First, I'm Plagarizing Other People's Stuff and Now I'm Plagarizing Myself?

So I was about to write another blog entry because I know I'm about due for a new one. And I was upset. Riproaring mad, ready to take down my target a couple of notches. I was ready, but then I realized that I already wrote about it. I was going to complain about people who complain about "Crash" winning best film over "Brokeback Mountain". Now, I have nothing. That was it. I had nothing else. My memory is fading like an old man who walks into the sunset eating his last batch of apples. First, I'm plagarizing other people's stuff and now I'm plagarizing myself? Have I no respect for my past self? Hopefully, the me from a month ago doesn't come after me and sue me for all my money. That rich jerktard. I mean all he does is make me feel bad about me and he's never around ever. He's like a bad father I've never had.

Now, I'm all wound up. And you know what else has gotten me wound up? People who complain about "Crash" winning best film over "Brokeback Mountain". Those jerktards are like broken records. Yeah, so why don't all you people go out and cry and make another movie called...uh..."Brokenrecord...mountain..." All those people just get under my skin because they don't realize how redundant they are. It's just like my past self and the bad father I never had.

Even a Guy Who Really Likes Marshmallows Would Say That 80 Marshmallows Are Too Many Marshmallows

I have found that I have developed a full immunity to swearing. I mean I hardly notice it anymore. For example, I watched "The Weatherman" and it was an alright movie, but as we were discussing it later at the store, somebody made the comment that it was full of profanity and then I paused for a moment and realized I could not recall the movie being all sweary.

I mean, the movie was about a weatherman. He wasn't really in danger ever. Are these people making up stuff about the movie. So then I looked at the back of the movie and under the heading "Profanity" it said "Approximately 80 uses" and my jaw dropped. That's a lot of swears. A lot for two hours of movie. Especially a movie with Michael Caine. He's a classy guy. Although he was in Austin Powers.

But seriously, eighty? That's like forty every hour. And going by my standard of marshmallow measure, that a little much. I mean, I like marshmallows just as much as any guy, but eighty marshmallows? Even a guy who really like marshmallows would say that 80 marshmallows are too many marshmallows.

And I didn't even notice it. At all. I was recommending to small children and nuns for goodness' sake. Now nobody trusts my judgment. And I'm bloated from eating all those mallows.

Apathy, the Sweet, Sweet Drug that Blurs Each Day into the Next

I've come to realize one of the benefits of always being in an unfamiliar social circumstances is such a sweet delight and that is ignorance. When you are introduced to someone new it's great because you have a fresh slate and you can come up with witty remarks and have a grand time. And if you're always doing this, then many different people will believe that you are a funny guy. However, there is distinct disadvantage to this always happening to me because I do not bother to remember any conversation from before five minutes ago.

I think I have that same condition as the guy in Memento. I have no long term memory or something. And it is always comes back to haunt me when there's a guy who comes up to me and says, "Hey Dave! Cracker barrels and snot junebugs!" And then I just stare at the guy and have no idea what he's talking about. And then it will turn out that I apparently said that same phrase 4 and half years ago and it was the greatest said by a human barring most teachings in the Bible and this individual had remembered. They have gone one to write inspirational devotionals based on this hilarious phrased I coined and have long since forgotten and when presented out of context (or at least by the person I'm talking to) it turns out to not be funny to me anymore. Of course, the person will be hurt that I have forgotten this special connection that we shared so long ago and it was a source of strength to them in a time of self-loathing and doubt and since I have abandoned my soul (or more accurately memory) I clearly don't care about this person anymore because of some dumb saying.

Or there are the people that merely say my old phrases to me that I made up in hopes that I will forget that I said it and pass it off as a joke and then get that idiotic look on their face waiting for me to keel over in convulsing laughter and then I have to do one of those forced laughs that subtley expresses my suppressed anger.

Mind you, the humour aspect of this short term memory problem is not the worst part. It is a lot worse when someone tells me something of extreme importance or seriousness and then two weeks later they are talking about the same problem but I'm all lost because it seems to me like this is the first time I've heard this problem. I have to fake my way through the conversation and hope that they will actually state the problem again so that it will catch me up to speed. The sad part is that I can't even begin to guess what the issue was.

