Opening Up: Session 1 Posted by Sad Blogger , 6.4.11 at Wednesday, April 06, 2011, in Labels: learning, vulnerability, vulnerable, writing

I have to make an unfortunate confession. The last two posts I've made were actually plagiarized. Oh my god, yes I know. The good news is they were plagiarized from myself. The bad news is that it indicates how uninspired I've been when it comes to my writing. Sure, content-wise they might still be as entertaining as they were when I posted them to Facebook close to two years ago. Sure, I may have added commentary or switched some words or even made some spelling corrections. The point, though, is that as much as I wanted to create something new and intriguing, I was more interested in the attention I might earn from a couple of anonymous readers and instead chose to recycle some crap I hammered out when I was still in high school. Technically one was from much further back.

I recently dropped in on my writing professor from last semester and our conversation briefly touched upon my ability as a writer and the changes I would have to make to become better. I was initially insulted when she suggested I hadn't learned anything from her class, but now I'm sort of bent on proving her wrong. I guess I'm one of those negative reinforcement types. I need to know I failed in order to want to try? When I was still in the class, she'd told me how much she wanted me to broaden my writing and try to grow beyond the style that I consistently sink back into. She still assures me that my style is excellent and understands that I stick to it because I know it will be successful. But I know that a great writer should be able to adapt to other styles.

The piece of advice she gave me that stood out the most was that I need to be more vulnerable. I don't know if admitting this counts as being vulnerable but here we go. I don't actually know what she meant. I looked up how to be vulnerable on Google and this is what I got:

• Acknowledge your feelings. Denying what we feel only fuels our fear of being vulnerable. 
• Let go of the fear of being vulnerable. 
• Know, feel and believe that whatever happens, even if we do get hurt, that we can not only handle it but that we will also get through it. 
• Misery loves company. So we should be around people who encourages us and allows us to feel good about ourselves. If we associate with people who are also fearful and are not being proactive in developing themselves, we will not grow out of our fears. 
• Accept and love ourselves for who we are and seek validation from within. 
• Let go and trust ourselves. That is all we need to do to be vulnerable. 

Obviously my initial reaction is that this mush is utter bullshit. To my knowledge, I have never ignored or denied my feelings. In my opinion, I'm an exceedingly open and emotive individual. I wear everything on my sleeve and typically pride myself on how quick I am to act on how I feel. I also don't believe that I fear getting hurt. In fact, when it comes to "sadness", I think that more often than not, I tend to thrive in misery. The last two points are completely useless as there's nobody on this planet that I love or trust more than myself.

So I continue to wander through this life without a clue as to how I can be more vulnerable. Share my story? Reveal my true feelings? Is opening up seriously all it will take? I suppose that's what this experience will be about.

But you didn't really expect to get the whole dish now, did you? I had to give you a little taste so you would come back and join me on this journey. Yes, "journey". I'm trying to stretch outside my style, remember?



Finally getting to the sad,
     -Sad Blogger

Tales of a Fourth Grade...Prodigy Posted by Sad Blogger , 5.4.11 at Tuesday, April 05, 2011, in

I've been clearing out my basement over the past few weeks and I've happened across all sorts of relics from my early childhood. There's this particular feeling that comes over you when you see and feel some toy or poster or book that used to be one of your very few worldly possessions. It's like a muscle memory or something that just pulls you back to the specific moments that your brain held on to and nostalgia washes over you in short bursts.


But the most fascinating antiquities that were stowed away in the dark all these years are the stories and journals entries that my mom saved from my stint in elementary school. So because each time I sign in to type up another of my inspiring blog posts I end up staring at the blinking cursor for twenty minutes, I've decided to share one of those gems of a story here. The following was scrawled across several pages with "Wednesday March 22, 2000" scribbled in the top right corner. It was adorned with the fantastic title: "No Name Story".


