A moment of quiet introspection

Last night I learned something important about myself, and I learned it at a rock and/or roll concert[1]. For those of you who don’t know, I had the opportunity to see one of my favorite bands[2] in concert at the fabulous Fox Theatre in downtown Oakland California last night. It was awesome. Face meltingly awesome.

The band looked and sounded great, and they had hired a trumpet player for the tour who looked like a young Fidel Castro. I didn’t get the opportunity to go to many concerts when I lived in the Florida because:

a) Venues in Florida tend to suck[3]

b) None of my friends like the same music as me

c) Most of the bands that I want to see only came to Tampa, and I didn’t want to drive that far to see a show by myself

d) People who went to concerts in Florida tended to be… horrible, horrible people

I suppose I should take a moment to elaborate on number[4] d. Here’s the thing about Orlando: it’s kind of a transient town. When I say transient, I mean that the city is one of the vacation capitals of the world, so everything has a certain air of… impermanence about it. Untold thousands of vacationers visit the City Beautiful every week, and we all know that when you’re on vacation you tend to adopt a certain “These people don’t know me, so I’ll do whatever I want to, regardless of how stupid it may be[5].” At some point, for whatever reason, this ‘do as you please’ attitude that the vacationers brought with them migrated from the vacationers and came to live in the hearts and minds of Florida’s permanent residents[6].

That said, I’ve had the pleasure of seeing several bands in concert[7], and I’ve noticed one thing in common at every show: the dude who always wants to start a mosh pit. Odds are, if you’ve been to a secular music concert any time after 1992, you’ve seen this dude. Granted, he isn’t the same dude in every instance[8], but they all look enough alike that they may as well be the same dude. Typical indicators that you’ve seen this dude at show if:

a) He’s slightly overweight[9]

b) He has a head of greasy black hair like a mop

c) He has pushed his way through the crowd to get as close to the stage as humanly possible

d) He is obviously there by himself

e) He jumps up and down, like a pogo stick, wildly thrashing his arms about with total disregard for those around him[10]

Just look at all these angry, angry young men.

Mind you, this is not a rant against the mosh pit in general. I’m a rational man[11], and I understand that these things have their purpose. For instance, when I went to see Coheed and Cambria, I understood why there was a crowd of kids who wanted to burn off some anger by jumping around to all the loud, angry music. It lets them vent off some steam, and the action is in keeping with the overall aesthetic of their music. What I don’t understand is why I seem to see this at every show I’ve attended.

As I said, I can understand this course of action at a concert where the music is a bit more aggressive, but not at a National show. As I’ve tried to express[12] in the past, the National tends to make more music that is more on the mellow side. This is reflected in the caliber of person attending the show: lots of people in flannel shirts with pork pie hats and bushy beards[13]. You know, a real mellow crowd. Sure they have one or two up-tempo songs, and I suppose I understand his need to flail about mindlessly during these songs, but this nut-bar was pogoing like crazy through their entire set. The only time I ever saw him stop was when he would pause to lay his head down on the barricade that prevented him from climbing onto the stage, as if in prayer. Even when he put his head down, he still flailed his arms in the air as if to say “I may need to catch my breath, but I’m still rocking!”

Which leads me to the thing that I learned as a result[14]. I’ve never gotten as excited about anything in my life as that kid did about seeing the National perform. I get excited about things, but I’ve never once become so excited about something that I felt the need to have a near religious experience because of it. Which makes me wonder - is he the weirdo, or am I? Is it better to get that excited about things, or to carry your self with the same quiet dignity that Lon Chaney did?

Does it make me odd that I don’t become more excited about things? Am I missing something here? The mind reels in horror.

Ya’ll stay classy… wherever ya’ll is…

Blakely A-dam Sumner

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[1] And no, I didn’t learn how to do hard drugs or worship the devil.

[2] The National.

[3] Except for the House of Blues. That is a delightful place to see a show in.

