The Hole in my Soul

   You know, a lot of times I can depend on this blog as a resource to document my thoughts of the day. It's a great tool because first of all, nobody reads it. So it's largely private. If someone should stumble upon it and find interest in it, well then good for them. But for the most part, it's a way to vent and will probably never come to light. Unless something happens to me. Which would be horrible but I mean - LOOK AT ALL THESE RESOURCES TO FIND OUT ABOUT ME! It would be impossible for anyone to say I didn't write anything I was thinking down. So I mean, there's always that.
   It's been quite a while since I've written anything new so if you're reading this in a stream of one post to the next, you may notice some incontinuity. You'll get over it. I haven't changed a whole lot and I doubt I really will. I have several documented ways to go and see what I've thought of myself (and a lot of other things) since 1991, when I made my first journal. Luckily there's no electronic copy of anything I've written prior to about 2004 but either way, if anyone is ever looking, I have at least 3 volumes of things in the drawer of my office. If I am to leave this world suddenly, that's where my innermost thoughts could be discovered. Just please don't judge me too harshly.
   Lately I have been on a bit of a skid, spiritually. I've been asking a lot of people out there if they understand their purpose. What are we here for? What's the meaning of all of this? I went tailgating this past weekend at the LSU-Idaho game and obviously there was a lot of boozing and eating and people talking to each other and drunken revelry and all this. Just like there was last week for the LSU-Washington game. Unfortunately I don't remember a whole lot from either contest, but I do remember one resounding thing: Is our purpose to just sit there and consume? To party? To make babies? Or to help our common man? Because if so, one of those things is not like the other. And for the most part, we're dropping the ball.
   The following day as I'm nursing a hangover, and it's usually a Sunday coincidentally, I'm feeling a little low. Not just because of the hangover but because I feel an emptiness. Flashback to a couple of weeks ago, truth be told. On a random weekend evening before football season where I asked myself "What else can I do here on earth?" You put that together with a couple of blowout tailgate post-recovery periods, and eventually it's a screaming question, getting louder and louder. What else can I do? To help people? To help myself? To help this world? And I just keep asking and asking.
   There's a non-denomination megachurch here in town called The Healing Place. A lot of people go there and do the whole lift-up-your-arms-in-praise and sing "Our God Is An Awesome God" and the whole shabang. Recently they have hit a little patch of bad news when their pastor, the honorable Dino Rizzo, abruptly resigned. In a town as small as Baton Rouge, this is earth shattering news to a whole lot of people. I think something like 8000 people usually attend their 12pm Sunday service. I mean, that's a lot of people. And it goes on in this massive stadium-like structure they've built, with all the waterfalls and globes and crosses and lasers that money can buy. For the longest time, I've wondered what they had going on over there that was so attractive to the average dude out looking for redemption. What reels them in? Well I guess it's the charisma of their preachers. They must be good. They must be real good.
   On many a Sunday evening (again, conversely nursing a hangover) I'll tune into the Joel Osteen program on whatever channel it's on. And this man - just WOW. He can put on a show. And I'll be one hundred percent honest with you, it's catchy. I prayed along with him and I felt the spark. Not that I felt compelled to just go give him a bunch of money but still, he's good. It was people like him, and the fact that I hear this Healing Place is so awesome, it got me questioning my own direction on where my faith was headed. Could this be the hole in my soul I've been looking to fill? Maybe so, maybe not. I'll get back to that.
   But first of all, let's take a look at where my faith was. Where I'd gotten to in spirituality, to finally be sitting at the crossroads of the megachurch and about to dive in....

TO BE CONTINUED.
 

Micro-Eggs

This morning I made eggs in the microwave. I didn't know you could do it until I did. I made them in a little microwavable container and when I opened it, the steam burned my fingers.

Eggs in the microwave. Now we're all screwed. I wonder if my HOA forbids chickens in my backyard.

Massage Envy

So Aimee got me a massage for Father's Day. I've been before so it's not like it was really any shock. And anyone else I know who hasn't been, do yourself a favor and go sign up for one of these. It is most excellent. But right from the get go, I can tell there's some serious potential for things to go horribly awry.