I was sitting in my basement watching an adventure show with my friend, Geoff. Instantly I jumped up and said "Geoff, did you ever hear of that 'lost treasure of Quambi'?"
"Yeah, I hear it's full of diamonds and other cool jewels." he replied.
"Let's go to the Quambi jungle and see if we can find it!" I said.
We agreed to meet at the dock the next day to take a boat to the jungle. The next morning found Geoff and I taking a speedboat out to the island. As we neared the shore, Geoff and I both cried out in unison, "This place is amazing!"
There were giant mountains with waterfalls running down on all sides, different colored flowers popping out in different places, all kinds of birds and animals. I slipped my camera out of my pocket and started shooting pictures of everything and in no time I had used up all the film. Soon we were on shore and looking for somewhere to stay, like a cave or...did I say cave? Well I just spotted one! "Geoff, see that cave over there?" I asked.
"Yeah, let's try it out," he replied.
As we got closer I saw two red circles glowing from inside...no, four red circles. As we got even closer I noticed that those "circles" weren't circles, they were eyes, the glowing red eyes of werewolves!
"Run!" I gasped.
We ran as fast as we could until we came to a space between two cliffs.
"There's no way out!" Geoff wailed.
"Yes there is," I replied.
Hanging over the space was a vine. I told Geoff to grab an and swing across. Geoff looked at the vine and then at me.
"I can't do it," Geoff whined.
"Fine, hold onto me and I'll swing across," I grumbled.
As we swung across, I heard two desperate howls and then a 'thump' as the two werewolves hit the ground.
"Whew!" I exclaimed as we reached the other side.
We kept walking for a bit longer until we came to a lake.
"How about we take a short swim?" Geoff suggested.
"Sure," I replied.
As I was starting to take off my shirt I heard sort of a rattling sound. I asked, 'Do you hear that, Geoff?"
"Probably just the wind," he replied.
"Whatever you say," I agreed.
Soon we were having fun racing each other, jumping off cliff ledges and zooming down tiny waterfalls. Then we got bored and decided to head on. As we were getting dressed I heard that rattling sound again. "I hear that rattling sound again," I commented, "I'm going to see what it is."
As I got closer I saw two beady little eyes and a tail, a tail that took up...the whole body. Wait a minute, I thought, oh-no! "SNAKE!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
As the snake darted toward me, Geoff came through the bushes and said "Maybe it's just hungry."
"Oh yeah, right." I said calming down.
We walked around the jungle looking for berries or nuts, until we came to a giant banana tree. 
"Climb up it, and get a bunch of bananas," I told Geoff.
"Okay," he agreed.
When he got down we all had two bananas. Even the snake. Then we pressed on to the seek the treasure. Every night we got to know the snake even better, we even named it Hiss. One day Hiss saved my life: we were walking around, and I was walking backwards talking to Geoff about what we would do the next day.
"So Geoff, what do you want to do tomor...HELP!" I screamed as I suddenly fell backward into a pit of slimy stuff. Quicksand.
Quickly, Hiss slithered up a tree and hung on a branch so I could hold on and then the pulled me up. As I was climbing off the branch, Geoff said "That was amazing!" "But how are we going to get across?" He continued.
"Easy. The same way we escaped from the werewolves," I replied.
Soon we were on the other side with some help from Hiss. We found a place to sleep and went to sleep. The next morning I was awakened by the sound of a drum "Brummmm, brummmm!"
"What's that?" I asked.
"Sound like the Stampede Band," he replied. [here i have drawn an arrow pointing to a messy "that means Geoff"]
At that moment I found out what it was. It was a tribe of evil natives, and they were coming striaght for us! Then I felt a bang on my head and then I was knocked out cold.
I came-to a few hours after that, to find myself tied to a pole stuck in the ground. Suddenly I remember about Geoff and Hiss. "Geoff, Hiss, are you there?" I whispered.
I waited for a few seconds and then heard a rattling sound. It was Hiss. Next I saw him come out of the shrubbery. As he was biting away the ropes bound around my wrists and ankles I heard Geoff moan and saw him open his eyes. Then I heard footsteps. "Hurry up, Hiss!" I urged.
He finished quickly and that gave me enough time to undo Geoff's ropes and buzz off. We found our way to a lake to take a swim. At the lake was a waterfall and I found a tunnel beyond it that led to a cave that was filled with moss. I was awe-stricken. In that cave, was the "LOST TREASURE OF QUAMBI!"
"We found it at last!" I shouted with glee.
We found our way to the boat, threw the treasure inside and headed home.

