Sunday, November 30, 2014
Fun Fact: it takes fewer muscles to smile than it does to frown.... at a monkey stabbing a zookeeper in the face for farting in the enclosure and yet blaming the horrific smell on the monkey, on take your knife to the zoo and then run in the enclosures with your knife in your pocket yet too loose to guarantee the knife won't fall out day' - own up to your farts y'all, that's all I'm saying
Hi everybody, I believe this is the earliest I have ever gotten around to starting writing this and yet simultaneously by the far the least energy I have to write this. I have just finished a day of shooting for a webseries myself, and various talented friends of mine are making, and the day started at 7:30am and we worked straight through to near on 1am, and frankly I am fucking exhausted. That might well be a whole thirteen straight hours work, but I am so tired that there is frankly zero chance of me being able to count exactly how much time that is. It might be twenty-four hours for all I know, which may be half a day on the new calendar, and time increments, and things of solar and lunar equations, and whatever else comes into consideration for how long days are, because I am so tired, maybe they changed all that shit and I just can’t lock the new info in my brain.
I’m not complaining though, really I mean that. For a bunch of really good reasons:
A – People with real jobs work this hard all the time. So fuck me for even thinking of complaining.
B – It was actually awesome, much of it was super fun, and I very proud of myself and my team for all the work we have done, and the quality of what we pulled off, and overall it is such a positive thing that today was the best day of my life initiative.
C – I’m thinking of not writing the word ‘initiative’ on these all the time, and maybe circulating in other words that I considered when originally crafting this project of mine – words like ‘project’ for example.
D - It’s a well known truth that the first member of a film crew to complain about their workload in a public forum will subsequently become subject to other members of their team reading said complaints and then showing up at the next scheduled work day with harsh, and biting reactions like ‘hey, I worked hard too you know’, ‘yeah it was a hard day wasn’t it’, and ‘that was fun last time aye, I mean it was a long day, but a fun one’ – and frankly I don’t think I could handle those types of insults coming my way anytime soon.
E - My brain is so fucking fried right now that the chances of me coming up with a coherent complaint are about as likely as charmony grolling fracking.
F – I mean seriously? ‘Charmony grolling fracking’, yeah right! I could imagine ‘charmanoy grailling fracking’ obviously, but I don’t think even the deepest of mole people penetrating science moguls would dare even mention the possibility of charmony grolling fracking, so let’s not get insane here people.
G – Or like ‘scheme’ – that’s another synonym for ‘initiative’ I think.
H – Wait I think I just thought of a coherent complaint – I am tired.
I – Oh fuck, I forgot about D, I am going to get it hard on set this week, fuck!
And now, having reached the end of a list of things, I bring you something different, a different list of things, this time things that work better than my brain right now:
- Magnets to help squirrels find their buried nuts.
- Balloon cushions to catch knives dropped from blimps.
- Whipped cream pants.
Oh also if they have changed the calendar I hope one of the months is now called ‘enterprise’ – yep it’s another synonym for initiative! Yay. I think.
Saturday, November 29, 2014
No, those are not the twelve random words as promised in tonight’s blog’s headlining headline, and not just because that list actually includes fourteen words, something that I would be surprised if anyone took specific note of, but would not be surprised if some people went back on to check. Which is kind of super cool actually. I never really expect my blog to actually garner real proper readers. Perhaps the odd person from time to time, but surely not anyone who would not just read this, but take out extra time to count things. Especially that many things. I mean I can imagine that if I wrote:
And then said to you ‘those are not the twelve random words as promised in this blog’s headline’, well then I could imagine people going back to check and count. Because those are pretty clearly not twelve random words. I mean they could be, if several words thrust together, like India was many years ago, at least fourteen, thrust into China, in an almighty crash, forming the Himalayas, and making geographers go ‘aw man, now I have to redraw all my maps’ – and that is very realistic, because there definitely ARE several words hidden within those three. Words – ‘min’, ‘ante’, ‘red’, ‘vigil’, ‘reaming’, ‘ream’, ‘ ante’, ‘la’, ‘cream’ and ‘igilant’ all being very commonly used and obvious examples, and so if we add those to the original three, then what are we up to? Six or seven at least. Plus, those geographers really did have to redraw their maps; you’re hardly going to want one with India floating around the ocean trying to chat up Papua New Guiney? Are you? So I can believe you’d go back and check on those numbers.
