Blog.

Keeping up with a blog is actually alot harder than I imagined.

Everyday I have to try and deliver a few paragraphs that are humorous, insightful, or some combination of the two. I'm not burnt out per se; I love writing, but it's just tough maintaining my own little corner of the World Wide Web.

Finding time to write, or better yet, finding time to think, has become a tremendous challenge. Time, as I've quickly learned, is an irreplacable resource of unmatched value, and what you do with that time defines who you are. Writing about my life is not on the top of my list as a defining characteristic.

So, in an attempt to simplify my life, I'm going to limit my posts to two a week. This number could be more or less if I so choose, and it'll depend on my schedule for each particular week. I know this is random, but don't hate. That's how it has to be.

If I manage to keep up with this pace, then I'll stick with it. Otherwise, I may have to make this a weekly blog...

...or yearly. Just exploring my possibilities.

Commercials.

You're familiar with them. Those short, monotonous advertisements in between segments of our beloved television programs.

Despite the nuisance of the interruption of the show, the creators of these 30-second clips of torture, typically theme them to a catchy jingle sung their tone-deaf grandchildren or some other family member that should NOT be on television. Namely, businesses with "surplus" or "salvage" in the title which, in Tennessee, is an uncanny amount.

I suppose their intentions are noble, they need to get their business noticed somehow. But consider extremely large corporations with thousands of stores across America, take for instance Macy's.

Undoubtely, the owner has so much money, he'll never use it all before his death. I mean, how else can you afford a massive group of celebrities including but not limited to: Martha Stewart, Donald Trump, and Jessica Simpson.

Well...that last one would probably be alot cheaper...

Oh wow, that was bad. Forgive me, Jess.

Another clear sign of too much money is their ability to advertise on every square-inch of the globe. Seriously, there isn't a Macy's within 200 miles of my house, but yet they feel the need to advertise during every commercial break on NBC.

It would not suprise me if people in Uganda have seen Macy's commercials. Quite possibly, Macy's gave them the TV to watch it.

Other than owning the rights to several expensive (and one not so expensive) stars, I've discovered that Macy's also owns the fabric of space and time. How else is it possible to have a "ONE DAY ONLY Sale" everyday of the year? Just saying.

The Purpose of Creation.

In every man’s life, there is a motivating force inside him which drives the movement of his spirit. Each man has his own variation of this entity which is defined by what his spirit individually perceives as pleasant or good. This driving force which moves the spirit is known as the amor, and the movement of the spirit itself is known by some men, like Dante Alighieri, the author of Dante's Inferno, as the Moto Spiritale. The amor works like fuel, the Moto Spiritale the engine.

Personally, my amor is embedded in my position as a Christian. As an adopted child of God, I am spiritually motivated through the reading of Christ’s word, the Bible, and through the knowledge of my religious leaders such as my pastor. The act of attending church alone does not provide me with any sort of divine progression, but the sermon, the message itself, is what fuels my spirit and my love of Christ.

Naturally, my spirit moves towards these teachings and yearns to become one with Christ. I believe, in a way, my Moto Spiritale is similar to that of Dante, but mine is far less rooted in philosophy and more focused on Biblical principles. However, Dante’s perspective remains unquestionably accurate in my own personal experience as my spirit seeks to be one with its Creator.

This, I am certain, was and is the purpose of its creation.

Letters.

First of all, let me address that which is currently on everyone's mind...

Yes, Kanye West, you are indeed the most racist butt wipe on the face of the planet, and I'm glad Jay Leno made you cry on national television. You and Beyoncé enjoy each other at your next concert...because you'll be the only people there.

Secondly, to dear President Obama...

You and health care clearly don't mix because your plan is possibly the most epic of any fail conceivable.

Also? If you EVER bash the Bible again...I WILL cut you. Secret Service won't even have a chance to stop me.

Give Michelle and the kids my regards.

And finally, to that old man that accosted me in the parking lot at school...

Just because my car is parked on school grounds doesn't entitle you to a single ounce of ownership. And if you ever again question my ability to be access my car when I need to, I'll demonstrate how my car works when it's going 50 miles per hour at your face. Kthanksbai.

How's Life? (September 2009 Edition.)

