It has been brought to my attention that practically all of my blogs have something to do with dating or such subjects, which might give the wrong impression that I am obsessed with it. I wish to dispel these thoughts with an affirmation that I am not obsessed, just concerned that it's something that I'm supposedly supposed to be doing, and I have no idea how to go about the thing. It is a great nuisance. And seeing as this is the place where people are most likely to listen to me (seeing as they can do it when they have a free moment and not when I do), I gravitate toward talking about the thing that I need to understand, but few people truly want to discuss in person, that being dating. The the poor blog yellow lives seems like it would be better named yellow laments on a dating theme. That's a long name, though, so I think I'll stay with yellow lives. Who knows, it might just be a stage I'm going through.
That being said, I wondered if you could clear up a few of my nutritional doubts. I've never heard of any class of study released by the DDA or the RNA or the BFD concerning my questions, but I believe that they are worth considering, especially in this world rife with junk food and little relinquishes in good judgement in nutrition. That's right, there's something that must be done.
No one knows what's more healthy. M&M's that have peanuts, or plain M&M's. What's a guy to do? I contest that one could show that because of the protein content of the peanut in the larger and crunchier version of the M&M, the peanut variety is of much better value than that of the plain. These things are important. Imagine if a professional body builder approached a vending machine, to spend countless seconds worrying about whether the plain or the peanut will help his all ready rippling muscles ripple a little more? And what of the poor geek who comes to find himself in front of the coin alter, ready to give forth his tinkling little silver circles, the jangling of those coins being inserted to an insatiable machine an ode to the power of the digestive apparatus? What of him, as soon as his coins are set and the die is cast, what is he to do as he debates the future of those bright yellow packages? How is he to know, what will be his guide in finding the right nutritionally deficit experience? There is a definite need to look into these things.
This month would be the perfect opportunity for the emergence of such a study. I thought, as I wandered over to the forbidden but inviting cauldron of Halloween snacks, how can I know which one of these will add the least to an all ready overspilling body? Which can be taken with the least amount of guilt? Though I dread the answer that a truly scientific study is sure to give because the answer will always be the most detestable to the taste, there is something to be said for knowing exactly what badness is the least bad for you. It's like quantifying and classifying a sin. I think it would be very beneficial. Imagine if you could prove that recess peanut butter cups proved to have one percent less saturated fat than any other comparable candy bar, or candy circle. Suddenly one could participate in one percent more of such a good thing without guilt. Because, after all, it's not as bad as things that other people are eating.
It might also make recovery of an addict a little easier. Just like one addicted to smoking can use nicotine gum or those little patches, an addict to chocolate could use recess peanut butter cups to slowly cut back. This would make the meetings of groups like "Smokers anonymous" or "chocolate lovers anonymous" so much better. "Hi, my name is Major Bubbles, and I'm only eating one cup a day." It would be a wonderful change. And, as the end of the meeting, people could eat just the delicious peanut butter middle, to show their amazing ability to deny chocolate.
I think the world needs this study. We have a right to know. Let us rise up and demand this knowledge. We need to know as a people.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Yellow Love
My dear friends, you need not be alarmed that herein you will find an accounting of one yellow Major falling in love and having all of the natural though sappy comments to make about such thing. In fact, it seems as if I am only looking for a way to explain myself, more for my benefit than for the entertainment of anyone else. I am at the end of it all one who enjoys communication, and the inability to correctly portray what I want said in the power or the raw and powerful spoken word begs me seek escape to the refined and editable (not edible, I know that editable is probably not a real word, but you get the idea.) world of the written. I am glad that we've been given such a medium. Otherwise all my emotions that are truly strong would probably be presented in a bumbling and incoherent manner. As you can tell, this is a more serious blog than others of my writing.
I begin by saying that each type of person seems especially susceptible to different types of love stages. In each of us there is a tendency to cling to something on our way to love, something inside us that begs to be seen, that refuses to be let go, and will cling to our very persona until we satiate the beast, placate it, or overcome it all together. The last is the hardest, when speaking of our innermost tendencies, the philosophies that we believe in on the edge of conscious thought, the type that never comes to light unless we analyze, unless we take time to step away from our emotions (something that I have still not achieved) and look objectively at the world. The problem is, as a yellow, or perhaps as a person, I find this a near impossible feat: an objective look at my emotions. The great poets and writers have accomplished it, detailing their feelings to a point that is uncanny, but I have not that genius. No, my friends, this is just an attempt to describe the raging that any one of us may go through, the type of silent battle that none but ourselves, the Spirit, and perhaps our mothers, truly know about. It's the steps on the way to love.
I know there's different styles to approaching such a thing. There are those who jump forward, without a care of the consequences. There are those who proceed with caution, carefully analyzing if the risk is worth the possible payoff. There are those who plan endlessly, coming up with new and marvelous plans for winning someone, and there are those to whom the mere whim is enough to spring them to action. I suppose there are those. The point I am trying to make is that people approach attraction differently. I cannot begin to describe the wonderful things associated with each type, because I'm not familiar with all of them. In fact, most people would consider me an inappropriate judge of any type of attraction, never having truly kissed anyone, or had a relation that lasted long enough to be of much note to anyone but myself. The fact remains, though, that I am the author of this blog, and if you don't want to read, you don't have to. But I want to write it.
