I hope you know what you're doing . . .

This post is actually a little bit longer than the last one.

This post is pretty short.

So I watched a little film called Reefer Madness the other night with my friend Tim. It was filmed in 1937/1938 and was originally intended to raise awareness of this new narcotic that threatens to destroy the minds of young men and women: marihuana; however, I’ve learned via Wikipedia, it was bought by a different producer before it was released and re-edited into an exploitation film that was largely forgotten until the 1970’s, when fans of said narcotic found it humorous and it quietly reached a cult status. I never would have described this movie as “exploitive.” Maybe I just don’t know the real meaning of “exploitation film,” because when I hear that phrase, I think of really dirty movies. This movie had nothing of the sort in it. It played like a bad public service announcement that seriously missed the mark. If you believe what this movie says, the use of marihuana (as it is spelled in the film) will lead to or cause:

• Dancing
• Fast music
• Ridiculously good piano playing
• Things to be funny
• “Free Thoughts”
• Uncontrollable, shifty eye movement
• Creepiness
• Rape
• Making out with women who look 40
• Untying of ties
• Unintentional manslaughter
• Intentional manslaughter
• Fast driving
• Loosening up
• Messed-up hair
• Running over old men
• Women not knowing their place
• Angry jurors to cry out for the death penalty

What a great movie. I’m really, truly surprised that it never got the MST3K treatment. It’s extremely easy to do, too, because Tim and I were cracking ourselves up with our on-the-spot amateur comments; imagine what professionals in a writing room could do. Here’s an interesting thing that the movie said, “Marihuana grows wild in all 48 states.” I have not been able to confirm this just yet, but if that’s true . . . what happened? I’m not a reefer fan, of course, but come on! Grew wild? All 48 states? Do you know how many states it grows wild in now? NONE! What kind of war has been exacted these last 70 years? We’ve wiped out a weed! I’m sure millions of home owners would love for us to do the same with dandelions.

One other thing. What’s with the war on pot, anyway? Granted, I don’t use it. I don’t have any close friends, which I know of, that use it, either. But I’ve pretty much been in the understanding for many years now that it’s an extremely tame drug. Not healthy, to be sure, but not much worse than cigarettes and not as bad as alcohol. It tends to make people lazy and dumb, from what I’ve heard, so I guess that’s a bad thing in our education-obsessed culture. But all the hippie-conspiracy theorists have said the real reason is that it’s so easy to grow, and the whole plant can be used for so many things, that the government hasn’t been able to successfully tax it, so it’s been banned under the reasoning that it’s a dangerous narcotic. I don’t really know, though. And in the end I don’t really care that much, either. I just needed something to write about.

In late 2003 I wrote some haikus in a notebook I used for lyrics. Every now and then I find that notebook, read them, and think that some of them are pretty good. Here’s two that I can remember:

Let’s get rid of guilt,
And one day, if we’re lucky,
We’ll lose emotion.

In my Psych classes,
Some folks can’t answer questions
Without their bio.

Have you ever seen Fight Club? In that movie, Ed Norton’s character mentions that he’s writing haikus, and you see one on his computer screen. It was the first time I’d ever seen a haiku that was worth something:

Worker bees can leave.
Even drones can fly away.
The queen is their slave.

Genius. Even if you don’t buy into the socialist message behind it. That was the poem that taught me the key to a haiku is to say as much as possible in only 17 syllables, be it deep or humorous. I’m not very good at it, but I tried. That’s all that matters, right? That’s what my teachers used to tell me . . . right before they gave me a D.

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I have a nick-name.
“Canadian Tuxedo.”
It’s unofficial.

My job is boring,
And the commute is too long.
Is it time for lunch?

I used to write songs,
But I’ve been in a dry spell.
Four years is too long.

Customer Service.
It means I demean myself
So I get your cash.

I can’t do this right.
Advice falls on stubborn ears.
I’ll hate it instead.
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And . . . I’m out of ideas. Now I’ll finish this post with haikus that summarize each of my blog posts thus far. Chronologically.

I haven’t liked blogs.
They’re like kittens on display.
Only I should care.