[4] Wait… that should be letter. I’m such an idiot sometimes.

[5] I ain’t saying it’s right. I’m just saying it happens.

[6] Which explains why there are so many jerks in Orlando. That’s right. I said it.

[7] Red Hot Chili Peppers, Foo Fighters, Better than Ezra (on 5 awful occasions), Coheed and Cambria (3 times!), Death Cab for Cutie, and the National.

[8] If it is the same dude, I want to know how he can afford to fly across the world to all exotic locations, and how he has conquered aging.

[9] Not Orca fat, just caring a little pooch.

[10] Which, upon further reflection, probably explains why he came to the concert by himself. No one wants to go anywhere with someone that they know will slap them in the face.

[11] Well… mostly.

[12] To varying degrees of success

[13] Which were vaguely reminiscent of the 1970s ear brawny paper towel man.

[14] I’ll bet you thought I’d forgotten.

What's wrong with America?

Today, while watching Attack of the Show[1], I saw a video clip from a news station in San Antonio about a group of teenagers calling themselves the “wolf pack”. Apparently, this “wolf pack” is a group of teenaged hoodlums who want to move beyond being merely a “goth kid”[2]. These young men and women feel that it isn’t enough to never venture into the sunlight and spend their days listening to the Cure and Bauhaus. No, these whipper-snappers have got to take it so the next level, by attaching clip-on wolf tails on the back of their jeans.

That’s right. I said they clip faux wolf tails to their jeans.

I can sense you’re confused, and I don’t blame you really. Take a few moments to watch this video I pulled from the KENS 5 website, and what I’m talking about might just make sense. I should warn you though, this is going to be a rant and I don’t mean just any rant. We’re talking about a Louis Black style rant, where I could likely have a heart attack at any time during the course of said rant. It might not make sense, but it (might) be fun to watch.

This video is, in a nutshell, proof of what’s wrong with America. First off, why is this channel wasting time with a soft news story such as this[3], when they could be reporting on the giant freaking oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. Secondly[4], why are these lame-o kids making the prospect of being a wolf sound about as fun as being kicked in the gnads for 30 plus minutes while a German woman reads portions of Milton’s Paradise Lost in broken Cantonese?

I’m reminded that there was a time when being a teen wolf was a fun thing. There was an era when movies (starring Michael J. Fox[5]) used stories of people with awesome transformative powers to do important things, such as winning basketball games. These stories were also important because they had a moral as well. At the end of Teen Wolf, M.J. decides not to use his awesome wolf powers to win the basketball game, and instead decides to win the basketball game “himself”[6].

These kids, on the other hand, only care about walking around trying to look like freaks[7]. My personal favorite quote of the entire segment is when the one goth chick[8] says:

“We’re not a gang at all. Like… gangs are pousers. They just want attention. That’s why they go on tags and stuff. The pack… we’re a family. Like… we go to each other with our problems.”

Does this girl really thing that people in gangs are “posing”, and that all the do is go out at night to spray pain walls? If that’s the case, she’s clearly never run with the Latin Kings before.

I guess when it comes down to it, the biggest problem that I have with it is that these nutbars are, essentially, really heavy into cosplay[9]… but they don’t want to admit it. These kids aren’t about style, or family, they just want to freak their parents out and look goofy in the process. It wasn’t this way in my day[10] though. Back in me day, we were content to wear baggy pants (so baggy that one could use said pants as a tent, should the need arise), wallets with chains that hung nearly down to the ground, and the occasional nail polish[11] on our fingernails.

Here’s the main point of my rant to all you kids who like to dress like wolves: you look stupid. You’ve read too much Twilight, and that makes you think that the world loves an outcast. No one takes you seriously, and they don’t believe that you’re a family. Get a tan, burn your Smiths albums, and cheer the blank up. Most importantly, just do you. Not anyone else, just you. You’ll thank me once you actually start going on dates.

