::GringO::
27 January 2007
24 January 2007
Google Is My Bitch
This is too cool. I am way too psyched about this.
1. Enter the world's greatest photographer into the Google searchbar. Quotation marks are not required.
2. Look at who's site is NUMBER ONE ON THE LIST!
3. Know that the only reason why it is so is because I made it so!
It's amazing to me to think about it, but apparently I possess the power to fuck with the internet. I am a god of electrons!
Now that I am a god, when do I get to start smiting shit? Cuz I have a list here, all ready to go...
"I fuck you!" in a German nihilistic voice, "I fuck you, internet!"
I'm going to smile about this all week...
-Zeepdoggie
1. Enter the world's greatest photographer into the Google searchbar. Quotation marks are not required.
2. Look at who's site is NUMBER ONE ON THE LIST!
3. Know that the only reason why it is so is because I made it so!
It's amazing to me to think about it, but apparently I possess the power to fuck with the internet. I am a god of electrons!
Now that I am a god, when do I get to start smiting shit? Cuz I have a list here, all ready to go...
"I fuck you!" in a German nihilistic voice, "I fuck you, internet!"
I'm going to smile about this all week...
-Zeepdoggie
You Scurvy Zeepdogg, You!
Just so we are clear, we are now seven years into the 21st century. I wanted everyone to clear out of whatever haze they may be in and know this for what I am about to say.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that my energy was really low. I was lethargic and sluggish, some mornings I was incapable of getting out of bed. Now, for those in the know, Zeepdoggie is a pretty energetic li’l monkey. I like to move it-move it, as we say here in Z-town. And I am a morning person, much to the chagrin of anyone who has ever slept over.
Then I started to get these aches in my joints and muscles. Not just sore aches, but really dull pains that would last for hours. It would hurt to type, or to hold a book. A little bit after that, I started to get pains in my mouth and my gums were bleeding a lot.
When blood is gushing out of my mouth without the presence of a fist, Zeepdoggie hightails it to the doc, toot sweet.
So I go to the health center at College, and wait for a while and see the doc. I tell him what’s going on, and he looks at me, and asks me if I’ve lost weight. I said that I didn’t know, since I don’t own a scale (sometimes it’s awesome not living with a woman); he says I look like I have, so I get weighed.
The last time I checked my weight, I was at 167, which is a little underweight for a man my age, but I don’t mind, since America just got fatter around me. I am at 145. I’m roughly 25 lbs underweight.
Doc looks at me and says, “You have scurvy.”
I replied, in the only way I know how, “Yar?”
He informs me that one in three college students on our campus are malnourished, usually from poor diet choices or simple lack of food (I figured I was down to about five meals a week at this point). My symptoms are in line with scurvy, which he says he sees, “all the time.”
So he tells me to get a lot of vitamin C, since my scurvy is pretty advanced. He says I should be concerned, since scurvy will kill you dead, without fail. He gave me some vitamin C tablets and some homeopathic remedies and sent me on my way.
I still am not fully recovered, because scurvy wipes you out pretty good, but I am feeling much better; my energy is up, and I no longer feel the need to shout “Avast!” and have a parrot poop on my shoulder. It’s embarrassing to have a disease that was essentially cured by the 19th century, but in a way I am proud of it. I mean, how many people do you know with scurvy? See… And now I feel like a real old salt sailor, thanks to my ailment. It’s like now I’ve earned the right to say, “Yar!” since I am a scurvy dog!
-Scurvdoggie
For more info, click here. It could save your life. Or you could just eat an orange every once in awhile.
A few weeks ago, I noticed that my energy was really low. I was lethargic and sluggish, some mornings I was incapable of getting out of bed. Now, for those in the know, Zeepdoggie is a pretty energetic li’l monkey. I like to move it-move it, as we say here in Z-town. And I am a morning person, much to the chagrin of anyone who has ever slept over.
Then I started to get these aches in my joints and muscles. Not just sore aches, but really dull pains that would last for hours. It would hurt to type, or to hold a book. A little bit after that, I started to get pains in my mouth and my gums were bleeding a lot.
When blood is gushing out of my mouth without the presence of a fist, Zeepdoggie hightails it to the doc, toot sweet.
So I go to the health center at College, and wait for a while and see the doc. I tell him what’s going on, and he looks at me, and asks me if I’ve lost weight. I said that I didn’t know, since I don’t own a scale (sometimes it’s awesome not living with a woman); he says I look like I have, so I get weighed.
The last time I checked my weight, I was at 167, which is a little underweight for a man my age, but I don’t mind, since America just got fatter around me. I am at 145. I’m roughly 25 lbs underweight.
Doc looks at me and says, “You have scurvy.”
I replied, in the only way I know how, “Yar?”