Some kid was prideful,
Said he did a good vampire.
Turns out he didn’t.

Think up a dumb thought,
Then sell it to dweebs with cars.
Laugh at them with me.

Don’t make up your mind
Then twist scripture for support.
Use it to know God.

2000 was weird.
I had a band and no girl.
Let us reminisce . . .

What day meant the most?
January 26,
Two-thousand and three.

Woah, there! Why so mean?
I asked a simple question.
Nerds can be such jerks.

I want a new amp,
One that will last many years,
For Humbert to see.

I don’t think things through,
But don’t cast out my thoughts yet;
Something could be there.

Like this haiku post,
I spent all day writing that.
Similes are fun.

I don’t feel that bad.
Valentine’s is just a day.
. . . but I’m still single . . .

Lee Sharpe has a gal.
Who would name their kid “Urchin?”
Oh, well. Good for Lee.

Having been single for 26 of my 27 Valentines days, and being old enough to care for at least the last 15, I easily fall into the masses of single people who gripe and moan about, “Oh, I hate Valentines Day! Oh, woa is me! Oh, I’m still single! Oh, I ‘hate’ people in relationships!” I was actually performing this routine with a coworker the other night, and I finally allowed myself to verbalize a fact: I don’t care. I don’t think I have for several years now. It’s not that I don’t care about being single, or ever being in a relationship. No sir. But I’ve grown numb to the depressing effects of Valentines Day, and I think that’s a result of noticing the Hallmarkyness of it. Or maybe I’m just so worn out from griping about singleness all the other days of the year, it doesn’t feel any different. When I do get to a place in my life where I’m coupled on February 14, I really hope she’s cool enough to know why I don’t want to waste any time or money on it. Honestly, if you’re in a relationship, do you really try to get dinner reservations somewhere on V-day? I know I wouldn’t.

Happy V.D.

Here are some similes. Or half similes, I guess. Or maybe I’m defining simile slightly wrong. Whatever. If you don’t get one, don’t over-think it. It’s probably not worth it.

It’s like ditching a hippie in Amsterdam.

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It’s like buying Amy Winehouse an opium field.

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I’m all over that like last night’s dinner on a toddler in a trailer park.

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It was like trying to startle a sleeping puppy at the mall’s pet store.

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That thing went limp faster than a puppy from the mall’s pet store.

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I’ll pick her up like I was a seminary student at a senior-year event in an all-girl’s Christian college.

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That was more brutal than Dan Rather taking on Mike Tyson in a spelling contest.

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It was as useful as Unitarianism.

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It was as shocking as seeing John Stewart actually contribute to society.

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I felt like a Scientologist wearing an “I Love Tom” t-shirt, reading a copy of Psychology Today.

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I was as late as a narcissist in her second trimester.

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I was as panicked as Richard Simmons trapped alone in an ice cream parlor.

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I was as happy as Jenna getting People magazines on Friday morning AND Monday afternoon.

I’m putting something out there about myself so that I can at least say that it’s possible to know this about me without me having to tell you in person. I think a lot. Too much, some would say, though I do not say that. I take very little at face value, especially when someone is expressing an opinion as if it were fact. Maybe it’s my God-given nature. Maybe it’s the fact that I was raised in a family that held more traditional and conservative values among a culture that is leaning more to the left every passing day, so I refuse to assume that either approach is correct right off the bat. So I think about a lot of things. My life right now, with my 90+ minutes of driving time per day and monotonous job, gives me time to do so. Often, I will approach things from an angle that does not automatically assume that a point of view is correct, find flaws in the logic, then speak on the flaws in the logic, but not have it thought all the way through before I speak, therefore leaving me either easy to refute or sounding like someone who just wants to disagree with something. Usually both. There are two solutions to this: never speak until I have a conclusion worked out, or learn to accept being wrong. I choose the latter, because I often process externally. I often have to hear myself say something to someone before I realize that I’ve been running down the wrong trail. I think maybe there are a lot more people out there to whom this happens, but our society is very proud and doesn’t like to admit that it’s ever wrong, so we don’t see it as much. We just see lots of people arguing stupid points of view that don’t make any sense and no one’s budging in the discussions. Let me also add (and I’ll conclude with this) that being someone who is willing to admit they’re wrong in our society may be something that is applauded in theory, but in practice the ego of the person who is right is more likely to think higher of themselves as opposed to learn a lesson from the person who backed down.

