I Bid You Adieu

It has been a good ride here on Blogger. I've shared some laughs and some tears.  The highs and the lows of my senior year here at Loyola University Maryland. I struggled to figure out what my last piece would be about. I did not want to half-ass any new material so I decided that it would be best to just end it with a goodbye to this Blog and a goodbye to senior year.

Writing this blog has been a good experience for my sanity. Everything that has ever been written is 100% original which should give you a sleight idea on what sickening thoughts go on inside my head. Looking back I think my favorite post is "The Forgotten Tops." It was the catalyst that started this insanity and after I wrote it, I never looked back. Everyday on campus was exciting because I was just searching for new material, waiting for something to blog about. Sometimes things fell right into my lap, but others it was difficult to create. It's mentally exhausting trying to make a boring world dramatic. In fact I think this is the hardest work I have done all year.  Assign me a paper comparing slave rebellions, no problem. Tell me to tell a story about babysitting a fish that does nothing AND make it interesting...good god that was tough. I don't want to get philosophical on you because that was never the intention of this blog, but I will say this. Don't go through life in a gaze. Keep your head straight, but your eyes wandering. There is nothing interesting on your phone or on the ground in front of you. Look around, you might just see a dead ranch packet, or a malicious snowman.

It has been a real privilege writing on this blog. To anyone that has been with me since day one, I thank you. My friends, while always telling me I am fucked up for thinking of some of this stuff, supported my writing. I write for you....Just kidding, I could care less about you. I write for myself. I write to enjoy the boring world around me. Take a walk in my shoes, see the world through my glasses and you might just smile a little more and laugh more often.

Congratulations Seniors and remember, bushes are the worst shrubs on this planet.

Dry Salad

Good god what did I witness today. It is such a strange coincidence that this post is following the Hidden Valley Slayer story. Yea you guessed it, this will be about salad. Who doesn't like salad. With a couple of good toppings and a bomb dressing, a salad can easily become a meal. Well...in most cases it can. One case it cannot. And that ladies and gentleman is what I witnessed today. As I sat and ate my lunch, my eyes locked with a lass by the name if Christine. What was she eating? A salad? What kind of toppings, oh just some shredded carrots, some beans, a walnut here and there. And the dressing? Nothing. As we continued to cha........wait what. Back track. Holy mother of the Roman Empire. Salad...yes. Toppings...check. Dressing....Holy nope!

It takes a real sicko to eat a salad without dressing. That is basically the equivalent of being a rabbit or a gerbil. You are a rodent Christine. How dry can one person's mouth be after eating leafy greens and nuts without some moisture. Like how? As I stared in disbelief I began openly criticizing her in front of her peers to show my disgust. Imagine just walking into the woods and picking up some oak leaves and acorns and just popping them in your mouth because that is essentially the equivalent.

There was a weird tint in her eye that caught my attention however. Like a glint, a sparkle, a shine. I began to think about that deceased ranch packet. The packet that never got to do its job. And then it hit me. She? Could it be? No....maybe? As I quarreled with my thoughts she began to glare into my soul. Chew after chew became more vicious. I could hear each crunch because remember salads are dry without some sauce. I think she was on to me. As I began to open my mouth to accuse, she flicked a walnut at my eye and emptied the contents of her salad bowl upon my friend Julia's laptop. Luckily the laptop survived because there was no dressing to damage it. The Hidden Valley Slayer sprung from the table like a gremlin and sprinted to the door. Salad was everywhere--dry salad.

Only the Hidden Valley Slayer would eat a meal in a such a savage way. How naive I was...


Remember those we lost in 2015. RIP Ranch

Hidden Valley Continuation

Ranch dressing is just so innocent. It can come in packets, bottles, maybe even as a crusty topping to a pretzel. None of this warrants a sadistic murder. The events of the murder were most likely as follows

A disgruntled Loyola student exited the cafeteria in hysteria. In his left hand, lay a salad. Poorly tossed, minimal onions, and a lot of croutons. In his right hand lay the perfect packet. A supple, plump, plastic bag of the white rain; Hidden Valley Ranch. As he exited the cafeteria, his heart rate rose. He knew what he was doing. The salad was just a ploy. "How could they not see past me. Poorly tossed? No onions and a lot of croutons...what fools!" You see the salad was a trick. A trick to get his hands on the ranch packet. You cannot just walk out of the cafeteria dawning a lone packet of dressing. As he walked the familiar path, his gaze straightened and his grin widened.

Ever since the incident, he had always hated ranch dressing. About three years ago, a lone freshman on the first week of classes stepped into his shower to start the day. As he applied his shampoo, he smelt something a little funky, but continued his morning ritual anyway. As he began to dry his hair, it hid him. "Those fuckers!" His roommates had switched his Dove Men's extra Moisturizing shampoo to some good old fashioned white cream: Hidden Valley Ranch. The smell was unbearable. Imagine the smell of moist hair, coupled with the mixture of warm water and buttermilk ranch dressing. His first week of classes was plagued by the smell. Everyone avoided him. The only friend that he had was that smell that followed him everywhere. But it was no friend of his, it became his enemy. Imagine earning the nickname Hidden Valley Harry your first week of college classes.

