I Blog In Chains

Dear Dysfunctional,

as the day passes before me, marked by very little activity and even less worth mentioning, I find

myself at the end of the day with my gaze fixed on a screen, attempting yet again to pour forth with

fervor those words which so often lack the desired lucidity. Blogging is no longer something I do

purely for enjoyment; those days are behind me, though I often enjoy the works I create. No, I have

been enslaved; enslaved yet again to what began as a simple innocent pasttime. Each day that passes

without a post leaves etched in my mind a tinge of guilt for not sating my craving for expression.

Perhaps I should instead limit myself to trimming bonsai trees and carving incredibly ornate ivory tusks

for a pastime; that seems like a much more tame and more relaxing hobby. Writing, however, is never

entirely a feat which is effortless and enjoyable. Naturally, there are times when it is enjoyable and

entertaining, but if you can regularly write on either many different subjects, or write at great length on

the same subject, then kudos to you. I'm sorry, my writing is obviously not nearly that prolific. So when

I feel obligated to write posts on random topics in relatively short succession, the strain becomes

evident. I lose all my hair, my teeth fall out, and I develop other symptoms, which my doctor incorrectly

credits to scurvy. And so here I am, confessing my opinions to you, dear reader. But remember always

that I do so not because I want to, but because I must; for you see, I blog in chains.

Don't forget to write!

Milton Hanes

Song of the day is... Burnin' For You, by Blue Oyster Cult I know, you don't like this type of music,

but hey, its what I listen to, and this blog is all about me, me, and me

A Childhood Mentality

Dear Dysfunctional,
over the years, your world view has doubtlessly changed innumerable times. I am also willing to bet that you have rarely taken the time to look back on how the world looked through the lens of your childhood. If you did take that time, perhaps you would remember the universal axiom of childhood; everything is intriguing. Though the instinct to put everything from wood blocks to your moms curling iron in your mouth may have died at age two or three, the urge to touch and examine everything still clung to your personality. In fact, I know a good many people who still have that same curiosity (or perhaps just a generally gossipy disposition) imbedded in their psyche. The child's imagination is the perfect complement for this curiosity; normal dull objects become fascinating venues of adventure. An umbrella becomes a shotgun or a parachute, (though this latter function has often gotten me into trouble, and quickly brought me to grips with gravity) pillows become everything from discus' to construction material for elaborate pillow houses (spending time in those with candles and reading or something is still on my top twenty of favorite ways to spend time) to an airplane. Now, these principles of the society of children may seem... well, childish, but honestly, do you have more fun now than you did as a kid? Unless your childhood was marked my tragedy and misery, than you enjoyed the world at least ten times more than you do now. So my advice to you is go and get out a teddy bear and pretend that he's on safari with you. Ten times better than checking your Facebook feed every ten minutes.
ta-ta,
Clive the Hermit

PS, song of the day is Supersonic Rocket Ship, by The Kinks

Thought Pattern... Of A Sort

Dear Dysfunctional,
Time. No, not thyme, time. There is a vast difference; thyme is a seasoning which also serves a very useful purpose of softly carpeting the ground whereupon it grows, thereby eradicating any meddlesome weeds planning on sprouting. No, I said meddlesome weeds, not meddlesome kids. Meddlesome kids are a bunch of amateur crime fighters who somehow manage to find droves of criminals crazy enough commit crime while pulling off exorbitant scares. No, I did not say stairs. Stairs are an antiquated way of reaching the second floor. They only put those in buildings to make fat people feel guilty. No, they aren't really guilty of a criminal offense. But McDonalds should be. No, not Old McDonald who had a farm and the audacity to coin a hideous song which will haunt mankind for years to come.  No, I'm talking about Old McDonald, not Friday with Rebecca.  Friday is a demonic interpretation of the thirteen year old club scene. No, that actually doesn't exist in Miami. But sharks do... No, not card sharks. Those cohabit Las Vegas with George Clooney and Brad Pitt. No, Pitt does not advertise deodorant. But he does do a Chanel no. 5 commercial and have strange hair that's just as disturbing as the amount of coverage of Angelina Jolie's double mastectomy is getting. No, her last name is not Smith. Smith was a guy who, despite having an incredibly interesting story and costarring in a Disney movie, has the single most generic name of all time. No, not thyme, time. And we have now come full circle.
What now?
John Smith














Song of the day is Purple Haze, by Jimi Hendrix

Subversive

Dear Dysfunctional,
advertising. If you are anything like me, than the mere mention of this word strikes terror in your heart. It conjures up images of interruptions in your show or music, infiltrating your life with messages of dull products that you would otherwise never really consider or even desire to purchase. Life insurance, dishwashing detergent, a Hyundai; the list continues into perpetuity. Of course, commercials can be obtrusive and obnoxious, but there gradually they are becoming not only more appealing (Superbowl commercials, anybody?), but also more common and creative. Advertising has made a fundamental leap; while before commercials may have tried to sell you a product based on an intellectual analysis of its superior quality, now they are almost all a base appeal to your emotions. Advertising wins its audiences over by how appealing it makes a product based on obscure emotional connection. Suddenly, you want to buy Geico because a gecko has somehow stolen the hearts of America with its poor animation and cool british accent. Oh, and nobody will admit to liking progressive because Flo is thought of as the most annoying being this side of the Rebecca Black. Since when has anybody really given any thought to their insurance company until it came down to bill day? Well, I suppose that advertising has worked pretty well.
Theodore Franks