I am, even in my methods of tackling the question of attraction, a yellow personality. I try to feed those I am attracted to with positive feelings, being a happy person around them, in the hope that the person that I am truly attracted to will notice all of my good qualities and make a move. Yellows, or perhaps I mean myself, can be wondrously hopeful, or perhaps foolish, depending on how you look at it. The idea that the other person will be the first to declare that she (in my case) likes you merely because you're a happy person around her is more than just bad policy, it's problematic. In my experience, the only times that has ever happened, it has been more than uncomfortable for me. Considering the labour that declaring my attraction to anyone causes me, though, either way it's going to be uncomfortable. That would seem a cruel irony, to me. That or a crucial conjunction. The conjunction of pain. (I wouldn't say that because it's going to ruin the way I see that moment in Emperor's New Groove, but it's a cool saying.) The point being, a major flaw in my policy is this endless hope that if I put myself in proximity to the person, eventually the idea of attraction will be mutual, and obvious enough to get me past my doubt to actually doing something. It is, perhaps, one of the more silly policies I have, one that for sure needs to be changed. Oh, but it's so hard. . .
I believe that I have proved that my use of affection is not the most desirable, nor the most intelligent. An interesting thing about yellow love, though, is that it's always hopeful. I can stare at stark proof, knowing with all my head that the truth is there is no chance, but my silly heart just won't let it rest. My head is the logical one, my heart the hopeful one. I see the proof, I can analyze what it means, I can tell the far shot any type of relationship might be, and yet my yellow stained heart refuses to relinquish the idea that it's still possible. I remember what the hope of eternal love being forcibly wrenched from my heart felt like. The hope was there, beautiful to behold, and the removal of that hope once made me feel as if I had been bereft of something more than just a little bit of company, something more than just a good friend. I felt as if something had reached inside and put out a little yellow light in my heart. And my friends wondered why I didn't date much for awhile after that.
Yellows (or at least I), have the tendency of falling for someone hard, as Tolkien Boy said to describe one of his friends. I'm afraid that this hopeful streak allows us to place all on the single bet of love. It makes for cruel disillusionment, but the rebound is every time more and more beautiful, each time something graceful, a work of art to behold, and each time the yellow is crushed, it comes back with an infusion brighter and fiercer than before. I can honestly say that because I felt that light snuffed out once, it's brighter today, and on better days I have no ill feelings because of the brief lapse of darkness. I'm human, so I can't say that this is true all days, I wish it were, but on better days it's true. I have a hope, the true redeeming characteristic of a yellow, more bright today than before. And before I start sounding too much like a politician, let me change the subject.
A yellow (in other words me) has this knack for doing whatever the other person wants. I know that the moment I found out the plans of someone I was particularly attracted to, I started making my plans around that (even though she certainly had no idea). She wants to major in what? Well, what can I do to support that? She wants how many kids? Sounds like a good idea to me. She wants to live where? Well, all right then, sounds like a nice place. . . and on and on. You can see that this particular trait could be dangerous. She's from what religion? Well, if you put it that way. . . There's many a good man who fell that way, and I am particularly susceptible. At one point in my life, I'm saddened to remember, the attitude of putting that one girl first, a girl to whom (or from whom) there was little real commitment, nearly ruined my friendship with my most loyal friend of the time. That being said and recognized, I have guarded myself against it, and hope in the future to be more true to faith and not false hope.
I have rambled enough about special feelings, about that which binds men and women. About attraction, and my bumbling manner of approaching it. I have on purpose left out any sort of indication as to whether this is a specific or generalized case. To be concise, and to kill questioning on the part of my concerned friends, this is both generalized and specific. General because he's one up from a major. Bad joke, and I know it. But, rather, general because it is in my estimation a correct if rambling assessment of my manner of dealing with affection, and specific because the actual push to define myself came from confusion about something in particular. I hope that you, whoever might read this (that means you too, mom) might not lose your esteem for me, and will be forgiving if I act strangely. I am, after all, a human, and not the most adept at expressing something so precious.
As a side note, this blog also revealed an alarming habit of spelling tendency as tendancy. Thank goodness for spell check.
I begin by saying that each type of person seems especially susceptible to different types of love stages. In each of us there is a tendency to cling to something on our way to love, something inside us that begs to be seen, that refuses to be let go, and will cling to our very persona until we satiate the beast, placate it, or overcome it all together. The last is the hardest, when speaking of our innermost tendencies, the philosophies that we believe in on the edge of conscious thought, the type that never comes to light unless we analyze, unless we take time to step away from our emotions (something that I have still not achieved) and look objectively at the world. The problem is, as a yellow, or perhaps as a person, I find this a near impossible feat: an objective look at my emotions. The great poets and writers have accomplished it, detailing their feelings to a point that is uncanny, but I have not that genius. No, my friends, this is just an attempt to describe the raging that any one of us may go through, the type of silent battle that none but ourselves, the Spirit, and perhaps our mothers, truly know about. It's the steps on the way to love.
