Everybody and Their Sister

It would seem that everybody and their sister is getting involved in this myspace business. Everyone tells me that I should join and "become part of the community" but all it really seems like to me is an online circle-jerk of people congratulating eachother on being able to take the digital photo and put it into cyber-space. (Do people even really call it 'cyber-space' anymore? Is that too passe? Does it date me?) Myspace is Latin, I believe, for "I have entirely too much free time and would probably be put to better use as a construction flagger or a ground troop in one of the many on-going military thingies in which the good ol' U.S. of A. is currently embroiled. Whatever the reason for the hullabaloo, I just don't know how many pictures of other people having fun I want to look at while trying to make it through college and a full time job. But that is not really why I came on here today...

What I would like to tell you fine people about is the phenomenon I would like to call over-achieving at the gym. I have recently embarked on a program/resolution fulfillment plan that involves me losing a good deal of weight by graduation. In order to do this I have started going to the gym on a daily basis. Granted, it has only been two days so far but that still counts as a daily basis then, doesn't it--look it up. So I got the bright idea to go to the gym before work on this Monday last. How is it possible that every piece of machinery at the gym is occupied at five-forty-five in the goddamn morning? I thought I was being so sly by going at an off hour. Apparently the fact that there is only one real gym in town and it is woefully undersized for the number of "fitness nuts" in this little mountain village. Tomorrow I am going to try in the evening and see if it isn't a little better. I think the place should be open 24 hours a day, but that wouldn't stand in a town where the only thing to do after nine p.m. is to get drunk...so we've got that going for us, which is nice.

Here's the other problem I have with going to the gym: In order to get my heart rate up and burn the fatty tissue that I am so desirous of being rid of I have decided to ride the exercise bicycle. However, on the bicycle that has the cushy seat--not the one that you sit down in like a chair, or the super-agro lemond with the tiny seat--when I ride for too long my junk falls asleep. It is not an altogether unpleasant sensation, except for the fact that I have to keep looking down to make sure I am not "aroused" in a very public way. There is just no feeling at all down there. It is altogether strange.

Okay, I think that is about all for now, other than the fact that I am considering building a house in the Yukon in which to live and stay away from people who bug me. More on people who bug me in the next blog...

-A.R. Leith

"Life should be made as difficult as possible so that the victims might learn something in the effort." -Hunter S. Thompson

I'll Probably Be Dead Soon.

The other night I woke up at one-ish because my body had made up its mind to eliminate all of the non-native solids and fluids from the system without much worry as to which way they went out. Now, with the recent emergence of the "Shat Trick" (Three movements before noon.) I had little to ponder over the course of the early morning other than just how many Shat Tricks I would produce on this fine autumn eve. I'll probably be dead by nightfall. Also, I apologize for the scatalogical nature of the beginning of this Blog Entry.

I don't really know what got into me there, only what came out...and that's everything. But onward to more pressing matters:

It has recently become apparent to me that there is a disturbing trend in modern "literature" towards putting graphic sexual information into the text of novels. I am not singling out the writers of the so-called steamy novel. They are writing with that purpose in mind. No, my problem is with authors seeking to write a reputable book but cannot seem to keep themselves from including unnecessary and lewd sexual information. Okay, okay, they may be doing this in an attempt to keep things realistic, and that is fine, but there is some realism in modesty. Or am I just missing the big picture where everyone is telling eachother minute details of their sexual lives over beer and peanuts. If that is indeed the case, I wish someone would fill me in, I love a juicy tid-bit as much as the next guy. But the fact is that I do not see that happening. I don't hear it either. It is just weird. Used to be you could hint at relations in a book without going overboard and the general public would get it...which brings up the next point.

I actually find it less offensive than I do insulting that these authors feel the need to put such detailed accounts of intercourse in their works. It is as though they do not trust me to know what goes on during love-making. If they are going to go so far as to make the lurid intricacies known they might as well include diagrams with arrows and captions like, "I caressed the vaginal wall more-than-a-bit-roughly here:" That's how far the imposition of details takes me out of the plot. It's all kind of gross. So, for the Schifletts and Neffeneggers of the world: knock it off. Tell the story without telling me about anybodies genitalia size and uses. Unless, of course, these items are so bizarre that they are truly of note. For example, if your main character has problems with the ladies because his penis is the exact size and shape of a baseball lodged on a number two pencil, go ahead and let me know about it. That is interesting and different, and important to the story. (Although, it should be pointed out here that the main character of Hemmingway's The Sun Also Rises was genitally handicapped and Pappa never felt it necessary to go into exactly what had happened and what was wrong...) Also, if the labia majora* are so cumbersome and unwieldy that it is necessary for a special harness to be designed and fashioned to control them I would like to know, because that is intimate and funny. But don't lie to me. To tell me that an erection is large enough to ride a rollercoaster unaccompanied by an adult is obviously a falsity. OR, in the event that it is not a fabrication, my interest has been piqued...You are going to have to go into further detail as to how this affects--both negatively and positively--the life of the possessor of such an instrument. Is it a birth defect? Did it just grow like that naturally? Did the person live below high-tension wires in his youth? When traveling, is it necessary to purchase an extra airplane passage for his unit? What kind of floppy mass of flesh is created when an erection of that size ceases to be erect? Do you need special trousers? If you DO need special trousers, would they be made by the same craftsman who made the harness for the lady with the beef curtains we mentioned earlier?