I’m in the market for a new guitar amp. The one I have now was bought in early 2001, and Fender discontinued the model shortly thereafter. Actually, I think they discontinued it within a week after my purchase. I don’t blame them; it’s a piece of crap. It’s so obscure now that you can’t even find anything about it online. I originally paid for the Fender Rock-Pro 1000 100 watt head unit and 412 speaker cabinet, but it took Musician’s Friend a month to realize that they’d stuffed my order in a corner in their warehouse and hadn’t yet shipped it to me. By the time I got it, I was so frustrated with their customer (non)service that I figured I wasn’t going to let them know that they actually sent me the 412 cabinet plus a 100 watt, 112 combo amp, which was $150 more than the lone head unit for which I paid, which gave me 5 speakers instead of 4, which was completely pointless because I’ve never needed that much sound, which didn’t matter in the slightest to me. I’ve heard in the days since that event that I actually could have demanded the head unit, too, since that’s what I ordered, and not sent back the 112 combo since it was their error. I’m not sure if that’s true, though.

Let me clear up some amplifier terminology real quick. A cabinet is a passively electronic case of speakers, a head is just the power supply, input jacks, and sound control, a combo is the head unit and speakers combined into the same casing. The 3-digit number refers to the number and size of speakers: 412 means four 12″ speakers, 210 means two 10″ speakers, 115 means one 15″ speaker, etc. Moving on . . .

I gave the 412 cabinet to my friend Seth right before I moved to Seattle, but I still have the 112 combo. I’ve been wanting to upgrade to a better quality amp for a while. I want something that’s going to be a reasonable size, but also packs the reasonable punch. I’ve considered another 112 combo, just one of a better make than my current one. But it’s actually not that easy to find 112’s, which I find odd. Well, I should clarify: to limit myself to a 112 combo amp considerably limits my options as not every model of amp has a 112 version. I think the best choice for me will be a 212 combo. Lots of sound, not too huge, but still big enough to be impressive. When in Carbondale I played my roommate John’s Mesa-Boogie Nomad II 212 a lot, and that thing would bring a tear to your eyes as it would bring blood out of your ears. I’ve considered one of those, but I’ve also considered going more classic, like a Fender tube amp. The Mesa-Boogie is a tube amp, too, and I only intend to buy a tube amp, but the Fenders look more vintage, where Mesas look more . . . typical. I’m going to be using that tax rebate money (which will hopefully actually be sent out, which will be in May) to buy it, along with the little money I’ve saved, along with any birthday money I get from, say, parents and grandparents. I’ll start seriously looking in May but won’t make a decision until at least mid-July. This puts my price range at about $800. If I’m thoroughly impressed by one in the $1000-$1500 range, like a Mesa-Boogie, I’m willing to go into a little debt for it. I intend for this to be the last amp I have to buy in order to have an amp. I clarify that because I may someday buy other amps, but this next purchase will be the amp that I’ll stick with my whole life. This is a big purchase for me. And since it’s a big purchase, and since I intend on keeping it forever, I’ve looked into at least one other brand that is a tiny bit outside of even the $1000-$1500 range: Orange. Orange amps are used by all kinds of punk, indie, and emo rockers. I first remember seeing them at shows in the late 90’s, and they catch the eye with their stand-out color and vintage look. Now, I’m not so lame that I’ll just go buy an amp based on only seeing musicians I like using them, but if so many of these guys have had them, they’re worth looking into. The only thing is, an Orange 212 combo is $2100. But if this is the final serious amp purchase, it might be worth it. It could be worth having that debt for a while longer, knowing that I’ll be able to pay it off, and knowing that I’ll have it 20 and 30 years from now. My future teenage son can bring his friends over to the house when I’m not home, and he can show them “dad’s room” and they’ll see my 20-25 year-old Orange 212 sitting next to my Gibson ES-335, Les Paul Studio, Ibanez JS-1600, and Fender Thinline Tele (hey, as long as I’m dreaming I’m going all out), and they’ll be all impressed, and the next day at school they’ll tell their other friends how cool Humbert’s dad is. So really, this purchase is not just about me having a better amp, but about Humbert Eugene’s social life.

