Stream of Consciousness (Or: Something Very Different)

Hello I thought I'd write a blog post in stream of consciousness, I am literally writing the things that come into my head as they come into my head keeping in mind a vague topic which I have not yet picked but will when my brain thinks of it, as a rule I am typing things as soon as they come into my mind and I will only backspace to fix typos which I have had to do many times because I make a lot. I decided my blog post will be about breakfast foods and all their glory. My favorite is the bagel but I don't like it with cream cheese well I do that was a lie but sometimes when you're typing as fast as you can and just typing what comes to mind your mind lies to you and that's what happened there. Bagels are good but waffles can be better but it really just matters what you put on it because that's where the flavor comes from you know. See: Pancakes, IHOP, syrup, etc.

I am a huge fan of the basketball and I don't know why I said that because I don't like basketball that much and it doesn't even come close to the subject of breakfast food so back on topic I like cheese too I just bought a new kind of cheese at the store. My whole life my fridge has been home to American sliced cheese but now Colby Jack has joined it and the two can team up and fight crime together I hope. My dream is that one day I am a chef in a famous restaurant that serves only breakfast food but that is not even remotely true dude. I don't actually have any real dreams other than to be happy and to enjoy good breakfast when I wake up.

Did I mention my thoughts on eggs? Rule of thumb for eggs (and potatoes): NO CHEESE. Melted cheese makes both of these normally good food products lousy and inedible and make me nauseous NEVER PUT CHEESE on eggs or potatoes. Is there a food that has all three, because if there is and it exists in this country I might have to emigrate to Europe. On second thought it's probably more likely that I emigrated to Europe in a past life. That sentence made no sense but I thought of it so I had to put it. What I meant to say was it is probably more likely that the egg-cheese-potato food exists in Europe than America because Europeans are crazy like that.

By the way I set my goal to myself when I started just now to type as much stream of consciousness thought as I could in ten minutes and now I'm on minute eight. Reading it (not really reading because that would defeat the purpose, but looking above where I am typing now and seeing what I've written as a block of text) it is evident to me two things: One, I am not making any progress towards making sense, which is a very convoluted way of saying my thoughts have come out very cluttered, and two, I forgot what I was going to say oops lol. One minute left oh man how am I going to tie up the loose ends and conclude my thoughts on breakfast food and save the world from the potato bomb in the toaster? Wow that last sentence was really weird I hope you guys don't think I'm weird, also I just remembered that apparently I have readers in Russia and Germany and I wonder how crazy this is all going to sound when they read it there, because I'm assuming that they translate things there using like google translate which isn't always accurate so I think I did good job of confusing them. Time's up!


And end stream of consciousness. Now I can reflect/explain. I wrote the above as it came into my head as a way of procrastinating for studying for finals. I was literally typing as fast as I could, but I had to keep backspacing to fix my typos because it would be very annoying to have to proofread it for typos afterwards. What's more, it's very hard to STOP writing in stream of consciousness apparently because I said I was stopping but my mind is still in that mode. Man I'm not making any sense. I think I failed miserably in my effort to explain my thoughts on breakfast food but I did make VERY clear my dislike of cheese on eggs and potatoes, which is probably more important. A quick calculation says I typed 646 words at a rate of roughly 65 words per minute, but I was typing pretty much at full speed and usually that's closer to 110 words per minute. Probably means I made a lot of typos. Anyway, my reason for doing this is that I've always wanted to just write and write everything that comes to my head and write for as long as possible and see what happens, but because it is getting late I decided to impose a time limit. As it turns out that just added an element of panic. What's more, I learned how hard it is to keep your mind focused on one subject. I'm a little jittery now from all that excitement. I think I'm going to lie down.

PS: I'm formatting this after-the-fact to include paragraph breaks (for your sake), but I didn't do this as I typed it. I didn't do any editing/proofreading beyond that.

My Personal Statement; or "The American Dream (A Love Story)"; or "How I was Blacklisted from the UC Davis Admissions Office"

Hi Davis. 

What’s up guys? This is my personal statement. You guys asked me to write about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that was important to me. That doesn’t sound like fun, so instead I’m going to list my favorite foods. French toast, spaghetti, lasagna. Corn on the cob, that's pretty good.  Bacon. Oh man don't even get me started on bacon. Eggs too. Hmm. You know what, this isn’t quite as fun as I thought it would be. I guess I’ll go back to the prompt. What was the prompt again? Oh yeah, you asked me to write about a personal quality, talent, accomplishment, contribution or experience that was important to me. Then I said that sounds boring. Good times, right guys? Well, here we go.

