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Neverending Memories

I just saw the 19-something's version of 1984 (in movie form) which made me think 2 things: 1) I really want to read that book again, and 2) I sometimes wish that 4 could be 5. If it were possible to take a memory, a feeling, something that is deeply a part of you and just make it go away...would you? I would. There are parts of my life that I have surely learned from and surely gained something from, but given the chance, I would clean them from my memory in a second. If only a little torture and facing your worst fear could make you forget something.

I'm back from San Jo (pronounced "ho") and trying to relax a little. Sure...it seems that I should be relaxed after being home on vacation for a week, but no, I was busy busy busy and am now taking a vacation from my vacation. It was nice however. I even got to see:

Jordan (the Coke fiend (the cola, not the drug))

and:

Kevin (the Coke fiend (the drug, not the cola (just kidding)))

We all played a battle of the sexes board game in which we were asked questions such as "What is spoom?" and "How is dill best stored?" I'll give anyone $5 if they can tell me what spoom is without actually looking it up (I'm gonna have to take your word that you don't look it up, so don't take advantage of my trustworthy nature or I will have to take advantage of a metal baseball bat's hard nature)

It was a great trip, plus I got to drive through SNOW:

as we drove over the 5. It was nice to see some snow the day after Christmas. Yeah yeah, you guys in Oregon and places where you get snow can laugh all you like about having tons of snow, but then I'll laugh as you have to shovel it off of your driveway. I love snow.

And now it's time to sleep. And then I'll be busy all of Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. When does it end!?! Goodnight y'all.





p.s. quick movie review:

LOTR: ROTK- Friggin excellent.

Stuck on You- Friggin ok.
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On the 5,000th Day of Christmas...

So we all know that Christmas is taking over the rest of the year, and that all the stores start hawking Christmas like a streetwalker hawks her body starting the day after Thanksgiving. We also know that this "time of cheer" ends up being a "time of hatred/stress/anxiety/hopelessness." However, if you know how to deal with it, this can be a fun time after all.

My trip home started with Chad and I both forgetting to pack underwear. How, one might ask, do two brothers both forget to pack underwear for their trip home for Christmas? It seemed like an evil ploy to get my mom to buy me new boxers, but no...I'm just dumb that way. In the store, getting new boxers, my mom was telling my dad the tale of underwearless woe when a random lady overheard and started laughing really loudly. She then asked if we were said sons who were lacking said underwear. I hid out of embarrassment and Chad leered at her with an "I'm not wearing underwear" kind of look.

Later some girl decided to use me to see if a jacket would fit her boyfriend. She must be dating on ogre because the jacket she had me put on went down to my knees. I had to stand there looking like I was a mentally handicapped boy trying to figure out what size I was until she was done "groping" me. That was her word, "Sorry I'm groping you."

So after trying on lots of pants while not wearing underwear, trying to convince my mom to get me a "stoner beanie" (the ones with the ear flaps on the side), and coming to a complete loss as to what to get my dad for Christmas...I went home exhausted.

Other than that I golfed in the rain, ate lots of mint brownies, walked through more malls than I can count (I can only count to 3), visited my grandpa, felt guilty over how much my parents spend on us kids, felt sad when I got my bank readout that said I only had $30 left in my account, got rained on some more, ran into some high school acquaintances who recounted tales of weight-training class in which I was "getting ripped", played with my doggy, and didn't sleep enough.

Nuff said. Time to wrap some more presents and then sleep with my shotgun as I wait for that skulking bastard Santa to come down one of our chimneys. Oh, he'll make great friends with Mr. Remington.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS!!!
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On the Profound Effects of the Scottish Accent Upon the Homeless

I thought that, seeing as to how it is December 20th, it might be a good time to review my new year's resolutions from last year and see if I was able to meet my incredibly high standards for myself. Here's my list from my first entry of January of 2003 and the results:

Grant's New Years Resolutions for 2003

-- to not write "2002" on everything for the next three months
...*success* I only did this for the next 2months!

-- to write more in my journal
...*undetermined* I checked my journal and I wrote more for some periods of time, but then again, I haven't written in my journal for months on end. So you be the judge.

-- to take a road trip
...*success* For those of you who remember my harrowing account of Naomi and my trip to San Fran, this was a goal that was easily fulfilled.

-- to go to at least one big concert
...*success* I saw Tool, Silverchair, and more will come on this subject later.

-- to write at least five songs for my band
...*failure* Or maybe this one is null since I am no longer a Breakfast Epiphanian.

-- to never use the phrase "bling bling"
...*success* Thank God this was a success.

-- to stop leaving listerine pocket mint packages in my pants when i wash them
...*success* I am proud to say that I one upped this one...I stopped eating those damned addictive mints thereby making it impossible for me to leave a pack in my pocket.

-- to never do a cover of the song "jenny from the block"
...*success* Once more...thank God this was a success.

-- to quit my job at schlotzskeys
...*success* I aptly quit soon after the new year began. Hooray!

-- to take the condom off my bike seat (don't ask...I didn't put it there)
...*undetermined* My bike was stolen, so I never got a chance to take it off. Plus the rain washed most of the crumbling pieces of dried condom off the seat. So once more...you guys decide.

-- to move into my first house
...*success* Oh I love living in a house again.

-- to learn how to write more than just "grant" in hebrew
...*failure* In fact, I think I regressed. I forgot how to write Grant, but I did learn how to say 1-10, so maybe that counts?

-- to not end up naked in front of a group of more than three
...*failure* Heh, I just realized that I failed this one. During my surgery I was naked in front of an indeterminate amount of people...most likely 4 or more. WEEEE!

-- to never convince myself that i can sing well
...*success* Though at times I thought I had it...I never convinced myself that I REALLY had it.

-- to read at least twenty books (with more words than pictures)
...*undetermined* I think I set this one a little high. I did read at least 15, but I can't be sure of how many I read exactly.

-- to find at least one occasion for which i have to dress up
...*success* I went to a wedding. And no, I didn't wear jeans.

-- to cry at least one tear because i am so happy
...*success* Thanks Naomi.

I think I did pretty good. Mostly successes and unknowns. I'm not sure what I plan on trying to succeed this next year, but I'm sure "Not having my penis cut into, shot full of drugs, or dilated again" will be on the list.

I just saw a film called Sweet Sixteen which sounds allot like a crappy chick flick about a girl who is almost sixteen and has never dated and then she finds the right guy and her parents don't want her to date so she has to sneak around their backs and then gets in allot of trouble and you think that it's over between them, but then the guy in an unusual amount of romanticism for a 16 year old comes back and succeeds in making her his girlfriend and kisses her for her first time. But it's not. In fact it was about this Scottish kid who had the chance to make it big in the world but only through drug dealing and murder, so he has to choose between a good but poor life and a great but corrupt life. It was interesting because we had to turn the subtitles on due to their accents. I kid you not. I can understand Scottish accents pretty damned well, but their accents were SO strong that it sounded like another language and without subtitles it would have been unwatchable.

I'm going home for about a week, starting tomorrow. I'll end up playing golf, watching Lord of the Rings, Christmas shopping, and sleeping in allot. Oh, and maybe posting once or twice. So if you want to know how my exciting life continues, tune in later. Same Grant time. Same Grant channel.

P.S. I get to see The Psychedelic Furs on new year's eve. ROCK!
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On the Subject of Me

I haven't written anything in a really long while, so I thought I would merely for the sake of not leaving my site un-updated (un-dated?) for too long. So it's not my fault if this post sucks. Or it is and I just don't want to take the blame.

Recent Life Update:

Movie Reviews

-Bowling for Columbine: I really liked this movie. I thought that it debunked most of the myths about gun control out there. People need to not be stupid and realize that gun control won't solve our 11,000+ deaths due to guns a year. See it. It's not all right on, but it's good.

-Bubble Boy: Wait...before you laugh...this movie is REALLY funny. No...seriously. I didn't want to see this because, well, it looked horrible. I did, however, rent it because it's Jake Gyllenhall (did I just horribly mutilate his name?) and I was not disappointed. I would say that if you're in a stupid/funny movie mood...get this movie. Just wear a paper bag over your head as you rent it.

-A Might Wind: Another funny film from...um...whoever made those films. I would say that this ranks above Best In Show, a tiny bit below Spinal Tap, and below Waiting for Guffman. Pretty funny film, even if you are someone who doesn't like folk music (like myself).

-Swordfish: Not bad. I saw it on TV so I didn't get to see Halley Barry's boobs. Oh well.

-The Matrix: Revolutions: I expected to say that I hated this film because of how much I despised the second film; but hey, it really wasn't bad at all. Better amount of fight scenes, better acting, better crafted scenes, better drama, not nearly as much drull dialogue...so yeah, I actually really enjoyed it and wouldn't mind seeing it again.

Penis Review

-It no longer bleeds when I pee.

Other Than That Review

-I went bowling and hurt my hand trying to put spin on the ball. I played pool in a really creepy bar that was playing the History Channel which is somehow really wrong in a bar. I did more last minute homework than I ever hope to do every again in my entire life. I died a little inside when I found out that Robert Smith did a song with Blink 182 (ok, I died allot). I bought chocolate milk. I tried to buy a Playboy because of the articles (no really...I'm serious...the January issue, I am told, has a great article by Chuck Palahniuk and by Hunter S. Thompson) but like anyone would really believe that, plus nobody carries Playboy...seriously. I had a dream about spiders...lots of spiders.

Ok, I'm rambling now. I need to stop. I'm bored and am using this site as my whipping boy who I take out my bored aggression on. I apologize.
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The Plight of My Penis

If there is ANY part of a man's anatomy that he does not want in jeopardy.........it's his penis. Hell, give me broken bones, cataracts, horribly ingrown toenails....but stay the hell away from my penis.

Some of you might remember me talking about the trouble I've had with my penis. Others of you might merely remember that I talked about my penis because you thought it extremely weird/perverted/unnecessary. Well...plug your eyes if you don't want to hear some more...

