Everyone everywhere knows about the big Terry Schiavo case. This woman who supposedly told her husband she wants to die rather than live on machines before she was put in the situation, yet nothing was in writing – etc. Well I’m sick of it.

Just let the woman die. In fact, its time for some euthanasia here. Where the hell is Dr. J K when you need him? Give her some sleepy pills, some happy gas, or have Jack Bauer “extract” information from her – but let the poor woman die in peace. I think it would be actually MORE cruel to put the feeding tube back in now. Can you imagine? “Yeah okay, we’re following your wishes, you’re gonna die…wait…hold on….maybe we can…interfere just a little…more….OKAY PUT IT BACK IN!”

Give me a break. This woman’s quality of life with that damn tube in is JUST like being dead. You’re laying somewhere uncomfortable for the rest of eternity, you can’t really feel it, you don’t know what’s going on in the world – the only difference is someone is piping disgusting mush down your throat for, possibly, years. Whoop dee do. I’m sure it makes others SO happy to see you alive in this way. Let go people.

Also, can’t they get her damn name right? I mean please, the name is Italian (if its not I apologize for this tangent) so it should be pronounced “SKI-AH-VOH” jerks! I mean the news, everywhere, no one is getting it right. I don’t care if even she didn’t pronounce it right – she couldn’t cause of that damn feeding tube.

That’s all I really care to say. Once again the news has found something completely stupid to become obsessed over instead of trying to find some actual information for us – thanks a lot idiots.

It’s come to my attention recently that, due to outside stresses including work, school, and general social aggravation due to certain collective groups (and, mostly, my own stupidity), I have started taking myself too seriously.

In an effort to avoid the mundane existence of some preposterous jerk who riddles his life with only serious and complex issues (seemingly to himself anyway) I’ve decided to give myself a metaphorical labotomy on the parts of my brains that allow me to continually analyze and bother myself with these things. I’m not really sure how to accomplish this, only to say that I’m going to start by eliminating long sentences like the latter.

It’s goofy to worry about stuff that a) has not and probably will not happen, b) is impossible to control c) what other people think. Of course this basically sums up anxiety, but I’m currently not suffering from anxiety, nor have I really suffered from it in quite some time now (which is a blessing). The interesting thing is I think if I allowed myself to continually cycle through these preposterous ideas-instead of poopy jokes, cool toys, and good food-it would eventually drive me crazy enough to try and give myself an ACTUAL labotomy. Just kidding.

What does it boil down to then? I’m going to try and appreciate each day for what is rather than worry so much about tomorrow. That doesn’t mean I will be apathetic to the future or to important long-term decisions, but more that allowing myself to worry about them will be cut to a minimum.

I’m going to try and accomplish this by a few minutes of meditation each morning starting tomorrow (as today’s morning is nearly gone) and basically I’m just doing this to see if it works. I talked to an ex-girlfriend last night who told me she’s been on meds for depression and anxiety for three years, but she was still having relationship problems similar to the ones we had when we dated years ago. I told her about the success I’ve had dealing with anxiety and how I managed to do it and in the end it fired me up to not let myself be trapped by own conscience or sub-conscience – so if you notice me not taking things as seriously (except for, of course, Ultimate)- that’s the reason. I’m trying to return mentally to a child’s mindset of worry, that is, try and relax and have a little more fun with things.

Can I do it? I think that probably I can though it will take time. The highest hurdle will of course be driving in Miami.

Here’s mine:

This morning I got up,
and let out the dog.
He did all his business,
behind an old log.
Then inside came he,
at which point I showered,
I think his pee,
helps our yard to be flowered.

I grabbed my granola,
my wallet and keys,
Franklin lept on the couch,
where he likes to sleep.
I grabbed up my bottle,
that’s all filled with water,
And went to my car,
inside of which is hotter.

The sun was a-shining,
the breeze was a-blowin,
(Unlike in PA,where, chances are, it is snowin).
I wasn’t too happy,
To work I must go,
To sit on my rear,
file paper, earn dough.

The morning was busy,
people blustering in.
Well, blustering for my work,
is really quite thin.
I helped maybe one,
or perhaps two to four,
of the early old people
who’d walked in the door.

Then all of sudden
the nothing sprang out.
Bored out of my mind,
should I scream? should I pout?
It’s Snood I will play!
And posts I will post,
and emails I’ll send,
and read how to catch ghosts.

Some schoolwork I did,
but that was quite lame.
Some grading I did,
My students have no brains.
Then my boss, he comes in
and says “get back to work!”
So I flipped him the finger and
said “Stuff it you jerk!”

That didn’t really happen,
but I wish it had.
It’d give me a story,
to which you’d say “Bad!”
But not bad as in bad,
more like you liked it so much,
Just like in the 80’s,
before Jackson’s kid-touch.

