Tag Archives: everything

Like ants…

I’m watching a little ant on the bathroom tile floor, thinking about deism, and that, purely for the purposes of human understanding, I’m sure that an omnipotent being wouldn’t even fall within any of the limitations our most liberal definition of omnipotence would grant him. Imagine though that you are the god looking at the ant, you can compel all of its movements, you can kill it at any time you wish in any variety of ways, you can make it stop, you can trap it, you can create a specific path for it, you can put any kind of obstacle, punishment, reward… you can’t control its decisions, but to you they don’t even seem like decisions anyways, it doesn’t frustrate you that they’re not going to your plan because you really don’t have a plan for this ant, it’s not so much a being, it’s representation of life is about as abstract as a little robot that’s just there to hold your curiosity while you’re taking a shit. Now imagine that you have the cognitive capacity to monitor entire hills of ants, you could control each of their destinies without controlling any of their decisions. That may tell us something about how predestination and free will coincide, you have some limited range of choices within this rigorously set guide, but we’d like to think that things are a little more complicated than that, as our brains are slightly more complicated than an ant’s, and God’s presumably astronomically moreso than ours. But then I was thinking, I don’t sit and look at ants or anthills often, usually I see them by chance and I may flick one off of me or sit and monitor its movements like I just have. If I stand up, I won’t see it anymore, if I move or turn my head for a moment it could be gone. It is unimportant to me. If one catches my attention, that’s one thing, but I don’t go out of my way looking for them, and I certainly don’t busy myself with their lives and decisions and goals, tiny and abstract as their concept of life may be to mine in comparison. I think that I’m a deist, then, because whatever definition we have for God, he has much more important things to do than set his rigid laws and judgements for us. On a large scale, none of us can pretend to understand or theorize what his decisions may be or why he does them. But if he’s there and we’re giving him, by definition, the ability to do anything limited only by that which he won’t do, well, what wouldn’t he do or couldn’t he do, or shouldn’t, and I though, I am much more interested in whether or not the decisions of God are predestined than whether or not the options of man are. Because if God has to make a decision a certain way, what’s that say for the rest of the universe?

Advertisements

I don’t know if my mood reflects the weather, or the other way around

Sometimes I feel like firestarter, like I was born the God of shitty mornings and nobody told me. I look at the sky and I say, “well, thus began his shitty day.” Now, am I affirming what the weather of Gotham is telling me I must believe, or would I have felt that way regardless, and the weather is always a coincidence, OR, is my shitty mood intertwined with the meteorological patterns like Elliot was to E.T.’s drunk ass. And ANOTHER thing, why was he called E.T. the Extraterrestrial. E.T. stands for Extraterrestrial. His full name is basically Extraterrestrial the Extraterrestrial. But I bet his real name on his home planet, (where apparently they really like flowers) is called Dong Thrustforth. Yeah. That’s a lot cooler. And more importantly, why do I keep thinking of young Drew Barrymore movies. Damn the Barrymore family!

I should not be allowed to think while riding the bus. Or showering. Or walking on Southside.

Here is what a normal art student’s mind sounds like when walking on Southside after consuming a marihuana cigarette in an empty movie theatre that has just played “Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.” Ahem… “Man, that movie blew. And by that I mean it rocked. It sucked so bad it was awesome. Like Dr. Who. But more like Starship Troopers… 2… Yeah, the book was better. Then again, the book didn’t have a musical opening… hey, what does that sign say? ‘New Dining Why Gotham Works.’ Grandma Moses, that sentence doesn’t even make sense! It’s not even a sentence. That’s just poor design and I’m not even a graphic designer. ‘New Dining’? Do they mean new Dining Establishment? Is that a fragment? No! It’s a fragment of a fragment! It’s a shell casing! Jesus H. Christ on a Criscuit Cracker with Cheese that’s stupid! And the whole sentence probably wouldn’t make much sense either… And what do they mean by Gotham Works? That’s the name of the new shopping area, so ‘Works’ is not a verb. It’s part of the proper noun. Did they mean ‘New Dining Establishments are coming to Gotham Works?’ Why would they put the word ‘why’ in there? Did they mean ‘New Dining Establishments Are Why Gotham Works… Works?’ God! Hey, who is that guy? I know that guy. He looks familiar! Pete… Paul… Pat… Patrick! I used to hang out with him! Hey dude, what’s up? You go to Polytechnic, right? We used to smoke up with Mike Philips? Yeah! Awesome, haven’t seen you in ages! Sweet pop rocks! That reminds me, I have to call my friend Paul in Arizona. I will use my new cell phone! Okay.. okay… shit I got his machine.. I will not leave a message. Hey, I know this guy, too! It’s Buddy from when I worked at the record store. Is that your girl? Cool, man, it’s been a while. No. Me either. Shit, the Photo Hut is gone! And better yet, the Groovy Emporium is displaying a bunch of PEZ dispensers! Who in their right mind would need that many PEZ? They even have a Marvin the Martian PEZ. Come end of the week, when I cash my check, if that sucka still there, he be mine. And Dave has the new Bryan Adams. Who in their right mind would need the new Bryan Adams? I’m hungry. Why isn’t the Barrel open past three? If they were open 24 hours they’d make a shit-ton of money. I’m tired.”

