Sahir's Ramblings

I Hate Phonies

2009-10-17T15:52:00.000-07:00

What pleasure do people get from dance? Watching dance is just an enormous group of people staring at a smaller group of people moving around strangely. Imagine super-advanced Aliens come to Earth and ask to see our creative accomplishments, and what we show them is a bunch of people dressed in leotards and wearing an inch-thick layer of makeup jumping around to what would otherwise be great music. Would they accept us into their greater galactic society? I don't think so. Art today isn't what it once was. Artists today can make absolutely ridiculous amounts of money for doing virtually nothing.
"Hey, Jim. Doesn't your exhibit at the Met start today?"
"Oh, geez! I completely forgot!"
"Oh, well no worries. You can just eat a bunch of oranges and throw the peels and seeds all over the room."
"Oh my god! It's a statement on modern society!"
How can someone accept something like this as art, yet ignore ultra-important media such as video games? Video games are not only a completely valid form of art but also a superior one. They offer a degree of interactivity the likes of which have never been seen. And why is this? Because pretentious people go around deciding what is and isn't art and the mindless sheep of the public have no choice but to follow them. In the words of Holden Caulfield
"I hate phonies."
Misinformed overcultural anti-philistines are everything wrong with the country and the world as a whole. Deep inside, all humans have mankind's essential , there is always some sort of hostility towards some other culture or man that you hold, but these 'phonies' that litter the modern art houses of coastal American cities and the various coffeehouses of Western Europe are spreading their lies that we live in a global commons, that all men should cooperate and coexist despite fundamental differences in ideas, and these lies are tearing the world apart. These phonies convert more and more decent people into phonyism and indoctrinating them with their hippie ideals and self-contradicting lies. These phonies live in their million dollar houses bought by their investments in the stock market or their creation of an internet company and sit back in their imported Swedish-designed, Indonesian-made ultra-comfort chairs and watch their Wes Anderson movies while preaching communism and socialism and anarchy. But, just like in the 60's, after a time of relative peace and happiness, people have to seek out problems. Unfortunately, these people are surprisingly charismatic. So again, phonies are in style. Here's to hoping it'll all blow over.

Lucas

2009-06-05T21:32:00.000-07:00

Star Wars films only get worse and worse as they go along. Everyone knows this. Ever since the second film in the 1980's, everything went downhill. Why do the fans, who acknowledge how terrible the newer movies actually are, keep on watching them over and over and buying all the ultra-expensive collector's edition box sets? It's some strange, twisted kind of loyalty. The fans are so influenced by propaganda and promises that the films would get better that they believe every word Lucasfilms says. Most would simply consider this 'nerds being nerds', but I see something much more sinister and complex. Actions such as these are so bizarre and irrational that they must be closer analyzed. Hardcore fans go around spewing quotes from the films and novels that have been implanted in their head by countless hours of viewing and reading time. The reciting of said quotes normally have a strangely accurate hypnopaedic level of efficiency. The innocent fans of Star Wars have been roped into something far bigger than just a franchise of science fiction entertainment products. They are mindlessly following every product of a franchise which is always becoming more and more lacking in quality. The fans see what's happening, but are helpless. They are for some reason compelled to watch and purchase terrible films. They are unwillingly part of a revolution. They have become part of a society with a sadistic totalitarian leader who refuses to give them any emotions excluding pain. With every fan George Lucas forces to purchase a useless, shoddy product, his net worth goes up slightly, and with no end in sight, George Lucas could well become one of the richest, most powerful men in the world. Whilst using the Skywalker Ranch, his residence, as a concentration camp for converting and reprogramming the non-believers, he slowly grows and grows in wealth until he is able to buy out the US government and become leader of the free world. Once gaining control of America, he commands his mindless hordes of 'fans' to invade the world's most powerful countries and gain control of them. Once becoming supreme ruler of Earth, he puts more and more money into space programs so that he may reach other planets, planets which he may convert, much in the same way he converted Earth, to his semi-religious mindless horde of armies. With his vice-chief, Stephen Spielberg by his side, his grip will eventually tighten, until the universe is all his.
He is all-powerful.
He has a plan.
He is unstoppable.
He is George Lucas.

Story Time Again, Though This Time, It's Not As Good.

2009-06-05T21:25:00.000-07:00

Ever since he was a young boy he could remember everything. The flowers, the trees, way the pure icy blue water would flow effortlessly through the stream, the way the fish would dart and swim about, dancing with each other, being hurtled at breakneck speeds along the flowing wall of freezing liquid that served as the barrier around his home. It wasn’t as if he had to remember anything. The nine acre space he inhabited was so familiar to him it was almost an enormous extension of his own body. His existence was that of a stupid animal, one that walked slumped, scraped and bruised head touching scraped and bruised knee. Memory was useless in a world like his, so why was he plagued with these thoughts, these memories of the dreadful past? He remembered when he cut his arm on a sharp rock when trying to slice a fruit, he remembered when the tree fell and destroyed his hut in the times of rain, he remembered all the times he failed to catch those damned fish. He was cursed when all he wanted was to live in the now, the present. This was a curse he could not lift. His existence was meaningless, an existence of survival. He would fish, pluck fruit, eat and sleep day after day after day. To him irregularities were an ugly thing. Monotony is beautiful and structured, stable and organized. But all the time, those blasted irregularities would always pop up all around him and ruin his strict routine. He longed for the days of early childhood when nothing would bother him, when he didn’t know the beauties of structure, where nothing could disturb his peace. The days where he would fiddle about aimlessly, grabbing fish and rodents in his mouth, crushing them with his bare teeth, consuming them without a care in the world, catching horrible sickness and doing it again. Before the gods began cursing him. He hated them for it, the gods. He hated them for the curse that was struck upon him. He hated them for every time they caused an irregularity. He understood not the cruel humors of the beings in the sky. He did not understand when or why they would drop a strange object from the sky sometimes and knock the fish out of his hands. He understood not why they would always visit at night and ruin his shelter, he understood not why they always laughed, why they always mocked him with their booming voices. Even their supposed greatest gift to him was nothing but dread. He hated his teacher. He hated the cold metal exterior, he hated the strange, robotic inhuman voice it spoke with, he hated its patronizing tone and the way it acted better than him. Above all, he hated the learning. He hated having to know how to speak like the gods, he hated speaking English, he hated studying Mathematics and he despised Physics and Chemistry. This life was not suited for him. He wanted to hunt. He wanted to fish. He wanted to eat, to live and enjoy life, not stand and be subjected to the blathering of an unfriendly machine. His life was a curse, and he cursed the gods for it. He hated the gods. Until the day that one came personally to greet him.