Quick penis recap: I had scar tissue built up in my urethra and I had to have minor surgery to get the blockage cleared away.

Current penis recap: The scar tissue built back up, causing more pain when I urinated. WEE! Today I had to go in to the doctor and take off my clothes from the waist down. I then had to cover my exposed genitalia with a paper towel. The doctor came in and took a small clamp...or maybe you don't call it a clamp since it does the opposite of what a clamp does. But wait, it still clamps. Hrmm....well...basically it's two little metal prongs that go into the urethra and then open up, prying the hole wider, and then clamps in that position (kinda like the thing they use on girls at the gyno). Then he slathered some kind of numbing jelly into my urethra and gave me a shot in my penis. WEE! After a few minutes of pain, he walked over with a MUCH larger version of that clamp thing. Now, let's do a visualization here. Take a dime, now pretend that the opening to the urethra is that big (which, if you didn't happen to know, it's not). Now take a quarter...the size difference between the two is how much bigger the clamp thing was than the opening of my urethra. WEE! He slid it (or more like jammed it) inside and then squeezed a lever which opened the end of the clamp thereby dilating my urethra. All that I could get out of my mouth was, "ow."

Now I'm peeing blood again (and not just peeing...it kind of leaks out when I don't want it to...the blood, not the urine). Let's just say I've kinda lost hope that my penis will EVER go back to normal. And let's just say that hell can't be very different than having giant probes stuck down your penis.
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Airport Shenanigans (V.2)

My brother and I headed to the airport to fly home for Thanksgiving. I didn't know how, but I knew that something semi-bad had to happen to me...because I can't go to the airport and have a really good, event free time. It started with me forgetting my boarding pass. Luckily Chad had printed mine out for me, somehow foreseeing my inevitable forgetfulness. We got through the security line and I saw everyone taking off their shoes before going through the metal detector...well this is new. So I took my corkscrews, ice picks, automatic weapons, retractable blades, and explosives out of my pockets and put them in a little plastic bin to be scanned under the x-ray machine. I walked through and heard the dreaded BEEP of my third arch nemesis, the metal detector (#1=the sun, #2=my own penis). I had forgotten to take off my hemp and metal bead necklace and my chains from my wrist. They ushered me into a little plastic box where I stood for a good 10 minutes before they would check me for something illegal. I finally got scanned by the magic wand by some guy with a really bad temper who, at the point where I accidentally lowered my arms too early, said "Oh...we're not EVEN done yet." Then Chad and I got some food at the John Wayne airport sports bar. My hamburger cost me $8.25. My Seabreeze (the cost of which was not on the menu) cost me $9.00. Yes, I was raped at the airport. The rest of the trip was uneventful.

The day before Thanksgiving...a day of vacation...one of the few that I ever get...I was woken up at 6:00am to go golfing. "Hi, I'm Grant," "Hi Grant!," "I've been masochism free for 17 days." ::apathetic applause:: I'm not really a golfer. This means that I get really frustrated when I do golf because I do it so poorly. Somehow I got through the 18 holes with a 127, which I guess isn't too shabby considering that I hadn't golfed in nearly 2 years. We got our 23 lb. turkey on the way home, then met up with my mom and sister to go cut down our Christmas tree. Yes...you heard me right...we were getting a tree BEFORE Thanksgiving. Soon we'll be getting a tree in March...watch out...Christmas is taking over. After that, my family and I went bowling and then out to eat. I started the day at 6:00am and didn't stop doing stuff till 10:30pm. I went to sleep after that.

Thanksgiving day would have been eventless if it were not for Chad going to visit the gravesite of his x-pug that he had for 13 years. He buried it in the mountains last year and wanted to go visit him. He came home with the skull to put in his bedroom.

Chad and his friends have been going to San Francisco for the past 6 years on Thanksgiving night to go clubbing at 330 (the last wheezing gasp of euro-trash brit-pop in the world). I've gone with him the past 2 times. So we show up for a Smith's tribute night and enter the room full of Thanksgiving ditchers (much like ourselves) and meet up with Chad's other friends. Matt hands us all a Kamikaze and we toast. I drink it because, hey, he paid 50-something dollars for all of them and I wanted to show my thanks. I really shouldn't have because they were SO friggin sweet (and poorly made) that I almost vomited right there. WEE almost vomiting! We then danced the night away to some really good music. 2:00am rolled around and we were ushered out into the parking lot. Chad and I were the only ones not completely sloshed, so we watched as Friend 1 jumped on Friend 2's car while Friend 2 was too drunk to do anything about it. Friend 2 then puked in the corner while Friend 3 tried to un-dent the car from the inside. Friend 1 and 4 then argued with Friend 2 about whether The Matrix: Revolutions was any good or not. This was all very amusing, but I was so dead tired that I just wanted a bed. Even if it were right there in the parking lot.

The next morning Chad and I ate pizza for breakfast and headed to the San Jose airport to fly back to The OC (nobody calls is that...I promise). Amazingly I didn't have any major problems, other than being forced to buy some really crappy chapstick because my lips were chapped and they only had one brand. It tasted like cherry Dimetapp (which is the devil in liquid form) and I paid $4.00 for it. It's now in the garbage.

Oh, and P.S. I'm clairvoyant. I had a dream a couple nights before coming home that my cousin Heather was pregnant. I then went home and one of the first pieces of news that I was given was that my cousin Heather was pregnant. Creeeeepy. In my dream it was a boy and they named it Toby. If those 2 facts are right...I'm gettin' my own TV show.

SCHWIIIING................again



gosh I love halloween

My Doppelganger and Me

Today Naomi and I went to a place called Bagel Me, which sounds somewhat like a lewd comment a passerby in just a trench coat would make. Despite the name, it is just a bagel place. We ordered and stood around in the crowd, my attention going from person to person...coming up with stories for each of them...wondering where they had come from and where they were going. One guy caught my attention in particular...probably because he was really small, but perfectly in proportion. I gave up my story making and waited for my cheese bagel with cream cheese. The lady walks up to the counter with a bag in her hand and yells "GRANT!" I start to walk forward as the little guy walks up and grabs my bag. He heads for the door and I thought that maybe she had already called his and mine was still at the counter. I walked up and said, "I'm Grant." She asked me if I had ordered the cheese bagel with cream cheese, I nodded yes, and she looked very confused. "GRANT! GRANT! THAT'S NOT YOUR FOOD...IT'S HIS!" she yelled out, pointing at me. He stopped at hearing the name Grant, and came back looking confused. It seems that two Grants came into Bagel Me at the same time, both ordered and gave their name for recognition, and both assumed that the same food was their own. As he handed me the bag we looked at each other somewhat confused and somewhat amused. You have to understand...we Grants don't usually bump into each other. I have met 2 Grants in my entire life. Now 3. I had the strange urge to sit down and find out who he is, find out his story, just because we share a name. But alas...my bagel was getting cold and that would be a little creepy. So I left.

Take THAT Website Biotch!!!

Let me just say that I feel REALLY stupid when I try to work with html. According to IE, I got this picture thing right. According to the Mac browser...my pictures are humping eachother. Let me know how it looks for you.

::shakes head in disgust::

I need a real life.

Lord Kill the Pain...

Ah the Red House Painters. Seriously...how can a guy be that depressed for that many years and not have killed himself? Well...his words ring true right now.

My penis is broken again.

You might recall the somewhat hellish/horrific/terrible experience I had somewhat recently that involved surgery and my genitalia. Well...guess what? It hurts when I pee again! Hooray! I went to the urologist today and I'm now on antibiotics (again) and I will have to go back in a week to have some minor dialation done in the office. That's a nice way of saying, "We're gonna put some stuff inside your urethra, then expand those things. It's gonna hurt...allot." Oh joy. And if that doesn't work...I get to have surgery...a-frickin-gain.

I'm getting really tired of this.

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On a completely different note...it's amazing how something like a song can bring you back to an earlier time in your life. It can suddenly cause emotions in you that you haven't felt in a long time, and maybe never wanted to feel again. Or maybe things that you never wanted to feel again because you were afraid of them, but in reality they are things that you need to face. Inner demons if you will. I am suddenly sitting in my dorm room, in the dark, with my headphones on, a phone call just ended, the room dark and I am the only one left awake. I am suddenly crying silently to myself again, a sense of deja vu since this happaned weekly. I am suddenly staring blankly at my computer monitor which is the only light in the room. I am suddenly afraid to go to bed again because that's possibly an even lonlier place than I am at right now. And I am suddenly snapped out of this waking dream and reminded that this is only a memory. One that I will never be able to get rid of.

SHIIIING!!!

I'm trying some little site changes around here...so if you load up my page and see a bunch of little red x's, that's a bad thing...but I'm working on it. If you load the page and see a picture at the top that looks like me trying to be Wolverine but with crayon claws....that's exactly what it is....it's me trying to be Wolverine with crayon claws.

Gosh I'm a dork.

An Account of an Ostrich’s Dislike of Rain and Other True Tales

This past weekend Naomi and I planned a little trip to Santa Barbara to see our good friends Jordan (the girl) and Kevin (the boy). I got out of band practice and we got in my car, ready for the 2 1/2 hour drive. Then the fates conspired against us. I forgot that my headlight was out...and a trip to Santa Barbara in the dark is a bad idea. So we went to Pep Boys (bite your tongue Grant, bite your tongue) and I had to replace my bulb in the parking lot. Then, just out of curiosity I asked Naomi to look up a dashboard light that had recently come on. The Germans sure are weird people, because when they were making my car they decided to put in a little dashboard light that looks like a happy little sun and lights up a happy little yellow.......and means that your front brake pads are worn down. It's like, HOORAY!!! You're breaks are bad!!! Yeah...hooray. So we had to switch cars. By this time it was even deeper into the traffic filled hours of the evening, so our 2 1/2 hour trip became an oh so wonderful 4 hour trip. But we made it, and that's all that matters.

