Keep Out of Reach From Adults

I bought a can of neon-green spray paint from Home Depot today. No, I'm not a graffiti artist, though if you wish to suspect me as the masked avenger of street art, Banksy, I would only be greatly flattered, as I do admire his art. In fact, this was the first time I had ever purchased such an item, yet I was surprised when the lady at the check-out asked for my identification. I did have it, but found myself inquisitive of why it was necessary. She explained that it was because a growing portion of teenagers have been inhaling the chemicals within the can, finding an alternate and legal avenue to intoxication. This does not appeal to me personally, because my dreams are screwed up enough already. But if artificial substances and incense worked for Edgar Alan Poe, I pass no judgement on to people attempting chemically grown artistic inspiration. The employee also told me that they did not check ID for all brands of paint, just the ones that contained the specific chemicals. To me, that system seemed to only inform the customers of which paints were the most "effective". Now, I don't know the common procedure used for extracting and inserting these chemicals out of the can and into one's system, but I imagine it's either messy, or tastes horrible. My advise is to listen to Radiohead, or watch Labyrinth with David Bowie. It's pretty much the same effect.

The Left Stuff

I own a copy of The Prince by Machiavelli. It perfectly reflects everything that contradicts my ideology. Now, I may just be naive, but for some reason I firmly believe that Niccolo wrote the book as a satirical joke about the minds of corrupt, power-hungry, morally compromising monarchists. My theory is he wrote the book, imitating the extreme ideals of totalitarianism, making it humorously drastic and senselessly radical, to the extent that it mocks the ideology... at least I found the book funny. But this is just a theory, and it may very well be wrong. But if it is true, the irony lies in the book's failure, as it inspired monarchists from Henry VIII to Italian Communist, Antonio Gramsci. What may have had the intention of being satire, was interpreted literally. A similar situation happened recently when an independent directer named Tommy Wiseau made a film called The Room. To what I understand, he intended for his film to be a serious melo-drama, however, it ended up being widely considered one of the worst movies ever produced. The film became notoriously funny for its terrible acting and writing. Its popularity grew until it soon developed a cult following. Tommy's ego (exceptional to begin with) grew exponentially when he assumed from his fame that he had actually made a good movie. But who's to say he didn't? Can you consider the film a failure despite its undeniable success? Right now a teenage girl is nationally being  labeled as the worst music artist of all time. But her infamous song has over 70 million views on YouTube. Fame is unpredictable. But I guess individuals like Rebecca Black would be less threatening to our society as 15 minute celebrities then they would as totalitarian dictators.

And How!

In almost every commercial of every brand of every product, one generally hears the statement, "We're better then the leading brand!" If this is true on such a frequent basis, has the position of leadership in our world of production become completely insignificant? What good is being a leader, when it only sprouts from a population's conformity that is undeniably destined to be overthrown by the ever-conforming growth of nonconformity. I query if there's actually a big manufacturing conglomerate that's tragically named "The Leading Brand". They get terrible business just because of their unintentional association with being perpetually worse then someone else. How does one keep high morality in a work environment like that. Captain Ahab managed it with a coin. One probably just needs the right incentive. Human nature seems to orbit around that word. An employee of "The Leading Brand" stacks papers his entire life, oblivious that his payment is only the same stack of papers cut into smaller pieces, that he preserves and protects with the belief that they posses value.  He goes home, turns on the TV, only to find people telling him to spend his earnings on their "better" product, so they can do the same thing as him. But no one remembers that it's just the same "leading brand" of paper.

Please, Do Not Feed the Tourists

A door-knob punched me in the gut this morning. I couldn't help but find the typicality of the situation amusing as I fell to the ground in pain. Yet, I was surprised it was a single-door that inflicted my injury, as I was on worse terms with the population of double-doors, and assumed any door related injury would be caused by their kind instead. People don't admit to giving inanimate objects human characteristics, but nearly everyone of modern culture, when finding themselves in an elevator, presses the button of their desired floor in a repetitive manner. This action is, of course, futile, as an elevator is a machine, and is incapable of responding to persistence. But as the ignorant, ever-assumtion-making, conclusion-jumping primates that we are, we imagine that, if we were the elevator, we would commence our liberation as to appease the irritation of our buttons being repeatedly pressed. Did the door-knob have a motive for its violent action? I could have turned and demanded, "What the crap was that for?" I like to assume the best intentions of door-knobs, as I do the same with people. Perhaps it was just a friendly warning. A foreboding signal of a possibly negative fate. Needless to say, as a simple precaution, I took the stairs.

The Last Hours of Spring Break

Let me start by saying that- and this is not to be taken generally, but specifically for the following story -it was all a girl's fault. There is a bean-sized scar on the superior side of my wrist that I received just a few days more then a year ago. Funny how somethings never go away, while the rest of your memory is as solid as vapor. What did I have for dinner last night? It was a skateboarding accident that gave me the scar. I'm not usually found on a longboard, hence the scar, hence why I'm not usually found on a longboard. But I was talked into the fatal adventure, yes, by said 'girl'. The hill was a few paces from her house. I remember yelling the word "bail" before jumping, as if to declare that the actions that were about to follow were completely intentional. My wisdom teeth were removed this week. I woke up from the Anastasia crying. Still can't remember what I was thinking about that had triggered such an emotional reaction. Maybe I don't want to know. Maybe we forget things for our own good. We can subconsciously construct false memory the way we want it. We can probably forget things the same way. Holy crap. Can a person's subconscious be smarter then the person? Can a subconscious control a person despite-......Grilled shrimp shish kabobs.