Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Get the London Look

Let's talk.

Let's talk, specifically about the annoying girl who fakes a british accent because she thinks she's cool.

She says she's "just stuck in it" but really, watched Harry Potter six hundred fucking times in order to study their accent (she still fucks it up.)

She also brings up kissing, the bathroom, and bad situations just so she can say "Snogging", the "Loo" (which is Australian anyway), and "Bullocks" or "Bugger".

Did I mention she's also watched Pirates of the Carribean one too many times, and she's wearing a black hello kitty shirt with a torn up skirt and combat boots?

Fucking goth-ass eighteen year olds.

...not that I've ever met a girl like that...

but this hypothetical girl, let's just say she spends her time in the Game Room at Arcadia University sometimes.


Everyone knows her accent is pitiful and fucking annoying, but they just don't know how to tell her. It's not even that it's a good accent, or she legitimately got stuck in it cuz she's had a few or she just got back from three years in London and picked it up a bit and is just waiting for it to go away...

NO. It's a poorly done fake british accent that's overly breathy and sounds like Drew Barrymore in Ever After, which was probably this girl's favorite fucking movie since it came out when she was fucking six.

She's definitely going abroad to London either this coming spring or in the fall of her sophomore year, because that's where she feels she truly, truly belongs. She'll go, and everyone there will snub her, and she won't understand why, since her London accent is so good and she blends in with them so well, she can't figure out how they know she's American.

But for now, she'll spend her time playing pool with people who don't have the heart to tell her she's an ignorant twat who doesn't fucking know how to be herself in any sense of the word, so she hides behind dark eyeliner and hello kitty and a FAKE. FUCKING. BRITISH. ACCENT.


Monday, September 28, 2009

Ghost Stories

So I helped a man named Andy Stettler out with a piece he's doing for the Montgomery County free newspaper about Ghost Stories around PA. I went to Arcadia University for college, and we're chock full of Ghost Stories. I wrote my piece and had my good friend Jackie Sherman edit it to fix some grammar/spelling/wording so I sounded smarter. I'm really excited for the piece, but I know that Arcadia's PR, Andy, and the paper itself will probably change some wording / water it down / make it worse (in all actuality, Andy and the Paper will probably make it better. Arcadia will make it worse.) I figured, however, I'd post my original work here so that you guys could read my unedited ghost stories. Here's what I submitted to Andy just ten minutes ago:

In order to understand our ghost stories, first you need to know a bit about our campus. Grey Towers Castle was built in 1898 by William Welsh Harrison, who gained his wealth through ownership of a sugar refinery. The only happy point in the Harrisons' marriage was their wedding night, and by the time they moved into the Castle they split the castle in half, with Mr. Harrison's quarters on one side and Mrs. Harrison and the children on the other. There are many secret passageways in the castle and surrounding buildings, one of which in particular was likely used to sneak maids into Mr. Harrison's quarters. That, of course begins our first story.

I want you to imagine a circular room painted white. You look up and see a circular balcony above you. There is no way out of this room, other than the door that Mrs. Harrison is blocking. She has a look in her eye... Does she know that Mr. Harrison has been fooling around with the maids, including you? You can't tell. Mrs. Harrison comes closer, and pulls out a long, sharp kitchen knife. You beg and plead, but it's too late. Mrs. Harrison has made up her mind.
According to legend, the bloodstains never came out of the white walls, no matter how many times they tried painting over them. Eventually, they painted it over in red. That circular room is now known as the Red Room.

I recently spoke to a friend of mine whose now-deceased relative worked for the Harrisons. According to the relative's daughter, that particular legend is completely true.

Let's walk from the Red Room over to the second floor hallway that once housed Mrs. Harrison's quarters and the nursery. Supposedly, if you waggle a flashlight around quickly in the nursery, you'll see children running in the mirrors. Continue down the hall, up the back staircase, and onto the third floor. According to the Beaver College / Arcadia University 150 Year History, no one is quite sure what the third floor of Grey Towers Castle was used for. Mrs. Harrison's side seemed to be filled with rooms that could have been spare bedrooms for guests. One room in particular contains several mirrors, and hosts our next ghost story.

According to legend, Mr. Harrison's lecherous ghost will sometimes appear in the mirors to watch girls change. My first year, I knew the girls that lived in that room. One of them told me that she thought she saw an old man in her mirror, but he disappeared when she tried to look at him. She shrugged it off to stress. She hadn't heard the story.

Let's go back to our staircase. Often times, you'll hear students run down the back stairs as fast as they can. One day, the Harrisons' daughter had a friend over who was running down the back staircase when her scarf got caught on the banister. She flipped over the banister and hanged herself. Many students report the feeling of someone pushing on them to slow them down as they run down the staircase, and believe it's the ghost of the friend making sure they don't suffer the same fate.

