No makeup, og ekte Bushido Merch genser <3

Plutselig var jeg ikke fattig lengre, og om en time stikker meg og Line på Ikea! Ah, jeg gleder meg. Vet ikke lengre hva jeg vil ha nå..Hva skal jeg kjøpe? Øøøøøh. Uansett, nå er jeg bare litt hyper, bare litt. Skylder på eplejuicen, er jo allergisk mot den, kanskje den kicker inn andre steder og.

Anyway, når jeg jobber får jeg aldri tid til å blogge noe spesielt mye, pleier jo egentlig å blogge om kvelden, og siden jeg jobber kveldsvakter for det meste er jeg helt utkjørt og vil egentlig bare slappe av. I går var det bare meg og Line på jobb, Haha, huff. Uansett, så skulle jeg prøve å sitte opp et stand til julehefter som vi får hvert år, og jeg gav opp halveis etter at to jenter på 10 lo av meg Haha, de to jentene altså..De stikker innom av og til fordi de er utvist fra Kiwi butikken ovenfor oss (Hvem utviser to småjenter?!) fordi de er for hyper, og i går skulle de absolutt hjelpe meg da, haha.

Oh my god, om en uke og…to dager skal jeg se Backstreet Boys, herrejesus jeg gleeeeddeeeer meg!!! Nå må jeg nesten gjøre meg klar til ikea, som dere ser på bildet ser jeg ikke heelt oppegående ut.

On Monday at 8:30 am on the campus of the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, BC I was approached by a bland-looking 20-something man who held up a book and asked, “Free book?”.  Coming from the US, my knee jerk reaction was to glare at this man who I assumed to be an Evangelical creep.  Continuing forth, I was approached by another man 20 paces away from the first, who had the same book and the same question.  After my glare, I heard him say to the back of my head, “Come on, it’s Charles Darwin.  It’s a good book.”

Exhibit A: Was this lamb duped?

After another 20 paces or so, I reached an intersection of two main campus roads which featured 3 more of these book givers.  It occurred to me that there had recently been various celebrations and educational events on UBC’s campus commemorating the 150th Anniversary of the publication of Darwin’s On the Origin of Species.  Feeling like I had allowed the American Jesus nuts to harden me into an irrevocably cynical person, I approached one of the book people and asked, “What book is that?” To which she replied “Darwin’s On the Origin of Species“.  I asked her why they were giving it away and she said “Because it’s a great book and people should read it.”

I said, “Oh” and accepted a book from her, which I examined on the way to where I was going.  It appeared like a cheap, paperback edition of Darwin’s book  with the words “150th Anniversary Edition” under the title.  It was the kind of paperback that an organization would purchase if it wanted to give out copies of a book by the wheelbarrowful.  I showed up to my destination on campus feeling like I had learned a valuable lesson about trust.  I noticed other people had the book and I chatted with them about how cool it was that a group of Vancouverites decided to take it upon themselves to spread the ideas of one of the 19th Century’s greatest thinkers.

I felt ashamed that I had allowed my heart to harden to a point of not being able to trust anybody — even like-minded thinkers.  I thought, “I’m in Canada — a place that appreciates the scientific method and freethinkers and not so much the blind religious zealotry.  It’s okay to trust people here.”

Later that night, when I had returned home, I pulled out the copy of Darwin’s most famous work, and decided I would read the introduction.  Guess what?  Yep, you guessed it: there are assholes everywhere, even in Canada.  I had been the victim of a classic bait and switch.  These nuts had published an edition of Charles Darwin’s On the Origin of Species with an introduction that flouts Intelligent Design and instructs the reader to give his or her soul to Jesus, lest he or she burn in hell forever.

Contemplating our next scheme, are we? Hmm?

The lesson, as always: keep your hearts hard and don’t accept free books on the street.

This close encounter happens to correspond with a very entertaining recent episode of This American Life, an NPR show that never ceases to titillate.  The episode is called “Bait and Switch” and it even features an interview with an ex-Evangelical discussing bait and switch tactics employed in the name of Jesus that are very similar to those I fell victim to recently on the campus of UBC.

I’m sorry, but if you need to trick people into listening to what you have to say, perhaps there’s a problem with what you’re saying.  Also, the last time I checked, lying was a sin.  You know, a falsehood, as in when one portrays Jesus (an African man) as white-skinned.

You can stream the “Bait and Switch” episode of This American Life by clicking here.  Enjoy, and Happy Thanksgiving!

      John Boehner loves him some golf.  A lot apparently,  to the tune of $82,998 this year so far, according to a story on politico.  A funny commercial, that pokes fun at John Boehner’s cluelessness, here because it hits him where it hurts right in his (golf) balls.

