“We frequently hear of people dying from too much drinking . . . that this happens is a matter of record. But the blame almost always is placed on whiskey. Why this should be I never could understand. You can die from drinking too much of anything. . . .” - W.C. Fields
Cheers to the great man who said these wise words that lay before you. No, no I speak not of my own writing that you're about to encompass upon a journey for, but I'm referring more specifically to the words regarding the oh so comforting beverage of a gentleman's whiskey. This is a drink that many many before me have indulged in. Squandered lives and money on. They've woken up next to unknown strangers of women and men as a result of the copious consumption of the drinking crusades from the preceding evening. This is a beverage that has influenced great great minds. Oh they were such greatly troubled minds. Only they were trying to mend a broken heart with an unstable elixir. It's the most temporary of elixirs. It blocks thoughts, but enhances the deepest passions the heart holds within. Inhibitions are lowered. Fun times are had. Raw profound novels rise out of the ashes of a hearts demise...Alright alright you're welcome. This is one of the truest things I have come to discover in my young life. Whiskey does a heart good. Whiskey treats the mind like a friend. Whiskey treats the body like the backstabbing friend who promised to hold your heart and mold your mind. Whiskey is the greatest and worst mistake one can make. Have at it!
Now referring back to the quote that commenced this adventurous post. For all of the hell that the non-indulgers rain on those of us who appreciate our vice for the good it does to us: "You can die from drinking too much of anything." This quote applies to life in more ways than one. Now now don't think I'm going on some sort of collegiate, self-endowed rant. I'm just stressing a point. Quite a great one at that.
The point at focus here is that use everything in moderation. Moderation is how we measure things. Think of it as an intangibly tangible tool to effectively measure happiness. We determine what we like and don't like by how much we participate in certain activities. Say if I were to eat cake. Cake obviously makes me happy. It makes everyone happy, well I mean unless you're a terrorist. In that case, fuck what you stand for. Anywho, cake. Ahh yes, well cake is typically enjoyed on special occasions, i.e. birthdays for example. It's such a treat to savor that taste that the special day brings you. The best part of said special cake you may ask? The leftover cake for days to come. You jump for immense joy as you set your sights on it as breakfast for the next morning. Don't worry you're not being judged. I'll take a mean jab at homemade chocolate cake any day of the week. If you partake in that cake at any chance you get then, slowly it begins to lose its appeal to you. Cake is no longer special to you. You begin to imagine a time when cake was so very special. It gets to a point where it's not the cake you miss, but the special occasions, and the people you share them with. Therefore, special memories become synonymous with cake. Math done. Huzzah!
That's moderation for you. It applies to food, sex, friends, work, alone time, candles, pets, life, and most importantly...whiskey. This will be a reoccurring thought and principle of life as I continue existing. As much as I discussed moderation and firmly believe in it, nothing can replace my love of whiskey. Don't get me wrong I have priorities and aspirations aside from whiskey. Those, of course include: my love for film, women, family, academics, reading, sports, intellect, coffee, ambition, and of course whiskey. It has played such a vital role in some of my literary idols. Introduce, Hemingway and Fitzgerald. The duo who I long to meet in whatever afterlife awaits me. They lived life with so much adventure and poise. Risk and reward. Tragedy and turmoil. Best of all, they were real men who could express exactly what they were feeling without even an ounce of remorse. Honesty is the key. It may be the key to hurt feelings and sobbing, but who cares? At least there is no need for clarification of the unknown. I raise my glass to you gentlemen.
This is my pledge. To have and to hold as my vice when I see necessary, in heartbreak and happiness, sickness and health, for better or worse, to consume in the unholiest of matrimonies, I thee toast to celebrate sadness and happiness with you. As you will always be there. I will not rely on you to substitute for a woman or family, but by god I will enjoy every last ounce of you for whatever purpose you serve my life at that convenient moment, that I do so choose to let your sweet,burning nectar rest upon my lips as you make your way down my eager throat as my empty liver awaits your arrival.