He informs me that one in three college students on our campus are malnourished, usually from poor diet choices or simple lack of food (I figured I was down to about five meals a week at this point). My symptoms are in line with scurvy, which he says he sees, “all the time.”
So he tells me to get a lot of vitamin C, since my scurvy is pretty advanced. He says I should be concerned, since scurvy will kill you dead, without fail. He gave me some vitamin C tablets and some homeopathic remedies and sent me on my way.
I still am not fully recovered, because scurvy wipes you out pretty good, but I am feeling much better; my energy is up, and I no longer feel the need to shout “Avast!” and have a parrot poop on my shoulder. It’s embarrassing to have a disease that was essentially cured by the 19th century, but in a way I am proud of it. I mean, how many people do you know with scurvy? See… And now I feel like a real old salt sailor, thanks to my ailment. It’s like now I’ve earned the right to say, “Yar!” since I am a scurvy dog!
-Scurvdoggie
For more info, click here. It could save your life. Or you could just eat an orange every once in awhile.
22 January 2007
What I Can vs. Who I Am
I can be a jerk. I can be an asshole. I can do horrible things. I can say things and can do things that upset and frustrate people. I can be rude and selfish. I can tell lies to get myself out of trouble. I can be crude and crass and can be very opinionated. I can yell and scream and pout to get my way. I have hurt people’s feelings, and will likely do so in the future.
But that’s not what I do all the time. And it is not who I am.
If you know me, then you know that. If you don’t, then you probably won’t stick around long enough to find out. I wish you would, because I like having friends and I like knowing new people and making them happy; but if my bad behavior is too much for you, then it’s best that you don’t stick around. Some folks don’t think I am worth the time and effort that it may take to get to know me. That makes me sad, even though it’s happened a hundred times if it has happened once. It makes me sad because no one thinks they’re a son of a bitch, even in the face of apparently overwhelming evidence. Eichmann thought he was an all right guy; I’m sure Custer thought he was the bee’s knees. I’d like to think of myself as being better than those two, at least on a karmic level, but like them my bad behavior is often unnoticed by me, until I have had some time for introspection.
And I can be a son of a bitch (with all respect to Zeepmomma, of course). But I am not a son of a bitch. In the great consideration of my personality, I’m not even an asshole. I am more than what I do; I am better than what I share with most people.
For those that jump ship, I’ll miss you. For those that stay with me, I thank you, and apologize in advance, for doing what I can, and not always being who I am.
-Zeepdoggie
But that’s not what I do all the time. And it is not who I am.
If you know me, then you know that. If you don’t, then you probably won’t stick around long enough to find out. I wish you would, because I like having friends and I like knowing new people and making them happy; but if my bad behavior is too much for you, then it’s best that you don’t stick around. Some folks don’t think I am worth the time and effort that it may take to get to know me. That makes me sad, even though it’s happened a hundred times if it has happened once. It makes me sad because no one thinks they’re a son of a bitch, even in the face of apparently overwhelming evidence. Eichmann thought he was an all right guy; I’m sure Custer thought he was the bee’s knees. I’d like to think of myself as being better than those two, at least on a karmic level, but like them my bad behavior is often unnoticed by me, until I have had some time for introspection.
And I can be a son of a bitch (with all respect to Zeepmomma, of course). But I am not a son of a bitch. In the great consideration of my personality, I’m not even an asshole. I am more than what I do; I am better than what I share with most people.
For those that jump ship, I’ll miss you. For those that stay with me, I thank you, and apologize in advance, for doing what I can, and not always being who I am.
-Zeepdoggie
19 January 2007
Happy Birthday GringO!
Happy Birthday, GringO! He’s twenty-three, everybody! Can you believe it? All growed up, just about. And what do we have to show for it? Well, there are pics from his birthday bash! I only have two, because other folks had cameras, notably Wheels, who will hopefully share the images they have of that night with me so I can share them with you. Here are the pics that I have. Actually, the other pic is too dark, so I guess I just have the one. Aren't we cute?
But what I do have to share with you are some random quotes that came up that night that I feel I should share with you all.
And away we go!
“Everybody’s face looks Asian from far away…”
“I’m bringing my flask to work!”
“Your what?!”
“My FLASK!”
“Oh, I thought you said ‘Flash,’ like your Flash costume.”
“I am not an asshole; I am a dick, because dicks fuck pussies and assholes. If they didn’t, the world would be covered in shit.”
“He called me a Jeffersonian!”
“aHaH!”
“So, Nietzsche…”
"Yeah…those wacky Germans!”
After that, it all got really drunk.
Happy birthday, GringO! Did you get what you wanted?
-Zeepdoggie
15 January 2007
Thirty One What?
Thirty-one. 31. Einunddreißig. What can be said about this number?
