Merry Christmas from the Schoens!!! It is the time of year where families come together and share in the delights of the season, and friendships are rekindled and cherished. This has been a very blessed year for our family, so once again we bring you news and good tidings from our little corner of Nebraska!
The beginning of 2007 was a wonderful start to a very happy year. Jessica was dumped by her seemingly wonderful boyfriend, and was re-committed to "The Loony Bin," AKA Mom's basement. There, she spent many a wonderful evening being screamed at by her loving sister Jamie, and slept in a guest couch covered in cat urine. Jamie made many new friends whose main focus in life was body shots. She took a tour of the detox facility, finding it to be a very suitable accommodation. She also started a new career at the unemployment office, although she feels she may be on the wrong side of the counter. John continued to not talk to anybody. Ron and Ann continued to stew in a mutual hatred that had lasted 12 years, although they made headway when their conversations started ending with the words "He/She is fucking crazy," instead of the usual "Fuck Him/Her."
As the cold, dark winter days gave way to the light of spring, The Schoen Family began to delight more and more of each other. Jessica and Jamie became the best of friends, spending much time together chatting. Although the word "chatting" could easily be substituted with the word "screaming," Jessica and Jamie have found a deep love for each other deep within their hearts. Although again, the word "love" could easily be substituted with the word "hatred." John continued to not talk to anybody, and Ron and Ann ceremoniously ended their conversations with the phrase "What a fucking nutcase."
After working many jobs that eventually ended in a case of "I hate everything, fuck that job," Jessica found a comfortable fit serving at Brewskys, and took up residence at her best friend's home. Jamie found out she was expecting and we are so excited to have an addition to the Schoen family! Jamie is as happy as can be, and it must be pointed out that any news you may have heard about "Jamie freaking out and screaming obscenities at Jessica and Ann repeatedly" is simply not true. Jamie is a sweet, loving person who only has love and best wishes for her mom and sister. She decided to tour the detox facility again, and has taken a vow not to drive her car for a year, out of respect for the environment. How selfless she is and we are all so proud of her! Jessica decided she missed her sister so much, she moved back into the basement. Her best friends were so sad to see her go, but helped her move out by putting all of her things in the front lawn for her. Jamie certainly couldn't have been happier to have her big sister back in the house. They certainly started "chatting" more, and even brought Ann into their loving conversations. Jessica very sadly had to let her employment at Brewskys terminate, but was very happy to live in her mom's basement while she found a new job and was very grateful she had Jamie and Ann to remind her of her accomplishments everyday. John continued to not talk to anybody, and Ron and Ann's conversations ended with "You handle it, they're your children."
Eventually, Jamie and Jessica had to part ways. Jamie once again helped Jessica move by putting all of her things in the yard. Jessica took a camping trip for a night, although she used her car as a tent. What an adventure! Jessica was so happy to have the opportunity to sleep under the stars one more time before it grew cold again. She decided to live at Ron's house while she saves up money for a move to Minneapolis. She'll be sad to go, and she wants everybody to know how much she will miss them! Especially her sister and her best friends. She'll hold them in her heart as the most caring and loving people she knows. She works at Nebraska Book Company, and feels this is the best job she's ever had! Jamie is due in May, and we all know she'll make an awesome mother. She's recently taken a vow not to leave the house, and started wearing a beautiful ankle bracelet as a mark of her solidarity to the her vow. John continues to not talk to anybody, and Ron and Ann end their conversations with "Go to Hell."
The Schoens hope this Christmas letter finds you well and in good health, and we pray that your family is as blessed as ours! Merry Christmas everybody!
Ron, Ann, Jessica, Jamie, and John.
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Monday, December 03, 2007
The Mirror
So okay, I wrote this 4 years ago and have never shared it with anybody. Probably because I sound like I'm a nut job crazy insane person. But, seeing as how I am suffering from a 3 month long writer's block, and I've always though this to be a fabulous allegory on finding one's self, I figured "what the fucking hell." So here you go, my crazy nut job piece.
Who is this person staring back at me in the mirror? I really think I know her, but lately, I just can’t get a grasp on who she is. I stare at her, wishing to touch her. But every time I try, my fingers touch glass. Cold and hard to the touch, is this who she is?
