So bored.
Reading another British comedy, felt inspired.
Confident in knowledge that no one is reading this crap anymore so I can post just about anything l want. I just wanted one or two people out there (my guess would be D. Pop and Miranda) to sympathize with the colossaly crappy day I had.
I’ll leave this up till W.E.F. makes me take it down.
It’s not good.
It’s not funny.
I’m just starved for company.

Now before you understand in full why am I am so highly irritated as I am over what amounts, in retrospect, to a series of minor nuisances, you need to understand the concept of realities. Today for example I have two realities, well infinite realities really but only two I want to discuss. One, in which I spend the better part of the afternoon in the tender embrace of a particularly well-endowed female who may or may not have been topless. This was the reality I had really been hoping for. Of course, that had been the reality I was hoping for more or less every day since I was twelve, but on this particular day the proper arrangements had been made with a consenting well-endowed female. Now the other reality was very different. In this other reality, my car preformed an amazing transformation by converting itself from a fairly adequate means of transportation to a very large paperweight that pinned me squarely to a couch in a car maintenance park. Don’t get me wrong, the good people of Triple-A were remarkably friendly and, as a stranded motorist, I couldn’t have asked more from a towing industry, but they lacked that personal attentiveness I had rather been expecting when I woke up this morning. Now it isn’t really fair to say that every possible thing that could go wrong did go wrong, the aforementioned W.E.F. was not furious; which, at the very least, preserved the possibility of future embraces; tenderness and dress code to be determined. Now I realize that this wasn’t the worst possible reality I could have suffered today, but given the fall from what was planned to what, in time, occurred I feel my irritation is well enough justified. And if you disagree; that’s your right, just as it is my right to politely request you fuck off.

Eagle Ceremony Speech

Thank you. My name is Johannes Haensch, I am an assistant-scoutmaster for Troop One North Salem and I’ve known most of these boys since about seventh grade. Before I get into the speech in earnest I’d like to take a moment to answer a few frequently asked questions so you can better pay attention to my speech, free from distractions. Yes, I am the guy with the kilt, no, I am not wearing the kilt, Yes, it is a really kilt, No, I’m not Scottish, Yes, I’m reading off a sheet of paper, No, I most definitely did not write this all this morning, Yes, I believe in what I’m about to say, No, it isn’t all serious. With that out of the way you should now be better able to sit back and soak in my wisdom like so many unformed hunks of sponge. So here goes.
Also, just so you know, transcripts of this speech and all of my other fine speeches will be available for sale after the ceremony and on my blog.
Oh, one last addendum, I wasn’t given any time limit and I was told the subject was anything I pleased to speak about, with exception to profanity. So I’m feeling this whole thing out as I go.
According to the Wikipedia, the eagle scout award is "the highest rank attainable in the boy scouting program of the boy scouts of America." Lofty praise indeed from a source that once called Grover Cleveland the 22nd AND the 24th president. But I think the Wikipedia may have this one right. Eagle is a significant step in the career of a scout. It isn’t really an end per se, it’s really more of a bridge. It connects your youth experience to your adult service in a truly significant way, of course there’s also a short cut to the whole adult leader bit, but the accomplishment is in not taking the short cut. And while one cannot deny the honor and courage required to hit Star and stagnate for two years, the attainment of Eagle is just as good, if not better, for some people. Just remember what Geoffrey Chaucer said of the award, "Ye been submytted thurgh youre free assent To stonden in this cas at my juggement. Acquiteth yow as now of youre biheeste, Thanne have ye do youre devoir atte leeste."
That said, I must admit when I was asked to speak on behalf of my fellow senior scouts I was more than a bit confused. It took some time for me to really wrap my mind around the situation. But once I was good and satisfied that they actually did want me to give a speech, I could not have felt more honored. I consider these guys to be among my closest friends, and I couldn’t be happier if it were me being awarded today. Some of you may know that I never made Eagle myself and I have nothing but respect for those that did. But I found myself in a rather unique situation, for the first time in a long time I had absolutely no idea what to say. A man I much respect once told me that tact was knowing the perfect thing to say and not saying it, he quickly followed this by telling me that I was personally devoid of such restraints. And holding true to his assessment I find myself in what might be called an anti-tactful moment, that is to say, not knowing the perfect thing to say, but still talking. Now, I could go profound "this is the next step in your journey toward manhood young one" but that’s a little silly coming from someone three month your elder, I could go with inane cliché "may the road rise up to meet you and the wind blow up your kilt" bah I have no taste for the Hallmark adage, or I could follow a third path, I could ramble on in what basically amounts to a series of non-sequiturs, in-jokes, bogus memories, and quotes from Wikipedia. I think my choice here is pretty clear and I stand by it.
Now, if I had more time at my disposal here today I would have liked to go into a lengthy biography of each of the peers that so honored me, but alas my time up here is limited so I will restrict myself to two sentence about each boy. Russell A. is an honest friend, a quick thinker, and a cheerful volunteer, the model Boy Scout. He is also the only person I’ve ever met in my life who can play Halo while simultaneously spinning straw into gold. Thomas M. served as our Senior Patrol Leader to great accolade and has time and time again proven himself as just the guy you want around. He has also won significant awards for his marksmanship, his hand-to-hand combat, and his ballroom dancing. And Jake H. is also here today. Jake is, to my knowledge, the only Senior Patrol Leader to take power by coup and have a senior leader designated as his "enforcer" on the troop registry, three guesses who he picked for that job. He also once ran into a burning building to save a family of kittens, granted he was "saving" them from frostbite by running them in and bolting, but just the same. These scouts are, without question, worthy of your praise and admiration, and Jake’s pretty good too.
I would like at this point to deviate a little bit from the standard bulk of my speech today to tell you a little story I think you can learn a little something from. Once upon a time there was a little engine. This little engine was a hard worker and he gave it his all even though he was smaller than some of the big engines and weaker than some of the big engines. And one day this little engine was pulling a heavy load when he came to a big hill. He struggled his hardest to climb the hill but every time he got halfway up the whole train would slide back down. He gritted his little engine teeth and pulled as hard as he could, the whole time saying "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can." And it worked, he got all the way up to the tippy top of that hill before his boiler exploded scalding his engineer to death and rendering him completely useless. He was than replaced by a much bigger, stronger engine that was capable of doing the job that was needed. I hope you learned a little something from my wee parable. But for Jake’s benefit let me just tell you what the moral was, simply this. Work you hardest at every task that’s put before you, but don’t be ashamed to ask for help, and never, under any circumstances, ride inside a steam engine.
Hang in there, I just have one last little thing to go into before I give up the microphone. This award isn’t just a single personal accomplishment, granted the boys up here today worked harder than most of us ever could to earn this distinction but, ask any Eagle-parents and they’ll tell you, this award is a testament to a damn good support system. For each Eagle you see in front of you dozens of friends and family have given freely of their time and their skills to help them out, and they should feel just as honored today as the boys up here. And speaking of family, it’s absolutely fantastic to see all of you here today. You are the ones who make this whole thing work, give yourselves a hand. Now before I hand the podium over to Mr. Mendleson, who will be speaking on behalf of our super-senior eagles Chuck and Angelo, let me say to all of you up here today, on behalf of my Troop, my family, and my self, congratulations and good luck, you’ve all earned it.

