| Spartans |
[Sep. 29th, 2006|02:36 am] |
Spartans have never really been known for their emotional content. Many times in the past, the rest of the country would look at my ancestral culture as odd or removed from any sort of heartache. This, for the most part, is very true. The Spartans have ALWAYS been stonefaced and ready to face any fear they might have within them. This led to the total denial and supression of any negative, or positive, emotion. Children were raised with the ideal that strength comes from the ability to push forward despite any obstacles that might be in their way. I, for one, love it.
I love the fact that my heritage is rich in both beauty and savagery. I love the fact that there has never been a major disaster in my family that hasn't been dealt with in an efficient and oftentimes blunt manner. I love the fact that every single time I hear about Leonidas and the 300 I swell up with pride. Granted, it may have happened several millenia ago, but I'm the product of such people.
I'm Spartan. I love being Spartan. I grew up in an environment where my feelings were tempered with swift and direct logic, something that still stays with me up until now. Whenever I waver I think back to the way that my grandfather would discuss his days in the war or the stories of my great-uncle Tony up until his death. He was 99, an age that most of my family still meets to this day.
My grandfather is 87 years young, he still lifts a good 210 pounds and has a loving and nurturing side to him that he's earned through the most horrific experiences that anyone could face. Including the seperation of himself and his brother on the advent of a world war. My great-uncle Tony had gone to America and fought as a naval officer while my grandfather was still within Greece defending his homeland from the Germans, not to mention several other martial factions that compromised the safety of its people, as a horse guard for the king. Both my grandfather and my great-uncle Tony command a lot of respect from me, it's just not something that can be helped. I guess I should tell my grandfather how I feel, but feelings have never been the most open thing for me to discuss.
My father's father was also in Greece at that time, during a state of turmoil and bloodshed that left many of his friends and a brother dead. He had to deal with the horrors of the time and the outlandish treatment of his people, but he still pushed forward and came to Canada, working as a janitor at a hospital for several years. My grandmother continued to work there until a decade and a half ago. They came here as the people of a greatly misunderstood and at that point Communist country, forcing themselves to deal with the racism and prejudice that plagued my country just as much, if not more, than the USA. But even through all the taunting and the pain, they raised 2 children who became productive members of society.
My dad has been working for Canada Post since he was 23, the same age that I am now, and even though the job has its ups and downs he has never once thought of giving up because he knew he had to provide for his wife and his son. My mother is an extremely caring woman who works as a teacher at a local high school giving French lessons. She's had to deal with a lot of problems, most of which I personally take the blame for considering how rebellious I had been earlier on in my life.
I respect them all greatly. When I was younger I had assumed that strength meant being loud, being standoffish, never allowing anybody close enough to hurt me. But I understand what it means much better now. Being strong has nothing to do with how hard you can throw a punch, or how much damage you can cause at a whim. It has to do with keeping the knowledge that you might commit these acts and instead of causing destruction with that kind of power preventing it. I know that strength is as much about defending what you believe in and standing up for a weaker individual as it is about compassion and honesty. I know so much more from the past 5 years about strength and integrity than I ever had before, and I owe it all to my background of temperment and thought. |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 27th, 2006|02:41 pm] |
Hello. I realize that most people might now know me, especially considering this is my first time actually having submitted anything to this particular venue, but I can assure you that I'm an honest man. Honesty is an art that's been lost over time, replaced with a skillful foot-fare of white lies and outright denial that would leave even the most reasonable people on the planet half-dead with an aneurysm. A few decades ago this might have been attributed to the latest drug craze or simply something as basic as insanity, but thanks to our brand new-age way of thinking it's all boiled down to "not being able to understand your partner". Guess what. You're in luck.
1: Philosophy as an everyday source of conversation is dull.
4 years ago I had decided that I had found someone that I would be willing to have a relationship with. We discussed philosophy it was a good time had by all. Oh, you want to discuss the existence of God? Great! Is there a point in living? SUPER. Where has all the rum gone? Fantastic. It was an uplifting experience to have a conversation with someone who was so apparently in tune with their thoughts and the nature of reality. That was, of course, until the conversations that were once spontaneous and interesting turned into a cacophony of repetition and bland footnoting. The grand scale on which we had our discussions had turned into a forum the size of a matchbox. It was getting stifling quick.