I stare into her eyes. They’re big, haunted eyes, eyes the color of jade. What’s behind them? What are her thoughts? Her eyes give no indication, they just stare back at me with a piercing look that makes me shiver. It’s so strong I have to look away.
I feel empty. Like a jigsaw puzzle that lost all the inside pieces. When the wind blows under this vast starry sky, it blows right through me. I feel lost. Every star in the sky looks the same, there’s no one star to single out and follow. How did I get here, so lost and so empty?
The girl in the mirror. She’s led me here, and now I’m lost. Why did she do that? What good could it possibly do her to leave me stranded like this? I look at her once again, but she just returns that cool, hard stare.
I feel mesmerized by her. She’s weaving a web around me that I’m powerless to stop. But her eyes…
I just want to look into her eyes…
The mirror has shattered. It’s tiny slivers and pieces are spread in the grass all around me.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m wandering around, leaving bloody footprints on the grass. The slivers of glass under my bare feet slice me as I walk.
The wind still blows through me.
I’m looking for pieces. I pick one up, study it. There’s her eye, still haunting me, piercing me in jade. I find another one. This time, it’s harder to tear myself from the eye’s steely gaze. Her eyes are in every piece I find, making me look harder, faster for the pieces of the girl in the mirror. A million eyes look back at me as I rush to put the pieces together.
My hands are cut, oozing blood on the shattered pieces of my mirror, yet I still work feverishly to put the jigsaw of eyes together.
Whole around the edges, empty in the middle…
A drop of my blood falls on the mirror’s piece, making the eye red. I stop and stare at it- the cold, clear jade is now a deep, disturbing red. Making the eye evil.
I shriek, and toss the red eye away.
Now my tears are mixing with my blood, making it harder to fit the pieces together.
Her eyes… are everywhere. With a look as hard and cold as the glass that holds them, each eye possesses me, makes me mad.
I’ve got to finish…
My head feels droopy, it’s hard to keep my eyes open, but I still work, cutting myself on each piece before I fit it into the puzzle. The grass is red, stained with the blood that’s pouring out of my hands and feet.
The last piece is gone.
The eyes look at me accusingly. I threw it away, the last piece of the puzzle that would make the girl in the mirror whole. I threw it, and it’s gone.
I collapse to the ground, exhausted and weeping at the eyes. But they pay no attention. Each eye begs me to look, and finally, I lift my head, bloody and tearstained to look.
The eyes are red.
Her eyes…
The wind has stopped blowing.
The mirror is almost finished, but there is one piece missing, right where the girl’s heart should be. The girl is back, whole and piercing me with those cold, jade eyes again.
Where can I find the last piece?
I sit, cross-legged on the grass, staring back at the girl, wondering what to fill the hole in the mirror with.
My hands and feet are dark red, stained with my own blood, but they feel so warm. Almost a tingly sensation- my hands and feet have bees swarming inside them.
The Earth is also red, a deep peaceful red.
What can I do to finish my mirror?
The girl in the mirror is mocking me. Her eyes are dancing, she knows I cannot finish.
I drop my head into my hands and weep.
My tears are warm, adding even more warmth to my hands- they now feel on fire. What a sensation- so much different from the coldness of the mirror.
I touch the empty spot in the mirror with my tear soaked hand, and the girl blinked.
She blinked, and for one moment, I was out of her penetrating stare. I touch it again. Another blink.
Her eyes are silent now, with every touch of my hand, they grow mute.
I think I know now…
I stand up, and pick up a clod of deep red Earth. I mix it with my tears until it is clay.
And I shape it, mold it, into a heart.
A warm, red heart.
The girl’s gaze is curious now, for the first time, I can look at her eyes and not feel trapped. I smile at her, then place the Earthen heart where the last piece should be.
It fits. Her cold jade eyes start to grow warmer, until they are the color of shiny emeralds-
And the girl smiled back.
Who is this girl staring back at me in the mirror?She’s me. And the wind has never felt so good on my face….
Who is this person staring back at me in the mirror? I really think I know her, but lately, I just can’t get a grasp on who she is. I stare at her, wishing to touch her. But every time I try, my fingers touch glass. Cold and hard to the touch, is this who she is?
