| (no subject) |
[Nov. 5th, 2004|07:23 pm] |
So there's some sort of hope.
In one voting precinct in Gahanna, Ohio, 4,258 voters supposedly cast an electronic ballot for George Bush while only 260 voted for John Kerry. While it is vaguely possible that over 94% of voters in the precinct supported George W. Bush, it is a hard number to believe considering that only 638 voters were counted at the polling center.
To view the vote count for yourself, click on this link (link didn't work) and scroll to page 23 (Adobe Acrobat Reader required).
Another curious number that should be investigated is how the Gahanna District ended up with a voter turnout above 100% according to data compiled by the members of DemocraticUnderground.com and confirmed by the Washington Dispatch. Within this recent election, 20,736 voters cast ballots in all of Gahanna's districts while the City of Gahanna only shows that it has roughly 20,130 citizens of voting age. Even with 90% voter registration, 20,736 ballots cast within the City of Gahanna would be an amazing feat worthy of biblical notoriety. Others may call it fraud.
For more information, see Shane Cory's latest commentary on the matter: Should America Trust the Results of the Election?
(Taken from http://www.washingtondispatch.com/spectrum/archives/000712.html).
But this is a strange kind of hope. They've got the house, they've got the senate, they own the country. Is he going to be impeached if it comes out that he rigged the election? Probably not. He's the only ethical candidate. The only one fueled by moral compass and the conscience to steer him right. God's at the helm, kids. If you don't understand, get used to it. you're in the minority, anyway. |
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| (no subject) |
[Nov. 3rd, 2004|11:22 am] |
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Hi, the rest of the world. It's gaetano. Please send help. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 27th, 2004|11:23 pm] |
Three goats are sitting on top of a mountain. The goats are named Bill, Mark, Jeff. Bill says to Mark, "Oh, fuck. we're missing the game"
Get it? they're goats. goats don't watch "games". That one cracks me up.
Sometimes it's just easier to start writing. |
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| You look your most beautiful with that worm coming out of your eye socket. |
[Jun. 15th, 2004|01:43 am] |
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A long time ago, I crawled in between sheets. They must have been near freezing. As it brushed against my leg, it grated my skin and pieces flaked off the bed like sparks. The sparks fell and flared just as they met the sheets. You slunk your way in after me but, oddly enough, unscathed. The fallen pieces of ash melted and collected at your feet in a shallow pool. But the wind came and cooled the pool. It hardened into porous shackles that kept our feet from entangling. Once again the sparks shot out and collected and condensed, this time slowly grasping our mid sections. again for our arms. Unable to gasp, we sat, reminiscing of things we had seen and been. I remember the way you looked when the first bit of moss crept up. not startled, just observant. soon, my eyes began to wander and lose focus. Everything darkened, but I still saw it. just below your left cheek, something began to open up. small at first, but soon gaping. It festered and boiled and began to expel more than your lungs. I wanted to tell you how much you had meant to me, but it appeared as if my tongue had dissolved and melted away. I'm pretty sure I wanted to think this anyway, knowing you'd know exactly what I was thinking, but senses dull and skills get rusty. |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 22nd, 2004|11:11 pm] |
My dad and I spent the day trying to one up each other. I came home brandishing knowledge of parallel and series wiring. He countered with a books worth of information on welding. Dammit. I tried to explain what a humbucker was. He reposted with clever ploy about not caring enough to know anything about it. It was so dirty and underhanded it actually worked. Son of a bitch. I decided to unleash my trump card and showed him the pictures of the guitar I built. Discrediting everything I had establish, he asked if I had remembered to bring it. Prick. How foolish of me to forget. But I thought I had won. The victory simmered in my mouth, too hot to even taste at first. Mellowing on my tongue moments later, we hoped in the car. We drove to the end of our drive way and he pointed out the wraught iron gate and brick posts he had just recently fashioned. I don't remember if we hit a bump or my jaw hit the floor. Fucker.
If this is the way we spend the rest of our lives, I'll die a happy man with an endless supply of worthless shit i've created. |
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| A triumphant return. |
[May. 17th, 2004|01:17 pm] |
So here's the skinny.
1. I was arrested since I last talked to you guys
2. I built a guitar since then.
I have pictures of both.
1.
2.
I may write later today about life, love, duchebaggery, and airpunching.
