Rantology of a Contemplative Duet of Days

Tuesday, He Wrote:

"Oh hell no..." I thought to myself as my second alarm went off at 3:05 AM this morning. The first alarm went of at 3:00 AM and was quickly silenced with a disorientation that left me with mo rememberence of actually hearing the first alarm. The third alarm was silences as quickly as the first, and the forth alarm from the clock across the room finally revived me from the beatufil death known as sleep.

I turned on my light and lay semi-awake, staring at the clock that said 3:14 AM and asked myself, "Why in the name of frozen blueberries do I have to get up?" I allowed my eyes to close for a second as I thought of the chance to sleep in the afternoon after the purpose for my insanely early awakening would be completed.

There is very little hope of thought of simply things like chocolates and kites at 3 AM. Instead, there are thoughts of desperation, fatigue, and oh-do-I-have-time-to-stop-and-get-coffee.

So I went to work, which was why I scheduled Satan to awaken me at 3-ish and motivate me out into the 27 degree weather to the Home Depot. I was a special person this week at work, which gave me the once in a year task of working with 13 other disgruntal guys in resetting my department. This happened on Monday too. I got 3 hours of sleep Sunday night, and 5 hours last night.

So I worked. I reset beams, swept, peeled off old labels and put new ones on, stocked items, built displays, and talked with those around me about random things such as the Hell Depot and God. I like talking about God. My only regret is that I don't talk with Him near enough. We seem to shy away from the IS.

Have you noticed that?


Wednesday, He Wrote:


So I approached the counter at the Kansas Union Bookstore, and without thinking twice, the cashier asked, "So would you like a Kidney with your books today?" Yes, believe it or not, contained within the price of your textbooks is an included cost for a kidney, or at least it feels like it.

Geez, buying textbooks sucks the very life from your veins.

Hello Amazon.com.

I searched for 7 books in particular. At first I searched for used, which I found 6 for half off (the 7th doesn't exist on Amazon.) So 6 used books for $54 plus $20 shipping, 6 new books on Amazon for $92 with free shipping, or 6 used books from the bookstore that total $107.

I bought new books from Amazon, saved $15, and will return the bookstore books.

"Why didn't you get used and save another $18?" you ask. Because maybe I am a weirdo and like to keep some of my school books, do you have a problem with that?!?!

Just kidding.

Seriously though, buying college textbooks is like trying to buy stale bread during a depression.

Also, surfing the internet on a computer that has no anti-virus is like having lots of unprotected sex with as many people as possible.

Ok, bad analogy, it just was there so I threw it out...


Just snoozlebopping along, contemplating the revinguperstine of school and not really wanting to work tomorrow.

You feel me dog?





















Um, no. I was thinking more dog...















Peace... fo shizzle.
D <><

I Fell into a Burning Ring of Fire...Kinda-Sorta-Maybe (Wedding Meditation)

So my sister got married yesterday. It was beautiful, and I don't often describe weddings as being beautiful.. It was a busy day filled with suits, flowers, girls crying, people hugging, way too many pictures, and pizza. I like pizza alot, but even more so when the clock says 5:04 PM and breakfast was centuries ago. The flowers and tears are cool (people just got married for Fred's (Pete is out for lunch) sake! Go ahead a savor the moment (it is ok to cry)). Pictures are hell. Photographers are cool people when they put their camera away and cease the militarist-naziist orders about where and how you should stand.

I was the wedding singer. It was great. I was asked to sing I'll Cross My Heart by George Strait with the ever wonderful vocalist Charity accompanying me (she has the 7th best voice in the nation and doesn't know it). For a wedding it was a hit.

The amazing thing though is this: I cannot sing country!!!

Just ask people who know me. I am a rocker. I am not even really your Jack Johnson-ish type of singer. I am more of your Chevelle-my-girlfriend-broke-up-with-me-and-I-like-minor-chords type of singer. I like the acoustic Shinedownish rock type singers. I don't flock to county, or at least didn't before the wedding.

I might be converted.

I stole my sister's Johnny Cash cds (she doesn't know this yet) and am listening about some guy who wasn't supposed to take his guns to town. He got shot. They told him not to though, and he did. Great story, I got the point first time around.

Country singers also talk alot about this thing called love. They tend to miss their women more then rockers do. Country peeps want to live forever hurting for the woman they lost; Rockers want to end it all and move on. (For more insight, see 1/10/06 post entitled Women as Black Holes: On *Omited*, *Omited*, and *Omited*.)

When I have a broken heart, I don't tend to listen to Country. My broken hearts find release in something like Chevelle or Coldplay.

Country songs talk about love better though. They describe the kiss, her hair, and how great their truck is. Rockers talk about hating her, or her hating them, or how she tore his heart out, or how they miss her but found drugs instead.

What great messages. When a girl breaks your heart, you can either miss her forever or cry alone and maybe take up drugs. (Again, see Women as Black Holes.).

Don't get me wrong, I savor the thought of falling in love and settling down. I respect women highly and do not mean to sound like a weirdo with my Black Hole comments. I just smile on the inside at what a women can do to a guy. I think that it is great the effect that a woman has. You sure hear more songs about women then you do men. Guys are just clods until they are awakened to the world of a women, then hang on, cause she will pull you into her world with a captivating force that rivals super magnets and black holes. In that world are many interesting things, such as mystery, confussion, love, tears, joy, and that particular habit or mannerism she has.

So when country singers talk about not wanting to get over missing her, they have an interesting point. When rockers talk about wanting to hate her to forget her, they miss the point, but understand a bit more about moving on.

What do you think dear chap?


Anyways, back to the point. I sang a country song at my sisters wedding. My very musical uncle raved about it. The very musical minister was impressed. They say it was the best that they heard from me. I am only glad that a) it was great for Laura's wedding, b) It went off well, and c) I was able to sing it my way and still do justice to Georgie's song.

At the rehersal we sounded horrible. Like Alvin and the Chipmonks quality. We looked at each other and cried. We then mourned, begged for a second chance, and tried again. It worked. Why? I cannot sing country, so I didn't. Sure I slid a few notes, but I kinda had to rockize-in-a-Jack-Johnsonish-sorta-maybe-way and forget about my buddy George. Kuddos to you George, you were great in Pure Country, but I can't sing like you.

So now I sit listening to country-of-country legend Johnny Cash. I like the guy. He is different than the pop-country I danced to in my younger days. He soothes me, makes me think of such things as good days, and prompts me to think about falling in love.

No wonder girls tend to like country. In the world of country men tend to treat their women with more respect and hang on to love a whole lot harder. I respect that. I think I am done raising my eyebrow at country. I will instead push for good country, not the super-cheesy-pop stuff that sounds horrible. I might conceed, but the concession is specific.

So my sister got married...crazy. Kuddos to her. I love weddings, but hate them in some way. Not because it isn't mine or because I am a lonely person (I am actually very content in life and don't often suffer from loneliness). But rather because they are long, tiring, and that blasted photographer sticks with you like a tick in the woods.

I clap for my sister and her husband, for weddings are sometimes good to see...


D <><