The bottom line is I am worried about this person, so you can't just throw yourself back into the plot after outlining a physical deformity such as this. And again I must apologize for the mental images that I am sure many of you have right now, welcome to my life.

Beverages:
Yesterday I took my lady-friend to a motion picturer. At the concession stand there I bought an ICEE brand frozen drink. I would just like to say right now that ICEEs suck. They are in no way comparable to the beloved Slurpee sold by the 7 Eleven company. I will, however, admit that the Icee is at least got right away. The problem is that they do not melt properly. The fluid all runs down to the bottom, leaving the ice all alone at the top and flavorless. It is really quite depressing. Alls I'm saying is that if someone, anyone, who has the power within the 7Eleven structure system reads this, seriously think about putting a store here in D-town. Word.

Another thing having to do with liquid refreshments...Today I was bored, thirsty, and a little bit tired. So I took a pint glass, a red bull and some OJ and mixed liberally. Let me tell you what I came up with was a delicious taste sensation that was both refreshing and energising. I would recommend that everyone who is so inclined try it. But if you like it, and continue to use it you have two options. You can either refer to the drink as Dr. Leith, or make your old lady call you Andy the next time you have sex. That is all.

-A.R. Leith

"I'm in love with love and lousy poetry." -The Weakerthans

* Special Thanks to Morgan Gilliland for being there with the techinal name of this body part when it escaped me. Thanks, Chief.

Alright, I'm Sorry.

I know it has been a while since anything of note has been put on here. And even longer since anything worth reading has shown up. (If it ever has...) The point being that I am really sorry in so many ways. I have been real busy. I promise to have something fun, interesting, or compromising up here really soon so you can all be amused, learned or offended collectively. I just haven't really had anything worth telling the world of late.

Oh, I did go to texas, and that was pretty rad. Truth be told, what I actually saw of texas was just like everyplace else there is to go in the continental U.S. A lot of shopping centers and suburbia, some nicer than others, as usual. That's about it. Oh, I did find it interesting that the area around Minute Maid Park--where the Astros play--was so desolate and kind of run down. There were boarded up buildings directly across the street from the ballpark, it was weird to see.

Speaking of that, I like to complain about arenas and other sports places being named for companies, but it just struck me that Wrigley Field is the OG sponsored ballpark, and I like that place lots, so I guess I should just shut up and roll with it, eh?

Anyway, that's all for now, and I assure you I'll have more soon. Go check out the Skinema section at Viceland.com for some humor if you are in the mood. Laters.

-A.R. Leith

Strictly Speaking...

Some of the things that were said in today's earlier post were inaccurate. The stuff about people giving all negative response to what I write...or at least only negative encouragement, I meant that. The part about having nothing to say...that's not so true.

Today as I was wandering around the parking lot at the ol' Fort Lewis (Fort Leisure if you will...) I noticed that the car parked immediately in front of mine was sporting some rather interesting decals. They read--in descending order of height on the car--"Carnegie-Mellon", "Northwestern", and "Harvard"... What theeee FUCK!?

Now, I'm not one to bag on the institution that is going to give me my means of recognition in the world outside of academia, but we all know about the Fort. If you are not in-the-know let me give you a run-down. Fort Lewis is a "liberal arts college on the New England model" that is basically a fancy-pants way of saying that we don't give a shit about anything except the happy little trees and the whales in the sea. If you have a pulse and a means of paying the bill you are going to do just fine here at Colorado's Campus in the Sky...

Anyway, here's my gripe. Does this person expect us to believe that they attended not one, not two, but all three of these schools BEFORE coming to the Fort in ANY capacity? I just don't think that could be the case. So the next theory is that this is the car of a person who is sibling to persons attending these prestigious schools. In which case, why would you want that constant reminder in your back window that you are at a school that is probably pretty lax, even on that "pulse" thing we just talked about.

However, as I am writing all of this I find myself faced with a third, reasonably plausible, possibility. In fact it is a nice possibility that I will hence forth hope is the truth. Perhaps this economically reasonable ride was the property of a faculty member--or even an older student--who is the parent of children at such fancy-pants schools. If that is the case, as I hope it is, they have every right to be proud. They and their significant other should be giving each other the hi-fives (even though they are frowned upon in other situations I feel they might just be warranted here) after coitus for producing such excellent offspring.

And that, my friends, is why boxed wine is never really a good idea...

-A.R. Leith

Other Quote: "If you are going to do it half-assed, don't fucking do it at all."- the Tossers

Earlier Today...

While walking between classes today I thought of an excellent blog topic. But since then I have forgotten what it was. So I guess that's too bad, isn't it.

I would like to mention how cute I think it is that people are so quick to pester me to write new things when I haven't posted for a while, but that nobody really wants to make any comments on what has been written. I was kind of hoping, when I started this whole thing, to open up channels of dialogue for people to discuss topics of the day. It has not worked out that way, however. Instead I receive death threats for not offering entertainment for people. It is like everyone is saying "Dance, you funny little monkey, dance for our entertainment..." with nothing really offered in return. It is not easy to perform on command, but evidently people want it to happen, no matter what. So that's fun. Especially when I ask for topic suggestions so that I have SOMETHING to write about and NOBODY comes through....thanks guys.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Maybe I don't know. But probably not."- Big D and the Kid's Table

How We Roll OR Talkin' 'Bout My Generation

Society is at an impasse. The terror alerts are color coded and time clocks need to be punched. All the kids are medicated to the eyeballs, crime is on the rise, and soon there will be no social security left. But there is no need to worry about it.