For instance, I remember (based off an awkward conversation that told place later) my youth pastor telling me about a deeply personal event in his life and I assume he was relating it to mine somehow. Later on he referenced to this event later by saying something like "This is exactly what happened to me and you need to be careful." And I didn't have any idea what he was talking about and he was rather unimpressed that I forgot a major personal event in his life. He said, "What? Weren't you paying attention that day when I had the hardest time telling everybody that story?" And I kind of paused trying to come up with something to reassure him. I took a breath and said, "You already told me this? I guess I flat out missed that memo." Some would say that made it worse. And I think it did. But I wasn't really paying attention because I have forgotten. And the thing is I can't ask him anymore to tell what it was. So I actually will never find that out again. I think it might be garish of me to ask that now.

Fortunately for me, I have been able to better handle such scenarios since and I know many people have told me very intimate details of their life and I have kept those secrets well in my vault. Well, it's more like I lost the combination to the vault. Either way, those individuals feel close to me and I always will wonder why. Maybe its simply because they know I can keep a secret. Or at least forget about it. And that's someone you can trust. Unless the secret is like something to do about remembering to do something. That wouldn't be as good.

But why do I forget these details about my close friends? I've done some deep soul searching in the last two sentences and I think it's something deep inside me called apathy, the sweet, sweet drug that blurs each day into the next and allows me to idle in the drudgery of my existence and waste the faintly glimmering hope cruelly placed there by sincere individuals trying to encourage me. In other words, I really don't care about my friends, making me a grade A bastard.

I Plan On Calling It "The Greatest Story Ever Told Part 2"

The Academy Awards have recently taken place and there is a few people upset about the Best Film winner, "Crash". It seems as though "Brokeback Mountain" was supposed to win because it caused the most controversy because as we all know "Best Film" is French for "Most Controversial" and not as we English speakers would typically think when we hear "Best Film". After all, a story about two homosexual men beats a group of people dealing with racism. Hands down. Racial equality is a such a boring, been there done that kind of subject. We see it in how we in 2006 are currently treating all races the same and thus a movie about racial intolerance is a moot point. Aside from the segregation of Natives in reserves. Oh, and the severe problem of racism that is still heavily present in the south. And the racial profiling of Arabs at borders. Aside from that we're doing pretty good. That's why this incisive commentary about the issue of racism is what should put "Crash" nowhere near the award for "Best Film" (Most Controversial).

And who cares if the play was brilliantly written. Or if the performances were believable. Or if the directing was exquisite. That is nothing compared to gay cowboys!

But don't worry, the Academy always redeems itself. I have confidence that it will go back to the roots and go back to picking movies that are the hot button issue and not movies that are "deserving of the award". That's why I plan on writing a movie about three gay, transvestite, polygamous, abortion doctors that want to create a new religion combining Satan and Paul into the same person and who merely want to fall in love and have everyone validate their new union(s) together as they promote the new Aryan nation. I plan on calling it "The Greatest Story Ever Told Part 2"

A Box of Wine and a Half Used Up Box of Bandaids

I sometimes wonder if I'm at the end of my creativity. Like this is the end of my new jokes, sketches and the like. Because I will sit in front of the computer and there is nothing that wants to come out. I'm left with loathing and doubt in my abilities. Sure, I can make people laugh in real life, but getting that stuff on paper is tough. It seems like it's supposed to be natural for comedians to come up with this stuff. I know it takes these guys a while, too. But I mean since Mr. Chapel, I seem to have hit the bottom of the creativity barrel (cocaine supply) and I don't know how I can fix it. Whenever I watch something I have to try very hard for it to not enter my creative realm, because I will want to copy it. It's terrible.

If only there was a way to be more creative. Like a brain enlarger machine. No that's lame. Come on! You lousy Daveface.

You'll see my creativity reflected in this blog. If I don't write anything for a while. Then it means I'm out of ideas and then when I have something that is mildly funny, I will waste it and the lousy internet. It's like a vaccuum to consume the left side of my brain. That's the creative side, right? My right side of the brain has not been developped enough to know if that's right. Or left.

Perhaps the answer to my quandry lies right in front of me. Something that has eluded me for sometime, yet is the clear solution to this problem. A box of wine and a half used up box of bandaids. Maybe I could make a children's show about Winey and Bandaidity the Bandaid Box. Ah, what the crap?!