I know there's different styles to approaching such a thing. There are those who jump forward, without a care of the consequences. There are those who proceed with caution, carefully analyzing if the risk is worth the possible payoff. There are those who plan endlessly, coming up with new and marvelous plans for winning someone, and there are those to whom the mere whim is enough to spring them to action. I suppose there are those. The point I am trying to make is that people approach attraction differently. I cannot begin to describe the wonderful things associated with each type, because I'm not familiar with all of them. In fact, most people would consider me an inappropriate judge of any type of attraction, never having truly kissed anyone, or had a relation that lasted long enough to be of much note to anyone but myself. The fact remains, though, that I am the author of this blog, and if you don't want to read, you don't have to. But I want to write it.
I am, even in my methods of tackling the question of attraction, a yellow personality. I try to feed those I am attracted to with positive feelings, being a happy person around them, in the hope that the person that I am truly attracted to will notice all of my good qualities and make a move. Yellows, or perhaps I mean myself, can be wondrously hopeful, or perhaps foolish, depending on how you look at it. The idea that the other person will be the first to declare that she (in my case) likes you merely because you're a happy person around her is more than just bad policy, it's problematic. In my experience, the only times that has ever happened, it has been more than uncomfortable for me. Considering the labour that declaring my attraction to anyone causes me, though, either way it's going to be uncomfortable. That would seem a cruel irony, to me. That or a crucial conjunction. The conjunction of pain. (I wouldn't say that because it's going to ruin the way I see that moment in Emperor's New Groove, but it's a cool saying.) The point being, a major flaw in my policy is this endless hope that if I put myself in proximity to the person, eventually the idea of attraction will be mutual, and obvious enough to get me past my doubt to actually doing something. It is, perhaps, one of the more silly policies I have, one that for sure needs to be changed. Oh, but it's so hard. . .
I believe that I have proved that my use of affection is not the most desirable, nor the most intelligent. An interesting thing about yellow love, though, is that it's always hopeful. I can stare at stark proof, knowing with all my head that the truth is there is no chance, but my silly heart just won't let it rest. My head is the logical one, my heart the hopeful one. I see the proof, I can analyze what it means, I can tell the far shot any type of relationship might be, and yet my yellow stained heart refuses to relinquish the idea that it's still possible. I remember what the hope of eternal love being forcibly wrenched from my heart felt like. The hope was there, beautiful to behold, and the removal of that hope once made me feel as if I had been bereft of something more than just a little bit of company, something more than just a good friend. I felt as if something had reached inside and put out a little yellow light in my heart. And my friends wondered why I didn't date much for awhile after that.
Yellows (or at least I), have the tendency of falling for someone hard, as Tolkien Boy said to describe one of his friends. I'm afraid that this hopeful streak allows us to place all on the single bet of love. It makes for cruel disillusionment, but the rebound is every time more and more beautiful, each time something graceful, a work of art to behold, and each time the yellow is crushed, it comes back with an infusion brighter and fiercer than before. I can honestly say that because I felt that light snuffed out once, it's brighter today, and on better days I have no ill feelings because of the brief lapse of darkness. I'm human, so I can't say that this is true all days, I wish it were, but on better days it's true. I have a hope, the true redeeming characteristic of a yellow, more bright today than before. And before I start sounding too much like a politician, let me change the subject.
A yellow (in other words me) has this knack for doing whatever the other person wants. I know that the moment I found out the plans of someone I was particularly attracted to, I started making my plans around that (even though she certainly had no idea). She wants to major in what? Well, what can I do to support that? She wants how many kids? Sounds like a good idea to me. She wants to live where? Well, all right then, sounds like a nice place. . . and on and on. You can see that this particular trait could be dangerous. She's from what religion? Well, if you put it that way. . . There's many a good man who fell that way, and I am particularly susceptible. At one point in my life, I'm saddened to remember, the attitude of putting that one girl first, a girl to whom (or from whom) there was little real commitment, nearly ruined my friendship with my most loyal friend of the time. That being said and recognized, I have guarded myself against it, and hope in the future to be more true to faith and not false hope.
I have rambled enough about special feelings, about that which binds men and women. About attraction, and my bumbling manner of approaching it. I have on purpose left out any sort of indication as to whether this is a specific or generalized case. To be concise, and to kill questioning on the part of my concerned friends, this is both generalized and specific. General because he's one up from a major. Bad joke, and I know it. But, rather, general because it is in my estimation a correct if rambling assessment of my manner of dealing with affection, and specific because the actual push to define myself came from confusion about something in particular. I hope that you, whoever might read this (that means you too, mom) might not lose your esteem for me, and will be forgiving if I act strangely. I am, after all, a human, and not the most adept at expressing something so precious.
As a side note, this blog also revealed an alarming habit of spelling tendency as tendancy. Thank goodness for spell check.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Dating Eccentricities
Yes, I know, friends, that an abnormal amount of my blogs happen to focus around the art of courtship (also known as dating), and that this focus is starting to concern many of you. I'm sorry to say that, like a musician harps upon the same thing over and over, my hope is that by analyzing dating minutely, I will one day be able to do it well. That's the idea, anyway. So, never fear, I am not emotionally disturbed.
I chose the topic of dating today because I made a promise to pelirojo that some day I would explain a rather unique point of view that I have. People understand, and you could even say believe, in polygamy, even though they don't admit it or realise it. WHOA! Slow down, there, Major. I think I'm getting ahead of myself. I am in no way saying that we ought to practice polygamy. I can think of any number of reasons why not, the strain on the man or the women being perhaps the biggest one, but I am saying that many people believe in it, even if it's not practiced.