2: Don't expect an artist to ever compromise on anything, no matter how reasonable.
To add to the philosophy, she was also an artist. Again, being in film I find that having a creative side is a great way for a person to express themselves emotionally and physically and there is no problem in that. However, being a Spartan male as I had been raised from the womb I found that she was a little too flirtatious and what not, mostly due to the excessive use of cleavage that threatened to outbid the Grand Canyon for America's Largest Crevace. When the issue had been raised (tastefully, mind you. I'm only bitter -after- the fact) she had claimed that she dressed how she wanted to dress and that would be the end of it. Again, I had assumed that maybe I was being too hard on her so the issue was dropped. Then came the accusations that I was sleeping with everyone I knew because I had worn a shirt that was a little too tight. By year 2, things were becoming more and more apparent that this former goddess was no longer what I had thought.
3: If it's too hot outside, it's because the sun is your fault.
Rounding out the middle of our second year, I continued to go to school and work a few part time jobs on the side to keep myself occupied. I had assumed that this course of action was the intelligent way to go about things seeing as how the two of us wanted to maintain the relationship, regardless as to whether or not I was confused as to WHY I wanted to continue it in the first place. I had asked, politely, if she had any leads or hopes of either getting a job or going to school. Of course, this lead to a huge argument as to how I would be mad at her for doing so, especially since we had such little time to talk together and she didn't want to lose me. But there was absolutely no issue with my carrying most of the financial aspects of the relationship on my back. By this point I had accumulated several issues with the relationship that all had the makings of a large neon sign blasting out "BAD IDEA" onto a red light district infested with herpes.
4: If she can move on, you better have a genital cage ready.
Year 4 finally came around and she had decided that I was holding her back. Baffled by this, I said "fine" not wanting to compromise on what I had tried to do several times before, which was getting out of the relationship. A few months had passed and I found a strange rumour going around that she had been seeing a few guys while she was still with me. Being the type of person I am, I confronted her with the accusation claiming where it had originated from, the level of the rumours, and my concern. The result was a lot of fake crying, quickly followed by anger, and then a reciprocation of rumours that could never possibly have come up. Regardless of all of this, I merely said that I would not get back together with her and moved on, wishing her the best. A good quarter of a year later the possibility of a serious relationship on a grand scale arises with someone, and it had turned out that we had a lot in common. I've always found this refreshing because I'm a very strange man. Being the type of person I am, I inform my former partner of the situation, telling her that I've begun talking to her because I didn't want the knowledge catching her off-guard if it progressed at all.
5: Take a hint and stop caring.
Obviously she was rabid by this situation and turned into a lunatic of Bruce Banner/Hulk-esque proportions. I can see her now becoming a good 13 stories tall yelling "SMASH PUNY ITALIAN TAKE OUT PLACE" and calling a bloodoath on the destruction of Wal-Mart or something similar. The unfortunate part is that this isn't the only relationship that's ended like this in the history of the world.
6: The greatest advice you will EVER get.
My advice to men everywhere? If she doesn't budge on the bill, it's best to just leave the table. |
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| Greatest Canadian Ever |
[Sep. 25th, 2006|07:23 pm] |
Personally, I've always found myself thinking of what has shaped this country into the current self-parodying, slightly cynical, and always slap-stick view that it's taken ever since the early 40's and come to a single conclusion every time - we're just like that. More than anything, though, there has always been a single man who's managed to make a name for himself not only through his diverse acting and directing abilities, but also because of the way he's poked fun at his own nature for the past few decades. That man, of course, is William Shatner.
