All I know is that I don't know.
All I know is that I don't know nuthin'.
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Saturday, August 28, 2004
I guess that my maternal grandfather is dying. Not in the Tibeten Book of The Dead sense, but in the sense that he has cancer running rampant through his body. Lower intestine, liver, lungs, I'm guessing every L organ he has is affected. The man is 89 years old. Chemo will probably kill him. I don't hope for his death by any stretch, but I know that it will happen.
Grandpa Uden fought in WWII. He was second-wave tank infantry at Normandy Beach. He had to legally change his name to enlist in the US Army. Elmer Karl Frederick Uden became Elmer Carl Frederick Uden. He was at The Battle of The Bulge. His family was from Hanover, Germany. He watched Hanover burn, knowing that he was killing his own family. He never, ever talked about the war. I don't for an instant question why.
So, now, he's got cancer. He will die. We all will, but, now, he's on somewhat of a timeline. I hope for the best, but expect the worst.
So it goes.
An Update from Indie-Rock Steve
(For those of you unfamilair, Indie-Rock Steve is one of my inner personas. I don't know if other people have inner personas, but I have several. Indie-Rock Steve is who I am with my reading glasses on, since I look like him.)
Dude, you don't own any Chuck Taylor All-Stars. How the hell do you hope to get attention from anyone without them? Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and write a song about how girls don't like me.
If you're bored now, you best hit my links or go elsewhere. It's just gonna be a bunch of me whining from here on out.
Another one of my inner personas is Chad Allen Spencer. I don't think that he's my idealized self, but, if nothing else, he's my Tyler Durden. He's what I'm not. So, here's
A Short Play
Chad Allen Spencer
Setting: The Hi-Way Diner in Lincoln, NE. (If you're not familiar, you need to be.)
Chad: (enjoying a Hot Stripper on A Bed) So, you saw The Terminals the other night, yeah?
Grant: (enjoying Chicken Fried Steak with Hash Browns) Yeah. Finally got to see them where they didn't sound like ass. I've seen them rehearse, and they didn't sound like ass there, but that was my first actual show of theirs.
C: Any chicks there?
G: Some. Indie chicks. With their indie guys. Some cute bartenders.
G: Yup. A super-cute blonde, and a super-cute brunette with glasses and loads of tatts.
C: Did you talk to any of them?
G: No. They were either busy working or playing pool.
C: Dude, you have to make your own ins with girls.
G: I know that, but I don't know these girls, and, if they're working, I don't want to interrupt them.
C: They're at work, dummy. They want to be interrupted.
G: Well, I was making eye-contact with the brunette all night.
C: What about the blonde?
G: She's cute as fuck, but my friend Liz says she's a total psycho rag.
C: Yeah. But they fuck like nobody's business.
C: Those chicks you were looking at? I fucking nailed them all.
C: Seriously. You just gotta know what to say.
G: Like what?
C: Chicks want to be lied to. They all want to think that you are fucking fantastic, that you really have feelings for them, that you can fucking fuck the hell out of them. They all want you to tell them lies. And then, the best part, don't call them back. That's what really drives them insane. They're all, "But, he said that it was real. He said that things were real, that it wasn't just a one-night thing. It wasn't just physical -- it was real! He didn't lie to me! Things were going to be real this time!"
G: C'mon. You don't mean that...
C: Dead serious. That's what chicks want. They want assholes. They want guys who want to fuck them, and then they want to act like it had meaning. Everyone knows that it didn't. I got some fucking pussy, chicks got some dick, what's the harm?
G:... You are deeply cynical.
G: I'd like to think that, when sex is on the line, there's emotion involved. I don't want to just dip my wick in some blonde sorority girl. I want actual feeling.
C: Oh, there was actual feeling, all right!
G: Fuck you.
C: That's what they did, dawg. Felt something while I fucked 'em. You need to drop this 'nice guy' act.
G: I said it's not an act.
C: That's why you don't get any action. Chicks want to be treated like shit. They come crawling back for more.
G: I hope you die alone.
C: I might die alone, but so will you. And I will have gotten more pussy than you ever dream of having.
G: Go to hell.
If you're still here, some words:
Please don't tell me I suck. I hear that enough from myself on a daily basis. If I hear it from other people, I get angry. And, I'm not good at expressing anger. I tend to make an ass out of myself. So, from here on out, the only person allowed to tell me I Suck is me. Dig?
Also -- Zealot Republicans -- please shut up.
Thanks for your time. I hope to be more entertaining next outing.
Comments by: YACCS