I discovered this after some very observative observation. Can I say that? I was walking from class to class, in my usual cheerful manner, when I happened upon a sight, very common to behold. That's right, I beheld one guy walking with a girl on either side. The normality of this scene was such that I didn't even pause to think about it. But, as I walked and noted not one, two, or even three, but four incidents of the same image, my mind was caught away to ponder upon the intricacies of modern courtship. Truly, it was an interesting image. The most interesting part about it was that the girls didn't seem to mind, and the guy was definitely not opposed, in any of the situations that I saw. Add to this what I beheld last saturday. I was leaving the racquetball arena of the gym, when lo and behold, one guy was playing with two girls. He was losing. But, that was beside the point. The point was that another male arrived on the scene, and I thought "ah, a chance to even the odds!" What a surprise, then when the newcomer was treated coldly, almost as an intrusion. And not just by the other male, but by the females as well. (Is it insulting to refer to a woman as a female?) It was then that my incubated thought broke free of the shell like prison that held it bound, and I realised that the world in general gives the Mormons an exaggerated amount of grief, seeing as most of them believe in it. Once again, I firmly decree that I am in no way trying to push polygamy. I'm just making an observation about odd courtship routines.
Another thing that leads to great confusion is the shoulder pat. I have decided that the universal way a girl tries to tell a guy that she likes him is a shoulder pat. Honestly, this makes me in particular feel like a dog, or some other type of pet. It's almost as if girls have the innate desire to touch those they like (which is understandable and natural), but the shoulder pat is decidedly insensitive. It doesn't fulfill my needs, that's for sure. Then again, a hug might be something that says a little too much and fulfills too many needs, so maybe it's a good thing if we stay with the shoulder pat. If any of you wonderful readers can come up with a plausible replacement for the shoulder pat, I'd love to hear it. Then maybe I can tell the three girls that like me so my shoulder can stop being bruised.
Really, dating is fun. If you think about all of the eccentricities it puts us through, all with the objective of filling a gap and having a good time, I think it's well worth the effort. So, here's hoping you all go out and get your shoulder patted, and good luck to all those non polygamist practicing polygadating!
I chose the topic of dating today because I made a promise to pelirojo that some day I would explain a rather unique point of view that I have. People understand, and you could even say believe, in polygamy, even though they don't admit it or realise it. WHOA! Slow down, there, Major. I think I'm getting ahead of myself. I am in no way saying that we ought to practice polygamy. I can think of any number of reasons why not, the strain on the man or the women being perhaps the biggest one, but I am saying that many people believe in it, even if it's not practiced.
I discovered this after some very observative observation. Can I say that? I was walking from class to class, in my usual cheerful manner, when I happened upon a sight, very common to behold. That's right, I beheld one guy walking with a girl on either side. The normality of this scene was such that I didn't even pause to think about it. But, as I walked and noted not one, two, or even three, but four incidents of the same image, my mind was caught away to ponder upon the intricacies of modern courtship. Truly, it was an interesting image. The most interesting part about it was that the girls didn't seem to mind, and the guy was definitely not opposed, in any of the situations that I saw. Add to this what I beheld last saturday. I was leaving the racquetball arena of the gym, when lo and behold, one guy was playing with two girls. He was losing. But, that was beside the point. The point was that another male arrived on the scene, and I thought "ah, a chance to even the odds!" What a surprise, then when the newcomer was treated coldly, almost as an intrusion. And not just by the other male, but by the females as well. (Is it insulting to refer to a woman as a female?) It was then that my incubated thought broke free of the shell like prison that held it bound, and I realised that the world in general gives the Mormons an exaggerated amount of grief, seeing as most of them believe in it. Once again, I firmly decree that I am in no way trying to push polygamy. I'm just making an observation about odd courtship routines.
Another thing that leads to great confusion is the shoulder pat. I have decided that the universal way a girl tries to tell a guy that she likes him is a shoulder pat. Honestly, this makes me in particular feel like a dog, or some other type of pet. It's almost as if girls have the innate desire to touch those they like (which is understandable and natural), but the shoulder pat is decidedly insensitive. It doesn't fulfill my needs, that's for sure. Then again, a hug might be something that says a little too much and fulfills too many needs, so maybe it's a good thing if we stay with the shoulder pat. If any of you wonderful readers can come up with a plausible replacement for the shoulder pat, I'd love to hear it. Then maybe I can tell the three girls that like me so my shoulder can stop being bruised.
Really, dating is fun. If you think about all of the eccentricities it puts us through, all with the objective of filling a gap and having a good time, I think it's well worth the effort. So, here's hoping you all go out and get your shoulder patted, and good luck to all those non polygamist practicing polygadating!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Tired
I am sleep deprived. Those of you who are familiar with me will not be surprised by this statement. No, it is not because I go to bed at the unearthly hour of three in the morning, as many of my colegic friends are wont to do, nor is it because I awake at an hour as to totally diminish the affect of any early sleeping. Actually, that brings up a good point. Is it possible to get up so early that it doesn't matter anymore how early you went to bed, you still feel tired? I think that would be an groundbreaking study. Eat your hearts out, scientists worldwide.
