with me. You ask. Can't wait to know. You say. Well, OK. I've decided that the Constitution allows me to take my clothes off and go grocery shopping in my skin suit. Why? Because you can't find anything in the Constitution that says I can't. Can you?
It guarantees freedom, right? Well, then what can be more free that freedom from clothes. Clothes have oppressed us as a society long enough. Besides, clothes were invented by Republicans in order to A) make a them a lot of money, B) promote racism by division among the people by selling different styles to different races and ethnic groups, and C) force their conservative Christian values of "modesty" on us. I mean, what ever happened to the separation of church and state? That was the whole point of the Constitution wasn't it? To protect us from religious zealots who would take away our freedom.
Who will tell me that I have to wear clothes when I feel they are oppressive and divisive? Only a hate-monger, that's who. Someone who hates those of us who have found the true liberty and happiness that comes from not wearing clothes. If clothed people can go shopping at any time of the day or night, why not unclothed people? It's discrimination, that's why. Against the unclothed. Because we are different.
Those who would try to keep us marginalized hide behind the word "decency." They say that not wearing clothes is "indecent." Just because someone isn't ashamed of their bare body, the body that God gave us, doesn't mean they are indecent. Unclothed people are decent people, and anyone who says otherwise is a bigot. What is the definition of decency, anyway? The Constitution doesn't define it clearly, so obviously it was meant to apply to both the clothed and the unclothed.
The time has come for us to throw off the shackles of the backwards American bigotry against unclothed persons. I heard there is a police chief in California who will order his department to leave unclothed persons alone, allowing them to engage in acts of civil disobedience such as walking naked around restaurants, schools, and public parks. It's time we ripped and the veil of ignorance and hate. We will not stop until everything and everybody, from Federal law to elementary school textbooks, recognizes the rights of the unclothed.
And if you haven't noticed, George W. Bush is a BIG fan of clothes. What more can I say?
Friday, March 05, 2004
Saturday, February 21, 2004
Welcome Saturday
Nothing like the fresh feeling of rising on a Saturday morning. I actually have this weird desire to get up earlier on Saturdays, like I have to cram in all--the--play--time--possible, because Monday is only a mere 48 hours away. But wait! What's this? A three-day weekend!? It's almost too much. I going insane-o with joy, frantic for fun, what to do--should I read a book, watch a movie, cook breakfast, call a friend, go get a nice cream, take Emily shopping, go for a walk, eat something yummy? My Uncle Dave's hot tub should be functional today, and it's got fountains and lights that change color! Ohh yeah! I'm drooling on my keyboard.
Emily has been talking to plants lately. She rescued a couple of smallish ones from the sale rack at Safeway the other day. It started out as a cute thing, talking to them in front of me to make me roll my eyes. But I was in the bathroom this morning when I heard the sultry voice from the kitchen: "Oh, you're all so tall! Look at you, you've grown two inches since I got you. You're so pretty." It's a side of her I hadn't considered, and it's not bad...just, creepy. What do you think? Being friends with plants a legitimate practice, or a hokey, anthropomorphic quirk--signaling the same kind of mentality typical of those who make their dogs wear sweaters?
Emily has been talking to plants lately. She rescued a couple of smallish ones from the sale rack at Safeway the other day. It started out as a cute thing, talking to them in front of me to make me roll my eyes. But I was in the bathroom this morning when I heard the sultry voice from the kitchen: "Oh, you're all so tall! Look at you, you've grown two inches since I got you. You're so pretty." It's a side of her I hadn't considered, and it's not bad...just, creepy. What do you think? Being friends with plants a legitimate practice, or a hokey, anthropomorphic quirk--signaling the same kind of mentality typical of those who make their dogs wear sweaters?
Thursday, February 12, 2004
Another Post
Hi, Joe here with another post.
Yup... Just here....posting. Again. Ummm....something happened....and umm.....I think the world is so messed up...and....
Yeah.
I can't believe she said this....and holy crap...because I really like that movie....and...it's so true because, like, everything is so oriented towards mass consumerism....and Wal-Mart is lame....
So, like, I sent out a memo...to everyone....
Anyways, more later, keep shouting because...if you don't....then you just don't care about anything. At all. Ever. Bye.
Yup... Just here....posting. Again. Ummm....something happened....and umm.....I think the world is so messed up...and....
Yeah.
I can't believe she said this....and holy crap...because I really like that movie....and...it's so true because, like, everything is so oriented towards mass consumerism....and Wal-Mart is lame....
So, like, I sent out a memo...to everyone....