We said our hellos and decided to get some food. Kevin suggested Quiznos, since Jordan is a Quiznos fiend and without her fix she will surely go into spazmic convulsions. It was closed, so we went to the somewhat famous Freebirds...home of the monster burrito too big for most humans to physically consume. Then we named Jordan's stuffed turtle Shubert, tried to get Kevin to dance, were freaked out by Jordan's possessed hallway light, and dragged a hundred pound futon mattress downstairs to make a makeshift bed.

The next morning we were off to the Chumach casino. It's an Indian reservation casino that allows 18 year olds to gamble. The original idea of going there came to us when we were not 21. I am now 21...but oh well...it was still my first time gambling. We found ourselves drawn to the bright shininess of the slots and soon Kevin was down a few bucks, Jordan was down a few bucks, Naomi had doubled her original 10 bucks, and I...well...I lost 20 bucks. Let's just say gambling is not my strong point.

Next we were off to Solvang...The Dutch Capitol of America (yeah, the slogan really confuses the heck out of me too) for lunch. It's this little Dutch town in the middle of nowhere. I'm not sure who got high and came up with putting a Dutch town out there...but he did...and we thank him. We found a restaurant and all got very American food except for Jordan...who braved the bratwurst. She was going to get the knackwurst or the slagenwurst...but she chose the bratwurst (ok ok, I might have made one of those words up) Soon we were happily eating our burgers and sandwiches, and Jordan was trying her very hardest to bite into a huge piece of lumpy, off-white meat. Let's just say she didn't eat it all. Then Jordan and Kevin ordered something called able skeivers? They are huge pancake like balls in sauce of some kind. Mmmmm. We then took pictures of the old Dutch people who dance on the sidewalk for no apparent reason. The rain started, I got a caramel apple, and we left.

On the way back, Jordan wanted desperately to go to the ostrich farm...but last time she was there it was raining and they only got to see some emus. I guess ostriches aren't water-proof. So instead we went to K-Mart, bought Taboo, and went back to Jordan's house to see who was the Taboo master.

Alas...the night had to come to a close and Naomi and I had to go home. But I left them a souvenir...my flip-flops. I mean...I kinda want them back, but who knows when that will happen.

Best quotes from the trip:

Jordan: Brian...thank you for Finding Nemo.
Grant: Brian found Nemo?
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(one of many comments about Kevin's manhood)
Kevin: Give a man an inch, and he'll take it a mile.
Jordan: Unless that man is Kevin.
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(and the winning quote)
Jordan: This is heaven in ball form!

I have a confession...

I was just about to write a really long-winded, sad, pity-me kinda monologue about how heart-broken I was a little over a year ago. A paragraph or two into it I realized that it was coming across as really pathetic and I was just feeding my inner beast that loves to be depressed.

So instead I'm going to write out the ingredients list for Nyquil:

Acetaminophen
Dextromethorphan
Doxylamine succinate
Pseudophedrine
D&C yellow no. 10
FD&C blue no. 1
gelatin
glycerin
polyethylene glycol
povidone
propylene glycol
purified water
sorbitol special

My favorite is sorbitol special.

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Good Ol' Man Show

I'm sorry, I need to rant about something. I just took more Nyquil (yeah, this bastard cold won't go away) and was flipping channels. On came the Man Show which started out with a dialogue between the new wannabe Man Show hosts about religion. Off they go about every religion being a cult. Every religion being a group of stupid sheep partaking in stupid activities. Every religion being a simple crutch...no different than "a hooker and pack of cigarettes." Every religion being, at the base, thousands of people doing the same thing. Then they started to misquote the Bible by taking verses out of context and trying to prove that prostitution is condoned by the Bible and that adultery should require death for the adulterer.

Yeah, that's some good logic there! I'd better forget my beliefs because...my goodness...these geniuses have thoroughly convinced me with shoddier logic than...well...than someone with really shoddy logic (sorry...the Nyquil must be taking effect...it's not allowing me to think very wittily) Let's take a look at what they said....

Every religion is a cult: First off...the definition of cult. 1- A religion or religious sect generally considered to be extremist or false, with its followers often living in an unconventional manner under the guidance of an authoritarian, charismatic leader. or 2- A usually nonscientific method or regimen claimed by its originator to have exclusive or exceptional power in curing a particular disease. Well, since the Man Show geniuses were talking about the Bible...they were therefore talking about Christianity (or a sect of). Well, since there are thousands upon thousands of historic facts backing Christianity, the first definition of cult can obviously not be applied. Then...since Christianity has been put through the scientific process by such scientific/theological gods as Alvin Planktiga and C.S. Lewis, this second definition of cult can obviously not be applied. Well...there goes the first main insult.

Every religion is a group of stupid sheep partaking in stupid activities: Well...this could be hard to argue since it's so vague...but hey...if a group of people meeting on Sunday to try and better their lives, or a group of people trying to follow some basic rules (none of which could possibly be called stupid), or a group of people looking to something other than themselves to help them through life is stupid...then I'm glad to be stupid.

Every religion is a simple crutch...no different then a hooker and pack of cigarettes: The only way you can call religion merely a crutch is if you can disprove it altogether. Go ahead...disprove Christianity...then I will gladly call it a crutch.

Every religion is thousands of sheep doing the same thing: Well then...couldn't we call concert goers a religion or cult? Couldn't we call sports fans of any kind a religion or cult? Couldn't we call people who vacation to exotic places, people who watch TV, people who work, people who eat, people who breath part of a religion or cult? And according to their logic...therefore stupid.

Taking Bible verses out of context: First off, after talking about the Bible and then talking about such incidents as Heaven's Gate proves how little they know, since no Christian groups have partaken in group suicide...the group suicide people didn't follow the Bible. Secondly, the verse about adulterers being stoned is from the old testament. Now don't ask me to get into it unless you want a huge answer...but many of the rules and laws from the old testament were no longer in effect due to Jesus. I won't go into it right now...unless you want me to.

Now I'd just like to name a few people:

C.S. Lewis............................Kepler
J.R.R. Tolkein.......................Faraday
Robert Boyle........................Gregor Mendel
George Washington Carver....Blaise Pascal
Christopher Columbus..........T.S. Eliot
Kenneth H. Cooper..............Handel
Samuel Morse.....................Doestoevsky
Isaac Newton......................Tolstoy
Louis Pasteur......................James Joule
Hugh Ross.........................Kelvin
Francis Shaeffer.................Johannes Kepler
The Wright Brothers..........Carl Linnaeus
Bach................................Sir Henry Ralinson
Copernicus

Well...those people were all Christians. Yeah...some of the most influential people ever...all Christians. Yeah...some of the smartest people to ever grace this earh...all Christians. Yeah...so you know...Christians are just stupid sheep doing stupid things...like inventing the Kelvin scale of temperature, or like creating the theories of thermodynamics that we still use today. Pretty dumb people in my opinion.

Maybe next time some thought should be put into the jokes used on the Man Show.

Time....12:07am

I just took some Nyquil and I was wondering how long it would take before I'm delirious and somewhat drunk feeling. Then I thought HEY...it would be fun to write something while the Nyquil is slowly coursing through my veins. So right now you are witnessing a real time article on the effects of Nyquil (er...I guess it WAS real time while this was happening, so in reality you are just witnessing the after-effects of a real time experiment) While I wait for this mother of all cold medicines to numb the symptoms of my horrid cold...I thought I'd tell a story or two.

Hmmm....I seem to be at a complete loss for any kind of interesting stories to tell you guys.

Effect 1: heavy eyelids

I'm a bitter person. I just hide it well. Let's just say that I feel that certain people should just not be alive. Now don't get me wrong...I'm not saying that I want to kill them. Or that I want someone to kill them. Just that I feel they should not enjoy the benefits of life anymore. What makes me bitter? Glad you asked....

--this guy on TV who is dressed like a basketball player who says, "I don't play for money or recognition." Sure guy...that's why you're doing a commercial for footlocker.

--People who should not have ever been issued a license. These include: 1-People who slow down to 5 mph a quarter mile before their turn. 2-People who take up 2 lanes at a time. 3-People who put Indie car racing fins on their Celicas. 4-People who don't put bumper stickers on straight. 5-ANYONE WHO CAN'T FRICKIN DRIVE!

Effect 2: general fogginess of the brain

--Things that don't work like they say they will. I bought one of those stupid CD/DVD scratch cleaners. I grabbed a CD that I had scratched just a little. It merely skipped a couple times when I played it. I ran it through the stupid cleaner and now? Now it won't play without skipping 4 times as much. Hooray!

--Not being appreciated for how much fricking work I put into things. I have to put a minimum of 10 hours a week into my internship. Now that's not too much. That's 40 hours a month. I get paid a stipend of $100 a month. Let's see here, that evens out to $2.20 an hour. Yes ladies and gentlemen...I make a third of minimum wage. I teach a highschool video yearbook class and I make less than I would scrubbing toilets. Sigh....

Effect 3: numbness of lips

--People who have jobs BASED on conversing with the public who can't speak english. I have no problem with people who are living in the U.S. who are learning english. Cool. You do that. But DON'T GET A JOB AT A DRIVETHROUGH WINDOW! It's already hard enough trying to order through a crappy speaker...but add someone who doesn't know english on top of that and you have a homicide inducing situation on your hands. It shouldn't be so hard to order a few tacos or some chicken.

--Being at a college that bases a huge chunk of your grade on attendance. What the hell?!? I have been told my whole life that college would be SOOOOO cool because you could come and go to classes as you please. Yeah, come to Chapman, I'm sure you'll love it.