When I got home the next day I quickly ran down to the basement to phone Geoff, but I couldn't make it. I was so exhausted that I had to have a snooze. So I did.
THE END. zzzzzzZZZZZZ!



As you can see, I was a shadow in my childhood of the brilliant tour de force I would grow up to be. Obviously my pacing left a fair amount to be desired, but it still does so we'll call that part of my style. Back then, my characters blinked through time inexplicably and now I get angry and wedge in a hasty conclusion for the sake of closure. And sure, I felt a little too obligated to describe who said what and how they said it. But goddamn do I wish I could remember the old school, "The next morning found us" transition. So here's that rushed outro I was talking about. Something about finding my inner child and learning from my youthful ambition. Yeah.


Fearing I never actually improved,
   -Sad Blogger

A Closer Look at Those Footprints Posted by Sad Blogger , 1.4.11 at Friday, April 01, 2011, in

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with God. Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. For each scene he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: one belonging to him, and the other to God. When the last scene of his life flashed before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints. He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life. This really bothered him and he questioned God about it:

"Hey God, so I've been looking at all these footprints here and I'm a little confused. When I signed up for this whole dealio, I was under the impression that you were supposed to be there like ALL the time. So how come now I'm looking at the footprints and at the lowest and most difficult points in my life, there's only one set of footprints? You were supposed to be there for me."

And God replied:

"Well...that was when I left to take care of the OTHER FUCKING SIX BILLION PEOPLE IN THE WORLD!! You selfish prick. Do you realize how many people die in a day? How many little kids scrape their knees? How many divorces go down? All the rape and the adultery and lying and cheating and murder and jaywalking and running red lights and homosexual relationships and masturbation and meat-eating and antisemitic jokes??? DO YOU REALIZE HOW MANY PEOPLE PRAY FOR ALL THAT CRAP? Like I'm going to wait on you hand and foot and carry your sorry ass around all the time. It's not just about you, Jeff. This thing is a two-way road, got it? If you're going to spring for the faith thing, you gotta do half the work. Yup, sorry you're just figuring it out, Dumbass. Now comb your hair and suck it up. Peace."


A little bit of insight,
   - Sad Blogger

Teen Arrogance Posted by Happy Blogger , 21.3.11 at Monday, March 21, 2011, in

I was reminded today of one reason in particular why I hate high school students applying for universities/colleges.

Yes, I realize that whilst applying, everyone wants to make themselves look like a well rounded student that all the universities are looking for. Good marks, out of school activities, volunteering, etc.

It makes me sick to my stomach when kids looking to apply for universities go and volunteer the year before they head off to university to spice up their resume. Doesn't it defeat the purpose if you are volunteering with the intention of making yourselves looking better as opposed to actually volunteering to actually be a good decent person?

I'm sorry, but a good friend of mine is currently volunteering at LinkAges, with the intention of looking good when applying to universities. I realize that I'm a little biased, because I have been volunteering at a program at my church since I was 5, and didn't really have a choice. I still help when I can, not so that I can add it as the cherry on top of my resume, but because it's part of my upbringing, and it feels natural that I help when I can. I feel like I'm not alone when I say that when people volunteer, it not only helps the people they are volunteering for, but it hits a soft spot in their heart, and it is helping them in a deeper way.

Other wise, if you go, talk with an elder, and you leave unphased about what genuine service you are providing, I think you should be smacked. Any kinds of what ever you are doing. Don't be selfish for the love of God, because I think volunteering to make your self look better to universities is the most arrogant, self centered thing you could do.

So people out there, and I know who are you, don't be arrogant sons of bitches. Don't just pretend to care about these people, If you aren't sincere, go to a cabin in an isolated forest, sit there for 10 days, look into your soul and manage to find some some human compassion, and then you can help.

Yes, it is okay to be a little selfless sometimes.