With this pledge in writing I am so pleased to raise a toast to all you readers, writers, philosophers, lost souls, drinkers and drunkards, dreamers and schemers, robbers and cowards, dancers and thespians, lovers and haters. May you all enjoy whatever you moderate yourself to indulge in in this lovely life of ours.
Drink life responsibly. When in doubt, call a driver or in a better case a sober friend with a bottle of Walker or Daniels to spare.
Dream on. Drink on. Live on.
Peace and Blessins,
Rev out
Thursday, April 18, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Mistake #16: Cynicism as a Guilty Pleasure
Picture this: It's a hot day. I mean really hot. I mean the rays of the sun were predestined to be pressure cooking the asphalt just as I think it's a great idea to throw on a sweater for the day. Soon to follow is a nice tall(BIG) glass of cool water. So cool that if it had on a pair shades I'd deem it Fonzi the Refreshed. Why yes I did just personify my thirst quenching savior. Why are you giving me that look? What is that look you may ask? The one that has disrupted my salivating glands' newest obsession. They aren't that happy with you right now. The one that irks me so much that my skin crawls off my body in search of a more stable/less disastrous environment. People are less likely to feel my wrath there. Rant ensued.
This look that has perturbed me is one that throws off my entire mood. It's a look described as one of uncertainty that I most often mistake for one of snootiness or scoffing. It's a look that I will blend with nails and force feed it back to you on the rocks with a bendy straw. So yes this scoffing uncertain look of snoot drives me wild. Why you may ask? Why?? Because that glass of water is half-empty. Half fucking empty and it's only evaporating; dissipating at the expense of my overall happiness. Weren't expecting that now were you? Don't worry I'm not ranting about being negative. That shit happens all the time, but I usually overcome it instantly. I compare this glass of water to that look you just gave me. No matter what reason you give me, as in "I'm too tired, I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry." Sorry doesn't cut it. I've already made a million judgments about you. Not to come to the conclusion that I think I'm better than you. No, that's immature and unnecessary. These judgments are one's of always thinking you'll be "sorry". Bump that. I'll just think you're a sorry person. Forever. Even when pigs fly. You're a pig. There, who's mature now.
I'm not sorry for the rambling. Trust me. I've just accepted that I'm angry sometimes. People make me angry. Therefore, the true cynic in me peeks out ready to play. This post may bring down the mood of the entire blog so far. I've made this statement before, but hell I just want to vent. Be prepared for a hellstorm of thoughts. Commence.
If you come at me with hopes or dreams or even a hint of an aspiration I'll hold that thought, toss it around, squeeze it like putty, and then mold it into what I think is realistic. You won't get a genuine congratulatory hug from me. I'll pat your back. Say "good job champ", when I really mean "Great job not sucking and contributing to society without killing someone". You're welcome. I've twisted and wrung out quite a bit of friendships with this thought process. They're still my friends, but they won't jump at an opportunity to hang out with me. I've deemed them unworthy of my time. Of course, the vice-versa rears its ugly forehead. I thought over the past few months that it's just me being a realist. Staying sane and not letting my head escape me. It's not floating away on my watch. Let's just say dreams don't stay as often as I'd like them to.
I've diverted from a life of dreaming and arrived at one filled with grays and scowling lips. Just entering college I had all the dreams in the world. I dreamed of so many possibilities. They were infinite. I had no plan prepared. I didn't care. Any time someone tried to pop my hot air dream balloon I just dreamed and inflated to rise my hopes and aspirations even higher. Now I have a "plan". This means I'm conducting research to follow a path I'm passionate about that I'm paying for with a handful of hopes, a smidge of maybes, and quite a dapple of "I don't knows". I'm scared as hell, but it's what I want and need. It's not every time in life that you come across a time when these occur at the same time. I'm trekking across half the U.S. in order to start over, while my friends stay behind still trying to figure things out. We're 22-23 year old kids. We're allowed to. Some could say I'm running to a new life of excitement. Some could say I'm running away from the mundane and routine. The others(ME) could say I'm running away from loves lost. For a guy who got the crash course in the area of intimacy and lack thereof entering college, I'm emotionally exhausted. Friends ask why I don't date more. My response is true."Ain't nobody got time for that".