    The “Freedom Project political action committee”, John boy’s PAC, has held a number of golf outings at really ritzy golf courses.  I would guess that he has made tens of thousands of dollars for the GOP via his golf outings here.  The article says as much, quoting Don Seymour, a spokesman for Johns PAC, saying that the money…
   

related to events that have raised hundreds of thousands of dollars to help the Freedom Project support Republican candidates for Congress.

       I would talk about it looking like he seems a bit out of touch here with this, but I don’t think this necessarily shows that.  I think his views on actual legislation are a much clearer indicator of his cluelessness about the state of the nation.

    I think he’s a complete schmuck, and i think that it’s great that he has a backup career that doesn’t involve politics when his days in congress are over.  Which one hopes will be relatively soon, 2010 would be a good time for a hearty democratic challenge.  The PGA senior tour could definitely use him.  I hear he is VERY good at playing with his balls in public.   

     ______________________________________________________________ 

     And now for something completely different…

       I tried reading Ayn Rand.  I really did, but it was really truly difficult, and in the end I just gave up.  It wasn’t difficult because she was throwing difficult to comprehend subjects out to be digested.  It’s because she was making ideological points that I disagreed with,  It was because she annoyed the crap out of me.  She wasn’t just an ideologue with delusions of humanity, but she was just so…full of shit.  Allow me a few examples:          

Every government interference in the economy consists of giving an unearned benefit, extorted by force, to some men at the expense of others.

      Is fixing the mess that is Health care in America for example,  an “interference in the economy”, when it is business that is the cause of the problem for which a solution that is necessarily outside of business has to be found?  From my vantage point, it is the business that has created not only interference in the economy, but the need for counter-interference on the governments behalf.

     I’d much rather not have the government do this, but the industry would not, has not, and apparently is unwilling to fix itself.  It shows itself entirely incapable of doing anything but bankrupting the people who are it’s bread and butter. 
   

When I say “capitalism,” I mean a full, pure, uncontrolled, unregulated laissez-faire capitalism—with a separation of state and economics, in the same way and for the same reasons as the separation of state and church.

      I don’t mind regulation, not at all.  We have seen, we have all I think seen the excesses that an unregulated market can create.  A lack of control created by of lack of enforced regulation led to the current economic collapse.  Plain and simple.  Too many people thought about making a buck before putting the ethical considerations of their actions first. 

     Nothing wrong with making a buck, but greed uncontrolled created a monster.  Regulation, along with sensible legislation, would have saved many people much money and much grief.  Lack of regulation, the fall of glass steagel, the end of bretton woods, all of these things and a hundred others led us to the ugly path we are on today.    

Every coercive monopoly was created by government intervention into the economy: by special privileges, such as franchises or subsidies, which closed the entry of competitors into a given field, by legislative action.

       Bullshit. Bullshit on it’s face, bullshit everywhere. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.  Was it government intervention that created the oil monopolies or the railroad monopolies in the 19th century?  No, it was government that ended those monopolies. Did government create the Microsoft monopoly? No. 

     It was special privileges made with under the table deals  to other companies to undercut competition that made standard oil the juggernaut they were, and made it necessary to break Standard oil up.  No government mandated special privileges.  The right has been passing this particular lie off since the gilded age.  No one has bought that bullshit, aside from people who have a vested interest in it, in a generation.

      All that said, I think I want to try again to read her work.  To critique it, to get inside the head of one of the foremost thinkers the right has ever had, to know the arguments from that sharp mind.  If i can get past her bullshit that is, which would clearly be the largest hurdle.

______________________________________________________________ 

That’s it from me. Later!

Today’s Nuggets, by Marcus Aurelius, via wikiquote:  Men seek retreats for themselves, houses in the country, sea-shores, and mountains; and thou too art wont to desire such things very much. But this is altogether a mark of the most common sort of men, for it is in thy power whenever thou shalt choose to retire into thyself. For nowhere either with more quiet or more freedom from trouble does a man retire than into his own soul.

Search men’s governing principles, and consider the wise, what they shun and what they cleave to.

Adapt yourself to the environment in which your lot has been cast, and show true love to the fellow-mortals with whom destiny has surrounded you.

We don’t have an overnight manager at work, We have whats called a “Stock Controller”. The person holding this position is responsible for organizing the team and making sure the job gets done but is ultimately powerless to do much about anything.

Now that we have the description of the position that is the topic of this little entry into what is sure to be a long list of complaints, and angry rants about my version of this thing we call life, I’ll get on with my point.