Those yes, but I must now point out that that original list of thirteen words listed above, are not the ones promised in the title, and not just because I say so, but because those aren’t ‘random’ words – In fact they were the very important, first to come to my brain, stream of consciousness words that were put there for a very important mission, to get me close to reaching the end of this blog quickly, so I can go to bed, because even though today was quite plainly the best day of my life, it’s been extremely busy, and tomorrow I must get up at the snap of that sunrise dealy, for an even WAY, WAY, WAY busier day. (We’re filming a webseries, which I am sure I will write more about at some other time – although maybe not, who knows what the hell I am capable of, I am damn crazy!
Still, putting aside my mental wellbeing, I definitely did promise twelve random words in this blog, and I shall not be someone who disappoints, so for the record the twelve random words in this blog post as follows:
And the words on THIS least WERE all added at random, after I wrote the rest of this blog. Merely scattered haphazardly within the body of the text, with very little thought other than, ‘I guess that doesn’t fuck up the original sentence too much’. And I will be SHOCKED if anyone goes back to check hat those words are really there, let alone count them. Why the hell would anyone? Take a quick read of the post and move on I say.
Ps. That last list only had eleven words, don’t you people pay attention?
Pps. Poor geographers, it probably took them three or four weeks to redraw all those maps! Then again, sometimes your busiest day is the best day of your life initiative.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Ok, right off the bat I need to talk about the title for this blog. I wrote the number eleven, because this is the eleventh edition of this new blog initiative of mine, which is about living every day as if it’s the best of my life, or at least looking over the past day of my life and thinking about it as if it was the best day of my life, so that I can go to sleep content, and happy, and with a cheerful song in my dreamland forecasts.
Although in reality I often get to this point in the evening and think ‘it shouldn’t be just about thinking back over my day and remembering a negative thing, but choosing now to focus on a positive thought process for it, but rather about during the day focusing on making it the best day of my life, with active in the moment reevaluation, for things like ‘this is hard work, but rather than complain or wish for it to end as soon as possible, I choose in this moment to see the positives, the fact that hard work will make me grow, develop, and evolve even, at least in whatever field the work I am doing is in, and to see any watching for the in the moment benefits and joyful angles.
For nothing is ever completely negative, nor is anything completely positive. Even the dropping of bombs on a village of innocent bystanders created a job for a previously hard on his luck bomb builder, and even winning the whole god damn championship with your indoor squash tournament team requires you to listen to a Queen song you may or may not be in the mood for.
I believe it was Confucius who invented that theory after seeing his brother Yin Yang Confucius, hook up with a butter face, which is a derogatory term I do not care for, because butter is delicious, and makes anything better, so a ‘butter face’ should insinuate deliciousness please, and Confucius upon witnessing this hook up heard ‘We will Rock you’ come on the loud speaker, when to his utter dismay, the drum beat got stuck in his head, and he accidently wrote his next three musings in unnecessary iambic pentameter, which were then heard by William Shakespeare who thought ‘wow, if I remove the line ‘Juliet is considered a butter face’ this play might finally make people identify with Juliet a tad more’.
Which brings me to my point – I want to talk about the title for this post right away, without any dillying nor dallying, two things which I have no idea what mean, where they come from, what context were they first coined, whether or not they have alternative meanings - and equally I do not currently feel like pursuing the game ‘I want to do this right away – so I will delay getting there on purpose for comedic possibilities’.
So I wrote the word ‘eleven’ and then I reached for my late night diet soda (caffeine free, because I am healthy).
Also it just occurred to me that I am making this nightly job seem chorey, as I worry too much about it being ‘good’ – it’s not about that Dave, it’s about positivity and having a little free reined silly stream of consciousness outpour of positivity for fucks sake. Maybe I will go back and add in some silliness, nah fuck that.
Oh by the way ‘musing’ was a word coined by Confucius after he got a lame cliché tattoo of like a circle with a black side with a white dot, and then a white side with a black dot and he thought – ‘damn I better come up with some sort of profound meaning for this tattoo or else I’ll end up having to get it covered with a giant tattoo of a game of ping pong’.
Fucking hell – ok, I wrote eleven – then I picked up my late night diet soda (caffeine free because I am healthy, and want to sleep at some point) – then the next word that came into my mouth, via way of my brain, with a quick inspiration session with my tongue was the word ‘lonely’ – after which I thought ‘throw another ‘L’ word in there and ahoy alliteration. And the first L word I thought of was ‘Leper’.