The thing is I don't have time to get swallowed by another in a committed agreement to be nice and loving to one another. When I fall I fall hard. If I spend all of my time falling, how do I ever expect to rise up like phoenix? This is where my cynicism comes into play. These women are beautiful, brainy, busty, and did I say beautiful? Damn near more beautiful than sunrises. I automatically write them off not being good enough for me. The realization that I've come to is that I'm not even good for myself. I'm not in detest of me. I wouldn't date me at the moment. I have nothing figured out. I'm Ben from The Graduate. People keep asking me what I'm doing. "HELLO!! NO FUCKING CLUE!" I just don't want to know for once and be happy. Yes yes I know I need to figure out some sort of strategy for my life. Not there yet. I'm still learning the rules. Pardon me if I haven't mastered the art of living. Kudos to those who have. I condone your experiences and ideas. You have my appreciation. Snaps!
Usually I end these posts with some sort of self-realization. Not this time. This is mistake number 16 on my way to success. Consider this one on repeat. I'm tired. Not just from being up till 2:45am. I'm tired from being tired of my situation. Time to shake and bake on some potential moves.
You can't catch me now. I found my dream cloud.
Rev Out.
This look that has perturbed me is one that throws off my entire mood. It's a look described as one of uncertainty that I most often mistake for one of snootiness or scoffing. It's a look that I will blend with nails and force feed it back to you on the rocks with a bendy straw. So yes this scoffing uncertain look of snoot drives me wild. Why you may ask? Why?? Because that glass of water is half-empty. Half fucking empty and it's only evaporating; dissipating at the expense of my overall happiness. Weren't expecting that now were you? Don't worry I'm not ranting about being negative. That shit happens all the time, but I usually overcome it instantly. I compare this glass of water to that look you just gave me. No matter what reason you give me, as in "I'm too tired, I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry." Sorry doesn't cut it. I've already made a million judgments about you. Not to come to the conclusion that I think I'm better than you. No, that's immature and unnecessary. These judgments are one's of always thinking you'll be "sorry". Bump that. I'll just think you're a sorry person. Forever. Even when pigs fly. You're a pig. There, who's mature now.
I'm not sorry for the rambling. Trust me. I've just accepted that I'm angry sometimes. People make me angry. Therefore, the true cynic in me peeks out ready to play. This post may bring down the mood of the entire blog so far. I've made this statement before, but hell I just want to vent. Be prepared for a hellstorm of thoughts. Commence.
If you come at me with hopes or dreams or even a hint of an aspiration I'll hold that thought, toss it around, squeeze it like putty, and then mold it into what I think is realistic. You won't get a genuine congratulatory hug from me. I'll pat your back. Say "good job champ", when I really mean "Great job not sucking and contributing to society without killing someone". You're welcome. I've twisted and wrung out quite a bit of friendships with this thought process. They're still my friends, but they won't jump at an opportunity to hang out with me. I've deemed them unworthy of my time. Of course, the vice-versa rears its ugly forehead. I thought over the past few months that it's just me being a realist. Staying sane and not letting my head escape me. It's not floating away on my watch. Let's just say dreams don't stay as often as I'd like them to.