• It’s an ugly number. I mean, just look at it. No consistent form, no flow, it even sounds wrong. Go ahead and say it. Uck.
• It’s prime.
• Seven of the months end with it.
• It’s been the second-worst year of my life, which is almost over. Not that 32 is looking to brighten up anytime soon, but thirty didn’t look good from two months away, and that was a banner year for ol’ Zeepdoggie.
• Baskin Robbins has 31 flavors.
• Halloween is on the 31st of October.
Anyone else know anything about 31?
-Zeepdoggie
• It’s an ugly number. I mean, just look at it. No consistent form, no flow, it even sounds wrong. Go ahead and say it. Uck.
• It’s prime.
• Seven of the months end with it.
• It’s been the second-worst year of my life, which is almost over. Not that 32 is looking to brighten up anytime soon, but thirty didn’t look good from two months away, and that was a banner year for ol’ Zeepdoggie.
• Baskin Robbins has 31 flavors.
• Halloween is on the 31st of October.
Anyone else know anything about 31?
-Zeepdoggie
11 January 2007
No Child Left Behind-The Football Version
1. All teams must make the state playoffs and all MUST win the championship. If a team does not win the championship, they will be on probation until they are the champions, and coaches will be held accountable.
If after two years they have not won the championship their footballs and equipment will be taken away UNTIL they do win the championship.
2. All kids will be expected to have the same football skills at the same time even if they do not have the same conditions or opportunities to practice on their own.
NO exceptions will be made for lack of interest in football, a desire to perform athletically, or genetic abilities or disabilities of themselves or their parents.
3. ALL KIDS WILL PLAY FOOTBALL AT A PROFICIENT LEVEL!
4. Talented players will be asked to workout on their own, without instruction. This is because the coaches will be using all their instructional time with the athletes who aren't interested in football, have limited athletic ability or whose parents don't like football.
5. Games will be played year round, but statistics will only be kept in the 4th, 8th, and 11th game.
6. It will create a New Age of Sports where every school is expected to have the same level of talent and all teams will reach the same minimum goals.
If no child gets ahead, then no child gets left behind.
7. If parents do not like this new law, they are encouraged to vote for vouchers and support private schools that can screen out the non-athletes and prevent their children from having to go to school with bad football players.
You know, if someone explained it like this to W., he might actually see the problems with NCLB.
-Zeepdoggie
If after two years they have not won the championship their footballs and equipment will be taken away UNTIL they do win the championship.
2. All kids will be expected to have the same football skills at the same time even if they do not have the same conditions or opportunities to practice on their own.
NO exceptions will be made for lack of interest in football, a desire to perform athletically, or genetic abilities or disabilities of themselves or their parents.
3. ALL KIDS WILL PLAY FOOTBALL AT A PROFICIENT LEVEL!
4. Talented players will be asked to workout on their own, without instruction. This is because the coaches will be using all their instructional time with the athletes who aren't interested in football, have limited athletic ability or whose parents don't like football.
5. Games will be played year round, but statistics will only be kept in the 4th, 8th, and 11th game.
6. It will create a New Age of Sports where every school is expected to have the same level of talent and all teams will reach the same minimum goals.
If no child gets ahead, then no child gets left behind.
7. If parents do not like this new law, they are encouraged to vote for vouchers and support private schools that can screen out the non-athletes and prevent their children from having to go to school with bad football players.
You know, if someone explained it like this to W., he might actually see the problems with NCLB.
-Zeepdoggie
09 January 2007
My Dishes
Lately I have not been able to muster up the drive to wash dirty dishes. Possibly it is due to this idea that slithers around in the back of my mind: what is the point?
You can try to clean dishes so well. Soak, scour, rinse, dry, polish, everything it takes to make them ready for the next meal even though afterward your hands are chapped, cracked and bleeding. Then comes the inherent problem. The next meal just makes the dishes dirty again.
If you don't wash the dishes they pile up. Some bits harden and cling to the dishes, solid and almost a part of the dish. Sometimes the dishes become stained from use, besmirched by a powerful and thick hue in the meal. As they stay there, untouched, unwashed, bacteria cultures, organic elements decay and rot, creating a foul odor about your dishes.
What is the alternative? Disposable plates? But then your old dishes still stay dirty and what you have now is not really yours. It does not require responsibility and ownership for one's dishes. Out of the package, used for a single meal, then thrown away.
Maybe we need someone to wash our dishes for us if we cannot do it ourselves. Someone who does not mind cleaning up after the last snack, meal or feast. This would be ideal if we could find that person and actually allow them to wash our dishes. But ultimately it would be an unfulfillable and one sided arrangement. All giving on one side, consuming and discarding, with only receiving on the other, endlessly cleaning up another person's mess.