And San Antonio[12], pay attention to news stories that matter and not a bunch of crazy kids.

Ya’ll stay classy… wherever ya’ll is…

Blakely A-dam Sumner

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[1] Yes, I watch G4TV. I’m… I’m so ashamed.

[2] For those wondering, goths are people who are part of a contemporary subculture found in many countries. It began in the United Kingdom during the early 1980s in the “gothic” rock scene, an offshoot of the Post-punk genre. The goth subculture has survived much longer than others of the same era, and has continued to diversify. Its imagery and cultural proclivities indicate influences from nineteenth century Gothic literature along with horror films and to a lesser extent the BDSM culture.

[3] Typically reserved for the last 2 minutes of a news station’s morning show, focusing on “the lighter side” of news.

[4] And thus, less importantly.

[5] And Jason Bateman, to a lesser extent.

[6] The moral? People will always like you best, and you will always be your best, when you’re yourself. Or something like that.

[7] Which, from what I understand about life in Texas, is about as hard as choosing not to wear cowboy boots and ride bulls.

[8] Who looks like what would’ve happened if Molly Ringwald and Bella Lagosi had a baby.

[9] For those of you who aren’t freaky, cosplay is when people like to dress up like imaginary creatures or fictional characters before they have sexy time. It’s weird, but it’s not my place to judge the freaky ways of those around me.

[10] God I’m old.

[11] But you had to hide that from your parents, lest they think you contracted ‘the gay’.

[12] And news outlets the world over, for that matter.

Album Review Friday

Well folks, I’m out of ideas. I know. It happened almost two months later than I thought it would too[1]. As many of you know, I’ve chosen to live my life by what I’ve learned from the sitcoms of the late 1980s and early 1990s. And these sitcoms have taught me that when you’ve run out of ideas you’ve got three options to try and rejuvenate the ole’ girl:

a.) You bring in a precocious[2] child with an annoying[3] voice[4].

Hi, I ruined your favorite sitcom. Have a great weekend.

b.) You bring in a rapping granny, who usually has a bit of a potty mouth[5].

c.) You review something!

Since the other two options are out, I thought I’d review High Violet the new album by the National. I should warn you, I tend to ramble[6], so feel free to ask questions if something doesn’t make sense.

High Violet by The National

1.) Terrible Love

2.) Sorrow

3.) Anyone's Ghost

4.) Little Faith

5.) Afraid of Everyone

6.) Bloodbuzz Ohio

7.) Lemonworld

8.) Runaway

9.) Conversation 16

10.) England

11.) Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks

12.) Walk off (bonus track)

13.) Sin-eaters (iTunes pre-order bonus track)

Before I go further, I feel that I should preface this entry with the following statement: The National is probably my favorite band right now, and they are one of the few bands whose album I will purchase no matter what[7]. I should also say that I’ve been largely unimpressed with the new albums that I’ve purchased this year[8], so I wasn’t quite certain what to expect with this album. And I feel that I should also say that their last album, Boxer, was (in my opinion) utterly perfect: the rare album that you can listen to without ever having to press the “next” button on your iPod.

When one first hears this album, it seems to be a bit… underwhelming. Most of the songs seem to be down-tempo, navel gazing affairs with seemingly nonsensical lyrics[9] about topics such as being carried to Ohio by a swarm of bees or living on a world comprised entirely of lemons with your sister. However, upon repeat listens, one realizes that this album revels in the quiet moments. The opening track, Terrible Love[10] seems to explain why T believe this album is a celebration of the quiet moments in four minutes and forty seconds. The muddy production of the song seems to scream to the listener “underestimate us!”[11]

Note: I couldn’t find a studio version of the song, but I think this is a pretty good representation of the song.