-Happy Blogger

Nice use of "Title"! Posted by Sad Blogger , 14.3.11 at Monday, March 14, 2011, in

I would appreciate it if people would quit rewarding each other—and especially me—for insignificant displays of taste and/or intelligence. Let's say, for example, that I pull a word out of my vocabulary that you've heard less than five times in regular conversation as long as you've been aware of the word. You quite like the word and you wish you were smooth enough to spring the word on people as casually as I just did. Let's say that the word is "minutia". Not a particularly impressive word, but it's always tickled your fancy and gosh darn you wish you could whip it out on your friends like antacids at a Superbowl party.

So, enamored with my cunning linguistics as you are, you take it upon yourself to toss me a little doggy treat for so obviously going out of my way to be impressive (let me note here that it's actually -not- impressive at all). Yes, for gracing the world with that lexical delicacy, you congratulate me with a quaint-yet-enthusiastic, "Nice use of 'minutia'!"

To which, I must admit I mentally reply, "Nice use of stupid!"

I honestly don't require your validation, thank you. I actually have an unnecessarily strong sense of self esteem. In fact, I would personally argue that if my ego were stroked any more than I already stroke it, it would ejaculate.

A similar trend I've noticed is the awarding of points when somebody expresses an interest in a movie or a book or a band or a model of car or a brand of shoe or a specific flight number that leaves for Laos on April 23rd. Since the last example was so much fun, I'll indulge you with another. Let's say this time that we were carrying on pleasantly about the ever-broadening universe of popular music. Let's also say I mentioned this rad new album I just downloaded and you realize you're -totally- a fan of that band! So, once again being the selfless chum you are, you shout something along the lines of, "Oh-em-jee! Ten points for liking them, buddy pal!"

To which, I must admit I mentally reply, "Nice use of stupid!"

Now I'm not as ignorant as I let on. People spew this selfish nonsense for a reason, and as much as it sounds like an I'm-a-second-grade-loser-that-all-the-bullies-pick-on retort, I think it stems mainly from jealousy. I imagine that the need to reward people in these situations comes from regret. Like I said, you wish you could have used "minutia", but instead of admitting such...I guess weakness?...you try to claim the upper hand by placing yourself in an authoritative position. As if you acknowledging my "great job" puts me intellectually below you. It doesn't. It makes you sound immature and silly.

The same goes for the points scenario. You don't want me or the people around us to think that I like the band more than you do, so you raise yourself up on a point-doling podium of pretentiousness. You think that if you are the one tossing around kudos, it makes you the authority on the subject and therefore better than me for bringing it up in the first place. Well I apologize for trampling so carelessly on your egg-shell ego.

Let me qualify that I don't necessarily think selfishness is all as bad as the reputation people have given it. Your self is important and all that Ayn Rand stuff that everyone scoffs at. But THIS kind of selfish I can't abide. You people do not own rights to the words in my head or the attachments I make to a given product and/or idea. I like to think that 'back in the day', when people shared a common interest or impressed each other with their mediocre intelligence, they'd be like, "Hey, me too!" and flash a genuine thumbs up. Then shut up already and continue being normal people without getting tripped up or self-conscious.

I guess the perfect world is different for all of us.

Ten points for reading this,

   -Sad Blogger

Bleeping Posted by Sad Blogger , 7.3.11 at Monday, March 07, 2011, in

A friend of mine recently created his own blog on the recommendation of an English professor. For the record, she's the same prof that encouraged me to continue believing I'm the superior writer I think I am. You can judge for yourself whether it's working. Anyhow, he made a post the other night that essentially asked the question that I think I was trying to get around to in a post that I wrote a couple years ago.  You can check out his site and find the post if you need proof of how effectively he got the idea across compared to my random desperate flailing and eventual collapse due to laziness (when in doubt, condense!).

Being the antagonizing bastard I am, I felt obligated to comment on his post with my loudmouthed opinion. And being the lazy schlub that I also am, I decided to post a version of that comment here, edited to read like I wrote it especially for you ladies and gents. So here it is:

With regards to profanity in literature, people often like to bring up the objection that “writers should have the vocabulary to make profanity obsolete.”  However, I believe that in order to take that position, you have to believe that there is actually such a thing as a "bad word."