I think the answer is to look for someone who's dishes you would not mind cleaning, in exchange for them washing yours. Though my dishes are now still sitting in the sink, untouched by me, I can only hope that one day they will be clean again.
::GringO::
You can try to clean dishes so well. Soak, scour, rinse, dry, polish, everything it takes to make them ready for the next meal even though afterward your hands are chapped, cracked and bleeding. Then comes the inherent problem. The next meal just makes the dishes dirty again.
If you don't wash the dishes they pile up. Some bits harden and cling to the dishes, solid and almost a part of the dish. Sometimes the dishes become stained from use, besmirched by a powerful and thick hue in the meal. As they stay there, untouched, unwashed, bacteria cultures, organic elements decay and rot, creating a foul odor about your dishes.
What is the alternative? Disposable plates? But then your old dishes still stay dirty and what you have now is not really yours. It does not require responsibility and ownership for one's dishes. Out of the package, used for a single meal, then thrown away.
Maybe we need someone to wash our dishes for us if we cannot do it ourselves. Someone who does not mind cleaning up after the last snack, meal or feast. This would be ideal if we could find that person and actually allow them to wash our dishes. But ultimately it would be an unfulfillable and one sided arrangement. All giving on one side, consuming and discarding, with only receiving on the other, endlessly cleaning up another person's mess.
I think the answer is to look for someone who's dishes you would not mind cleaning, in exchange for them washing yours. Though my dishes are now still sitting in the sink, untouched by me, I can only hope that one day they will be clean again.
::GringO::
29 December 2006
Fuckin' Mozart...
So what do I do with the greatest musical talent to ever live? I have his concerti on the iPod, and I am getting to hear them now, and they are perfect. Simply perfect; not a bad note, nothing out of place; tones where there should be tones, silences where there should be silences, not one goddamned thing unnecessary or missing. And you know that the conductor and the orchestra step it up a notch or three when they’re playing Mozart, so I am getting virtuoso level performances from the fourth chair trombone…
So what do I do about old Wolfy? Do I just quit now and claim whatever he writes as the best I’ve ever heard? In a word, no; and here’s why.
First of all, he was so good, that if he wanted to make you cry, you would cry. Mozart makes you feel what he wants you to feel. And that sucks for the purpose of The Project. I want to feel something beyond the purpose of the composition, something that works no matter what mood I am in. And since WA Mozart changes my mood to suit his themes, I can’t consider anything he’s written as the greatest song I have ever heard.
Also, he underutilizes the cello, my favorite instrument in the orchestra. Now Shostakovich, there’s a composer who knows how to work a cello…
While Wolfy will make the top 25, no contest, he won’t take home top honors, which, were he alive and all the rumors about his fantastic ego be true and he actually read my pap, would just piss him off.
-Zeepdoggie
So what do I do about old Wolfy? Do I just quit now and claim whatever he writes as the best I’ve ever heard? In a word, no; and here’s why.
First of all, he was so good, that if he wanted to make you cry, you would cry. Mozart makes you feel what he wants you to feel. And that sucks for the purpose of The Project. I want to feel something beyond the purpose of the composition, something that works no matter what mood I am in. And since WA Mozart changes my mood to suit his themes, I can’t consider anything he’s written as the greatest song I have ever heard.
Also, he underutilizes the cello, my favorite instrument in the orchestra. Now Shostakovich, there’s a composer who knows how to work a cello…
While Wolfy will make the top 25, no contest, he won’t take home top honors, which, were he alive and all the rumors about his fantastic ego be true and he actually read my pap, would just piss him off.
-Zeepdoggie
28 December 2006
Sharing the Joy of the Holidays! Part I
GringO and I have decided to share out Christmas stories with you all. I hope that his is longer, because mine is really short. You ready?
I couldn’t go to the Christmas Eve festivities of my family because I had to get to the Zeep family compound by 1400 in order to meet the RDV of 1600 at Zeepspunky’s house. She is my oldest and shortest sister, except in attitude; there she is the biggest member of the family, and I oh so love her for it!
Anyway, the job wouldn’t let me get out any earlier than 1600, so you see the conflict in the plan. I called my folks and told them to go without me.
So I worked until closing in Hell with Wheels. I went home and read for a little bit, tried to call some folks and didn’t get through, and went to sleep.
Christmas Day I went to the parental abode, did laundry and went home.
And that was Christmas.
-Zeepdoggie
I couldn’t go to the Christmas Eve festivities of my family because I had to get to the Zeep family compound by 1400 in order to meet the RDV of 1600 at Zeepspunky’s house. She is my oldest and shortest sister, except in attitude; there she is the biggest member of the family, and I oh so love her for it!