I stare into her eyes. They’re big, haunted eyes, eyes the color of jade. What’s behind them? What are her thoughts? Her eyes give no indication, they just stare back at me with a piercing look that makes me shiver. It’s so strong I have to look away.
I feel empty. Like a jigsaw puzzle that lost all the inside pieces. When the wind blows under this vast starry sky, it blows right through me. I feel lost. Every star in the sky looks the same, there’s no one star to single out and follow. How did I get here, so lost and so empty?
The girl in the mirror. She’s led me here, and now I’m lost. Why did she do that? What good could it possibly do her to leave me stranded like this? I look at her once again, but she just returns that cool, hard stare.
I feel mesmerized by her. She’s weaving a web around me that I’m powerless to stop. But her eyes…
I just want to look into her eyes…
The mirror has shattered. It’s tiny slivers and pieces are spread in the grass all around me.
I don’t know what to do.
I’m wandering around, leaving bloody footprints on the grass. The slivers of glass under my bare feet slice me as I walk.
The wind still blows through me.
I’m looking for pieces. I pick one up, study it. There’s her eye, still haunting me, piercing me in jade. I find another one. This time, it’s harder to tear myself from the eye’s steely gaze. Her eyes are in every piece I find, making me look harder, faster for the pieces of the girl in the mirror. A million eyes look back at me as I rush to put the pieces together.
My hands are cut, oozing blood on the shattered pieces of my mirror, yet I still work feverishly to put the jigsaw of eyes together.
Whole around the edges, empty in the middle…
A drop of my blood falls on the mirror’s piece, making the eye red. I stop and stare at it- the cold, clear jade is now a deep, disturbing red. Making the eye evil.
I shriek, and toss the red eye away.
Now my tears are mixing with my blood, making it harder to fit the pieces together.
Her eyes… are everywhere. With a look as hard and cold as the glass that holds them, each eye possesses me, makes me mad.
I’ve got to finish…
My head feels droopy, it’s hard to keep my eyes open, but I still work, cutting myself on each piece before I fit it into the puzzle. The grass is red, stained with the blood that’s pouring out of my hands and feet.
The last piece is gone.
The eyes look at me accusingly. I threw it away, the last piece of the puzzle that would make the girl in the mirror whole. I threw it, and it’s gone.
I collapse to the ground, exhausted and weeping at the eyes. But they pay no attention. Each eye begs me to look, and finally, I lift my head, bloody and tearstained to look.
The eyes are red.
Her eyes…
The wind has stopped blowing.
The mirror is almost finished, but there is one piece missing, right where the girl’s heart should be. The girl is back, whole and piercing me with those cold, jade eyes again.
Where can I find the last piece?
I sit, cross-legged on the grass, staring back at the girl, wondering what to fill the hole in the mirror with.
My hands and feet are dark red, stained with my own blood, but they feel so warm. Almost a tingly sensation- my hands and feet have bees swarming inside them.
The Earth is also red, a deep peaceful red.
What can I do to finish my mirror?
The girl in the mirror is mocking me. Her eyes are dancing, she knows I cannot finish.
I drop my head into my hands and weep.
My tears are warm, adding even more warmth to my hands- they now feel on fire. What a sensation- so much different from the coldness of the mirror.
I touch the empty spot in the mirror with my tear soaked hand, and the girl blinked.
She blinked, and for one moment, I was out of her penetrating stare. I touch it again. Another blink.
Her eyes are silent now, with every touch of my hand, they grow mute.
I think I know now…
I stand up, and pick up a clod of deep red Earth. I mix it with my tears until it is clay.
And I shape it, mold it, into a heart.
A warm, red heart.
The girl’s gaze is curious now, for the first time, I can look at her eyes and not feel trapped. I smile at her, then place the Earthen heart where the last piece should be.
It fits. Her cold jade eyes start to grow warmer, until they are the color of shiny emeralds-
And the girl smiled back.
Who is this girl staring back at me in the mirror?She’s me. And the wind has never felt so good on my face….