Now that we're back on the first floor, we'll move on to the Mirror Room. This ballroom contains the most legendary tale of the Harrison estate. There are many different versions, but the one I've heard most often says that if you turn all the lights off and dance with the person you're supposed to be with for the rest of your life, the Harrisons will appear in every mirror but one - the Bad Luck Mirror. If they appear in that one, your relationship is doomed.

Before we leave the castle, be quiet and listen closely. Sometimes, just sometimes, you can still hear Mr. Harrison pounding the floor, demanding that his maids get him his whiskey.

As we cross the grounds, we head over to what is now called Murphy Hall. While it currently houses many of our Communications and Art classes, it used to be the stables for the Harrison estate (Some people say they can hear horses late at night). This building is definitely haunted by the ghost of a very young stable boy. There have been many reports, including a few during my time at Arcadia, of people who claimed that they saw a young boy, around age ten, at the end of a hallway. They'll speak to him, ask him where his parents are, and when they turn around and look back at him, he's disappeared.

Now, before you leave Arcadia, do you remember the little girl who accidentally hanged herself on the back staircase? Well, as legend goes, when the girl's mother came back to pick her up, Mr. Harrison said that the girl and his were out in the fields, hunting. So, Mr. Harrison and the mother saddled up to go find them.
Only Mr. Harrison returned.
Some say they can still see the ghost of the woman in her long, flowing dress, searching the woods and what are now the baseball fields, looking for her daughter.

Of course, no one knows the validity of any of these stories. After all, they're only stories... Or are they? Many people say that the Harrisons were a twisted, corrupt pair who would do anything to get what they wanted. Nobody would put any of these stories past them.


After a bunch of serious blogs, here's my thoughts on sexism.


Friday, September 25, 2009

Gimme your milk money!

I'm about to get deeper with you guys than I ever have. Generally with this blog, I pump out a post in twenty minutes... but this one strikes really, really close to home, so I'm going to try and take my time and be really delicate with this.

Before continuing reading, please watch the entirety of the video.

Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover.

No, you've never heard of him before that video.
And thanks to the students at his school, we never will again.

Eleven year old Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover took his own life at the age of eleven.

Assuming you watched the video, you know that Carl was bullied heavily in school. You know that he was bullied for being gay. You know he didn't identify as gay, or straight, because he was just a child. You know that his school did nothing to protect him. His school ignored his bullying, called it "typical".

I hate to pull a Madonna, but I, too, was bullied extensively. My school also did nothing to fight it. My mother, also, called the school constantly, met with principals. I, too, faced bullying from peers and teachers. I, too, was called Fairy. Daisy. Gay. Fag. I had my things vandalized. I had my lunch stolen. I got beat up, tittie twistered, indian burned, punched, kicked, made fun of, harassed. I had teachers refuse to listen to me. I had administrators pretend like there was nothing wrong. I had the school's guidance counselor ignore my cries for help. By the age of 9, fourth grade, I prayed every night that God would just kill me so I didn't have to go to school anymore. By the age of 9, I was crying myself to sleep every night because the lord wouldn't end my life.

I'm glad that God, if he exists, had very different plans for me. If he doesn't exist, then I'm glad I rose above bullying survived.

Many psychologists say that the self-esteem and body image you have as a child will stick with you your entire life. My self-esteem and body image are, of course, shot. My life was, effectively, ruined by childhood bullying. Sure, I rose above it; for the most part. I'm pretty extroverted, I'm happy, I smile a lot, I have a great sense of humor... but I will always fear people will abandon me, that no one will ever love me, that I'm fat, stupid, useless, worthless, and that I'll die alone - because that's what I was told in elementary school. I know that's wrong, but I only know it superficially. Deep inside, I'll always have this issue. I should have been in therapy a long time ago, but what my mom decided was adjusting was actually depression. I wasn't playing in my room all day, I was hiding. I wasn't happy, I just didn't know how to cry anymore. I got better at pretending to be okay when in reality, I wasn't a-oh-fucking-kay.

I'm not the only person I know who's been this deeply affected by childhood bullying. One of my closest friends was bullied even longer than I was. She didn't get a chance to hide in middle school and reinvent herself for high school... I was lucky that I had 3,000 kids in my high school. She had the same kids from first grade on. This friend of mine didn't have friends until she got to college. Like me, she's still constantly afraid. Constantly worried. And, little does she know, constantly Strong. She's one of the strongest bullying victim I've ever met - I see her still struggling with it, and what makes her strong is that she honestly doesn't know if she's going to pull through it... but that doesn't mean she's going to give up. I know she's going to be okay, and I will do everything in my power to help her through it.

One of my twitter friends is older than me, and went through the same abuse throughout his childhood. He went through years and years of therapy and takes 8 pills a day just to manage. Myself and my two friends are not just victims of bullying, but we're Survivors. And we're not the only ones. Unfortunately, we're not all lucky enough to be survivors. Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover was not lucky enough to survive bullying.

