The Invention of the Wheel

Sometimes I feel like a monkey staring at a wheel. I keep scratching at my head and thumbing my chin, my face angled in curiosity. Some moments I reach out with my small trembling hands and I touch it. Nothing. So I keep at it. I keep touching and pushing, harder and harder, until finally it moves. It rolls casually away, slows and stops. I sit there for a moment, still scratching and thumbing, while my hands moves unwantingly forward to push it again.
Of course, it's only natural to be like this. To be like me. To be like you. We arn't much different then each other. We really aren't too much different than a monkey, or even a platypus. Deep down, so far down beneath your skin and blood, there's a place where you are totally indiscernible, where you are nothing but an organic calculation, an elemental orchestra of biological dissonance that plays so quietly no one can hear it's beauty.
Regardless, the notes play on, the symbols crash, and something holds the swaying staff in an attempt to control it. Of these ballads, there are few. They are practiced and memorized but prone to miscalculated inspiration. But no matter, their objective accuracy does not stop ticking of the metronome; it plays on.
I have been taught in the discipline of science. It has told me that I am a machine. My organs are no different in comparison to a Grandfather clock. Gears and a pendulum. Spurred by some understood first momentum.
But others have told me I feel. I live. I have a soul. A mind that is boundless. A spirit within me that separates me from the world.
I have thought of this. Why can't the two exist in harmonic tension? But more importantly, why must it be so microscopic? What of the world? What of the universe?
What if the universe had a soul? A duality of existence unknown to even it. Why must existence be so calculated? So cruel? What if the same internal struggles exist in it. An existence of consciousness.
I am told God is all knowing. He is everything. But if this huge great chain of existence, this elemental orchestra, unifies the universe, wouldn't the struggles of consciousness, of essence, still dominate. The circle of life could simply be revolving by a trembling hand.

Observation

They say you can tell alot about a person by the things they own. So I decided to do a test. I will tell you everything that is in my desk drawers and you, the audience, can make assumptions about my true identity, the real face of the man behind the words.

Let's begin with the top of my desk: Speakers, a portable wireless adapter, notebooks, Slaughter House Five,, one empty can of green tea, one empty bottle of hot sauce, glasses, a sharpie, a guitar tuner, picks, and a microphone.

Top Drawer, Left: Roughly 20 sugar packets, Flintstone vitamins, a highlighter, a sharpie, nail clippers, a pen, and one book of matches.

Middle Drawer, Left: Cat treats, empty soda can, empty flea collar box.

Bottom Left: One disposable camera, empty altoids container, broken ipod.

Top right: Three broken lighters, one box of thumbnails, one chinese food menu, one sticker, emergency debit card.

Middle right: q tips, alan wrench, one heat patch.

Bottom right: nothing.

Middle: Grandmother cards.

So there you have it, my life in drawers. So who am I? Tell me, I need to know.

Movie Reviews for a Movie Buff

So when you are given an assignment to write a 500 word review of any movie you want, well, you are most likely to pick a movie you love. A film that for some reason you connect with. Whether this is "Casablanca" or "Bring it On!... again..." it doesn't matter, you love this movie. Most movies, like books, don't work on simply one plain. They are by nature multidimensional. So how do you condense your favorite movies into small summaries and simple theme suggestions? It's hard. I could write a five-page paper on a movie I truly love. Just like I could write an intense paper on a book I love. They are one in the same.

So I tip my hat to you movie reviewers. Your job is tougher than most people think. 500 words is not a lot but when it's all you have you've got to use it.

Jon LaDuca: Making A Mess All Over The City

I know this kid Jon LaDuca. I regret it.