Effect 4: fingers lagging...making more typos

--Gum that loses its flavor too quickly, knives with black blades that- as you use them -the black slowly scrapes off, software that hides the word "upgrade" in tiny text in the upper corner thereby making you think it's the full version that you can use so you buy it and open it and then you can't return it because you opened it but it's only the upgrade so you just wasted 100 frickin dollars on Microsoft frickin word UPGRADE, when you suck on hard candy allot and it makes the roof of your mouth really sore, sticky notes that don't stick, only having one working headlight, people calling me at 8:00am to ask me about my credit and then find out that I am not Andy Stenfler and therefore have nothing to do but hang up on me after having woken me up from a REALLY GOOD DREAM.

Effect 5: head more hazy, vision starting to lag if I turn my head quickly

--Telling people that I never get sick, only to wake up the next morning feeling like crap.

--The Matrix Reloaded SUCKING and hearing that Revolutions SUCKED EVEN MORE.

--People like Elliot Smith who stab themselves in the chest.

--The Vicks Corporation for not making Nyquil in bigger doses so it would take effect faster, thereby allowing me to actually sleep...which is the only reason that I, in my cold riddled stupor, took the damn stuff.

Effect 6: head feeling heavy and wobbling back and forth

Time....12:49am

It seems that the Nyquil has taken enough effect that I could possibly sleep. Then again this is probably just a placebo effect since I am so simple minded. Ok, now it's hurting to stay awake. Goodnight stupid world.

Love, bitter bitter Grant

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HOLY $#!T

So think of your favorite celebrity (or well known person who's work you follow close enough to be considered a stalker and have a restraining order) Now imagine that this person gave you something...not like a signed picture, but actually handed you an item. How special would that be to you? Well...that's what just happened to me (minus the actual "handing")

A couple weeks ago I wrote a letter to Chuck Palahniuk. Since it was my birthday I had the audacity to send him a script I wrote and asked him to read it and comment. I didn't really expect anything in return...this is a busy man. Today I got a package on the porch, so I took it up to my room and opened it. I was thoroughly confused because I thought this package was my Tick DVD's (the cartoon...not the crappy live-action version) but I was faced with many interesting items instead of DVDs. I found a note and scanned to see who it was from. Lo and behold...it was from Chuck Palahniuk himself. The god of my literary world. He not only typed up a response to my script, but sent me a bunch of stuff for my birthday...including:

-signed copy of Italian version of Lullaby
-silly putty
-gummy worms
-gold tooth cover (for a pirate costume)
-a stocking
-a temporary tattoo
-a package of forget-me-not seeds
-a deck of cards
-birthday candles
-a mouthpiece that holds glowsticks
-a stuffed owl

Scrawled on the note in red sharpie was, "Here's your birthday owl!!" And now, if I ever produce that script, I can put at the bottom of the poster:

"Okay okay- I liked it!"
---Chuck Palahniuk

Gosh....I already loved every word that Chuck wrote...but any author that takes the time to do something as frickin' cool as this is really the coolest person in the world. If you haven't read his books....go read them....now.....they rock.

Ok, that's all...I just had to revel in the glory of receiving gifts from one of my heros.

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The Apocolypse and Alien Attacks on the Famous

Two days ago I looked out the window in the morning and I saw a world that looked tinted yellow, as if through the lenses of colored sunglasses. Plus it looked like it was snowing. My car was covered in white flakes, and the yellow ground was being covered in white. The sun was red and the smell of smoke was in the air. People walked around with surgical masks covering their mouths. Yes...it was the apocolypse. Or maybe it was just the fact that most of LA was and still is on fire. Ashes fell from the sky for the next day, and a little today. The sprinklers hit my car and the ashes fell in the water...now my car looks like it's been completely plastered with bird crap. My eyes are still red from the ashes (which, by the way, must REALLY like eyes...because when they get attached to an eye...they DON'T LET GO), and I'm still coughing from inhaling burnt up houses and trees.

Just so everyone knows...aliens have come to earth to slowly but surely kill off all the cool famous people. Have you guys been noticing how many famous people have died recently? And now Elliot Smith is dead. He stabbed himself in the chest. No...really. That sucks. Allot. People need to stop dying. Really.

The only people who should not stop dying are stupid people. Now I'm not talking about people who aren't exactly smart because of brain defects; I'm talking about people who are just plain stupid. Naomi and I went to KFC earlier tonight. You would think that going through a drive-through would be an easy task now that the speaker systems are better, but no. No no no. You would be wrong if you thought that. And I'm not talking about a simple, "oh, they forgot to give me some mashed potatoes." I'm talking about this transcription of the drive-through hell we experienced:

Actual Drivethrough Conversation
**for the sake of anonymity, I will name the KFC attendant SPITW (Stupidest Person In The World)**

SPITW: Welcome to KFC, how can I help you?
Naomi: Yeah, I'll have the three chicken strip meal with mashed potatoes.
SPITW: Ok...so the chicken strips..........and mashed potatoes.
Naomi: Um, yeah...
SPITW: (cutting her off) is that all?
Naomi: No. I'll also have the seven piece honey BBQ wings.
SPITW: Would you like the meal?
Naomi: No....
SPITW: (cutting her off again) is that all?
Naomi: No. I'll also have the seven piece honey BBQ wings meal with mashed potatoes.
SPITW: Ok, so that's chicken strips, and honey BBQ wings, and a side of mashed potatoes.
Naomi: No. I want the three chicken strip meal with mashed potatoes....
SPITW: Ok, so the chicken strips with a side of mashed potatoes, honey BBQ wings, and a side of mashed potatoes.
Naomi: No...I...
SPITW: (cutting her off again) is that all?
Naomi: NO! I want the chicken strip MEAL with mashed potatoes IN the meal.
SPITW: Ok, chicken strip meal with mashed potatoes.
Naomi: Yes...then the honey BBQ strips meal with mashed potatoes.
SPITW: We don't have a honey BBQ strips meal.
Me: Yes they do!
Naomi: Ok...the honey BBQ wing meal. (as if there's a difference)



.....ok, you get the point....i'm not going to finish this story because my night's not going so well. i need to sleep.

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Kill Bill's a Killer Film

So I went to see Kill Bill tonight. It was kind of spur of the moment, deciding to go see a movie by myself at 10:30 a night. I coaxed Ed to go along with me so I wouldn't have to get lost (I'm kidding...although maybe I'm not since I am THE WORST PERSON WITH DIRECTIONS EVER) We missed the first 30 seconds, but that's ok...what I did see was amazing. And did you know that gore is effective mainly because of color? Well...if you see this film you will understand. Take away the color, and you take away much of the queasy turn-your-head-because-another-limb-is-being-hewn-off effect. Not only do I have more respect for Uma Thurman (sp?) now, but I have even MORE respect for good ol' Quentin (sp?) Go see it, really...it's more than worth the 9.50.

We walked out of the theatre and were confronted with a heavy heavy fog. No, it was really amazing. I haven't seen fog like this in years...if ever. We were doing 25 on major streets, barely being able to see 15 feet in front of the car. And that was with street lights blaring. On the side streets by our house it was so dark that stop signs would pop out at you 5 feet away. There would be no warning if someone walked out in front of the car. It was so heavy that you could feel it when you walked through it, couldn't see past it, and could smell and taste it. Gosh I love fog.

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Tobacco is...sigh

I don't want to say anything bad about advertising aimed at stopping epidemic problems in our world. I do, however, have a problem if that advertising just plain sucks. Have you seen the recent anti-smoking ads? No, not the Truth ads, the Tobacco is Whacko ads. Seriously....what the hell is that?!? Not only does this seem like a resurgence of the 50's how-to films (LSD: A Good Trip or A Bad Choice?), but whoever created this piece of crap somehow overlooked something very easy to see: they are promoting smoking. Tobacco is Whacko....IF YOU'RE A TEEN. Hmm...let's think about this...if tobacco is a bad idea (if "whacko" even = "bad".....the dictionary says whacko means eccentric....so I guess smoking makes you eccentric) when you are a teen, then by contrast, tobacco is a totally great idea if you're an adult! Yay tobacco! Yay for 1 in 3 people who smoke dying! Yay for innocents dying through second hand smoke! Oh oh...wait...but not if you're a teen. You'd better wait till you're 18...THEN you can join the deadly fun!

I hate this world.

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Reverting to My Sophmoric Ways

I go through phases. I started out this blog with high hopes. Then I dashed those hopes upon the proverbial rocks of the proverbial ocean of proverbial dispair as I realized it was more work than I intended to put into it. Then I changed my mind. Then I went in and out of using lots of cool links. Then I thought it would be cool to write about lots of tough issues. That pretty much failed. So...I thought I would go back to the cool links. Yeah yeah, I realize that that last link was just a dancing penguin and really had nothing to do with cool links. But I like penguins. And I could pretend that I meant that that link was cool because it was a penguin. Or something. I'm sorry. sorry, sorry, sorry. Ok, did I make up for having a non-related link with those three? Seriously...what's up with that weird alien turtle thing? I really have nothing to say. Ummmm.....bye.

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Kill....Grant?

I'm really good at hurting myself. And in some sick way, I enjoy it. Woah...hold on a second. Before you judge, I'm no masochist...but there is some satisfaction I gain from having a wound. You know how people like to swap scar stories, and whoever has the worst wound and the most horrific story wins? Well, I play that game with myself. I don't hurt myself on purpose, but when I do hurt myself, I take pride in my injury. Remember when I broke my toe a couple months ago? Well, deja vu. I was walking to the bathroom, with my contacts off, and I smashed the same toe from the same foot on the same door. After getting up off the bathroom floor, I wiggled it, decided it wasn't shattered, and went on hobbling through the rest of my day. I'm pretty sure it's broken again. Then, last night, I sliced my thumb open on a piece of broken mirror. Today I smashed my hip into the banister, leaving a gigantic red welt. Oh, and I have some huge bruise on my knee and I don't know where it came from.