Same bat live journal
Same bat web adress. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 21st, 2004|11:29 pm] |
Q Scott, so, for example, in January '73, the President served, according to this, on January 4th, January 5th, January 6th in either Texas or Alabama -- according to document five. Is that correct?
MR. McCLELLAN: You are paid for the days you serve. You have the documents right in front of you. These are documents straight from the Personnel --
Q Is that "yes"?
MR. McCLELLAN: -- straight from the Personnel Center in Colorado.
Q Is that "yes"?
MR. McCLELLAN: I said you are paid for the days in which you serve. And, again, we're talking about 30 years ago, Elisabeth. The President recalls serving in Alabama. He also recalls serving in Texas. That's what he recalls. And that's why --
Q But, again, -- I know you're going to bat this down, but there are people who --
MR. McCLELLAN: You know, there were a lot of people calling for these records to be released. We finally came across these records. They have been released, and these documents reflect the fact that the President met his requirements and fulfilled his duties.
Q And the fact that some of his officers don't recall ever seeing him, are you suggesting that they just don't remember after 30 years?
MR. McCLELLAN: Well, I think I'll let them speak for themselves. I'm not sure that they exactly said it in that way. Some different ones said different things.
Q They have. They have spoken for themselves. They don't remember.
Q What is your answer to them about why they don't remember seeing the President?
MR. McCLELLAN: That the President recalls serving. I just said that.
And this goes on and on for about 20 minutes. Hats off to the ladies and gentlemen at the AP. They're finally gathering the balls to do some heavy duty investigative work for us. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 15th, 2004|11:47 am] |
I live off campus and do not plan on being up there for a few days. I am
happy to meet with you, but I guess downtown is best for me. Tuesday morning
might work. But we could also maybe cover ground this way or on the phone.
For example, a standard question at this point might be "what do I need to
do to pass the course". My records show a B and a D for the two exams, along
with a rather extreme drop off in attendance after the first couple of
weeks. You are definately eligible to pass the course, if that is your
concern. The best move is to write an A paper. Call me at 423-5739, and/or
we can arrange a meeting is that's whats best for you.
Adam
(My TA)
When he says rather extreme drop off in attendance, he means never going after the first 2 weeks.
10 credits here I come. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 14th, 2004|11:46 pm] |
I need some sort of new mantra. The old ones just aren't cutting it. In my early 20's I find it increasingly difficult to be taken seriously yelling passionately about being misunderstood and in love. People have stopped listening. Somewhere in between our last free summer as a wide eyed college student and a blue collar slob with his nose to the grindstone, we're expected to carve away the romantic pursuits that we grew up with. They used to say that these were the only things worth fighting for. Empires fought over cities and Pirates fought over booty, but somehow they all missed the point. They battled without the unbridled passion that kept Romeo and Juliet Rome and Juliet. But we were supposed to know better.
And somewhere it disappeared. Somehow it was just ignored and shook out of the etch-a-sketch. No one forgot that it used to be there. It just seemed frivolous.
But rest assured. Like your vintage corduroy clothes, compassion and love has made it's blinding return out of the swamp. Its newest and most pure incarnation is in the form of a political party. Now dually effective with substance and direction, the Republican party has combined sensible family values with clean, wholesome compassion for their fellow man. Raking in fist over dollar while subtlely dancing around environmental protection laws and agencies, the party employs grace and tact while demolishing once sacred treaties and setting unheard of precedents.
And that's exactly how we will henceforth refer to it. The Party. Because we only need one. Partisan politics has too long been a thorn in the side of modern democracy. Also, in keeping with our new found theme of efficiency, we cut out the bullshit pandering provided by that "other" party. Slowly inching towards the middle, it was only a matter of time before they were assimilated into the folds of the Party. And the "other" party just lied down to die. Afterall, the new party machine seems unbeatable. And if you can't beat em, it's better not to lose your incumbency. Besides, you can still bill yourself as the same level headed office holder you always were. You're just a moderate now.
So maybe i don't have to find a new mantra. I'm just as misunderstood by the party that attempts to represent me as I was by my parents at 17 and I'm just as hopelessly in love with the futility of action as I was at 6. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 20th, 2004|01:01 am] |
Judy told me that my last post sounded like it was a column written for some sort of women's magazine. Well guess what? I just wrote a few.
Article 1:
Why men are cranky.