“Dmitri.”
“Yes?”
“Dmitri.”
“Yes?”
“My god, Dmitri! I demand your presence!”
“Of course, comrade. I apologize for having you wait.”
“Ah, this you must see. Do you recall the event beginning Experiment 123K9?”
“Was it the event in which a stuffed bear was inserted into the human’s cage, sir?”
“Look at what he did, comrade.”
Some five hundred feet below them, a man about the age of thirty stepped out of his crude straw and wood shelter cradling a small brown woolen object. The man walked leisurely to a second shelter near the river surrounding his encampment where the roof broke the line of sight.
“Sir…”
“Of course.”
The superior of the officers struck a few levers and twisted a few dials, when suddenly, the window in the front of them quickly switched to a view of the hut’s interior. The man’s waist long light brown unkempt hair swung and tossed about animatedly as his body twisted and turned in strange ways, forming a sort of rhythm with his body. Above him on a shoddily made pedestal sat the stuffed bear. Dmitri’s eyes filled with awe and wonder, his mouth opened. His commander merely sat back and smiled calmly. Dmitri was amazed.
“Sir, do you realize the significance of this? He is the first to display non aggressive behavior when presented with the animal!”
“Yes. The implications are astounding. He is the first human subject to be sentient without contact, save the teacher of course.”
Dmitri’s expression of glee faded.
“He is sentient, sir? He is self-aware?”
“Yes, Dmitri. I am glad the meaning is not lost on you.”
Dmitri’s expression hardened and his smile turned to a frown.
“Sir, should we be containing him? Should we be subjecting him to these experiments? Should we be testing him like a rat? Is he not the very same as us?”
The officer stepped calmly out of his chair and reached into his pocket.
“Sir, what is it you are doing?”
The officer pulled out a long whip from his coat pocket.
“Sir, I will behave, I will behave.”
Dmitri dropped to the floor and started sobbing and reciting the pledge.
“I will serve the Ulterior under any and all circumstances presented to me, and will lay my life down for him no matter what strifes or toils face us-“
The superior officer struck the whip across Dmitri’s face and dragged his unconscious body to his bed.

That night Dmitri did not sleep. The prisons they contained the natives in helped control overpopulation and war by prohibiting reproduction and containing each person in their own personal all-natural jail cell. What they did was good, they were a benefit to the human race, they were rebuilding their once great empire. But what the Soviets were doing had a cost. The cost was their own humanity. The Soviet Empire was savage and evil, they had forgotten what freedom was and were perpetrators of genocide and mass torture. Dmitri could no longer be one of them. Dmitri would leave and explore the once-great world, seeking out a new home for himself. It was decided. Dmitri was to be a deserter.

The Ulterior seized Dmitri’s unconscious body by the collar, shaking it in the face of Dmitri’s superior officer.
“What is this? You could allow such scum to grow in your company?”
The superior officer stumbled over his words,
“Ulterior, I apologize for my inferior’s defiance, for his spit thrown in your face.”
“Yes, well consequences will be harsh. I will make sure he will see. He will see what is received when the Ulterior is angered.”

The sentient native stared at his reflection in the river, marveling at the quiet wonders of his world. Tranquility was always good to him, never hurt him like his cursed memories. Peacefully, the silence enveloped him. It was at that moment he felt his greatest, the best he ever felt, he felt at one with the world. With his own private world. He and his home were finally at peace. He instinctively shifted his head away from the water when he heard the raucous noises of machinery. With great horror, he realized what exactly was happening. His shelter was being destroyed by an enormous metallic god. His eyes widened. In a frantic haze, his body was set into motion. He was sprinting, pushing his body to limits never reached before, galloping across the nine acres of woodlands until finally, he reached his destination. He stopped, stunned. Where his secondary shelter once lay, there was only wreckage, splintered pieces of salvaged wood and rocks lacking cohesive shape. One thing and one thing only lay before him, standing tall above all the rubble. It was his personal god upon its pedestal. Running toward the god, he heard the ominous mechanical sounds of the god that destroyed his home. He refused to look back, only ran. Finally, the metal god spoke.
“Please evacuate your shelter, your cell is being taken by a new subject.”
But he kept running, hoping against all hope that he and his personal god would be together once more. His hoping was to no avail. With a crash, the claw sent the pedestal and the god into the rapidly flowing river. Only shocked for a moment, the native’s gaze hardened, his brow forced into a position of distinct anger. Enough bad memories plagued him, this one was not going to do the same. Without a running start, he dramatically dove into the freezing waters of the river, eyes set on his god, unaware he was being tossed into a brand new world, one which he was not accustomed to.

In the native’s cell, an extremely loud noise was heard as metal was thrown to the ground. A large room had fallen from the ceiling, the smooth shelter being pushed several meters into the Earth below. With a loud pop, the kind you get when opening a bottle of champagne, the room’s lid flew off and was absorbed by the ceiling to be recycled for scrap metals. Smoke and haze poured out of the small room, building up to a blast of fire shot from the shelter’s bottom, throwing the room’s inhabitant into the native’s former home. The man stumbled across the ground, blindfolded until he eventually ran out of energy. There he lay for a considerable amount of time until he mustered up the strength to stand. The man was young, strong and tall, cropped hair dark and dirty. Slowly, he untied the rope connecting his hands and removed his blindfold, grunting primitively. This man was Dmitri.

