Drivel Indeed

I was checking my blog stats a few minutes ago and something caught my eye.  A visitor was referred to my blog by way of the WordPress.Com search engine.  What term did they search for?  “big dicks”

*sigh*

Midwest Gay

I wrote a new post about Ann Curry’s on-air experience with corporate censorship earlier today, and it reminded me of something funny that I experienced nearly a decade ago while I was in high school.

As mentioned in an earlier post, I attended a small public high school in a rural portion of the midwest.  Socially conservative, historically Republican and less diverse than Utah, it was a rough go for those of us capable of free thought.  Being called ‘gay’ was the worst possible insult for the males, though it never seemed to be used accurately.  Instead, it was what I call ‘Midwest Gay.’  It’s not ‘real’ gay, mind you.  The target’s sexual inclinations were presumed hetero as homosexuals were either non-existent or totally invisible.  The sight of a gay person would have probably caused the agitator’s head to explode, raining down hate, ignorance and bigotry in a bloody mess of intellectual inferiority all over the gymnasium.  I became Midwest Gay pretty early into my freshman year despite having been threatened with suspension for making out with a cheerleader on school property.  It being a small school, news traveled exceptionally fast and there was no such thing as a secret, so I’m sure everyone heard about it within seconds.  Just how did I manage to acquire the label then, you ask?

- I taped a brief and edited version of Joseph Lewis’ An Atheist Manifesto to the outside of my locker.  I wasn’t necessarily an atheist, I just didn’t like having Christian doctrine rammed down my throat every other day and I knew that such an action would at least open up a dialogue.  Unfortunately, the dialogue consisted of a few dozen juveniles calling me gay (and all of its colorful derivatives) and frequently informing me of my inevitable descent into the fiery depths of hell where I’d be spending all of eternity for hating baby Jesus.  On the upside, I hate cold weather and I’m guessing that there aren’t too many snowy days near The Lake.

- There was a display case in the hallway outside of the library that was used to call attention to different literary periods throughout history.  During the time in which the focus was on the Renaissance, a miniature version of Michelangelo’s David was prominently displayed in the case but with a tiny piece of paper taped conveniently over his genitals.  I explained to the librarian just how ridiculous it was that she felt that one of the most famous sculptures in the world needed to be censored in an attempt to protect the sensitivities of a bunch of high school students, but to no avail.  The statue had a penis and a penis is indecent.  Period.  I then got to spend the next few weeks overhearing people in the hallways saying things like “That’s the gay pervert that wants to see guys’ dicks.”

- While sitting in an English class one day I was handed a piece of paper composed by the same librarian of Art Censorship Infamy suggesting books that all of us planning to go to college should read, conveniently separated into ‘fiction’ and ‘non-fiction’ sections.  Of course, the first book listed in the ‘non-fiction’ section was *drumroll* the Christian Bible.  I asked my English teacher why it was listed there when it clearly didn’t belong.  She responded by saying “Of course it does!”  I argued and was then told to either shut up or leave the classroom and report to the principal’s office for being disruptive.  I gladly left, taking the paper with me and coincidentally arrived at the office at exactly the same time as the librarian, so I asked her about the list.  I was then accused of starting trouble and stirring things up for no reason.  I assured her that that was certainly not the case, just that I felt that the book was wrongly categorized.  I even went so far as to offer a compromise: put a third section on the list titled ‘Religious Texts’ and include the Bible, the Tanakh, the Talmud, the Koran, the Book of Mormon and so on.  I wasn’t against them recommending a religious text, I was just pissed that a public high school was clearly endorsing a specific religion and presenting it as truth.  Much to my dismay, though I had predicted this outcome, the list wasn’t altered and I became Midwest Gay-er.

- I was once asked by one of my male classmates point-blank in the cafeteria while eating lunch if I was gay.  I responded by asking “Why?  Looking for a date to prom?”  In hindsight, that probably didn’t help quell any rumors.

