Another Poem for Your Reading Pleasure

I haven't posted in a long time. I suppose I haven't had much time to document my nonsense lately. Either that or nothing to rant about! haha. Anyway, here's another poem.

Instead

Everywhere I'd been led to sorrow.

All paths took me to something callous.

Who could wipe the dark tears from my eyes?

Not in vain, not in empty promises.

My soul thought to escape in sleeping sighs

but remained; though I know not why.

No shade of light remained and so

that day He took my hand.

We found a small clearing amongst thorns

and the color rose to my eyes.

When I smiled and looked back, He'd gone.

And standing there instead was you.

Escaping the Meaningless

I've come to a self-realization recently. It's nothing fun, but self-realizations rarely are. They're usually things like: I eat my weight in carbs everyday or I curse more than a sailor with tourettes syndrome. My realization is this: On a daily basis, I fill my life with more junk than anything meaningful or productive. Sometimes that applies to my eating habits, which sometimes include more Chipotle than salads... but mostly I'm just talking about what I do with my time.

Though I have a few days during the week when I could do volunteer work for Habitat for Humanity, what usually ends up happening is I'll vow to go right after I check my e-mail and I turn on the computer. Then I'll start Facebooking, which turns into You Tube and so on. Before you can say "Brain Slurpee", half of my afternoon is gone and I've done nothing of value. All I've accomplished is turning oxygen into carbon dioxide and converting pop tarts into fat. After filling my head with so much nonsense, it literally will start to hurt. I'll seriously get a headache from all the crap I've watched. And it is crap. Why do we insist on watching these meaningless videos? It's a mind-numbing addiction.

I find that I won't work on my talents, like art, because I have this craving for the meaningless. After all, art requires skill and thinking. It seems that some days, thinking is just asking too much. Instead of accomplishing something real, I'd rather devote my time to a fake accomplishment that means absolutely nothing in the long run. Such as reaching the next level in whatever game I happen to be playing at the time. All I get from them is a false sense of accomplishment and many wasted hours.

After so long, I began to feel ill. Just sick and empty. Isn't there some novel out there that I could be reading instead that has some kind of moral to it? Something that'll make me think and not have to do with the undead, vampires and werewolves? Do such books exist any longer? Is there a movie I can watch that won't make me lose IQ points anymore? After such ponderings, I forced myself to go outside and I felt better. I made myself read some non-fiction (which is blissfully vampire-free). Once again I realized that I'm here for a purpose, and none of it involves status updates on Facebook.

I guess what I'm saying is there's too much junk and some of us are making ourselves sick with it. What you fill your life with is important because it affects what you get out of it. Have adventures, don't just read about them. Learn something that isn't celebrity related. Turn off the TV for an hour and watch a sunset. If you're filled up with garbage, there won't be room for anything meaningful! In conclusion, if I see another stupid vampire novel become popular, there's going to be a mass book burning in the very near future.

Incline-d to Hike

Above Manitou Springs is a vertical line going straight up the mountain. It's huge. What the heck is it? A really short ski run? No, wait, a really giant slide! Made... of...dirt...

Upon closer inspection, said vertical line isn't anything as fun as a slide. In fact, said vertical line is pretty much the opposite of fun. It used to be tracks for a cable tram that went up to the top of Mt. Manitou. Now all that's left are wooden ties, ridiculously large spikes driving them into the ground, rebar sticking out everywhere and rusty pipes big enough to fit the basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets in. It's something that us locals refer to as "the incline", or as some might call it: "Heart failure waiting to happen". Who, I ask, who took a look at that abandoned railroad and said: "Hey! That would be awesome to hike on!"

Conveniently, the wooden ties make up some 5,000 uneven steps (give or take a couple hundred) that are often covered in loose gravel for your slipping and falling pleasure. Personally, it takes me about 2 hours to get to the top because I adopt the pace of a banana slug. Otherwise I'd never make it. Some, however, do this sort of sick torture every week and can practically run up the thing. These are, more often than not, skinny old men who insist on being shirtless and look as if they embraced the 60's a bit too much.