Beauty

2009-05-30T00:33:00.000-07:00

I just saw American Beauty, a film renowned for its messages that people who are beautiful on the outside are inferior and worth less than those who possess an inner beauty, messages with which I do not agree. As many people have already said, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and nothing can change that. There's the minority, who prefer inner beauty, and the majority, those who prefer their beauty on the outside. Movies like American Beauty give off the impression that the former of these beliefs is the one that shows moral superiority, that inner beauty is much deeper and beautiful than outer beauty, when in fact, no one can make a statement like this and be so sure of themselves. Preference of beauty is something implanted in the mind, not a choice one consciously makes. Humans themselves can't deny their urges and the majority cannot fully and truly love someone they are not attracted to. It is primal nature of man to love what is beautiful and it isn't fair to call it 'deep' or 'shallow' or insult him because of it. To quote Rachel Carson "Man is a part of nature, and his war on nature is inevitably a war on himself." To defy and deny what man is is sacrilege and injustice. People cannot preach messages like the one in American Beauty simply to 'stand up for the little guy'. They have to mean it. You can't just say stuff to sound intellectual and politically correct. You have to know what you're talking about.

Stimulation

2009-05-12T21:23:00.000-07:00

The mind of the average citizen of the world is a jumble of ragged half-thoughts and memories of the immediate past. There's some ridiculous statistic that I lack the conviction to coerce out of the depths of my mind at this moment that somehow conveys the message that we are shown countless images per day. While most of the pretentious false preacher hipsters that control the media of America try to force down our throats the idea that this very overstimulation will be the death of us all, I come to you with a separate perspective. The industrial revolutions brought about not only staggering leaps and bounds in the technology of the western world, but also the constant exposure to media we are subjected to today. Who is to say that these two occurences are not related? I draw comparisons the Aldous Huxley's 'Brave New World'. The inhabitants of this idealistic society have their every thought controlled indirectly by the government through a form of subliminal messaging called hypnopedia. Though this society can be thought of by many as 'dystopic', one must admit that the society does have many idealistic aspects. In my opinion, our constant exposure to the media is a less controlled form of hypnopedia. It gives truly strong-willed people the opportunity to think for themselves and the weak-minded a place in conformist culture. This process weeds out the weak and has the strongest of people in the strongest, most powerful positions. Our so called 'overexposure' to media may seem at first an attempt by the 'higher-ups' to brainwash us and make us think what they do, when actually what they are doing is weeding out the sheep and letting the independent thinkers have their talent shine. Criticisms of this system are everywhere, but honestly, everyone's happy with it like this. The current ruler of the free world is a very popular man and was chosen by a mix of conformists and independent thinkers enjoying a semi-symbiotic relationship called democracy. Everything has turned out all right using our system, so criticisms are kind of invalid. Mankind is evolving, and the people against exposure are detrimental to evolution itself. This may be America, and we may all have the right to freedom of expression, but everyone should have a TV and a Computer. These are marvels of man, created by man, and testiments to our evolution and genious. Anyone that preaches against technology is holding our evolution back and honestly,
should just shut up.

...Story Time

2009-01-28T21:10:00.000-08:00

Atsu was never one for drugs. Oh, yes, he had been pushed, like a young girl into the mud, but he resisted. It’s not like his parent’s words had any significant impact on him, he was never one for parents, either. Alcohol was simply what he wanted. It was and always had been. Was it simple rebellion? No. Atsu liked to think it was more than that. Atsu was very in touch with his inner chi. Like a middle aged housewife, he constantly attempted to make up for his past sins by attuning himself with nature. He liked to think that he and alcohol shared a bond. Atsu was sentimental, and very frequently recalled his meeting with alcohol with affection, as if it was some sort of lost love or strange guardian. One day, Atsu was lying in bed, curled up in fetal position, green eyes darting impatiently from his window to his clock, as if he was itching for the day to end. It was one of those mornings where the fog blanketed the ground like the surface of the earth itself, one of those days where you were afraid that if you left the house, the white would swallow you up, you would become part of it and it part of you, that it would polymerize you into nature itself, that it would swallow you and spit you out as a sick, fragile ghost. Atsu’s peace was disturbed by the loud creaking of his door, old, dead and rotten, his mother sauntered in. She was a woman of high esteem, a social climber, who, though very cheap and lacking in social skills, thought much of herself. Needless to say, she was less than charismatic.

‘Atsu,’ She mumbled, as if she was very busy and had no time on her hands ‘I believe you have a friend here to see you.’

And in walked a man dressed in rags, wearing what was quite obviously a toupee. He had a certain way about him that made you think he was much wealthier than he was. A certain way he carried himself that made you want to congratulate him, regardless of if he deserved it. He sat by Atsu on his bed. Atsu paid no mind. He was quite shaken, but he couldn’t let down his tough exterior. The man in rags gazed softly at Atsu for what seemed like hours before lightly placing a paper bag on the table by his bed. He paused, looking like he was about to speak, but stopped short before speaking.

He simply spoke,

‘This is for you. Do what’s right.’

The man in rags patted Atsu on the shoulder, attempting to show affection, but failing miserably. He mumbled something softly and stepped silently out of the house.

It was a good while before Atsu had made his choice. He pushed and pulled until he unraveled himself from the labyrinth that were his covers and outstretched his dominant arm (left, of course) and seized the bag like he should have been the day. Atsu opened the bag, slightly ripping the sides. Inside he found a large bottle wearing a label bearing a cartoon of a well dressed plump man ambling along the road, bearing a cane and a top hat. Atsu smiled at the picture and opened the bottle. His bottle.

That night, Atsu had a dream.

2008-12-21T18:50:00.000-08:00

Ownership of Dogs should be illegal. Dogs are enormous creatures that track fur everywhere and suck up all your spare time with their unappealing neediness. Dogs look and feel ugly. Dogs are like those actors that you see sometimes. Those actors who look gross, act gross and no doubt smell gross, but to some people have a strange appeal. Dogs are like Vince Vaughn. Whereas Cats, cats require almost no work, act nobly and never give you tapeworms. What happens when you take a dog outside? They run and scamper and stick their noses in strange places. Whenever you see a dog outside of a house, there's a one in three chance that is eating some plastic. Dogs have no dignity, no sense of proper behaviour. Have you ever seen a cat eat something it's not supposed to? Dogs eat nothing but trash and low-grade meat. Think of Kibble and think of Fancy Feast. They're essentially the same idea, but one of them has a touch of class. The other sounds like something you find in your gutter after a rainy day.
See how this sounds.
'How's it going cleaning the gutter, honey?'
'Eugh. I think I found some Kibble.'
Now imagine this.
'How's it going cleaning the gutter, honey?'
'I think I found some Fancy Feast!'
'Yum! Bring it downstairs, let's eat some lunch.'
As you can see from these comparative sentences, anything even related to cats sounds delicious.