Roughly 8-9 months ago. Our former Stock Controller Raul moved to another HEB so we got a new one. I was told by the team and Raul that I should apply for the position. Now I have management experience from when I was the 2nd Head Instructor at my old Karate studio but I had only been working the overnight stocking job for a couple months at this point and did not think that I could successfully lead my team of co-workers at this time. Though it’s hindsight now, I’d do anything to go back and take the position because what we got is Pete.

Pete was a former ADM (Assistant Department Manager). I guess you could say his old position was kind of like Dwight’s in The Office, “The Assistant To The Regional Manager”. Pete supposedly lost his position because he was having intercourse with an employee (go Pete!), But he wasn’t. He actually got beat up by his employees for being a giant cunt.

By the 2nd day of Pete’s presence on the night crew there were problems, He screamed at us for the music we played, Cursed at inanimate objects like the telephone or doorbell when they sounded and all around sucked at his job. This motherfucker was barely stocking 45 cases an hour. The minimum is 85, I’m on record at 197. After months of the team and I complaining, Pete has finally been asked to step down from his position. For the entire time span of these said complaints I was promised the position. Did I get the position? Nope, Joe did. Now I have no problem with Joe getting the position, He’s been at the store for 5 years and he know what he’s doing but it’s the principal of the issue.

A. I’ve been promised it for over 6 months.
B. Everyone at the store knew I wanted it.
C. Up until this week Joe claimed to have no desire for the position whatsoever.

I am going to file a grievance against our manager for not posting the position. I’ll update everyone when I have more news on the topic. I suppose that’s all for now… I just needed to let off some steam.

I’ve never liked The Beatles. Even as a kid there was something condescending in their melodies and lyrics. I felt like a dog watching a ball bounce, my head forcibly nodding against the staccato handclapping and harmonized shouts of cheer. I didn’t have a fully formed world view, but I knew by instinct it was piffle to say “Nothing you can know that isn’t known/ Nothing you can see that isn’t shown.” There’s a folksy egotism in their cheerfulness; as if the universe exists simply because we’re here to witness it, and that fact should be sung out loud.

When I heard “Nobody Told Me” for the first time I started to get an inclination of what I felt was missing. I really like John Lennon’s solo records, but The Beatles make my teeth clinch. You’ve heard before about all the attendant dishonesty and hucksterism that built up The Beatles, in every bit the same way as have been New Kids on the Block, The Backstreet Boys, N’Sync, and the Jonas Brothers.

They began a bunch of woefully ambitious teenagers with Little Richard in their eyes. After playing local coffee shops and eeking out a meager tour in Germany, they hire Bruce Epstein, whom Paul McCartney would later call the real “fifth Beatle.” With Epstein’s help, the milky and red-lipped runts started wearing suits, won a record contract, and kept playing regular gigs with Epstein covering expenses. And then the kindling of dimples, eternal love, and an E Major caught fire and turned them into something like a sneeze, but even better.

In the first album review I ever wrote, I wondered what a fifteen year-old really has to share with the world. I asked it of Miley Cyrus, but I think the question deserves to be asked of The Beatles. They formed as miscreant teenagers, hung on long enough to find a similarly hungry manager, and won themselves a podium in front of the world before they’d even really had a chance to live. I don’t mind being sung to by teenagers, but I’d prefer they do it in a voice that’s their own. The Beatles sound chillingly impersonal to me. They sound like a bunch of sophomores with big lungs and an ear for form, unconvicted smiles and headbobs to accompany songs about loving someone forever.

Their music sounds cold and alien to me, the pious augmented chords from the hymnal conflated with the sing-along major chords of Gilbert and Sullivan. Even when there was nothing else like it, The Beatles still bore the stiff structures of their deathly boring antecedents in proper British culture.

It’s bizarre to see how many people still like The Beatles, and seem to do so without having much thought about why. In most company it goes almost without having to ask, it’s simply assumed that you’ll like them. We all do.

I’ve been called a bullshit artist by a lot of people. My friend S, upon first meeting me, used to peer at me suspiciously when we talked because she was always trying to figure out if I was being serious or not. It’s an easy trick to look someone in the eye and tell them something of which you have no serious understanding.

It’s a pretty idea to imagine we’re rational creatures who communicate through intellect, experience, and exchange. But people are just as prone to believe something based on the way it sounds, or how pretty is the box in which it comes. Go read a newspaper, watch a news show and listen to how much unfounded assertion there is in the daily life. And listen to your friends, co-workers, and family members parrot these assertions which they’ve internalized, not because they’re true, but because they arrived with some startling force and conviction.