No, friends, I am deprived because for two nights I went to bed after my bedtime of ten thirty. That's right, I have no stamina whatsoever, and after two nights of retiring to my bad at the unholy hour of eleven thirty (you may feel free to snicker at me) I am stumbling about, eyes glazed and half shut, pale, with drool coming out of my face, and my arms stiff in zombie like mode. It's kind of fun to walk around that way. You should try it sometime.
I mention this for one real reason. I want an excuse to post one of my stellar poems. Okay, it's not my favorite, but I was going through papers that my mom has saved over the years, and I found this pre mission piece. Sometime in the future when I'm a famous writer, there will be specific periods to my writing: Pre-mission, post mission, post matrimonial, etc. It'll be great, and little kids will have to remember dates and everything. Poor kids. If I have anything to say about a class taught about me, I'd make sure that there were very few dates involved. Of course, if you read "Major Bubbles needs a date," you'll probably realise that it's not far from what my real life was like, anyway. (Please DO NOT see that as a plea for a date, because it's just a joke!). Anyway, here we have a classic piece of pre-mission Major Bubbles working in a yellow paper medium, using a medium ballpoint pen. I unveil with pleasure the work "Tired"
Tired
When Bodies are tired
how fares the soul?
Does it fly to heights unmeasured,
or sink to it's lows unknown?
For myself, I know that
at night I find it hard.
My soul is heavy,
weighed with doubt, with worry.
You say that I'm a fool
taking my rest so early.
Leaving my turmoiled conscious
and fleeing back to serenity.
"in the morning," you say,
"you will surely regret
the early night and lost hours.
After all, you still must do much."
Even though I could argue,
show the pros and cons,
I leave the argument
simply at: "How are you?"
In the morning I have strength,
hope dawns over the ridge of despair,
courage at what will be done
filling me. I am light.
"How am I?" you say
repeating my question
as you prepare to rush
on to a world of industry.
The seventh hour, the last hour
finds me resting, healing.
Into my most basic feelings and desires
going further up, and further in.
You stop your hurried pace
and look into my eyes
directly, a pleading look, you concentrate,
open your mouth, and out comes "I'm tired."
Okay, so maybe it was a let down after all of the hype I gave at the first. I mean, I know that it didn't rhyme, that it didn't have a very deep meaning. But, oh well, I wrote it, you've read it, and life is pretty darn good.
Actually, if you don't like this, most artists aren't really popular until after they're dead, so maybe you should wait to pass judgement until a later day! Look for better and different poetry in the future.
No, friends, I am deprived because for two nights I went to bed after my bedtime of ten thirty. That's right, I have no stamina whatsoever, and after two nights of retiring to my bad at the unholy hour of eleven thirty (you may feel free to snicker at me) I am stumbling about, eyes glazed and half shut, pale, with drool coming out of my face, and my arms stiff in zombie like mode. It's kind of fun to walk around that way. You should try it sometime.
I mention this for one real reason. I want an excuse to post one of my stellar poems. Okay, it's not my favorite, but I was going through papers that my mom has saved over the years, and I found this pre mission piece. Sometime in the future when I'm a famous writer, there will be specific periods to my writing: Pre-mission, post mission, post matrimonial, etc. It'll be great, and little kids will have to remember dates and everything. Poor kids. If I have anything to say about a class taught about me, I'd make sure that there were very few dates involved. Of course, if you read "Major Bubbles needs a date," you'll probably realise that it's not far from what my real life was like, anyway. (Please DO NOT see that as a plea for a date, because it's just a joke!). Anyway, here we have a classic piece of pre-mission Major Bubbles working in a yellow paper medium, using a medium ballpoint pen. I unveil with pleasure the work "Tired"
Tired
When Bodies are tired
how fares the soul?
Does it fly to heights unmeasured,
or sink to it's lows unknown?
For myself, I know that
at night I find it hard.
My soul is heavy,
weighed with doubt, with worry.
You say that I'm a fool
taking my rest so early.
Leaving my turmoiled conscious
and fleeing back to serenity.
"in the morning," you say,
"you will surely regret
the early night and lost hours.
After all, you still must do much."
Even though I could argue,
show the pros and cons,
I leave the argument
simply at: "How are you?"
In the morning I have strength,
hope dawns over the ridge of despair,
courage at what will be done
filling me. I am light.
"How am I?" you say
repeating my question
as you prepare to rush
on to a world of industry.
The seventh hour, the last hour
finds me resting, healing.
Into my most basic feelings and desires
going further up, and further in.
You stop your hurried pace
and look into my eyes
directly, a pleading look, you concentrate,
open your mouth, and out comes "I'm tired."
Okay, so maybe it was a let down after all of the hype I gave at the first. I mean, I know that it didn't rhyme, that it didn't have a very deep meaning. But, oh well, I wrote it, you've read it, and life is pretty darn good.
Actually, if you don't like this, most artists aren't really popular until after they're dead, so maybe you should wait to pass judgement until a later day! Look for better and different poetry in the future.
Geek Attack II
Dear blog friends, I just wanted to add to my other blog, and I wanted to make sure that this part would be read, because I think that it's a wonderful point. It was made by Pelirojo, a friend of mine, who most of you probably know, but I thought it was well put, so I'm posting it here. In other words, this brilliance is not mine.
"I agree with you about people becoming more and more connected to there cell phones than to the people behind them.
To many people that have relationships with people via. texts or by email. And then when they try to talk to these people in person they all of a sudden don't have any thing that they can really talk about.