So there you go – that’s where that came from – I don’t actually want to write about lepers, my day included only minor contact with them, and frankly I don’t find them to be that interesting in the long run – although their arm wrestling contests can be good for a laugh. Zing – nah it’s a horrible, tragic disease.
I just read over this getting ready to post – but then I realized I never got around to writing about my actual day – but on the other hand I did realize I wrote ‘whatever field the work I am’ etc and I wanted to throw in ‘oh shit, I didn’t mean an actual “field”, but like whatever job subsector I am in’ and then it occurred to me ‘oh fuck, that’s where that term came from - “what field do you work in”. People in ancient times must have worked in literal ‘fields’ – and now I am thinking that those people must have just stuck in one field their whole days, if not years, on a specific job – no wonder cows were forced to evolve from eating live swamp rats into eating grass – those lazy field workers never shifted across to feed them. Wait, no I didn’t make that up, that’s clearly another awesome Confucius musing.
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Yes it’s true, I have absolutely no idea what the title I just gave this blog means, I was going to write ‘the dirty dozen minus two’ but then the whole cliché of the dirty dozen line bothered me, so I cleaned it up, so to speak, and only then did I remember that I really don’t need to use the term ‘dozen’ in this, it’s blog number ten damn it, and I made it clear to myself yesterday that I do not need to continue on with this sneaking (forcing) the number into the title, unless I feel like it.
The point is – today was the best day of my life initiative. Oh man, it really was a big day – I am busy, busy, busy these days, that’s three times busy, which is the same number of how many times that lady was a lady in that old song about how many times a lady was a lady. I assume the writer of that song was referring to something intimate, like how many orgasms she had during their recent love making stint, or many chunks her poop needed to be broken up into before getting the whole lot flushed down, but it is all irrelevant why she was a lady, the point was that she was three times that lady, and that’s a lovely thing to be.
I wrote a parody of that song many, many years ago – a good long decade before it ever occurred to me to attempt to write anything that I would like to show any other human beings. It was titled ‘three times a slut’ and it was about a girl who turned out to be quite a slut. I am not proud of this parody, not that I remember it at all, except of course the chorus – you’re once, twice, three times a slut… and IIIIIIIII hate you.
I think if I tried to write that song in this day and age I would probably be hounded down by the PC police, and even though I would never even dream of calling anyone anything that is potentially derogatory or hurtful, but at the time it was quite cathartic and written from deep in my heart – the girl I wrote it about you see, well I kinda liked her a little bit, but even though I never made a single move at her, or on her, or near her – I was quite upset when she chose a different male specimen over me, so I took it out on her with the well trodden teenage angst medium of parody song. That bit of information I just gave then would have been far more impactful had I not given it away earlier in the paragraph, but I don’t have time to go back and do rewrites on this one today.
The point is that you never know what horrible things people have written about you in secret journals, diaries and song lyric notebooks, so you may as well premeditatedly hate them for it. Now wait, maybe it’s that judge not he who throws rocks at glass houses, because how the fuck is that line in the bible? In all the things I have seen written, and spoken about the bible, no one ever mentions a drug addicts force cleaning your windscreen with dirty water in the hope that you’ll tip them, so clearly the bible was written pre-the invention of glass. Let alone glass fucking houses. Plus back then rocks were called ‘what the fuck are these things anyway, poop?’
Wait, not that’s not it –the point is that my day was really busy, possibly even once, twice, three times a busy. Chores, jobs, errands, projects, eating, work related stuff – oh fuck, that’s like eight times a busy!
Sadly I can’t possibly find the time to list all of the things I had on today in method profound and entertaining enough so that we’re all glad I did, so instead I will talk a little more about that girl I wrote the parody song about, here are some fun facts:
– The dude she chose over/ instead/ nothing to do with me, instead of me, was a Mormon.
– She was the first girl I ever had actual conversations with, and was sweet and understanding about my crippling fear, shyness and anxiety around her.
– She was the first girl I ever hugged more than once, and I believe even gave me some instructions on how to do it right, which sounds like perhaps she was being condescending, but she wasn’t, at least from my interpretation of these actions, she was being sweet.
I think we have all come to the same conclusion right? Yep.
What a slut.
