seriously, other sports have their glory, the basket made, the putt sank (or even the hole in one), the touchdown, the goal, first place, but there is nothing on earth as exhilarating and majestic as a home run, especially in America where the soccer goal can hardly compete although to its credit it is fucking glorious.
I write this today for two reasons. The first of which is that I hit a home run. For those monstro blog readers who have played softball with me you know I am a singles hitter, a quick runner, and a good fielder. This makes me valuable to a team, but power I have not. I am on a co-ed team in an SF city league and we kinda suck, we were 3-4 going into our last game tonight so we were just playing for our dignity. THe opposing pitcher didn't like how much spirit we had since we huddle and cheer before each inning so he sarcastically quipped to me to "hurry your prayer meetings along" so we could play more since the games are time limited. I took offense since we are a jewish-themed team and since I was leading off, decided to rock his world. He tossed a pitch and I hit the softball probably farther than I will ever hit another softball in this lifetime of mine, well over the right-center fielders head and took off. Now I've been in the woods backpacking for four days so I have some mighty blisters but this was the first and probably only chance I'd ever have to hit a legit homer and I knew it so I chugged hard and slid totally needlessly across home. It was a glorious personal moment, there is no doubt about it.
I got home tonight around 11pm to find the A's-Red Sox (fuckers) game in the bottom of the 11th inning with Eric Chavez at the plate. He swung and deposited a pitch into the bleachers to achieve the proverbial "walk-off" and was mobbed by teammates showing clear and pure faces of joy and glee despite the fact they are paid millions to do this shit.
The home run is holy.
For a game that some might say is the classical music of sports, baseball truly does not have much action. Much like its cousin outside of America, soccer, the game moves slowly and scores happen very infrequently in the average game. However, like the goal in soccer, the home run is the blossom in the desert, the earth shattering way to break the silence usually reserved only for tinny hollywood pics. Few things on earth can simultaneously evoke pain in some, glory in others and bring a crowd of tens of thousands to their feet as if they were one.
The home run is where it's at.
6/2/07
Things I Miss.
I have been away from the United States for approximately 8 months. For the most part I have really enjoyed my time abroad, but all the same there are certain things a blue-blooded American starts to miss about home that you just can't get anywhere else in the world. Following will be a rambling mess of tear-stained nostalgia that will make most of you who know me wonder who dragged the old Drew out of bed at night and shot him.
The thing I miss the most about America is big vehicles. I can't help but think about how all Australians are, deep down, big pussies because they drive silly little cars. I remember t he big Silveradoes and Tahoes and Suburbans rolling around like tanks on the streets of the homeland and it makes me think that if the U.S. didn't step up and defend against the terrorists, I don't think the little Mazda-driving rest of the planet would be much help in the matter. There isn't even a booming spray-on truck bed liner industry here, which makes me wonder if this is even a democratic country at all.
I also miss big, greasy, carbohydrate-loaded, horse-killing breakfasts. The kind where you get a side of pancakes with a half-pound gravy-covered bacon, sausage, ham, and cheese omelette. A breakfast that will break even the most stalwart of humans and, as I said before, horses. This is the type of American breakfast that would be enough caloric intake for an entire tribal village in Rwanda, but obese families all over Iowa, Texas, and South Carolina will put away a half-dozen of these bad boys after sitting through an hour-long church service on Sunday morning. Nothing builds a hunger in a 300lb. human like sitting for one hour and listening to a preacher talk about how you should feed the poor. I mean, can't that guy speed it up? I've got a cup of sausage gravy to drink.
While traveling one tends to miss the big things, like trucks and breakfasts, and overlook the little things, like crystals of methamphetamines. You just can't get a good tooth-scratching high going in Australia like you can in the trailer parks littered across the great territories of America. I've tried a plethora of replacements but nothing comes close to making me want to steal my girlfriend's car and drive it over spike strips for my next hit like the homegrown stuff does. Oh well, we can't all be happy all the time.
The thing I miss the most about America is big vehicles. I can't help but think about how all Australians are, deep down, big pussies because they drive silly little cars. I remember t he big Silveradoes and Tahoes and Suburbans rolling around like tanks on the streets of the homeland and it makes me think that if the U.S. didn't step up and defend against the terrorists, I don't think the little Mazda-driving rest of the planet would be much help in the matter. There isn't even a booming spray-on truck bed liner industry here, which makes me wonder if this is even a democratic country at all.
I also miss big, greasy, carbohydrate-loaded, horse-killing breakfasts. The kind where you get a side of pancakes with a half-pound gravy-covered bacon, sausage, ham, and cheese omelette. A breakfast that will break even the most stalwart of humans and, as I said before, horses. This is the type of American breakfast that would be enough caloric intake for an entire tribal village in Rwanda, but obese families all over Iowa, Texas, and South Carolina will put away a half-dozen of these bad boys after sitting through an hour-long church service on Sunday morning. Nothing builds a hunger in a 300lb. human like sitting for one hour and listening to a preacher talk about how you should feed the poor. I mean, can't that guy speed it up? I've got a cup of sausage gravy to drink.
While traveling one tends to miss the big things, like trucks and breakfasts, and overlook the little things, like crystals of methamphetamines. You just can't get a good tooth-scratching high going in Australia like you can in the trailer parks littered across the great territories of America. I've tried a plethora of replacements but nothing comes close to making me want to steal my girlfriend's car and drive it over spike strips for my next hit like the homegrown stuff does. Oh well, we can't all be happy all the time.
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