Also it gives boys lame easy ways to get out of simple things like asking girls out on dates. It is so easy to write a email saying what you want it to say or a text that you can sort of edit before it gets to the person that it is intended for. (This part is my mere opinion) This lazy method sort of makes it harder in the long run, when you have hard things to talk about in a real relationship you can not always have well polished and edited conversations with people, that is part of what makes communication so hard.
Another problem is that some time people treat their cell phones better than they do other people. They will drive all the way back home to get there cell phones if they forget it. They will take it out and look at it all the time, or they will hold it all day long. They play games on it and can hardly wait for the moment when some one calls them or they get a message. People feel so incomplete if their cell phone dies. It is practically harder for people to deal with that than the death of a distant relative. It is such a funny thing that we care so much about something so dumb.
There are many many other this that we could attribute to, in our society, this technological revolution. Like the way that we have a higher rate of ADD children because we let them play so many electronic games that go so fast. So when children get in the real world and it goes by in a normal time it is so slow to them and they have problems concentrating. There are also many other problems that can be correlated to the instant gratification lives that we live thanks to the electronic devices that we have. This day and age of instant gratification many relationships are failing because so many things are so easy and fast that when people get into marriage and realize that it is neither easy or fast it becomes to hard and it is just so easy to get a divorce. I mean I know that I am sort of over doing this and making a pretty big mountain out of a molehill, but I think that is sort of the point.
The other horrifying thing that I see coming out of the electrical revolution is the overwhelming increasing in pornography and the affects that we see from that. Which I don't think I need to go into and that I really don't want to go into.
Pelirojo went on to say a few other things, but I think that that will suffice. I think that it's a very smart point. So boys, no lameness (girls, either), and lets get to being connected in real life. I love that! Go smile at someone! No more sending little :). No more! It's going to be a real, in the flesh smile! Okay, that's way too many sentences with exclamations. Have a good day, everyone.
"I agree with you about people becoming more and more connected to there cell phones than to the people behind them.
To many people that have relationships with people via. texts or by email. And then when they try to talk to these people in person they all of a sudden don't have any thing that they can really talk about.
Also it gives boys lame easy ways to get out of simple things like asking girls out on dates. It is so easy to write a email saying what you want it to say or a text that you can sort of edit before it gets to the person that it is intended for. (This part is my mere opinion) This lazy method sort of makes it harder in the long run, when you have hard things to talk about in a real relationship you can not always have well polished and edited conversations with people, that is part of what makes communication so hard.
Another problem is that some time people treat their cell phones better than they do other people. They will drive all the way back home to get there cell phones if they forget it. They will take it out and look at it all the time, or they will hold it all day long. They play games on it and can hardly wait for the moment when some one calls them or they get a message. People feel so incomplete if their cell phone dies. It is practically harder for people to deal with that than the death of a distant relative. It is such a funny thing that we care so much about something so dumb.
There are many many other this that we could attribute to, in our society, this technological revolution. Like the way that we have a higher rate of ADD children because we let them play so many electronic games that go so fast. So when children get in the real world and it goes by in a normal time it is so slow to them and they have problems concentrating. There are also many other problems that can be correlated to the instant gratification lives that we live thanks to the electronic devices that we have. This day and age of instant gratification many relationships are failing because so many things are so easy and fast that when people get into marriage and realize that it is neither easy or fast it becomes to hard and it is just so easy to get a divorce. I mean I know that I am sort of over doing this and making a pretty big mountain out of a molehill, but I think that is sort of the point.
The other horrifying thing that I see coming out of the electrical revolution is the overwhelming increasing in pornography and the affects that we see from that. Which I don't think I need to go into and that I really don't want to go into.
Pelirojo went on to say a few other things, but I think that that will suffice. I think that it's a very smart point. So boys, no lameness (girls, either), and lets get to being connected in real life. I love that! Go smile at someone! No more sending little :). No more! It's going to be a real, in the flesh smile! Okay, that's way too many sentences with exclamations. Have a good day, everyone.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Major Bubbles Needs a Date
Do you think we have a psychological need to go on dates? Maybe there's an unknown gland that suddenly flares to life at teenage years, that constantly sends an impulse up to the brain saying "must go on date" over and over again. I swear, if I could figure out which gland that was, I might just have it removed.
I speak lightly, of course. I love going on dates! I just had to mention it, because I seem to have built up a dependency on them. It's strange, really. Before my mission I could go a very long time without a date, but every once and awhile some hormone or other, or maybe glandular problem would flare up and I would feel biological pressure to go on a date. Maybe, as they say that girls hit the biological clock that calls them to children, I have a biological clock that calls me to dates. Problem is, I have no money, nor ideas of what type of date I would like to go on.
It's uncomfortable, really, having this calling going on, this summons to flirtation, without seeing the most viable form of fulfilling it. I mean, I bet there's lots of girls that I could go out on a date with (or at least I flatter myself to say so) but, questions like "where do I start?, who do I ask, what will I do" and the biggest "how in the world will I pay for it?" plague my mind and fill me full of doubt and uncertainty. It's boggling my mind.