In ohetr nwes, I'm srue taht you all konw all auobt the sutdy form smoe big sohcol taht syas we hmunas can raed egnilsh eevn if the ltters are all mxeid up....as lnog as the frist and lsat ltetrs are the smae. So, in sohrt, I'm ttaloly saeltnig tihs form all toehs mroe wttiy tahn me. I aopolgsie to you, if you are rdaenig tihs and you hvae adealry dnoe tish.

In evn othr nws, my csn Ryn dcdd to mke fn of ths stdy by mkng up hs own stdy in whch the hmn rce cn rd englsh tht hs no vwls, as lng as the frst and lst lttrs are the sme as the orgnl wrd. Sre ths is cmpltly ldcrs, bt thn agn, so is a stdy tht sys we cn rd englsh tht is all mxd up. It's cmpltly uslss and mst lkly cst an absrd amnt of mny. Pls, I'm sre tht mny of yu who are rdng ths hve no cle wht I am typng, whch mks it all the mre fn. Hhhhhh, yu dn't knw wht I am syng! Ok, srry, I'm dne.

If you haven't yet figure out...I'm kinda tired but can't sleep...so I'm taking it all out on you, my subjects. My loyal subjects. Muwahahahahha!

Ok, I'm going to bed now.

But first....the best quote of the month: "I know it's a cat, but I still want to see if it's a monkey."

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One Wedding and a....

Today I went to a wedding and saw a car crash. You might think that I'm saying that I went to a wedding during one part of the day and saw a car crash during another part of the day, but no. I went to a wedding, and there I saw a car crash. The ceremony had just started (it was outside) and about a quarter mile away I heard a SCREEEEEEEEE so I turned my head in time to see a car careening through an intersection, trailing clouds of burnt rubber, fishtailing for a good 50 feet into another car. You could almost feel the crumple of metal. Throughout the rest of the ceremony police sirens were wailing, ambulences were speeding by, and traffic was piling up. It was a good wedding.

Tonight I went out for a belated birthday drink. A big group of us went to Fridays and I got a Long Island Iced Tea. Ed and I fought with plastic swords, Ua built huge monuments out of glasses, forks, and plates, I sucked down an entire helium baloon and sang I Will Survive with Faye, I got a free cookie ice cream dessert thingy, Brett got alcohol even though he forgot his ID (he used his receding hairline as proof of age), I spat chocolate upon Kim's arm, and I had a wonderful time. Wonderful indeed.

Well, now it's 1:00am and I have to get up at 7:00am for church. Last night I couldn't go to sleep till 5:00am...let's hope that doesn't happen again.

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Birthday Fun for Everyone

The deed is done. I'm 21. And no, I didn't mean for that to sound like a poem (or I did and am just too ashamed to let it be known). Now I know that the question on all of your minds is, "Did you get totally sloshed?" And the answer is...if by sloshed you mean drinking 3/4 of a Mike's Hard Cranberry Lemonade and a small glass of port, then by golly, I got sloshed as nobody has gotten sloshed before. The truth of the matter is that I just really like saying the word "sloshed." Then again, I am merely typing it, not saying it...but you can imagine (if you want to) that I am sitting next to you, saying all that you are now reading; and in that case I would be actually vocalizing the word "sloshed" and then my point about saying it would not be lost. All in all, I got my first "I'm-gonna-be-in-public-with-alcohol-so-I'm-gonna-need-a-brown-paper-bag" brown paper bag, I watched Ahhhnold become the Govenator, I tried to teach a bunch of highschool punks about labeling tapes, I got some cash and some gift cards, and I had someone I have never talked to before tell me happy birthday. It was a pretty damned good day.

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An Apple a Day

Ok, I've done the unspeakable. I am sitting at my computer, but it's not the same computer, it has a little "apple with a bite taken out of it" symbol on the monitor. Those of you who are somewhat smart will now think to yourselves "Oh no! Another poor soul has been abducted by the dark side! Not another Apple user! Noooooo!" Or maybe you'll just think "Apple sucks." Or maybe you'll bunch up your brow and look like your thinking real hard and then say "I want some macaroni and cheese." But whatever it is you say, you will not sway me from my decision to start using a mac. "Why?" you ask? (or maybe you didn't ask, but I put the word into your mouth and made it seem like you said it...you see...I'm a vantriloquist) "Because," I will say. Because the G5 is the most powerful personal computer on the market. Because I can actually be an editor now. And because it allows me to easily listen to Zeilsteen, the Netherland, Dutch, Holland internet radio.

In other news...I'm turning 21 tomorrow. Yes, yes...as of tomorrow I can buy alcohol. And that's about it. Weeeee. 18 is such a bigger deal than 21. Plus I still have to wait till 26 to rent a car. And I still have to wait till 55 (65 in some places) to get a senior citizen discount at the local movie theatre (by that time movie prices will be, on average, $35 a ticket) But yeah, maybe I'll get a glass of wine. Or maybe I'll down 3 Audios Mother F*****S in a row and collapse on the concrete outside of some shady bar, only to wake up having had my wallet stolen and my body peed upon. Or maybe not.

In other other news, I have no other news.

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New Survey Shows Caffeine Is Good For The Eyes!

I have this teacher who requires- not suggests- that we give him a standing ovation every single time he enters the classroom. He walks in, smoke billowing around him, a single spotlight encircling him, music blaring, and his hands raised...soaking in the applause that his students are forced to feed him.

The other day I was trying to make espresso (that's eSpresso ok? not eXpresso. sigh...) and I tried to blow little crumbs of chunkily ground espresso bean from the cup into the sink. My blowing was obviously much more powerful than I expected because ground bean flew everywhere. My eye is part of everywhere. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I could see a large granule of espresso bean just sitting there- chilling- in my eye. I was faced with a problem...I didn't know how to get it out. I needed to get it out- you see- because it didn't feel all that great. Through many tears I eventually scraped it out of my eye.

I have this teacher who is a complete dolt. I'm truthfully not too sure what exactly "dolt" means...but it sure is a cool word and I wanted to use it. This guy treats our class as if we were 5 years old and he is in charge of our day-care. You could be blissfully tuning him out, wait till he is done with a sentence, then shout out, "Really!?" in the most sarcastic voice you could muster...and it would be appropriate. The other day he was talking about a reading we had to do and had the gall to say, "If this were raw Plato- (meaning Plato that was not dumbed down for our dumb nation) - you would be lost." Yes...I DID join this class to have my intelligence questioned by you, Mr. Dolt.

I just finished MF...a confusingly well-written novel by Anthony Burgess (the author of Clockwork Orange among many other great novels) Basic plot? A man finds that he was born due to an incestuous affair. He later finds he has a twin born from the same affair, though this twin makes him ashamed to look as he does, because he could be confused with his low-class double. He then kills his brother, gets married to his sister, nearly has sex with her (or does...I'm not really sure due to the language of the book), finds out his family has a history of incest, and that's pretty much where it ends. But that's almost nothing to the book I just started- Stiff- a book about how cadavers have been used by science throughout history to gain insight into what the human body can withstand. And it's funny.

I was cleaning my room the other day when I found two empty packages of some medication on top of a high shelf. I did a little research into the pills (which are marked in Spanish) and found that the former tenant of my room was a speed freak. Maybe that's going too far. He was using diet pills that are supposed to give you more energy, help you build more muscle, and help you lose weight...all by raising your body's caloric temperature by a few degrees. This is bad because then the glands in your body that regulate caloric control shut down momentarily because hey...something else is doing it's job for it! And it's easy to get these in Mexico, since most athletes don't really NEED the drugs.

Has anyone else noticed the complete lack of connection between my stories?

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That's HILARIOUS...I'll Visit You in the Hospital

Humor=Pain
Pain=Humor

No, that's not a puzzle or word game. That's the truth. Think about it. Turn on any episode of Funniest Home Videos. Turn on any sitcom. Listen to any comedian. Think about the stories you tell when with your friends. Pain. 99%* of jokes deal with physical pain, insults, mocking others, emotional pain, mental pain, other's pain, etc. Next time you are listening to a comedian or watching TV...count the laughable points and then see how many of those are pain related.

To try and prove my point...I went to Jokes.com and went to their random joke section. I will see how many in a row are about pain:

How many surrealists does it take to screw in a light bulb?
"Fish"
----insult/mocking

Q: What do a Texas tornado and a Tennessee divorce have in common?
A: Someone is going to lose a trailer.
----mocking/other's pain

Yo mama is like a Big Mac, full of fat and only worth a buck
----insult

Q. What did George W Bush get on his SAT's?
A. Drool.
----insult

Q. Why do women have sex with their eyes closed?
A. Because they can't stand seeing a man having a good time!
----insult

Q. What do blondes and beer bottles have in common?
A. They're both empty from the neck up!
----insult

Ok...this is getting old. How about I turn on Funniest Home Videos and see how many have to do with pain? Here we go:

-montage of people falling
-kangaroo kicks man in crotch
-baby falls off bed
-man cries at wedding
-man gets lit on fire by his grill
-man falls out of tree
-dog knocks over another dog
-kids hit mom instead of pi?ata

Ok...this is also getting old. I think I've made my point. Except for puns, and the minority of laughable points in life, humor and pain are synonymous. That's all I have to say.

By the way...I bled today...HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!

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Yeah...and I'm a Monkey's Uncle

There is this new study out, the largest and most complex of it's kind, to try and figure out if it's normal for men to want more sexual partners than women. And the result? Yes indeed...men are "hardwired" to be more promiscuous than women. Who woulda thunk it. It's evolution baby. That's right...we can take our shortcomings and blame them on our brains, or on nature, or on being less evolved than need be. Hooray for taking our problems and whoring them out on anything and everything but ourselves! Hip hip.....wait a minute. You mean people actually believe this? People actually think that because of testosterone, there is no way to avoid 'evolution' and therefore we men must follow out basic instincts to have as many sexual partners as possible?

Sigh.....