But alas I digress,
now back to the story.
Of sitting at work,
in all of its glory.
So I checked 24,
the episode I missed.
Did Jack fire a gun?
Of course, he was pissed!

That was pretty cool,
then who came to the office?
What a surprise,
it was one of my bosses.
He said “you know you get lunch,
Don’t just sit here all day!”
So I went to get lunch,
at a place called Sub-way.

I had tuna on wheat,
with BBQ chips,
And on the walk,
I checked out the chicks.
Cause as I said it was sunny,
and also quite hot.
So the girls were laying out,
and not wearing a lot.

But then back to work,
some more people came in.
Really only two,
not even a din.
So I thought to myself,
“How the time shall I pass
while I’m just sitting here,
testing my ass?”

“Eureka!” I screamed,
(well, I didn’t scream it really.
If I’d screamed Eureka,
people’d think I was silly.)
“Some rhymes I will rhyme,
and a poem I’ll make.”
so I started this poem,
just for boredom’s sake.

But its gotten quite long,
and not very good.
So I think I will end it.

St. Patrick’s Day is a day when everyone who’s Irish
makes excuses to drink themselves silly…so really
its just a day like any other. I’m not sure how it
came about and I don’t really care, I always have a
good time on St. Patty’s with one little exception:
The pinching. If you don’t wear green you’re
supposedly going to get pinched.

It surprises me that in this day and age of
“enlightenment” (read: ultra-sensitivity) that someone
hasn’t been sued for sexual harrassment because of
being pinched on St. Patrick’s Day. Don’t get me
wrong, I’m glad the American people have decided that
some things ARE still sacred – after all where would
we be without our yearly St. Patty’s Day welts? That
being said I think the last time I got pinched on St.
Patrick’s day was high school, so maybe times they
really are a-changin’ – I wouldn’t really know though
because despite the fact that I forget about Drinking
Day every year, I some how manage to leave the house
with something green on.

At any rate this was just a useless idea that passed
through my brain. I’m sitting here at work wishing
the person I’d love to pinch were in the same country
as me right now, and putting off doing my TA duties of
flunking all the students in my class (not really).
More non-sense to come.

Screw you Michael Jordan. You got NOTHIN’ on Jack Bauer.

There I said it. Never in my short life have I wanted to be a TV or movie character more than I do when Jack Bauer takes the stage. Jack Bauer is the complete bomb. Here are some reasons why –

1. If someone gives you guff, shoot them in the damn leg. That’s right. It can be a bullet or a tranquilizer gun, it doesn’t really matter, just do it. No one around you will care because you get results and because they don’t want to be shot in the leg.

2. You will always be right. Rest assured fellow co-workers, friends, and even family members will get mad at you and tell you how wrong you are. Don’t worry about it. You’re right. You will always be right. The best part is you don’t even rub it in their face, you just give them a knowing gaze as you seemingly predict the future time and again.

3. The babes. I don’t think I know a single girl (or a married one) who knows Jack Bauer and doesn’t want to jump right on his weiner.

4. Is there someone sneaking up behind you? Is there an armed assailant nearby? No problem. You have bad-ass hand to hand combat skills. You can break ankles, dodge punches, and even break necks with your freakin’ feet! Read that last part again – BREAK NECKS WITH YOUR FEET. How awesome is that? Can you imagine someone mugging Jack Bauer? I can imagine someone trying to. In the motion picture of my mind the scene always ends with Jack walking away as copious amounts of blood spray from the 1-3 removed bodily appendages, or as the hapless attacker writhes in the agonizing pain that accompanies having one of your bones rotated completely around in its socket.

5. As Jack Bauer you have the luxury of being able to fire any weapon, and drive any vehicle. Planes, helicopters, sniper-rifles, hand-guns, battle rifles – the world is your playground. The best part is not only can you use all of these things, you can use them better than 90 percent of the people who are trained in them can. You can pick people off from a distance while driving a tank, or you can fly a helicopter, parachute out, use your hand gun to kill enemy paratroopers, then land safely as your helicopter crashes perfectly into enemy headquarters saving the day.

6. The President is your personal friend. That’s right, the jerk is practically at your beck and call. Jack Bauer could probably tell the president to have a 2-day booze cruise on air force one and the president would happily consign providing liquor and ladies. Chances are he’d also thank you for the suggestion and then make some sweet holiday like Give Jack Bauer Presents, And Expensive Ones, Not Just Shitty Fruit Baskets Day.

If you still don’t watch 24, I hope you’ll start. Jack Bauer is awesome, and he will shoot you in the damn leg.

Well the San Fran Spring Break’s first night out started off great when we decided to get some real mexican food for dinner. Unfortunately, my stomach had other ideas about what I sohuld be doing this evening and here I sit watching 24 at 11pm. Pretty F’in sweet. Hopefully tomorrow will turn out better, just like Annie says.