I've diverted from a life of dreaming and arrived at one filled with grays and scowling lips. Just entering college I had all the dreams in the world. I dreamed of so many possibilities. They were infinite. I had no plan prepared. I didn't care. Any time someone tried to pop my hot air dream balloon I just dreamed and inflated to rise my hopes and aspirations even higher. Now I have a "plan". This means I'm conducting research to follow a path I'm passionate about that I'm paying for with a handful of hopes, a smidge of maybes, and quite a dapple of "I don't knows". I'm scared as hell, but it's what I want and need. It's not every time in life that you come across a time when these occur at the same time. I'm trekking across half the U.S. in order to start over, while my friends stay behind still trying to figure things out. We're 22-23 year old kids. We're allowed to. Some could say I'm running to a new life of excitement. Some could say I'm running away from the mundane and routine. The others(ME) could say I'm running away from loves lost. For a guy who got the crash course in the area of intimacy and lack thereof entering college, I'm emotionally exhausted. Friends ask why I don't date more. My response is true."Ain't nobody got time for that".
The thing is I don't have time to get swallowed by another in a committed agreement to be nice and loving to one another. When I fall I fall hard. If I spend all of my time falling, how do I ever expect to rise up like phoenix? This is where my cynicism comes into play. These women are beautiful, brainy, busty, and did I say beautiful? Damn near more beautiful than sunrises. I automatically write them off not being good enough for me. The realization that I've come to is that I'm not even good for myself. I'm not in detest of me. I wouldn't date me at the moment. I have nothing figured out. I'm Ben from The Graduate. People keep asking me what I'm doing. "HELLO!! NO FUCKING CLUE!" I just don't want to know for once and be happy. Yes yes I know I need to figure out some sort of strategy for my life. Not there yet. I'm still learning the rules. Pardon me if I haven't mastered the art of living. Kudos to those who have. I condone your experiences and ideas. You have my appreciation. Snaps!
Usually I end these posts with some sort of self-realization. Not this time. This is mistake number 16 on my way to success. Consider this one on repeat. I'm tired. Not just from being up till 2:45am. I'm tired from being tired of my situation. Time to shake and bake on some potential moves.
You can't catch me now. I found my dream cloud.
Rev Out.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Mistake #15: The Finale
“Television characters live inside our minds as though they're actual people. In fact, we know more about them than we do about most people in our physical lives.”
― Neal Pollack
Warning! Corny line approaching,,,Lights, Camera, Action! Yes the blog-master is back with some more mind-blowing wisdom on what most of you will find useless...until you grow the bloody hell up and deem it worthy you wandering ne'er-do-wells!
FADE IN
INT. BEDROOM-EVENING
It's a dark(duh), stormless night and you're all alone. So alone you decide to watch your favorite re-run of your favorite TV show of all time: The Finale. No not the season finale. Not the summer finale either. You've taken it upon yourself to watch the most watched episode of all time. Now you begin to tear-up as you witness all of your favorite characters, who you've come to love and adore, venture in new directions in their lives as they leave you behind. Yes they did this to you. They held your heart in their hands and clinched together their fists with the sheerest of optimism and grace. You see they let you down easy. They reasoned with you that is was what was best for them so that they could be happy and progress. FUCK THAT. They never had your feelings in mind. I mean you practically live with these people day in and day out. You hang out with them at the bar or coffee shop. They even bring you to work with them, even when they aren't obligated to participate in some company-held holiday to showcase the glory of their jobs to impress you. Yeah that's right they bring you in on the bad days, he rainy days, the days when the air conditioner is on all types of drugs. They even bring you in on the day when all hell breaks loose and the company is bankrupt. This is where we hold them close and shower them with warmth. Then they just leave. They leave with what they think is a loving, well-delivered good-bye. It's not loving. It's the dagger in the heart. The mushroom cloud of loneliness.
Mistake. You, the audience, made the mistake of letting yourself love another. Yeah that's right. I'm catapulting this blame square between your eyes. You chose to tune in to see what kind of petty drama occurs every week on a freaking creek or in a generic high school filled with dysfunctional youths at the peak of awkwardness. You opened your heart, and in Jim and Pam came with their quirky, lovable relationship and set up a home. They built that home with intentions to stay. What do you get in return? They give you a relationship you fawn after with the utmost jealousy and optimism of having. Seems a little unfair to me right? Selfish bastards. I love you.