I have to break this news to you, tough...it’s not words’ fault. They’re just letters mushed together. It’s the thought behind the word that gives it meaning. If you feel, for example, that Allen Ginsberg's “Howl” was insubstantial blather, then that’s what it is to you. But each word was connected to an emotion that Ginsberg had felt and that many of his readers had also felt so the words mean far more to them whether they were profane or not.
The words that we call “obscene” are still words that exist in the list of words we can create. As time has passed, they’ve been stuck with the meanings we give them. If not those words, some other words we haven’t invented yet would be our swear words. But being that they are part of our language, if a writer is good enough, he or she could use nothing BUT curse words and still write something amazing.

I think that words shouldn’t be chosen based on the context they fit but that the words create context. There’s no such thing as an appropriate situation to use a certain word, but an infinite string of situations in which the write can choose to implant any words he or she deems appropriate.

With a hearty "fuck you",

  - Sad Blogger

Proper Respect for the Dead Posted by Sad Blogger , 6.3.11 at Sunday, March 06, 2011, in

I had the thought today that, "Chivalry is dead" is a rather common expression. But as much as you hear people slinging this phrase around like inhumanly heavy objects at the Highland Games, any emotion attached to the sentiment lingers no longer than maybe twenty seconds. I suppose that's why it's filed under the cliche column, because it's an empty collection of words that people repeat out of habit. Well sorry, I was trying to come across as insightful.

What I'm trying to get to is that I'd like for the expression to actually carry some meaning. I wish people would back up the things they say with some smidgen of genuine feeling. Some smidgen of passion. They don't need to write and recite a goddamn speech, but just for once, summon some raw emotion and actually say something.

I think, should I grow up to eventually start a family and all that "traditional" banal garbage, I would like to name any pets we end up owning, "Chivalry." That way, whenever one of our cherished family pets died, someone would have to trudge morosely into a room and solemnly announce to the family, "Chivalry is dead." At least then, the words would finally leave someone's lips with some authenticity. That's my wish for this world.

All my hopes and dreams,

- Sad Blogger

Great American Novel Brainstorming Session #2 Posted by Sad Blogger , 2.3.11 at Wednesday, March 02, 2011, in

I decided two seconds ago that this was not actually going to be the slash-wristed, tear-stained turd of an emo rant that I had initially planned to lay down before you. I realize "emo rant" isn't the most original or imaginative name for a long winded inventory of my internal conflicts, but that's what the fuck it was going to be so I may as well not mince words.

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Having elected to give up my furious scribbling for manic typing, I've turned all the lights off and closed the door to create an blog-writingy atmosphere in my room. Even though the sun-on-snow glow from outside penetrates the 30-year-old blanket desperately nailed over my window like it's Ed Norton in American History X. I painted my room brown in the summer and got pissed off at my navy blue curtains, so rape-victim blanket it is.

I flip-flop back and forth between preferring hand writing or typing. With a pencil, you can feel each letter create itself on the paper and there's a sort of intimacy that develops between you and the words. But typing can be equally as satisfying when you get into that tik-tikka-taka-taka-chuh-kah-tik-tik-tik-chika-takka flow and the writing almost feels like playing a piece of music or a video game. It's a coordinated effort that you can feel proud of rather than the effortless curves and angles of hand writing.

Something broken in the walls of this 40-year-old piece of crap townhouse makes a knocking noise every five or so minutes. It's like a constant painful reminder that I'm in here and not doing anything particularly useful. It's also a reminder that I have no money to pay someone with a name tag to make the noise go away. I didn't really need to be reminded.

The cat meows because she's stupid and thinks that if she can meow enough to confuse my memories of having fed her, I will actually get up and feed her again. I yell at her because I'm stupid and think that if I yell enough, she'll understand that I'm on to her game and we can finally agree on a truce. She meows again to underscore my stupidity.

