Never mind the fact that the older I get the more depressing zoos get, but instead realize that part of nature photography is the patience and dedication that it takes to get those amazing shots. Then you come here, pay your $15, $20 if you’d like a tour on the train ride (I recommend the train ride) and get your beautiful closeups.

At least ditch the Rascal, and get one of them hand operated wheel chairs. You make me sick you fat crippie.

Well yeah…. I took pictures at the zoo. It was that or talk to the family.

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No, it didn’t blow up in my lap and destroy my crotch, causing me to be a self loathing eunuch. During the whole battery recall some time ago I somehow wound up with three batteries, which I didn’t need, so I stored two of them in the garage. In retrospect I suppose that was stupid as it gets over one-hundred degrees, and now I have a destroyed battery. Pretty cool though, I think. The packets inside feel like gel packets, which are now sitting in my room probably causing some sort of cancer.

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What is it about a library that seems to attract people of all ages, races and states of consciousness? I suppose the abundance of chairs featuring arms, the warmth/cool (depending on the season) and the general free-ness of the place draws folks into it’s comforting bookish bosom.

I am convinced that this man is ghost. A long dead master of some eastern metaphysical cult. In life he so loved knowledge that he returns to our earthly plane at night and strolls the halls of our libraries, pausing from time to time to pull a book from the shelf, read a few lines and smile knowingly to himself before moving on. Eventually he becomes exhausted from the strain of materializing his soul and he begins the process of returning to the realm of ghosts and wind. Which is what he’s doing right now.

Even if he isn’t a ghost, I approve completely of his presence in the library. He’s quiet, well kept and has a certain dignified air that hangs about him even while sleeping. Contrasted to the beast man I last reviewed, he is a drowsy zen garden, while tub-tard is a couch on your trashy neighbors lawn.

(A man can go his whole life without getting the chance to photograph something so magical as this. I had to sneak up on them like a wildlife photographer, the fat kid had just settled in and was not yet fully asleep. Very dangerous territory.)

Asian man:

• Dignified nearly upright posture
• Perfectly silent (Ninja?)
• Even though sleeping, still a model of self discipline

Fat kid:

• So slouched he requires the use of an auxiliary chair
• Makes grunting noises while setting up his sickening sleep concoction, makes grunting noises while sleeping, makes grunting noises when awaking, makes grunting noises while leaving
• All those who see him weep uncontrollably for the future of America

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Bitch, seriously get out of my way.  There are only 3 of you, and yet you have managed to block the bike path in both directions, and the walking path.  It amazes me how oblivious you idiots really are.  You are walking an arm lengths apart.  Is this just in case you break into involuntary simultaneous jumping jacks?

Your arms are swinging with such vigor I’d swear you were speed walkers, but you’re moving maybe 2 mph.  You don’t walk in a straight line, and you yap, oblivious to any other individual that wants to get around your dumb ass.  We both know too that if someone came in saying ‘on your left’ you would freak the fuck out, and get all pissy about how they blew by you.  To you, bitches of the bike path, FUCK YOU!

The bike path can be a great thing.  Running on the street can be sketchy, and it’s nice to get away from the cars.  Most people adhere to the concept of the path, and all is well on the carless strip of asphalt.  Then there’s these women, and it’s always women.  They leave absolutely no room.  Personally, when coming at them, I choose one to run directly at, and force her off to the side.  I give her a death stare, and I’m considering carrying a shiv just in case she has the nerve to say ‘good morning.’

This all happened on the San Francisquito Trail which is actually a very nice long trail.  I usually come in on it at the corner of McBean and Copper Hill, but if you want to drive there you can pick it up at the Valencia Heritage Park on Newhall Ranch Road.  This is all in Santa Clarita, CA.

PS:  It seems that this site is slowly turning into our hated of humanity.  Oh well, so be it.

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Standing in line at Vallarta Supermarket I saw whatever the fuck this is.  The 5 lbs. of carne aside prevented me from flipping through it, but honestly, do I want to?

Is this a man or a woman?  Shehim has clearly been inspired by Robin Williams in the 90′s sensation Mrs. Doubtfire.

Magazine aside Vallarta is a magical land of wonder and delight.  It caters to the latinos in us all, and especially to the high concentration of hispanics living in the area.  They have vats of guacamole and nacho cheese the size of a victorian bath tub.  All types of meat, fresh produce, a little eating area, and fresh tortillas make it all so grand.  It is a bustling vibrant establishment, and worth checking out.

Hell Yes!

Often they have some radio station that comes down and makes an ass load of noise.  You will know when this is going on because there is a 30 ft. inflatable tecate can.

Vallarta also has a service that delivers food or picks people up, I’m not quite sure.  All I know is those fucks drive  40 mph through the parking lot, and have nearly taken me out on multiple occasions.

Wrap Up:  Fire up the grill, get some beer, and buy whatever damn dead animal your heart desires.  You won’t regret it.

You can find store locations at http://www.vallartasupermarket.com/

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System: 0, Collin: 1 million.

I can’t read half of what the notes on this pile of trash are trying to convey to me. Something about my thesis not having anything to do with the rest of the paper (small potatoes, really). What I can read is that big ol’ fuckin’ “A-”!

Looks like  I correctly surmised that being smart means you don’t have to try. This paper was certainly no skin off my back, and look at the result. A very respectable A-, I can live with that. It’s like the professor read it and knew that I just crapped it out, but she can see my inner genius shinning through the cracks. And what the hell, compared to the pile of regurgitated lunchables she’s just read through this thing is pretty damn good. So an A feels right, but she can’t just give me an A. If she does that she knows I’ll quit right there, lock in this level of crap-quality and churn it out for the rest of the semester. So she gives me the minus there as a means of encouraging improvement. Clever girl.