I often wonder if I could get away with writing articles whose factuating hyperlinks point to nonsense. I could make a claim about the civil war in Sri Lanka and link to a clip of Looney Tunes just as easily as I could a news story from the AP. Alternately, I could write something filled with daggers and venom about some political conspiracy whose supporting texts were dense thickets, 10,000 word think tank reports which needed to be fished through to discover the one relevant passage which, I’d inevitably be mischaracterizing.

But if things sounds true, based on some subliminal animal response to tone of voice, diction, body language, and insinuation, then they becomes true.  Perception is reality. I wish I could have created a compilation of the reactions I’ve gotten in telling people that I don’t really like The Beatles. The blank disbelieving eyes, the head turned to the side in mistrust. I told my friend C that The Beatles were church music with a backbeat and he’s made it into a refrain whenever I see him.

When I was twelve I was in love with Milli Vanilli. For a year or two, their first album became the candy coating on my pre-teen ennui. I doped myself with their music, feeding hopeless crushes that stretched towards infinity, and daydreams about another summer vacation. I didn’t know anything. My conscious life had unfolded in a quiet suburb measured in bicycle routes. The only scandals I knew were about neighbors divorcing or kids throwing parties when their parents were out of town. It was a simpler time, one that placated my sense for bullshit. It lasted for a while, but as soon as I started listening to another generation’s bullshit, I realized I was already covered in it.

No siiss HALLELUUJAH! Että me abit ollaan itketty ja potkittu ja kiljuttu niitä ABIverkkareita ja BEHOLD! Tämä tyttö tanssi ekaks onnen tanssin joka ikävästi muistutti tiputanssin ja O(poika):n tanssilta tiputanssi vs tiptap joulu tanssi.

NO siinä oli minä ja kuva tietty ei kääntynyt, epic fail?

NO sitte kvin yksi ihana päivä, vissii Olgan synttäreil tutkii sen kaappia ja vein kauheesti vaatteita poism ja viimeks tuli kenkien vuoro Sain Baby Olgalta sen nilkkurit jotka mä sitte ihanasti PIMP

ME SO LIKEY PP

NO mutta olen iloinene, enään jäljellä tää helvetin koeviikko. Huomenna kivasti sairaalaan nukutukseen, joku vitun tutkimus tehään :S ja Pe FABRICII Et tää tyytö viel joutuu joku kaunis pv AA-kerhoon. Ja tietty kaikkien abien kaa!!!

Autokouluki alko kivasti. Poliisilaitos EI suostu myöntää mulle korttii, on sellanen kutina persees

Yay! A response to one of a gajillion forwardies going around that make me wanna gnaw on lead pipes full of asbestos. I’ve gotten all of them, at least once each from my 3 best friends and twice each from my dad.

Crazy Christian Chain Emails

How is it that a 15 year old child can see what Adults are missing?

WRITTEN
BY A 15 yr. Old SCHOOL KID IN ARIZONA
:

New Pledge of Allegiance (TOTALLY AWESOME) !
Since the Pledge of Allegiance
And The Lord’s Prayer
Are not allowed in most Public schools anymore
Because the word ‘God’ is mentioned….
A kid in Arizona wrote this

NEW School prayer :
Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule
For this great nation under God
Finds mention of Him very odd.
If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.
And anytime my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.
Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That’s no offense; it’s a freedom scene.
The law is specific, the law is precise.
Prayers spoken aloud are a serious vice.
For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all.
In silence alone we must meditate,
God’s name is prohibited by the state.
We’re allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks..
They’ve outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.
To quote the Good Book makes me liable.
We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the ‘unwed daddy,’ our Senior King.
It’s ‘inappropriate’ to teach right from wrong,
We’re taught that such ‘judgments’ do not belong.
We can get our condoms and birth controls,
Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.
But the Ten Commandments are not allowed,
No word of God must reach this crowd.
It’s scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school’s a mess.
So, Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; My soul please take!
Amen
If you aren’t ashamed to do this,
Please pass this on.
Jesus said, ‘If you are ashamed of me,
I will be ashamed of you before my Father.’

Not ashamed.

Joseph calls this email “…a complaint about Christians not being allowed to nag other people for their body piercings and other important matters.” Spot on, dude. I’d say it reveals the massive sense of entitlement a lot of Christians have from having been the favored group for so long. They’re spoiled, and like most spoiled people throwing their asses in the air about having to share for once, they can be very childish. Let’s look at this thing, shall we?

WRITTEN
BY A 15 yr. Old SCHOOL KID IN ARIZONA

First off, I’m calling bullshit on this one. If a teenager really wrote this, they either had tons of “help” from an adult or are the lamest teenager ever. The word choice is not that of a young person. At least, not one from this century.