Florence + The Machine wails from my speakers just loud enough so that my mind doesn't get lonely. I think about how hypocritical I am to hate people who claim possession of bands and artists who finally garner some kind of mainstream awareness. Back in "the day" when those obscure artists were unknown and hidden away, as a small community of followers we professed our love for them on forums and wondered "why more people don't listen to these guys!?!!?!?". But then they get a bit of recognition and people say "you should watch this video on YouTube" and we say "lol I own all their albums even that one they released under a different name and also I've heard of them for three years and am a better fan and you didn't even pronounce the name right". We wish it would go back to that intimate mine-all-mine relationship we had before. I wish luck and success to all you up-and-comers, I guess.

I read the other day that the last surviving veteran of WWI died at the age of 110. I think if anyone I knew ever made it past 100, I'd kind of stop caring and probably wouldn't wish them a happy birthday beyond the hundred marker. At that point you've survived a century and aren't really putting an effort into it anymore. I assume it takes a bit of work and dedication to hold on from 80-years-old upward, but surely there must be a peak. If you held on through that 80-100 stretch, any time you log onward is likely just cruise control.

I may end up deciding to change the title of this post later. I'd meant to continue in the direction my first brainstorming session was heading but I got derailed pretty early on. I'll leave it as it is for now as I might be able to extract some of this stuff for viable novel fodder when my mind is clearer.

Particularly sad this week,

- Sad Blogger

Delusions of Grandeur Posted by Happy Blogger , 18.2.11 at Friday, February 18, 2011, in

I'm going to go off on a rant if that's okay with you.
Great.

I finished all my Diploma's in january and technically I have almost enough credits to graduate twice. Why am I still staying at school? To take calculus and phsyics 20. Clearly I know where the fun is at.

I've been studying psychology which I find oddly fascinating, and according to textbook terms, I'm going into a state of 'moratorium'- essentially where a young person is stuck at a crossroads, and struggles to make adult decisions.

I was taking a psych test, and the provided example of moratorium is a student who goes travelling after high school and takes a year off to figure some things out. This will be my life starting next september.

My cousin and I have started planning a trip to Austrailia around this time next year. Our plan is to tour for a month, and then work for 2-3 months. Hopefully we'll either get jobs as an assistant in my uncles company who has an extension in Perth, or we will be working on a farm. In all honesty- I want to work on the farm.

Even though out of all the kids in my school, I probably have the least to worry about because I don't really have to worry about finishing school or anything, I always find myself stressed.
As cliché as it it, I'm stressed about the unknown. The drop off. The get out and do something with your life factor.

I realize I'm smart enough to get a job and to travel, but still. My doctor told me I should meditate to relieve my stress. Maybe I'll take up yoga classes...

Back to psychology. It's probably the general area I want to pursue in University, however there are so many branches I don't even know which path to take. I could take the more forensic root, clinical, behavioural, research, counselling. I study it all. Ambitious- I would think. Oh well. I'll give myself time to think.

I always tend to think that even though I get average marks, I'm actually smarter than all the kids in the school. That I get these marks to blend in, when actually I could be the next Einstein.
Curse you delusions of grandeur!

I'm sure everything is going to work out just fine.

I'm now going to meditate.
Or atleast try.
Wish me luck

-Happy Blogger

Oprah Has Brainwashed Me Posted by Happy Blogger , at Friday, February 18, 2011, in

To put it bluntly, I tried being vegan for a week because Oprah went vegan for a week.
Funny thing is I'm not even that big of a fan of Oprah. I realized that if she said let's jump off a bridge, I would be one of those people who jumped because Oprah did. Unfortunately I'm a brainwashed zombie. Damn.

I chose a terrible week to do it, with Superbowl sunday sitting right in the middle of the week, and my friends 18th birthday.

I only lasted 3 days. I gave up when the honey garlic chicken wings were served during the half time of the game, I mean, who could give up honey garlic!?

I think I probably could have committed if I really focused. I mean, I'm not always the biggest fan of meat, and most animal by products as it is. The worst part about being a vegan in my opinion, is the lack thereof of cheese. I was seriously deprived. Cheese is stupidly amazing.

Veganism isn't for me. Maybe I could sway vegetarian? I could still keep my cheese...huh!

I want a cheeseburger.
That's all.

-Happy Blogger