The greatest generation, our grandparents, cared about doing a great job, about saving the world from evils—real or imagined—and about providing a good life for their children. The baby-boomers, our parent’s generation, cared about little more than themselves and patting themselves on the back for all the good things they talked about doing. So, what is left for our generation to care about? Increasingly the answer to that question is…nothing. That is not to say that there is nothing worth worrying about in the world, just that a lot of people in the 18-30 age group cannot find it in their hearts to care about the world in general. As our grandparents would have told us—had we been listening—anything worth doing is worth doing right. Here are ten steps to afford you better living through apathy:

Step 1: Stop worrying about your career. Careers are a myth of a bygone era. Your grandfather might have worked at the same job his entire life, because he could. Used to be a company would pay a man decently for a job that he would work forty hours a week so that he could support his family. He did not always like his job; he did it because his kids needed to go to school and to eat. However, the Boomers decided that they all wanted middle management jobs so that they could sell the working man out for cheaper overseas labor. The irony being that the Boomers are now refusing to relinquish those jobs to the younger generation. All that is left for us, then, is to find a job we like that pays enough to get by and spend the rest of our time drinking Old Style out of Styrofoam coolers.

Step 2: Forget about finding Mr. or Mrs. Right. According to the Center for Disease Control as of the turn of the century nearly half of all first marriages end in divorce or separation. With those kinds of statistics marriage is little more than a temporary institution. There is no point, really, to concerning yourself with finding the right person, just someone who will be alright for now. That is not to say that you should not take full advantage of the modern amenities to protect yourself from diseases like babies. It is to say that fun is the name of the game so “find someplace warm—preferably moist—insert, thrust, repeat.”

Step 3: Global Warming? Pollution? Record hurricane seasons year after year? No sweat. And certainly nothing to get worked up over. As the boys in the Canadian punk-rock outfit would have it, “The world will go on without us. If we cannot fit ourselves into the scheme, we will be squeezed out. Suffocated, starved, or parched into extinction.” The planet Earth is a giant ball of dirt, water and gas floating in the vacuum of space. There is very little you or I could do to change that. The problem is that it may become uninhabitable for human life. More accurately, someday it will absolutely be inhospitable to human life in the form that we know it, so there is no use running around trying to change the way everyone lives. Evolution has worked thus far, why not let it have a crack at the next several millennia? The dinosaurs had a terrific recycling program* going and a highly touted public transportation system† but then a giant asteroid came and took it all away from them. Oh sure, we might have better technology and can “predict giant asteroids” but out time here on the mortal coil is finite no matter how we look at it so why spend all your time worrying about what could happen? Get a slurpee, rent a movie, and have a blast while you still can.

Step 4: In other parts of the world they are holding revolutions daily. The people are so fed up with some system or another that they are taking to the streets and using their ploughshares until the gutters run red with the blood of their countrymen. Here in America, on the other hand, we have Survivor, the Super Bowl, and Beer Commercials so we need not worry about that sort of hateful tripe. A young acquaintance of mine, Patrick Martindill, was until recently enjoying the good life provided by an excellent exchange rate in Bolivia while teaching English to the local high schoolers. That was all well and good until the very same locals decided that their government was no longer adequate and took up arms. Pat decided that he could not be bothered and simply avoided the world’s problems by moving back in with his mother and getting a job as a shoe salesman in Suburban Washington, D.C. Let the other people of the world worry about the problems that…

…you know what, fuck it. I know you were promised ten steps, but you get the idea. And, as Bill Amos, a 24 year old substitute teacher from Portland, OR—who substitutes because he can not find a real job, said when contacted for information, “Apathy schmapathy, I’m going to sleep…”

*Dinosaurs would eat almost anything and then turn it into useful fertilizer, which fed the trees, to produce oxygen, thus continuing the cycle of life.

†Just ask Fred Flintstone about his daily commute on the Bronto-bus.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit." -L.M. Willis, Inc.

I am Kill All of You...

Look, I don't see very many of you writing a whole lot on your blogs. And whoever this "anonymous" person is, I do not know. The fact is that I am not made of time. I am a very busy college student. I fill my days with taking some sort of science-fiction character analysis. Evidently I am some sort of well-quaffed captain person on Star Trek...most likely. Personally, I think if I were to be any science fiction person at all it would be Barf from Spaceballs. So there. anyway, I'm going to post in a minute an article I wrote for class, so that you all have something to get you through your obviously busy days... Word.

-A.R. Leith

Alright You Fuckers!

Judging from the most recent comments on my last entry there are some questions regarding the actions and events of October 1, 2005. But first I would like to clear up a couple of things.

Number one, the El Rancho Tavern is by no means the, now let me get this right, "dirtiest, stinkiest, most-hole-in-the-wall-bar ever." It is just another bar in Durango with self-important bouncers who pretty much shit their pants if anyone so much as asks them a question. Not to mention the fact that all of their anger took place while someone was trying to appologise to them for something that happened the night before. But I digress. There are bars in this world that far outstripe the Ranch in terms of down right dirtiness. The L&L on Clark, The old Fireside Bar, Timbers, are just a few that come immediately to mind. It would appear, then that the only thing the Ranch is really the best at is banning people for life...oh, and calling the police because they can't handle their shit.