Bullying does not end in the classroom. Survivors take it with them the rest of our lives. I don't know any statistics to this, but I'll bet you anything we're more likely to be victims of domestic abuse, more likely to receive bullying in the work place, and more likely to let others take advantage of us. It's learned helplessness, and it's scary.

Bullying is a social cancer. It affects everyone. Everyone either was bullied, knows someone who was bullied, or bullied someone. Maybe you witnessed it in your school or workplace and chose to ignore it. Maybe you walked past the kid getting swirlies. Maybe you were holding that kid up by his ankles. Maybe you know what toilet water tastes like. Maybe you've drank coffee that your coworker makes your other coworker buy everyday with their own money. Maybe you make a coworker buy you and your friends coffee everyday. Maybe you spend $30 at Starbucks every single day when you don't drink coffee. You know it. You see it. You taste it. You do it. It touches all of us.

Please, don't let one more person end up like Carl. He deserved to live a full, long life full of hope and meaning. I applaud his mother for standing up for her son, and taking this as far as it can. My hope is that one day, school and work officials will finally recognize the impact bullying can take on a person. One day, parents, teachers, and coworkers will band together to fight the fight and end bullying in their classrooms, their playgrounds, their schoolyards, their churches, their organizations. No more victims. No more kids hanging themselves like Carl Joseph Walker-Hoover.

Every time I watch that video, I cry.
I cry.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Sing It Loud

You guys wanna hear a story?

So this one time, in elementary school, I got us out of class early because I was amazing.

See, my sixth grade math teacher wouldn't let us leave until someone sang something. Anything. I'm a little teapot. anything. No one wanted to sing, of course.

Finally, I volunteered.
I only knew a couple lines from this song that I heard on the radio once. I didn't really know it, but I went for it.

"It's tearin' up my heart when I'm with you
but when we are apart, I feel it too
and no matter what I do, I feel the pain
with or without you"

Stunned Silence.

Apparently as an eleven year old, I had quite the set of pipes. I mean, I did win the sixth grade choral award... We got out of class early, and for the first time, some people were actually nice to me. I was essentially Rachel Berry from Glee.

When I moved up to middle school, my choral teacher, Ms. Barletta, was a heinous bitch diva heinous bitch. She was constantly mean to me, put me in the back row (I was Four-foot-Two, if I was to be seen, I had to be upfront,) and made me sing Baritone when I was clearly high-tenor/mid-alto/low-soprano (and yes she let a couple other boys sing with the sopranos.)
She also thought I was just refusing to learn the choreography, when in reality, I just couldn't sing and dance at the same... scratch that, I just plain couldn't dance. I couldn't even grapevine, let along spin, clap, and sing at the same time. She dressed us in White Pants and neon shirts (we looked like highlighters.) She made fun of me, in class, because I just could not learn how to read music.

...yes, I cried.

I lasted two years under her reign, then I had to quit and move over to theatre. At least in theatre I could still perform. The drive to sing had been completely killed in me - by the end of eighth grade, I was lip syncing our performances. I could still act though, right?

9th grade was good to me. I loved my acting class, and did very well. It was taught by an English professor who was also my homeroom teacher, and I ate that shit up. I wasn't awesome at all the improv we had to do, and I mostly played comedy, but I had fun. I had so much fun, in fact, that I got pulled to help act a scene from the play in my french class. Good times.

When I got to high school in 10th grade, I tried chorus again - however, by this time my balls dropped and I'd had the desire to sing beaten down. I wanted to sing Bass so that I could sing quietly, but when I sing loud, I immediately vocally switch to tenor, so I was always stuck in tenor when I just wanted to be invisible.
I also took theatre... and guess what other performance-based passion was beaten out of me? I was in a play called "The Girl who was Asked to Turn Blue," and as you can imagine, it was a terrible play. Absolutely horrendous. It was about racism, I guess. Maybe it was about conformity. I don't know, I was ensemble. But see, being ensemble was hardly easy. We had to mirror someone on the opposite side of the stage as us. Problem? Inbetween myself and that other person were fifteen other people, blocks, poles statues, etc. When I talked to the director about the problems we were having and what solutions we could use, she said "...and that's why I'm the senior director, and you're just a lousy sophomore actor."

...yes, I cried.

I was only in one other play, Thumbelina. I was Jitterbug #7. I had one line - "Thumbelina's gone..."

I never acted again.

I did, however, get involved with stage crew. I was constantly told I was stupid, not good enough, and useless, but I didn't give up for two years. I kept it up until the end of my junior year... when someone spread a rumor that I had tried to go behind everyone's back and make decisions as to who on stage crew was going to work what - essentially trying to run something that was more out of my league than the presidency. When I tried to refute the claim, I was told I was a liar, and that it "sounded like something [I] would do." No one on crew believed me, and the guy I was unrequitedly in love with wouldn't talk to me.

...yes, I cried.

I later found out that it was our crew director himself that made up the rumor.

I decided to quit chorus, theatre, and crew forever. I couldn't keep doing this to myself.