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Suicide By Hot Dogs and Other Random Crap
There are trace amounts of poisons in hot dogs. If you ate enough, you'd eventually die. So you know what I'm going to do? I'm going to commit suicide by hot dog. My master plan is this- By simultaneously committing suicide and eating mass amounts of hot dogs, I can break the record for most hot dogs eaten, and then die afterward, thus securing my place in a record much more prestigous- people who died while setting a record, which will remain in the record books indefinitely, because nobody is going to try to break the record somebody else died doing.
Jen: I cut myself shaving.
Irv: That's a bummer. Where at?
Jen: My vagina.
Irv: Your vagina? You shaved your vagina?
Jen: Yeah, and I cut it! I'm going to have a scar right there on my vagina! (drops head in hands)
Irv: So you're going to have a scar on your vagina. What's the big deal?
Jen: What's the big deal? How am I supposed to explain that?
Irv: Say you lost a battle with a razor blade.
Jen: Yeah, that's great. My vagina has battle wounds. "Hello, guy. This is my vagina, the warrior."
Irv: Might work.
Jen: Would you want to have sex with a warrior vagina?
Irv: (Looks a little spooked) Sounds scary.
I like to think of Jesus getting stoned. 3 or 4 guys, sitting around a table with Jesus, getting ripped. Imagine Jesus, Saul, and Samuel ducking behind a tree to smoke a bowl before the sermon on the mount.
"Jesus, that's a big mount. Do we have to go?"
"Samuel, of course. You guys are my Apostoles. We roll together. Don't bogart the weed."
"Hey dude, Jesus, My eyes don't work."
"You're baked, Saul. Of course they don't work. Here, use my Godly tears to heal them."
Which is how we got Visine.
Jen: I cut myself shaving.
Irv: That's a bummer. Where at?
Jen: My vagina.
Irv: Your vagina? You shaved your vagina?
Jen: Yeah, and I cut it! I'm going to have a scar right there on my vagina! (drops head in hands)
Irv: So you're going to have a scar on your vagina. What's the big deal?
Jen: What's the big deal? How am I supposed to explain that?
Irv: Say you lost a battle with a razor blade.
Jen: Yeah, that's great. My vagina has battle wounds. "Hello, guy. This is my vagina, the warrior."
Irv: Might work.
Jen: Would you want to have sex with a warrior vagina?
Irv: (Looks a little spooked) Sounds scary.
I like to think of Jesus getting stoned. 3 or 4 guys, sitting around a table with Jesus, getting ripped. Imagine Jesus, Saul, and Samuel ducking behind a tree to smoke a bowl before the sermon on the mount.
"Jesus, that's a big mount. Do we have to go?"
"Samuel, of course. You guys are my Apostoles. We roll together. Don't bogart the weed."
"Hey dude, Jesus, My eyes don't work."
"You're baked, Saul. Of course they don't work. Here, use my Godly tears to heal them."
Which is how we got Visine.
John Travolta and I Are Ridding the Earth Of Aliens
I am so joining Scientolgy!! I took their personality test online (a $500 value, for free!) and the results were sent to the nearest Scientology Representative in Witchita, KS. All I have to do is drive down there, let them hook me up to a lie detector test, ask me 200 questions, then I pay them money so they can rid my soul of ancient alien remains that make me do awful things like drink alcohol and have sex. If I keep paying them, I can move up the Scientology levels and become an "Operating Thetan," which is sort of like Enilightenment in Buddhism, except for instead of reaching for a peaceful state of mind, my main focus will be fighting the aliens, which are knows as "Body Thetans."
Apparently, 75 million years ago, the ruler of the "Galactic Conferderacy" was an alien named Zenu, and he was in charge of 70 or so planets, including Earth. The problem was that the other planets were hugely over-populated with their alien residents, and those planets were starting to die. So Zenu solved this problem by informing millions of aliens that they were being audited for tax purposes. When they all showed up at the tax auditing center, they were knocked unconsious, pumped full of alcohol and glycol, and cryogenically frozen. Zenu then loaded them all into a Douglas DC 8 airliner and flew them to Earth, where he unloaded their frozen bodies around the volcanoes in Hawaii. He then blew them to bits using Hydrogen Bombs, thus taking care of that pesky population problem.