New Pledge of Allegiance (TOTALLY AWESOME) !

Nuh-uh.

Now I sit me down in school
Where praying is against the rule

No it’s not. Really.

If Scripture now the class recites,
It violates the Bill of Rights.

Now? The Bill of Rights was written over 200 years ago, and mandatory prayer/scripture recitation in public school always been a violation of the establishment clause. It just hasn’t been enforced as such until relatively recently.

And anytime my head I bow
Becomes a Federal matter now.

No it doesn’t. If your school makes you, then it is. If you want to pray on your own or with a group of friends outside of class time, that’s totally legal and, as long as you’re not disrupting others, they can’t stop you. You know, freedom scene and all that.

Our hair can be purple, orange or green,
That’s no offense; it’s a freedom scene.

Actually, some schools have had dress codes prohibiting hair dyed unnatural colors. I don’t have any stats off-hand to back that up, but if my high school tried to do it in the 90s, there had to have been others doing the same thing. Totally off-topic, but our administration’s reasoning was that hair dyed colors like green and blue was associated with gang activity. Because our rural Kansas town had such a big gang problem. Student Council went to the school board and got the rule changed, so the one person who had been suspended because of the rule (who was an Alternative guy, not in a gang) could come back to school with his hair green.

For praying in a public hall
Might offend someone with no faith at all.

And heaven forbid (pun intended) we should try to be respectful of others at school. I mean, if someone wants to dress up in a Klan outfit and chase around their African-American classmates with a noose, they totally could, right? Freedom scene, no? No? Okay, then. Adolescence is hard enough without being singled out on a daily basis for not believing the same thing as most of the people around you.

We’re allowed to cuss and dress like freaks,
And pierce our noses, tongues and cheeks..

Again, dress codes. And in what high school are students allowed to just swear any old time? Shit, my high school was pretty lenient (open lunch, no hall passes, off-campus classes and work release that meant there were usually people coming and going in their vehicles and wandering around the school at all times) and we still had that rule. Plus, anyone who would write this is not someone I’d trust to discern what “dress[ing] like freaks” means.

They’ve outlawed guns, but FIRST the Bible.

Wait. The writer is saying it’s a bad thing that teenagers in high school can’t go around carrying guns on their persons like vigilantes? The Old West wasn’t that much fun, and I’ll bet Laura Ingalls never let her students come into the one-room schoolhouse armed with revolvers. And again, the Bible isn’t banned.

We can elect a pregnant Senior Queen,
And the ‘unwed daddy,’ our Senior King.

Please. Everybody knows the popular kids get abortions.

We can get our condoms and birth controls,

Birth controls? And if these schools are just giving out contraceptives, why do we have pregnant Senior Queens? Use that shit, kids!

Study witchcraft, vampires and totem poles.

I think the writer has mistaken learning about something for being taught to accept that thing as a religious belief. Totem poles are a legitimate part of any comprehensive (North) American history class, and there are any number of books, plays, and short stories about vampires and witchcraft that could be included in an English course. For that matter, the Bible can be taught about (as long as it’s not being preached) in a literature or history class. Again, just learning about something doesn’t mean it has to become an integral part of one’s belief system. Also, vampires are imaginary.

It’s scary here I must confess,
When chaos reigns the school’s a mess.

Actually, schools seem to be less lenient these days than they used to be.

So, Lord, this silent plea I make:
Should I be shot; My soul please take!

Two things:
1- I thought you said they’d banned guns.
2- If I get shot, what I’d really like is to be taken to a hospital and be operated on and/or sewn up and survive, not for “the Lord my soul to take.” It’s entirely possible to survive being shot; ask 50 Cent.

If you aren’t ashamed to do this,
Please pass this on.

That again.

Jesus said,
‘If you are ashamed of me,
I will be ashamed of you before my Father.’

Yep, that too.

Not
ashamed.

Okay. We get it. Stop.

Okay, how many times have I had to say this, and in how many ways? When you are asked to respect others’ beliefs/practices/hairdos/whatever, that doesn’t mean that you’re being discriminated against. Having to give up your unearned privilege does not mean you’re being picked on; it means you’re playing by the same rules as everyone else for once. Put yourself in someone else’s shoes, blah blah blah. Score, people:

Untrue/unprovable/just plain dodgy statements presented as fact
Seriously, learn the fucking law pertaining to the First Amendment. If you need help, the ACLU will be glad to let you know all about the issue.
Out of the Mouths of Babes
If this was actually written by a fifteen-year-old, I’ll eat my non-existent hat.
Pass This Along- If You Aren’t Ashamed
Over and over.