When I hit college, I refused to even entertain the thought of doing theatre, though they desperately needed guys. I did some light acting, for things like skits in class or as part of PEERS, the peer education group. But by my junior year, I needed an art course to graduate and considering I fuck up stick figures, tangible art classes were out of the question. So I took Fundamentals of Acting with Jim Bergwall.

Jim Bergwall is a douche. He spent the whole first class telling us how he expected us to be just terrible at this because we were "non-majors", and just hopes to get through the semester with us. This is, by the way, after we've all talked about our past theatre experiences.

But I learned at this point that crying got me nowhere. Someone, somewhere once said "Success is the best revenge."
When he told me that I was a bad actor because I only played comedic, I mentally said "yeah? well fuck you."

We did an activity where we had to walk across the floor like it was something that was not a floor. I pretended it was a balance beam. I did a cartwheel. I fell. I hurt my back, severely.
...of course, I knew exactly what I was doing. I didn't hurt my back at all. Everyone clapped... but I kept it going. I heard whispered panic. People thought I'd actually hurt myself. Just as someone came over to check on me, I stood up and bowed. Round of applause #2.

Later, my monologue (p.s., we had to beg him to let us do monologues) was the scene from American Psycho where Christian Bale's character calls his lawyer to confess all the people he's killed and how he's killed them.

I'm pretty sure a couple people shit themselves. Suck on that, Jim Bergwall. Aye-ya-ya-ya-aye!!!

My senior year, I needed another easy four credits, so I took a Role Play and Improv class with Jared Reed. Jared was your average pretentious theatre dick. He was going on about how Whose Line is it Anyway... wasn't "artistically filling"

I hated Jared Reed that first day... until he said "I expect great things from you guys. You'll have fun, and even if you're not the best actor, that's okay - we're going to make sure you enjoy yourself anyway."

...could this be true? Could this be the first performance teacher I've had that's treated us like human beings since my elementary school music teacher, Mrs. Swavely, who was okay with my inability to read music but loved and nurtured my singing? Could this be true?

It was. Jared Reed spent the semester giving us actual notes... helping us improve in every way possible. He loved when I played comedic, and was stunned at my serious performances. He even helped the people in my class that were struggling the most succeed and do well. For some of us he helped us break our comfort zones; for others, he helped them find a comfort zone.

I had two particularly strong moments in that class. One was an improv where we split off into six groups, and each group had to base their scene around mine with Habibbah. Whatever we said was truth, and these other people who were sometimes tied into us were also definite. Through them, I learned that my wife, Habibbah, was cheating on me. I found a way for my character to figure it out, and when I did, my character got upset. Really upset. Kicked a trash can. Threatened my scene partner. Cried. Scared the fuck out of everyone else.

My other big moment was my monologue. We had to do a scene wherein we played three or more characters. What better way to do that, I thought, than have Dissociate Identity Disorder (Multiple Personalities.)
I scared the fuck out of people.
It was awesome.

On the last day of class, my new friends and I walked out the door of Kuch 204/206 one final time, and on the way out, I said to him "...thanks for being the first theatre teacher that's ever treated me like a real person"

...yes, I cried.

What have I learned? Well, I'm probably never going to sing or act in public again. Over the years, my voice has really fluctuated. It got better again in late high school when a friend of mine and I would sing in her car all the time, but it then turned to crap again when I got to college... but then Glee started and my voice has gotten a bit better... only a bit though.... not enough to ever do anything with it. I can still act... sometimes... but generally, my characters are just a variation of me, with slightly different motives, or an accent. I could work on it, but I won't ever act in any capacity again... I just couldn't do it.

But thank you, to all the people who said I couldn't... because without you, realizing I could would have never felt so good.

"People may say I can't sing... but no one can ever say I didn't sing" - Florence Foster Jenkins

Stay tuned for my next blog on bullying. I'm gonna take it pretty heavy, stay tuned. I promise after the bullying blog I'll get right back to funny/humorous. Possible topics include, but are not limited to, My Dream Guy, My Make-Believe Wedding, My Big Apathetic Protest, Tales from the Brit, Hangovers, iPod Walk, and The Strangest Things About Me!! Let me know which ideas you like best, and make sure to follow me on twitter!

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Sex Is Not the Enemy


There, I said it. SEX.

And you know what? Religious wingnuts and Conservatives? They're obsessed.

There, I said it. OBSESSED.

Oh, no, this is fact. Just listen to how they speak. The signs they hold. The beliefs they stay strong to.

Sen. Tom Coburn's (R-OK) Chief of Staff recently made the claim that "All Pornography is Homosexual Pornography."

He claims that watching pornography makes you turn your sexual desires inward, making one gay.

Let me tell you something - I have only met a small number of people who don't watch porn. There's a reason the industry is huge. Granted, Gay porn makes up a stronger faction of the industry than the representative population, but a large chunk of that is likely because there are less opportunities for gay men to meet each other outside of the club and manhunt.

