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Distractions
It amazes me how many distractions there are in the world, and yet it comes as no surprise, either. Once we are given consciousness, we have the additional burden of spending it wisely. And really, who wants to do that when you could blow it on television, alcohol, or any number of brain-numbing activities?
Sometimes I feel like each of us is so latent with potential, it's practically seeping from our pores. What are we so afraid to achieve?
Sometimes I feel like each of us is so latent with potential, it's practically seeping from our pores. What are we so afraid to achieve?
Good Question
"Who's Gonna Save My Soul" by Gnarls Barkley, though simple in its lyricism, is one of the most soul-wrenching ballads I've heard in a while. You should listen.
Retrogress
It's a hard journey, going back to doing something you always loved to do, but that you haven't done in a while. For me, that's cartooning. I used to cartoon all the time until high school, when for some reason I just stopped. Now I'm doing it again. I'm brainstorming for a short graphic novel. Doing some initial character sketches.
It really scares me, I'm not going to lie. I'm scared of being judged. That may not make sense, but I am. I'm afraid people will compare it to something else and then I'll be finished. Revealed to be a fake, a sham. But, to hell with it. I get tired of pretending I'm not passionate about certain things.
So, here goes.
It really scares me, I'm not going to lie. I'm scared of being judged. That may not make sense, but I am. I'm afraid people will compare it to something else and then I'll be finished. Revealed to be a fake, a sham. But, to hell with it. I get tired of pretending I'm not passionate about certain things.
So, here goes.
Something To Eat
If you're in the vicinity of the L.A. Arts District and you're hungry, go to Aye Carambas and order the carne asada burrito. It is the most celestial conglomeration of steak, rice, pinto beans, and salsa verde I have ever tasted. I think it might have changed my life.
Serial Comma
I'm having a crisis of faith.
For a year now, I have been a disciple of the gospel according to Strunk and White. Their book The Elements of Style is the only reference book a writer needs. But in the last week, I've seen one of their precious beatitudes violated so many times, I am starting to wonder if the world of grammar is spiraling into apostasy.
Verily, I speak of the serial comma.
The serial comma is the comma that appears after the second to last item in a list. For instance, in the sentence "I had ham, eggs, and toast for breakfast", the comma after "eggs" is the serial comma. According to The Elements of Style, the presence of this serial comma is a necessity.
But at work, as I've edited missions statements, press releases, and website copy—hey, there's one right there for you—I have noticed a perturbing lack of serial commas in the published world. My former deity is effervescing into a cloud of doubt. It's like learning Santa isn't real.
I would have dismissed all this, except that as I went to the bank today, I saw this emblazoned above the teller windows: "Savings, Checking & Loans."
What the eff?
Here's the truth about serial commas, and also a revelation of how stupid and obsessed we English majors can be: there is no consensus on the serial comma. Some use it; some don't. I, however, find it a comfortable distinction. So I will continue to use it with pride, confidence, and self-assurance.
Boo-yah, mo' fo's.
For a year now, I have been a disciple of the gospel according to Strunk and White. Their book The Elements of Style is the only reference book a writer needs. But in the last week, I've seen one of their precious beatitudes violated so many times, I am starting to wonder if the world of grammar is spiraling into apostasy.
Verily, I speak of the serial comma.
The serial comma is the comma that appears after the second to last item in a list. For instance, in the sentence "I had ham, eggs, and toast for breakfast", the comma after "eggs" is the serial comma. According to The Elements of Style, the presence of this serial comma is a necessity.
But at work, as I've edited missions statements, press releases, and website copy—hey, there's one right there for you—I have noticed a perturbing lack of serial commas in the published world. My former deity is effervescing into a cloud of doubt. It's like learning Santa isn't real.
I would have dismissed all this, except that as I went to the bank today, I saw this emblazoned above the teller windows: "Savings, Checking & Loans."
What the eff?
Here's the truth about serial commas, and also a revelation of how stupid and obsessed we English majors can be: there is no consensus on the serial comma. Some use it; some don't. I, however, find it a comfortable distinction. So I will continue to use it with pride, confidence, and self-assurance.
Boo-yah, mo' fo's.
Poetry Battle, Part II
There strides the Migtastic,
blastin' his mouth so bombastic,
thinkin' his vocab's elastic
with his brain made of plastic,
like he got it from McDonald's
with his Chicken McNuggets.
Shoot, if stupid's a soda,
He'd probably chug it.
Word, biatch.
blastin' his mouth so bombastic,
thinkin' his vocab's elastic
with his brain made of plastic,
like he got it from McDonald's
with his Chicken McNuggets.
Shoot, if stupid's a soda,
He'd probably chug it.
Word, biatch.
Poetry Battle, Part I
there he goes with his flip books,
breakin' necks like a homewrecker.
thinks he's all bad-ass.
picasso wouldn't even wipe himself
with that crap.
do yourself a favor:
stick with clever quips
and unsubstantiated rants.
your cartoons look like
marmaduke.
breakin' necks like a homewrecker.
thinks he's all bad-ass.
picasso wouldn't even wipe himself
with that crap.
do yourself a favor:
stick with clever quips
and unsubstantiated rants.
your cartoons look like
marmaduke.
Rush Hour
the car slid, and halted...
slid, and halted...
down and down the highway...
like a goldfish bowl in an
earthquake.
he scraped his fingernails
along the steering wheel:
an engineer's joke,
he thought.
we have no more control over where we're going
than we have over how fast we get there.
traffic ebbed, traffic flowed.
the floating excrement
of carbon fumes and
talk show radio waves
flooded his gills.
meanwhile, he grazed
the empty seat beside him,
as pristine as a newly planted
plastic castle.
It would be nice, he thought,
for a playful hand to poke at mine.
while I was shifting gears.
...to distract me.
slid, and halted...
down and down the highway...
like a goldfish bowl in an
earthquake.
he scraped his fingernails
along the steering wheel:
an engineer's joke,
he thought.
we have no more control over where we're going
than we have over how fast we get there.
traffic ebbed, traffic flowed.
the floating excrement
of carbon fumes and
talk show radio waves
flooded his gills.
meanwhile, he grazed
the empty seat beside him,
as pristine as a newly planted
plastic castle.
It would be nice, he thought,
for a playful hand to poke at mine.
while I was shifting gears.
...to distract me.
Seeing Is Believing
"Egypt one knows without visiting it, and China the same; but Los Angeles is unique in its bright horror."
—Gore Vidal, Messiah