First and foremost, the massage was at a place called Massage Envy. I thought, what's up with that name? The business name alone almost says "Do you ENVY ME because I'm going to get a massage, you miserable little bastard?" Seriously, there's some major snobbish tones just in that name. It should be more humble. Like Massage Humility. Or for me, maybe Massage Humiliation. And before anyone asks me, I'll just let you know right off. Yes, I shave my back before I go into a place like this.

I'm always a little leery when they come get you out of the waiting room and walk you down this hallway, asking you how you're day is going, talking all softly. I'm like "Is this person going to murder me?" Not that it's likely to happen, it's just a weird thought that goes through my head. They ask you, "What exactly are you looking for today?" which always freaks me out. I'm looking for a massage. Ok? And I want you to think I'm the most normal person you've ever met here, because it just looks like the kind of place a fucking maniac would be hanging around in. The rooms are all soft lights and aromatherapy and incensey and such. It kinda walks the line of out-of-the-ordinary for me. I don't keep my house this dark, I don't have massage tables in my living room instead of furniture, although it would be pretty awesome to get people's reaction to seeing something like that. There's a headrest with a hole for your face so when you're lying down, you can put your face in it and breathe. Imagine if you had people over to your house and when they got there, you had a room full of people laying on massage tables face down. It would be like some sort of horror film. But then you can sit up and say "So nice to see you, Regina. We're glad you're here. You're going to be massaging us all today!!!"

So lying on this table, there's all types of earthy toned music playing, and soundscapes. I wanted to ask the lady if people could bring in their own music. Like, what if I put on some Slayer? Would the masseuse just start beating the shit out of me? This last go round, I'm lying there and this chick is just wailing on my back, like it's a totally normal thing to be doing to someone. Most of the massage was fine, but at one point, she was relentlessly working on the same exact spot on my back, like she was trying to tear muscles off of me like a zombie movie. I just sat there with my face in the pillow, wincing and trying not to start audibly crying. Also, as they're just going through the massage motions, you never know what's next. Like, one minute they could be working on your shoulders, and what if the next, they're stabbing you with a fork. Or caning you? Or taking your wallet? Or hypnotizing you into thinking your somebody else?

Anyway, go get a massage. You'll be glad you did. Just make sure you stay observant with how parallel universe shit can get in there.

Meh. Maybe I'm just a dumbass.

What Will My Son Become

In this very inconclusive world future we find ourselves being hurled towards, it's got me thinking. What will my son become? The world his oyster, who knows what the world begets him. I figure he'll be looking to start a career around 2031, which sounds so hip and futuristic. With that in mind, he may lean to any of the following:

1. Flying Car Mechanic

2. Fur Surgeon

3. Minority Report Guy

4. Cell Replicator

5. Cell Instigator

6. Curseword Poet

7. Bat Herder

8. Nerf Herder

9. Uncle Walt

10. The Claw

11. Cyborg

12. President

13. A sociologist

14. Thought Policeman

15. Engineer

Hey Linda - You a bitch.

First of all, let me get this out of the way:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6FPadJvflU

Ok, so recently we've adopted a new animal. One day after band practice a couple weeks back, I noticed a little baby kitten running around the dumpster and since I'm not a heartless bastard, I begged Aimee to take her in. This took a substantial amount of posturing ("Sam, I'm pregnant. And I don't want some animal coming in here with diseases infecting the whole house with God knows what.." "Aimee, I'm pretty sure the animal isn't rabid or anything. It wasn't frothing at the mouth, flailing about in a deranged state..." etc. etc..). But in the end, she caved. I took her to the vet to have her checked out, but we didn't name her so they went with "Kitten Terito" by default. This could've probably worked, but we already have another cat named "Kitty Terito" to show our lack of a naming acumen. We thought long and hard for unusual names for our new pet: Elizabeth, Judy, Deborah, Andrea, Megatron, Destructorr, Fucker, Malaisia, Mary Todd Lincoln.. But I went to pick her up, I informed the staff at Sherwood South Animal Hospital that our animal now has a proper name. And with that, Linda Terito has officially joined our clan.

Since she has become one of us, we've been graced with many stories to tell of her acquaintance into our home. But one stands out more than others. We had to quarantine her into the hallway bath to slowly bring her along into our family; for both her personal protection as Kitty has been pretty much slapping the everliving shit out of her every chance he gets. But one morning before work, we opened the door and she was gone. Vanished. Missing. Linda had somehow inexplicably escaped her bathroom cell. This was rather shocking. I didn't think she had the size nor skill to turn the doorknob and open the door - or break a window, or make a rope out of her kitten toys, or chisel through sheetrock, or teleport. Regardless, Linda was no longer in this room.