My point is, when it comes to gay people, why is it always the sex that's the big issue? For the longest time, being gay wasn't illegal, but having gaysex was.

It's always the sex. (also, that guy is my hero.) The problem is that when these homophobic conservative/religinazis think of "homosexual", they only hear "sexual", and that's what goes against their religion. Imagine if, when they thought of gay people, this was the image...:

...I think they'd have a different view on homosexuality. Ironically, the site that I got the photo from a website called - Read this paragraph from the site:

"Some call homosexuality a "lifestyle". But is it though? Are homosexuals generally happy ("gay") or are they sad? The fact is that homosexuals have a very high rate of suicide. No, the sexual perversion of homosexuality is really a "death-style". Perhaps you are offended that homosexuals are called sex perverts. But actually, homosexuality is by definition a sexual perversion and so the term "sex pervert" is a correct term to use in describing a homosexual's perversion of the normal sexual relationship into one that is "against nature"."
By very nature, there is a lack of understanding in this community. I shouldn't have to tell you guys that a) We certainly don't call it a "lifestyle." Lifestyle indicates that "Homosexuality" is something we do on the weekends, like people who lead an "active lifestyle". b) Homosexuality is not, by definition, a "sexual perversion" - the American Psychological Association, the American Medical Association, the American Psychiatric Association, and the American Association of Social Workers (to name a few) have all denounced the idea of Homosexuality being a mental disorder or perversion, and find Homosexual Reparative Therapy deplorable. That "High Rate of Suicide" may or may not be true, but the ones that kill themselves are often the ones in situation where the people they love won't accept them for who they are. My favorite part is the way they act like if you look up the term "Homosexual" in Webster's dictionary or Encyclopedia Brittanica, it'll read


[hoh-muh-sek-shoo-uhl or, especially Brit., -seks-yoo-] Show IPA
1. total sex pervert.
2. against nature, God.
3. faggot.

Fun fact - that's definitely not what the dictionary, encyclopedia, media, APA, or even Bible say.

Personally, I think it's very clear. These people are Sexually repressed. They want to have sex so bad that they take it out on us.

A lot of studies have been done that show that homophobic people are almost always sexually aroused by gay porn. I don't know how fair those studies are, considering erections are technically a reflex, and they may be a reflex to their anger for having to watch HOMOSEX.

Frankly, I think it's jealousy that we have sex. I mean, let's face it - how many gay men have you met that are waiting until marriage?

...but wait. Is that because we're gay? Alright, let's try this again. a) how many straight males do you know that are waiting until marriage to have sex? See, before I realized I was gay, that's what I used to tell people. "No, I'm just waiting until marriage." " what are you, gay?" "What? NO! I'm not gay, just Christian!" ", gay, right?"
So how many actually straight males are waiting until marriage? A whole lot fewer than the religious right wants to think. Basically, it's just The Jonas Brothers. Hey, isn't one of them getting married soon at the ripe old age of 21? Man, that's the right time for an emotionally immature Disney Pop sensation to get married and start a family, right? OH COME THE FUCK ON, HE'S GETTING MARRIED SO THEY CAN SEX!!! God DAMMIT, how see through can you get!
Sorry. *breathes* I'm okay, I'm okay.
Point is, guys are horny. Guys are horny as fuck. When you have two guys... well, they're gonna do it a lot sooner than a guy and a girl. (Don't get me wrong, girls are horny as fuck too - but in general, they want the guy to stick around, so they're not gonna fuck around too much. ...again, this is a general rule that does not apply to every girl. Especially not some of my friends....)

The other point is b) we can only get married in a few states. We can't exactly wait to have sex until we're married, can we? Not that many of us would, because just like our straight counterparts, we know that sex is freakin' awesome. If we weren't supposed to do it, then why did God make it so damn awesome? Darwin knows that we're supposed to do it, that's how Evolution works. We're supposed to wanna do it all day long until we die. That's life, baby. NO BABIES DO NOT WANT sorry I got scared for a second. *breathes*

So, uh yeah, long story short, the religious right can't have sex, and if they can't have sex then neither can we.

My number one beef with the religious right is the fact that they refuse to do any actual research. They make wild accusations and then defend it saying that you can't argue with God. Guess what - in a court of Law, God doesn't stand up all that well. Isn't that how religion works though? If you don't understand it, it must be an act of God? If you hate it, God must hate it too? Blind Faith? I'm not atheist, but I'm not particularly religious, either. Like... religion would be great if it didn't conflict with every bit of evidence. I'm a very scientific person, and as we all know, Religion and Science are Oil and Water. They don't mix, but while we need water more, oil somehow always ends up on top.

Point being, while it's not necessarily mandated, we do have a separation of Church and State in this country, and even if the Religious Right doesn't understand us and refuses to accept us, we do, as tax-paying citizens, have the absolute right to be free and get married. "Oh, but then men can marry dogs and shit!" Okay, I've already blogged about that, so I don't have to go into it again. Point being, I'm getting really sick of the uninformed and overrepresented deciding how to run my relatively mainstream life.