Anyways, more later, keep shouting because...if you don't....then you just don't care about anything. At all. Ever. Bye.
Today and Everyday
Emily told me that no one would ever want to read my blog because I don't, like, post very often. In other words, I'm boring and it's not worth checking it out if I never post. Fine. I can change that.
I thought that maybe I was being courteous by not driveling out rivers of worthless slime everyday for everyone to choke on, only posting when I had something productive or interesting to say. But I guess that is not the point.
So, here you go world. Here you go, friends. Rain or shine, pearls or swine, diamonds or coal, plates or bowl(?!), the Plickog must go on...every...single...day...you can come enjoy nothing but the most pointless, uninteresting, presumptious rants about nothing and something. Like the subtitle says, "Who would want to read this crap?" Apparently, you do.
I thought that maybe I was being courteous by not driveling out rivers of worthless slime everyday for everyone to choke on, only posting when I had something productive or interesting to say. But I guess that is not the point.
So, here you go world. Here you go, friends. Rain or shine, pearls or swine, diamonds or coal, plates or bowl(?!), the Plickog must go on...every...single...day...you can come enjoy nothing but the most pointless, uninteresting, presumptious rants about nothing and something. Like the subtitle says, "Who would want to read this crap?" Apparently, you do.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Acceptance Speech
In the spirit of the 'grammies', I'd like to deliver the following: (except that I'm not a hoochie, dirty and I mean DIRTY rich, thoroughly uninteresting and mostly talentless, unarticulate windsack who flaps like a burlap bag on a pole while mumbling totally forgettable thank yous to my fellow sleazeballs who gave me an award because I sold a million records after a few million advertising dollars were poured into shlepping my crappy music to unsuspecting teenagers):
AHEM. Seeing as how I recently finished the most excellent, latest installment of The Legend of Zelda (Windwaker) for Game Cube, I would like to thank 1) My wife, for her good-natured encouragement and feigned interest in said game 2) my wife, for her loving patience and willingness to spend a night or two entertaining herself while I battled sundry monsters, creatures, evil lords, giant insects, etc., and looked for valuable items such as grappling hooks, empty bottles, iron boots, master swords, and of course, triforce pieces 3) my wife, for congratulating me with a smile upon completion of the aforementioned quest, while effectively hiding her inner rejoicings that the game can be safely put back on the shelf, never to see the light of our sun again, unless it is in the home of another mindless gamer who has paid us at least $20 for it. Thank you, Emily. You are my Princess Zelda. (weepweep, peace sign to the crowd, show everyone my shirt that has an obscure shout out to some obscure influence who's not really an influence, but all part of making my image a little more tolerable to those who are on to my pathetic fame game)
AHEM. Seeing as how I recently finished the most excellent, latest installment of The Legend of Zelda (Windwaker) for Game Cube, I would like to thank 1) My wife, for her good-natured encouragement and feigned interest in said game 2) my wife, for her loving patience and willingness to spend a night or two entertaining herself while I battled sundry monsters, creatures, evil lords, giant insects, etc., and looked for valuable items such as grappling hooks, empty bottles, iron boots, master swords, and of course, triforce pieces 3) my wife, for congratulating me with a smile upon completion of the aforementioned quest, while effectively hiding her inner rejoicings that the game can be safely put back on the shelf, never to see the light of our sun again, unless it is in the home of another mindless gamer who has paid us at least $20 for it. Thank you, Emily. You are my Princess Zelda. (weepweep, peace sign to the crowd, show everyone my shirt that has an obscure shout out to some obscure influence who's not really an influence, but all part of making my image a little more tolerable to those who are on to my pathetic fame game)
Wednesday, December 10, 2003
Subby Diary Vol. 1
I am a substitute teacher and that, my friends, is enough to make anyone say, "Hey Stupid, why don't you just join the army?"
Example #1: Several weeks ago I subbed for a first grade class at a bilingual elementary school. The only message the techer left for me on the substitute phone system was regarding one student in her class. Let us call him, Johnny Smith-Jones. In my experience, when a kid has a hyphenated last name, it's a pretty good indication that he or she may have some issues. Let's be honest, I don't need a fruity tweed-head sociologist to tell me divorce has a profound effect on young children.
When I got to school I found a detailed plan ready wherein I was supposed to be monitoring and recording Johnny's behavior on the half-hour.
Anyway, we started the day with a refreshing stretch and one lap around the field. (I honor their regular teacher for coming up with that ingenious plan. I think two, maybe even three laps would be great...) So, to make a long story short, we're going around the field and Johnny is lagging behind. I encourage him to keep up with me, he grumbles, slows down, speeds up, then finally catches up with me, turns to me and says: "Satan rules."