The man in this picture is playing golf. The game of golf consists of hitting a stationary ball with a stick and than walking to where you hit it and hitting it again. The one challenge of the game is carrying the heavy bag of clubs but, as seen here, they have little golf-slaves to do that for you. Yet people still claim that golf is a real sport. Isn't that stupid!

Frosh post

These are the best years of your life; be ready. Always remember that, no matter what happens. When you have to stay up till midnight or later working on homework, these are the best years of your life. When your friends go their separate ways and you end up in social limbo, these are the best years of your life. When you put everything you’re worth into a goal and still fall short, these are the best years of your life. One day you will look back on this all so fondly. You will just sit alone in a dark room and think back nostalgically on the petty social ordeals, the mindless tedium, the mind-warping stress of rejection, the thinking every single day “God, get me out of here or kill me now.” And you will know, “those were the best years of my life.”

This is a replica of Heron's steam ball. This is the first step towards a steam engine, which is of course the first step towards industry. Fire and water is all it took to make the top bit spin at high speeds. By fixing a simple gear (which Heron also used brilliantly) to the spinning axle or the ball itself the energy created could power any number of machines. The Greeks dismissed it as a simple toy for the amusement of the very wealthy. Isn't that stupid!

independent piece 8 intro

Another God piece. This one is a Pantoum (that's a type of repeated line pattern) inspired by, what else, a girl and some flies. When I started it, it didn't have anything to do with religion, it was just a poem about a girl. Than it took this whole turn and it was all tied together so I couldn't change anything and it went downhill from there. Anyways, read it and comment on it, but don't enjoy it. If you want to read a good poem on this topic scroll down to independent piece 7 a little ways down the page. Knick-knack patty-whack give a dog a bone.

independent piece 8

Queen of Flies


There she is the queen of flies
Embodiment of God
Infinitely powerful
Yet still endlessly ignored

Embodiment of God
She sits alone with all her flies
Yet still endlessly ignored
While near her no one treads

She sits alone with all her flies
Amid the bustle of a crowd
While near her no one treads
No one knows the her she is

Amid the bustle of a crowd
She manages to isolate herself
No one knows the her she is
For she is more than any know

She manages to isolate herself
Despite the swarming mass of man
For she is more than any know
And no one dares to learn

Despite the swarming mass of man
She sets herself apart from all
And no one dares to learn
About the girl with all the flies