Nope can't think of anything. Goodness, how many words does this have to be? A THOUSAND??? Well I've made some progress, now I can use the rest of my words on the other prompt. What’s that prompt about? Ah who cares it’s probably boring. Let’s talk about YOU Davis! Tell me what you’re capable of! What are YOUR most important experiences? Come on Davis, let me know what makes you sparkle!

Please excuse the sarcasm, it's not that I don't want to get admitted to your college. I don't want to get admitted to any college. I've learned everything there is to learn about everything that matters. I can solve a Rubik's cube one-handed. I know how to add and subtract single-digit numbers. I can consistently insert my Capri-Sun straw into the hole in one single attempt. I've ascended Mt. Olympus, declared myself a god, and conquered all of humankind. Figuratively, of course. I've got everything it takes to be a knowledgeable, well-rounded individual and a functioning member of society. So it pains me to say that, as much as you've intrigued me and tempted me with your programs in agriculture and water studies, which I'm sure are absolutely out of this world, I really don't think there's much left you can teach me.

But all kidding aside, I’d make a good student at your little college. I don’t qualify for much financial aid so you guys will get even more of my money. I've taken up tennis, and maybe if I become decent at it I can join your intramural squad. I think that would really enrich your value as a school and as an international tourist hotspot, as I'm confident my stellar backhand will attract tennis enthusiasts from across the globe. I’ve got good grades too, if that's important. Oh and I floss my teeth daily. Well, nightly. You know what I mean. I know hygiene is probably important to you because your school is on a farm. 

It's been a pleasure talking to you guys and I hope you enjoyed reading my personal statement as much as I enjoyed not writing it. Please direct all your questions, responses, praises, and prayers to my personal secretary, Stefán, who has, unfortunately, gone missing.

Seriously, where did he go?

Love,

Michael

P.S. You know you want me.

Fifth Blog Post

This is blog post number five. It comes between my fourth and my sixth (work in progress). In a broader scheme it comes between my third and seventh, and, even broader, between negative infinity and infinity.

Numerically, the number five is represented by 5. It is equivalent to the number of inmates you would have in a prison if you started with seven but then you had to shoot two of them for trying to escape. It is roughly equivalent to the number of cans of root beer you would have if you drank 17 percent of a six pack. If letters were numbers and numbers were letters, this would be blog post number "E"; however, if this were the case, no one would be reading this because most people read in letters and not numbers. 

If an Earthquake hit the west coast right now, and it registered a 5.0 on the Richter scale, that would be equivalent to the number that most closely represents this blog post. If you wanted to play dominoes, but you only had five of them, you would not be able to play dominoes, but you would be able to provide a visual representation of how many blog posts I have written as of this one. If my blog posts corresponded to the presidents, in order of their chronological appearance in office, then this post would best be described as James Monroe.

If you read this post in the year 2017, then the number corresponding to this blog post will match its age in years. If you wrote the number 5 backwards, but then looked in the mirror, you'd see the number of blog posts I have written. If four cats suddenly appeared in your bathroom, you would only need one more cat to match the number of blog posts I have written. If you take your age, and then subtract your age from it, and then add five, you will come up with the number for this blog post. If you met up with five of your best friends, you would only need to ask one of them to leave to make the size of your group equivalent to the size of my blog, in an alternate dimension where people are equal to blog posts.

Long story short I don't want to study math.

Ideas I Don't Have

As I sat at my typewriter poised to churn out yet another triumphant masterpiece of American literature, another modern classic, another groundbreaking anthology of human strength, weakness, and glory, a thought popped into my head. Not just a thought, a realization. A realization so profane to me that it shook me to the core, rotted my spirit, and made me lose faith in all that is good in this world. That realization?


I've got nothing.


"Nothing?" you say? Yes, nothing.

It was a new feeling, suffice to say. I've never been anything less than perfect in any single way, so I wasn't sure how to cope with these new emotions. I ended up spending the next four hours screaming at the moon and ripping phonebooks in half. How could I possibly have nothing to write about? There's so much in this universe to talk about. There are so many marvels in this world: beautiful landscapes, remarkable people, chimps that know sign language. Surely I could find some way to insult them. 

Show-off.

Not on this night. This night there's just nothing in the tank. Sad, I suppose, to think that I've started this little writing project and three entries in I'm plumb out of things to say. Not sad like, your-puppy-got-stuck-in-the-washing-machine sad, or sad like if your baby ran away because you forgot to feed it. No, a man's dream dying is much sadder than either of those things.

But little things like that have never stopped me. If I don't have any ideas to write about, then I'll just write about the ideas I don't have.