There are some studies that suggest that the more education you receive, the more liberal you become.

::edit:: I realized that I ended up on about sixteen different tangents and never got to my point. See, when I write these, I just write and write and write, do brief editing, and hit publish. All in all, it takes no more than half an hour, even for the longest posts.

The point I was trying to get to is that if the religious right would stop only caring about sex and realized that it isn't HOMOSEX we're fighting for, it's HOMOLOVE. They say that marriage is the ultimate commitment of love, so denying the GLBT community the right to get married is the same as saying we're incapable of love - and I've had my heart broken enough times to know that's far from the case. The religious right and anti-gay community lack love in their hearts, and therefore will never truly find the love of their greater power. Sure, we may have Sex on the brain, but most of us have Love on the brain, too. In the end, Love is the source of energy that fuels eye lazorz conquers all. Fear and hatemongering... actually, those things to a pretty good job. Love will always win though, as long as people like me still exist and want to keep love alive. ...join me?


Real quick, before I end this, I'd like to point out two things I learned recently.

1. When Bill Clinton signed DOMA, he actually did so to protect marriage. He knew that a bill was coming in soon that would completely ban gay marriage at a federal level, so that no states could allow it like Massachusetts. DOMA essentially took away Federal Government's ability to tell the states "No." Clinton knew he wouldn't be able to stop this marriage-banning bill, so he signed Defense of Marriage Act as a lesser-of-two-evils situation.

2. A long while back, President George Bush Jr. was to be giving some kind of a speech, and in it were supposed to be some pretty heavy things against homosexuality. He refused to use those parts of the speech, saying "I'm not gonna tell some gay kid in the audience he can't get married." There are such things as Compassionate Conservatives, and while not saying "no" isn't the same as saying "yes", it's better than... well... saying "no."

Friday, September 18, 2009


I thank God every day for Phillip Chbeeb:

Also, Russel Brand is a douche canoe.

Russell Brand on eHarmony


I wanna talk about this new video game I just got called Scribblenauts. It is the best game you'll ever play.


"Write Anything. Solve Everything."

Scribblenauts is a puzzle-based game from the people who brought you Drawn to Life.
Having wasted many hours of my life on Drawn to Life, I was sure that Scribblenauts would be the same way.
Being that it is quarter after three in the morning... I wasn't wrong.

Let me pull up some videos to show you gameplay.

Yes, this game is as amazing as these trailers and demos suggest. You really can do just about anything. With a database of over 28,000 items and 208 levels to try 'em on, this game sure is a force to be reckoned with.

Depending on what the level is asking you to do, your possibilities are endless. One level asks you to help a birthday boy open his pinata. Sure, you could hand him a stick. That's what sensible people do. Wanna know what I did? I jumped on his table, opened his fucking present, then took out a gun and shot his fucking pinata while he was playing with his new Game Boy.
The next time, I put a giraffe in his living room and used it to attack the pinata.
The third time, I called in a pyromaniac, who set the pinata on fire.
Another level, I had to steal a Starite without the harming the Security Guards. I used Chloroform and Dynamite.
You really can do anything.
The title screen itself is nothing more than a playground. You can build things, test out new objects, or my favorite - Mortal Combat.
That's right. Cthulu vs. Kraken. Knight vs. Dragon. Octopus vs. Shark. Bring it on!

There are some downsides to this game though. For starters, "Maxwell"'s controls are pitiful. You tap where you want him to go, what you want him to interact with, and how you want him to do it. Slow and jerky, he has a tendency to not respond when you need him to, and respond when you wish he wouldn't. For instance, you don't need Maxwell on the screen to create and manipulate objects... though sometimes, he'll come running towards these objects and die in the process, forcing you to start over. Or, sometimes, time is of the essence as you're being chased by a cop or being lazored at, and Maxwell might feel like jumping, or walking very slowly. Or as you're very precisely trying to attach a metal crate to a dolphin, Maxwell swims his way into a thunderstorm and electrocutes his ass.

Secondly, some of the challenges aren't really imaginative. Sometimes there really only is one way to do it, and it can get repetitive in that sense. Sure, there's always the "set-the-pinata-on-fire" option, but that can indeed get old (I know you don't believe me, but it's true.)

Now, it may very well be that I'm not imaginative enough, and lemme tell you, a semester of research methods will do that to you very, very quickly... but I can see the limits of this game.

Lemme tell you though, despite the kid friendly look, this is no kids game. It is not easy. I'm having quite a bit of trouble in some of these levels and I'm a 22 year old guy. I can imagine a ten year old having a huge bit of trouble with this game.

all in all, I give Scribblenauts a 9 out of 10. It's an amazing game and well worth the buy... but it can be incredibly frustrating.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

You gotta get with my friends...