Everyone Hates A Literalist.

2008-11-06T19:25:00.000-08:00

I never understood how Superman really got by without his secret identity being exposed. For one, he never had a mask, not even sunglasses! Not even one of those things that Robin and The Lone Ranger have! All he does is remove his glasses. I imagine this is how a conversation goes down.

"Hey, Tom. You ever notice how Superman looks a lot like Clark?"

"No, no. Clark has GLASSES."

"Wait, but just envision him without glasses. Just see what he looks like."

"Huh. I guess you're--Oh, wait."

"What?"

"Clark doesn't wear spandex."

"What?"

"Clark doesn't wear spandex but Superman does."

"Huh. I never noticed that. Never mind, then."

"Okay. By the way, how's Judy doing?"

"Dude, she left me."

"Oh. Sorry..."

Another thing. How does he turn back time when running around the world? I know it's comic physics, but if he can do something like that, would it be possible for him to fast-forward time by running the OPPOSITE way? Suppose Bizzaro Superman attacks the Earth, can't he just fast forward until the end of the ordeal, or even Bizzaro's natural death? And what happens if he runs into someone while running around the world? How is it he takes such an isolated path that he collides with no humans whatsoever? And there is, of course, the issue of Kryptonite. Couldn't anyone kill Superman by just hurling a chunk of rock at him?

"Hey, man. There's that Superman."

"Aww, man. I hate that guy. He thinks he's better than us just because he has powers?"

"Yeah. Someone ought to put him in his place."

"You know, I think I'm gonna do something bold."

"What are you saying? What, are you throwing a rock at him? Don't do that! Aww."

"Haha."

"What did you do that for?"

"I hate that dude."

"Hmm. He's not getting up. Where'd you get that rock?"

"Oh, just over by that barrel filled with radiating waste."

"Dude. You just killed Superman."

"Oh."

"Not cool. Not cool, man."

Yeah. Plot holes a'plenty in Superman. I hope I ruined the experience for you.

Maurie

2008-11-02T10:46:00.000-08:00

How can people be so evil as to take pleasure in watching others suffer? How can a human being delight in such a dark contortion of nature? Why is this unnatural creation of man readily available to anyone and everyone? No one will ever know. I am talking, of course, about daytime television. As far as I'm concerned, there is no greater threat to America's moral fiber than Jerry Springer. The only reason that this show thrives at all is because of their prime audience. The arrogant middle-class housewife treating herself to a small break, slurping down a plastic cup of low-fat chocolate pudding, eyes glazed over, staring at the television, ignoring all that goes on in her empty, suburban life, feeling sorry for herself, wondering where all her life went, when suddenly, something magical happens. Those magical words come screaming out of the 10 inch television screen. Those magical words that will forever change her life.
"Today, our guest will be a small boy who has a growth the size of his fist growing from his nose."
At first, she is disgusted, then slowly, she becomes intrigued. Was it even remotely possible that someone had a worse life than her? Why did these people have this little boy on their show? What did they plan to do with him? Thinking the worst, she begins watching. And, sure enough, this show awakens feelings inside of her that she had never felt beore. It was nothing less than a moment of beauty when they sent that sad little boy to the world's biggest put-put golf course! From this moment on, she knows she's hooked. There's no going back. Before she knows it, what used to be a small break every once in a while, suddenly transforms into constant time in front of the Television. Her physical health quickly deteriorates, and her basic human decency wears down, becomes thinner and thinner, until it's hardly there anymore. Where she used to cry, she now laughs, where she used to love, she now hates. That crummy little 10-inch telly is exchanged for a 42-inch plasma (courtesy of her family's joint savings), and eventually, she spends all her time sitting on the couch. But it's not just Maurie anymore. Oh, no. Now she's moved on to bigger things. Much, much, bigger things. Jerry Springer, Judge Judy, even America's Funniest Home Videos. These shows used to cause her pleasure, where now they simply give her a feeling of quaint emptiness. All that can fulfill her hunger is more and more and more. She is caught in a vicious circle, she spends all her money on Oprah dvd's, and her physicality goes so long out of check she turns into a fat, hairy beast. Eventually, her husband leaves her and takes the children, so, driven almost to madness, only demands the family RV, which she takes to a trailer park and lives in for the rest of her days. Several years later, her savings finally run dry, and in a final act of desperation, writes a letter to Maurie.
"My life has no meaning but your show. Please help me."
Her story intrigues the executives at ABC and they accept it hastily.
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, a woman sits at home. A bored housewife slurping down a cup of low fat chocolate pudding, treating herself to a little break, eyes glazed over, staring at the Television, when a few magical words shout from the T.V.'s speakers.
"This morning, we will be having a woman who says our show changed her life!"

So it begins once again.

Celebz

2008-10-12T22:05:00.000-07:00

What is this infatuation with celebrities? You see better looking people on the street every day. You see more INTERESTING people on the street every day. Yet, you seem to be somehow drawn to those who others are drawn to. It's something like a trickle-down formula. One really popular guy sees someone in a movie.
'Wow! They're cool!'
The second guy wants to fit in. He decides to agree with the first dude, so he takes some pictures. Some newspapers see these popular guys are interested in other, more popular guys. They decide to go with it, too. Before you know it, people are getting payed for taking interest in the ultra populars. These ultra-populars become so ultra popular that their appearance and being is simply celebrated everywhere they go. They become celebrities. But here is the true question: that first popular guy. The very first that decides who is popular and who isn't. That guy; who decides that HE is popular? And who decides that this mystery man is popular? And who decides that THAT guy is popular? It goes on and on forever. The only logical answer is that popularity, or 'cool' is decided by those who were previously cool, and who previously were cool were decided by who were cool before them. The true origin of cool, if you want to be absolutely literal, is that first guy who clumped some dirt in a ball and started rolling it around. Who was then discovered by another guy that made a wheel from his idea, and that next guy that thought it was cool and put two of them together and rolled on them. Those are the true origins of cool. Mystery solved.

You're in for some controversy.