I'm no scientist. In fact...I hate math. But this is easy. Seriously. In one hand you have women, who, if they are truthful to themselves, have just about the same sexual urges as men. BUT...here's the kicker...they are told they shouldn't think about sex. They are told that it's lady-like to be sexless beings who rise above base urges. In the other hand we have men, who, if they are truthful to themselves, have just about the same sexual urges as women. BUT...here's the kicker...they are told that they should be thinking about sex every 7 seconds. They are told that they should be pimps and players and should conquer women like objects. So let's simplify this: women want sex, but can't get it because they are told not to even think about it. men want sex, but can't get it because they are either trying to suppress their supposed sex-driven brains, or because women are told not to think about it and therefore won't give it.

Now don't get me wrong...I'm not in any way saying that all the sex problems in the world are because "women...won't give it." But if men were to calm down for a second or two and realize that sex does not drive their lives, and women were to break free of the oppression of the Victorian lady stereotype, men and women would suddenly line up when it comes to sex.

Problem solved. Men feel fulfilled because they receive all the physical attention they need, therefore do not feel the need for many different partners.

Evolution=cop out

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WITHERING Heights Is More Like It

Let me preface this by saying that I loathe Wuthering Heights. Whether it be the Bronte book, or the crappy crappy film representations of the crappy crappy book. Ok, that's going too far. Bronte has crafted an incredibly intricate book with Shakespeare worthy deaths, soap opera worthy betrayals, and a little creepiness thrown in for good measure. I still loathe it. But that's not to say I don’t respect it.

MTV respected Wuthering Heights too!

Cool new tagline: "It's 2003. Their love is still doomed."
Cool new website: COOL NEW WEBSITE!!!

Somebody...please...hand me a plastic fork. I must gouge out my eyes.

MTV has somehow taken a classic and turned it into the story of a scroungy acoustic guitar toting mutt who falls in love with that girl from Traffic, but their love is doomed because a high class Cello playing pussy offers her money, so she goes with him as the mutt takes advantage of the pussy's sister to become a famous rock star to try and get Traffic girl's respect, which pretty much works because she cheats on the pussy with the mutt and then gets pregnant and dies.

WHAT?!?! (or as the hip youngsters say....WTF!!!!1) (yes, the "1" is intentional)

There's no affair in WH (which is now what I am going to call "Wuthering Heights" because typing "Wuthering Heights" is a pain)
There's no crappy concert scene in WH
There's no drug induced party scene in WH
There's allot more plot in WH

And I could go on and on. All I have to say is this...if that piece of CRAP made it onto TV, I am going to be a millionaire someday.

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I'm Hungry

Anyone want some pi?

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File Share THIS!

Well boys and girls...it's time to consider the pros and cons of getting a few free songs off the internet. It seems the RIAA is having a little hissy-fit and is suing little girls and little boys....which in turn, obviously affects the parents. According to this article, people who download "allot" of music (over 1,000 songs) can be sued for as much as $150,000 PER SONG. Then again, it sounds like a scare tactic to get people to settle out for a "measly" $2,000 or $3,000.

Let's figure this out here shall we?

--average CD length...........................12 songs
--average CD cost...............................$15

--12 songs into 1,000.........................83 CDs worth

--83 CDs cost......................................$1,245

Sounds to me like buying the CD's would be a little bit more worth it. That's good news for people like Aaron who could never get a file sharing program to work. That's bad news for just about everyone else who didn't really know the legal ramifications of file sharing. And how should we have known with the RIAA saying it's illegal (but why wouldn't they say that? They are a money-hungry corporation who is losing money) and the file-sharing programs are saying it IS legal (but why wouldn't they say that? Their business is based solely on us consumers). So who's right? Well.....now that we know the RIAA is right, it's a little too late. And now 7 in 10 file sharers are being sued. Hooray!

Everyone go sign THIS.

And in news that should have been given first...but wasn't because it wouldn't have made sense under that title: Johnny Cash died today. We should have a moment of silence for such an inspirational man.

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Shaving 101 for the Depressed

I really don't like to stick on a topic. Or, for that matter, repeat a topic. I just have this huge problem. I talked about this problem on July 26th...but that was because of one person who was pissing me off. Now there are more people pissing me off. I talked about how much I disliked it when people would show off their pain. People who are in true pain, not a game of attention-tug-of-war, will do anything to hide that they are in pain. Let's just say that there is a difference in skinning your knee skateboarding and then showing it off to everyone, and slicing a blade into your skin and then taking pictures and showing it off on the internet. If you are in pain...write about it....talk about it....draw about it....whatever. But I was just perusing one of my favorite art haunts when I came across a picture of an arm with a message carved into it....blood dripping. There was a link to a website that this user was a part of. A pro self-mutilation site. In their words, not a site to encourage self-mutilation, but a site to discuss this problem it in a friendly atmosphere. Now, when I think of talking a problem over in a friendly atmosphere, I think of AA or something similar. But how helpful would a site be where alcoholics go to swap "I got SO plastered!" stories? Or to talk about their favorite alcohol? Or to talk about how they hide their drinking? Not too damn useful. Well then...how helpful is a site where people who cut go to discuss how much they cut, or post pictures of their cutting, or talk about their favorite blades, or talk about how they hide their cuts so nobody can help them? Hmm....this is a tough one....I'm gonna have to think about it.............ok, thought about it....not too damn useful. And if ANYONE says that it's not influential....one thread was about what these people like to use to cut. Three or four were talking about techniques to get the blades out of disposable razors to cut. Then one girl responds with, "Oh...I've never thought about cutting with a disposable razor....maybe I'll try that." Great. Maybe it's not my place to talk....but people should keep their frickin self-mutilation techniques to themselves. These people aren't in real pain or they would try and stop....not make it sound fun for newcomers.

In other news....I spent the night eating éclairs and playing Track and Field for Nintendo. Oh man...too much fun.

Hey kids...guess what? In a mere couple weeks, this blog is a whole 2 years old! I KNOW! It's pretty amazing that I've been keeping this thing irregularly updated for a whole 2 years. The content has been mediocre, the writing has been 5th grade level, the grammar...oh goodness...I don't even want to think about it, but it has persisted in the face of hardship. In fact, I'm going to list everything that almost made this site no more:

--Boredom (in other words, not enough feedback that my site was amazing)...happened during the 1st month.

--Frustration (in other words, not knowing how to use code)...happened all the time and almost rendered my site useless.

--Memory (in other words, I forgot my password and didn't know how to get it back)

--Jealous Girlfriend (in other words, jealous girlfriend. now x-girlfriend. i didn't talk about her enough...or something)

Ok ok...so that wasn't some long list of horrible things that could have gone awry and didn't. It was a pathetic little list of pathetic little events that could have stopped my pathetic little site (I'm trying for pity here...is it working?) Oh well...here's to another year of talking about my embarrassing personal problems!

It's been just over one week of school and I'm already ready for summer again. Ooooh...sounds like a song lyric...."I'm already ready for summer again." The first week I was told I would have to read 13 novels....for one single class, I would have to listen to an idiot treat me like a little kid, I would have to watch multiple hour long and horribly boring silent films, and I would be watching at least 4 movies a week....for school.

Plus I have this teacher who tries to sound smart for some reason, maybe to try and impress us college kids. Why is it that, with our culture, the smarter people get, the more secluded they get? I don't think I said that right. The smarter people get, the less they can communicate (or choose to communicate) with everyone less smart than themselves. I always kinda thought that when someone got smart, it would be a good idea to spread that knowledge to others....not segregate yourself from the "lesser" individuals. Plus, in trying to sound smart, he made some really stupid comments. Such as:

"Punctuality, timeliness, promptness, or any of those lovely.....adjectives.....are very important."
**since when are those adjectives?

Oh, and he threw this gem of a sentence at us:

"And at the risk of sounding pedantic, the less interpersonal communication at this juncture would be appropriate."

Why didn't he just say, "Hey...don't talk." Why? Because he has to try and sound superior to us lowly college kids. I have another teacher who talks to us like we are his equals...but still keeps his authority. Today, after making a mistake in handing out papers, he said, "Well guys, since I fucked up, we're going to have to change the schedule a little." Now, whether or not you personally swear, I guarantee you that this lets the kids know that they can approach him and say whatever is on their mind.

We need less...well, in the first guy's own words describing himself...."pretentious prick"s in this world.

I got the new Chuck Palahniuk book today.

I already finished reading it.

Good stuff.

We live in a sad, sad world when Missy "Misdemeanor" Elliot wins a music award over Johnny Cash.

It's an even worse world when we humans, the "superior" mammals, can't outdo our little animal-friend counterparts. Today, it's ok to divorce for looks, money, boredom, lack of gratification in any way shape or form. Somehow every married couple has been given a minor lobotomy to remove the memory of those simple, simple words, "Till death do us part." Now, someone doesn't pick up their dirty laundry and the other spouse is saying, "Wait...what was it? Till unhappy do us part? Or was it till fed up do us part? OH, I got it! Till I'm unable to handle petty problems and therefore must divorce my spouse as a pathetic problem solving method!"

Do you guys realize how many animals have one partner their entire lives? ONE partner. A penguin will pick a mate and be faithful to that mate their entire existence. An octopus only has one go at it, because the female dies after giving birth...therefore...one mate. A whale has no problem with fidelity when it comes to his or her little whale mate. But here we are...the superior race...and we can't even do something that simple, unintelligent, lowly animals have no problem with.

In 8th grade I had this teacher...more of a friend really. This man, Bill Woods, has been through more near-death experiences than anyone I have ever met. It's not that he looked for situations which would cause him harm, but these situations just found him. I would always beg him to tell me one of his stories, and if he was in the mood to re-live a more than frightening part of his life, he would agree.

I had already heard the one where he got hit in the temple with a crowbar. The one where he didn't even get a bruise.
Everyone knew the 7 switchblade stories. The ones where the blades just didn't open.
He had even told me the gang-fight story.