So without further long-winded introduction, here are the ideas that I don't have, that I will not be  writing about.

I am not going to write about chapstick, because I feel that all vital information regarding chapstick can be found on the chapstick itself.

I am not going to write about dogs, because dogs generally do not speak. This makes it difficult to quote them, and without quotes my writing would not be reputable.

I am not going to write about hot dogs, because applying heat to canines does not make them any more interesting or quotable. 

I am not going to write about lunch, because lunch is the least important meal of the day and, as a result, the least amusing. The number of jokes to be made about lunch is very close to zero. In fact, there may actually be a negative number of jokes to make about lunch, but the research isn't in from the lab yet so we can't be sure. I would be much more inclined to do a piece on breakfast, or even dinner, but even then I would be preaching to a very small choir. Of fat people.

I am not going to write a full account of the history of Russia, because Russia's really big and that would be a very long blog post. Additionally, Russia has never written a full account of my personal history, so I feel no need to return any favors. If Russian novelists did see fit to make a written account of my life, I would probably feel obliged to write about Russia. The ball is really in their court.

I am not going to write about advanced spelunking techniques, because my level of expertise in the world of cave diving is intermediate at best.

I am not going to write about vegetarianism, because screw vegetarians. 

I am not going to write about the moon landing, because I do not write about fictional nonsense.

I am not going to write about James Cameron and the snubbing of Avatar for Best Picture, because I am still too upset to write about this subject and The Hurt Locker was NOWHERE NEAR THE BEST MOVIE OF 2009 IT DIDN'T CHANGE ANYTHING IN THE MOVIE INDUSTRY AND AVATAR CREATED A WHOLE NEW WAY OF LOOKING AT CGI I AM SO MAD RIGHT NOW WHERE ARE MY PHONEBOOKS?!?!


Ahem.


I really think that's all that needs to be said on this matter. The moral of the story here?

Don't write with writer's block.

Wasting Time

Want to feel depressed? Try this. Next time you're trying to fall asleep, think about the day you just had. Think about the ups and the downs, the decisions you made, the obstacles you faced. All the events that unfolded before you, and all the ways you responded to the world. What did you do that was different, special? Now when you're done meditating on your day, ask yourself one important question: How much of this will I remember next year? Or next week? Tomorrow?

Well I lied, that was three questions actually, but important questions nonetheless. On any given day, none of us do anything worth noting. We work, or play, or study, or read. We interact with each other, minimally, just to make sure we're still human and that our loved ones haven't been kidnapped and replaced by robotic replicas. Then we sneak in a couple meals, an hour or two of TV, and drift off to sleep, ready to do it all over again in the morning. How often do we make permanent, life-altering decisions? The kind that really shape who we are, or the world we live in? The kind that, you know, define us as people? Maybe four, five times in a decade. 

I have no data to back this up, but I've got a pretty good memory, and I certainly can't think of many moments that make me look back and say, "Wow, I wonder who I would be today if that never happened?" or, "Wow, I'm sure glad I made that decision!" More often, it's "Wow, I spent the whole day doing playing online Scrabble?" or "Wow, I need to get a life!"

Life? What's that?

And the more I think about that, the more I wonder if other people are going through this. But that's an easy one. Of course they do.

Because we all waste our time. All of us.

Again, exaggeration. There are people who are hard-driving and committed to their goals, who waste no time getting to the top. The kind of people who give up social contact and leisure and Oreos to chase their dreams, and constantly devote themselves to success and self-betterment in the face of adversity and defeat. Then again, have you met these people? Not a smiley bunch.

Someone needs an Oreo

The reality is, 99% of us have our vices, our weaknesses. TV, video games, poetry slams, you name it. We've got things we invest our precious lives and even more precious time in, without realizing how little they help us develop as human beings. And then we'll look back in 20 years, 10 if we're lucky, and laugh at ourselves for ever thinking it was a good use of time to concern ourselves with such petty nonsense.

But until that glorious day comes, we don't just accept our time-wasting, we justify it. We tell ourselves it's okay to watch just a few hours of the game show network, because, after all, we've had a tough day at work and we just want to unwind and escape the working world and all its dull monotony. By staring at a box.

If we stare long enough maybe our lives will become as interesting as theirs

I'm guilty too. I'm not ashamed to admit that I like baseball. But I am a bit ashamed to admit that I devote three to five hours of my day to a sport I've never played, following the stories of athletes I've never met, holding stock in a team whose accomplishments are in no way tied to my own. A bit. But hey, shame is the price I pay to get the most out of my time-wasting!