- During my junior year a former professional athlete of some sort (Football?  Wrestling?  I can’t remember.  He was big, though.) came to our school and an assembly was held.  The first thirty minutes or so of his speech were really interesting as the man spoke of the wealth he had amassed and how he wasted most of it on drugs and women.  Then he found Christ and his life changed dramatically.  If we wanted to find similar happiness then he suggested we do the same and become born-again Christians just like he did.  It was at this point that I stood up, walked down the bleachers and across the floor directly in front of him as he continued to preach.  I was stopped by the principal, threatened with suspension (noticing any common themes?) for disrupting an assembly, then forced to stand in the hallway until the end of his speech, still within earshot.  They maintain that I was told that I didn’t have to attend, though they couldn’t find anyone who could confirm that anyone had actually told me this.  I had ceased to be Midwest Gay by this point, though, because I had become good friends with one of the captains of the football team and remain so to this day, having even been the Best Man in his wedding some years ago.

I suppose the lesson here is that all it takes to legitimize a person, product or idea is one celebrity endorsement, which is why we should all be scared shitless of Scientology.

A Jaded Disposition

Today I registered for classes that I plan to take during the Spring 2009 semester, and apart from the usual headaches surrounding that process, I found myself experiencing a noticeable lack of optimism. When I first came to ASU more than three years ago I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, admittedly naive and in serious want of intellectual stimulation on a level far beyond that of the mental stagnation to which I had been subjected throughout the entirety of my upbringing in a socially-conservative Midwestern public school system. I dreamt of being surrounded by bright people, independent thinkers capable of discussing abstract topics without unnecessary and often self-imposed hindrances such as religion, personal biases and willful ignorance that I found so pervasive in my hometown. I assumed my fellow collegians would be people who could discuss topics that offend the sensitivities of the general public without resorting to violence, instead being able to set aside all of our differences for the passionate pursuit of knowledge and greater understanding.

Imagine the disappointment I had in myself when the reality of the situation which I had so callously overlooked finally set in: I was attending Arizona State University at Tempe, one of the largest college campuses in the country and a notorious ‘party school.’ Colleges don’t achieve those distinctions in a geographical region with such a comparatively light population if their admission standards are such that only people who fit the above description are offered acceptance.

I then adjusted my expectations accordingly after my freshman year and explained to myself that with such a large number of people in one place – a place devoted to furthering the promises of academia – there were bound to be a few students who shared my outlook. Finding them proved to be difficult, though I predicted that they may be more easily identified as I transitioned from lower-division to upper-division classes.  Unfortunately, that prediction has yet to come into fruition.  Instead of being surrounded by students who have no idea why they are furthering their education – as was often the case in the lower division classes I took – I am now surrounded by students who want nothing more than a bigger paycheck than what they would likely receive without a degree.  Admittedly, I too am pursuing a degree partially because of the economic advantages it will offer me, but it is far from my only reason.

Many of my classmates, if not most of them, lack the desire to be challenged with their school work, instead opting for the easiest route possible to graduation.  One of my biggest problems with this school is how much work the administration seems to put into enabling those attitudes and placating the morons that they allow to attend this institution.  Instead of being challenged, I’m being bored nearly to death with material that is not only uninteresting and uninspiring but far below the threshold of what I would consider to be the norm for a major university.

For instance, I am required to take two science courses, each with a lecture portion and a complementary laboratory portion.  I chose Geology and Biology, the two basics which nearly everyone seems to take, on the advice of my Academic Adviser. While sitting in the Geology lab one morning, I was tasked with coloring the different types of rock found within a topographic map of a portion of the Grand Canyon, which took the better part of an hour to complete.  As I was coloring the paper, an interesting thought crept into my mind.  I paused, looked at the TA and asked “How many hours during their college career do you think undergrads at Harvard spend coloring as a requirement for their classes?”  Without missing a beat, the TA replied “This isn’t Ivy League material, Kyle, this is busy work.  Now get back to your coloring.  Lunch is at 11 and nap time starts at noon.”  Gotta love those Canadians with their quick wit.

I could have taken a very difficult Geology course, one that required extensive knowledge of Geologic processes and it would have been quite challenging.  However, I chose to take an introductory level course because I didn’t know anything about Geology, and the challenge would not have existed because Geology is inherently difficult to understand – which is the challenge I am after – it would have been solely because I had yet to memorize all of the things I would have needed to know to do well in the course.  The concepts are quite simple, though the vernacular is somewhat cumbersome, and the high potential for damage to my GPA due to a course that has virtually nothing in common with my intended course of study made this an easy choice.