Anyway, the job wouldn’t let me get out any earlier than 1600, so you see the conflict in the plan. I called my folks and told them to go without me.
So I worked until closing in Hell with Wheels. I went home and read for a little bit, tried to call some folks and didn’t get through, and went to sleep.
Christmas Day I went to the parental abode, did laundry and went home.
And that was Christmas.
-Zeepdoggie
24 December 2006
22 December 2006
the Project: Progress...
The Project is progressing nicely. I am about 300 songs deep, with roughly one in five earning more than one star. I decided that I would not rate songs until I had it narrowed down to a top 100. With roughly 7000 songs, it's going to take a while.
But like I said, it's going well. It's been a lot of fun, since I am listening not only with an agenda but also with no mind as to the relevance of my choice to my mood or situation. I am listening just to listen. It's also exciting to me to be answering one of the questions that I have always asked myself; it's geeky, I know, but I love to listen to music. Music is God's voice to me.
-Zeepdoggie
But like I said, it's going well. It's been a lot of fun, since I am listening not only with an agenda but also with no mind as to the relevance of my choice to my mood or situation. I am listening just to listen. It's also exciting to me to be answering one of the questions that I have always asked myself; it's geeky, I know, but I love to listen to music. Music is God's voice to me.
-Zeepdoggie
20 December 2006
Stealing Their Hearts
I have figured out a new way I can meet the ladies. It’s quite clever; well, for me, at least. Its going to take me acquiring a new skill, which will be fun for me because:
1) I will be learning;
B) it might just get me some aksheeawwuhn (say it out loud to get it)!
When I see a pretty woman on the street, or on the bus/train/at work, etc. I will pick her pocket. I will wait until the proper moment and approach her and say, “Miss, I believe you dropped this.” The sudden discovery of a disaster averted plus the act of chivalry will make her more open than me just walking up and saying something exceptionally witty, like, “Nice shoes; wanna screw?” Hey, it would be witty for me! Consider the source, people!
So as I hand her back her wallet or pocketbook, I will laugh a little, and spin a tale for her about how my great uncle met my great aunt in the same way, and what a great couple they are. I will offer to take her for a cup of coffee; after all, it’s the least I could do for her since she gave me the opportunity to be a hero.
At this point, I’m not sure if I should steal her cash before I return her stuff to her, because then I could potentially get a date and not actually have to pay for it; and if she says no, then hey, twenty bucks! Smells kinda like a win-win to me!
It sounds like a winner to me! What do you all think?
-Zeepdoggie
1) I will be learning;
B) it might just get me some aksheeawwuhn (say it out loud to get it)!
When I see a pretty woman on the street, or on the bus/train/at work, etc. I will pick her pocket. I will wait until the proper moment and approach her and say, “Miss, I believe you dropped this.” The sudden discovery of a disaster averted plus the act of chivalry will make her more open than me just walking up and saying something exceptionally witty, like, “Nice shoes; wanna screw?” Hey, it would be witty for me! Consider the source, people!
So as I hand her back her wallet or pocketbook, I will laugh a little, and spin a tale for her about how my great uncle met my great aunt in the same way, and what a great couple they are. I will offer to take her for a cup of coffee; after all, it’s the least I could do for her since she gave me the opportunity to be a hero.
At this point, I’m not sure if I should steal her cash before I return her stuff to her, because then I could potentially get a date and not actually have to pay for it; and if she says no, then hey, twenty bucks! Smells kinda like a win-win to me!
It sounds like a winner to me! What do you all think?
-Zeepdoggie
16 December 2006
Finals Finale!
Hello, my beloved readers! I have grand news! The semester is over! Yay! You know what that means, right? You guessed it! It means I have more opportunities to write to you, my lovey-doveys! Look at how excited you are, peeing your pants and everything!
Now some of you missed me, I am sure, and some of you could care less as to what has happened to me. To those of the former, I say, as I hold a finger tenderly to your trembling lips, "Hold your tongue, my pet. I am here, now...for you." To those of the latter, I say, "AHAAHAHAHAHA! I AM BACK, BITCHES! BORN TO IRRITATE YOU, LIKE POISON OAK FOR YOUR DWINDLING CRANIUM! AS YOU SUFFER, I GUFFAW PURE LAFFS!"
Ahem...
So I would like to apologize for completely disappearing off of the Erf to the following people: Ren (I am so your bitch) and the happy household who lives only to serve her; Tim, who I swear I will call back soon; Tom and all the other dudes I game online with; and that nice young lady who somehow got my email address and sends me naked pictures (I swear I am not making this up; sometimes God does throw a little sunshine Zeepdoggie's way); Rolling Thunder and all the other cronies who toil with me in Hell and also read this pap. To all of you, I will soon say, "Hiya!" Except for Ren, to whom I will say, "Please forgive me, O fecund goddess of acerbic wit!"