2008-10-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

Jesus. What a guy. It wasn't enough that he was the son of god, he was also a really nice dude. He hated rich people, gave to the poor, and cured blindness and diseases. Amazing, no? Well, this may be offensive, but I am here to tell you there was a Jesus. Yes, I will repeat that. There WAS a Jesus. He, however, was not the Messiah.
Take into consideration the possibility that Jesus was a miracle worker. Take into consideration that he was a conman. Compare those two. Which one was more likely? Imagine. You live in a time of doubt and uncertainty. The entire world is strange and foreign. There are no proper records of ancient history, nor are there theories of what the far future will be.
Then some dude comes along. He tells you that there's this entity, this being that is everything and everywhere, and he or she or it is controlling every aspect of your life. Is controlling what happens now and next. Has controlled everything that has ever happened EVER.
Now the dude tells you he is this being's son. At first you're skeptical.
'Oh, yeah? Prove it.'
'Okay. I will.'
Takes you to his mom's place. Says his mom was a virgin when she birthed him. You go see her, and apparently, it's true. Never had sex. Was engaged to be married when she became pregnant. Now she CAN'T be lying. She's his mom. You're excited, but still skeptical.
'Show me more proof.'
'Uh...I can perform a miracle.'
'Show me.'
The dude does a little trick.
'Whoa, man! You're the real deal!'
'Told you.'
You're really amazed.
'I gotta go tell some friends about you! Hey, what's your name?'
'Me? I'm Jesus.'
'Jesus what?'
'Jesus Christ.'
Bam! You've got a religion.

Movie

2008-10-05T21:21:00.000-07:00

I thought of an amazing idea for a movie.
Well, rather I dreamed it.
I'll jump right in.
So, the world is a dark place, and a second great depression is nothing less than imminent. The middle class American is exceedingly worried about his or her money, so they withdraw their funds from the banks of the world and begin storing them in safes and houses of their own. They penny-pinch. This leads to nobody buying anything costing more than one hundred dollars, which causes the price of virtually all items to go down drastically. Over these long, hard years, one aristocrat sheds his life of excess and luxury to live a simple, modest one. He is building his personal fortune. In some ten years, the government collapses upon it self once the dollar's value drops below the yen. America is getting by, but is very very poor. The government is in drastic need of funding. Enter the aristocrat. Now the richest man in the world, this aristocrat strikes a deal with the government; complete and total funding for whatever the government needs, in exchange for being the most powerful man in the United States. The government realise, they must either create a dictator, or watch America slowly die. They choose the former.
Now, a rebel group named Vengeance is finding their cause. Will they live under the totalitarian rule of the aristocrat's iron fist? Or will they choose to abandon their comfortable lives and reclaim freedom? Obviously, they choose the latter.
And there you have it. A blockbuster Political Thriller/Action Film.
I need to write this idea down... Oh, wait-

The Fountain

2008-09-25T19:20:00.000-07:00

In the world we live in today, the only heroes of the world are comedy stars. Children of the world are trying to find suitable models in Seth Rogen and Ben Stiller, when these men are making nothing but innuendo jokes and farting here and there. I'm not one to talk, knowing my friends and I watch these movies all the time. Zoolander is pure hilarity. At one particular movie session, my friends and I were downstairs in my friend's basement, watching a movie the atmosphere of which was not commonly experienced. At least not by our social group. This movie was 'The Fountain', a strange independent film the likes of which the world has never seen before. The film consisted of three narratives of different characters. The first, Tomas, is a Spanish conquistador who has disgraced several Mayan Gods, and has unleashed a grim Pandora's Box of curses and darkness that constantly plague and pox him like a plague...or a pox. He is seeking the Fountain of Youth. The next story is of Tom, played by the same actor. He plays a modern time veterinarian who is involved in a romance with a strangely naive daughter of a corporate executive. This bit of the movie is shot in one camera, and has very low production values. It gives off the feel of a second rate soap opera. They probably spent all their money on an extremely lifelike model orangutang which is featured heavily. The third part of this film focuses on Thomas, a space traveler who is stuck on an island with only a tree. This part consists mainly of the protagonist peeling bark off the tree, chewing it, and turning it (somehow) into ink. In the end, it turns out the 'Fountain of Youth' takes its own form in everyone's lives. For Tomas it is in the form of the real Fountain of Youth, discovered in an old Mayan tomb. For Tom it is the naive daughter of a corporate executive he loves so much (this revelation consists of a scene where he quite literally drinks her). And for Tom it is the tree has has forever lived with, and its water was the ink that formed from his saliva. What a twist!
Whew. That took a while. Blog done.

Chain Mail

2008-09-09T18:31:00.000-07:00

Chain mail, I love you so. Why do people send it out? Who knows. Does it matter? Definitely not. People I know become so angry upon the mere sight of it that they fall all over theirselves swearing and screaming before realizing how funny the mail could be. Especially when they bring it upon themselves. Yes, it's very possible to send out a massive chain mail. All you have to do is, when making a contact list, including all your contacts in it, thereby sending out a mass email to everyone you've ever known through friends, as long as they have an e-mail. Soon enough, this mass mail will transform into a conversation of gigantic proportions, all parts of which will be sent to your family and friends, all of the teen humor and language still intact. This will then cause the sender of the mail to be extremely irritable, having had 'worlds collide' by their mail being sent to their parents and friends. Even the creepy ones you find are hilarious.
'Send this email to 100 different people or you will DIE'
However, now that this has begun, chain-mailing has spread to the outer reaches of the world wide web. Now, it has begun to become so popular that it appears on YouTube. Some of the more avid watchers definitely know of this, but to all you greenhorns, when a message says 'do not read', DO NOT READ! It is tolerable, and even fun at first, but when chain-mail quickly becomes less funny and more creepy, it evolves from a harmless inconvenience into a dangerous and irritating menace.