But one story he told me stuck out. His phone rang in the middle of the night. It was his good friend, who's husband had some temperament problems. She needed his help, quickly. So at 2:00am he got on some clothes and drove over to his friend's house. He walked in to find the house a mess. Lamps broken, holes in the wall, cushions ripped to shreds, and his friend scared senseless. "He's in the bedroom" she said, shaking slightly. Bill started walking towards the bedroom. "Wait" she started, "he has a gun." Defenseless, Bill walked up to the bedroom. The lights were off, and door was cracked open, and the husband was nowhere in sight. He walked into the room and called the man's name. Suddenly he felt cold metal to his temple. He slowly turned to see the husband holding a handgun to his head. This perturbed Bill, so he started ranting at the husband. "It's 2 in the morning. I am dead tired. And here you are, with a gun in your hand, acting like you are going to kill me. Besides the fact that you have scared your wife nearly to death." *CLICK* The man had pulled the trigger with the gun to Bill's head, but nothing happened. "SEE!" Bill nearly yelled, "You can't even use a gun right...give it to me...now." The man handed Bill the gun right as the cops showed up. They took him away, handcuffed. Of course, Bill had to see, so he looked down the side of the gun...it was fully loaded. He took the gun to a friend of his who owned a gun store with a firing range. He walked into the range, aimed the gun at a target down the aisle and squeezed off 6 shots, including the shell that didn't fire into his temple.

This doesn't happen by the way. A shell that doesn't fire the first time is usually defective and will never fire. That, or it will explode instead of firing.

There was one common point to every one of Bill's stories. There was one thing that saved his life and left him with countless scars that could have been the end of his life. There was one reason that he never once feared for his life. That one thing was his belief in God.

Every time he had a switchblade to his throat, he prayed. He had guys with knives struggling to cut his throat...arms shaking with physical exertion....and they gave up, backing off, looking down at their arm, obviously wondering what went wrong, and then running away afraid. He had belief in God...nothing else. He was an average guy who ended up in situation after situation that proved that God existed...because there was no other explanation as to why he was not dead.

And people ask me why I believe in God.

I felt like I had to update. It's 10:06 and my motor skills are not at the top of their game. In fact...I'm going to name my motor skills. They will be named Florentino. Florentino decided that he was going to stay up really late multiple nights in a row and then get up really early a couple mornings in a row. Then do it all over again. This made Florentino tired, and now he isn't very good at typing, or shaving, or taking out contact lenses, or taking antibiotics so Grant's penis doesn't hurt. Florentino is a bad bad boy. I would punish him, but...well...I'm too tired.

I've been going to this weeklong workshop for highschool kids to teach them about cameras and editing and cinematography and stuff and some more stuff and even more stuff. I forgot how not cool most high school kids are. Not that I'm cool, so I should fit right in with them. Most of them want to impress me because they think I'm the cool college kid (little do they know) Plus I'm having to fend off some 17 year old high school girl.....and seriously.....I'm down to one fortune cookie. And my car has five empty Frappachino bottles in it. And I have COMPLETELY lost my ability to juggle pins.

OH, and I saw the movie Spun tonight. Really good. Only there was lots of blurring and bleeping, which was odd, and I'm tired.

Goodnight
Goodnigh
Goodnig
Goodni
Goodn
Good
Goo
Go
.

ok ok ok....so I kinda sorta maybe stole the color thing from Christina's latest page revamping. But in my defense...I've like the colors red and black together for MUCH longer than Christina's new page has been up. So ha!

Plus hers is a very different color of red.

Enjoy.

I was handed a plastic bag and a folded garment. I was told to strip down naked, put my clothes in the bag, and put on the garment and the socks.

This is after months of antibiotics.
This is after a doctor's finger up my butt.
This is after unexplainable pain every time I peed for who knows how long.
This is after the blood test.
This is after getting up at 5:00am.

I put on the gown and laughed to myself because it's true...they really don't close in the back. If you do not hold the back flap closed, you will be mooning everyone behind you. The nurse said that my eyebrow piercing could cause a severe burn because of the cauterizing equipment...but I couldn't take it out...so I got to play dress-up and look like Nelly with a bandaid over my eyebrow. I laid down on the bed and took some deep breaths as the nurse got the IV ready. Now in case you don't remember....I don't do so well with needles. She slipped the IV into a vein and I breathed as deep as I could so as not to pass out before I could even get the anesthesia. You see...the needles I fear aren't SO bad because they are in and out. But this time I got to have a big tube in my arm for half an hour! FUN!

I was soon wheeled out of the prep room. You know that shot from every movie that has a hospital scene? That one from the patient’s perspective where you see the doctors and nurses rushing down the hall and the bright lights and the IV thingy rolling with you and doors being smacked open by your own feet? Well I got to experience that. I almost wanted to tell the doctors of my weird deja vu experience...only I didn't really have the experience before...it was just a movie.

I was pushed into a room with the air-conditioning set to Antarctica and classical music blaring. I had to slide onto a new bed and then shook hands with the anesthesiologist. He asked me where I went to school....I told him Chapman. He asked me what my major was....I told him film production. He told me he knew someone who was at Chapman for journalism as he started squeezing in the anesthetics....I responded with, "Yeah, I heard that Chapman is really....good for..............."

A tube was inserted into my urethra. The end of this tube has a small camera on it so see what the problem is. Another tube with a balloon on the end is then stuck in. This balloon is inflated to dilate the urethra to break up any blockage. I was told that the opening in my urethra was down to a needlepoint, and had I waited too much longer...that opening could have closed leaving the doctors no choice but to cut into me to open the blockage. Weee.

I then woke up and tried talking, but found it more than difficult. My dad mentioned that it would have been funny to have the camera. I responded with, "Yeah, it would be a good remembery. Wait...is remembery a word?" The doctor told me I had to pee before I could leave, so I went into the bathroom and lifted my gown. "Hey," I thought to myself, "there's blood on my penis and thigh!" Then I peed foamy blood.

I was given some painkillers which turn my urine Tang orange and threaten to turn my soft contacts orange too, and some antibiotics. And now I can pee without nearly crying. Hooray for minor surgery!

EMERGENCY POST!!!

No really....I was asked to write something on a certain topic...one which I could not refuse writing on.....

hickies

Truth be told, I don't have much experience in the way of the ever-so-trendy (or are they not trendy anymore?) hickies. I wanted to see if I could find any interesting information about hickies, but the most I could get was this:

1- A device or contrivance; a gadget.
2- A reddish mark on the skin caused by amorous kissing, biting, or sucking.
3- A pipe-bending apparatus.
4- A threaded electrical fitting used to connect a fixture to an outlet box.

My best guess is that I was asked to talk about number 3, since pipe-bending apparati are all the rage...but instead, I'll talk about number 2. Funny, in the heat of the moment, hickies don't seem like such a bad idea. In fact, they seem almost fun. But after the fact...well...type in "hickies" in google and you will find nearly a hundred personal questions sounding like: "How do I get rid of a hickey FAST?!?!" I don't know about you, but anything I give to someone which is immediately not wanted anymore, isn't a good thing to give.

(These are all true situations...I swear...really)

Scenario 1
-friend gives girlfriend hickey
-girlfriend's friends find out about hickey
-girlfriend's friends bring up hickey in public setting
-much embarrassment is to be had

Scenario 2
-friend gets hickey on his neck
-friend wears a turtleneck to cover it up
-friend is called gay
-much embarrassment is to be had

Scenario 3
-friend gets hickey on back...where nobody will notice
-friend is immediately invited to swim party
-much embarrassment is to be had

I don't you about you...but anytime blood vessels are broken in the pursuit of pleasure, I get a little afraid. But to anyone out there who has been known to have a hickey or two every once in a while....*cough*ChristinaEd*cough*....I've heard that whitening toothpaste will help to get rid of it a little. That or a cold spoon, or a blow dryer, or anything to disperse the coagulating blood. YAY COAGULATING BLOOD!

Sorry, I don't really have any fun embarrassing stories about me and hickies...but I WILL have a great embarrassing story when I get back from surgery. YAY SURGERY!

I go in for surgery at 6:30am tomorrow.

I might not post for a little while.

Wish me luck?

Our world is so completely dense that even MTV artists go right over our heads. Everyone saw Jewel's new video, "Intuition", and got really confused. People are saying things like, "Well...um...like...Jewel now looks like, um like Brittany Spears and like, well, if Brittany Spears wrote poetry it would like not work as well, so um, like maybe Jewel shouldn't like be like her." If you have SEEN the video, it is obviously mocking all the stars like Brittany. With lines like, "Sell your skin, just give in." Now I'm not really a Jewel fan...but I'm all for artists rejecting the idea of idealizing the world and flaunting the rich lifestyle. People have somehow forgotten that one of the most important points of rock/pop music is the lyrics, and glazed over staring at the pretty pictures.....which in return just proves the point Jewel is trying to make.

Then, right after, Jessica Simpson comes on singing "Original Sin" trying to make it seem like she hadn't had sex until she got married to her man with a rage problem. Right...like we're going to believe that. Go back to having sex and stop adding horrendously bad music to the pile of crap that is already out there.

Yesterday Naomi and I found a pair of roller skates and a pair of rollerblades. Amazingly, the roller skates fit her, and the rollerblades fit me. So we headed outside, wearing said shoes with wheels, even though neither of us had used these modes of transportation in years. Naomi stayed on the driveway, which was very smart. I, being young and influence able, decided to be like those cool x-games guys and jump off the curb. So I did just that...jumped off the curb...only I didn't look cool. Most likely because I fell. Now I have a big hole in my jeans, and a big hole in my knee. I got out of the shower last night and as I was about to get dressed I thought to myself, "hey...I should take a polaroid and post it." I took said polaroid, but it's at a funny angle (try taking a picture straight down of your knee) and happened to get a little more than just my knee and leg in the shot...if you know what I mean. Hint hint. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. My goodness, you still don't know what I'm talking about? It was my....*cough*penis*cough*....no, I'd better not say. So no picture of my bloody wound. Sorry.

