Would a rose smell as sweet?

A quick new blog for you, of note. That is to say that the blog is of note, not that you are of note. Because you're not. Not really. But we'll avoid that path of analytical self-importance in the cosmic scheme of things for right now because we've something much, Much, MUCH more important:

Urinals.

Yes, urinals. Men face these beauties on an almost daily basis as we run between our jobs, school, lives and activities. Women might be less familiar, but the fact remains, they know what one is. And what it is for.

Since the dawn of recorded time, people have had to relieve themselves. Men possessed a relative advantage over women in this regard, a trait we like to call "able to whip it on out," or the acronym ATWIOO. This is of course why men have been able to subjugate women and came to the realization that they are superior to the fairer sex, since they can stand while taking a pisser.

Note: Before you feminists attack me, please note the tone of that statement. And also please realize that this idea is of course false. Women have been able to control men for long before men have been capable of realizing it. So who's really in control here? This is the simply the result of the dominating male perspective that makes the concept of manipulation and social intrigue less important than not sitting or squatting to pee.

Anyway, back on subject. So the urinal was invented. It allows men to go quickly, conviently, and with the added bonus of sizing up the other males around you since in many places there are no partitions. This is particularly true in stadiums or sports arenas, where the concept of trough urinals have come into existence.

France once had public urinals located on the sidewalks or in parks. Alas, most of these Temples of Piss have been removed, and only one exists now, in Paris, known as a "vespasienne."



Now all this is very interesting, but why do I bring it up? Because of companies like Toto. Toto is a toilet company that specializes in luxury toilets. Sure there's nothing terribly exciting about that - their site indicates a sense of modern art come to live in the bathroom.

And what is life, if not art?

Clark Sorenson has brought that idea, of the world and your life as a canvas being painted upon, to your private moments in the bathroom. As any great artist could tell you, you can't make beauty without shit. Apparently that goes for piss too.

Stop and smell the roses.



Sorenson has created a product that... well for the life of me I can't see men buying. Not even most homosexual men. Sure I love art. Sure, we all have to go. Sure the bathroom and the act of using is the great equalizer. No one's shit smells like roses, but the ability to pee in one isn't really all that appealing either.

To be honest, most men get into the restroom, use it, and get out. It isn't a casual social gathering place as it might be for women. In fact the prime people who might purchase these will be women. I don't know if they think that men will love the flowery touch (although I doubt that deeply) or if it's all part of an attempt to de-masculinize society, or what...

Still, here is an interesting case of a product being produced that will sell to a market of buyers who aren't the intended user of the product.

It's an intersting concept. But not all that unusual now that I think about it. It's what parents do to their children all the time with toys. Or cars. Or education. And the children don't appreciate it either. So maybe I'm being too harsh. Art is art, after all. And I'm entitled to art always. Even when I'm unloading all my liquid wastes.

So why not? Sign me up for a lilly, maybe an orchid and of course a snap-dragon or two.

Check out his website: Clark Sorenson Urinals

Oh Canada...

Canada, for all the grief you get, how can we not envy some of your finer points, eh? My brother's serving a mission in Canada right now. He loves it. There are also lots of trees, beer, and a unique french twist on North American society. But even more than those, there's this.






Not a great video, but a boy can dream, can't he?

Happiness is...n't?

Candidicy. Candidcy. Canidicy. Candidly. Smile, you're on candid camera.

I sit, here, in my chair which leans back way too far, (and doesn't stop, mind you) in the library and type. Yes, now I've painted you a portrait of the moment I'm in which you will forever appreciate. If, for some CRAZY reason, that doesn't do it for you, allow me to tell you this: I sit next to a porn-crazed young man, who seems neither to care nor worry that he's looking at explicit photos in a very public place. And on the other side is a delightful young woman, planning her wedding. At least, she's studying online wedding dresses with great intent. Aside from studying their respective subjects quite... obsessively, what is the interest in these two young students?

I commend them both. On a thursday at 10:52 am, in between my theater class and my political science class, I am treated to two equally different perspectives on the world. The female mind, which from a young age fantasizes about the wedding, the beauty, the pageantry, and the chance to feel like a princess for once (or twice, if you've been featured on "My Sweet Sixteen" on MTV) in their lives.


Men, on the other hand (unless you're a homosexual, in which case you've been planning your wedding for years, until you realize you're not sure who'll wear the dress) are interested in sex. From a young age where they realize they have reproductive organs, it becomes the selfish desire to fufill the hormonal instinct to make them feel good. Marriage is a step to a rather constant booty-call.