Bikes

2008-09-03T19:55:00.001-07:00

One of the largest things I missed in life was riding a bike without the handlebars. Sad, isn't it? That a human could be denied such a thing as exclaiming to his raptly and faithfully staring father
"Look, Pa! No hands!"
Shocking. Another thing. Though people might have you believe you can never forget how to ride a bike, the annoying truth is you simply can. From the ages of six to twelve, I never once touched a bike. My parents were trying to teach me how to ride, but it always got put off. Not only could I not ride the bike, I had no chances to. Not to say I would have loved to, of course, because I was putting it off as much as they were. But, sure enough, one freezing Seattle autumn, my father decided to just teach me. At first he thought the myths told about never forgetting were true, immediately sending me off on my own on a somewhat stable mountain bike. That was until I made a horrible crash into a lamp post. So, after school, over the next few days, I slowly gained skill, and, eventually, my dad was ready to let me go up a hill. An ordinary hill.
But this was no ordinary hill! It was (from my perspective at the time,) the steepest hill I had even SEEN, let alone biked up! But, being the tremendously courageous young boy I am, I traveled upward in any case. Not so hard. Then I went down.
There I was, zooming past bushes and trees going as fast as four hundred miles per hour! Okay, maybe it wasn't that much, but it sure felt like it. Suddenly, halfway down the hill, I realized. This wasn't scary. I wasn't going fast. I was enjoying myself. And so I had learned to ride.
Recalling the past, it was the most horrifying experience of my life.
Maybe that's just what biking is.

2008-08-29T22:11:00.000-07:00

Oh, man, I do not feel good.
It could be that I stayed up to 3 o' clock last night playing Guitar Hero. Or it could quite well be that my father is forcing me to write this blog when I should be lying in bed.
It's probably the Guitar Hero. Ah, Guitar Hero. What a game. I believe that Guitar Hero may very well be the most annoying game of our generation. Not only does it have nothing to do with playing the actual guitar, it has skewed rhythm and faulty controls. The music isn't even that nice. A while back, I had read an article written by a mother attempting to be 'cool', thanking Guitar Hero for introducing the songs she loved to a new generation. However, there are many other, less mind-numbing things that already accomplish that very same purpose. For example, Pandora Internet Radio can show them that music, without deluding them that they are some kind of Guitar Genius superstar. Another is, quite possibly, THEIR PARENTS. If they want their kid to know about their music so badly, just play it. If the REALLY like it, then they will listen, whether their parents play it or not.
All in all, Guitar Hero makes me angry.
If only it wasn't so fun.

Sahir's Ramblings: Now With More Sacrilege Than Ever Before!

2008-08-25T22:12:00.000-07:00

Creationism doesn't seem very believable. Neither does any form of Christianism. I figure, if they're going to make an entire belief system, the least they could do is make it believable! It's a wonder that they managed to completely convert such a huge amount of people. It makes me question their methods of conversion. All they did was have Jesus do a magic trick and call him the Son of God. Why was that so convincing? The same thing goes for Scientology. First of all, the entire Religion was begun by a Science Fiction Writer. Most of its famous members are just in it for the free publicity, and those that aren't are just plain gullible. If your 'theton levels' are high enough, they divulge to you so called 'secret' information on this religion, many of the events of which take place in space, largely involving the Galactic Federation, a group comprised of the most powerful figures in the galaxy, such as Xemu. It really is unbelievable how people can buy these kinds of things. Not to say that Scientologists should not be respected. People just have to accept that these kinds of people exist. That it is what they believe, and there is no swaying them from their paths. You shouldn't ridicule or disrespect the people that believe in these things. It truly is impossible. Impossible and nothing less. Belief is one of the strongest things in the world, so when trying to think of swaying people's beliefs, remember.
Don't waste your breath.

Road Trips and Cuba

2008-08-25T06:01:00.000-07:00

In four years, I will spend my summer going on a road trip. Yes, a road trip. No ordinary road trip, I'll have you know. This road trip will fulfill the cycle. Once this trip is complete, there is nothing more I must do. It will be the end. I suppose you are confused at this point. Don't worry. All will be explained in time. I will start with the destinations of this trip. We will first visit California. California. What springs to mind when you think of this place? For me, it is the home of modern punk music, for my friends, it is essentially a giant den filled with beautiful women. One of the lesser paradises of the world, California is a necessity for every road trip. Afterward, we will drive in a straight line past Arizona, to Colorado, where we shall be provided lodgings by one of my friend's uncles, and view the Grand Canyon. I did not want to do this, but I could not fight the combined force of five of my friends. We shall move on from there downwards to Mexico, stopping in Tijuana, camping in the country, and then moving on. We then continue onwards, taking a slowboat to Cuba. Cuba. What an original experience. For a LONG time, only a few select outsiders have been allowed to set foot inside Cuba. But now that a certain dictator has loosened his iron vice grip on all of the immigration, a whole new array of possiblities open up. Yes. Our trip is almost finished. At our final stop, my pilgrimage will be complete. Finally, we arrive! Cancun!

Canada's Sweet Siren Song

2008-08-24T06:50:00.000-07:00

Canada. For several years I have dreamed of this place. Constantly living under the shadow of America, Canada could never escape from the reputation of being 'America Jr.', always being regarded as a country filled with wimp hippies and retired couples, but that is not the truth. I can see past this silly reputations and view the real Canada. A paradise, free health care abound, snowy in the winters, scorching in the summers, it is, without a doubt, my Eden. All of my friends have a skeptical view on Canada.
'Oh, who would want to go to Canada? It's too hot and smells like stale marijuana.'
However, whenever they say this, I completely disregard it.
Speaking of which, I know another place that's too hot and smells like stale marijuana. Seattle's premier music festival, Bumbershoot. Yes, glorious Bumbershoot, chock full of all the latest and greatest music acts, taking place in the height of Summer, where none of the good acts come on until well over nine, practically shoving free promotional CD's down your throat, giant roller-coasters beckoning you, begging you to mount their bright red chairs and follow it into death or oblivion (whatever comes first). Yes, two paradises among paradises, Bumbershoot and Canada are. They are where my destiny lies. These places are two thirds of my journey. However, two thirds is not enough! The road to completion awaits! Onward to Cancun!