Thanksgiving: Pilgrims, Indians, and Turkey

Pilgrims: We have come to ravish your country of and natural resources, destroy your culture, infect you with disease, and the few that survive, well, we'll give land that vultures won't even poop on. Sound good?
Native Americans: kjdsfv kljdnfjsh kjcnvkljsn (translated: hello white men, we have no idea what you are saying.)
Pilgrims: Alright, I'm going to take that as a "do what you want! Your skin color must mean that you know what is better for me my people!" and let me tell you, I agree. Now lets eat!
Turkey: Gobble! Gobble! (translated: please don't eat me!)
Pilgrims: Let's eat that turkey!

And that folks is the birth of Thanksgiving. A day of football, beer, turkey, stuffing, gravy, more gravy, corn, and oh yeah, and being thankful for your family.

But what happens when you don't spend this day with your family? Well, it's different.

I lost my wallet the day before Thanksgiving eve. I had no money, no license, and most importantly, no lucky 2 dollar bill. I was distraught to say the least. I haven't seen my family in months and now this could become even longer tenure. And it did. I was stuck in Philadelphia.

It was then I reluctantly called my girlfriend and coaxed her to give me a ride back to New Jersey so I could attend my cousin's wedding. There was one catch: I had to spend the holiday with her family.

Now, I am not one who fears meeting new people. In fact, it is one of my strengths. I for some reason have the ability to meet someone, learn their name, and make some sort of personable impression like, "hey he's a nice guy," or the opposite, "that kid thinks he's some sort of rock star." Besides the fact that I will be a rock star I like to believe that often most people like me. I wasn't worried about her family liking me. That was a task. A task I knew I could accomplish. And I did.

As I left the house, my stomach full, I had a sense for Thanksgiving that I never had before. My holiday wasn't much different than theirs. It was really similar. Except at this one I didn't have to play guitar for my relatives, who pretend to listen while they stuff their faces with cheesecake. Oh they are so supportive.

Anyway, the natives were tricked and killed and as a result, we celebrate. Oh America, we love our history. Only most Americans don't know anything.

Weddings

The day after Thanksgiving my cousin had her wedding. It was a small wedding but it was nice.

During the mass something bad happened. Someone's cell phone went off. Everyone in the church looked at the criminal. A stealer of precious memories. A terrible, terrible, person. Oh yes, I forgot to mention; it was the groom's mother.

How inconsiderate do you have to be to not turn off your phone during your very own son's wedding? I don't know, either. I imagine it was very inconsiderate, especially since she didn't really approve of the marriage in the first place... to my cousin and her boyfriend of eight years. Woman, get over yourself.

I hope I never become this desperate for attention. To ruin someone's wedding (especially your son) all because you didn't think of turning it off.

My cousin paid for her wedding, she is the bread winner, which cost over $10,000 and that she paid for herself (with no help of her new mother-in-law). The reception was great, we had alot of fun. But I know that stupid cell phone ring will keep ringing in her mind. "Oh, my wedding, it was great... well, except for..."

Bowling

So yesterday, I went bowling. And I went did it for charity! Yay! Ofcouse, I don't really know what charity but I imagine it's a good one like, The Coalition to Save People That Bite Their Fingernails (because that's gross), which is also known as TCTSPTBTF(btg).

Anyway, the alley offered a special at their snack bar: 1$ Hot Dogs. Wow, I thought to myself, what a deal. So I purchased one and began my attempt at bowling.

Well, let's not talk about how well I did... mainly because my main goal was to see how fast I could hurl the ball down the lane. I embarrassingly only bowled a 95. But I did roll that ball at 16.62 MPH. Yeah, I'm good.

So, on my way home I felt my stomach grumble. It was nothing, I assured myself it was my body's rejection of my pathetic performance amongst the balding and fat bowling elites, League Bowlers.

But upon my arrival home, my previous assurances were wrong, very wrong. I got out of the car and decided that for a few moments I wanted to put myself i the shoes of a bulimic model. Yes, I vomited. I vomited viciously and abundantly. And I swore a complete and undying hatred for that bowling alley and that hot dog.

But in the end I guess I got what I paid for. I tasted two meals. One covered in mustard. The other in stomach acid.