At 23 years, I'm not old in any sense of the word, except maybe in spirit where I often times think I'm 40, but when I had first heard William Shatner's version of Mr. Tambourine Man I almost died of a mixture that came with both joy and undiluted comic relief. It was the single funniest thing I had ever heard or been privy to. A few years after this, I had seen Wrath of Kahn for the first time at the age of 11 and recalled to that single moment in the refrain (Mr. TAMBOURINE MAAAAAAAN). Unfortunately, seeing as how I heard the song before watching the movie I automatically had the image in the back of my head in which the scene was almost exactly the same except with Davey Jones from the Monkees in Kahn's place. I feel a little guilty about that seeing as how it was an incredible performance from every member of the cast.
I'm straying a little bit from my original point, which is a little natural in my case. There are several great men in Canadian history; for example one might think of Trudeau, or Banting, Suzuki, Charles Best, or Bret Hart. But in my mind, Shatner has always been a focal point in both our hearts and our media as a kind of figurehead for the way we think and act. Acting completely serious with the rest of the world, but just hanging about and making stupid jokes about ourselves in private. What Canadian has honestly sat there and acted completely straight-faced when watching an episode of Due South, for example. I'm still fully convinced that the show was an inside joke that just got out of hand. No offense to Paul Gross or Leslie Neilson who were the greatest examples of Canadians being stereotyped within American media, but the very thought of an RCMP officer walking around Chicago in full formal dress is hilarious.
Shatner, on the other hand, began his career in theatre working with Stratford on various Shakespearean acts and the ONLY reason why I find that impressive is because Bill was involved. Normally I think that these things are bland and lacking in creativity due to their very cookie-cutter nature. Goddamn those directors who think that a retelling of Othello in a modern setting is going to hype it up. No, no it won't. However, when I saw Free Enterprise and the version of Ceasar that had been presented near the end, I actually had a morbid curiosity as to whether or not it would actually be presented.
So far Shatner has done the impossible twice with me, made me entertained by Bob Dylan and piqued my interest in Shakespeare.
Adding to both of these incredible feats, I found myself WATCHING Star Trek specifically because of the dynamics with the rest of the crew. I had attempted to watch through the Star Wars series to see what the big deal was, but I was never quite able to give a damn about any of the characters. A feeling worsened only by Lucas' attempts at creating a prequel series that quite honestly made me hate the whole lot of them. Star Trek, however, was insanely interesting if only because of the limited amount of time between episodes and the level of special effects that, for the time, were incredibly well managed and budgeted. I've always been very Spartan with my interests, pardon the pun.
Anyway, my personal opinion is that Shatner should run for office unless he's burned his Canadian citizenship due to the idiocy involved in our foreign policy and overall boring behaviour. Not only has he managed to get me interested in Bob Dylan and Shakespeare, but also got me to watch science fiction, a medium that until I was 10 was the be all and end-all of nerddom. Hell, I'd vote for him. |
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| Muscle Progress |
[Jul. 25th, 2006|03:25 am] |
I've been eating a lot lately. I mean, a LOT. Steak steak steak steak steak steak steak.
Upper body target-
Total weight: 225 pounds
Biceps goal: 20 inches
Week 1-
Left bicep: 13.5 inches
Right bicep: 13.5 inches
Weight: 178
Total Reps: 50
Week 2-
Left bicep: 14 inches
Right bicep: 14 inches
Weight: 180
Total Reps: 60 (40/20)
Week 3-
Left Bicep: 14.2 inches
Right Bicep: 14.2
Weight: 183
Total Reps: 85 (50/15/20)
Week 4-
Left bicep: 14.4 inches
Right bicep: 14.5 inches
Weight: 190
Total Reps: 110 (50/30/30) |
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| Book of Stupid Lies |
[Jul. 24th, 2006|03:13 am] |
As some people know...few people...4 tops...I'm a very self-involved piece of shit. Being a piece of shit is a major hassle since you pretty much have to be an asshole 24/7 and think about yourself in a third person context. For example, "Ken only smokes Canadian cigarettes. Or Ken'll smoke those cigarettes you can buy at the duty free. You know, the ones that taste like fucking apple or something? Yeah, Ken likes those too." While most people might find such behaviour to be "pointless" or "dull" or "why the fuck hasn't someone sat on your face just to shut you up so you can make that brrrrrrrrrrrrrt thing with your tongue yet", I find it to be an experience that should be shared amongst the masses.
