on apes, radiowaves, and the US presidential race...

"One of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong... can you tell me which thing is not like the others, by the time I finish my song?"

Call it a cheap shot, call it what you will, quite frankly it doesn't matter anymore because in less than a week, the United States will have a new president elect. The only thing scarier than that, would be if they didn't.
I wonder if the survivors of the apocalypse will drag themselves out of the wreckage, and surveying the scorched, barren, wasteland that was once their home, proclaim November 2nd, 2004 "the beginning of the end"?

...

Back to being happy, the radio gods have been smiling down on me lately. I've been getting awesome playlists all around. Not only brand-new stuff either, I've been hearing Tears for Fears, a little Mellancamp, and tons of Queen. The other day, driving home from school, I listened to Near Fantastica, then switched over to the Edge, who started up Everything is Automatic. When that finished, I switched to another station, and got Alert Status Red. Avalanche, Underdogs, and White Light. It was a trifecta of Matty Good-ness.

...

Remember the Simpson's episode, where Troy Mclure (Phil Hartman, oh how we miss you) and Selma get married, and everyone goes to the theater to see him as "the human" in the Planet of the Apes Musical? Good? Okay, now download Rock Me Amadeus, by Falco. Laughter will ensue. Trust me.


And they all breathed a sigh of relief as he quietly left the building...

while we're here...

Since we're still symbolically chillin' back in July, I'd say this is a good time to post this pseudo-apology to Myrna, Brenda, and the gang, which was meant to be published just after the last entry:

July 18, 4:57am

Sorry I’m late guys, I would’ve been here like ten minutes ago, but man did I have to go to the bathroom. I had to go the whole walk home, but by clinging to the last shred of civic pride I possess, I managed to resist the urge to let loose upon some unfortunate soul’s mailbox. Brampton, you owe me.
So Mike calls me today. You know Mike, AKA Knight Rider, definitely a solid guy. Anyway, he calls me up and tells me his family is gone for the week. Now, it’s just past five in the evening, and I’m still in bed, but as drinking is clearly going to ensue, I figure it’s time to get up.
So I’m up, and ready to go, but now I’ve got a problem. By going out with Mike, I was going to complicate this evening’s plans. You see, I was already supposed to be meeting some people at the bar around nine. This left me with three hours (it was almost six now) to drink with Mike before I had to stumble forty-five minutes to an hour down the road to meet up with Brenda, Myrna and Priam. Last Sunday was Brenda’s birthday, and Myrna was getting married in two weeks, so being there to buy them each tequila shots was priority for tonight. This is where the whole “me being a dick” thing comes in. Although I totally had the plan all worked out in my mind, by seven o’clock, the rum started to kick in, and I began to lose focus. By eight o’clock I was sitting on Mike’s back porch, chillin’ with him, Daniel, Kyle, Adam, and a guy who I think was named Brian, listening to some tunes. I was still quite intent on going to the bar, but the guys seemed to doubt my ability to actually pull it off. Sadly, my mind had lost a bit of it’s edge, mostly due to the last couple of shots, and I started to believe them. So it gets to be about quarter after nine, and I’m still sitting on the back porch, now catching up with Mike’s neighbour, Anne and drinking rum and coke. Anne brought peach schnapps. We’re talking, when suddenly my mind (now about as sharp as a plastic spoon), kicks it briefly into high gear and realizes that I’m late, and those birthday/wedding shots, were not going to buy themselves. That was when I started trying to get the guys (and Anne) to come on down with me the bar. This liquor-spurred attempt to rally the troops lasted all of five minutes. It was decided that going to the bar now wasn’t at all practical, and that I was going to have to stay at Mike’s house.. So I got another drink. I was kinda bummed about not being able to make good on my pledge to get drunk with the girls, but then the Hip came on the radio station and all was well again. Some time went by and eventually (after two), Adam’s cab showed up. He’d been busy with his Army Reserve Training all week, and had trench-foot and malaria, so he was calling it an early night. As we’re seeing him off, we notice another car parked in front of the house. Anne was also gonna be taking off, and she’d called here ex-boyfriend to come pick her up, which under normal circumstances would have been cool, but tonight wasn’t about to go as smoothly as it should have. Knowing the guy driving the car was probably Anne’s ride, I go up to say hi. Now just for a little background, I’m a pretty friendly guy, more so when aided by the warm fuzziness of alcohol, so I walk right up to the passenger window reach in, and say “What’s happening guys, I’m Colin.” The driver, Anne’s ex, seemed like a chill guy. I grabbed his hand, we had some small talk, no problems. His passenger however, turned out to be a dick. I shake his hand, and start talking to the two of them, and as I’m talking, I realize the guy’s still holding onto my arm. I kinda cock my head to the side, being confused and not quite sober, and say “Dude, why are you holding my arm?”. Now this guy, who had been pretty passive before, starts freaking out on me. Apparently he wants to fight. The driver is not up for this at all, he just keeps telling his friend to calm down. As he’s doing so, I pick up on the fact that this spazzy kid’s name is also Colin. Now where I would have totally kicked his ass five minutes ago, now I find out that he’s got the same name as me, and obviously I can’t fight him anymore, as that would be against the understood laws of drinking. The only problem is, that the guy seems to know nothing about common courtesy and the rule where people with the same name as you are automatically accepted as drinking buddies. All he can seem to think about now is fighting me, which just kept making me madder and madder ‘cause I’m totally against violence. Honestly, it could have gotten pretty bad, but luckily, Kyle, being the sensible one at the time breaks in and changes the subject. The kid lets go of my arm, and Mike, Kyle, Daniel, Mike and I don’t have to fuck over Anne’s ex-boyfriend’s little punk of a friend.
Man, this is getting long, and I’ve pretty much just been rambling for the last hour, so I’m taking off. The gist of this story was pretty much just that I felt bad for not meeting the people at the bar, joining the army will give you malaria, and that guy was a ass.
G’night all!