Gabe Saporta is an awesome dude from this awesome band called Cobra Starship. I've been a pretty big fan of theirs since day one, and while their music's been going downhill, I'll always have a firm place in my heart for them. My favorite thing about Gabe is that he knows he's a complete dick. He's egotistical, narcissistic, and fucking brilliant. He knows what he's doing. G-A-B-E Gonna Get You High, as he proclaims in The Church of Hot Addiction. Here's a guy that makes music because it's what he loves. The Glitz and the Glamour really help though.

I feel like I fall in like with Gabe's philosophy a bit. I'm... kind of a dick. I was told by my friend Maureen that she wished I had worked in the mall with her, because I could have torn some of these kids a new asshole (she worked in Spencer's, where you can totally get away with it.) I don't disagree with her, I totally could have shredded some kids... but I have more fun shredding on my friends, 'cuz that's how I roll. You know I like you if I'm busting on you.

Don't get me wrong, my friends mean damn near everything to me. They're beautiful, wonderful creatures who never fail to get me drunk help me rise to the occasion. I'd be nowhere without my friends. Well, I'd be somewhere, but where I am is where I want to be. Sure, we have our ups and our downs, but in the long run, we know that we always got each others backs. family kinda sucks. We're not a white-picket-fence-family-fun-night kinda family. I don't think we've ever eaten dinner together at a table outside of Christmas, Thanksgiving, or a Chinese Buffet our entire lives. Dad works out of state and as such is only home on weekends, so my entire relationship with him has revolved around watching him watch SciFi or the same movie fifty times in one weekend on HBO. I... didn't really get much from my relationship with my father.
My mom's great, but she's sometimes psychologically belittling, which can hurt sometimes a lot more than she thinks it does. All in all though, she's not too bad.

Long story short, family doesn't mean as much to me as friendship. I've been raised that "family" are people you either hate or ignore (though mostly it's both.) "Family will always be there for you!" Not mine, and if they're present, it's often begrudgingly.

Friends though. Friends don't "have" to be there for you - but they want to be. That's what's mad cool to me. And yeah, sometimes you lose friends. I've lost a lot. But the ones that are there to pick you up never cease to amaze you.

Maureen, whom I mentioned earlier? Yeah, I don't think I've hung out with her for like... four years. ...did that matter? No, we hung out for like four hours yesterday, and it was lovely. You'll be surprised who'll be there to catch you. I know that I always am.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Hitler = Voldemort?

(I put a question mark at the end, so it means I can't get sued!)

Whereas I used to defend Gay Rights and post funny videos, I now find myself half-asleep and defending celebrities. Why? They don't need my help. Well, I'm unemployed and lonely, so what else do I have to do?

Aubrey O'Day, former Danity Kane member, appeared on some fox news show and apparently called Fidel Castro and Adolph Hitler "brilliant men." (::edit:: Micheal Jackson apparently did too.)

Is she so wrong?

Now that I have your attention, let me preface - I didn't watch the clip. I couldn't stand her singing voice, I sure as shit can't take her speaking voice. Chances are she didn't bother to defend herself in any intelligent way. I, however, can.

Fidel Castro and Adolph Hitler are/were Brilliant men.

Now, before I get shot...
Does this mean they were good men?
Absolutely not.

Some of the worst people are some of the smartest. I mean, let's look at fantasy even. Dr. Doom. Lex Luthor. Bowser. Voldemort. Ganondorf. All brilliant. Powerful. Captivating. There's a reason they could win. Of course Adolf was a brilliant man - he conquered his own country and then half the world. He was a strategist, a manipulator, a genius. No, this does not mean he was a good man. He used his power for evil.

To be fair, I'll be the first to admit that my knowledge of history is not strong. Having said that, I'll also say that I know next to nothing about Fidel Castro, though I suspect he's also incredibly intelligent. According to Wikipedia, he's served like six different positions in Cuban government. Granted, Bush served a few different positions in ours, but we're America. Up until recently, we hadn't had a President that didn't sound like a hick in over twenty years. We allowed Britney Spears, who can't discern her child from a delicious marshmallow (y'all!) to dominate pop culture for a decade.

Time Magazine intended to name Adolph Hitler as last centuries most influential person, but people lost their shit over it. Wasn't he though? Wasn't he that generations Voldemort he-who-shall-not-be-named? He's spoken about in every history class, no matter what the topic. Everyone knows what a swastika looks like, and everyone knows the salute. We've all learned about WWII, and should we ever rise to power, we know better than to invade Russia. He's the second funniest card in Apples to Apples (Touchy-Feely Helen Keller is #1.) He definitely was last centuries most influential person - everything he was affects who we are today.