That being said I would like all of you to sit right back and enjoy a tale of four young brothers you know so well...

Basically this is all silly, but I will relate it to you anyway. This Saturday last a group of us decided to go out and tie one on. There is nothing really out of the ordinary where that is concerned. However, because of some of the actions of last Friday night there was going to be a row.

Apparently, a young friend who shall remain nameless tried to leave the above-mentioned bar with a whiskey-coke zipped up in his jacket pocket. The proprieters were understandably angry about this, as is their right. (among the other things the young man did the proceeding night- 1. While running down the middle of the street is pulled over by police. Rather than halting he "pulls over" to the curb before the police can talk to him.) Anyway, so far there should be no problem, right?

So everybody goes to the Ranch, there is no problem at the door, or what have you. Everyone cointinues the merriment and purchases their drink. It is only AFTER everyone has paid their money and is drinking that the bouncer decides that he recognizes my friend from the night before and wants him to leave the bar. Okay, if you are pissed, that is fine, but don't let us all come in and spend our money if you are going to be a dick about letting one of our group in. That is shady. (Not that there is much about the Ranch that ISN'T shady at this point...)

So, whatever. We all finish our beer while he leaves with the bouncer. Once outside our young friend is trying to appologise to a man who is--in some unclear way--associated with the bar. Yadda yadda yadda, the young man can't remember even being at the Ranch the night before, so we start to ask questions about why he is being asked to leave, etc.

One thing leads to another and the bouncer and manager dude(?) strike their tough-guy poses, thus eliciting laughter and derision from the assembled group. Mind you, we are now outside on the public sidewalk...in fact we were actually in front of the establisment next door to the bar. None the less, rather than just letting us be on our own outside the proprieters decide to call the police. Not wanting that we decide to move on our merry way to another bar. Evidently not satisfied with this the manager(?) dude(?) decides it is his civic duty to follow us down the street commenting on how much trouble we are in. Keep in mind that three of the four in the group were not even asked to leave the bar, we left of our free will. But whatever, he begins making fun of us, poking fun at clothes, etc. and we just continue to laugh at him.

I think the peak came when this little guy followed us into ANOTHER BAR. I decided that he had overstepped the bounds of decency and stopped to talk to him. He walked into me and bounced backwards...decides to shove me for that and asks if I'm "getting tough". I gently reminded him that I was standing still when he walked into me AND that we are now three blocks away inside another bar, and he backed off. So johnny tattletale decides he cannot let this go, even though the cops never showed up at the Ranch, so he runs out to main street and flags down a passing police car and "tells on us". Whatever, we laugh it off, the cops laugh it off, and the two employees from the ranch are still douche bags. That's life. Long story short...or shortER, we're not allowed to go back to this bar. And that's fine.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "There's nothing worse than being in a crowded room and feeling all alone." - The Impossibles.

What up, Dawg!?

Well gang, fall has...sprung? That's not the right word, but it's the first word that comes to mind. Autumn is my favorite time of year, by far. The leaves are changing/falling, it's raining, and it's about time to find that someone to cuddle up with for the long winter. Not to mention the fact that you should probably be putting on those few extra pounds for the season so that you can face those harsh Midwestern winters. That means plenty of Pizza and Ice Cream.

Of course, that is not true. I am in the process of trying to lose 45 lbs. by Christmas. An unrealistic goal, I know, but the fact is what's the point of setting goals if the target is too low. There would be no sense of achievement. Okay, I have to go to class right now. I just wanted to let everyone know that I think everything is awesome right now and I hope you all feel the same. Word.

-A.R. Leith

Quote- "I'm not coming back. I'm over feeling sorry, so just deal with it. Find comfort in yourself, and know that what you have's not what you are." - Midtown

If There Were Any Justice in the World at All, There Would Be a God-damn 7-11 Around When I Want a Slurpee.

That is all.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Lately I've been feeling dead inside; like my guts have dried up and died. But every night, I water them back to life."- Alkaline Trio

Dumber than a Bag of Dicks

Lately a lot of things have come to my attention that are both figuratively and literally "dumber than a bag of dicks". And I will talk about them at length, but first:

I would like to give big ups to the wonderful young lady who introduced me to the above-mentioned phrase. It never ceases to make me laugh, either for the people/situations it describes or the mental imagery it offers. So, thanks, El Dub. Both for the quote, and just for being you.

Alright, this one is probably going to get lengthy, because I haven't typed in a while, I have a morning to kill, and I am trying not to turn on the television. So get out your spectacles kids!

Number One- Picking your fights. (There is some saying about picking your friend's noses that I think might apply here, but probably not.) Personally, I think there are a lot of kids who are upset about the wrong kinds of things on my college campus. There is a local resort for skiing, known as Wolf Creek. At present there is a plan on the table for said ski area to be expanded into a sort of destination resort for the rich and famous. There is a coalition of locals who have come out against this project. That's just fine, I get it, right now Wolfie is a small ski area with great terrain that is very "local-oriented" and it has its charm. What I don't understand is why it takes some impingement on their valued free time activity to motivate the young people today to be upset about irresponsible civic expansion in the region.