No doubt I deserve some lambasting for that comment, but I don't think women understand the level of men's sexual drive. Truth be told it's a somewhat sad generalization, but perhaps a true one nevertheless. Especially here in Mormon Country. Many men in the Real World (again, no reference, or maybe some reference to the MTV hit) avoid marriage for years because it ties down their options. Why do you think there is a rash of commitment phobia? Whereas to mormons, it's the opening of the gates to a sexual revolution. Don't believe me? Go on a mission.


Yes, I said go on a mission. Now despite the intriguing stats about men hooking up with each other on their mission, I will focus instead on the discussions which take place regarding women. Missionaries are dirty. (Apologies are handed out like tissue to anyone who may be saddened over this news.)


It's a simple fact because we always want what we can't have, and mormons can't have sex. But missionaries can't even have female company. Naturally their thoughts, their conversations, and their secret masturbatory sessions in the shower turn to the fairer sex. Construed, alas, in a much dirtier way.


How many conversations about "past sins" or slipups with girlfriends are reveled in? How many fantasies about a quick blowjob on the way from the temple to the cultural hall reception are spun? How many lists of "hot places to do it" are dreamt up to bide time until the real deal? Personally I lucked out. I had two many other issues I was working through to be so caught up in the sex fantasy. But don't think I didn't hear it from virtually every other missionary I knew.

Missionaries return from the mission anxious, pent-up, and ready for marriage. Strike that, ready for sex. And since that's a no-no with out the bells, marriage = sex. I hardly think that men who've spent the last two years running around a foreign country, or even our own, with only the company of other men, focused solely on teaching people "what god has to say to you, gentiles" is really ready for a relationship spanning... eternity?

One would think that a great deal of thought would be placed upon the selection of someone you believe you'll NEVER get away from.

Instead, hormones take a bit more precedence in men's reasoning than they should, and women who are ready to finally do something with their lives (which in the church equates to matronly duty) form a dynamic companionship who's spark will eventually explode. To their credit, this is usually built up and kept in check for years longer than the initial courting rituals that lead to it (avg. 2 months?). This is thankfully accomplished to a long set of church imposed rules, hyper-activity with religious callings and duties, accidental children, peer and church sanctioned guilt, and a dash of prozac.


The explosion will come, quietly or otherwise, on the wings of actuality and in that clever messenger realization. Everyone pictures how things are going to be. Sometimes we're close, but never dead on. And the harder we cling to these pictures, the more unprepared we are for the reality of it. When she realizes he's not prince charming, he's just some man who happened to say the right things to her and be there when she needed, she'll be devestated. When he discovers that a marriage isn't constant sex, that there's a personality to be reckoned with, and a lot of independence forfeited, he'll panic. Neither of these realizations make these people bad. Just rushed. Rushing so quickly to get to something they thought they wanted they won't realize they're not paying attention to what they're really recieving. And that's a hard thing to take.

Maybe it can be worked out and you can grow to love the one you're now tied to. Or maybe not. The worst part is that some of these marriages won't end. Neither will acknowledge how unhappy they truly are and find scapegoats and diversions to take up the time they ought to be using for self-analysis.

But that's painful and pain should be avoided at all costs.

This is a broad, sweeping stereotype, and I know many a happy couple who don't seem to have this problem. And yet, there are those, too many it seems, who fall within it. The church is not exactly my point of attack here, because people, as the LDSers will teach us, have free agency. A truth, and a convient truth for the church structure, because you're always the vicitim of yourself. I can't agree with that more. We all have our hang-ups, but make them your own hang-ups, and don't accept programming or instilled hang ups.

Men and women. Two very different creatures who, in a straight, gay, or otherwise world, are just looking for happiness. All we do is motivated by what will make us happy. To the man left of me, it's large breasted women taking it hardcore. To the girl right, it's a knight on a white horse with a diamond ring. To me, it's writing nasty blogs about a culture I can't escape.

To each his own.

Beware a darkened sky...

Somedays, I sit down and think, "gods, where did all the time go?" Usually it is in that critical moment when I am three minutes late for work, cursing whatever primeval ancestor dreamt up the notion of a "day job" and have to run out the door to my indentured servitude.

My indentured servitude of materialism.

