Ghetto Commandments: A Shakespearean Sonnet

These rules are those of ghetto life and times,
commandments passed on down from gangstas dead.
Followers live but those with ghetto crimes
about to lose their motherfucking head.

To be a bitch is not to breathe the air
or weed you will puff twice then pass to me.
No snitching, dog, and even hoes most fair,
you won't betroth; and hustle will be free.

The real will recognize the other real
and only models, bottles pop on to.
One can't have fun without friends in the deal
and neighbors' bitches you come not on to.

These ghetto laws have every life-lease.
Commandment number ten: fuck the police.

My Grandpa's Obituary

I found this obituary online when I Googled my mom's dad. It made me a lot sadder than I thought it would. It made me stop for a second when I read my name listed under grandchildren. Sort of a grim reminder that someone is going to write an obituary about me someday. Probably doesn't help that I was named after him.

Lawrence Struwe, 77

FALLBROOK —— Lawrence "Scottie" Struwe, 77, died at home Thursday, Oct. 20, 2005.

Born May 2, 1928, in Albany, N.Y., he was a resident of Fallbrook for 32 years. He retired in 1976 as a Chief Warrant Officer after serving 27 years in the U.S. Marine Corps. He was a member of St. Peter's Catholic Church. He was an avid golfer.

Mr. Struwe was preceded in death by his wife, Jane Struwe, in 2001. He is survived by his son and daughter-in-law Tim and Jana Struwe of Lake Elsinore; daughters and sons-in-law Yvette and Larry Johnson of Citrus Heights and Candace and Chris Pocino of Long Beach; sister Arlette Bradford of Arkansas; grandchildren Danielle, Jessica, Christina, Jennifer, Sara, Katie, Lawrence and Natalie; and great-grandson Michael.

There will be a memorial service at 11 a.m. Oct. 29, at Berry-Bell & Hall Mortuary, 333 N. Vine St., Fallbrook.

Memorial donations are suggested to the National Foundation for Cancer Research, 4600 East West Highway Suite 525, Bethesda, MD 20814.

Berry-Bell & Hall Fallbrook Mortuary is handling arrangements.

Serving Pasta

Bacon and pastrami
fried with cinnamon.
Egg yolks and cream.
Mix into the pasta
and put in bowls.
Top with chopped
green onion.
Serve with red wine or heavy beer.

Few days later,
heat in microwave
for a minute.

Some Notes on God

Drinking can bring us closer to god, but it can also bring us closer to defeat. Maybe it's only in complete defeat that we can truly be one with god. It would make sense since those who seem closest to god are usually either lying politicians or crazy homeless people who are clearly about as deep into defeat as a person can get. I'm agnostic to the idea of god and atheist to the idea of a perfect god but during times of distress I'll often embarrass myself by praying, in my mind, to something that may or not be there to answer my plea. It seems so silly when everything is fine but when one is desperate the praying just comes out of fucking nowhere.
Then if someone gets what they were praying for they often credit it to god. As if there's no such thing as dumb luck. And not only that but it's a little bit selfish. Just because your prayers seemed to be answered doesn't mean every pious person who prays got what they asked for. Most of them die or move on. But those few who get their prayers answered all of a sudden believe that god must exist. All because their prayers were answered. It's like a big middle finger to all the other people who prayed and got shit out of it.
It all makes sense though. People often need a little hope to get through life and religion offers it. The idea of an all powerful being who will answer to your needs is too good to be true but far too good for people to not to believe in it. And then the "god works in mysterious ways" bullshit is just insurance. If god really wanted people to believe in him then he'd just ask us to. But I haven't had any conversations with him lately and I'm not expecting to. And even if a person's salvation was dependent on believing in a completely unproven god, then that's a jackass of a god. And I don't care what sort of hell I'm supposedly doomed to. I refuse to worship a god who's a dick and if god is all powerful then he must be a dick to let the world be the way it is.