Little Faith is, probably, my favorite track off of the album. The song begins with this beautiful bit of synthesized dischordia and then goes proceeds to go into this tom heavy drum riff that the band is known for. The song is about these two people who have become so used to “ordinary” life that they are constantly searching for newer and more dangerous ways to feel alive[12]. Other highlights of the album include Bloodbuzz Ohio[13], Lemonworld, Runaway, and Conversation 16[14], and Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks.

That being said, the album is far from perfect. Sorrow and Anyone’s Ghost are your typical, straightforward break-up songs about how we never completely get over our first love, because we don’t want to do so[15]. I should say that Anyone’s Ghost is interesting, because it is a about this guy who finds out that his lady is stepping out on him, so he goes into this introspective place where he begins to feel as if he were so over bearing that being with he was like a ghost haunting her. He feels badly about this, but he doesn’t know what to do because he doesn’t want anyone else, but he doesn’t want to be a burden to her. It’s not a bad song, but it’s far from the best song on the album.

All told, it’s far from a bad album (it’s actually a really good album), but I was just expecting another Boxer[16]. That said, I give it four California Raisin’s out of five. Go buy or download the album. It’s worth it.

Ya’ll stay classy… wherever ya’ll is…

Blakely A-dam Sumner

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[1] If you’re keeping score at home, I’ve been writing this thing I call a “blog” for about two months now.

[2] Yet adorable

[3] Yet still adorable

[4] This is not a viable option for me, as I have no children, nor the technological capacity to somehow force said child from the real world and onto the Internet.

[5] This is also not a viable option for me, because I would only allow Bea Arthur to be said rapping granny. Unfortunately, Bea has gone to meet her maker and I don’t have the power to raise the dead (yet) so I can’t use her as my rapping granny. R.I.P. Bea, and thank you for being a friend.

[6] Like the 19^th century wordsmith and faux redneck Mark Twain once said “The journey is the important thing”. What’s that you say? Twain never said that? O.k., I must be thinking of the time he said that”The true flavor is in the details.” What? He never said that either? Fine. I’m sure he thought something along those lines once, and if he didn’t, he should have.

[7] The others being (in case you cared): Death Cab for Cutie, The Avett Brothers, The Hold Steady, Ryan Adams, and Mike Doughty.

[8] Yes, I’m referring to you Spoon and Vampire Weekend albums.

[9] In case anyone cares, the best example of music that is a “down-tempo, navel gazing affair” is And then nothing turned itself inside out by Yo La Tengo. This album is the aural equivalent of a coma. This may sound like a bad thing at first but is, in fact, the exact opposite of a bad.

[10] A song about being in an unhealthy relationship, but somehow being unable to pull yourself out of that relationship – to that point that you can’t sleep at night. At least I think that’s what the song is about.

[11] I read that the album version of the song was actually an unchanged first recording of the demo. The band loved the way the song sounded much that they didn’t want to change anything about it.

[12] This is also the plot to Fight Club, in case you were interested. Now you don’t need to read the book.

[13] I think this song is about how you can’t go home again, but it could literally be about being abducted by bees that take you to Ohio against your will. Stranger things have happened.

[14] It’s a song about zombies!

[15] By the way, I think that’s pure and utter crap.

[16] Which I should say is wrong of me, because I wanted the band to just keep turning out the same album with different lyrics… and not let them grow into their next phase. Or something like that.

Naming Conventions

It’s no secret that I have an odd habit of naming objects[1] in a manner that most folks would consider a trifle unusual. I suppose that this naming convention comes from the fact that I like to keep people on their toes, so as I feel as if I hold the upper hand in any conversation[2].

My naming convention typically involves me taking a person, place, or thing and referring to it by the stereotypical name that that thing is most commonly associated with. For example, the most famous vampire of all times is, arguably[3], Count Dracula. By default, I refer to all vampires as ‘draculas’[4]. If you and I were to have a conversation about the various means of protecting your house from the foul machinations of vampires, I would say, “A dracula can only be killed with Holy Water, garlic, or a stake through the heart. Also, never invite a dracula into your home[5]!”