Recent studies by some super smart scientists have shown that men can have serious health problems due to the dangerous side effects of semen build-up. One thousand men were studied and 998 of them died after 3 days of non-ejaculation. Scientists agree that the build-up results in "the rage". "The rage" causes their hearts to explode and tumors to form almost instantaneously. Experts across the board suggest that guys need lovin' every night to prevent one of the most horrible epidemics of the 21st century. So ladies, turn to page 70 to read our super informative quiz: "Do you know the 109,043,029,423,423 ways to turn on and quite possibly satisfy your man?" the quiz.
Article 2:
(This one's more of an editorial)
Puppies are so goddamn cute.
As a woman, I just love puppies. They're so fucking cute. Sometimes, I just like to lie back on the grass and think about my lover and about puppies. When I'm not thinking about what to make my boy-toy for dinner, I like to think about other stuff. Like how much he completes me. I like women's sufferage too, and all, but shit. I always say, if you're not totally satisfying your man, you should read more magazines. Also, turn to page 94. There's this great article on what sorts of panties your dude will like you in more. Thongs are great, but make sure they're lace!
*Thanks. That's the end of this post. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 16th, 2004|05:24 pm] |
I'm sitting here in my underwear and pajama shirt to prove a point: Days like these were made to do exactly this. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the long weekend. Maybe for most it's the fact that they've made it through another awful valentine's day. Well don't despair, I'll cheer you all up.
I used to have valentines' day. It always seemed real contrived. Hundreds of thousands of people buy candy and flowers for their significant others 1 day a year. Know why? Because they have to. 364 of the other days in the year, they're able to demand dinner on the table when they come home and a blowjob just before they go to bed without a hint of the finest smell known to man in the air: raspberry chocolate. But as long as you take care of your husbandly duties and buy flowers when they're twice as expensive, you're a romantic. Moreover, you've saved your relationship.
So why should any of us like a holiday like that? We all see it for what it truly is. Well here comes the good news. It's the one day a year we're free to act like the people we really are. Down under all of that make-up and bullshit posturing, you've got someone you desperately want to be. And they come out on Valentine's day.
At least for some, the holiday is marked by receiving a boquet or two of roses and at least handful of candies. Dinner was very pleasant. You wen't out to that nice italian restaurant by the beach. Afterward, you parked your car at a metered spot, got out and took a nice stroll along the bay. You couldn't dip your feet in the water because the bay was teeming with bacteria. Cholorophorm? Cholorphyl? No, well no worry. It was pretty anyway. You hold hands, you laugh, you look at the starts, you walk back to your car. You get a parking ticket because the meter was patrolled 24 hours. Fucking hell. It's ok, it's ok. It's still a great night, you're spending it with the one you love. At the end of the night, you hop in the sac. And maybe this is the special night where everything goes as planned and you finally give him what he deserves. Shit, he spent enough money on you, right? He must want to get married. Have babies like you always talked about. 6, remember?
These people are the kind that are able to ignore all the awful aspects of the holiday. The commercial nature of it, the fact that everything costs twice as much, and it doesnt stop there. They can play dumb because they've been doing it for years. Everything's a fairy-tale if you let it be.
For most of us, though, we finally get the chance to be bitter, self-loathing, hopeless romantics. The beauty of this, is that most everyone else feels the same way. We go to pity parties, we spend the night in donut shops at 2 am, and we get so drunk it feels like we've skipped a day. At this point, some of you are going to say that it's not easy for everyone to get a date or you just got dumped or blah blah blah, etc. I'm not listening to you anymore. Of course you can get a date. You're just too self involved and bitter. Most of the time, you're bitter just because you want to be. But it's ok. So am I. And the beauty of the whole holiday is that so is everyone else. This country was founded on cursing the darkness; join the ranks. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 15th, 2004|09:34 am] |
i owe him one:
nick made out with a boy last night.
take that. |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 2nd, 2004|11:22 pm] |
And the sad truth of the whole thing, kids, is that i'm not even interested in writing in my journal. These are the kind of nights i'd actually be able to curl up in a blanket and get some much needed reading done for school, but it seems I haven't bought any books. I guess I only have my self to blame.
On those semi-infrequent days when i go to school, I take the long walk home as a way to sort out everything that's been blasting around in my head for a few days. i think of conflicts and eventual resolutions, and for about five minutes, I come up with something great or interesting to write about in my journal. Something to entertain the fellas and dazzle the ladies with. But here marks the period in my life where all of that ends. I should really write it all down on paper. But by that point, I've by passed the middle men, and I no longer need you poor saps to judge me. it would be stupid to just re write it. the writing has served it's purpose.