I Wanna Do a Show About Eating

There's a show on the Travel Channel called Bizarre Foods and I really want to be on it as some sort of sidekick / intern. I realize that this probably won't happen so I started thinking about something else that probably won't happen. I'd like to do a show for either Travel Channel or Food Network about the food in college towns. I'd basically just travel to colleges around the country and tour the favorite eateries of local students. Probably call it something like Campus Grub or College Eats. I'm really hungry right now.

First Softball Game

An intramural softball team that some friends and I recently put together played our first game today. And by played I mean lost horribly. The score was 26 to one. On the upside I'm currently batting 1.000. I only came up to bat once but I'll take wins where I can get them.
Our team seemed to be pretty decent during practice but the moment we hit the field today it was like everyone forgot everything they seemed to have a decent grasp on yesterday. People weren't moving for balls that were clearly closer to them than anyone else on the field, fly balls were dropped after it seemed they had been caught, some people had apparently never thrown a ball before, and too many people were too afraid of the ball. That last one is almost inexcusable seeing as everyone had essentially chosen to play a game that depends heavily on not flinching when a ball is thrown at you.

I've been watching the show "Clone High" lately. If you're not familiar with the show then look it up. I shouldn't have to explain everything to you imaginary people who are reading this. Anyway, here's a list of some clones they should have on the show if they ever make a second season. Some may have been done and I just don't remember.
Edgar Alan Poe
Judas
Any dead presidents they haven't done yet
The dead Beatles
Noah
Lassie
King George (from the American Revolution)
Tupac
King Louis XIV
Davy Crockett
that Senator who almost killed another Senator with a cane
Aaron Burr
This is stupid. I'm done.

Cry of the Modern Human

I am the base of humanity.
I feed, fight, flee, and fuck.
Only my intelligence and, more
importantly, my adaptiveness,
allows me to live in this
inhuman world.

You ask what world this is
if not human?
It is a world of people,
the qualifications vague
but I know I don’t
qualify as one of these persons.
I’m merely human.

The Abyss

There’s that place.
That place we rarely face.
A place full of knowledge,
more than any college.

A knowledge we avoid,
from deep within our void.
Where the truths too dark to accept
are everyday kept.

It’s easy to fall into it,
you don’t have to struggle a bit.
In it we are born
but from it we’re always torn.

Musings (This is the oldest thing in my laptop's word processor. I had completely forgot about it.)

I’m afraid to want; to have dreams. Because when one wants something, he runs the risk of never having what he wanted and being aware of it. Or worse: he may acquire what it was he wanted only to find that it wasn’t what he imagined it to be. That it wasn’t worth the effort and sacrifice. That the time and energy he put into this thing was wasted rather than being put towards what he now realizes his goal should of been. And now it is too late. The opportunity for that goal is gone. For this reason, I believe that people’s lack of motivation lies in their lack of assuredness. If one is sure of something, without any reservation, he will likely pursue that something with reckless abandon until it is achieved or until he ceases to exist. Most people aren’t like this but I’m fairly certain that everyone is born like this. We are born with desires, and we set out to quench them; to find happiness. But as we live, we find that the things that we believed would bring us happiness don’t always deliver. An early example may be the first toy a child buys with his own money, especially if they earned and saved that money for the sole purpose of buying that toy. If that toy turns out not to be as fun as they were led to believe, that kid will be mad. He will be mad at the commercial for the toy, at the people who sold it to him, at the people he worked for, and at the parent who told him he would have to buy that toy with his own money. The parent that is now blabbering own about learning the value of a dollar. But he will also be mad at himself, possibly without even realizing it. As life goes on, this behavior will repeat. He’ll decide he wants something and he’ll work for it only to discover that it wasn’t worth the trouble. Things he pursues only to be disappointed may include club memberships, friends, status, lovers, jobs, schools, spouses, living quarters, children, purchased goods, etc. At some point, if he has any self-awareness and intelligence, he will realize this pattern. Upon this realization he will become a much less motivated individual. The only thing that really keeps him going is the knowledge that if he pursues something there is a high chance that something is not what he actually wants, but if he pursues nothing there is no chance of him achieving what it is he actually wants. Industrial, capitalist society keeps itself alive with the false promise that by following it’s rules you will find satisfaction with your life. In reality, following the rules set down by industry will result in very few, if any, people becoming completely satisfied. Because if a person reaches permanent satisfaction, he will stop being productive. Industrial society doesn’t want this. The best one can hope for in these conditions is a non-permanent satisfaction allowed by his continued contribution to society. But if he fails to stay productive, his satisfaction (often in the form of a big house or a nice car) will be taken away from him. It’s a tried and true technique for keeping people or animals doing what you want them to do; lead the horse on with a carrot but never give him the whole thing. Only give enough to keep him desiring it.