So there you have it folks, the systems broke but I ain’t in no mood to fix it.

Read Part 1 Here via this internet link.

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I hate you sleeping fat kid. I don’t care if your rascal scooter broke and you had to waddle all the way from your car to campus. I don’t care if you ate a bag of candy corn and pitched yourself into a diabetic coma. These are not my concerns.

Why are you here? It’s 8am. The earliest classes are at 8am. If it’s 8am and you’re not in a class that means you’re here early.  In other words, you came with the soul intention of lumbering into the library to catch a manatee like nap. This angers me. I don’t know why exactly, but every time you fidget in your sleep or make some grunting sound, I cringe and despair for humanity.

I’m trying to pound out an essay about something I can already barely manage to care about and having your 300lbs of living, breathing, useless mass 10 feet away is not helping.

So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to go against ever fiber of my being and break the golden rule of the library. I’m going to be loud. I’ll start with a cough, if that doesn’t rouse you I’m going to position my squeaky ass laptop screen repeatedly (it sounds like a spooky Halloween style door creak). If that should fail, I’m going to begin cycling through available ring tones on my cell phone.  I will continue to do this each Tuesday and Thursday until you vacate the library, or find some other place to plop down in. Capiche?

Here’s my review section: If you’re thinking about buying a fat kid to hang around you and sleep all day, don’t. It’s depressing and horrible and will almost certainly turn you into a hate filled jerk.

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Born from the womb of a man, this piece of art speaks to the transcendence, and stillness of time.  Sturdy like the pillars of Rome this work will stand in posterity attesting to our greatness as the kings of the start of the third millennia.

We know not why he created it, or how, all we know is that he did.  The back is thick, and sturdy like the back of so many hard working Americans.  The form is coherent yet scattered like our daily lives.  The center diamond like granite tile asserts itself with such bravado that you can’t dare to look into it or anyway from it.  It is the heart of the piece, the lifeblood.  A lightning bolt of quartz or some other mineral streaks through it with the vitality of all mankind.

The smaller fragmented pieces are separated, yet held together on one solid plank.    They represent the various stages or our life.  Seeming distant, yet interconnected.  The crossword like designs speak to our intelligence.  The linear design symbolizes progress, and the arrows point to infinity.

This work will effect the future of American society, how, I am not sure.  It should hang in every union hall, every city hall, every hospital, and every firehouse.  It stands for not just one man, but for one society, the great society.  Its code, its ethics, may not be understood by outsiders, but its encrypted message can be deciphered by any true American heart now, or an eternity from now.

An original work done by James Horn.

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Here’s what we’re going to do. I just wrote a paper, not a big one, just a 3 page jobber we write every week for a upper level history course I’m taking. I wrote it about a 6th century Persian work that essentially amounts to a “Scientific” discourse on, uh, everything. I read a few pages, skimmed through most of it and also read two paragraphs of scholarly writing about it. Then I wrote a brief essay detailing what the work tells us about the values of Persian elites during the period.

Who knows? Not me. I guessed. Said it had a lot to do with their emphasis on logical reasoning and it’s application to the natural world. I put two quotes from the book into the paper (thank you online source of the book for allowing me ctrl+F myself to relevant supporting passages with ease) and called it a day.

How is this a review you ask? It’s not… yet. Consider this the pre-review. Here’s the deal, I’m going to turn this thing in today and then when I get it back in a week or so time I’ll see if I’ve properly beaten the system, or if they call my bluff.

Not that this is plagiarized, it’s not, I wrote every word (except supporting sources, obviously), my ideas are my own and everything is properly cited. I should make that clear in case anyone working for the man is reading this.

Anyway, point being, there’s no reason I should be able to get away with this. If I do, it more or less proves that if you have even lick of intelligence you can sail through pretty much everything academic with relative ease. Sadly, I suppose it also means that standards have been lowered greatly to accommodate a humongous wave of stupid people… Which is bad for everyone.

Should I get this paper back and it’s so drenched in red that it looks like it just fought the battle of Iwo Jima, then I’ll know that all hope is not lost. The world still has a sharp bullshit detector and higher education isn’t a total sham.

So, now we wait. Frankly it’s a bit of a double edge sword, I’d rather get a good grade, but maintain my faith in humanity. Sadly, that’s not an option. We’ll see!

UPDATE: Part Two Completed, results are in! Read it HERE!

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There are times in life when words fall away, the mind clears, and one’s sense, pure, unadulterated by the burden of language are free to simply experience. This masterpiece of Modern-American-Sports-Arena-Multimedia-Material allowed me just such a virginal purity of experience.

It’s because of this that I feel incapable of utilizing language in order to review or even describe the work in question. One could write ten thousand words on the subject only to have them washed of meaning and made useless upon a single viewing.

Realizing my limitations I concluded that the only way to properly garner opinion on the piece would be seek the impression of another. What follows is the dialogue from my request.

Me [yelling upstairs]: Hayley [my sister] I need you to watch something and give me your impression on it.

Hayley: What do I think of The Depression?

Me: Yeah what do you think of The Depression and it’s causes. An imbalance of debt to savings or what?

Hayley: What?

Me: I NEED YOU TO WATCH SOMETHING JUST GET DOWN HERE!

[She gets down here]

Me: OK, I want you to watch this and just tell me what you feel, what you think…

[I play the masterpiece]

Hayley: Is this against global warming?

Me: …

Hayley: Isn’t he like angry about it?

Me: It’s the introduction played in the arena for a Fairbanks Alaska Hockey team.

Hayley: Oh.

[She leaves]

Conclusion: the world is not fit nor deserving of such perfect art as this.

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