So finals went off without a hitch. I did not ask out any of my professors or TA's, as I had hoped to. Cowardice is a potent little mood-killer. But I had a lot of fun hanging out with the Dimmer Twins of Cloud and Willi, two young lads in my Deutschklasse, and with Cake-Free Katie, who is not emo, but quite bright, and MO and K and Z, who will be forming with me a writing guild where we will share our ideas and works and see if they can't put a little shine on the shit I sling to the paper that I dare call "writing."
And then there is The Project, which is coming along. There will be a post about that soon enough, hold yer horses.
So what is up with you, sunshine? Let me hear ya!
-Zeepdoggie
Now some of you missed me, I am sure, and some of you could care less as to what has happened to me. To those of the former, I say, as I hold a finger tenderly to your trembling lips, "Hold your tongue, my pet. I am here, now...for you." To those of the latter, I say, "AHAAHAHAHAHA! I AM BACK, BITCHES! BORN TO IRRITATE YOU, LIKE POISON OAK FOR YOUR DWINDLING CRANIUM! AS YOU SUFFER, I GUFFAW PURE LAFFS!"
Ahem...
So I would like to apologize for completely disappearing off of the Erf to the following people: Ren (I am so your bitch) and the happy household who lives only to serve her; Tim, who I swear I will call back soon; Tom and all the other dudes I game online with; and that nice young lady who somehow got my email address and sends me naked pictures (I swear I am not making this up; sometimes God does throw a little sunshine Zeepdoggie's way); Rolling Thunder and all the other cronies who toil with me in Hell and also read this pap. To all of you, I will soon say, "Hiya!" Except for Ren, to whom I will say, "Please forgive me, O fecund goddess of acerbic wit!"
So finals went off without a hitch. I did not ask out any of my professors or TA's, as I had hoped to. Cowardice is a potent little mood-killer. But I had a lot of fun hanging out with the Dimmer Twins of Cloud and Willi, two young lads in my Deutschklasse, and with Cake-Free Katie, who is not emo, but quite bright, and MO and K and Z, who will be forming with me a writing guild where we will share our ideas and works and see if they can't put a little shine on the shit I sling to the paper that I dare call "writing."
And then there is The Project, which is coming along. There will be a post about that soon enough, hold yer horses.
So what is up with you, sunshine? Let me hear ya!
-Zeepdoggie
12 December 2006
Project: 1st Snag
Less than 24 hours into The Project, and I have been bit in the ass with the steely jaws of a cartoonish bear trap of a problem. It's a simple question to ask, but tricky as hell to answer:
In what order do I listen to the songs?
If I do it by band, then the band's particular style will become a baseline for my ear and mind, affecting the judgment of other bands and songs. Obviously, listening by album or genre will have the same effect.
I'll have to do it by song. But how the hell am I going to keep track of the songs? Especially since some of them appear more than once from the same artist, i.e. a live track vs. a studio track.
This is going to be very, very tough.
But thank Jobs for that handy feature of being able to rate songs right on the ol' iPod. Once I listen to a song, i will rate it with one star. Any song I think is very good or better, I will give two stars. This will help to slowly narrow down the possibilities, bottlenecking the selections.
It's good the semester's ending.
-Zeepdoggie
In what order do I listen to the songs?
If I do it by band, then the band's particular style will become a baseline for my ear and mind, affecting the judgment of other bands and songs. Obviously, listening by album or genre will have the same effect.
I'll have to do it by song. But how the hell am I going to keep track of the songs? Especially since some of them appear more than once from the same artist, i.e. a live track vs. a studio track.
This is going to be very, very tough.
But thank Jobs for that handy feature of being able to rate songs right on the ol' iPod. Once I listen to a song, i will rate it with one star. Any song I think is very good or better, I will give two stars. This will help to slowly narrow down the possibilities, bottlenecking the selections.
It's good the semester's ending.
-Zeepdoggie
11 December 2006
The Project
I have a new project. It’s ambitious, and most likely it’s unrealistic, but I’m going to do it anyway. This is a project I have wanted to do for years, for a long, long time; before I thought of writing a book, before I debated being a sailor, I wanted to take this on. But I didn’t have the tools; the technology, the selections, the opportunity.
But they’re all here now; I have the proper tools, and I have the material and I have the drive.
I am going to descry the greatest song I have ever heard.
Not the greatest song of all time, but the greatest song of all time for me.
The iPod has roughly twenty days worth of music. I’m going to have to listen to everything at least twice. And then there’s the considerations of technical ability, composition, lyrical content, and that ever important “vibe.”
Twenty days. Twenty days. 20. Zwanzig. Vingt. Twintig. είκοσι. Shit...