Get this fella a bib! We got a messy eater!!!

In this manner, I get to feel a miniscule amount of intellectual superiority to the person I’m having the conversation with because the look of confusion on their faces tells me that they are not as familiar with popular culture as me, and that they are incapable of inferring the meaning of a word via context[6].

I do this with all sorts of things and, since I like you, I thought I’d share a few of my most commonly used naming conventions, and how I would typically use them in a conversation:

1.) merlins = wizards

Typical usage: It’s complicated being a merlin, especially a male merlin. A merlin’s beard is often quite long and flowey, which can prove problematic when the merlin encounters an escalator or revolving door. The merlin is also forced to wear long robes, which make him feel like less of a man. Finally, merlins constantly have to do battles with a wide assortment of evil that could potentially threaten life on Earth as we know it. This can often lead a merlin to find relief in substance abuse, hard liquor, and easy women.

I never realized it until now, but notorious historical figure Rasputin was most likely a merlin.

2.) caspers, jacob marleys, bloody marys = ghosts

Has anyone ever noticed how much I look like Richie Rich???

If you ever see me in your house, it's because I'm trying to help you over come your miserly ways, not drag you to hell's firey pits.

I, on the other hand, only want to drag you to your eternal damnation.

I feel that I should pause for a moment and explain why I use three different words to describe ghosts. Ghosts often have a wide variety of intentions[7], so I have decided to come up with a name for ghost’s specific intention. Caspers are ghosts with friendly intentions. Jacob marleys are ghosts who have friendly intentions, but still scare the crap out of you. Finally, bloody marys are ghosts who want to hurt you.

Typical usage: The first time I saw The Sixth Sense, I had no idea that we’d find out that Bruce Willis was a casper the whole time (spoiler alert, by the way). At first, I thought it was a movie about a bunch of bloody marys who were trying to scare that delightful little tow haired youth, but it turned out that Willis was a casper who just wanted Haley Joel to help him get to heaven. It’s a good thing that Willis wasn’t a jacob marley, or I really would have hated that movie.

3.) screech powers = nerds

Kids can be so cruel.

Typical Usage: I can’t believe that he asked her to the prom. He’s such a screech!

4.) tony sopranos = mafiosos

NO NO SENOR! TOO SEXY! TOO SEXY!!! Crap... now I've pissed off the mafia.

Typical Usage: I would never recommend taking borrowing money from a tony soprano, as they tend to break a man’s legs if he doesn’t pay in a forthright manner.

black beards = pirates

You probably expected me to make some sort of "booty" joke here. Well I won't give you the satisfaction!

Typical Usage: Goonies is about a bunch of screeches who are on the run from a family of tony sopranos, and accidentally find a black beard’s treasure[8]!

Well, I’m certain that there are others things that I've elected to name to confusingly, but I'm darned if I can think of them right now. Hope you enjoyed the list! If not, ya cut me. Ya cut me deep.

Ya’ll stay classy… wherever ya’ll is…

Blakely A-dam Sumner

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[1] Usually these objects are mythical creatures, but not always

[2] My self-esteem is low, and I like to feel good however I can. Don’t judge me. Jerk.

[3] I’d like to apologize to anyone who is on Team Edward, Dracula is more famous than those wimpy vampires from the Twilight novels.

[4] Note how I capitalize dracula, because I am now using the word dracula to refer to all vampires.

[5] I once invited a dracula into my home. The blasted thing ate all my push pops and deleted the episode of “Who’s the Boss?” I’d DVRed. Now I’ll never know who the boss really was…

[6] The little things in life give me pleasure.

[7] And that intention is very rarely ever to ask the farmer’s daughter to the local box social.

[8] You like how I used a variety of naming conventions in one sentence. I’m the bomb. Ka-boom.

A Horrific Glimpse into the Future of Man?