It hasn’t been all bad, though.  Aside from what I like to think are my more noble pursuits regarding higher education, I also wanted to drink a lot of booze and have sex with many different women.  In those respects, there is no finer university in the country – or possibly in the entire world – than ASU.  Perhaps my baser instincts played a subconscious role in my selection of a school and, typical of what occurs when that portion of the male mind exerts its influence, the end result has been bittersweet.

A Presidential ‘Shocker’

Oh what a difference context can make. Like the difference between the President of the United States making a ‘crude,’ sexual gesture:

…or the President of the United States posing with the Arizona State University track and field teams, which is what was really going on in the photo.

So why the ’shocker?’ ASU’s mascot is Sparky the Sun Devil, a creature that carries a three-pronged pitchfork which the gesture is intended to simulate. Of course, most people seem to be unaware of that usage, instead being either oblivious to any meaning or understanding it only as ‘The Shocker.’ It is the latter group that I suspect will begin calling for the President to apologize to their god and to their sensitivities for his crass behavior.

The Curse of the Plumber, Part 1

I’m sorry to say folks, but it looks as though those of us who assumed this “Sam/Joe ‘The [Fake] Plumber’ Wurzelbacher” character was nothing more than a flash-in-the-pan utilized by the faltering campaign of a presidential hopeful, were wrong.  He has not only hired a publicist, but now he’s planning on writing a book.  Thankfully he is not, as rumors had previously suggested, working toward becoming a country music star.

I wonder how it is that he apparently can’t pay his taxes but can afford a publicist.  Maybe the firm took him on as a client in the spirit of charity and he isn’t paying them anything.  Or maybe he’s paying them in free plumbing work, which they will inevitably have to get re-done because he’s not licensed and his work would never pass inspection.

Perhaps the greatest irony here is that the only people who would be willing to read a book written by this guy are those who are unable to read.  Looks like they’ll have to wait for the miniseries to air on Lifetime which, if the media obsession with this faux-celebrity continues, might just become the big hit this holiday season.  That would be funny if it weren’t a realistic possibility…

President Sarah Palin

May I present to you a glimpse of daily life in the Oval Office if Palin were to ever become President: http://palinaspresident.us

Turn the volume up, click around, laugh your ass off, and be sure to not have any liquids near your keyboard while doing so.

Undecided Voters

Imagine, if you dare, the type of person who remains undecided mere hours before the 2008 Presidential Election about which candidate they intend to vote for, Barack Obama or John McCain.  Believe it or not, you have more than likely seen them and their idiocy in action long before this election.

Remember the last time you were at a Taco Bell standing in line behind someone who was reading the menu even though everyone knows that everything on that menu is composed of the same five ingredients?

Remember the last time you came to an intersection with a four-way stop and there was some jackass who just would not move until you waved them on, even though they had the legal right-of-way?

Remember the last time you were in a public place and endured the pain of watching a parent attempt to reason with a screaming child under the age of five?

Remember the last time you saw an attention-whore on television asking a presidential candidate about his intended alterations to tax policies that would not apply to him?

Remember the last time you were in Vegas playing Blackjack and the person seated next to you kept asking for the dealer’s opinion on strategy?

Remember the last time you were walking down a near-empty sidewalk or hallway while a person was walking toward you, and that person chose to move to their left instead of their right as you were about to pass each other?

Remember the last time you sat at a bar and overheard someone respond to the bartender’s “Whaddya havin’?” with a “Whaddya got?”

I’m certain that all of those people are undecided voters.

If you are an undecided voter, please take the following to heart: I don’t care who you vote for anymore, just fucking pick someone and cast your ballot.  Flip a coin if you have to.  Make it a best-of-seven series if you need some excitement.  Write in your dog’s name if you simply can’t choose.  Just get it over with and shut up about it, the rest of America is sick of hearing about you and your fear of commitment.

Dear Joe: Shut Your Hole

Dear Joe Biden-

I understand that you are trying to help Barack Obama win the 2008 Presidential Election.  I assume that you are doing so not only because Senator Obama chose you as his running mate, but also because you believe that he is the right man for this job.  However, when you say things like this, you may be doing more harm than good.