I hate it when people will do anything for attention. There is something to be said about true depression/helplessness. There is also something to be said about those who place themselves in a position of wanton pity...parading around in a robe of discomfort...holding a magnifying glass up to the tear dripping from their eye. There are plenty of people who take on the wanna-be-goth culture and start listening to the Cure and writing bad poetry. There are plenty of people who break rules, but only in front of the one who made the rule. It is known that anyone with an obsessive problem will do anything to make him/herself feel better. An alcoholic will fill your glass, even if it's not empty, before filling his own glass...that way it looks like he's being generous. In reality, he's just making it seem less obvious that he's on his 9th glass. In the same way, so many people are willing to listen to a sad story...or read a truly heartfelt poem...but only so he/she can pretend to understand and tell his/her own story full of pain and anguish. More ego stroking. More blatant narcissism. I dated someone for a year and a half who blamed everything on manic-depression with a side of bi-polar. Can I super-size that please? Anyone who offers up their tales of anguish is only looking for a handout. Anyone who brings up how they used to cut is asking for attention. Anyone who shoves their deepest pain in your face isn't sincere. The true pain is only understood through close friendship and utter trust. I have stories that would make anyone do a double-take...so keep your self-served pain to yourself.

i don't want to post anything

We humans have some pretty odd pastimes. Shouldn't it be considered strange that hundreds of people will dress up differently from their normal attire, drive long distances, and pay lots of money to be admitted into a small, dark room with music playing so loud it feels like you're losing brain cells with every thud of the bass, with the intent of dancing either by themselves, with friends, or with total strangers, and most likely get completely intoxicated in the process?

Needless to say, I went dancing last night. Since I'm nearing the revolutionary age of 21 (what's so big about 21 anyway?) I thought it would be fun to go to an 18 and up place to pay my respects to the good ol' days of huge black sharpie x's on my hands, and wristband-less wrists. My brother and I met some of his friends at The World...home of every club stereotype in LA. Let me explain: when you have a club that allows anyone in who is willing to fork over $10, you get all kinds. Here are the club stereotypes I saw in a mere three hours last night:

the wheelchair person - that guy or girl who gets on the dance floor and rolls around
the stripper/belly dancer - obviously wearing a tiny bra and mesh/metal skirt that jingles
the transvestite - complete with hairy legs and fake or real breasts (I can never tell)
the black guy with no shirt - no explanation necessary
the girl on crutches - being at a club on crutches would just make me depressed
the flamboyant goth - wearing just a mesh shirt and tight leather pants
the James Bond villain - wearing an Armani suit and an eye patch
the pimp - wearing leopard print jacket and no shirt, always on his cell phone
the white guy - once again...no explanation necessary

Now don't get me wrong...I have nothing against these people...this is just a list of the people you see at every "all admitted" club.

I ended the night by moshing to some oversaturated, angry industrial music

Hey...I'm now a certified bartender.

Ever had a situation where you felt really stupid, and were angry at yourself for being so stupid. And then to top it off, you find out that you were/are even more stupid than you previously thought?

This morning I woke up early to take my last class at the National Bartending Association. I groggily got ready and drove to the school, walked up to the door, and tugged effectlessly at the door handle until I realized that there were no lights on inside. This meant one of two things. 1) Someone was getting it on inside and didn't want anyone walking in on them or 2) The NBA was not open yet. Though I was still 3/4 asleep, and what little brain cells I had working were plowing through drink recipes, I chose option 2. So as I was walking back to my car, I had a realization.

Grant: "Wait, what day is it?"
Grant: "Isn't it Wednesday?"
Grant: "Oh my gosh...yeah."
Grant: "And I'm supposed to be here Thursday!"
Grant: "I am SUCH an idiot!"

I got in my car, drove home, and went back to sleep in all my clothes.

Later, I was talking to Naomi...telling her my story of stupidity...and as I got to the part where I said, "and I totally thought it was Thursday!" she interrupted me and said, "Grant, it IS Thursday." I just stopped talking. I got up, checked a calendar, and by George...it's was (and is) Thursday. Suddenly, my previous stupidity was trampled and spit upon by my newfound uber-stupidity.

This, in my opinion, is why I should never be forced to do any thinking at all before 10:30am.

This is a test from the Grant Broadcasting System. I repeat, this is only a test. If a real emergency were to occur, I probably wouldn't be posting about it. Thank you.

Popcorn. Popcorn is good. Mmmm popcorn. Popcorn popcorn popcorn. Do you like popcorn too? How about flavored popcorn? I like popcorn, even when it is not popcorn flavored. Popcorn for everyone!

(if you haven't figured this out yet, I'm trying to see if this appears at the top of the page as a 'google ad')

As was just pointed out by Christina...there's something really odd going down here at 50fifty. If you look up at that Blogspot add thingy, you might notice something strange. It's a sentence that goes like this:

Related Searches: "wet knickers" "stupid people" "pee" "girls peeing"

I decided to check this out. I mean...really...what could this mean?



"What does 'Ads by Google' mean?

It means that Google uses proprietary technologies to match advertisements to the content and context of web pages - so the ads you see are related to the information you are viewing. The ads come from Google's base of more than 100,000 AdWords advertisers. These advertisers range from global brand name companies to small local businesses."


So let me get this straight. Google has decided that people who read my site not only want to know about diapers (the upper right ad) but would love to do a search for "girls peeing" ??? The only thing I can guess is that I've talked about my friend the urinary tract infection so many times that Google thought I must have a thing for girls peeing. Since um...I uh...ok so I really have no clue.

click here----> MOHAWK!!! <----click here



As for a topic for the evening...

skidmarks

Now there's a topic that nobody talks about. Am I right? Of course I'm right. How many conversations have you had about skidmarks? And no, I'm not talking about the kind that cars make. I'm talking about the kind nobody talks about. "Now Grant," you might say, "why in the world would you talk about skidmarks?" "Well faithful reader," I might respond, "because nobody else tackles the really tough issues...so I thought that I would.

I have overheard a conversation or two that went like this:

girl 1: "Why do guys leave skidmarks in their underwear?"
girl 2: "I have no idea."

I also saw an episode of Sex and the City (shuddup) where a conversation went like this:

girl 1: "Why do guys leave skidmarks?"
girl 2: "I don't know, I guess they're just too lazy to wipe or something."

Well my lady friends...or guy friends...or nobody in particular...if you would like to know the truth, there is one reason, and one reason alone that guys, and not girls, leave skidmarks sometimes.

Hair.

It is at least a somewhat well known fact that guys are a wee bit more hair-covered than girls are. And, for most guys, this includes that area of the body that is usually adorned by said underwear. As to not make this too graphic...I will be incredibly vague and just use comparisons and hope you understand. If you were to take a dog and shave it, then roll it through the mud, then clean it...it would not be too arduous of a task. A simple hose and a towel will do the trick. If you were, however, to take that same dog...unshaven...and roll it through the mud, and then clean it...it would be a much more difficult task. You would really have to scrub the dog to get every last bit of mud from the hair.

Ok, this is just getting out of hand...and if you don't understand...wait till your older and I'll draw you a picture.

Two days ago, mild mannered Grant Paige went to LA to see his brother. Last night, Lobster Boy (Keeper of Peace, Defender of Justice, Really Really Sensitive to the Sun) returned in his place. How did this happen? It's a long story...that you only get to hear part of.

I just leaned back in my chair with no shirt on and it caused me to scream.

My brother's birthday is July 3rd. He, Chad, wanted me to go camping with him and his friend Josh for a day or two. "Sure," I said, not understanding the implications of the term "camping." I went to LA and we spend the night eating meat and watching the movie American Pimp. I had always seen this video on the shelves, but never even considered renting it. But it seems that this movie is not some horribly done movie about a pimp's life...it's a documentary about real pimps. They interviewed them, followed them around, and learned the philosophy on life that pimp's have. After watching this I have decided two things...one, my new life goal is to be a pimp and help girl's turn tricks, and two, is to call everyone "bitch" instead of any other name or pronoun. One of the pimps was on a phone, and here's how the conversation went: "Yeah, bitch? Ok bitch, what did I tell you? Exactly. Now bitch, I told you that all you need to do is to get out there, right bitch? Bitch you better trust me."

That night I slept on the hardwood floor in a house that was 85 degrees.

Six O'clock in the morning rolled around (the devil's time), and Chad's alarm clock went off, Josh's alarm clock went off, and Chad's wrist watch alarm clock went off. It was like the alarm clock's were rising up in power. Gaining more power from their fellow alarm clocks. I decided then and there that all alarm clocks needed to be silenced. We stumbled out of our various "beds" (Chad's the only one with a real bed there) and got ready. We drove an hour away to Lake Piru, pronounced pie-rue (which I thought would be cooler if it ended in "t" or "na") Once there, we rented a boat. I'm not talking a speed boat, or a pontoon boat, but a boat in the simplest sense of the word. It was blue, it held people, it had a motor (called a Johnson 4 Stroke, which I thought sounded more like a technique than an engine type) We then set out to watch my brother fish from about 10 to 7 with an hour lunch break. This meant I was face to face with my mortal enemy...the sun. Why do I dislike the sun so much? I'm pale. If you met me for the first time you would probably say, "Hi Grant...wow, you're pretty pale." This means that the sun and I do not mix too well. Like cream and liquor.

Needless to say (wow, "needless" with one less "s" is "needles", cool) I came home with a very very red back. Somehow only my back got burnt. This means that for the next week or so, everyone I see will, totally out of character, slap me on the back really hard when they say hi.

Quote of the week: "I could fit God in this backpack."

Oh, and everyone needs to check out Sigur Ros (pronounced see-yer-oh-s) They are this incredible band that sings totally in Hopelandic. Worth your time.