One last note: I found this while searching for image links: http://alexplorer.net/guitar/text/guitar/wars.html

It really bugs me when someone’s facts or logic are way off. I don’t just mean theologically, either. Actually, I should clarify that in this instance I don’t mean theology at all. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s people who are wrong about something and then arrogant because they think they’re right. Kind of like the time back in 1998 when my co-workers at McDonald’s tried to tell me that the Star Wars movies were based off of novels. They didn’t ask if they were, they didn’t say, “I heard that . . . ,” they flat out told me that they were, and even that wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t argued with me when I (politely, at first) corrected them. It’s scary sometimes how things like this rattle me so bad, and it’s only been the last year or two in which I’ve been able to approach situations like this with a little bit more rationality. Now, let’s get to the inspiration for this rant:

Last night I was looking through one of my nerd groups on Facebook, the one that was started as a group for vintage-Nintendo lovers, but has expanded to just be a group for fans of games spanning the history of home consoles. One thing that people do in this group that tends to bug me is post pictures of their disgustingly huge video game collections. Some of them put up as many as 40 pictures! It’s usually pretty sad, but this time someone is a genuine video game collector. This guy has some unique titles, and even some that are widely known to be little more than pieces of trash, all for the sake of having full collections from different consoles and different franchises. In these photos, he had one of a select group of Sonic the Hedgehog titles. Two of these were the original Sonic the Hedgehog and Sonic the Hedgehog 2, except they were for the Sega Master System (see here). This intrigued me, because Sonic was introduced on the Sega Genesis console in 1991, nearly 2 years after the Genesis was introduced and the Master System was put to rest. I don’t know exactly when they stopped making games for the Master System, but I know that it was by 1990, for sure. The fact that these two cartridges exist means that, for some reason unknown to me, Sega programmed, manufactured, and distributed the first two Sonic titles as 8-bit cartridges for their dead system. Crazy, right? I know! So I pose my inquiry on this to the poster of the picture, as I would think that the man who owns the game would know the story. Please see the exchange below, even though you probably already saw it if you clicked on the link earlier:

My last blog was about what was going on in my life eight years ago. Where I’m at now is very different than where I was, and I couldn’t have begun to guess that I’d end up where I’m at. And I couldn’t be happier about it. I’ve spent many a quiet drive or monotonous task thinking through events in my life that seemed insignificant in their time but have indirectly led me to where I am now. I usually have a couple that I like to cite, one being my Geo Storm breaking down in late December 2001. Another is indirectly putting the responsibility on my parents, buying me that TV for Christmas in 1999. I’ve also taken it farther back, such as getting impatient and just guessing through the last 10 questions on my math placement test for Lincoln Land Community College. Or even farther back, like at the beginning of my senior year of high school when I put a screen-printed MxPx patch on my bookbag. I even just wrote this entire blog about how me taking Jennifer Burke to her Junior Prom in the spring of 2000 was the biggest factor, but I deleted it. Turns out it wasn’t. Then I decided it was all these events. I wrote a timeline, spelling out how each event led to the next, but that got too long and was a bit too self-indulgent, even for me. Besides, by the time I reached January 2003 I realized something. The ultimate forked road in my life happened almost exactly 5 years ago, on January 26, 2003, when I was sitting in my 1995 Mazada Lemon in the parking lot of the Vine(yard). I was deciding to go inside the building to the Super Bowl Party, or to start the car and go to my cousin’s party instead, on the other side of town. I knew that the one I chose was going to determine the direction of the rest of my life. I didn’t know how different my life would be, but I knew it was important.

I guess this means that when my friends point out at each Super Bowl that it’s my “anniversary” (which no one did this year, but it’s perfectly okay; I didn’t remember, either), they speak more truth than they realize.

Oh, and by the way, the Buccaneers beat the Raiders in that game, 48-21. Ouch.