I get what you meant, that following a change in power other countries may be inclined to test the mettle of the new leaders, and that it may happen regardless of who is elected.  I’m also sure that you were attempting to build faith in the electorate by verbalizing your confidence in Obama’s ability to lead our nation through that sort of crisis with his bionic vertebrae.

As expected, your opponent, Oldie McCrankypants, decided to slice up your words and insert them into some typical negative campaign ads like this one.  I get that it’s tough to speak on the record as frequently as you do without saying something that can be used against your campaign, but due to the importance of this election, perhaps you could stick to a pre-written and pre-approved speech.

It is with that thought in mind that I ask, nay beg, of you: please shut your fucking hole.  Let me discuss the unknowable and drone on endlessly about ‘what-if’ scenarios, and you can stick to focusing on not losing this election.

Regards,

-Kyle, writing on behalf of ‘All Americans That Don’t Want You To Fuck Up This Election For Us’

PG Porn

Ok, so the last few posts have been relatively-serious in nature, so I’ll lighten it up today with something everybody can get excited about: pornography.

Earlier today I came across what is probably the funniest fucking thing I’ll see this week: PG Porn. Yeah, PG, as in the movie rating often given to family-friendly holiday classics.  I thought that the porn aired late at night by both Cinemax and HBO was pretty tame, but apparently it’s far too risque for some people.  It’s this demographic that PG Porn is apparently after, as evidenced by their tag line: “PG Porn: For people who love everything about porn… Except the sex.”

Thing to look for while watching the video:

-The actors looking off-camera to the crew for stage directions and on-the-fly acting lessons.

-Acting worse than what you’ll see in a ‘normal’ porn.

-The actors referring to each other by different names throughout the scene.

-The hilarious ending.

My Neighbor

I came home from dinner with friends a few hours ago, and as we were sitting outside on my patio having drinks, I overheard a female complaining to (presumably) another person. Here are some exact quotes from said-female that I could hear from about 50 feet away, all of which are intermixed with bouts of sobbing and full-on crying:

1) I can’t understand why I’m not married. I mean…why? Why am I not married yet? I don’t understand.

2) I talked to my Dad about it, and he doesn’t get it either. He thinks I’m pretty, why don’t other guys?

3) Yeah, maybe I could stand to lose a few pounds.

4) I hate my parents. Except my Dad. [a few seconds of inaudible conversation pass by] And I don’t hate my Mom.

5) Fuck you! Fuck you, [inaudible]! Don’t you fuckin’ tell me what isn’t possible! (sound of breaking glass)

6) Oh my God, [inaudible]! Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean that to happen [inaudible]!

———————————————————————————————–

If the woman who spoke the above words happens to read this, I’m here to help you.   Below you’ll find my thoughts on each statement you made, and perhaps you’ll gain some insight regarding the inner-workings of the male mind.

1) I can’t understand why I’m not married. I mean…why? Why am I not married yet? I don’t understand.

Lying to yourself isn’t healthy.  We both know why you’re single, so stop whining about it and set your sights on someone who you can realistically expect to see naked.

2) I talked to my Dad about it, and he doesn’t get it either. He thinks I’m pretty, why don’t other guys?

I do think you’re pretty, but only while in a poorly-lit bar.  At 2:15 AM.  On a Tuesday. Oh, and by the way, your Dad was just being polite.

3) Yeah, maybe I could stand to lose a few pounds.

Honesty is the best policy, and I’m glad to see you embracing it.  Anyway, I’m also a bit overweight, which is why we are both still inside this bar at 2:15 AM on a Tuesday. It’s one of those unwritten rules of the bar that also applies to life in general: fat and ugly people only hook up due to a combination of desperation and a lack of options.  Unless large sums of money are involved, then there are no rules.

4) I hate my parents. Except my Dad. [a few seconds of inaudible conversation pass by] And I don’t hate my Mom.

If you weren’t drunk when you made these statements, then it doesn’t matter what you look like. Look at Jessica Simpson: gorgeous and stupid, also single (last I heard, anyway).

5) Fuck you! Fuck you, [inaudible]! Don’t you fuckin’ tell me what isn’t possible! (sound of breaking glass)
6) Oh my God, [inaudible]! Oh my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean that to happen [inaudible]!

Check, please. Gotta get out of here before she decides to throw something heavier than a pint glass.