After he blew them to bits, Zenu set up traps along the Earth to capture the alien's souls. Souls cannot be destroyed, you see, they will live foe all eternity. To finish his evil plan, Zenu put all the alien souls into a giant movie theatre and made them watch 3D movies to implant false reality into them. They were fooled into thinking that things like God, Jesus, and Mohammed were real. Zenu also made sure that these "new realities" were easily exploited in these souls as a form of social control. Finally, he let them out to cluster and join the souls of regular Earth inhabitants (i.e. Us), thus sending us into a world were everything is false reality, because of these aliens clining to us, thus controlling the entire Earth using his demon Body Thetan aliens.
Luckily, Zenu was overthrown by the "Marcab Confederation," and now resides in a prison locked up on a faraway planet. But his army of Body Thetans still reside here on Earth, enslaving us into a false reality, and making us do bad and sinful things.
Thank un-real God for Scientology! They are here to help everyday people like you and me rid ourselves of these alien Body Thetans and acheive spiritual reality. Although once you acheive spiritual reality, you aren't aloud to tell anybody about it, I'm sure it's wonderful. And while I think it's strange that Zenu's spaceship was a DC 8 Airliner, like the ones used today, I'm sure that's only because our technology took 75 million years to catch up to theirs. But I am so ready to get rid of these Body Thetan, they kind of itch!! I'm also quite excited to give birth to my children without any knid of pain medication, and also without me making a sound. See, when children are born, it's very traumatic for them, and this kind of trauma leaves an inprint on the child's soul. Which the Body Thetans feed on, which makes the child do bad things later in life. By not making a noise and keeping off the meds, the mother can ease the trauma involved in birth and prevent her child from fire-bombing an elementary school when it's 25.
The total cost to reach the Operating Thetan level is $360,000, which is a freakin BARGAIN!! If that's all I have to pay for spiritual reality, then count me in! Then again, maybe that's why it's all celebrities like Tom Cruise and John Travolta who join Scientology, they can actually afford to blow money trying to kill space alien souls. And since Scientology believes that psychiatry has wrecked everything from schools to wars, they can't get professional help when it turns out that Zenu was just a made up story by a self-proclaimed science fiction writer.
Bummer.
Apparently, 75 million years ago, the ruler of the "Galactic Conferderacy" was an alien named Zenu, and he was in charge of 70 or so planets, including Earth. The problem was that the other planets were hugely over-populated with their alien residents, and those planets were starting to die. So Zenu solved this problem by informing millions of aliens that they were being audited for tax purposes. When they all showed up at the tax auditing center, they were knocked unconsious, pumped full of alcohol and glycol, and cryogenically frozen. Zenu then loaded them all into a Douglas DC 8 airliner and flew them to Earth, where he unloaded their frozen bodies around the volcanoes in Hawaii. He then blew them to bits using Hydrogen Bombs, thus taking care of that pesky population problem.
After he blew them to bits, Zenu set up traps along the Earth to capture the alien's souls. Souls cannot be destroyed, you see, they will live foe all eternity. To finish his evil plan, Zenu put all the alien souls into a giant movie theatre and made them watch 3D movies to implant false reality into them. They were fooled into thinking that things like God, Jesus, and Mohammed were real. Zenu also made sure that these "new realities" were easily exploited in these souls as a form of social control. Finally, he let them out to cluster and join the souls of regular Earth inhabitants (i.e. Us), thus sending us into a world were everything is false reality, because of these aliens clining to us, thus controlling the entire Earth using his demon Body Thetan aliens.
Luckily, Zenu was overthrown by the "Marcab Confederation," and now resides in a prison locked up on a faraway planet. But his army of Body Thetans still reside here on Earth, enslaving us into a false reality, and making us do bad and sinful things.
Thank un-real God for Scientology! They are here to help everyday people like you and me rid ourselves of these alien Body Thetans and acheive spiritual reality. Although once you acheive spiritual reality, you aren't aloud to tell anybody about it, I'm sure it's wonderful. And while I think it's strange that Zenu's spaceship was a DC 8 Airliner, like the ones used today, I'm sure that's only because our technology took 75 million years to catch up to theirs. But I am so ready to get rid of these Body Thetan, they kind of itch!! I'm also quite excited to give birth to my children without any knid of pain medication, and also without me making a sound. See, when children are born, it's very traumatic for them, and this kind of trauma leaves an inprint on the child's soul. Which the Body Thetans feed on, which makes the child do bad things later in life. By not making a noise and keeping off the meds, the mother can ease the trauma involved in birth and prevent her child from fire-bombing an elementary school when it's 25.