So all hail the dawn of a new era of style for live journal. Straight hard facts. Remember that sweet spot in the relationship? where whenever you got together, some arcane chemical reaction happened so that the ground ripped apart and fire shot out. Cold fusion be dammed, this was white hot fission at its finest. Well this isn't that. It never will be again. This is the part where you get bored and have only a little money so you go to Mc donalds, but you argue the entire time through lunch. when you get back, you decide to rent a movie, but you can't because you spend 20 fucking minutes scrutinizing the relationship and bringing up past regrets in Blockbuster. Everything she does tears at you. Her sense of humor grates, and when you let something slide, that god awful laugh rears its head. The drive back is even more painful. The way she changes lanes without signaling and that god damn station she listens to makes you re-think the chance you had a mile back to jump while the car was at a decent enough speed to make the authorities suspect foul play. Well this is that. And it may be forever.
So getting started:
I'm 21.
I barely go to school.
I like a girl.
I want to write.
Future posts to come. |
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| All according to plan. |
[Jan. 25th, 2004|12:50 pm] |
I'm just going to have to come right out and say this one.
I peed my pants. Old news, I'm sure, but here's how it goes.
I stumbled home after Ian decided to ditch me at a party. Yeah, call him an asshole when you see him next time. I was walking down Bay when I realized that more than anything in life, I had to pee. This was complicated, however, by the fact that there were cars zooming by and people walking around. My first attempt in someone's yard was a no go. Too many people. I finally reached the place I had originally decided on.
Perhaps it was the cell phone in my hands, the complicated fly system my boxers implemented, or the rediculous burden on my back from carrying Ian's backpack (That he decided to leave in Judy's car and I was so gracious enough to remember it and carry it back to him, despite him ditching me at that same party.) Maybe it was all of these things. Or maybe just carrying Ian's backpack. But either way, fate conspired to make a grown man pee is pants this evening.
My friends will be happy to know that I wore it like a badge of honor. No dignity left to lose and no friends left to make. Henceforth, I'll remember that magic spot. Both in geography and on my pants. |
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| (no subject) |
[Jan. 20th, 2004|02:29 am] |
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I've been meaning to write a heart-wrenching journal, but i've been too hung over or drunk for the last, count 'em, 4 days. At this point I'd settle for coherent. neither of which seem to be happening. |
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| What a wonderful day! |
[Dec. 22nd, 2003|08:34 am] |
Dear diary,
What an incredible day! First, i woke up really early in the morning before school so that mummy could curl and froof my hair. We spent like 8 hours on it! I thought I was going to die! But then it looked splendid, so things worked out. My grammy says they always do. Just have faith in the lord and everything will work out. We learned that in Sunday school last Sunday. Before that, we learned that Jesus, our lord and savior, died for our sins so we should be afraid of gay people. There's a gay boy down the street. The big kids throw rocks at him. Sometimes I think that they should stop, but then I realize that it's what jesus wanted. Whenever they say what would jesus do, well that's it! Te-hee!
At milk break, I saw Michael Masterson again! What a Dream-boat! His hair shined in the sun just like Rett Butler's did in Gone with the Wind. I hope that one day I can marry him and have 25 of his children! I'll cook and clean and scrub, and when he's happy, then I'll be happy. Because that's what Daddy says a good wife does. Cleans and scrubs and cleans and scrubs until she can't clean and scrub no more. One time he said that if she's a really good wife she'll play the flute for daddy. I think daddy must really like the flute. But I've never heard mommy play it. Quite peculiar isn't it mr. Bugglesby?
Diary, I must introduce you to mr. Bugglesby. He's my new favorite friend. He comes from the country of tiffany & co. At least that's what Daddy says. Daddy said that it put him in the poor house, whatever that means. Put isn't he so pretty? He's just the most darling white tiger i've ever seen. Perhaps the most beautiful thing ever! Next to you, of course, diary. Oh, how I hope things work out with Michael Masterson. Soon, I will be Amanda Masterson. And our babies will be named all after him. Michael. Ohhh, what a glorious day that will be in God's church, we can kiss, but not too much! te-hee. Ta-Ta for now, Diary.