I guess I could spend all of the money I have left and go on a date. A friend of mine, who I will henceforth refer to as Musical G, or maybe just G, invited me to find a date and go surfing. I will admit that I have adventured to go surfing before, but it wasn't of the least embarrassing circumstances I've ever been in. While it is true that I enjoyed myself immensely, I can't help but think that a date situation that is set up to make you look like a complete fool may not be the best idea. I guess that that way it would at least be light hearted. And heaven knows that I want to avoid anything heavy at the moment. Even weights. Ugh, I shudder at the thought.
I could go the way of the average college student. Picnic in the park, frisbee afterwards (though, on a date I am morally opposed to frisbee), a drive through the canyon, all of your basic non-expensive type stuff. As lame as they sound, these options are becoming more and more attractive, if only because they represent a very small economic commitment. Why, oh why, does dating have to be such an ordeal?
I'll end by saying, if you know someone who also needs to go on a date, and is of the female persuasion (and no, I'm not talking about men who are feminine, nor men who like girls. I'm saying a girl. No referencing men, I don't like that), please refer them to me. I can be reached by making a comment on this blog, or by the many other ways of reaching me. So, yeah, this is basically just my technological version of hanging a sign on a billboard, or writing a note in a bathroom that says:
"Call 1 801 Get Date for a good time. Major Bubbles needs a date"
As a post script, and because of the overwhelming support I have recieved from all my friends who read this post, (that's right, all five of you, I'm talking to you) I wish to point out that this blog was created purely for it's humerous affect, and not at all am I desperate for a date. Not that I wouldn't be okay if one of you lovely ladies were to ask. . .
I speak lightly, of course. I love going on dates! I just had to mention it, because I seem to have built up a dependency on them. It's strange, really. Before my mission I could go a very long time without a date, but every once and awhile some hormone or other, or maybe glandular problem would flare up and I would feel biological pressure to go on a date. Maybe, as they say that girls hit the biological clock that calls them to children, I have a biological clock that calls me to dates. Problem is, I have no money, nor ideas of what type of date I would like to go on.
It's uncomfortable, really, having this calling going on, this summons to flirtation, without seeing the most viable form of fulfilling it. I mean, I bet there's lots of girls that I could go out on a date with (or at least I flatter myself to say so) but, questions like "where do I start?, who do I ask, what will I do" and the biggest "how in the world will I pay for it?" plague my mind and fill me full of doubt and uncertainty. It's boggling my mind.
I guess I could spend all of the money I have left and go on a date. A friend of mine, who I will henceforth refer to as Musical G, or maybe just G, invited me to find a date and go surfing. I will admit that I have adventured to go surfing before, but it wasn't of the least embarrassing circumstances I've ever been in. While it is true that I enjoyed myself immensely, I can't help but think that a date situation that is set up to make you look like a complete fool may not be the best idea. I guess that that way it would at least be light hearted. And heaven knows that I want to avoid anything heavy at the moment. Even weights. Ugh, I shudder at the thought.
I could go the way of the average college student. Picnic in the park, frisbee afterwards (though, on a date I am morally opposed to frisbee), a drive through the canyon, all of your basic non-expensive type stuff. As lame as they sound, these options are becoming more and more attractive, if only because they represent a very small economic commitment. Why, oh why, does dating have to be such an ordeal?
I'll end by saying, if you know someone who also needs to go on a date, and is of the female persuasion (and no, I'm not talking about men who are feminine, nor men who like girls. I'm saying a girl. No referencing men, I don't like that), please refer them to me. I can be reached by making a comment on this blog, or by the many other ways of reaching me. So, yeah, this is basically just my technological version of hanging a sign on a billboard, or writing a note in a bathroom that says:
"Call 1 801 Get Date for a good time. Major Bubbles needs a date"
As a post script, and because of the overwhelming support I have recieved from all my friends who read this post, (that's right, all five of you, I'm talking to you) I wish to point out that this blog was created purely for it's humerous affect, and not at all am I desperate for a date. Not that I wouldn't be okay if one of you lovely ladies were to ask. . .
Monday, September 24, 2007
Cold!
I flunked a test today. I just had to start out with that today, because it's the only bad thing that's happened up till this moment in time, one thirty on a blistery cold afternoon. That's right, I went forth and fetched that bad grade. I even did it assertively, in half the time that we were given to complete the test. That's right, I went from no grade to bad grade in a whopping 5o minutes. I'm so excited.
But that's not the topic of my blog today! I thought about many topics that I could share with you today. The topic of this ever increasing in popularity is the weather! I couldn't find a more interesting subject to discuss, so I'll have to talk about this one. Today, I woke, up, rolled out of bed and was, brief pause for dramatic affect, cold! It was amazing! It's been a good two years since I rolled out of bed (that might be because in my mission we slept in hammocks for two years) and was cold. Okay, that's a slight exageration. I think I was cold on one day of my mission. But, still, the point is that it was quite a shock for my poor adjusting body, and I nearly had a heart attack. Also an exageration, but you get my point. It was wonderful! I think that when one is cold, a lot of normal body functions suddenly start to work at peak performance. I mean, not often do you shiver so uncontrolably that you have to consciously flex all of your muscles to keep from falling to the floor. It was an interesting experience. If you ever see someone on the floor, and it's cold, just know that they forgot to flex before the shivers set in. The best way to treat them is to get down on the floor and give them a hug. If you ever see me on the floor, don't worry, I just am trying to get a hug.