The incline is only .9 of a mile. Now, before you judge and say: "You take 2 hours to hike .9 of a mile?!" Let me say this. To go up Barr trail (which runs parallel to the incline) 4 miles and then jog back down, it takes me 2 hours. 8 miles in 2 hours. Incline= 2 hours because it's death. It gains almost 2,000 miles of elevation in that .9 of a mile. It ain't called the incline for nothing my friends. Some steps are more like lunges and some I literally have to climb up onto. About halfway up, it seems to start ascending to heaven. In fact, halfway up you sort of start thinking you might experience heaven quite soon.

Subjecting yourself to the incline is not only sweaty, heart-pounding fun, but it's also illegal. Yeah. Every one of the dozens of people on that thing every week are trespassing. In fact, we pass a "No trespassing" sign on the way up. It might as well be a squirrel. We're still going to hike the damn thing. Because we're sadistic. Many have tried to make it legal for the public to keep scaling the incline, but truly, I don't see that happening any time soon. Mostly because last month alone 3 people had to be rescued on it. One involving a heart attack, another: impalement by rebar. No kidding. But that's only because the guy was going down the incline. Which is pretty much a guaranteed way to blow out your knees. Or apparently get impaled by some rusty metal.

Dangers aside, the incline is a really good work out. Instead of closing it off to the public, maybe they should just post some "hike at your own risk" signs. I mean, we see the jagged pipes. We know it's going to be an unhappy afternoon if we decide to run down the thing. If you're in the area, and want to burn off 3 days worth of calories, go ahead and try the incline. Just make sure to bring your defibrillator along for the hike.

Book Review: The Devil in Gray

Book review time!

The Devil in Gray by Graham Masterton

If you're not a fan of gore or ghosts, pass this one up. And gore there is. Buckets of it. The Devil in Gray is a well-written, easily read book that follows the murders of several people who seem to be killed by nothing, or no one, and detective Decker who's trying to figure out what the heck is happening. For example, a man is just hanging wallpaper when a deep gash suddenly appears on his arm. Before he can utter: "what the...?" he's been cut so many times he ends up in the hospital and his wife is decapitated. Then there's this guy that gets boiled to death in his own bathtub... but I don't want to give too much away. Honestly, the reasoning behind these killings is slightly silly but intriguing anyway.

This book reminded me of final desination in a way, except instead of death being after everyone, it's a pissed off civil war ghost. And how to get rid of the pesky critter? Well it's obvious isn't it? Voodoo. Santeria. A girl with down's syndrome who has freaky visions. Hmm yes. Pssh. You know nothing. Not kidding about the girl either.

I think that Decker is too accepting of the supernatural and doesn't really react in the way that most of us would (usually ending in ruining a good pair of pants). In the end, it's a good horror novel if you can get past all the wierd Voodoo stuff. There are scenes that made me gag and cringe and really, what more can you ask of a good horror novel? My rating: B+

But... Marty McFly Never Had To Do Algebra...

I've been told that the more you look back on the past, the more unhappy you are with the present. Perhaps that's why I not only look back on the past, I dwell. Don't get me wrong, I love most aspects of my life. Just not the one where I'm not the successful person I set out to be. I think, if I had a Delorean what would I do with it? Well for one, I'd go back in time and kidnap, I mean borrow, 20 something Michael J. Fox because really, what is time travel without him? Then I'd have to figure out what year to go back to so I could be all important-like and rolling in the dough. (Incidentally, I tried rolling in dough once, but my mom grounded me for a week and I spent 2 hours picking bisquick out of my hair).

In all honestly, a Delorian probably wouldn't do much good... I need to be able to start over, not have 2 of me running around in 1990 and face potential space/time continuum collapse. What I need is to be able to go to sleep one night and wake up the next morning, 5 years old again but with my 24 year old brain intact. Huh. This is sounding a lot like 13 Going on 30 in reverse isn't it? Meh.

So I'd be five again. A freaking genious in school. Hey I might even try to give that math thing another go round! I figure that if I was able to go back a second time and get an additional 12 years of math under my belt, it'll probably bring my competency level up to that of, oh... a 6th grader. At least! Oh man... imagine.