Aw, hell. It’s not like I haven’t bitten off more than I could chew before. It usually gives me gas, but I'll finish the meal.
-Zeepdoggie
But they’re all here now; I have the proper tools, and I have the material and I have the drive.
I am going to descry the greatest song I have ever heard.
Not the greatest song of all time, but the greatest song of all time for me.
The iPod has roughly twenty days worth of music. I’m going to have to listen to everything at least twice. And then there’s the considerations of technical ability, composition, lyrical content, and that ever important “vibe.”
Twenty days. Twenty days. 20. Zwanzig. Vingt. Twintig. είκοσι. Shit...
Aw, hell. It’s not like I haven’t bitten off more than I could chew before. It usually gives me gas, but I'll finish the meal.
-Zeepdoggie
05 December 2006
Mike Ness and the Story of My Day
So, who here has heard of Social Distortion? C'mon, put yer hands up!
Now put 'em down! What's the matter with you, putting your hands up when you're sitting at the computer? You look like a crazy person!
So I'm listening to "White Light, White Heat, White Trash" on my way home from work. I'm feeling a little conflicted. Mom's out of the hospital and I have a brandy-new, shiny grand-nephew. But I'm still feeling down, because it's the holidays and I don't take to the lonelies well whenever it's just another boring day on the calendar. But this is the time of year where it just sucks. I've actually not spent a Christmas alone (as in without a girlfriend/wife/significant other) since I've been dating. For those not in the know, that is a long goddamned time. This year, the streak will, in all likelihood, be broken. I am not jazzed about that. My sub needs to dock. Sailors need liberty in some port other than home.
Have I pushed the metaphor far enough? Good.
So, yeah, and I got into a conversation at work that ended with me quoting Tyler Durden, so you know that must have been a very cheerful way to leave the jobsite. The conversation before that was about divorce, and it went downhill from there.
I put on SoD, because, hey, why not? Is it going to get worse? It could, I know, but SoD won't be the ones responsible, and I'm leaving the job after my second bad day at work (which sucks because it's Tuesday), so I just decide to listen to some really depressing lyrics sung to a nice upbeat punk vibe.
I'm listening to "Down on the World Again" and I am so right there with Ness, man.
Well, I feel so alone in this crowd, my thoughts of despair
Are getting loud
I'm disrespected
And I'm down on the world again
Love and tolerance have abandoned me and I feel the gloom hovering over me
I'm resentful
And I'm down on the world again
Fuck the world; all of humanity is nothing more than the skidmarks in the geological-time toilet bowl; the experiment is over and mankind just won't do what all the other useless species had the decency to do and just die off already! Burn the whole thing down to the core. Not "Feelin' Groovy," that's for sure.
I get on the train, sit down in all of my foulness and angst and whatever else you want to call it just don't call it emo, and across from me is this cute little baby. And he starts talking to me in that individual baby-speak that you can't understand unless you spend a full month straight with the little bugger, but he's laughing and talking to me. I talk back, mostly saying "Really?" and "Yeah!" just encouraging him to keep going. And he has a cool hat, and he shows it to me, and he loves his Scooby-Doo blanket ( and I ask, who wouldn't?) and he is just so damned adorable that I completely forget about me and am so jazzed on his coolness that I'm still smiling about it.
As I get off the train, I listen to the song that's now playing.
The sins
Of the world
And it's cold on the streets
And you're all alone
And the tears
They start to fall
When it all comes down
Hear the angels sing
Thanks, little dude, for helping me hear the angels sing.
-Zeepdoggie
Now put 'em down! What's the matter with you, putting your hands up when you're sitting at the computer? You look like a crazy person!
So I'm listening to "White Light, White Heat, White Trash" on my way home from work. I'm feeling a little conflicted. Mom's out of the hospital and I have a brandy-new, shiny grand-nephew. But I'm still feeling down, because it's the holidays and I don't take to the lonelies well whenever it's just another boring day on the calendar. But this is the time of year where it just sucks. I've actually not spent a Christmas alone (as in without a girlfriend/wife/significant other) since I've been dating. For those not in the know, that is a long goddamned time. This year, the streak will, in all likelihood, be broken. I am not jazzed about that. My sub needs to dock. Sailors need liberty in some port other than home.
Have I pushed the metaphor far enough? Good.
So, yeah, and I got into a conversation at work that ended with me quoting Tyler Durden, so you know that must have been a very cheerful way to leave the jobsite. The conversation before that was about divorce, and it went downhill from there.
I put on SoD, because, hey, why not? Is it going to get worse? It could, I know, but SoD won't be the ones responsible, and I'm leaving the job after my second bad day at work (which sucks because it's Tuesday), so I just decide to listen to some really depressing lyrics sung to a nice upbeat punk vibe.
