A Short History of Vanilla Pudding

Dearest friends,

I have nothing whatever to say to you. That, however, has never stopped me from writing things before, so at this point I have decided not to let it stop me from writing now. With any luck, this will turn into a deep, philosophical essay on human nature, theology, politics, or something of that nature. With even more luck, it won’t be serious at all, but merely an amusing waste of your time. At worst, you’ll find this boring, perverse, insulting, and will hate me forever and always. But that is the risk I must take.

First off, let me discuss snow, as at my part of the world snow is certainly what we are getting. Snow seems to be a delicate and beautiful symbol that the world could get along just fine without baseball. The whiteness of the snow can be compared with the whiteness of a baseball. This would seem to put both of them on a equal footing of purity, except that a baseball inherently has another color on it: red. Red symbolizes the violence and hatred that comes with sports. People are killed and maimed and such. Pain abounds. Snow, however, is normally white, although at time yellow spots may be found, symbolizing....... gold. A heart of gold. Yes, definitely a heart of gold. Or it could be viewed as a symbol of relief.

Now some may say that baseball really isn’t that violent. Fine. Be like that. you may disagree with me all you like, but even if I am wrong that doesn’t make you any less of a nincompoop.

I like the word ‘nincompoop.’ I learned it from Calvin & Hobbes. It has such a musical ring to it. A indescribable beauty, such that only seems to be found in good dreams. ‘Nincompoop’ says the mouth, and the mind is transported to other realms, other worlds, and you meet people you have never met before, like the one-eyed barber who reads steamy romances and is constantly cutting his toenails while listening education tapes that teach profanities in French and Japanese.

For those of you who hated the last paragraph, it’s your fault for reading it.

It’s fun looking through my old stories. I used to write such interesting titles, such as "Billy-Bob and the Badguy Bikers" and "Buddy Head." It such a shame I lost that. I’m not near as random now as I was then. *ahem.*

To mention something that is actually normal, my finals start next week. How exciting. And how terribly boring that sentence, indeed, that whole thought was! Here I am, talking about my finals, while no doubt you already have some inkling that finals are next week, or were this week, or are two weeks from now, or something! I mean, you could have guessed! I could have posted a question asking, "when do my finals end?" and you likely could have guess sometimes soon.

Now, I would like to mention an interesting conversation I had yesterday with a friend. Well, actually, that friend was me, so yes, I was having a conversation with myself. And now, I think I should confess that I don’t actually recall having a conversation with myself yesterday. I was simply attempting to bridge this post onto another topic. (For those of you who have not read any of my other posts, you know that the whole point of these posts is length and not content.) In the process of trying to bridge this post I ended up lying to you. Now, some of you may say that it was terribly wrong of me to lie to all of my friends like that just to try and make this post longer. It’s almost as if the length of this post is actually more important to me than my friends. Well, I always was anti-social.

Eat peanut butter sandwiches, unless you’re allergic to peanut butter. Cheerio. Sincerely,

Jared

The time has come for another post. Not because of necessity, but because of a strong and uncontrollable urge to waste time when there are things that need to be done and books that need to be studied. I chose this method of wasting time because 1) this seemed more productive than playing stupid little games on the internet and 2) because I have already spent quite some time on stupid little games on the internet and 3) this computer is slightly to slow right now to play stupid little games on the internet. I could be reading, I could be doing homework, or I could be out on the street doing drugs and getting into trouble. And we certainly wouldn’t want me doing drugs. So, in that sense, be happy that I am just sitting by the computer without drugs; not even caffeine. Of course, there is catnip on the premises. But I heard that doesn’t really work anyways.

I hearing the whirring of the ceiling fan. It just keeps on whirring. Either it’s whirring or it’s not; it has no variety, it just whirs when it’s hot or stuffy, and it doesn’t when it’s not. It’s like, it has no life, no friends, no anything. It just whirs on and on. And it gathers dust when its still. And it befriends that dust. And then some cruel people ruin the poor fan’s happiness by snatching away that dust, and leaving the fan alone and friendless, wishing it could just whir so fast that it would break from the ceiling onto the head of the person that takes away its beloved dust. But it can’t. It is doomed to be a slave forever, doomed to stay in one spot forever. It will never see the Alps, it will never see the Grand Canyon, it can never better itself by learning a different language, by learning how to paint or even how just read. The ceiling fan is left to a life of shallow trapped slavery.