The total cost to reach the Operating Thetan level is $360,000, which is a freakin BARGAIN!! If that's all I have to pay for spiritual reality, then count me in! Then again, maybe that's why it's all celebrities like Tom Cruise and John Travolta who join Scientology, they can actually afford to blow money trying to kill space alien souls. And since Scientology believes that psychiatry has wrecked everything from schools to wars, they can't get professional help when it turns out that Zenu was just a made up story by a self-proclaimed science fiction writer.
Bummer.
All While I Chainsmoke and Listen to Foreigner
Not that it matters, but I think that underwear is stupid. I was a big fan of the underwear, or pantie, as it has taken to being called, until the thong jumped in the scene like a giant shoe lace and completely ruined my sense of comfort. Why would a person want to walk around with a string made of cotton wedged between their ass cheeks?
Jen: What are you watching?
Irv: Brooke Shields brushing her teeth. Why would anybody want to watch Brook Shields brush her teeth? Look, she'd really going at it, too!"
Jen: Irv, if you don't like it, why are you watching it?
Irv. It's like a train wreck. I can't look away. It's actually reminding me of "the bowflex guy."
Jen: Who's the "bowflex guy?"
Irv: "Bowflex guy?" He's in a band.
Jen: What the hell are you talking about?
Irv: He's in a band. He's a 50 year old guy who got ripped on his bowflex and plays guitar with no shirt on.
Jen: Oookay. So what does a half naked pumped up guitar player have to do with Booke Shields?
Irv: I'd rather watch "bowflex guy" brush his teeth, and Brooke Shields work out.
Jen: How much time do you actually spend thinking about this?
Irv. Whenever a commercial comes on.
Jen: Okay, so what are you actually watching?
Irv. America's Next Top Model. Those girls are pretty, but they're deep man, they're fucking deep.
Jen: What are you watching?
Irv: Brooke Shields brushing her teeth. Why would anybody want to watch Brook Shields brush her teeth? Look, she'd really going at it, too!"
Jen: Irv, if you don't like it, why are you watching it?
Irv. It's like a train wreck. I can't look away. It's actually reminding me of "the bowflex guy."
Jen: Who's the "bowflex guy?"
Irv: "Bowflex guy?" He's in a band.
Jen: What the hell are you talking about?
Irv: He's in a band. He's a 50 year old guy who got ripped on his bowflex and plays guitar with no shirt on.
Jen: Oookay. So what does a half naked pumped up guitar player have to do with Booke Shields?
Irv: I'd rather watch "bowflex guy" brush his teeth, and Brooke Shields work out.
Jen: How much time do you actually spend thinking about this?
Irv. Whenever a commercial comes on.
Jen: Okay, so what are you actually watching?
Irv. America's Next Top Model. Those girls are pretty, but they're deep man, they're fucking deep.
Since When Does Lincoln Have A Ghetto?
Working at the 16th and South Street Brewskys is definitely some sort of an experience. Not only do we serve just about any type of person that could possibly exist, we are also across the street from a halfway house, an AA house, rehab, and the mental hospital. Down the street is South Street Liquor, and a fabulous little adult movie/sex shop. And in the mix, there we are, our humble little Brewskys, the first one in existence, the start of an empire. I'll be the first to admit that we are not in the most glamorous neighborhood Lincoln has to offer, but what it lacks in beauty it more than makes up for in character.
So here's the story. A lady comes in and wants to place a to go order. These take generally 15-20 minutes, depending on what the person has ordered. We offer her a place at the bar, at which she can wait, but she decides to wait in her car instead. 10 minutes later, she sends her husband in to pick up the food, but it not being within the alloted 15-20 minute time frame, he has to wait. Which must be some sort of an ordeal for these well-to-do types; they were both sharply dressed, and clearly not from this area of town; and he was not happy about the wait. In the end, after they had left with their booty, the lady calls back. There was some problem with the chicken wings, and she was hollering up a storm. But not only about the food. The wait was really what was bothering her, and she summed it up as such: "I had to wait for 20 minutes IN THE GHETTO!!!!!"