Some people try to create via their sweat and others try to create via their blood. But only those brave enough to both sweat and bleed will manage to create anything truly worthwhile.

Solitaire (story I started working on a while ago)

DAY 1
I don’t know why you’ve put me in here put I sure as hell don’t appreciate it. Hell, I don’t even know who you are or if you’re even going to read this, but no one has responded to me for the last whenever amount of time I’ve been in here for, yelling at the walls and ceiling to let me out. You have some nerve I’ll say. I was just minding my own business last night, walking home from the bar, and that’s the last thing I remember before waking up in here. Seeing as I didn’t ask to be here and I don’t know what here is, I’m assuming I was taken here. I don’t know what you plan on doing to me but I’d certainly like to be let out and I’m pretty damn sure you have no legal defense in keeping me here! And give me back my clothes and things, too!
DAY 2 (no entry)
DAY 3
So, I’m still here. Have to say I’m not happy about that. I figured you would of at least responded to what I wrote you, rather than just taking it you inconsiderate shit. Speaking of, it’d be nice to have a fucking toilet in here as I’m sure you’ve noticed. In fact, I know you have because I’ve woken up the last two days to a room completely devoid of the waste and what not that I’d made in it. I do appreciate that it’s being cleaned out of here, but I still have to deal with the stink until the next day and it’s not as if you’ve given me much to distract myself from it. I can’t even imagine how you get in and out of here; else I’d of given it a try by now. The only activity you’ve really made available to me is writing, so I guess that’s what I’ll do.
Not all that sure what to write about though. Ranting at you doesn’t seem to be doing me any good. Don’t really no much about anything but myself so I guess I’ll write a sort of journal or autobiography. Guess I could describe my surroundings seeing as most stories and things start that way. Well, you’ve certainly gone out of you’re way to make that part of this simple and boring. I’m in a smallish square room with no apparent entrance or windows or any markings whatsoever on the ceiling, walls, or floor. It’s just plain white. On the ceiling is a fluorescent lightbulb that never seems to turn off. The ceiling itself is actually pretty high up; makes the room into a cube now that I look at it.

Helplessness

Occasionally throughout life I’ve had a feeling that I haven’t been able to identify or thoroughly explain until just recently. I realized the other night that this feeling is that of helplessness. There are two situations in which I routinely feel this way. When I feel sick to the point of vomiting and when I’m heavily inebriated or medicated. In both situations I’m completely incapable of assisting myself out of my predicament. My only choice is to wait it out. I don’t mind it when I’m drugged up though. For some reason I’m at peace with the fact that I’m helpless. But not when I’m kneeling over a toilet seat. When I have some sort of high and I’m feeling good, I enjoy the helplessness because it takes all the pressure off of me to do anything. But when I’m retching I’m looking for a way out, even though I know there’s none. Helplessness is fine when you’re feeling good, but when you feel that rising sensation through your stomach and up your neck, you despise the feeling of helplessness because you want to be able to get yourself out of your predicament. So helplessness carries dual personas in the mind. The persona of relief of responsibility and the persona that reminds you just how powerless and dependent on luck you are.