On a happier note, I was eating Reeses peanut butter ice cream.

I also have around 8 2\3 more days to be a teen.

I considered briefly putting some samples of my latest lyrics in this post, but I have decided against it. My lyrics don’t usually play well in the absence of music. Therefor, I shall just leave this post without any lyrics. Also, when I believe that when I start pasting lyric pieces into my post, it’s almost an admission that I feel my touch for the long senseless post is slipping away. Like I’m stretching it to much.

So, how many other people are up at 1:27 this fine October morning? October is perhaps the greatest month of the year. It seems like the time that geniuses are born. No, I can’t think of any other ones besides me, but is seems logical.

Speaking of logic, let’s make an unlogical jump and talk about grocery stores. I seem to have a strange fascination for them. Now, one would think that this proves that I love my job. Well, I don’t, though I do like the people I work with. But that’s all besides the point, because I think I found the cause for the comfort and joy I find in grocery stores. Of course, an example would be good, because I came into this figuring that you knew that grocery stores were a haven for me. And I shouldn’t have said ‘You,’ because they tell me that in academic writing you should say ‘You,’ and I think we can all agree that this is a very academic piece of literature. A manifesto of sorts. Of course, it isn’t a manifesto is the slightest sense. At least not how I can see it. But where was I? Ah yes, grocery stores. Ahem. I was at that six-week film course I went to, and it had been a stressful day, and I was walking and all, and lo and behold I stumble upon a grocery store. I don’t know what it was doing there being that it was so little that I could stumble upon it. But I digress with an unfunny pun. Anyways, I came upon this grocery store in a stressed out state, and I went inside the grocery store to find solace. And lo and behold, solace was there with a warm blanket and a cup of hot cocoa. I walked inside and walked around and walked about and walked randomly and stuff. I checked out prices. I explored aisles. And I didn’t buy a thing. But there I was in a grocery store, clicking my tongue at the prices and feeling altogether better with myself. The grocery store had done it. But how? Why? Can it be explained? Yes, friends, it can. Instead of it having to do anything with the grocery store I work at now (besides the whole checking prices thing) I think it has to do with my enjoying going shopping with my family when I was oh so little. Yes. What a sweet little story, is it not? A young man finding solace at a place that reminded him of his care-free childhood. Or was it something more sinister? Perhaps! Secretly, I was fantasizing about putting slugs in with the produce and worms in with the candy, and releasing a hyper dog in the glass section! Oh friends, what an evil time was going on in my head! Havoc reigned! I could almost hear the glass splinter, and the ladies screaming! I could almost feel the milk beneath my feet as it flowed freely through the aisles! I could see the slugs grow big and begin eating all the people who treat cashiers badly! Yes my friends, if the images in my head had come to pass, I would not be telling you about it, for I would have been swept away in the milk and vinegar torrent or consumed by oversized slugs! But you would have heard about it on the news.

Well, anyways, enough of that.

Just passing through and thought I'd post this small post. Of course, I promised another really long post. But at this point I'm not in long post mode. Of course, it's Facebook's fault. When I have time to waste, I waste it on there instead of writing long silly posts. How tragic.

Cheerio

Currently Listening Welcome to Struggleville By Vigilantes of Love see related

I was sitting here just a moment ago in a red and white striped muscle shirt that was to small even for my muscle-less body. My mother had got it as a joke at some clothing sale. It was a fine joke, and I might of actually worn it if I only had muscles to rip the thing with. But as it was I simply looked a little..... well..... queer.

On another note, my first classes were yesterday. These classes were English and math, or, math and English. In the first, the math class, there was the teacher who spent twenty minutes ranting on how people expect to be rewarded for being mediocre. Well, it wasn’t in a ranting voice really. I enjoyed it. The rant had some good points. Next was an English teacher who informed us that if we plagiarized, not only would we fail the class but we would also go to Hell. Another splendid moment. But here’s the thing: I didn’t begin writing this post to tell you about the first classes. Mostly because I am completely sure almost everyone of you has much better stories to tell. After all, mine weren’t exactly stories in the strictest sense; they were antidotes.