It's been rather busy lately, and scheduling time to blog really wasn't one of my top priorities. However, I have a little free time, and I intend to get everyone back up to speed.

Here's my week in a nutshell:

1) I've started physical therapy on my ankle which I injured during my family's deck building exploit. It's nothing intense, but there is a rather annoying electrode machine they use. It emits electric bursts that make my leg flip around spastically.

My mom finds it very comical. Me? Not so much.

2) Following suit with the personal injuries, I fractured my finger playing football...this was probably not a brilliant choice on my part, as I was playing with a twisted ankle.

Writing papers for my AP Literature and Composition class has never been more "challenging". I'm fairly certain someone recovering from a drug-induced coma would have better hand-writing than I currently possess.

3) My best friend since 5th grade and I have begun the planning process for our senior trip to none other than the glorious Walt Disney World Resort! For those of you who don't know me, or my best friend, Disney is basically our home away from home. I'm so unbelievably stoked about this trip that no earthly amount of exclamation points could ever express my excitement. It will be the "pièce de résistance" of our pre-college lives, and I can literally NOT stop thinking about it.

4) I've lost my train of thought, and can't recall what my fourth update was going to be...

...did I mention Disney World?

Monday.

Does that word not make you cringe? I honestly can't remember a Monday that I've ever whole-heartedly enjoyed. Ever.

I believe from now on, calendars should only have 6 days per week. No exceptions. If no one acknowledges Monday, it will surely go away.

The fact that I'm beginning a 5-day sequence of school bites hard, as does the list of weekly chores that renew their status of incomplete. But the thing that angers me the most...

...Monday is a murderer.

It kills the weekend in cold blood. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Dead. What did the weekend ever do to anyone? Really?

This hearteless slaughter of innocent days has to stop, so I'm issuing a call to action...

Think of the horrible Monday night programming (particularly shows involving Jay Leno) that would go away.


Think of the helpless weekends.


Think of the children.


Abolish evil. Abolish Monday.


I'm Dr. Jones, and I approve of this message.

Construction: Part Two.

It feels like it's been ages since I've posted, but I was determined to get something written today, so forgive me for spelling errors and/or vague, collective nouns like "stuff" or "thing".

Anyway, here goes nothing...

So returning to my deck building story, the three of us (me, my brother, and my dad) sat in the parking lot of Lowe's racking our brains for an idea on how to transport an almost half-ton of lumber to our house. After about 15 minutes, I suggested we rent a vehicle with a larger payload from the store...

Oh, if only it were that easy.

Running back inside, I questioned the woman behind the counter, yes the psychotic, laughing old woman who most likely needs to be on oxygen now from her damaged lungs and diaphragm. In between breaths, she regretfully informed me that they don't rent vehicles out. Apparently, all the company trucks in their parking lot was just for show. Maybe they jump them over forklifts in a stunt show? I'm not quite sure.

Because Lowe's didn't have the answer to our problems, we turned to their arch nemesis for help. Thankfully, Home Depot doesn't use their company vehicles in monster truck rallies, and we were able to rent one.

We returned to Lowe's, keep in mind we're in our Home Depot rental, and began loading the wood into the bed of the truck. Oddly enough, the old woman was no longer laughing, it might have been because we pulled up in their rival's truck, but then again, she probably just choked on sawdust or something. After loading the wood, for the third time, we hauled it off to our house where we finally began construction on the porch.

My father fondly referred to the deck as my project, but if you could have seen him during the building process, you would think otherwise. He's a bit of a...how do you say it? Control freak. But I love him to death anyway, he makes for a pretty awesome dad.

In the end, the porch turned out great....despite the vast abundance of mistakes and obstacles we ran into along the way.

Like me incorrectly measuring two of the boards, the screaming, dad smashing his thumb with a hammer, the screaming, moving the lumber again for the FOURTH time, me twisting my ankle...

...did I mention screaming? Good times, gooood times.

Sensory.

This post is unique in that I borrowed from one of my previous writings. I wrote this in response to the question, "How would you describe your favorite color to someone who was born without sight?"

Naturally, this eliminates any use of visual adjectives or sensations, so the description had to be made using words that appeal to all of the other senses. I did this and found it's actually an enlightening process.