Oh if only I didn't want so many things. But I do. Like a Bat Avatar. Haven't you always just wanted one? Oh-so-cute, and unlike other technological pets (giga-pets, etc) they don't need to play jumprope, won't piss themselves and WON'T die on you! Here's the one I'm interested in:



His name is Fug-Bert.

The glass is full, of half and half.

School schmool.

Who said going to school was a good idea? What do we really gain in measurable benifits from attending "institutions of higher learning." Higher learning than what? Elementary school? Some of the people I know are still in elementary school, despite attending college.

Or high school. Which incidentally is where most kids grades 9-12 start using drugs. Sorta shocking right? I didn't expect that either. I don't think that's a coincidence (or that it's called "high school," government conspiracy? I think so).

And yet, here I am, "learning." Or gaining important skills like how to BS a report on a book I didn't read. Truthfully though, I shouldn't be down of the process, since those are life lessons. How to cover, or blame others when things at work fall through, are unfinished, or were bad ideas. Getting in good with your boss, or teachers, and having dirt ready on other students should the presume to get in your way of what you "deserve. Yes, these are all very important and where would we be without years and years of our lives devoted to a building and random "learned" adults who have four months to become an important, trusted, respected, and integrel part of our lives so they may instill us with the knowledge and ideas to help shape a brighter future. Or at least one with a 60 watt bulb.

We should re-instate secretive family trades. Like swordmaking, in Japan, or wine pressing in Europe, or tribal annihilation in Africa. That way, you only learn what you need to learn, none of this "well-rounded" b.s. or writing term papers about the purpose of the placenta for biology. Course a lot of people probably wouldn't end up literate, but it'd be a simpler time, when libraries weren't so damn crowded.

We could have trade schools, with apprentices. You could learn things like farming, metallurgy, myspace-ing, game design, or wild giraffee training. Yes, it truly would be a utopian society. Inner cities already work on this principle, with trouble teens being taken underwing by gangs who teach them the art of killing others who wear the wrong color, or if they manage to escape that fate, enjoy the benifits of learning from their parents on how to wring money out of the government and get cable, without actually going to a school, a "job" or any of those silly inconviences. Seriously, what happened to the days when people did what they felt like (or what their family and social status indicated they should feel like)?

Truthfully, its simply that Christmas break is over, I'm on my feet, running around again, and happy to be learning. Just not happy about commuter drives, homework, and tests. Alright, I'm over it. 2007, let's do this shit.

Santa baby, I've been an awful good girl...

Too much time and nothing to do... well, relatively. I mean Christmas is coming and there's all sorts to be done with that, limited of course by my lack of cash. But really, isn't it all supposed to be about love? Or at least virgins giving birth without sex (somebody got screwed in that arrangement. Or didn't, more accurately.) Since when has Christmas become such a material holiday?

Which reminds me! I present for you, my...

Christmas List 2006
1. an airship (one endorsed by elite mercenaries)

2. a relaxing, extended vacation in the quiet resort town of Silent Hill...

3. rubber. sillicone, latex, take your pick.

4. self-grooming monkey. preferrably one that flies. if they're out of stock, get one with wheels for hands and feet instead.

5. some sort of body guard to protect my extremely large brain from zombies...

6. dinner with batman, and possible foreplay afterward

7. trekking gear. just because, okay? maybe i wanna trek. you ever think of that?

8. an eye infection from pig's blood... oh wait, that's just plain STUPID

9. the kid next to me to turn down the f***ing strongbad emails - sure they're good but we're in the library, writing VERY important blogs for god's sake!! And stop reading what I write you bastard next-to-me-kid. If I wanted your friendship, you'd be on my myspace.

10. for the WWE to utilize it's wrestlers incredible acting skills in breakout horror cinema... um... oh. well that's awkward.

11. For someone, anyone, to recognize that not all (just 98%) of americans are unintelligent and pick up Arrested Development.

12. Gwen Stephani's class and classic hair. (She doesn't do a loaner policy however, you'll have to steal it.)

13. A new pack of razors, to help curb the emotional pain.

14. To pass this final i'm avoiding studying for by writing a blog about christmas gifts...

and finally,

15. Evergreen edition of nard-shockers to cure my sickness. (In gold please, it's gotta match the diamonds in my grill)

Anyway, so it's Christmas, and you're welcome to give me any of the above items. Not that that's important. It's not. But don't bother coming by unless you've got something for me.