More to come, because it makes me feel better.

M4GW

The Tonka Report Editor’s Note: A little sense of humor goes a long way… – SJH

A venit perioada tezelor. Toata lumea se agita, ah da, defapt nu numai a tezelor, a tuturor testelor, ascultarilor si oriceee. Asa, continuand, toata lumea se agita, invata, lucreaza ca doar nah’ sa ia nota mare la teza ca altfel nu vine Mosu’(va zic din proprie experienta). Si, eu aici respectiva, de clasa a 8 a, am de dat teza la romana, matematica si istorie/geografie (moi istorie). Si da-i frate, acum ultima saptamana dinaintea tezelor, toata lumea te forteaza ca sunt si ultimele 2-3 saptamani pana la vacanta si trebuie sa avem macar doua note la fiecare obiect.

Saptamana asta e teribila. Luni, am facut recapitulare la romana pentru teza, si am avut si test la chimie, la care, Doamne sa ma ierte, da sper sa iau o nota decenta. Passing by, astazi, am avut test la fizica, am luat 9 ca am gresit o amarata de grila, si m-a ascultat la istorie. Maine, maine iar e ultima zi de recapitulare la romana pentru ca vineri, the big day, dam teza. Joi, o zi mai linistita, dar ajungi acasa, te odihnesti si da-i si repeta ca ai teza a doua zi. Vineri, za big day, teza la romana, de invatat la geografie, de invatat la istorie, de repetat un referat ca sa-l prezinti in fata scolii, test la germana. Cat mai cred profesorii astia ca mai putem duce? La modul cel mai serios, zic. Daca o tinem asa, in doua saptamani suntem morti. Slava Domnului, ca luni nu facem scoala si stam acasa si marti e 1 decembrie, ziulica Romaniei si iar acasa. Dar dupa, teza la mate si istorie. Domnu’ sa ne ajute!

Le cam urasc, voi nu ?

(Of teveel blogs lezen, of teveel op Twitter zitten…)

If a museum is a place that collects antiquities and artwork as well as a random assortment of items with questionable historical significance, then where’s the actual Muse? I get that others are supposed to be inspired by what came before, but what if they’re not. I know I’m certainly not most of the time, so there must be others like me.

S'mores are more filling than art and have half the calories.

I walk into a museum and unless theres an actual exhibit concerning something that I’m interested in such as Vikings, Pie, or the creation of the S’more, then it’s highly unlikely that I’ll be anything but bored. The occasional bit of history is nice, but the presentation half the time leaves something to be desired.

With art, you need an art history degree or to be so into bullshit and gullible that you’ll accept anything as art. At this point I don’t think that art has any meaning anymore – it may for the artist and he occasional individual, but now it’s just degenerated into a contest to see who’s the better bullshitter. Whoever is more capable at talking up a piece of “work” is the better artists, so are they really artists or con artists?

Added to that is the fact that art is subjective, so anything can have any meaning to anyone. A simple picture of a cross, the kind Jesus was strung up on, can mean hope and salvation to another, oppression and tyranny to a second, and stupidity and blindness to a third. Of course that fact has led a number of artist to go for shock factor alone by using such things as blood and feces for their chosen medium. They then of course go and use such to make depictions of the Virgin Mary etc.

Regardless of the shock value or the result that comes out of an artist’s work, shouldn’t museums seek to include those things (noun: person, place, thing or idea) that influenced an artist to create the piece they did? A museum should display actual muses with the art, so that someone with an art or history or heaven forbids an art history degree can get an idea of what was driving the artist.

Shouldn’t museums provide some sort of filling and not just feeling – or both because every time I always leave and just feel empty, out $20 and two hours.

In the Bullshit Department, a businessman can’t hold a candle to a clergyman. ‘Cause I gotta tell you the truth, folks. When it comes to bullshit, big-time, major league bullshit, you have to stand in awe of the all-time champion of false promises and exaggerated claims, religion. No contest. No contest. Religion. Religion easily has the greatest bullshit story ever told. Think about it. Religion has actually convinced people that there’s an invisible man living in the sky who watches everything you do, every minute of every day. And the invisible man has a special list of ten things he does not want you to do. And if you do any of these ten things, he has a special place, full of fire and smoke and burning and torture and anguish, where he will send you to live and suffer and burn and choke and scream and cry forever and ever ’til the end of time!

But He loves you. He loves you, and He needs money! He always needs money! He’s all-powerful, all-perfect, all-knowing, and all-wise, somehow just can’t handle money! Religion takes in billions of dollars, they pay no taxes, and they always need a little more. Now, you talk about a good bullshit story. Holy Shit!