My color I chose was blue. I've added visual colors and effects to the wording to aid in truly feeling the color. This establishes a connection between the senses that's otherwise unnoticable. Read mine, and then try it yourself. You'd be surprised at what you associate with color.

Blue is...

"The color blue is an exhilarating plunge into an icy mountain stream, but blue is also the gentle current of the water splashing against your bare legs.

It is the stimulating ocean breeze flowing through your hair, and it is those intermittent gusts of wind filling your nostrils with the scent of salt water.

Blue is the bitterest of winter chills penetrating deeply into your skin, and blue is the silkiness of the blanket you hide in to keep that cold out.

Blue is the softness of an infant’s palm pressed against your face, and the almost silent sound of each tranquil breath that infant takes.

It is the sensation of ice melting on your tongue, and the fluid smoothly rolling down your throat.

Blue is the gradual stimulation of the mind, the overwhelming sorrow of the heart, and the irreplaceable peace of the soul."

Construction: Part One.

I haven't written in a few days, and I realize the last post wasn't exactly fun to read, but let me assure you this post is much cheerier than its predecessor.


This weekend, my dad decided we were going to build a deck. This is the third deck we have built as a family, so you'd think our previous experience would be useful. You'd also be terribly wrong. Despite the ominous tone I've just aquired, let me assure you that all went well and we fully constructed it in a little more than a day. Not bad at all, right? Well, the story is how we got there...


Friday after school, practically the moment I walked in the door, my dad was on his way out to Lowes to get the lumber. So, me being the wonderful son I am, threw on some work clothes and accompanied him. We'd already calculated how much of each board we'd need, so it was no time before we had it all loaded onto multiple carts and ready to check out.


From this point on out, various warnings we'll call Red Flags began popping up. Unfortunately, most didn't get through our thick skulls in time to matter...


Red Flag Number One: Right then and there we should have realized that for the first time in our hundreds of visits to Lowes, we had completely filled two carts full of supplies. You've seen those things. They're MASSIVE and built out of the same material as my indestructable cell phone, but yet, they couldn't hold it all. In fact, when pushing the carts our feet were literally sliding on the smooth concrete flooring. Luckily they didn't, but if they had built up too much speed, stopping them would've required an act of God.


Red Flag Number Two: As we were checking out (Yes, we actually made it to the front), the elderly woman behind the counter made casual small talk with my father. She inquired as to what we were building, who was building it, and other various questions to that effect.


Then she asked,


"So, are you three going to load it all on your truck?"


"Yeah, we're gonna throw it in the back of my pickup," dad replied.


"Oh," says the cashier cracking a smile.


The old woman then proceeded to laugh incessantly for the remainder of the time we were in her presence. Clearly, she could see what was coming although we failed to.


Red Flag Number Three: Fortunately, we got outside of the store before the elderly cashier lost her teeth, and we managed to transport all 400+ pounds of lumber to our apparently hilarious pickup truck. Dad had already formulated in his head a method of loading all the wood safely and after loading the first few boards it appeared to be working. It was around board number 20, however, that we realized the tailgate was literally bending from the weight. This tailgate is supported by immense steel cables. No lie. But it was obviously no match for the sheer gravity of our load.


So flag number three? Got through. Message recieved. Three thick skulls penetrated.


Following the almost destruction of the tailgate, we unloaded the wood and took it back inside where the same old woman began laughing. Again.


After brainstorming ideas for several minutes, we found the solution. Unfortunately, it would require more effort than we originally planned for...

Bigotry.

It's harsh. But regrettably, it's the solitary word racing through my mind right now.

Recently, I've learned that sometimes, no matter how charitable you are, people will stab you in the back. Despite the fact you try, time and time again, to salvage your relationship with this person, they always find a way to thwart your efforts. Their ability to find and expose your every flaw is unfailing, and although you've done nothing, they make you feel as if you're a hideous criminal.

I've frequently endeavored to find the source of this unfounded anger only to come up dry. But at last, I genuinely believe I have the answer.

You see, anger is an emotion, usually brought on by an outside force. But unwarranted anger...

...it comes from within.