This is why I'm writing the Book of Stupid Lies - An Autobiographical Adventure.
Sample lies - I once had an orgasm so grand that it disturbed global ley-lines, inadvertantly causing 9/11 to which terrorist organizations would claim as their own.
When I was younger a cougar swallowed me whole, forcing me to skin the animal from the pit of its stomach.
If I'm upset enough, I can cause coffee to lactate from my nipples.
The word "hexagonal" will send me into a blissful trance, much like a kitten with cat nip.
The enemy of nachos and coffee can be found in the combination of tofu salad and wine spritzers.
My penis had once been 20 inches long, but I had donated half to John Bobbit. The current size can be attributed to the doctors "taking an inch or two extra off the top".
A page from "Chapter 1? Prologue? I don't care.":
=I was conceived on the date of October 14th, 1982. This date holds a great deal of significance since it's not only creepy to be able to calculate, but also it was the same date of the failed hostile takeover of the Americas by the creatures known as the Qwerties of Alpha Centauri.
As few people realize, no doubt, my father had played an instrumental role in this endeavour as he led the Greek-Canadian Club of Ethic Spite in their rally against these creatures. He was aided by a fantastic effort from my mother, who at the time was the head of HEAD Co. (or the Hellenic Edifices Along Danforth coalition). Their fight was a fairly easy one since their enemies were both non-corporeal and invisible. Not to mention extremely lazy with absolutely no bearing in our existence in any way, shape, or form.
The victory was acknowledged by the yet-to-be-named Bush method, wherein it was established that if you couldn't find what you were trying to hit then you've already succeeded. Most historians, or "shroom heads", have theorized that the culmination of their efforts was due, at least in part, to the effects of twinkies upon an otherwise weightless and scentless people. The twinkies with their delicate outer shell and succulent cream filling created a vast amount of longing within the Qwerties to be real, denying them the ability to NOT be real. Shortly after accepting this theory, the historians quickly focussed on other pressing matters that had happened on the day, such as "That guy, you know?". Other historians speculate that perhaps these beings already took over the planet, then used a time machine to take over the past, but then got bored and turned into werewolves. Werewolves with knives no less.
Shortly after said victory, or defeat, the two went off and shared a plate of mythic nachos, accompanied by a pot of the mightiest coffee ever to be brewed by a living entity. The combination of the melted cheese and caffeine given to mankind by the Gods stirred within my mother such an awe inspiring force that the crumbs from my fathers beard did mix with the tiny spots of coffee on the table, creating what would essentially become me a good 9 months later. Give or take a few days. It would resurface in my genetic make-up to once again turn to my Godly parents at a later stage in my life, shortly after the introduction of my ambrosia in "smokes".
The fabled "smokes" were a message from the divine entity known only to lesser beings as "The Man", a force so powerful that he is blamed for every small inconvenience by forces who are not directly related to "The Man". That message was "Stay alive so you can have more smokes". Not being of "The Man"ly decent myself, I somehow find a lot of people group my ethnicity with that of being from his bloodline. Thankfully this can be rectified by repeating the words "Stodiabolo, vre malaka. Den eh-hies matia? Eisai vlakas pou milas me skatoulakia styn stoma sou?" Translated from the secret language of "Hurrrr", this means "Oh, hello there. I think you're wrong. Perhaps we can settle this with hugs?"=
That's all I can write in half an hour, the old brain doesn't really work all that well if I don't get a good 40 minutes of "me time". |
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| Hurrr |
[Jul. 12th, 2006|06:26 pm] |
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I've said it once and I'll say it again. Adding periods between the letters of your name doesn't make you an acronym, dammit. |
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| Will it restart? |
[Jul. 1st, 2006|12:36 am] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | I dunno. | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | awake | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Meh. | ] |
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVw1w53uFcM
I'm honestly thinking about it. I mean, why the hell not? It's not like I'm getting any positive feedback from people I know, so the only obvious project would be going around being an asshole. For real this time. Oh yeah, baby. Gonna be a fucking asshole, great times for all. I don't even know why the subject heading is a question, not like I'm gonna listen to anyone's answer. lol |
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| You LOSE! Good DAY, sir! |
[Apr. 12th, 2006|09:55 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | HOME BITCHES! | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | predatory | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Europe - The Final Countdown | ] |
I noticed something outstandingly funny about the internets about 4 minutes ago. Have you ever been to this site and just typed in the words "Suicide" or "Depressed" into the interests search? No one has a shade over grey in terms of clothing and for the most part they all have this far off expression that looks like a fat guy gazing longingly at a donut. If your life is that bad, try swallowing your mouse and hope you choke. It's a lot more productive than using the keyboard to type anything, and it serves a dual purpose for coroners. "Cause of death, attempted digestion of a computer mouse. Estimated time...fuck it, who cares. Look at this kid. Slap on the 9 PM tag and let's go to lunch." During this lunch, they will all have "fish and chips" in an attempt to make some sort of sordid humour about computers. You won't be able to understand it because A: It'll be impossibly over your head and B: You'll be dead, so you won't have the chance to be confused anyways. Loser.