Which brings me to the point of this delightful little blurb of mine- Shut your Gucci wearing, WASPy yuppie SUV driving stuck-up ass up!! We are not ghetto, we are old school, the remants of a Lincoln that existed before your sleazy insurance rep of a husband made you move here. Your problem is that we are located in an area that represents all the people you don't want to deal with- the recovering drug addicts, people who have been to prison or are in rehab, people who work in the dirt and the heat, using their hands to build the things you take for granted. There is nothing wrong with where we are, but in your eyes, it must be a bad place because there's no brand new houses that look exactly the same, or giant shopping complexes that only serve those who like to buy stupid shit nobody really needs.
My guess is that she lives in a brand new house in a brand new development with no trees, and shiny new cars in every driveway, where everybody dresses the same, and acts the same, where they all work at the same place, and do the same kinds of things. There's no diversity there, and it's all safe and cozy, because she knows that only certain people can afford to live there, all the "uncomfortable" people are safely weeded out. Well let me tell you something, sister. That stupid development was a corn field 10 years ago, and those of us who have lived here longer than that are not impressed by your big stupid house and your big stupid car in your big stupid cookie-cutter treeless neighborhood. We're the reason you have all that shit in the first place. We have been working here for years, growing Lincoln's economy so you could afford to bulldoze the field to build your houses. Our sweat and labor have helped produce all that you have, and you have to audacity to come to a place that has remained untouched by your spoiled, arrogant hand and call us ghetto? Those people you wouldn't condescend to be in the same bar with built that road you drive to the mall on, and built the house you fill with useless expensive knicknacks. So take your uppity attitude and blow it out your skinny, malnourished ass.
We know of a Lincoln you've never seen. The beautiful old mansions down on D street, the legend of Hazel Abel's house, the parks and pools we haunted as kids because none of us had deluxe memberships to country clubs. We remember the blizzard that knocked out our power for a week, and we remember how the entire city banded together to keep eachother from freezing to death. We went to Lincoln High and Northeast. We drove up and down Sheridan marveling at the beautiful houses. We remember Air Park before it was just where the jail is. We shopped at the Atrium downtown, and watched our fireworks at Holmes Lake. There is such a history here that you'll never see if you don't make it past SouthPointe. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an implant, and until you decide to see Lincoln for what it truly is- a mishmash of different people living in one of the most beautiful cities in America, you can just kiss my ghetto ass.
So next time you're in the ghetto, I'm sending over some of my parolee friends. If they scare you enough to keep you safely tucked out of sight in your dumbass neighborhood, then that's good enough for me.
So here's the story. A lady comes in and wants to place a to go order. These take generally 15-20 minutes, depending on what the person has ordered. We offer her a place at the bar, at which she can wait, but she decides to wait in her car instead. 10 minutes later, she sends her husband in to pick up the food, but it not being within the alloted 15-20 minute time frame, he has to wait. Which must be some sort of an ordeal for these well-to-do types; they were both sharply dressed, and clearly not from this area of town; and he was not happy about the wait. In the end, after they had left with their booty, the lady calls back. There was some problem with the chicken wings, and she was hollering up a storm. But not only about the food. The wait was really what was bothering her, and she summed it up as such: "I had to wait for 20 minutes IN THE GHETTO!!!!!"
Which brings me to the point of this delightful little blurb of mine- Shut your Gucci wearing, WASPy yuppie SUV driving stuck-up ass up!! We are not ghetto, we are old school, the remants of a Lincoln that existed before your sleazy insurance rep of a husband made you move here. Your problem is that we are located in an area that represents all the people you don't want to deal with- the recovering drug addicts, people who have been to prison or are in rehab, people who work in the dirt and the heat, using their hands to build the things you take for granted. There is nothing wrong with where we are, but in your eyes, it must be a bad place because there's no brand new houses that look exactly the same, or giant shopping complexes that only serve those who like to buy stupid shit nobody really needs.