A lot of us don't realize that we are capable of love until we are hurt by a truly genuine, passionate relationship...experienced by our most loved TV stars. We also realize we are capable of hurt as well. Immense loads of it. Ouch. Ouchiest of ouches Ross and Rachel. It wasn't a real break. I hate you so much. Your relationship means everything to me.
It's a tragic mistake we commit season after season. We become attached. We model ourselves after these characters in hopes people will like us better. They don't like you better. Unless they love the show as well. Then they love you most. We live so vicariously through these characters that we forget our own reality some times. We begin to forget that Central Perk doesn't exist. Or that middle rate paper companies stand a fighting chance against the processed timber vendor juggernauts. We remove ourselves from reality. My humble opinion: remove yourself to wherever you damn well please. The world we live in now is going down in flames as we speak. You might as well throw yourself into Wisconsin and hang out in the basement with the best 360 crew around. You can't beat it.
Plus, in this world you may never get a boss like Michael Scott, or a friend like Barney, or have a completely OCD neurotic detective with phobias up the wazoo solving your cases. You'd be lost. Completely. You'd be a miserable Amish person. Don't care if it offends them. It'd take them light-years to make it here by horse buggy. Prehistory never survives!
I bet what all the "normal" people aren't expecting out you is the art of surprise. They don't think you'll flabbergast them with a witty line or joke that'll keep them laughing until their spleens shatter. They think you've submersed yourself so much into a different reality that you can't comprehend daily routines of the "normies". Hint hint normies: TV is based off of what we have and lack in the real world. Open your brains. Close your minds. Please for dead Jesus's sake, don't ever watch Preacher's Wives. You'll thank me now and save yourself the disappointment for humanity. I already have plenty from daily encounters.
This world sucks. It sucks something awful's awful. The worst of awful. Yet, through some small peeping hole in the clouds, shines the brilliance of TV writers as the ol' cathode ray tube fires up for another round of 7th Heaven drama and heartache. They know what we like. You know why? They happen to be people with wants and angst geared towards reality. They deserve a Nobel Peace Prize. If people didn't plop in front of their media-streaming device, they would be out murdering people, duh.
CUT TO:
We conclude here. We conclude with a thought of ho much we hate when series end, but love them for the effect they have bestowed upon our lives. By effect, I of course mean purpose. They give us something to strive for. Not to copy, may I add. But to unwillingly aspire to have a completely unpredictable, heartbreaking, passionate affair that catalyzes us to come alive. Remember you determine when the finale happens. There's always room for a new pilot. Hell you might even find your own Jim or Pam. Just please please I reiterate to you: don't be Toby. I fucking hate Toby.
If TV doesn't work out for you sad, sad, saps...READ MORE BOOKS. I hear Fitzgerald writes good words.
FADE OUT
FIN
Yours truly,
Blog Master Flex
― Neal Pollack
Warning! Corny line approaching,,,Lights, Camera, Action! Yes the blog-master is back with some more mind-blowing wisdom on what most of you will find useless...until you grow the bloody hell up and deem it worthy you wandering ne'er-do-wells!
FADE IN
INT. BEDROOM-EVENING
It's a dark(duh), stormless night and you're all alone. So alone you decide to watch your favorite re-run of your favorite TV show of all time: The Finale. No not the season finale. Not the summer finale either. You've taken it upon yourself to watch the most watched episode of all time. Now you begin to tear-up as you witness all of your favorite characters, who you've come to love and adore, venture in new directions in their lives as they leave you behind. Yes they did this to you. They held your heart in their hands and clinched together their fists with the sheerest of optimism and grace. You see they let you down easy. They reasoned with you that is was what was best for them so that they could be happy and progress. FUCK THAT. They never had your feelings in mind. I mean you practically live with these people day in and day out. You hang out with them at the bar or coffee shop. They even bring you to work with them, even when they aren't obligated to participate in some company-held holiday to showcase the glory of their jobs to impress you. Yeah that's right they bring you in on the bad days, he rainy days, the days when the air conditioner is on all types of drugs. They even bring you in on the day when all hell breaks loose and the company is bankrupt. This is where we hold them close and shower them with warmth. Then they just leave. They leave with what they think is a loving, well-delivered good-bye. It's not loving. It's the dagger in the heart. The mushroom cloud of loneliness.