I actually came to most of the realizations that I'm writing about when I finished playing a video game recently. Near the end of the game, there is a sequence in which you lose all the items you have worked so hard to find, and you must finish with only the most bare essentials. And it upset me. Why did I work so hard if it was all going to be taken away from me? What a waste of time.

Because this wasn't already a waste of time

And then I realized, they never took it away. I never had it. It was all make believe, and here I was, getting worked up that the same people who gave me imaginary armor and weaponry had the power to take it away. It was not the game's fault for taking it from me. It was my fault for investing myself in things that aren't even real. Things that won't help me. Things that don't matter. Am I this vain, this materialistic? That I cannot bear to lose objects that exist only in a fantasy land, simply because I feel entitled to them? No, I'm not materialistic. I just can't be bothered to do anything more important than waste my time worrying about such nonsense.

I'm not saying that we need to keep track of every second we waste and make up for it by going 90 on the freeway, or that every waking moment needs to be a blinding fury of assembly-line productivity. And I'm not implying that we can't have hobbies, that would be ridiculous and unreasonable. What I am saying is, maybe our hobbies shouldn't be things like Tetris or frequenting the Craigslist personal sections, but things that matter. And maybe, just maybe, if we could overcome our fear of going outside and talking to people, we'd see that they're not so scary after all. Says Mike from the safety of his keyboard.

Driving

Ah, driving. It's a great thing when you're a teenager. Youth, freedom, adventure, all found behind the wheel. Remember that time period between getting your learner's permit and taking your behind the wheel test? When you dreamed of what glorious expeditions would follow as you cruised down Main Street doing 80, blasting music with the top down and your majestic, Fabio-esque locks flowing in the wind? In the middle of winter, of course. Because you didn't care about logic, or weather, or birds crapping in your hair. You were free.

 

Pictured above: freedom

I italicized free, but I should have italicized were, because that time period comes and goes pretty fast. And when it's over you realize how petty and hopeless all your dreams turned out to be. Driving does not free your spirit. It does not enhance your looks, or help you build lasting friendships with your peers, or give you straight A's in school. And it certainly doesn't help transform you into an Italian modeling god with perfect hair.

Or does it?

Driving is just a task, a necessity that we have grown too attached to to get rid of, despite how much we all grow to hate it. It does nothing but make our pathetic, miserable lives that much more pathetic and miserable. It is a scourge of modern civilization, a plague on our existence, an indescribable evil. Why?

Because everyone who has ever driven is an idiot.

You may be thinking "Oh Mike, that's not true!", or "Not me, I'm a good driver!". But if you are thinking either of those things then you are simultaneously wrong and an idiot. There is no such thing as a "good driver"; if there were, we wouldn't need signs telling us to slow down in front of schools and stay quiet in front of hospitals. In a perfect world, we'd let common sense tell us that honking at diseased patients and mowing down tiny children in crosswalks are typically frowned upon.

But this isn't a perfect world, this is America. Where we let sophomores in high school, who already have enough on their plate with their algebra and their Spanish and their coloring books, operate 3000-pound death machines with top speeds upwards of 100 miles per hour. But hey they took an eight week course in school so they're qualified!

Pictured: Qualified experts

I remember my driving test vividly, for two reasons. For one, it was one of the top five nervous moments of my life at the time. But second, and more important, it was one of the top three easiest tasks I have ever accomplished, right behind learning to use the microwave and taking Calculus at 7:30 in the morning.


I remember thinking it was a joke. I had only taken four hour-long driving training sessions, none of which had me drive in crowded city traffic or busy parking lots. You know, the two things I really suck at and still have trouble with to this day. And then there I was, waiting in the DMV with sweaty palms, heart beating out of my chest, for what?


A test that ended up lasting eight minutes.


I drove around the block, through a neighborhood, and then back to the DMV, where I was told I was a "marvelous" driver. Which wasn't true; I received three deductions for coming slowly out of a curve, failing to look over my shoulder before turning, and mild speeding. That was three out of the maximum fifteen deductions I could have gotten, and still passed. So next time you're driving in America and you see some moron weaving in and out of lanes, speeding, and putting other people's lives in danger, make sure you give him fifteen chances before you get mad.


And I say America because it really is a problem with our system. We wouldn't have these morons if we trained our drivers properly. There are countries that are worse, sure, but then there are countries that are so much better. Like Sweden.

No surprise, their flag is literally a four-way intersection

If you're not up-to-date on the latest international motor vehicle rules and regulations, then this nifty Wikipedia article should fill you in. Swedish drivers begin training at age 16 and may receive their license once they are 18, after a two year process that includes 22 preliminary tests and training exercises before they take the actual driver's test. 