No my friends, the point of this post is longevity. I was thinking back to the days when I could write a long post about nothing at all. So long that no one could be expected to read through the whole thing. The purpose of that is all to clear; I felt special writing like such. It was like a tremendous free-write. To make people go "oh my goodness that is long and I plan to not read through the whole thing." Of course, it didn’t work on one dear reader who did read the whole thing. He informed me it took him a whole half hour. What he found in there to entertain him a whole half hour is beyond me, and I can only apologize to the poor chap for robbing him of that much of his fleeting little life. As it is, it was his own doing and he must hold himself responsible for such. For I can only hope, that in a court of law, he would find it futile to sue me for thousands of dollars. But in these modern times, you never know.

I am trying to think what all I put in those types of posts back then, and I remember little except for a story about the reincarnation of Hari Krishna and another historical fiction about a book sale I attended. The book sale itself was historical, but the fictional part was that Bill Clinton was there.

And how does Ol’ Bill feel about his wife running for office? Right as rain, I suppose. But, dear reader, I must not go off on any sort of a political trail, because that would ruin some of the randomness of the post. Granted, in this kind of post a short political discussion may be more random than just and old randomness, but still, I would rather not talk politics. "Why?" asks you. "Because," says I, " I am very unknowledgeable about politics, and yet I haven’t any particular group that I adhere to so much that I can just quote their rote and say I believe it."

At any rate, I am afraid I must continue on a political strain by asking this very important question: What would YOU do if Bill Clinton would randomly show up at a local library book sale? For all my liberal friends, the answer should NOT be to kiss his feet. For all my conservative friends, the answer should NOT be to chuck hard-cover copies of P. G. Wodehouse’s ‘No Nudes is Good Nudes’ at him. To do so would be ridiculous, and would accomplish little good. I would be willing to bet you would get arrested for such an action.

But, as I said before, enough politics. Trivia: Did you know that Colin Farrell was in some Irish show called ‘Ballykissangel’? Did you even care?

Brief note of some things\people I consider over-rated: Steven Spielberg, Alfred Hitchcock, 2001: A Space Odyssey, Saving Private Ryan, The Beach Boys, Shakespear (more on this one later), Abe Lincoln, George Washington (both of these will be mentioned in the Shakespear discussion), Sherlock Holmes (not necessarily the character, just the books\stories), Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark, and so on and so forth. I was going to include Stanley Kubrick, but than I realized that would be very unfair seeing I have only seen on of his movies and like the one (Dr. Strangelove.) But the complete awfulness of his famed ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ has always made me cringe. It was when I watched the first half-hour of ‘The Shining’ that I admitted my potential error. ‘The Shining’ managed to make me turn it off soon after it began and vow never to watch it alone. Perhaps, if I had watched the whole movie, I would count it off as a piece of dung. But as it is, it helped me realize that I was far to premature to put Kubrick on the ‘over-rated’ list. By the way, I have finally found two Hitchcock movies that were actually good. These were ‘Rear Window’ (B+) and ‘Psycho’ (also a B+). The rest of his I watched were terribly disappointing.

Now briefly on Shakespear. Has it ever occurred to anyone how we worship this man like a god? No insult is allowed him. Anything he did competently is held as genius. No one is allowed to mention flaw in him. Any complaints against him are met with something like "oh, but that wasn’t the point of the play, so it doesn’t matter," or, "Well, normally I would say that was bad for a writer to do, but he did it so well because he’s so perfect and wonderful and amazing. He’s the god of literature. Flawless." So, to cut it short, I wasn’t downing Shakespear at all when I said he was overrated. It’s just he now so overly praised he can’t help but be overrated.

I must go mow the lawn and wash the dishes. I had planned to make this a obscenely long post, but it seems that I have run out of time. I do not wish to mow the lawn or wash the dishes. But the nice thing about washing the dishes is that I get to listen to ‘I, Robot’ on CD. And that book is turning out to be pretty good.

So anyways, cheerio. I will try to write a much longer post next time. And more random. With no politics whatsoever.

Bye now.