They’re not good ideas, but I had to get them out of my head before they rotted my insides like crack-cocaine. And if it hadn’t been for my horse I wouldn’t have spent that year in college.

There was this fat lady in the movie theatre, not that I make fun of people for that usually, but she was REALLY annoying. I mean, I didn’t even see her get through the doors but it was an astounding concept. And she TALKED through the whole movie… “Hey, this is a reference to the third book, ‘So Long and Thanks for all the Fish!'” What tipped you off? When the dolphins repeatedly sang ‘SO LONG AND THANKS FOR ALL THE MOTHER FUCKIN FISH???’ And then she says, “Wow, there’s another Douglas Adams reference.” Yo, it’s not a REFERENCE when they are optioning a MOVIE based on his BOOK! The entire thing is a reference. No, it’s an ADAPTATION. It’s an INTERPRETATION! Then she says, “You’re not supposed to be smoking that in here!” like some narc or something, so I gave her my popcorn. It was only five dollars and there was way too much of it for me to eat and then it all made sense. It wasn’t her fault that she was fat. Growing up, her parents must have just kept putting Flintstones Push-Pops in her mouth whenever she wouldn’t SHUT THE HELL UP! And why the fuck did she sit next to me in an EMPTY movie theatre? Nobody else was there!! She had the entire movie theatre to take up, and she practically DID! But why centrally locate your mass near ME, unless you want a contact buzz?

And you know what else? There are these people who come up to me and say, “Hey, You’re Bill… Nye… heh… the Science Guy…” and then they sing the song because it rhymes so well and say “BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY!” I hate him! I hate his fucking face and I want to feed him PCP so he’ll slice of bits of it and feed it to his dog, because his dog needs soem fucking kosher-face nutrition. Fuck science! And fuck his first name! And fuck fostering a love of learning in the generations of tomorrow! God, people who do that “Bill Nye” shit make me wanna… wanna.. take a black plastic spork and scoop out chunks of flesh from their body. Yes. And I do not want to commit to certain parts of the body, because I like to improv. I need the flexibility, I’m an artsy Bohemian type who thrives on an open and liberal environment of creative stimulation. Sometimes I feel like a knee scoop, sometimes I feel like a nipple scoop, and sometimes… not often but sometimes… I go for the eyebrow scoop. This is handy because then the flesh grows back there but the hair doesn’t. It’s what happened to TOny Danza. He came up to me and we introduced ourselves and then HE thought it would be funny to say, “Hey, yo must be Bill… Bill Nye the Science Guy…” and then he sang it, and then he danced a little in place, and that was a knell, TOny Danza, that beckon thee to heaven or to hell. Because then, while he still reveleth in all his self-serving wit, I took my black plastic spork, stinky with the flesh of the ages, and digging claw-side first dug it deeply into the geletinous ballistic-styled gel of his eyebrow, slowly rotating the scoop until it pulled forth a quivering mass of meat and hair, and let it fall to the ground with a juicy SMAT! He was screaming and bleeding and asking, in a thick Brooklyn accent, why I would ever even THINK do that, let alone write about it in my blog, and I replied, “WHO’S THE BOSS NOW, BITCH!”

Hold me closer, TOny Danza… count the headlights on the highway….

I really fucked up his shit, yo. Auschwitz: da original ghetto.

So, Pharli and I were driving and we heard, on the radio, “The Boys Are Back in Town” by Thin Lizzy. Now, I have the sort of musical upbringing by my father that can be likened to the Jewish Kid in Chaim Potok’s “The Chosen.” But Pharli is a bit arrogant, so when he starts rambling about music I like to throw red herrings out there like the fishmonger from the Muppet Show. “Man, I love Canadian rock.” I say. “Saga, Guess Who, Rush, and Bachman Turner Overdrive.” I indicate the radio. Pharli, who agrees with me on the Canadian Rock subject, let’s not waver on that issue, says, “THis is an Irish band.” I say no. I know where this is going. We go back and forth, “This is Thin Lizzy” “No, this is BTO.” UNtil he calls the radio station. Predictable.

This is what the DJ (not from full house) heard that evening

Pharli: “Hello, I just wanna know if the song you JUST played was by Thin LIzzy, or Bachman Turner Overdrive ((background: it’s BTO, man!))
DJ: That was Thin Lizzy, man.
Pharli: I KNEW IT! ((fuck you!)) I FUCKING KNEW IT!! ((they DID that song, I know it!)) YOU EAT THE FUCKING STEAK SIRLOIN FROM MY ASSLESS CHAPS, I KNEW IT!!
DJ: What?
Pharli: Yeah, I wanna make a request. ((oh no!)) That’s right I wanna hear “Twilight ZOne” By Golden Earring. ((Fuck you, let me out of this car, man.
DJ: Okay, whatever man. What’s your name?
Pharli: Pharli. ((asshole!))
DJ: I’ll get right on that, Pharli.
Pharli: Okay now, take care.

They never played his song.

So long and thanks for all the fish.