In the beginning...

there was an idea, and that idea become a realization of the ease with which it could be accomplished. That realization led to the creation of a posting; a sample of digital media created solely for the purpose of relieving my insanity. And once finished, that sat blazing in all its magnificent glory on my computers hard drive. For three months...

And so we take a step backwards, out of time, to relive the unpublished beginning of my blog...

July 16, 3:41pm

Alright. So I've been thinking a lot lately. Not really about anything in particular, just a jumble of random thoughts about everything from alarm clocks to nutmeg. Have you ever actually seen nutmeg in its pure nut form? Before it’s ground up into a fine powder and distributed to supermarkets and bulk food store everywhere? I saw a nutmeg nut for the first time today. It looked like a mini walnut. I’m going to make it a point of using grated nutmeg in something soon. I don’t know what yet, but it’ll be good. I’ll invite all you guys over, and we’ll drink beer and eat nutmeg flavoured food. It’ll be awesome.
But anyway, back to the whole thinking thing. I’m afraid I may just be going crazy. Flat out rubber walls, straight jacket, and little pink pills every three hours kinda crazy. I mean seriously, I’ll be sitting at work fantasizing about playing Legend of Zelda, A Link to the Past, which just for the record has a very clever name. (Kevin, you are my hero, wordplay is frickin’ awesome) But yeah, instead of thinking about work, I’ll be daydreaming about Super Nintendo. Sometimes I’ll go back even further, and pretend I’m playing Duck Hunt for the NES. I wish I could go back in time to nineteen eighty-five. I’d listen to Men Without Hats and play Duck-Hunt for weeks at a time. After the nutmeg party I’ll build a time machine.
Work is hell. I hate work. Once my time machine is built, I’ll be loaded, richer than all time Jeopardy Champ Ken Jennings. He’ll be my pool-guy. I’ll use my king-like riches to finance my Journey of Sloth. And I’ll buy an Atari, so I can alternate between Duck Hunt and Asteroids. For now though, work is my eight and a half hour snooze alarm. Don’t get me wrong; I, as a true patriot, work hard to help perpetuate the flow of commercialism. I just hate it is all, ‘cause I’m not quite all there. So it’s driving me insane. But it’s okay, ‘cause being sane is overrated anyway. Sane is for nine to five, neck-tie wearing office clerks. I don’t want to own an SUV. I own two and a half ties. Two are reserved for special occasions. The half is a clip-on from when I was six.
Nope, sanity is a fog that blinds your eyes to the stars. You should write that down. Me? I’m gonna go drink a homemade Iced Cappuccino and listen to the Smiths.