I'm listening to "Down on the World Again" and I am so right there with Ness, man.
Well, I feel so alone in this crowd, my thoughts of despair
Are getting loud
I'm disrespected
And I'm down on the world again
Love and tolerance have abandoned me and I feel the gloom hovering over me
I'm resentful
And I'm down on the world again
Fuck the world; all of humanity is nothing more than the skidmarks in the geological-time toilet bowl; the experiment is over and mankind just won't do what all the other useless species had the decency to do and just die off already! Burn the whole thing down to the core. Not "Feelin' Groovy," that's for sure.
I get on the train, sit down in all of my foulness and angst and whatever else you want to call it just don't call it emo, and across from me is this cute little baby. And he starts talking to me in that individual baby-speak that you can't understand unless you spend a full month straight with the little bugger, but he's laughing and talking to me. I talk back, mostly saying "Really?" and "Yeah!" just encouraging him to keep going. And he has a cool hat, and he shows it to me, and he loves his Scooby-Doo blanket ( and I ask, who wouldn't?) and he is just so damned adorable that I completely forget about me and am so jazzed on his coolness that I'm still smiling about it.
As I get off the train, I listen to the song that's now playing.
The sins
Of the world
And it's cold on the streets
And you're all alone
And the tears
They start to fall
When it all comes down
Hear the angels sing
Thanks, little dude, for helping me hear the angels sing.
-Zeepdoggie
04 December 2006
Welcome Aboard, Jake!
Jacob Ryan Federici, the latest member of Zeepdoggie's growing crew of grandnephews and-nieces, has joined the ranks. Pipe him aboard, and let the spoiling begin!
Seriously though, Jake Ryan? My niece's obsession with 80's movies has gotten out of control. Besides, think of how much cooler that baby would be in high school if Mom and Dad went with the most famous character in that movie.
ROLL CALL
"Evans, Josh..."
"Here."
Federici...Long Duk Dong!?"
"...sigh..."
I guess it could've been worse. I remember her being really into "Top Gun." Maverick Iceman Federici would've been okay, but imagine if she went the RIO route: that's right, folks, Goose Slider Federici.
That would be totally hott! No wait; it would be HOTTT!
-Zeepdoggie
And Jake, that Great Uncle Zeepdoggie to you! Love ya, bubba!
Seriously though, Jake Ryan? My niece's obsession with 80's movies has gotten out of control. Besides, think of how much cooler that baby would be in high school if Mom and Dad went with the most famous character in that movie.
ROLL CALL
"Evans, Josh..."
"Here."
Federici...Long Duk Dong!?"
"...sigh..."
I guess it could've been worse. I remember her being really into "Top Gun." Maverick Iceman Federici would've been okay, but imagine if she went the RIO route: that's right, folks, Goose Slider Federici.
That would be totally hott! No wait; it would be HOTTT!
-Zeepdoggie
And Jake, that Great Uncle Zeepdoggie to you! Love ya, bubba!
28 November 2006
Don't Ever Ask That Question
So, Zeepmomma is in the hospital, again. This time the docs are 95% sure it's pneumonia. Good for them; something they can diagnose and treat. But it's a pretty bad case, and since they still don't know exactly why she lost use of her legs for a few days, they are taking her case as "exceptional."
This is what I get for asking, "What next?"
They aren't sure when she'll be home, since this is her fifth bout with pneumonia in four years. I remember trying to explain to her that she has all of these lung-related issues, and that there is most likely a link to her smoking for roughly fifty years of her life. She thinks it's coincidence. Yeah, just like all those times she'd come home to me, eyebrows smoldering, holding a scorched screwdriver in one very twitchy hand, giggling idiotically and big burn marks on the wall above the socket and me being able to hold a lightbulb in my mouth and make it glow are just coincidences.
But her being in a hosopital affords me many opportunities to flirt with nurses, doctors, orderlies and candy-stripers; life hands me a lemon, I'll see if it can get me laid.
-Zeepdoggie
This is what I get for asking, "What next?"
They aren't sure when she'll be home, since this is her fifth bout with pneumonia in four years. I remember trying to explain to her that she has all of these lung-related issues, and that there is most likely a link to her smoking for roughly fifty years of her life. She thinks it's coincidence. Yeah, just like all those times she'd come home to me, eyebrows smoldering, holding a scorched screwdriver in one very twitchy hand, giggling idiotically and big burn marks on the wall above the socket and me being able to hold a lightbulb in my mouth and make it glow are just coincidences.
But her being in a hosopital affords me many opportunities to flirt with nurses, doctors, orderlies and candy-stripers; life hands me a lemon, I'll see if it can get me laid.
-Zeepdoggie
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