Let's face it, Durango is a bit of a dump. For all the money being poured into development in the area there is a lot of shitty real estate that is going un-improved. If I were to be mad about anything involving development I would show a little outrage at the fact that there are many houses--particularly on the south side of downtown--that are barely fit for human habitation. However, because knocking down these homes to make way for newer affordable housing is less profitable for builders they would rather just raze previously untouched tracks of land and throw up a quickie development. (I'm not even going to get started on the quality of construction in the region right now...) Fuck these builders. For a town that claims to love the wilderness there sure isn't much resistance to destroying it. Alls I'm saying is that concentrated urban renewal seems more responsible than outward expansion. On the other hand the people here love the wilderness and seem to hate each other, and can't stand being close to other people. So it's a dilemma.

One solution that I like, and I think might have a chance, is for the college to buy up houses in town and use them for housing for upper level students. Word on the street is that Fort Lewis has plenty of money for acquisition and building, just not a lot for upkeep. Maybe the bulk of students throwing some rent their way would help out both the city and the school. I don't know.

Number Two- I went to see that movie, The Aristocrats, last night. There was very little actually funny about the whole thing. Oh, there was a lot of laughing, but it was more that nervous laughter when someone says something so horrible you cannot help but laugh, otherwise you might throw up a little bit in your mouth. There were three things that I found genuinely funny in the movie, though. 1. When Eric Cartman was telling the joke and enumerating the participants he used his fingers, which I found amusing because he was wearing mittens. It didn't make a lot of sense, but was cute. 2. An aging Eric Idle wondering aloud why the joke works at all in America, because there are no Aristocrats in the U.S. First of all, BURN. Second of all, it's kind of true because many Americans are dumber than bags of dicks and probably only like the joke because it has dirty words in it. 3. There was some discussion about how the sexual and scatalogical content of the joke just do not cut it anymore, so in order to continue to shock the audience new and horrible references must be included. So, to my mind, the funniest thing said in the movie was when Taylor Negron reminded us that we should not forget the terrible events of January 3rd...when he left his Visa card at the Four Seasons. It was refreshingly funny amongst the filth.

Number Three- I have started reading again. Time consuming, I know, but it also means that there will be a lot of stuff for YOU, dear reader, to process here once I have processed it in my little head. So, I read this morning that there is a not-so-new problem facing the city of Chicago. Apparently the Chicago Housing Authority (CHA)--when they are not too busy worrying about people's back porches--is systematically eliminating low-income houses with no positive change for the former residents. The interesting question, I think, that is raised by this is the fact that these people are being moved out of segregated communities into other segregated communities or neighborhoods. Now, it's no secret that Chicago is one of the most segregated cities in the U.S., but what is the alternative. I haven't yet come down on either side of this issue yet, because there are pros and cons both ways.

Of course, you could continue business as usual, sweeping the problem under the rug and turning a blind eye to poverty and blight. OR, you could relocate these people by interspersing them into established communities. There are problems either way. In the former case chances for advancement remain limited, schooling is sub-par, and only the scenery changes. However, there is safety and comfort in groups. If the people of the low-income areas were moved into random houses and apartments around the city would their lot be any better? Should the CHA be responsible should their new neighbors treat them badly? Would the simple act of the move really offer any chance at betterment, or would it accentuate the problem? Like I say, I am not making any statements one way or the other, just sort of thinking out loud about the situation. If I am going to someday save the world these are the problems I will need to have figured out, right?

Number Four- Evidently in Columbia the Coca Cola company is implicitly involved in the terrorization, intimidation, and sometimes assassination of attempted unionizers by paramilitary groups. This has prompted several colleges and universities here in the States to boycott Coca Cola on the campus. Not that the kids should be drinking that much soda anyway--it's not good for you...Rots the teeth. I don't really know how to feel about this. These sort of tactics certainly don't seem to be limited to the soda (or "pop", if you prefer) bottling industry. And overall it presents a problem for my overall ideology on globalization. Namely that I think economic expansion is just fine, and will be kept in check if the people of developing nations stand up for themselves and do not work for cheap wages. That way companies can expand their markets and improve profits without abusing human rights. The introduction of force and coercion into the situation kind of puts a kink in my theory. It is kind of a Catch 22. As the book says, "Catch 22 means that they can do whatever we cannot stop them from doing."

I also think that arbitrary growth rates set by corporations are unrealistic and greedy. Making a good product at a decent price while treating your employees well seems much more beneficial to society as a whole to me. But what to I know, I study English which is basically another way for saying that I am in a very expensive book club. I guess I just want everyone to be happy for a while before they inevitably shuffle off the mortal coil. I think the re-introduction of the middle-class to the wild would allow a lot more people to be happy without amassing so much shit that just goes to waste in the end.

Finally- Whatever the case may be, I think I may be an idealist, but I am also a realist. I am also a "happy-go-lucky-misanthrope". I might also be a socialist. I just want everyone to get-on and have a good time of it. With that in mind I have to allow myself every day, in every way, to be keen to give-'er. Things can get pretty muddled pretty quickly, you just have to make the best of it and not be afraid to draw some lines.