What? I said. "Satan rules." Faint echoes of excorcism dance through my head. But I am, after all, a trained professional. So I calmly look him up and down before I say, "Why's that?" Johnny paused, as if seriously considering the issue, before replying simply, "Naw, I'm just kidding. Satan sucks." Phew! That was a close one. Obviously, the day was going to go OK after all. And as it turns out, I only had to send him to the office twice, for laying down on the floor and falling asleep (his teacher told me to send him to the office to sleep), and once for smearing goat's blood on the other students' desks. Wait, no, actually it was for refusing to stop shouting. Whatever. The poor child. Best of luck Johnny, if you make it past first-grade, you can probably do anything.
Example #1: Several weeks ago I subbed for a first grade class at a bilingual elementary school. The only message the techer left for me on the substitute phone system was regarding one student in her class. Let us call him, Johnny Smith-Jones. In my experience, when a kid has a hyphenated last name, it's a pretty good indication that he or she may have some issues. Let's be honest, I don't need a fruity tweed-head sociologist to tell me divorce has a profound effect on young children.
When I got to school I found a detailed plan ready wherein I was supposed to be monitoring and recording Johnny's behavior on the half-hour.
Anyway, we started the day with a refreshing stretch and one lap around the field. (I honor their regular teacher for coming up with that ingenious plan. I think two, maybe even three laps would be great...) So, to make a long story short, we're going around the field and Johnny is lagging behind. I encourage him to keep up with me, he grumbles, slows down, speeds up, then finally catches up with me, turns to me and says: "Satan rules."
What? I said. "Satan rules." Faint echoes of excorcism dance through my head. But I am, after all, a trained professional. So I calmly look him up and down before I say, "Why's that?" Johnny paused, as if seriously considering the issue, before replying simply, "Naw, I'm just kidding. Satan sucks." Phew! That was a close one. Obviously, the day was going to go OK after all. And as it turns out, I only had to send him to the office twice, for laying down on the floor and falling asleep (his teacher told me to send him to the office to sleep), and once for smearing goat's blood on the other students' desks. Wait, no, actually it was for refusing to stop shouting. Whatever. The poor child. Best of luck Johnny, if you make it past first-grade, you can probably do anything.
Tuesday, December 09, 2003
WHERE HAVE I BEEN?
Holy Crap! The seasons have changed twice, and nary a blog from me, the administrator, the one responsible for the upkeep and responsible operation of this key site. The good people at blogger give me my very own forum and what I do with it? Nothing! I leave it writhing for air like a naked astronaut. My shame is a chunky stain on the pearly tablecloth of blogdom. What can I say? I can't even bear to blog... I'm going to have to go take a long, longish, longiful look in the mirror and reaffirm my commitment to the fair privelege that is blogging. Excuse me...
Wednesday, July 09, 2003
Hairy Plant Placement Specialist
Blog forward. Yippee! Last night I finished reading the fifth invigorating and healthy installment of the written phenomenon...Harry Potter. I have come to the conclusion that Jo Rowling (I'll call her Jo since that's what all the chic entertainment writers are referring to her as these days, like Barbara, or J. Lo) is a genius. I know it's been said before, but too many literary types tend to dismiss the Potter tales as a mirthy kids craze. I myself shyed away from the series for many years, fully inflated by my status as an student majoring in English.
I first started in on them last summer on a debt-inducing trip to Spain and Portugal. After the second book, I bought the third at an English-language book store in a Lisbon mall. By the time we got to Coimbra, I was turning in a couple hours before sunset to read by the light of single dim bulb, tinged red by the dusty, transluscent fixture. Emily and I actually fought over who was going to get to read the book first, so we ended up reading most of it outloud together. Within days we were scouring a shop in Salamanca for the fourth installment, which I finished shortly after returning to California.
I hadn't been this insane about a series since reading the Lord of the Rings my second year of college, and before that it was my rabid consumption of Hardy Boys mysteries before I turned 10. This was pure enjoyment unlike anything I'd ever read. Sure it's the most mass-marketed, best-selling print franchise since the Pauline Epistles, but in the end I was forced to accept that something doesn't have to be out-of-print, wallowing in the corner of "quirky" used book store to be fully appreciated. My aversion to spoon-fed consumerism notwithstanding, here was something that deserved to be distributed, even pushed and hawked, by the millions and frillions.