Sincerely,
Amanda Mary Beth (Masterson) Higgins |
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| Some things are better told over live journal. |
[Dec. 21st, 2003|02:06 am] |
In another brilliant flash of Gaetano-ness, I almost killed myself on the 17 tonight. I was on my way back from nick's. it was about 1:30 or so in the a.m. If luck had failed me, this would have been the third time i would have trashed a car. The probably 80th time i would have almost killed myself, and end of a lot of what should and should never be. As it turns out, i was passing people, but i wasn't doing it too fast. they were just going slow. in any event, no one was around me when i started to come out of the right turn. and of course, all 4 wheels started to slide. as i'm sliding towards the outside of the turn, i very quickly realize that i don't want to be there. it just so happens there's a big nasty wall 2 feet over. that's not my idea of a good time. so i pull the wheel to the right hoping it'll catch as i ease into the brakes. it catches too much, so i start sliding to the right. again to the left, a little less force this time. and again to the right. a little less force. once more to the left, this time way too much force. the tires again slip in the back. the end result is that i'm sliding sideways, front of the care facing into the big ass wall. I slide a good 5 feet and stop without so much as grazing the wall. pretty hot, huh? Not so hot was the car that was coming up pretty fast in my lane. so i start honking to get his attention because he probably can't see my lights too easily. He doesn't so much as tap on the brakes and he's already in the next lane zooming by me. Good for him.
What amazes me is how ridiculously calm i was through the whole thing. Last time i was in this sort of situation i panicked a bit and ended up totaling a car, got a visit from the police and had a ride home with my parents. not a great evening. but this one was. I had the presence of mind to pay attention to the wall on the left, the guard rails on the right, and slid sideways within the space of 1 1/2 car lengths or so. not a bad deal. the sliding sideways wasn't a stroke of genius, but you roll with the punches. and maybe you get hit.
So i just laughed. and it's true when they say that your life flashes before your eyes. just not all of it. I only saw all the huge fuck-ups i did that got me in some sort of trouble. most of em involved cars. here's one more for the books. I just sat there and laughed while Against Me!'s We did it all for don was playing. and it couldn't have been more fitting.
To cap off the night, the cinnamon bagel i left on the counter didn't have ants all over it. These are laziest/worst goddamn ants i have ever encountered. and it makes me happy because for once i'm in good company. i'm too lazy to put it back, they're too lazy to jump on it. everyone gets by, no one gets left behind. stick that in your pipe and smoke it, Bush. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 7th, 2003|02:30 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Sam Cooke - A Change is Gonna Come | ] |
This morning went down stairs to survey the damage. All I could see was ingredients for what I had made last night. It occurred to me that only rarely will I get this opportunity, so i started putting together one of the most fantastic meals I've had two days in a row. To toot my own horn, i've really outdone myself this time. I sat back with a beer and took a bite. I'm pretty sure I almost started crying. I'm feelin' pretty good.
The cd player spun Sam Cooke, and for a little while I began to reminisce. He sang of losing love and desperately trying to hold on to it. I remember feeling the way he must have felt when he was singing these songs. Don't worry, Sam, In 3 minutes you'll forget all about it and feel stupid for singing it. A change is gonna come, and I'm pretty sure it already has.
I finished eating and felt pretty accomplished. All you ever really have is yourself and your ability to cook. And to me, what I can give them is worth a fuck of a lot more than what they could ever do for me. |
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| And so the day draws to a close |
[Dec. 3rd, 2003|09:35 pm] |
| [ | music |
| | Journey - Don't Stop Believing | ] |
Today was fantastic. Up at three, I bashed my head on the roof of a truck so hard my head split open and started bleeding profusely, I played soccer and went to the gym for about 3 hours, cooked dinner, drank soda, and cut my thumb open pretty bad. no, but seriously. here's a picture of my head. i'm pretty sure I was giddy all day just from smacking it. aside from the normal gaetano giggling fits, of course.
In class yesterday i drew a picture of a hulk type dude. It kind of ended up looking like emile, so i put in a speech bubble.
All in all, I can's say it's been a bad week. |
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| Nothing about Thanksgiving. |
[Dec. 1st, 2003|09:46 am] |
It was fun, but this is the reason i'm posting:
"Mine is a most peaceable disposition. My wishes are: a humble cottage with a thatched roof, but a good bed, good food, the freshest milk and butter, flowers before my window, and a few fine trees before my door; and if god wants to make my happiness complete, he will grant me the joy of seeing some six or seven of my enemies hanging from those trees. Before their death I shall, moved in my heart, forgive them all the wrong they did me in their lifetime. One must, it is true, forgive their enemies - but not before they have been hanged."
-Heine |
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revhardcore's journal