Cop Duos

Little late on the day's post but whatever; I'm here now. I recently found out that they're making a new buddy cop film with Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg. I believe the film has the potential to go either way on the funny-or-not-scale, but it got me thinking about awesome buddy cop duos. So I figured I'd use today to talk about a few I've thought up.
Betty White and Samuel L. Jackson: "Salt N' Peppa' Foreva'"
Yeah, I went there. The idea of mixing old, white ladies and cool black guys is certainly overplayed in the comedy world but only because it's damn funny. Rather than be new partners like most cop buddy movies, this one would change it up. They've been partners for a while now but have never had any of the life changing and bond strengthening adventures that occur in cop movies. They never even see each other outside of work; their relationship is business and nothing else. That is until one day they stumble across a case so full of one-liners, hookers, narcotics, kung fu, and explosions that they come out of it better friends than ever. It would probably end with the two deciding to stay on the force together rather than end up separated when they go to live with their respective children. And I promise that if it's up to me, we won't have to listen to White try to rap. Unless maybe she's unsuccessful and ends up getting tackled like in the Snickers commercial. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1Sv_z9jm8A Either way we better see more of an old, white lady being pummeled somewhere in this potential flick.
Tommy Chong and Jason Statham: "Brits and Bongs"
I really just want to see Chong play the world's most chill police officer. Statham is in there not only because he's a good opposite to Chong (opposites are the key rule to forming cop duos) but because as far as I know he has yet to play a run of the mill police officer. Whether good or bad, he's always a bad-ass so it makes sense to give him a job where he's expected to put his life on the line to protect the people. But here's the catch: Chong and Statham are using their job to smuggle pot to and from Britain. Chong uses his connections with local dealers and Statham, with dual citizenship, provides the international liaison to their system for spreading the love (Chong's motivation) and making money (Statham's motivation). Hilarious, high-risk, and just plain high hi-jinks ensue.
Bill Hader and Seth Rogen: "Superjustice"
I've admittedly stolen the duo but I haven't yet heard any suggestions of giving the cop duo from "Superbad" their own spin-off. For good measure they could even bring McLovin' along on some of their calls. The movie would basically just be a more in-depth look into their lives and jobs than we got from their first appearance. Base it all around a case involving ludicrous amounts of drugs and you've got yourself a comedic tale for the ages.

Visiting the Plant

I went to the family's meat processing plant yesterday. It'd been a while since I had walked through it and I had almost forgotten how much I love going because it smells great in there. We don't have a kill floor like at a slaughter house. Slaughter houses don't smell good. They smell like blood and feces. There's a little blood smell in the plant but only so much as you'd smell in a rare steak. The rest of the smell is that of spice, meat just out of the oven, and deli meat in the drying rooms. I can usually identify what's in a room by the smell. Pot roast in the ovens, BBQ pork in sauce, pepperoni hanging from steel rafters, and so on.
The plant is being remodeled so we can process raw food. Product that's finished raw and product that's finished cooked are supposed to be kept completely seperate from each other till they reach your fridge at home. They're also putting in some big freezers so that they don't have pay to store food elsewhere. Construction is always a hassle for everyone involved but it was still nice to see private contractors at work ever since the housing bubble popped and flooded New Orleans.

लेट्स दो थिस सहित

Last night I was laying in bed, unable to sleep, trying to figure out life. I had my iPod on shuffle and half way through a live recording of "Stairway to Heaven" that I almost skipped, I came to the enlightened conclusion that I need to stop being a pussy about this whole writing business. I keep saying I want to be a writer but besides going to school, I'm not actively doing a whole lot to get me there. So my first step at attempting to make a career out of writing is to start actually doing it. So for now on I'm going to put a post in this blog everyday (excluding any days when it's not possible to get internet access). It's not a huge step in terms of gettin' paid but it'll at least force me to keep improving upon what I can do. I've also bee working on article pitches for Cracked.com for a little while now but just recently I've been working at it more diligently. To anyone who stumbles across this, sorry for having you read what may simultaneously be my most personal and most boring blog to date but I had to write this down so I wouldn't forget or dismiss this promise to myself. I never make resolutions because I know I won't be able to keep them but I actually feel really good about this one. I hope I feel right.