PS Song of the day is Wing$ by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis

The Frightening Reality... TV

Dear Dysfunctional,
One of the current blights of mankind in the present day is a religious ritual which its promulgators term "Reality Television".  Its critics have given it the scornful title of "oh, come on.  This is so obviously scripted.  I mean, there is no way this crap happens in real life.  I mean, the wife has obviously had plastic surgery even though they live in the middle of freaking nowhere." This is not the complete title; it continues for a couple minutes in more complex jargon that most people consider unfit for general consumption.  Now, it's not entirely justified.  Why, you ask?  well, my fine feathered friend, (or perhaps you don't have feathers; though some of my detractors have claimed that my writing is for the birds) it is unfortunately true that this is actually unscripted.  I'm sorry, but these things, though perhaps a little *ahem* dramatized, are in fact bearing some semblance to real life. Now, if these scenarios were totally disconnected from reality and written by writers out there to shock and create emotional ties and rifts, then it would just be like the rest of TV drama, as stupid as that also is. However, these shows are about people who are actually performing this way in front of tens of thousands of viewers on a regular basis. So essentially, this bears some semblance to how they live their real lives. I happen to find that scarier than a show about midwives. Well, given that these reality TV stars do exist, perhaps the best solution is to stick all of them on the next season of Survivor and leave them there to form their own dysfunctional colony. Either that, or we could ignore them entirely and stop endorsing their pathetic behavior by throwing them out on TV.
Bye for now,
Gilmore Smalles

PS song of the day is... Australia, by The Shins. And idea credit to my editor/... editor, Iris Vipperman or Iris Hanlin or whatever alias she is going under right now.

Sleep On, Oh Vulnerable One

Dear Dysfunctional,
Sleep is a beautiful thing. In sleep, you are refreshed, and upon waking, the troubles and worries of the previous day have dropped from your beleaguered mind as snow from the winter sky. The human in repose is an image of peace and trust unlike any other. Uncognizant of his surroundings, the sleeping soul trusts that the world around him will continue in its good graces towards him; that he will not awake to find that all is not well. Well, the person that assumes this has obviously never had any real friends. When one falls alseep, the trust is so great that your fellow man can not help but betray it. I have, and I kid you not, awoken to find that my friends have draped me in pickles and grass and jumped on me repeatedly in my rest. Nor is this trait a new one. Man has devised scores of tortures to inflict on the sleeping; whipped cream, water torture, the infamous warm water trick (which does not really work, by the by), and dragging individuals about the room or even college campus to pose pantless with multiple landmarks and the like. To be perfectly frank, I would prefer that we needn't sleep at all. Sleep is a huge scam. It is pleasurable, but only in so much as relieves you of tiredness. But if you weren't tired in the first place, then sleep would be an utter pain. It's like social networking; it doesnt make any sense until everybody buys into it, and at that point there's no escape...

Sweet Dreams!
Sir Elton Talley















PS, song of the day is Shoot You Down, by The Stone Roses

Workout Satire

Dear Dysfunctional,
And now, an excerpt from my workout journal.


Day 1:
In preparation for my new workout regimen, I took it upon myself to visit such premier stores such as Walmart and... Walmart in search of proper fitness equipment. The first item on my list was fairly easy to find; roughly three metric tons worth of bottled water. I view this purchase by way of a longterm commitment: as it is, I now have enough of the most plentiful compound in the world to last me in this fitness program until about the ripe age of 120. I figured this based on the estimate that my rigorous cardio should demand about three quarts of water, fortified with crystal light, per diem. The second item was somewhat more difficult to locate. I cannot understand why it is so difficult to locate headbands in purples and oranges, an item so popular during the nineties. Upon continuing, I was shocked by the exorbitant pricing of small three quarter pound weights. Upon reading the price tag, I paused for an executive decision and have resolved that, for the betterment of my budget, I can sacrifice a modicum of my professional image by substituting the weights with a pair of hefty soup spoons. Next, I purchased every Madonna CD I could possibly lay my hands on. I figured that I would need music not only to keep my blood pumping, but also to assure any other runners in the near vicinity that I was knowledgeable of the nature of the pastime, and not an amateur who was not even aware of the close connection between running and music. Lastly, but not leastly, I selected a pair of flamboyantly coloured Nike shoes. I chose the most expensive pair, which were around the price of a small car. I find this appropriate, as I have sold my car in the expectancy that in the near future, I will be able to run to any of my more patronized locations. The only thing I fail to understand is why the shoes are so expensive, despite the fact that they seem to be made with minimum materials. 


This has been a short excerpt of a small journal that continued for four or five days. Tune in next week for the continuation of this inspiring true story. And just remember that you too can drop those extra pounds; all it takes is determination, resolve, resoluteness, will, purpose, courage, boldness, steadfastness, and liposuction. 

Stay strong and resolute and courageous and determined and steadfast, 
Chase Mulliett 

PS, song of the day is totally irrelevant, Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes, by Paul Simon.