But that doesn't matter, right? There's morons everywhere, no matter what the law states. True, but if Sweden is full of morons, it's at least full of safe morons. Note Sweden's fatality rate, second lowest in the world, fourfold better than the good old US of A. 

But no one complains. No one blames this lack of training for these fatal accidents. It is the norm and so we have adjusted, and drivers can remain as idiotic as they please, as they are the majority. So long as they stay out of Sweden, of course.

It's sad that the novelty of driving and the sense of teenage freedom that comes with it can evaporate so fast. We live in a wonderful modern world, where truly marvelous advancements in technology have made it so we can literally erase the distance between ourselves and the world around us with ease. We have modern experts of science and engineering that devote their lives to building us shiny toys and convenient luxuries, with the sole purpose of improving the quality of our lives. 

And all of it is wasted on idiots.

What's the Worst that Could Happen?

It's a cliche, but a valid question. People really don't like taking chances. We stop ourselves from doing wonderful things, from taking leaps of faith each and every day because we are insecure. We fear uncertainty, and we certainly aren't going to expose our everyday lives to change if there's any chance that we will fail; or worse, succeed admirably, only to realize that it was a fruitless endeavor from the beginning. People let dreams slip away; they let opportunities that come along but once in a lifetime pass them by for fear of risk, even risk so petty that it can hardly be called risk. We are pessimists, and we do not deny it.

But why the pessimism? Why keep the glass half empty when we have so many opportunities to fill it? Why focus on what could go wrong instead of what dreams may come true if all goes right? 


Well, because sometimes the worst does happen.


Today for breakfast, I had the single worst piece of toast that I have ever eaten in eighteen long years of breakfast consumption. And when I say worst, I mean the absolute worst. (The faint of heart need not read on.)


When you think of toast, you think of something close to this color, right?

Right, me too. But instead I got this:

The knife fell from my hand. Pure, unadulterated blackness. The kind that is not simply an absence of color, but a presence of evil. My toast had been burnt, not by the hands of a mere mortal toaster but by the fiery hands of Hades himself. 

As I choked back tears, I tried to salvage some shred of hope for a delicious breakfast and put an end to this nightmare. I took the toast outside, praying that maybe in natural light I could see that this tragedy was mere illusion. But in this cruel world, no such dreams may come. I locked the butter away, deep into the fridge, and lay my dreams there next to them to die. What started as a simple breakfast quickly devolved into somber mourning and anguished crying. I could practically hear the Titanic theme music narrating my disaster. 

Soon, though, I had to bury the deceased, deep within the trash to assure that the aroma of burnt toast could not trigger any more tears of sorrow. As I sat in my kitchen, wrist-deep in garbage, wondering where my life had gone wrong, I began to ask questions. Why me? All of this punishment, and what was my crime? Trying to make toast?! There are sinners and criminals who roam the streets freely, while I, an honor student with prospects and a future and a beige 2006 Mazda, cannot enjoy a simple piece of toast? Was this my life now? Was it all downhill from here, and this was how the world decided to tell me? With toast??

It was then and there that I decided I could not let universe win. I wiped away my tears, swallowed my pride, and marched back over to the trash can to regain my hope. It was no longer about toast, it was now a matter of honor. As I dug inches deep, creating a grimy trench of spoiled pasta and various cheese products along the way, I finally found it. My worst enemy, my best friend. The one shot I had at redemption. My Holy Grail.

It was then, as I stared at the mess I had created and breathed in the air of processed foods gone rotten, that I began to have second thoughts. Honor is one thing, but I began to entertain the idea that this piece of toast could quite literally kill me. I sat in contemplation, then began pacing. I stopped, and asked myself one more question:

What's the worst that could happen?

And so I sat, and I began devouring the great beast, bit by bit. Though it was hard as steel and as tasty as a dead skunk, I pressed on. I had to. For honor. For glory. For everyone who has ever given up on their dreams, who have never tasted sweet victory in the face of the most dire circumstances. For those who have not lived. I ate, and in that one moment, glory filled my veins.

And then my parents came home. And there I was. Sitting on the tile floor, surrounded by garbage. Holding a half-eaten piece of toast that resembled coal, hoping that somehow, someway I could erase this moment from time so that, at the very least, my parents would not have to question what fatal mistakes they had made in raising me. Instead, they hung their heads in shame.

Long story short, this is why I can never be an optimist. This is why I'll always be glass half empty. Because no matter how well you've prepared, how strong you think you are, how much you've given to charity, sometimes you're just going to burn your toast.