She sets herself apart from all
Except her tiny buzzing brood
About the girl with all the flies
Buzz a multitude of subjects

independent 7 intro

This is a stream of consciousness-style piece (God how l hate them) but I think it still has some good qualities. I was kinda hoping to comment on how many edifices of the "old ways" we hang on to despite hanging no real connection to them. People are always so quick to say "Oh, I'm an atheist" or "God is just a lie," but when push comes to shove and they really need Him they pull God out of their pocket like some kind of genie and expect Him to save their ass. I have issue with that. I'm not a freaky zealot of anything, but l think that people should be honest and consistent. It's just as bad when people try to use God's name to justify all manner of unspeakable acts of hatred. I think that people should have a personal relationship with God (or at least some kind of greater power) but that's just my personal feeling on the subject, some might disagree and I encourage that by all means. Anyways, this piece is pretty tame for me (no one dies and no one swears.) Also, l think this may be my first piece all year that doesn't objectify or degrade women in some way.

independent 7

Anachronism
Johannes H.

Saintly men from long ago
Are all but now forgotten
Saint George’s cross, Saint Elmo’s fire
Names foul to a Yuletide parishioner

The ancient God and the modern gods
All mocked with mock irreverence
Crowds of self-styled atheists
Match self-proclaimed disciples

The power and the glory
For ever and ever
Now marked by red bows, pink bunnies
And self-forbidding icons on courthouse lawns

Once God stood on Earth
Not in Eden but in the mind
Now that ground is shrinking

But I’m an anachronism
In my mind the old God still stands
I’m just a stupid little boy
And Saint Hubert’s just the Jager man

act I scene I + II (first half)

Scene I
Scene opens:
Close up on feet in boots propped up at the end of a bed, slowly pan up the length of a human body. We hear Bagatelle in A minor playing softly on a single piano. It sounds far off, hollow. As we slowly pan away from the feet up the length of the body the music slowly swells, as if getting closer. Around the belt line we flash off the sleeping body, we see a washed out and speed ramped clip about two seconds long of a single person laying on the ground surrounded by four others the music continues but we still hear the sounds of the scene muted, but audible. They kick him, spit on him, laugh at him, etc. We flash back to the sleeping body. The music still continues as we continue panning up his torso. Around the neck we flash to a similar scene to the one before, this time the laying body is dowsed in gasoline, we flash out just as one of the standing figures drops a lighter. The music ends just as we come to rest on a close up on the figure’s face, he is an adolescent male. One brief moment of silence before his eyes snap open, straight into the camera.

Voice-over
(dead pan)
That was how I died.

His eyes close as the scene fades out
Scene closes

Scene II
Scene opens
High school scene. Nothing too fancy, just a bunch of people milling around in a hallway, very cliché. Camera moves about a foot above head level of the milling students along the hallway. We eventually land on the same boy we saw sleeping earlier. He’s sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch. Our voice from before starts talking, as he introduces each character we flash to a still shot which will be described later.

Voice-over
This is where I go to school. I’m a senior this year…was a senior…am a senior. This is yesterday, you won’t really understand what happens tonight unless you see this part. There are a few people that you should probably be familiar with. Meet Fergus. [still frame shows a very fit teenager dressed in camo proudly holding up a deer’s head, his face is obscured by face-paint] Fergus hates everyone, not that anyone is too fond of him either. He once got in a fight and broke the arm of Marcus. [still frame shows an obvious athlete down in a push-up position, his shirt bears the school mascot and the word "FOOTBALL."] Marcus, school celebrity. He never forgave Fergus and made sure his life was a living hell from than on. Fergus made up for it by stalking Marcus’ sister, Alice. [still frame shows cheerleader hanging midair] Just kidding, that sort of family only exists in bad movies. [still switches to a girl sitting in the bleachers surrounded by other girls, all smoking. Very chic, they think.] The true-blue American-bitch. I never got what Fergus saw in her but she loathed him and it made for some entertainment. Oh, and while we’re on this shot, meet Beth. [shot pans slightly to the girl on Alice’s right] Alice’s best friend and guard dog. Beth was the only girl to ever voluntarily speak to Fergus. Shortly thereafter she became the first girl Fergus ever had to fight. Fergus won. Beth and Alice killed his dog in retaliation. Crazy bitches. Oh, and lets not forget Duke. [still shot shows a teenager in jeans and a wife-beater leaning up against a red convertible.] Frank J. Duke, Marcus’ best friend since childhood and his version of Beth. A sadist of finest caliber. He too had had a run-in with Fergus. He won. Broke three of Fergus’ ribs.

Switch back to the hallway scene. Still focused on the boy from scene one. Rotate camera around him so we see the scene unfolding in front of him. He is sitting at a table with three other boys.

Voice-over
Oh, and that’s me at the table there

Marcus enters tailed by Duke.

Marcus
(mid-sentience when he enters)
…and she was asking for it besides.
(Duke laughs, nonverbal agreement)
(Marcus shifts attention to the boys sitting at the table)
Hey…You. Get the fuck outa my chair.

this is a baseball. Baseball is often called the national sport of America. Baseball games are long slow and boring yet some people absolutely love them. Isn't that stupid!