On The Topics Of Jobs And Existence

2008-08-22T06:47:00.000-07:00

I like music. I really like music. If I can, I would like to have a career involving music.
Now before you say 'Oh, how cute! He wants to be in a band!', know that I DO NOT want to make a living PLAYING music. I want to do something with it.
Anything's fine with me. I'll work for a record company, I'll work for a magazine, I'll do anything! That is, if it's possible.
I'm not picky. Any job is fine with me. I don't even have to make that much money. Just enough to support me and my family living in a modest apartment. To be honest, I don't think about my future too much. Not that I should, being thirteen, but everyone puts some thought into it at some point, be it a sophomore thinking about applying to college next year, or even a four year old girl playing doctor in the backyard.
The future is a funny thing to think about. I sometimes think, what if all of a sudden, we just cease to exist. We won't burn up, or disintegrate, or anything painful at all. We simply wouldn't exist. We would never have existed, and would never exist. Just as if there was no universe, no time, no space, nothing. Hell, there wouldn't even be nothing! Simply nothing would exist. And we wouldn't necessarily know when things stopped existing. For example, we could just keep on living in our imaginations. Though nothing would exist, we would believe it does, and live on forever, not knowing if anything is real. Even this blog you feel you are reading could all be in your head. I'm pretty sure some philosopher touched on this topic before, but I can't seem to recall his name.
Anyway, I hope you're sufficiently freaked out.
You are?
Well...

Discrimination!

2008-08-21T23:25:00.000-07:00

I watch TV. But not as much as people would think a thirteen year old does.
There are hundreds upon hundreds of irritating and untrue about our age group (one of wich is taht were bad at grammer). People think we sleep extremely late. Well, if you read my previous blog posting you would know otherwise. People also think that we are absolute jerks to our parents. Now, that may be true, but don't WE have a reason? Taking away our video games when we get angry is just like not punishing a pregnant woman because she had mood swings. Is it really OUR fault that we act like this? Is it? No. I hate to do this, but I'm playing the hormones card. Just because our hormones last longer than a pregnant woman's, people blame US for it. It makes me SO MAD!
Oh, and another thing!
You never see people having all these negative stereotypes about women, do you? As far as you know, the worst that could happen is she gets pregnant (And that problem could be easily...corrected). But, oh, no! If anything girls are worse than boys! Girls are always the ones portrayed as having an awkward puberty, but guys have it just as hard. I won't go into the details, but it's those blasted females that are thought to feel self-concious, but if it's anyone that should, it's the men. In movies, all you get to see are the confident quarterbacks and their pretty girl counterparts with low self-esteems. But in real life, it's the other way around! Why do they enjoy such a spotless reputation, while we're only known as sex-crazed, manic tough guys?
In the words of the Tootsie Pops narrator
'The world may never know.'

Sleep

2008-08-20T04:41:00.000-07:00

Normally, I don't end up sleeping very much. I'm not sure what my reason for this is, but, one way or another, it just happens. I set my phone alarm for 5:45 in the morning, read until 11:30 or so, and then go to bed. I wake up about ten minutes after the alarm goes off. Once I'm up, I spend maybe fifteen to twenty minutes taking a nice long shower, dozing off a few times in between, go upstairs and make myself a pre-breakfast snack, and maybe read some comics. Once my mom gets up, she makes me breakfast, we watch some TV, and I head off to school with my carpool, sleeping half the way there.
Next year this will all change.
Of course, it's possible that I'll just change carpools and have the same schedule, but with different people. But that wouldn't be very interesting, would it? So, I'll tell you the alternative. I will begin taking the bus. This could quite possibly be disastrous. For one thing, my mother will force me to begin making breakfast for the both of us, which will cause me to wake up EVEN earlier, which will quite easily disrupt my progress in school, which, in turn will make my mother angry. So it's a Lose-Lose situation.
If this indeed happens, there is an EXTREMELY small chance that I would wake up on time most days. I can tell you this because, as it is, I can end up waking up from any time between 4:45 to 6:45. Due to my erratic waking times, I often experience lucid dreams, and NO, that does not mean what you think it means. A lucid dream is when you are dreaming, but your body is completely ready to be awake. Thus, you are aware you are dreaming. This is a very fun state to be in, because you can do ANYTHING. ANYTHING!!! Of course, I can't remember what I did (it was a dream, after all), So I can't tell you. I probably had a point I was going to get to earlier in the blog, but I've lost my train of thought.
This blog is over.

Downtown #3

2008-08-19T00:32:00.000-07:00

Once leaving the evil mall, we were bored and wondering why Prince Caspian wasn't finished yet. It had been an hour and a half, after all. So Sam was just wheeling me around, when suddenly and abruptly, the entire back of the chair broke off. I fell backwards and landed painfully on the street. We were so bored, we decided we had nothing better to do than fix the chair. Everyone else sat down and put the free hugs sign to good use. Sam and I decided to visit the officemax in search of a screw we could use to fix the chair. Unfortunately, we couldn't manage to get the proper one require, so we sat down in despair, ate our Subway sandwiches and asked random passerby where we could find some heavy duty glue. Eventually we got our answer in the form of an elderly lady informing us to go back to OfficeMax. So back we went. I really am not sure how this is in any way even possible but the OFFICEMAX was OUT OF GLUE. So we had to get duct tape instead.
Meanwhile...
To put their free hugs sign to good use, the other kids sat down and held up their free hugs sign. Naturally, they got free hugs in return. An adult nearby witnessed this, and decided to start freaking out. Thus, she gave them a twenty minute speech on the dangers of molestation, and quite literally dragged them halfway to the courthouse when they decided to stand up and wrench themselves from the woman's grip, give her a strong telling-to, and walk all the way back to meet us at OfficeMax. So we were back where we started. It had been three and a half hours and our friends still hadn't been released from the vice grip of Prince Caspian. So we got some candy. Sure enough, our Caspian friends, upon not finding us, left and went to their respective houses. Once this was realized, that was it. Our adventure had come to an end.
So it did.
Goodbye.

Downtown #2

2008-08-18T22:55:00.000-07:00

As we entered, wheeling the chair along, we were almost immediately noticed by one of the mall staff. He approached us, brow furrowed, staring at the chair.
'You can't have this.'
'Why?'
'You just can't.'
We were stunningly angry at him for this. So much so, we started stamping at the ground. We went so far as to ask to look at the mall rules, and, sure enough, there were no rules against it. This guy was trying to screw us over. Though he said not to, we did what we had thought was the only rational choice. We continued wheeling the chair through the mall. We went up the small group of stairs leading to the elevator, lugging along the chair around behind us. The girls disagreed with our choice, but we really didn't care. Once we were up there, we had visited a few stores. It must have been a site to see, five children visiting feminine clothing stores, carrying a wheeling chair.
We had fun while it lasted. Just a few minutes later, a security guard had somehow gotten word of our misdeeds and scurried quickly through all the clothing stores, searching for a group of kids carrying a chair and a small piece of paper. Eventually, he found us, in Victoria's Secret, no less, and promptly told us to get the chair out of the mall, or else be ejected. Much to the annoyance of everyone else with us, my friend Sam and I were forcibly ejected from the mall. What were we going to do?