I reiterate - yes, Adolph Hitler was a Brilliant and Influential person. This does not make him a good person. People have this kind of reaction because they react the same way the magic community did about Voldemort. Everyone knew everything about him, but people were so afraid to say anything about him that it cause mass hysteria every time Harry refused to call him "he-who-shall-not-be-named" or whatever. We're allowed to talk about Adolph Hitler. We can talk about Hitler so long as we don't talk about how awesome the number of jews, gays, and other minorities he killed; but we can talk about the fact that it happened. We can talk about how influential it is. We can talk about how Brilliant, but epically misguided he was. It's okay now. The war's over. Let us speak.

I knew Aubrey O'day was destined to say something stupid the second I saw she was on Fox News. I, however, can defend myself far better than she can.

I may not be as brilliant as Adolph or Fidel, but I have to be smarter than Aubrey O'Day.

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

The People vs. Chris Brown

Okay, this Chris Brown this is getting completely fucking out of control.

Number One, people need to stop acting like Chris Brown is the only guy that's ever lost his shit and hit a girl. Right now, he's trying his best to acknowledge where he's gone wrong and try to make up for it, but the media just won't let him. Continuing to call him names like Woman-Beater and saying that these kind of things don't happen in modern times aren't helping him clear his image - they're making him the poster boy of Domestic Violence.

Secondly, people are completely up in arms about his saying that he doesn't remember beating Rihanna. For starters, that makes sense - when you're at a point where you hit a woman multiple times in the face, there's a fierce chance that your blood is boiling, your endorphins are rushing, and you may very well "lose your shit" as I like to say. It's completely plausible that he blacked out and doesn't remember a thing.
...ya know, except he didn't really say that.

He released a press statement today saying that people need to tune in and watch the entire video:

"There have been reports on the Internet that I didn't remember what happened that night with Rihanna. I want to try and set things straight.
That 30 seconds of the interview they used of me was taken from a one hour interview during which that same question was asked something like 4 or 5 times -- and when you look at the entire interview you will see it is not representative of what I said.
The first four times - or how ever many times it was - I gave the same answer -- which was that I didn't think it was appropriate for me to talk about what happened that night. I said it was not right for me and it really wasn't fair to Rihanna. The fifth time - or whatever it was - I just misspoke. I was asked, "Do you remember doing it?" and I said, "No."
Of course I remember what happened. Several times during the interview, my mother said that I came to her right afterwards and told her everything. But it was and still is a blur. And yes, I still can't believe it happened because it is not me or who I am or is what happened like anything I have ever done before.
As I have said several times previously, I am ashamed of and sorry for what happened that night and I wish I could relive that moment and change things, but I can't. I take full responsibility for my actions. What I have to do now is to prove to the world that this was an isolated incident and that is not who I am and I intend to do so by my behavior now and in the future."
News anchors and interviewers constantly badger interviewees trying to get them to slip up - when Larry asks the same question FIVE TIMES you're likely to try and get out of answering too. But all people are hearing is him doing damage control, "uh... no! That's not what I meant!" This is yet another instance of the media improperly representing itself, cutting and pasting pieces of tape together to send across a completely different message. I'm not saying that all media in a sense "photoshops" their pieces to alter the message, but there are few companies that can truthfully say that they're guilt-free.

As a psychologist, I'll tell you right now - Chris Brown's upbringing did not provide him a stable atmosphere. His father abused his mother (he later denied it completely, despite the fact that he's blind due to his gun misfiring during a fight with his wife) leading a poor example for Chris on the proper way to express anger. Chris was not just taught that hitting women was okay, but he was also taught that violence is the correct way to express anger.

Mind you, I am in no way, shape, or form excusing his behavior. Growing up, he should have realized that this was in every way wrong; however, his "fight or flight" response is and forever will be geared towards "fight." It's not like he went home every day and hit Rihanna when she overcooked the roast. There are much worse men in America who truly need corrective therapy, vs Chris who really needs some Anger Management.

In essence, YES, Chris Brown was WRONG in what he did; but he knows it. Give him the chance to apologize and try and make things right. If Rihanna has, you can too.

You know what? Let's compare this to something that's kinda basically completely different.
Remember when Perez Hilton called a "fucking f@ggot"? People are still legitimately upset by that, myself included. But why, Alex, when he went on national media and talk show circuits apologizing?

...oh wait, he didn't. He cried a whole lot though. He cried a whole lot, and then threatened to sue the shit out of and donate it all to the Matthew Shepard Foundation (who, by the way, refused the money; they didn't like Perez exploiting his use of the word for monetary gain and publicity.)

Chris Brown isn't like Perez. He's trying. Sure, he leaked songs for his new album called "Smash" and "Uh Oh," but those are just poor choices. Not nearly as poor as punching Rihanna, but still.

If you really wanna keep hating on Chris Brown, try donating your time and money to Domestic Abuse shelters. Learn more about what you can do to help thousands and thousands of abused women (and men) who can't just take a trip to Barbados after the wounds heal. Find the local domestic abuse shelter and volunteer; instead of vlogging about your hatred towards Chris Brown, try spreading awareness about what everyone can do to help.