Bigotry is a force that transcends anger, but simultaneously, it generates anger. Within a bigot is essentially a lie. A lie upon which everything they stand for, everything they believe in is built upon. This lie is so convincing to the bigot that they are quite literally blind to their own imperfections that they refuse to believe they are anything less than perfect.

A bigot's heart is cosumed with hatred for those free of their weight. Those who don't have a problem with hypocrisy. Unfortunately, those of us who strive to deviate from bigotry are often pulled into the mix...unwillingly.

However, there is hope.

There's always a diminutive possibility of restoration, but the only way that possibility can ever come to be is through the acceptance of imperfection and an agreeance to disregard past friction. Blame and accusations must be cast aside, and a mutual accountability for past actions must be obtained.

But ultimately, the most vital role rests on the pointed finger of the bigot...

...and the direction of that finger to be pointed at the body its attached to for a change.

Motivation.

...something I unfortunately have none of today. So, I've decided to be lazy and just talk about something I find hilarious. These are called a variety of things, but they are most commonly known as "Demotivational Posters."

I truly believe they're the funniest things you will ever encounter without the inhallation of illegal substances, so I picked out a few. Enjoy...

Editors Note: For more hilarious posters like these, visit despair.com.

Phone: The Sequel!

As stated in my previous post, my cell phone is a bona fide BEAST. Seriously, I doubt even the combined efforts of Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer could break my phone. It's that tough.

How do you know it's that tough? You might ask. Well before I explain, you need to have read this, and if that's out of the way, prepare yourself for quite possibly the most elaborate tale ever based around a cell phone...

Succeeding the almost tragic drowning of my phone, I accepted a part-time job working for a local painting service. The owner, who attends my church, quickly dealt with the formalities and put me straight to work. Being the new kid, I was assigned with all the pointless errands and other crap that the boss didn't feel like doing himself.

Honestly though, it's understandable. If you have dominion over a plethora of expendable teenage labor, why not abuse...er...use it?

Anyway, several tasks were assigned to me, the main task being to drive through ritzy neighborhoods promoting my new manager's business through the use of neon yellow fliers. Not only did I have to use my own gas to make the deliveries AND drive with a stack of those glowing papers in my lap, but I also was forced to drive past countless envy-inducing homes that appeared to have come directly from an episode of Cribs. No joke.

In fact, my manager's exact words were, "If the house doesn't look like it's worth 300 thousand, it's not worth our time." Now don't get me wrong...I'm aware of the economic crisis, but do you think that might be overkill? Just a little? I mean, unless you're melting gold and applying it to the walls, your paint is no different than anyone elses'.

So back to the driving and coveting...as I finished off the last of the holier-than-thou neighborhoods, I decided to call my boss to check in and make sure there were no other assignments for me. So, I reached in my pockets for my cell phone...

...nothing.

Felt around under the seat...

...still nothing.

Pulled over in a parking lot and searched my car...

...absolutely nothing.

By this point, I had realized that my phone had fallen out of my car, and I had broken into a cold sweat and had begun hyperventilating. I'm sure all of the people in that parking lot thought I was a hot mess, but honestly, I didn't care. All I cared about was how much time I had before my boss or parents called with no answer and discovered my costly mistake. Racing home, I frantically thought up an explanation to give my father, but to my surprise when I got home, he had some words for me...

Dad: "Called your phone, and some guy answered it. Here's the address for you to go pick it up."

Seriously? It was that easy? Needless to say, I drove at a much safer pace on my return trip, and arrived to be greeted by a very large, old man with a thick Southern drawl...

Me: "You find a phone?"

Man: "You lose one?"

(Nah, I'm taking a poll to see how many people find phones in their yards. Thanks for your input!)

Me: "Yeah."

Man: [Handing it to me] "Well, yer lucky I found it. It musta fell outta yer car inta the yard. Didn' even notice it til I run it over wit my mower. Than it a started rangin'."

....is that...even...possible? Clearly, the Incredible Hulk died and his spirit lives on within the confounds of my cellular device because the fact it survived is on the verge of an impossibility. It still works to this day. Honest.

If not the trapped spirit of a Marvel Comics character, it had to have been divine intervention which kept my phone in tact. And all I can say is, God bless America...

...and God bless the makers of LG phones.