Mistake. You, the audience, made the mistake of letting yourself love another. Yeah that's right. I'm catapulting this blame square between your eyes. You chose to tune in to see what kind of petty drama occurs every week on a freaking creek or in a generic high school filled with dysfunctional youths at the peak of awkwardness. You opened your heart, and in Jim and Pam came with their quirky, lovable relationship and set up a home. They built that home with intentions to stay. What do you get in return? They give you a relationship you fawn after with the utmost jealousy and optimism of having. Seems a little unfair to me right? Selfish bastards. I love you.
A lot of us don't realize that we are capable of love until we are hurt by a truly genuine, passionate relationship...experienced by our most loved TV stars. We also realize we are capable of hurt as well. Immense loads of it. Ouch. Ouchiest of ouches Ross and Rachel. It wasn't a real break. I hate you so much. Your relationship means everything to me.
It's a tragic mistake we commit season after season. We become attached. We model ourselves after these characters in hopes people will like us better. They don't like you better. Unless they love the show as well. Then they love you most. We live so vicariously through these characters that we forget our own reality some times. We begin to forget that Central Perk doesn't exist. Or that middle rate paper companies stand a fighting chance against the processed timber vendor juggernauts. We remove ourselves from reality. My humble opinion: remove yourself to wherever you damn well please. The world we live in now is going down in flames as we speak. You might as well throw yourself into Wisconsin and hang out in the basement with the best 360 crew around. You can't beat it.
Plus, in this world you may never get a boss like Michael Scott, or a friend like Barney, or have a completely OCD neurotic detective with phobias up the wazoo solving your cases. You'd be lost. Completely. You'd be a miserable Amish person. Don't care if it offends them. It'd take them light-years to make it here by horse buggy. Prehistory never survives!
I bet what all the "normal" people aren't expecting out you is the art of surprise. They don't think you'll flabbergast them with a witty line or joke that'll keep them laughing until their spleens shatter. They think you've submersed yourself so much into a different reality that you can't comprehend daily routines of the "normies". Hint hint normies: TV is based off of what we have and lack in the real world. Open your brains. Close your minds. Please for dead Jesus's sake, don't ever watch Preacher's Wives. You'll thank me now and save yourself the disappointment for humanity. I already have plenty from daily encounters.
This world sucks. It sucks something awful's awful. The worst of awful. Yet, through some small peeping hole in the clouds, shines the brilliance of TV writers as the ol' cathode ray tube fires up for another round of 7th Heaven drama and heartache. They know what we like. You know why? They happen to be people with wants and angst geared towards reality. They deserve a Nobel Peace Prize. If people didn't plop in front of their media-streaming device, they would be out murdering people, duh.
CUT TO:
We conclude here. We conclude with a thought of ho much we hate when series end, but love them for the effect they have bestowed upon our lives. By effect, I of course mean purpose. They give us something to strive for. Not to copy, may I add. But to unwillingly aspire to have a completely unpredictable, heartbreaking, passionate affair that catalyzes us to come alive. Remember you determine when the finale happens. There's always room for a new pilot. Hell you might even find your own Jim or Pam. Just please please I reiterate to you: don't be Toby. I fucking hate Toby.
If TV doesn't work out for you sad, sad, saps...READ MORE BOOKS. I hear Fitzgerald writes good words.
FADE OUT
FIN
Yours truly,
Blog Master Flex
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)