I'd drive my parents nuts with my mind-blowing intellegence. I'd tell my dad that smoking cigarettes is horrid and to cut that crap out. (No offense smokers. Well, actually... yes. Offense. Cut that crap out.) I'd attend college at 12 and be the world's youngest millionaire and buy a swimming pool for the sole purpose of filling it with strawberry Jell-o. Ah yes, It's all coming together now.

Really though, the more I think about it, the more I'm glad I don't have a random Delorian. I'd screw something else up in this alternate life. I wouldn't end up down the path I'm supposed to be on and I'd probably be so full of myself that no one would want to hang around me. (Even more than right now I mean)... And even though I'd a rich genious, I'd be miserable! Honestly, life's more fun when you're poor. You just have to be creative because you're too damn poor to go out. It might suck, but it builds character. These are the things I tell myself to feel better.

So in conclusion, Delorian's are pretty damn cool and so are hoverboards. Why hasn't that idea taken off? Where the hell is my Mattel hoverboard?!

Warning: Poetry May Cause Bleeding of the Eyes

Poetry! I do occasionally write it, though it's hard to write anything good. Most people have had horrid experiences with poetry, mostly from teachers telling them they suck. Or saying that their interpretation is wrong... which I always found dumb. An interpretation is... well... an interpretation. So really there is no wrong answer unless it's clear that you're just bullshitting. Anyways, whatever the reason, I think poetry has a bad rap. (In fact, bad rap started out as bad poetry, but I digress). Some of it sucks, but some of it's pretty good. To me, a sucky poem is one that could be written by a 1st grader with ADD. Something along the lines of:

Scratching dogs

on my door

bring sparkles

into my cocoa puffs

at midnight

sleep.

Hmmm... yes. Not so much. Unfortunately, some of us write and write and work super hard on a piece of poetry-ness for hours and it ends up looking like we chose random words out of a dictionary and crammed them into some flimsy structure we try to pass off as prose. Which, actually, come to think of it, might be fun... Anyway, if you try and tell me that you hate all of it, that it's stupid and pointless (much like geometry or Aqua Teen Hunger Force), or that it's only written by overly sensitive metrosexuals who have mommy issues, then I would like to:

A) smack you and B) remind you that your favorite song lyrics are freaking poetry. So shush. On that note, like it or not, here's one I wrote:

Walk away and see

the years gone by so fast.

Not alone but without.

Love comes and goes

til one day a memory

returns, somehow.

How I remember, and

slightly not.

Still there, alive

still breathing somehow

living in me, around me

this memory

this ghost

strange to be here

after all these years

and nearly forgetting

what I want to remember.

I don't think it's so bad, but what do I know? Just for fun, what's your interpretation? Oh wait, don't bother. You're wrong anyways.

Karate Lesson #1: Try Not To Throw Up

Ok kids, it's time to learn! Since karate is a mystery to a lot of people, and I'm a woman of limited interest, I figure I should share. Today's word is: kata. Kata is a pre-arranged fight with an imaginary opponent. Oh my yes, we fight imaginary opponents sometimes. What... this sounds lame? This might sound useless to some because, really, shouldn't we be fighting real life people? How can one properly learn to maim if the opponent is in your mind?! Kata, my friends, is practice. By repetition your body learns how to move and how to act in certain situations. It's a way to stop hesitation. Or at least lesson it... because hesitating is usually how I roll.

When done properly kata looks like a dance. It's even more impressive looking when there's a huge group of people all doing it at once (all perfectly synchronized and on count... right sensei? :P). One movement should move fluidly into the next. Each kata consists of anywhere from 8 to 50 movements generally. In my art alone there are a dozens of katas. In my experience, over time they get mixed up in your brain and try to mash themselves into one giant super kata which goes on for days at a time, leaving you dry heaving and your sensei confused and horrified. But enough about me.

Some katas are performed with much screaming and vein-bulging. Not so much in my art. Generally, there's one yell (a kiai) somewhere in the kata and strong but not binding movements. This video is much how I learned; in a small group. This kata is called "Pinan Shodan" and is learned as a white or blue belt. Yes, it's younger kids, but you get the idea:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLFyzzVGX7M

Ah yes, be enlightened. Go now and reflect on what you have learned and eat some sushi, green tea ice cream and other asian-type delights. Be sure and tune in next time for more karate-ness you never wanted to know.