Okay, enough moralizing...especially from a kid who's barely holding it together lately, right? I'll let you go, but still send me any topic ideas you want me to write on. I like to hear, and hopefully offer some different views on the world...

-A.R. Leith

Quote- "Andy, you have a very tenuous grasp on reality." -My dear Ma

Honestly

I don't really think I have anything worth writing about lately.

If anyone has anything they want to hear opined or griped about, you just let me know. Depending on how interested I am we could have another volume on a very insignificant subject. Just try me. I love to express my opinion about anything and everything. Even if said opinion is needlessly strict or angry. I think it's just fun. Go.

-A.R. Leith

Ten and Two

During my overwhelming course load this morning (remedial math from 8-8:55) I had a moment. Not the sort of shared moment that one has when they realize they are looking into the eyes of the person they want to spend the rest of their life with for the first time, but rather the type of epiphany that makes sense and order out of some belief or behavior with roots in our childhood.

The instructor of my class was likening the fundamentals of Algebra to that time in a young person's life when they are just learning to operate a motor vehicle. The idea being that going slowly and with caution in the very beginning would, indeed, be germane. While that may be true for mathematics it made my brain race backwards to the actual time when I was learning to drive.

I tend to get, well, frustrated with a lot of people who are on the road at the same time as me. When I am back home I hardly have any instances of this frustration. While there is a vast difference in the way that people drive between Chicago and Durango my anger with the situation did not really make any sense until this morning. I know full well that the pace of life in general in Durango is much slower than a lot of other cities and towns, that is a given. How else would you be able to justify everyone's acceptance of a nearly non-existent public transportation system? People here just don't seem to need, or want, to be anywhere in a hurry. And that is fine. That is mountain life and it is why many people have moved here in the first place. (My one exception to this forgiveness is when people feel that this means that their word--eg. saying you will be somewhere and not showing up, or showing up late--does not mean what it should. There is never any excuse for being inconsiderate or impolite, no matter how 'relaxed' the town you live in is.)

So why, then, do I become so anxious behind the wheel when I have to drive in the state of Colorado? I'll tell you why. It is because of my first day in driver's education class. (By the way, I am pretty sure that they do not teach parallel parking in Colorado's drivers ed.) My first time behind the wheel of a car was sometime in the fall of 1994 I believe. I was the first one in my group of three to get out on the roadways, and as I turned the Toyota Corolla onto southbound Willow Springs Road the 'behind the wheel' instructors first words of advice to me as a young driver were, "You'd better pick it up. People will not like you if you drive too slow."

"People will not like you if you drive too slow." What kind of psychology does that give a youngster? Am I to understand that my social standing will be hindered if I do not keep pace with the other cars on the road? As a sidebar, anyone not familiar with driving in Chicago--and probably any other large metropolitan area--should probably be aware that on the highway there 20 miles per hour over the speed limit is pretty much standard procedure for everyday driving. It is terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It is because of this driving history that any posted speed limit seems to me about right for the minimum speed to be driven. This is why I am often baffled and angered by people who lolligag around town going several miles below the posted speed limit while I, a very busy person with things to do and people to see, am stuck behind them because passing lanes are limited and oncoming traffic also seems not to care about my schedule. Also, as young drivers we had it on good authority (somebody's uncle or father or something) that the police in Chicago were not going to pull you over if you were only going 10mph over the limit, because the fine was small, and therefore a waste of time and paperwork. I just thought it was odd this all flashed into my head during math. That's all.

It is worth noting that if you drive in the Pacific Northwest you will feel like a wanted criminal if you drive just the speed limit. Those people evidently don't have much going on in their days and see no problem with routinely traveling at ten mph below the posted limits on the highway, God bless them.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "When you're smiling, the whole world smiles with you."- Louis Prima

Education Schmeducation

I've been told, yet again, that I do not 'blog' enough. I don't know what to say other than, sorry. I'm not made of time, you know. Sometimes I have to sleep and stuff.

Anyway...

The other day I was playing tennis against my roommate at one of the local tennis facilities. (Where better to play, right?) On the next court over there was a young acquaintance of my roommate and they conversed briefly. Now, this young man was playing with two young women. I shall not speculate as to their relationship, other than to say that they may have been brother and sisters or similar. That is not the point. Not the point at all...

These young people spoke very properly. In this day and age it is rare to hear a young person speaking properly. That is why it took me only two guesses to discover how they came to be so well spoken. My first question, obviously, was whether or not this threesome had immigrated from Canada. It's a logical question, I think. Aside from the "Ehs", the "Oots" and "Aboots" Canadians are generally well disciplined speakers. Much more so than American English speakers who have somehow found it in their hearts to include words like "ain't" in the dictionary even though it is a wholly bastardized version of the words are and not or is and not. Frankly, it doesn't even really make sense as a word. But god bless the American soft-hearts who could no less turn out the lowly "ain't" than they could find it in themselves to throttle a three legged puppy.

They were not, and continue not to be, from Canada.