We looked under every piece of furniture, I put on my jacket and cased the outside of the house. She's pretty small so maybe she'd darted out between our legs as we were cracking the door. Hell, maybe she'd taken one of the cars. At this point I really began to think anything was possible and had to check the keys on the keyrack by the back door to make sure they were still there.

I walked around the back yard yelling "Linda! Linda! Where are you?" So I'm sure this roused suspicion amongst the neighbors. They probably either thought that I was looking for a cat named Linda, or was otherwise a deranged old man suffering from some sort of advanced brain trauma or atrophy. But either way you look at it, Linda was gone.

After checking the attic, me and Aimee were perplexed. "WHERE IS SHE? WHERE COULD SHE BE?" "I DON'T KNOW!!!" We were just dumbfounded. Finally I looked at Aimee and said, "Maybe she was a ghost cat." And I was being completely serious. Aimee, also being completely serious, goes "That's crazy.. but I mean.. where else could she be? Maybe she IS a ghost cat."

So with that, me and Aimee together seriously thought about the most ridiculous thing the two of us have ever thought as a couple. But then something just dawned on me.. What about behind the countertops in the room she was actually in? I opened the cabinets. No Linda. But upon completely removing the bottom drawer, a little brown furrball cowered at the back of the counterspace. "LINDA!!!" She had contorted herself past the baseboard and found probably a 2" gap to crawl in. I just sat there and thought "Why would she do this?" but it's a little tough to put yourself in the mind of a 2 month old kitten. Then I thought about how the builder of the cabinets must have had reservations of building a childproof cabinet but he'd carelessly thought about the kittens and their plight in this world. That son of a bitch.

Anyways, if you've got nothing to do this weekend, go pull all the drawers out of the cabinets in your bathroom. Who knows what you might find?

Hipstamatic and the I-Fail App.

You know, I've always been down for reminiscing. Hell, probably a large portion of any current whimsings I have running through my head are largely reflective of some time in the past. And really, I don't know why I do that but it's always been my nature. When I was 10 years old, I was probably like "Things were so much better back when I was 8." But that's just the way it is.. so, hey.

But something that's kind of currently irking me is this app people have on their phones called 'hipstamatic'. It's essentially a lens filter of some sort that distorts colors in your cellphone's camera giving it this old school kodachrome vibe. It also takes the edges of the photo and applies this thick black border like an old photo. So it basically makes the picture look like it was taken in the late 60's or 70's. And look, that might be all neat and shit now - but think of the ramifications., You're attempts at being indie and smarmy are going to confuse the hell out of future generations, and that's just bullshit!

"Oh look, it's a picture of Daddy back when he was a baby. Wait.. no, that's me. Wait, no - it's you. Wait. No. NO! FUCK! I DON'T KNOW WHO THIS IS!!!"

::throws photo album at wall, storms out of room, party ruined::

It's just human nature. Back in the 90's, we all dressed like hippies from the 70's. In the 00's, we all got on the 80's retro craze. When Clinton was in the White House, people were all like "I miss Reagan." When Bush was in the White House, it was "I miss Bill Clinton..." When George Washington was elected president, all the colonial peeps were like "I miss the sweet oppression we got under King George". But I imagine anyone who was vocal about that end was shipped back to mother England as a loyalist.

I wish there was a way to send hipstamatic users back to the 70's. They'd be like "Oh this is so great" for a day or so. Then they'd start looking for the interwebs and all people would be able to lead them to would be a gigantic unix mainframe somewhere. And then they'd be like "WHAT HAVE WE DONE!" but it would be too late. They'd have to find new ways to waste time. New ways to blog.

They should invent new apps that we can download to make things even more retro. Like you download a copy of a phone book instead of being able to google search that shit. Or you could a download a song but in turn, it downloads the first 8 songs on the album like a cassette and you have to just scan through it to find what you're looking for. Or maybe an app that makes your cellphone completely worthless and nonfunctional.

The i-fail. New from the appstore.

Shut the shit down. Sam's having a kid.

First there's this...

Then there's this...

And then there's this...

to be continued.