But I want you to know something, this is sincere, I want you to know, when it comes to believing in God, I really tried. I really, really tried. I tried to believe that there is a God, who created each of us in His own image and likeness, loves us very much, and keeps a close eye on things. I really tried to believe that, but I gotta tell you, the longer you live, the more you look around, the more you realize, something is fucked up.

Something is wrong here. War, disease, death, destruction, hunger, filth, poverty, torture, crime, corruption, and the Ice Capades. Something is definitely wrong. This is not good work. If this is the best God can do, I am not impressed. Results like these do not belong on the resume of a Supreme Being. This is the kind of shit you’d expect from an office temp with a bad attitude. And just between you and me, in any decently-run universe, this guy would’ve been out on his all-powerful ass a long time ago. And by the way, I say “this guy”, because I firmly believe, looking at these results, that if there is a God, it has to be a man.

No woman could or would ever fuck things up like this. So, if there is a God, I think most reasonable people might agree that he’s at least incompetent, and maybe, just maybe, doesn’t give a shit. Doesn’t give a shit, which I admire in a person, and which would explain a lot of these bad results.

So rather than be just another mindless religious robot, mindlessly and aimlessly and blindly believing that all of this is in the hands of some spooky incompetent father figure who doesn’t give a shit, I decided to look around for something else to worship. Something I could really count on.

And immediately, I thought of the sun. Happened like that. Overnight I became a sun-worshipper. Well, not overnight, you can’t see the sun at night. But first thing the next morning, I became a sun-worshipper. Several reasons. First of all, I can see the sun, okay? Unlike some other gods I could mention, I can actually see the sun. I’m big on that. If I can see something, I don’t know, it kind of helps the credibility along, you know? So everyday I can see the sun, as it gives me everything I need; heat, light, food, flowers in the park, reflections on the lake, an occasional skin cancer, but hey. At least there are no crucifixions, and we’re not setting people on fire simply because they don’t agree with us.

Sun worship is fairly simple. There’s no mystery, no miracles, no pageantry, no one asks for money, there are no songs to learn, and we don’t have a special building where we all gather once a week to compare clothing. And the best thing about the sun, it never tells me I’m unworthy. Doesn’t tell me I’m a bad person who needs to be saved. Hasn’t said an unkind word. Treats me fine. So, I worship the sun. But, I don’t pray to the sun. Know why? I wouldn’t presume on our friendship. It’s not polite.

I’ve often thought people treat God rather rudely, don’t you? Asking trillions and trillions of prayers every day. Asking and pleading and begging for favors. Do this, gimme that, I need a new car, I want a better job. And most of this praying takes place on Sunday His day off. It’s not nice. And it’s no way to treat a friend.

But people do pray, and they pray for a lot of different things, you know, your sister needs an operation on her crotch, your brother was arrested for defecating in a mall. But most of all, you’d really like to fuck that hot little redhead down at the convenience store. You know, the one with the eyepatch and the clubfoot? Can you pray for that? I think you’d have to. And I say, fine. Pray for anything you want. Pray for anything, but what about the Divine Plan?

Remember that? The Divine Plan. Long time ago, God made a Divine Plan. Gave it a lot of thought, decided it was a good plan, put it into practice. And for billions and billions of years, the Divine Plan has been doing just fine. Now, you come along, and pray for something. Well suppose the thing you want isn’t in God’s Divine Plan? What do you want Him to do? Change His plan? Just for you? Doesn’t it seem a little arrogant? It’s a Divine Plan. What’s the use of being God if every run-down shmuck with a two-dollar prayerbook can come along and fuck up Your Plan?

And here’s something else, another problem you might have: Suppose your prayers aren’t answered. What do you say? “Well, it’s God’s will.” “Thy Will Be Done.” Fine, but if it’s God’s will, and He’s going to do what He wants to anyway, why the fuck bother praying in the first place? Seems like a big waste of time to me! Couldn’t you just skip the praying part and go right to His Will? It’s all very confusing.

So to get around a lot of this, I decided to worship the sun. But, as I said, I don’t pray to the sun. You know who I pray to? Joe Pesci. Two reasons: First of all, I think he’s a good actor, okay? To me, that counts. Second, he looks like a guy who can get things done. Joe Pesci doesn’t fuck around. In fact, Joe Pesci came through on a couple of things that God was having trouble with.

For years I asked God to do something about my noisy neighbor with the barking dog, Joe Pesci straightened that cocksucker out with one visit. It’s amazing what you can accomplish with a simple baseball bat.