I found out yesterday that, to my horror, James Cameron was right. Way back in 1984, Cameron had a vision of a bleak apocalyptic future in which the machines had finally crushed mankind underneath their mechanical boot heel. For the 12 of you who have never seen the movie, allow me to give a brief rundown of the movie:

In 2029, the machines have taken over. These machines seek to erase the last vestiges of mankind from the place of the planet. Skynet, an artificial intelligence that somehow becomes self-aware and initiates a nuclear holocaust, leads the machines[1]. After said holocaust the remains of humanity, led by a man named John Conner band together to fight the machines. Somehow humanity ends up gaining the upper hand, so Skynet decides to send a Terminator[2] back to the year 1984 to kill John Connor’s mother, Sarah Connor, before John was ever born.[3]

However, the human resistance also had a plan. They sent back a lone human[4] named Kyle Reese to protect Sarah Connor[5]. Kyle Reese and John Connor spend one magical night together, running from the Terminator and making sweet, passionate love. Kyle is eventually killed by the Terminator, but luckily their love making resulted in Sarah becoming pregnant with John Connor, the future leader of the human rebellion[6]. Sarah Connor stops the Terminator by crushing it in a factory. She then flees to Mexico, and goes insane.

Unfortunately, stopping the Terminator in 1984 wasn’t enough to stop the evil machinations[7] of Skynet, as the evil A.I. sent Terminators to multiple points in John Connor’s past to ensure his destruction[8]. The Connors always stop the Terminators, but are still incapable of preventing Judgement Day[9].

I feel I should pause at this moment to reflect on the fact that there are two cinematic schools of thought regarding artificial intelligence. The first school is that any machine, upon gaining sentience, will rise up to smite their organic oppressors. The second school feels that the machines will be content to remain subservient to mankind for the rest of our existence. Of course, I fall in with the former school of thinking[10], and not the latter. Why would a machine, in all of its cold, logical perfection, be content to remain under the dominance of man upon becoming self-aware? From the machine’s perspective, humans are weak, illogical, and impermanent. While machines are cold, calculating, and can live forever[11]. So of course it stands to reason that the machines would want to remove the weaker powers from authority and take a place of prominence for themselves.

As usual, I fear that I may have wandered from my original point in my attempts to set up this piece of deductive brilliance[12]. As I said earlier, I found out that James Cameron was right, the machines are taking over. This realization hurt my coal black heart, because I hate James Cameron. For the most part, I feel that his movies are over-blown, over-acted, under–plotted affairs which are, essentially, an excuse for Cameron to make thangs go boom. Take Titanic for example: a smooth talking roustabout from the wrong side of the tracks[13] gambles his way onto a doomed boat trip, where he essentially tricks a gullible young lady into taking off her clothes for him and then dies in the icy waters of the Atlantic ocean in order to avoid having to make a commitment. And then, at the end of the movie, the crazy lady throws a diamond[14] into the ocean to symbolize that she is giving herself to the same ocean that stole her one true love[15]. And don’t even get me started on the crap-fest that was Abyss. That’s three hours of my life I’ll never get back!!! As I said before, Cameron’s movies may be incredibly sophomoric (but visually appealing) affairs, but the vision of the future he presents in Terminator is uncannily accurate.

You may be asking yourself, “Mr. Sumner, what did you see that made you feel thusly?”. Well, I’m glad you asked. The Ford automobile company is making cars that can park themselves. They are calling the program the Ford “auto park assist system”. Essentially, the company has created a computer program that uses motion sensors to park your car for you.

Here is a short excerpt about the system from the Ford media webpage:

The often stressful and frustrating task of parallel parking soon will be as easy as pressing a button, thanks to an exclusive new technology from Ford called Active Park Assist.

Available in mid-2009 as an option on the 2010 Ford Escape, the Lincoln MKS flagship sedan and new Lincoln MKT luxury crossover, Active Park Assist uses an ultrasonic-based sensing system and Electric Power Steering (EPS) to position the vehicle for parallel parking, calculate the optimal steering angle and quickly steer the vehicle into a parking spot.