Downtown #1

2008-08-18T06:26:00.000-07:00

Every now and then, after school, a large group of friends and I walk downtown. We normally see a movie. One such time, a group of about fifteen students, including me, went to see a horror film. However, the movie we wanted to see was not running at the correct time. So instead, my movie-starved friends went to see Prince Caspian.
As most of you know, Prince Caspian is a book from C.S. Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. Now these books, though having underlying themes of christianity, are fantastic despite their relentless subliminization. But the movies are different.
Not only do they cut out at least half the content of the original books, they make all of the dark and disturbing parts replaced by scenes with talking rats and mice. So, yeah. I didn't feel like seeing that movie. But that was alright. I had people to hang out with. Ten of my friends went to see Prince Caspian, while the other five of us were left alone. Cold and lonely, carrying a twenty pound wheeled chair. Uh...I can explain.
Earlier this day, three of my friends and I found a chair outside the school with a piece of paper reading 'free' taped to it. When we saw this, a thought sparked into our heads.
At the time we thought it was a brilliant idea to push each other downhill on this chair at alarmingly fast speeds. So we did. Now there were problems with this chair, such as its faulty back (which we later fixed with super glue, but that's a story for another time). This resulted in many painful injuries on our part. We made use of the free paper, of course, as we converted it into a makeshift free hugs sign. A stroke of genius.
So there we were, five seventh grade children wheeling a faulty desk chair around downtown Seattle, leftover Subway sandwiches from lunch clutched tightly in our shivering hands, displaying a halfheartedly made Free Hugs sign proudly.
We were bored.
So we went to a mall.

Noodles

2008-08-15T00:48:00.000-07:00

A lot of days, after school, I go down to the convenience store down the street and buy a...uh, cup of Cup Noodles. Not just any Cup Noodles. Korean Cup Noodles. The Korean guy that works at and owns the store always looks at me strangely when I buy them, as if I have no right to buy them if I am not Korean. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy, it's just that he was confused. Wouldn't you be if you saw an indian kid walk into a store in Seattle and buy a cup of instant noodles from Korea?
Over the following months, however, I learned, though impressionable, he was a really nice guy. He would make jokes, ask my name, and have conversations with me. It was his wife I had to watch out for. Oh, man, his wife was a jerk.
Once, some friends and I went down to the store to get something to drink, and had noticed that the owner wasn't there. We figured it would be rude to ask who she was, so we were quiet. A few moments later, the owner wandered out of the back, whispered something in his wife's ear, kissed her, and went back inside. We assumed she was his wife.
Anyway, we were taking a while choosing our sodas, and she had gotten angry and impatient with us, and started yelling for us to hurry up. So, we picked up the pace and chose our drinks quickly. One of my friends had some kind of problem with drinking from a can, and asked her if he could get a cup for himself. The wife, just to spite us for taking too long, denied him the cup. 'No cup for you!'
So Isaiah, partially because he hhated drinking from cans, and partially to spite her back proclaimed 'Fine! Then, I don't want the drink!'. The wife's eyes widened as she snatched all of our soda cans from our hands and said that none of us can have any Soda at all. The next day the owner was back.
Luckily, we almost never ran into his wife again.

uuuuhh...

2008-08-14T00:45:00.000-07:00

The entire reason I'm writing these blogs is because my ban for a certain game can be lifted. If you want to know what this ban was for, too bad, because it's not something I want to talk about. Instead I'm going to talk about myself.
I'm not the most virtuous of people, but I do what I can to try. But here's the thing: even when I AM virtuous, there is almost always an ulterior motive to it.
One example of this is when I had to serve food to the homeless for one of my Boy Scouts badge requirements. All the adults were talking about me and my friends, about how great it was we were doing community service like this voluntarily. They didn't know there WERE kids like this.
The homeless people we were serving, as well as a few adults supervising were stunned by us. They would come up to us and say 'Wow, it's so great that you're helping your community!' and 'I'm glad kids like you are around.'
My friends and I, of course, were not doing this voluntarily. We were practically forced to do this work, so we naturally felt guilty for taking credit for being nice kids. But we did anyway. At the moment, we felt absolutely horrible about we we did, but we were still children, and, sure enough, we forgot about it in only a few days.
It's not that we didn't care, it's just that we forgot. Once we got what we needed, we couldn't remember anything. Are you bored yet? Well, I guess I'll wrap this up. So, now you know what I mean about not being virtuous.

I'm pretty heartless, huh?

Pinewood Derby Part 2

2008-08-13T00:15:00.000-07:00

Continued from yesterday...
Now RACING, however, was a completely different matter.
It is a completely honest and fair contest, where all possible circumstances are taken into consideration.
Or maybe I just think that because one year I won.
Well, technically. You see, I kind of won by default.
No, don't get me wrong, my car was brilliant, but I still came in second.
The first-placer used liquid graphite, instead of the lubricant we were supposed to use. Nobody noticed this for a while. Not until he went to the regional tournament and was discovered.
I still hold a grudge.

Pinewood Derby Part 1

2008-08-12T07:02:00.000-07:00

I am a Boy Scout.
As a Boy Scout, I must adhere to the Scout Honors and Rules.
I also must compete in the ridiculous pastime of carving rock-hard blocks of pine wood into a disgustingly complex model car. This pastime is the Pinewood Derby.
When judging the Pinewood Derby, the 'Judges', usually consisting of the troop leader, a bored housewife, and a balding middle aged man, have to rate us based on how well we race our cars, and how well we DECORATE them. This is not only a very bad idea, the judging process is faulty at best. For example, if one child makes a scaled model of a Ferrari, complete with wood polish and paint, it will lose the contest to a block of wood with a skull stapled to it's head named
'Ghost Rider'
Quality doesn't matter to them. It's all about originality!
They encourage Scouts to be WHO THEY ARE!
It makes me sick.

Cont. Tomorrow