Are people that starved for attention that they'll willingly post pictures of their slit wrists and gawdy jewellery on the web? I always thought of these things as mythological in nature, something to be giggled at and pitied behind closed doors. Kind of like when you first hear about getting an office job when you're 10, assuming that the whole structure is so completely stupid that it can't possibly be true. But like the bureaucratic tales, there are in fact people who are so desperate that they willingly whore out their non-existant misery to a mass audience. Most of whom, like myself, take deranged pleasure in pointing and laughing, not to mention sharing this garish mirth with the rest of the planet.
http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=depressed
Yes I know that 5, maybe 6, people in total read my LJ. Yes I know that maybe only 2 out of those proposed 6 actually go through the whole post without getting bored and that the only reason is because I'm fucking one and the other is bored as hell. However, these people MAKE UP the rest of the planet since a good portion of the planet's patrons are just figments of my imagination anyway. Like everyone I work with, besides Sid, CANNOT exist. There's no way in HELL there are people that fucking out of it that exist in this world. Therefore they don't. I guess I technically quit a job that doesn't exist, then. Which is fine since I'm still getting paid for not doing it. I'm there for another 2 weeks, so if anyone drops by during the day and I "accidentally" pour you a free beer, don't worry about it. If I'm going out, I'm making sure that every one of my friends gets something out of it. I call it karma, really. My getting screwed over means giving people a shit load of drinks, it's happened before, surely.
I love the Rose, don't get me wrong and everything was fine up until I was accused of taking about 40 bucks from the day till. That's actually kind of a half-truth, things still sucked harder than re-runs of Dallas. I'm never able to take days off since there's no one who can cover my fucking shifts, so I'm working with a migraine about 20% of the time. We never have a competant manager, and the second we DO they're so over-burdened with the LAST one's shit that they end up getting ridiculously moody and contrived. And NO ONE knows what the fuck their job is. Hell, I still don't know what the fuck my job is, and I've been there for almost 3 months.
Whatever, I'm setting up an interview with an advertising firm tomorrow, so unless they want to pay me over 12 bucks an hour they can suck my hairy Greek ballsack. |
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| I would like a giant statue of myself made from dog food. |
[Mar. 26th, 2006|09:14 pm] |
I dunno, I'm pretty sure I'm just going to write a bunch of irrelevant crap today, but it wouldn't be a LiveJournal without irrelevant crap! OH YEAH!
I have only 2 packs left of that carton I got from Greece. All things considered, that's not so bad. I mean, a pack a day has always been fairly standard for me, more so since I work at a bar.
Work itself is still alright, a little dull half the time and gets slightly confusing since it's a rousing round of "Who's The Boss" every fucking time I punch in.
Seriously, guys. Pick one and stick with it, otherwise I'll be forced to assume that whomever's signed my paycheque is the one responsible for my extended tenure. Gawawawawawawd damn. |
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