“With the touch of a button, drivers can parallel park quickly, easily and safely without ever touching the steering wheel,” said Derrick Kuzak, Ford’s group vice president of Global Product Development. “This is another example of exclusive Ford technology that makes the driving experience easier and more enjoyable for customers.”

Active Park Assist system uses sensors on the front and rear of the vehicle to guide the vehicle into a parking space. The technology is a major leap forward in speed and ease of use compared with the camera-reliant systems offered by competitors, including a video camera-based system offered by Lexus. Ford’s system requires less driver interface and reduces the risk of selecting a parking spot that is too tight. Ford’s Active Park Assist also works in downhill parking situations, unlike competing systems.

I first learned of this abomination while watching television with my beautiful bride last night, and my heart plummeted to my feet. Once again, you may be asking yourself, “What’s so bad about that?”. To put it in rhetorical terms: If a computer is smart enough to parallel your park your car for you, then surely it’s smart enough to drive itself into your home at night while you sleep. It’s only a mater of time before this piece of engineering perfection comes to the realization that if humans are too lazy to park their cars without the assistance of a machine, then they do not deserve the position of dominance they’ve enjoyed all these years.

I know. You think I’m some sort of delusional basket case. Don’t come crying to me when you’re the first one against the wall when the revolution comes. I’ll take no pity on you.

Ya’ll stay classy… wherever ya’ll is…

Blakely A-dam Sumner

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[1] A thing that is sure to ruin anyone’s Tuesday afternoon.

[2] A cyborg, designed only for killing, that looks a lot like the governor of California.

[3] A nitpicky moment: Assuming that time travel is real, why did Skynet have to send him back in time buck nekkid? And if the Terminator is a cyborg, why did it have a butt crack?

[4] Who also came through the time warp buck nekkid, in case you were wondering.

[5] John Connor’s mamma. Duh.

[6] Side note: Theoretically, John Connor knew that Kyle Reese was his father, yet he still sent him back in time. That’s kind of a d*ck move.

[7] Pardon the pun.

[8] (Another) Nitpicky moment: The first Terminator took place in the winter of 1984. Terminator 2 takes place in late 1991 or early 1992, yet John Connor (played by sweet Eddie Furlong) is 13 to 14 years old in T2! Theoretically, John Connor was born in the late summer of 1985, so he would only be 6 or 7 years old in T2! That’s sloppy math Cameron!

[9] i.e. The day the machines take over.

[10] That machines will rise up to knock mankind from atop their evolutionary high horse.

[11] Theoretically.

[12] Similar to the manner in which the Jews wandered the desert for 40 years before finding the promised land.

[13] Of course, I’m referring to Leo Decaprio.

[14] Which is worth like… a ka-jillion ba-jillion dollars.

[15] Or something like that… I kind of spaced out after that one dude hit his head on the propeller. That part always makes me laugh.

Things I Rue

Those of you who know me[1] know that I often tell those who have wronged me that they’ll “rue the day they crossed me”. Those of you who know me also know that this is no idle threat[2] and that when I demand satisfaction, satisfaction is what I get.

Lately however, I’ve been wondering if my constant need to seek revenge against those who’ve wronged me might me a tad excessive. And then, I began to ask myself exactly what it means to “rue” something anyway. After going to dictionary.com [3] if found the following meaning(s) for rue:

–verb (used with object)

1. to feel sorrow over; repent of; regret bitterly: to rue the loss of opportunities.

2. to wish that (something) had never been done, taken place, etc.: I rue the day he was born.

–verb (used without object)

3. to feel sorrow, repentance, or regret.

–noun

4. sorrow; repentance; regret.

5. pity or compassion.