So I’ve been praying to Joe for about a year now. And I noticed something. I noticed that all the prayers I used to offer to God, and all the prayers I now offer to Joe Pesci, are being answered at about the same 50% rate. Half the time I get what I want, half the time I don’t. Same as God, 50-50. Same as the four-leaf clover and the horseshoe, the wishing well and the rabbit’s foot, same as the Mojo Man, same as the Voodoo Lady who tells you your fortune by squeezing the goat’s testicles, it’s all the same: 50-50. So just pick your superstition, sit back, make a wish, and enjoy yourself.

And for those of you who look to The Bible for moral lessons and literary qualities, I might suggest a couple of other stories for you. You might want to look at the Three Little Pigs, that’s a good one. Has a nice happy ending, I’m sure you’ll like that. Then there’s Little Red Riding Hood, although it does have that X-rated part where the Big Bad Wolf actually eats the grandmother. Which I didn’t care for, by the way.

And finally, I’ve always drawn a great deal of moral comfort from Humpty Dumpty. The part I like the best? “All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” That’s because there is no Humpty Dumpty, and there is no God. None, not one, no God, never was. In fact, I’m gonna put it this way. If there is a God, may he strike this audience dead! See? Nothing happened. Nothing happened? Everybody’s okay? All right, tell you what, I’ll raise the stakes a little bit. If there is a God, may he strike me dead. See? Nothing happened, oh, wait, I’ve got a little cramp in my leg. And my balls hurt. Plus, I’m blind. I’m blind, oh, now I’m okay again, must have been Joe Pesci, huh? God Bless Joe Pesci. Thank you all very much. Joe Bless You!

When I got this matchbook, as soon as I saw the building and the address, I said to myself (and my cat):

“I bet its that fucking Scientology building!”

Sure enough, the poor Hotel Christie has been turned into a Scientology Test Center. I used to work next door to it at the Egyptian Theater, and I remember trying to dodge “The Cult” while running to get to work on time.

Even though Scientology is a bunch of bullshit, I do give them props for their rehabilitation of old buildings. They really do fix them up nicely while trying to keep any historical attributes.

But it’s still a fucking cult.

So back to the Hotel Christie. It was built in 1922 and it was the first luxury hotel in Hollywood. Charles H.V. Christie was a Canadian that came here to make movies and opened up a little studio there on Hollywood Blvd. that made comedies. They used their earnings from that to open the Hotel Christie.

Look! A view to a kill from inside the Hotel Christie!

The Hotel Christie/Scientology Test Center is featured in one of my most FAVORITE movies of all time – “Reflections of Evil”. I found a clip on You Tube with the Hotel Christie scenes, starting at 0:09 second (where Bobby has a fit) and it’s featured in the background when the black guy is having a meltdown.

I bet Xenu enjoyed the Cocktail Lounge & Grill at the Hotel Christie!

Sitter og rocker for øyeblikket..

Forsvant visst jeg..But im back bitches! Sitter nå og rocker ut til Breaking Benjamin, en av mine favoritt bands, annbefales! Ellers i det siste har egentlig ganske mye skjedd. Lørdag jobbet jeg for harde livet og måtte nesten løpe hjem for å gjøre meg klar til bursdagsfeiringen til Line. Var litt ukomfortabelt, egentlig, siden jeg kun kjente Line der. Men etter litt smisking klarte jeg å “lokke” en arbeidskollega der til, men først måtte jeg ut på kjøretur med han, haha! Var morsomt det.. Spesielt når vi kommer tilbake og Line er dritings og ler seg ihel av alt mulig, spesielt seg selv. Var utrolig kos!

Søndagen var jo egentlig bare daffere enn daffest, våknet halv 4 om dagen. (Shit!) Og brukte egentlig tiden min foran TV’en.

Å herregud, i natt våknet jeg kl. 04.40 av at jeg satt meg opp i sengen i skrekk fordi jeg trodde jeg hadde forsovet meg, adrenalin er aldri bra å ha når du ikke er våken! I dag har jeg brukt tiden min på jobb, og ifølge NK’en (Nest kommanderende) er jeg rå, haha. huff. Uansett, så var jeg den som åpnet butikken, det vil si at jeg var den som låste opp osv. Og selvfølgelig er jeg på jobb litt tidligere enn oppført bare for å passe på at alt går smooth, og for andre gang har en av mine kollegaer skremt livskitten ut av meg mens jeg står med hodet inni safen og de sniker seg innpå, fy faen!

Er nok jobb imorgen og, og nå sitter jeg her trøtt og jævlig så hopper snart til sengs tenker jeg vel..