My second guess as to their diction was home schooling. Spot on. I was so right that I might have given myself an elevated hand-slap if that were at all an acceptable social practice. The simple fact that this guess was correct says a lot about the modern school system here in America. You may rant all you want about underfunding of schools and whatnot, but the simple fact is that if a kid cannot cut it they should not pass a grade. People should never graduate grade school--let alone high school--without a working knowledge of the world around them. That includes mathematics, language, science, etc. It is not like most jobs that people end up with these days really require much else from you than showing up and sitting still for a predetermined amount of time anyway. (I actually think that the requirement of a college degree for so many jobs these days is more a form of classist discrimination against those who are self taught or cannot afford higher education than it is a necessity to perform the duties required of the position. But that is a topic for a time when I am able to write more.)

At any rate, I feel that schools in America have lowered the target so low that it is impossible to miss the mark. In fact, there is no way I should have graduated high school with the effort I put into my work. Schools are more diploma mills than houses of serious education these days, and that is disheartening.

Okay, that's it for tonight. I have more homework to attend to.

-A.R. Leith

Quote: "Only wimps cannot handle broken hearts."- Piebald

P.S.- The blog spell-check wanted me to replace the word 'classist' with the word 'classiest'. I thought that was kind of funny.

Okay...

Evidently in my last blog what I said was not exactly "'nuff".

Tore, would indicate that something had been rent asunder. Made unwhole.

Taint, on the other hand is the area of the human body that resides between the anus and the gender specific equipment--either vagina or the cock and bawls. Sometimes it is referred to as "
the gooch" but that makes me think of the bully on Different Strokes, and that is not a pleasant thought.

At any rate, the other day I was walking at work and felt a good deal of discomfort in my general taint area and am now concerned that there may be some tearing in that region. That is really all anyone needs to know about the goings on in that space, other than to remember to keep yours talc-ed when the hot weather comes around...it can be a lifesaver.

Word.

-A.R. Leith

Ouch

I think I tore my taint at work.

Nuff said.

-A.R. Leith

Fatalist View of Professional Baseball

Tonight I watched the Cardinals of Saint Louis take on the Cubs of Chicago in a professional baseball competition. The Cubs won, by the way, but that is bound to happen once in a while when you enter in as many sports contests as they do each year. At any rate, my mother was wondering during the game how they were able to get the balls and strikes on the scoreboard so quickly. Although, I suppose this all bears some explaining...

The Cubbies are an oldey-timey ball club with an oldey-timey stadium (it was built in 1918 or somesuch). The scoreboard is likewise long in the tooth and still manually operated. There are guys inside who change the numbers and all the intricate business that this involves. Speaking of- to be the man inside the scoreboard is my new dream job.

Okay, back to the story. So when a pitch is made in Wrigley it is rare that you have a chance to look up to the board before the balls and strikes have changed. It is like magic. So my mother sez to me she sez,
"How do they change the numbers so fast? It hardly seems there is time between the pitch and the numbers changing on the board." To which I replied, "They have a script."

It got me thinking about fatalism. But then I decided not to. It is boring and kind of depressing. I mean doesn't it seem like there isn't really a point if everything we do is predestined on some level? You could try to fight it, but even that would have been on your slate from the start. There is no getting around it. Even the balls, strikes, hits, walks, and outs in a baseball game. What would be the point if someone somewhere knows what will happen...has actually laid out every thing that will happen throughout your existence. I just think it might be best not to think about it is all.

Plus, if the whole scoreboard job doesn't work out somehow I think I might become a 'talent scout' for them girls gone wild picture-shows they advertise on the television.

Speaking of, I would like to let slip here on this blog that Wrigley Field is the best looking ballpark ever. Of course, this is because of all the stadium features that are now part of baseball lore. The ivy, the scoreboard, Harry Carey, yadda yadda... But more importantly the fans at this particular ballpark are a good looking bunch. In a summer when I have gone to three ballparks and watched many many games on the TV there is no crowd as attractive as the one to be found in the Friendly Confines. Seattle had nothing but a bunch of underprivileged kids or some shit like that and fat people. I'm not even going to get started on the people at the minor league park I went to. And when they show fan shots at other parks on the television there seem to be a lot of dudes and heffers. Oh, I'm sure they all have wonderful personalities and contribute positively to society, but c'mon. When I go to Wrigley I really feel like I'm dragging down the average looks-wise. 3/4 of the crowd are good looking twentysomethings and it makes going to the ballpark so much more enjoyable. Especially when they dress well.

Okay, I'm sleepy. Screw all of you. I hope someone is actually reading this shit.

-A.R. Leith

"You tell me that my problem is thinking...I can chase it away with a problem like drinking."- The lawrence arms

The world according to Leith

Arguably, there is something soothing in the idea of knowing how you are going to die. If not the actual method of your own demise, at leas the manner in which you would like the days immediately following to proceed.

I was lying in bed this afternoon, ironically reading the epilogue of a very good novel that dealt heavily with death, when the the wafting sounds of Amazing Grace being played on the bagpipes. Whenever I envision my own funeral (which is more often than it probably should be) I imagine good times and bagpipes. Not good times in the sense that there will be no sadness, but more in tune with a celebration of life-well-lived than a lamentation of what could have been. I always, ALWAYS, imagine there to be bagpipes, and a rousing good time of an afterparty. Of course, this is all speculation; or should be.

The problem that I run into is that when envisioning my own funeral it is almost always in the near future. I have never thought of it as being something that happens when I am very old, and where most of the people I know who would attend are very old. In and of itself this doesn't bother me too much, mostly because I have trouble imagining what the future will be like, and have all my life. It's not just the distant future that I have trouble picturing, but the immediate future as well. Perhaps that is also at the root of my trouble with financial planning and that lot. Who knows.