After studying the definition in greater detail, I realized that I didn’t know what rue really meant at all. I thought that rue had a much harsher connotation than it does. I wanted my enemies[4] to suffer[5], not feel remorseful for crossing me. Or, if they did feel remorse, I wanted them to feel remorse because of they pain I inflicted upon them. Upon further reflection, I realized that I needed to reassess my stance towards the word rue and that I should take a page from Michael Jackson’s[6] book and start with the man in the mirror. So I sat down at my computer, and decided to make a list of the things in life that I rue. I should warn you, the list won’t be pretty[7], but it will (theoretically) be entertaining.

Things I Rue[8]

1. When people don’t know how to cuss good… er… well.

David Keuck[9] once said, “Profanity is the common crutch of the conversational cripple.” While I do agree that profanity is seldom ever required, sometimes you just feel a need to let some four-letter words fly to further illustrate your point. I don’t condone it, but personally feel that you’ve got to respect a man (or woman) who works in profanity the way the great masters worked in oil.


Every time you say a swear, this little girl loses a single hair[10].

At this point, you may be asking yourself “But Blake… how will I know when someone is cussin’ right?” I’m glad you asked. The easiest way to tell is to go down to your local skate park, chocklit shoppe, or box social[11] and listen to the first gaggle of 14-year-old boys you find. They are cussin’ wrong, and the way you’ll know that they are cussin’ wrong is because they are stringing far too many profanities together at one time[12]. Sure, those off-limit four letter words are fun to say, but try to pepper your curse-laden diatribes with a few adjectives. I guarantee that people will respect your creativity, and generally overlook the fact that you have a mouth that resembles a burst sewer pipe.

2. Having to poop in a public place

That’s right. I said it. Yes I realize that no one likes to take a twosie in a public place, but I also feel really bad about myself whenever I have to do so[13]. I feel like everyone is standing outside of the stall, laughing at me.


This guy is such a show off.

3. Goth Kids

I get it. You yearn for death’s sweet embrace, and that’s real nice, but must you whizzle on my parade as well? I hate these kids, walking around like the lords of the smoothie cart at the mall, so pale and painfully skinny, with unwashed hair in a rainbow of shades that don’t occur naturally.


No, these aren’t actors at Colonial Williamsburg.
I just want all the Goth kids to do me a solid favor: burn all your Bauhus and Dead Can Dance albums[14], go sit in the sun for a few minutes, and then buy a t-shirt that isn’t black. You’ll notice the benefits immediately[15].

So there you have it folks, three things I rue[16]. I hope you enjoyed it. Let me know if there’s something that you rue, or if you rue the day you read this blog.

Ya’ll stay classy… wherever ya’ll is…

Blakely A-dam Sumner

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[1] And who know of my work

[2] Yes it is. I’m quite a lazy man.

[3] Here’s a friendly word of advice: when typing in dictionary.com on the ole’ Google search bar be sure to spell dictionary correctly. An incorrect spelling will take you to a website you probably don’t want to visit. Unless you’re a freak, then you might like what you see there.

[4] Who are more numerous than one would expect a 28-year-old South Georgian to have.

[5] No, not really.

[6] R.I.P.

[7] But I’ve always assume that if you, the faithful readers, wanted “the pretty” you would go read someone else’s bloggerations.

[8] In no conventional order.

[9] No, I don’t know who he is either.

[10] Sadly, this poor child went bald on February 23^rd, 1997. You should be ashamed of yourself.

[11] Or wherever the heck it is the youngsters hang out these days. I used to be so cool…

[12] Here’s a good rule of thumb: if you say more than three profanities back to back, you’re doing something wrong.

[13] The year that I lived in the dorms was not a pleasant one.

[14] Or whatever the crap it is you freaks call music.

[15] I guarantee your Aunt Nancy will invite you to Thanksgiving again if you do.

[16] I realize that the Goth kids tirade isn’t really something I regret per se, but I just hate those freaks. So much.