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
Hello everybody, and even everybody’s eyes, which I am told is the body part most people use to read this blog most of the times they read it, oh sure some people will tell you that the eyes are nothing without the brain to decipher all that light and color and that therefore the brain is the real hero, not the eyes. But here is what I have to say to that – my brain is the very same head based organ of mine most likely to conjure up images of things that remind me of the grass that I used to eat my lunch on at school on days where it was sunny enough to be outside, and also I had already read the newspapers in the library so I didn’t have that to do instead, and I felt like risking the mocking cries of the mocking birds which turned out not to be mocking birds mocking kookaburras, but rather just kookaburras, which when laugh are often warning their fellow birds that rain might be coming, making me feel irritated at myself for already reading all the papers, because now I won’t have anything to do if it rains, so fuck you mocking birds, and therefore fuck you my brain, I am not giving you this win – the eyes are the fucking heroes this time, ok? And if you don’t like it I’ll scratch the itchy part of my ear canal with a straightened out paper clip and accidentally scratch to deep again, ok? Motherfucker! You’re ass is mine. Oh and also hello to everybody’s bodies. Ha ha, that’s a fun play on words. I could have had fun riffing on that, had I not been sidetracked talking about the brain, my brain of course being the very thing that chose the sidetrack, fuck you brain, I am not kidding, I have a paperclip!
Also – today was the best day of my life initiative! And I will tell you why – because all day today I had two Band-Aids on my right hand’s middle finger, one bright blue, and one hot pink and both with pictures of kittens on them! And this fact allowed me to finally admit to myself that I am a real man.
Now I am not talking about being a real man in the sense that I reject traditional masculinity and therefore claim some false sense of grasp of some mythical true masculinity. That’s not what happened today, or ever in my life, at all. I chose these particular Band-Aids because blue and pink is a really pretty color combination, and kittens are the sweetest most adorable things in the world, and I don’t love these things ironically in the slightest, I love them because they make me go all cutey and giddy, and make me talk in fun little voices, and hug pillows and small stuffed animals, and frankly I don’t give a crap that these loves of mine make me less manly in the traditional sense, and therefore I deserve all the love and admiration that I pretend I get in my brain, for genuinely having that warm bulbous part of my heart engorged to the extent of being almost not human, super human you might say, and I am fine with you saying things like that about me, sure it makes me blush, and get shy and show obvious signs of modesty – but don’t let my humility and unpretentiousness hold you back – praise me, really it’s ok, I deserve it, so fuck me for not being willing to show pride, that’s my problem.
No, that is not where today’s manliness comes into the equation – today I am talking in the traditional sense – where a man does a man’s day of work and cops a man’s work style man injuries (or women) because these injuries happen at their man jobs. Yep, I did throw in those words (or women) specifically to try and seem like this paragraph has not even a hint of sexism, and I did that brilliantly. And yep, the reason I had to wear Band-Aids all day was from a work related injury. Yep, I was digging around in my backpack, looking for a writing related object, and stabbed myself in the finger with the end of a mechanical pacer pencil, and a good 1/6th or 1/8th of an inch of pencil led got stuck under the skin.
Yep, they told me that attempting to make a life doing fruity arty stuff was not manly, which makes no sense, because I don’t even like fruit, but just like those hard ass men working on construction sites, and as lumberjacks, and deep within wood mining mines, and the guys who work in the woods carving tables and bookcases and sailing boats out of trees – I too have had a day pretty much ruined by the incomprehensible discomfort of a work related splinter. And now, like my fellow splinter suffering hard working men I will complain a little, pussy out of some jobs (or women) (wow that’s powerful using that device, you can make pretty much anything seem not sexist – wait I want to try it again to test this out – most men suffering with menstrual cramps, or swollen boobie related discomfort are regularly seen at the dog track (or women) and that’s ok. Wow, it’s flawless) and avoid all things that might possibly require the use of my right hand and its fingers, like physical labor, or holding my pee pee while I pee so the pee pee can be guided towards the pee pee hole without excessive missing, or even leaving the house, because the front door is made of wood, and who could risk a double splinter, not me – so I will wait until this splinter is gone. I am a man, oh yeah I am – a traditional man.
Oh and before you ask, yes, I have tried getting it out with tweezers, but it hurts too much and I give in to the pain before I get even close to getting it out, so yep it’s going to be at least one more day with this splinter for me – and my days of manliness shall therefore continue.