But the fun didn't stop there. I got into my hot red little car that some have indeed referred to as a hot red chick car, but seeing as I am neither hot, red, nor a chick, the car will have to be the hot reddy, and I'll go on being Major Bubbles. I got into him (his name is uum, if you'd like to know) and drove to school. It was raining, but I think a few degrees colder, and it might just have started raining down ice. I was cold. That wasn't the best part, though. All of a sudden I realised that I could see my breath! I think that the only possible attraction to smoking (not that there is one) could only be the ability to see some breath like substance at any time in the year. Though, this definately does not give us an excuse to go exude toxin just so we feel cool about seeing our breath. After that complete digression, let me just say that I saw my breath, and was excited. There's something about spraying forth a cloud of visible heated moisture that just makes one giddy inside. I was, indeed, giddy. I loved it.
I have other reasons why I liked the cold today. As the rain clouds cleared and the sun shone down, there was white on the mountains. I could just hear the interjection my Dad would have surely made if he'd been present. "There's snow in them there hills!" Not a good reflection on his grammer capabilities, but a wonderful memory from many years of snow covered mountains. I love the snow. It has been two years since I saw it, so you may imagine my excitement. Go ahead, I give you permision.
And last, but most definately not least, I would like to say, that the cold has a wonderful affect on fashion. I have never seen quite so many dazzling women as I do when it's cold out. I say that because there's something about completely dressed that just makes me get all weak kneed and ready to fall in love at a heartbeat. I love totally dressed women! I make that statement without any wish to insult the mirades of people who like to wear less clothing, I just state it as my opinion that girls (and guys too, for that matter, though I doubt my opinion matters to them) look so much better in plenty of clothing. As clothing becomes a matter of survival as the temperature drops, the fashions begin to change, and in my opinion for the better. At the risk of being risque, I would like to say that a girl in a sweater or sweatshirt can be about the sexiest thing in the planet. Am I allowed to say that on the internet?
Point aside, I love the cold. I hope that all of you go out and enjoy it before it gets too cold, because by then Major Bubbles will probably be found inside sipping hot chocolate and listening to Nat King Cole, or something else. Maybe even Michael Buble. So get out there, enjoy the cold!
But that's not the topic of my blog today! I thought about many topics that I could share with you today. The topic of this ever increasing in popularity is the weather! I couldn't find a more interesting subject to discuss, so I'll have to talk about this one. Today, I woke, up, rolled out of bed and was, brief pause for dramatic affect, cold! It was amazing! It's been a good two years since I rolled out of bed (that might be because in my mission we slept in hammocks for two years) and was cold. Okay, that's a slight exageration. I think I was cold on one day of my mission. But, still, the point is that it was quite a shock for my poor adjusting body, and I nearly had a heart attack. Also an exageration, but you get my point. It was wonderful! I think that when one is cold, a lot of normal body functions suddenly start to work at peak performance. I mean, not often do you shiver so uncontrolably that you have to consciously flex all of your muscles to keep from falling to the floor. It was an interesting experience. If you ever see someone on the floor, and it's cold, just know that they forgot to flex before the shivers set in. The best way to treat them is to get down on the floor and give them a hug. If you ever see me on the floor, don't worry, I just am trying to get a hug.
But the fun didn't stop there. I got into my hot red little car that some have indeed referred to as a hot red chick car, but seeing as I am neither hot, red, nor a chick, the car will have to be the hot reddy, and I'll go on being Major Bubbles. I got into him (his name is uum, if you'd like to know) and drove to school. It was raining, but I think a few degrees colder, and it might just have started raining down ice. I was cold. That wasn't the best part, though. All of a sudden I realised that I could see my breath! I think that the only possible attraction to smoking (not that there is one) could only be the ability to see some breath like substance at any time in the year. Though, this definately does not give us an excuse to go exude toxin just so we feel cool about seeing our breath. After that complete digression, let me just say that I saw my breath, and was excited. There's something about spraying forth a cloud of visible heated moisture that just makes one giddy inside. I was, indeed, giddy. I loved it.
I have other reasons why I liked the cold today. As the rain clouds cleared and the sun shone down, there was white on the mountains. I could just hear the interjection my Dad would have surely made if he'd been present. "There's snow in them there hills!" Not a good reflection on his grammer capabilities, but a wonderful memory from many years of snow covered mountains. I love the snow. It has been two years since I saw it, so you may imagine my excitement. Go ahead, I give you permision.
And last, but most definately not least, I would like to say, that the cold has a wonderful affect on fashion. I have never seen quite so many dazzling women as I do when it's cold out. I say that because there's something about completely dressed that just makes me get all weak kneed and ready to fall in love at a heartbeat. I love totally dressed women! I make that statement without any wish to insult the mirades of people who like to wear less clothing, I just state it as my opinion that girls (and guys too, for that matter, though I doubt my opinion matters to them) look so much better in plenty of clothing. As clothing becomes a matter of survival as the temperature drops, the fashions begin to change, and in my opinion for the better. At the risk of being risque, I would like to say that a girl in a sweater or sweatshirt can be about the sexiest thing in the planet. Am I allowed to say that on the internet?
Point aside, I love the cold. I hope that all of you go out and enjoy it before it gets too cold, because by then Major Bubbles will probably be found inside sipping hot chocolate and listening to Nat King Cole, or something else. Maybe even Michael Buble. So get out there, enjoy the cold!
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