And as a matter of disclaimer, everyone I am buying for is getting a candy bar. Think of it, portable and delicious! NO REQUESTS PLEASE. "Can't wait?" I thought not. And if I really like you, you'll get one of these:

Portable, delicious, and deep fried!!! Mmmm... Could you make a snickers bar more healthy?

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Generating... Maddness!

Generating... deli-style bologne
Today... I want to talk about brilliant films and the differences between "Old Boy" and "Lady Vengeance." Alas, I'm not feeling that capable after my final paper for my experimental film class on "Eraserhead."

WARNING: INTERPRETING DAVID LYNCH COULD COST SOME MENTAL HEALTH POINTS.

Since there's a system and all. Or whatnot. Anyway, the point is, it's not going to happen today despite how great they are. So... I've decided to pick some words at random (courtsey of the random word generator: Random Word Generator ) and then write something about it. The joys of unconventional and irrational blogging.

Words selected by the unbiased generator:
mucked
complains
length
mileage
rabbits
everyone

That should be enough. It seems fairly obvious to me that this blog will now have to be about Snowshoe Rabbit migration, a species of rabbit who rack up the mileage and go to great length crossing the Minnesota plains. Or Milwaukee. It was an M name, anyway. I often hear (figuratively of course, at least, I imagine that I might hear them anyway) my neighbors (in other states, not actual neighbors) complaining about rabbits mucking everything up by eathing the vegetation, but if you believe that then you're forgetting your history. That's right friends, gather round and grab a chair because it was that very migration that helped stop the Tick Infestation of 1884.

An excerpt from a previously undiscovered flint-miner's mining journal:

June 6, 1884 - Found some flint today.

June 7, 1884 - Didn't find any flint, but came home exhausted.

June 12, 1884 - No flint, the wife is unhappy. Says it's a waste of my time. Maybe she's right.

June 13, 1884 - Maybe she's not. No flint, but did find a pretty seashell which might be the perfect thing for that hemp necklace I was spinning. Wife says I should concentrate on panning more, not on processing plants for decorative accessories because we live in this ramshackle cabin and there's no one to impress. Can't give up though, almost have the formula right. If all goes well, should seperate the good and the evil nature out of me, while making a delightful and charming accent to any outfit.

June 14, 1884 - Success! Well, not in the mine, but with the formula. I think. I tried drinking it and I feel funny... bet it's working right now and my alter ego will come out any time now.

June 15, 1884 - Not sure if I have an alter ego yet. Mostly just an overwhelming desire to eat chocolate chip cookies. Wife won't make any, says she has no flint and no way to start a cook fire. Everything's always MY fault, isn't it?

June 19, 1884 - It's hot. I think I may kill my wife and bury her out here. Ow! Damn ticks.


Pay particular attention to that last line. As you can see, as early as mid-june in the year 1884 there were already a great number of ticks throughout Missouri. The people in the sparse cities were concerned because while ticks do carry all manner of disease and plague, they didn't really know this at the time and were mostly concerned about the annoying itch associated with a tick drinking your blood. So great was the concern that Michigan launched it's official "Don't Tick Me Off" campaign to try to find a cure. They still have the unofficial state slogan, "Minnesota's A.O.K." a direct reference to being tick-free. Unfortunately this coalition didn't find a cure.

Luckily, Fate was on the people of Montana's side.

Let us consider the tick for a moment - originally discovered in Taiwan, the tick is a little insect that sticks it's head in your skin, drinks your blood, and is crappily built. Their heads pop off inside you if you so much as graze them! Some historians theorize this was the beginning of trade and commerce with Taiwan and it is likely that other more militant u.s. based insects outsourced.

Let us consider the snowshoe rabbit, contendedly living in Washington D.C. or Canada or something - they like to eat ticks.

So it was a small matter for some local stations to advertise the tick problem and before you knew it, everyone was all over this idea of swooping in and using rabbits to save the people of Montreal from the ticks. Naturally the people who came up with this idea and put pressure on the rabbits to do so had NO investments in controlling the rabbits or their land, and there was a nice battle, in which lots of ticks and rabbits died and somebody somewhere got rich.

Hmm. Maybe that's not where I wanted this story to go, but it sure came out that way.

Anyway, the moral is, never question the people in charge or you may end up migrating or an eaten tick.

The End.


And to think that all came from the generator. I also must point out that this blog has neither been thought out ahead of time, nor was it re-editing and may make little to no sense. Or analogy. Nor is there any connection to history. At all in anyway. :)