Recently I have been told by a professor that she had a previous vision of many of the events in her life. So, should I simply ignore my current visions of having a memorial service peopled with young, fresh, grieving faces; or should I take heed and maybe prepare myself to shuffle off the mortal coil a little earlier than some others? The truth is that I just don't know. This topic is linked, in a way, to another problem that I am facing in life, right now.

I want to be a writer. Whether or not it shows here I believe that I could be a good writer--with the proper editing. The problem, it would seem, is that I just don't really have anything to write about. I lack experience. The kind of life experience that makes for the stuff of great books. Somehow I need to get out into the world and start living, so that I can have something to write about...In order to provide for the family that I hope to one day have. But here's the rub: I feel stuck in a rut. To me, there is no foreseeable way out of the cycle of working, paying bills, and generally trying to survive. I have considered squatting, which would probably give me something to write about, but it does not jell with my sense of working for a living. I guess the only way I can think about it right now is to find a sugar momma, or some sort of benefactor, who will suport me in adventures to travel around so that I will have something to write about. Other than that I suppose I just have to get my ass out there and try to find stuff to write about. I suppose I could write novels, because you can just make those up and loosely base them on real life. Maybe I'll work on having one of those out by the time I'm 30. I mean, it worked for that King guy. He wrote lots of books.

-A.R. Leith

Not Necessarily the News

I don't know if I have written about this before, but I am going to write about it now.

I have just finished watching the local NBC news and am confused and dismayed. What is offered these days to the viewing public as news is little more than the unfortunate events that have occurred in someone else's life.

The lineup of 'stories' for this evening's program were: Minivan struck by truck running red light- two dead, minivan strikes pole while driving- three killed, car spins out on toll-road- one girl ejected; drowns, new building rivals Trump's project on lake-front, and Atkins company files for bankruptcy protection.

My problem with the 'news' is that the first three stories really do not relate to anything in my life. I feel that there is some sort of perverse voyeurism at work in modern America. What possible benefit will I earn from hearing the sordid and tragic goings on of strangers lives? To me it is mere common sense to be careful when out in the world. Is there some sort of moral to be learned from these tales of woe? Obviously, if the man in the pickup-truck was some sort of crazed-serial-red-light-runner and was part of a society of such people there would be something newsworthy in the tale. As it is, however, I do not think he set out today with the goal of t-boning a minivan full of people returning from holiday. But thanks to the fine people at channel five he has now been made a shining example of something we all know we are not supposed to do. Don't run a red light, duh, got it. Mistakes were made, true, but rehashing again and again things that we have all pretty much agreed upon as rules for a polite society is not going to get us anywhere.

My anger was furthered later in the broadcast when there were two stories (about the new lakefront tower and the Atkins bankruptcy) that I would have liked to know the five Ws about. Where, exactly, was this tower going to be built? In the picture it looks to be taller than the Sears Tower, is that the case? What will it be used for? Strictly residential, or mixed use properties? How and why did the Atkins company come to this financial crisis? Has it been coming for a long time, or was it sudden?

Perhaps I have a more insatiable thirst for knowledge than most--I am, after all, on the defending championship Snowdown trivia team--but mostly I think that the people on the television news are lazy. I long to have been born in a past generation when there was no television, or at least very little. Newspaper reporters, at least in the old days, got out there and investigated the stories that they were going to write, got the facts, and put it out there for the world to read. If you just wanted to get the basic idea of a story you could read the first few paragraphs and be sated. However, if you wanted to know more you need only read further and most of your questions would be answered.

As a lit major I may have over romanticised the role of written language in our world, but the signs are everywhere that it is dying. There have been books written on the subject...books that, sadly and paradoxically, will probably not be read by the people who need to read them. I think I just long, overall, to be part of a different time. Let me explain:

Between reading the early chapters of The World According to Garp and the fashions in the new J. Crew catalog (who I am loathe to report do not produce a big and tall men's line) I can't help but think that I might have been happier growing up during the late 40s to early 60s in prep-school New England. It could just be part of a whole 'grass is greener' business, but whatever it is the appeal is intense. There is something that seems cleaner--more simple--about that time. Not to mention the style of dress was awesome in that era. Who knows. As usual I'm probably just weird...or eccentric as some have called it. Personally I think it's endearing and it should make each and every one of you love me all the more. Ha!

-A.R. Leith

"I have a message, save your generation...from killing eachother, by sleeping in."- Jawbreaker

thursday night is the new friday night...

Okay, first of all, I am a little bit tipsy. But that is to be expected, because thrusday is the new friday. Tonight I saw one of the most amazing live performances of my life. This will be short and sweet. I just wanted everyone to know that if they ever get the chance to see Lord Mike's dirty calypsonians they should absolutely leap at the opportunity. In addition to there being an amazing live show there were several things better. First, I may have been ruined forever by a calypso dancer. Something about the cute face and the her dancing had me in a trance. Other than that the entirety of the show was spent with two cute girls who were lots of fun to drink and dance with. So all in all the show was amazing. Plus, cake was served. If you can beat that I'll assert that your pants may be on fire. Okay, that's all for tonight. Later kids.

-A.R. Leith