The bottom line is, Rowling has created something that will endure for generations. The pure imagination contained in each book will keep the pages turning for my grandchildren and beyond. As an uncle of mine pointed out, each page in a Potter book has a new word, concept, or plot twist that almost forces the reader to forget whatever they need to be doing and see the story to the end right then and there. And though that can be formulaic at times, the overall effect of the books is nothing less than deeply satisfying; a rare glimpse into a parallel universe that we fervently hope exists and won't end when we turn over the back cover.
I first started in on them last summer on a debt-inducing trip to Spain and Portugal. After the second book, I bought the third at an English-language book store in a Lisbon mall. By the time we got to Coimbra, I was turning in a couple hours before sunset to read by the light of single dim bulb, tinged red by the dusty, transluscent fixture. Emily and I actually fought over who was going to get to read the book first, so we ended up reading most of it outloud together. Within days we were scouring a shop in Salamanca for the fourth installment, which I finished shortly after returning to California.
I hadn't been this insane about a series since reading the Lord of the Rings my second year of college, and before that it was my rabid consumption of Hardy Boys mysteries before I turned 10. This was pure enjoyment unlike anything I'd ever read. Sure it's the most mass-marketed, best-selling print franchise since the Pauline Epistles, but in the end I was forced to accept that something doesn't have to be out-of-print, wallowing in the corner of "quirky" used book store to be fully appreciated. My aversion to spoon-fed consumerism notwithstanding, here was something that deserved to be distributed, even pushed and hawked, by the millions and frillions.
The bottom line is, Rowling has created something that will endure for generations. The pure imagination contained in each book will keep the pages turning for my grandchildren and beyond. As an uncle of mine pointed out, each page in a Potter book has a new word, concept, or plot twist that almost forces the reader to forget whatever they need to be doing and see the story to the end right then and there. And though that can be formulaic at times, the overall effect of the books is nothing less than deeply satisfying; a rare glimpse into a parallel universe that we fervently hope exists and won't end when we turn over the back cover.
Tuesday, July 01, 2003
Getting There
Commence blogging. Here is a sordid tale if there ever was one: I walked all the way down the driveway this morning, got into my parents' brand new Toyota Corolla parked in front of the house, closed the door and put the key in the ignition before I looked up and noticed the windshield was entirely smashed.
If that doesn't send shivers up your spine, then this will: I found several footprints and a sizable dent on the hood. Apparently a wayward spacecraft dropped one of their abductees, one with large skate shoes, on top of my dad's car. It's lucky he landed on the windshield otherwise he could've been seriously injured or even killed on the cold, hard pavement. I knew there was reason I parked in front of the mailbox last night...thank goodness for intuition.
Anyway, the police didn't believe me about the whole alien abduction thing, even though the evidence was overwhelming. Footprints, smashed windshield, dent in the hood....what do they want, a sign that says "Aliens Were Here"? They said something about "vandalism" and said they would send me a form to fill out in the mail. What a joke. Just another example of the farcical government cover-up that we all live in. Maybe one day they will come clean, but in the meantime I will continue to park my car in strategic places in the hopes of saving further victims from unwarranted alien droppings.
If that doesn't send shivers up your spine, then this will: I found several footprints and a sizable dent on the hood. Apparently a wayward spacecraft dropped one of their abductees, one with large skate shoes, on top of my dad's car. It's lucky he landed on the windshield otherwise he could've been seriously injured or even killed on the cold, hard pavement. I knew there was reason I parked in front of the mailbox last night...thank goodness for intuition.
Anyway, the police didn't believe me about the whole alien abduction thing, even though the evidence was overwhelming. Footprints, smashed windshield, dent in the hood....what do they want, a sign that says "Aliens Were Here"? They said something about "vandalism" and said they would send me a form to fill out in the mail. What a joke. Just another example of the farcical government cover-up that we all live in. Maybe one day they will come clean, but in the meantime I will continue to park my car in strategic places in the hopes of saving further victims from unwarranted alien droppings.
Friday, June 27, 2003
The very idea of a blog seems rather conceited. Let's talk about.....me. Like who wants to get on and read about some dude's banal, useless thoughts and opinions that don't matter or influence anyone? I guess I do...want to read my own banal, useless thoughts and opinions. So, I'd like to welcome myself to my blog. Welcome, me. I hope I enjoy all the crap I write. I'll try to mix it up a little bit...and, you know, maybe way deep down there's a tiny part of me that maybe thinks that maybe someone besides myself will, ahem, accidently stumble upon this electronic papyrus of wisdom and virtue and even like it, a little bit..
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