My guess is that she lives in a brand new house in a brand new development with no trees, and shiny new cars in every driveway, where everybody dresses the same, and acts the same, where they all work at the same place, and do the same kinds of things. There's no diversity there, and it's all safe and cozy, because she knows that only certain people can afford to live there, all the "uncomfortable" people are safely weeded out. Well let me tell you something, sister. That stupid development was a corn field 10 years ago, and those of us who have lived here longer than that are not impressed by your big stupid house and your big stupid car in your big stupid cookie-cutter treeless neighborhood. We're the reason you have all that shit in the first place. We have been working here for years, growing Lincoln's economy so you could afford to bulldoze the field to build your houses. Our sweat and labor have helped produce all that you have, and you have to audacity to come to a place that has remained untouched by your spoiled, arrogant hand and call us ghetto? Those people you wouldn't condescend to be in the same bar with built that road you drive to the mall on, and built the house you fill with useless expensive knicknacks. So take your uppity attitude and blow it out your skinny, malnourished ass.
We know of a Lincoln you've never seen. The beautiful old mansions down on D street, the legend of Hazel Abel's house, the parks and pools we haunted as kids because none of us had deluxe memberships to country clubs. We remember the blizzard that knocked out our power for a week, and we remember how the entire city banded together to keep eachother from freezing to death. We went to Lincoln High and Northeast. We drove up and down Sheridan marveling at the beautiful houses. We remember Air Park before it was just where the jail is. We shopped at the Atrium downtown, and watched our fireworks at Holmes Lake. There is such a history here that you'll never see if you don't make it past SouthPointe. As far as I'm concerned, you're just an implant, and until you decide to see Lincoln for what it truly is- a mishmash of different people living in one of the most beautiful cities in America, you can just kiss my ghetto ass.
So next time you're in the ghetto, I'm sending over some of my parolee friends. If they scare you enough to keep you safely tucked out of sight in your dumbass neighborhood, then that's good enough for me.
Somebody Get This Toilet Off My Head
I think I have a love hangover. Waking from a night's hard partying, with my head on the toilet seat, swearing off the sauce for good because of my current condition, that is the same yucky feeling I have about love. It sucks, it's fun while it lasted, but you always stumble into the day where the fun's all gone and your queasy arms are clutching the toilet, wondering how drunk you were to let it progress to this. When the urge to vomit passes, you're still stuck with the baggage, be it headache or heartbreak. You have to spend the whole day laying there doing nothing, and feeling like shit for the duration, pissed off at the culprits of your illness, nothing can be done. Time is the only thing that cures a hangover. And when you're feeling yourself again, you can't drink anymore. There isn't any drink out there that will look appealing when you think about your hair lightly brushing the inside rim of the toilet as you gagged up every ounce of bile and alcohol your stomach is capable of holding. Your social life is crap, because while everyone you know is out drinking and having a grand old time you're cursed to stay at home and be bored, listless, and generally unhappy because you remember the last time you had a hangover and don't want to repeat it again. Hoping that soon, you'll be able to forget about the hangover, want to go and have fun again. Knowing that right now, it feels like you're doomed to a lonely, boring life because you never figured out how to handle things like love. Or your alcohol.
The Watchword
The watchword of me is passion
The art of living is a painting
Of no discernable shape
Lines of color splashed upon the canvas
Crisscrossing without pattern or purpose
Confined by the edges of the canvas walls.
What if they could break free?
Fly from the canvas, so white and confining
And paint the whole world?
Color the lines that are already drawn
Splashing great shades upon dreary objects
Touching everything?
I want to paint the world
A child's paintbrush, free and innocent
Great strokes and gentle sweeps,
No rhyme or reason, just passion.
If I could break free of my canvas,
Paint the world, touch everything!
The watchword of the world would be passion
The art of living is a painting
Of no discernable shape
Lines of color splashed upon the canvas
Crisscrossing without pattern or purpose
Confined by the edges of the canvas walls.
What if they could break free?
Fly from the canvas, so white and confining
And paint the whole world?
Color the lines that are already drawn
Splashing great shades upon dreary objects
Touching everything?
I want to paint the world
A child's paintbrush, free and innocent
Great strokes and gentle sweeps,
No rhyme or reason, just passion.
If I could break free of my canvas,
Paint the world, touch everything!
The watchword of the world would be passion
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