As he approached senior housing he looked to his left, right, front, and rear. The only witness was a squirrel too busy with his nuts and a cat too engaged in attacking the squirrel. He gently placed his victim on the curb, petted it, and stepped back. He ditched the salad in the bushes, hiding any evidence of his most recent purchase. He raised his right heel and thrusted it towards the packet. The last thing that ranch packet saw was the heel of a Nike Air Max plummeting towards its "tear here" tab. SPLOOOOOSH. The packet exploded as its sides tore apart secreting its contents for the whole world to see. Hidden Valley Harry looked upon his victim with disdain, licked his shoe to get just a taste of vengeance, and strutted away. A trail of ranch blood followed him a few steps and slowly faded away. The deed was done. Hidden Vally Harry was no more...he had become the Hidden Valley Slayer.

RIP Hidden Valley Ranch Packet. Your bitter, sour sauce changed many a boring salads into explosions of flavor and lust.

HaZe iN a GaZE

OK. So I apologize for that title. Just inappropriate, unprofessional, and uncalled for. But I am back. It only took a day, but I can feel my creativity juices just flowing.

Want to know what I saw today? It was horrible. A massacre of the worst scale.  As I walked to class I was brought to my knees. I saw it laying there. Crushed, destroyed, murdered, and shamed. There in front of my two walking feet sat a crushed Ranch packet. Its top opened, its contents scattered about in the ugliest of fashion. The sweet, bitter, creamy, thick dressing flowed out of the packet like a bleeding carcass.  There was nothing I could do, but watch as a close friend of mine dressed out on the warm Baltimore pavement. What monster could have done this. It reminded me of muffin top girl.  Look at the first post to relieve that horror story. I decided that the tale of Mr. Ranch must be told. As a warning to other .$58 cent packets of Ranch, beware of the Hidden Valley Slayer....

I wanted to get to the bottom of this murder mystery salad. I wanted to get inside the mind of the Hidden Valley Slayer. What was his beef with the buttermilk infused salad dressing. What had the farmers on Hidden Valley Ranch done to push this man towards slaughter. It was necessary to dig deeper, look harder, and harvest answers.

Creativity Bug

I sometimes wonder if the world of Spongebob Squarepants is actually just a cartoon version of the one we dwell in.  I had forgotten much of the philosophy that Bikini Bottom preaches until my friend Hallie bombarded my life with Spongebob quotes, pictures, and videos. As I began to engulf my life back into watching Spongebob, one thing seemed all the too real.  Pictured above is a seen from the show that is supposed to be Spongebob's brain essentially shutting down.  All the workers inside are destroying everything that does not have to do with being a waiter.  I won't go into the details, but to make a long story short, Spongebob forgets everything except for waiter etiquette and knowledge. 

And that's where I am at.  Except it's not being a waiter I forgot how to do, it's being creative.

I feel as though there are actually workers chilling in my noggin who decided yesterday to just screw me over. "It's been real Kevin, I know there's still a week left, but were done. Good luck!" I'm not sure what method they used, but I can tell you it was severely effective.  I can barely think, let alone concentrate on anything and I feel as though any creative juice that remained in my head was drank by some sadistic brain worker.

It's gonna be a tough week. Somehow I have to pump out about six more of these bad boys and I am not sure how I'm gonna do it.

Free Flow Round 2

Wow I felt really good after that last free flow that I decided another was necessary.

Tea, lets talk about tea.

I always have been a little suspicious of tea.  I have grown to like it since being in China where that is literally all people drink. But back to the suspicion.  Tea.  What is it made of?  Leaves....let me spell that for you L.E.A.V.E.S. I am, you are, we are drinking leave juice.  Ok so maybe some tea is made with orange peel, or rose petals, but for the most part we are drinking watered down leaf secretions.

I would like to know how the human race decided it was ok to put leaves in water, drink said water, and then just wait to see if it was a good idea.  How many mistakes occurred?  I can tell you that Oak leaf tea would be disgusting and don't even get me started on poison ivy tea.  Think about it, that had to have been experimented with once.  That brings about my next suspicion, who were the brave individuals that tried different leaves to see what tasted best.  Personally, there were no brave individuals; I think parents used their kids as Guinea pigs.  Kids trust their parents; they listen to what they say and mirror their actions.  A long time ago in different parts of the world, parents maintained a collective consciousness with one another and agreed to start brewing up some tea for their kids.  All they had to do was tell them, "Drink this" and the kid would joyously raise the mug to his lips.  Whether that first sip was met with glee, disgust, vomit, or even death....ok maybe not death, but you get the point.

So the next time you enjoy your Chai tea, your Arnold Palmer sweet drink, think of the children.  Think of those poor souls who gulped down natures piss water just so you could enjoy some Early Grey as you sit upon your couch.  Maybe I should start experimenting with new brands of tea. I am a camp counselor so I have access to a bunch of excited and willing kids.  Maybe one day I bring them to nature, maybe I even bring a tea kettle.  Who knows whats going in that pot.  Some pine-cones, pine leaves, hell I am feeling adventurous, lets toss some dandelions and old grass in the mix.  As I wrote that I realized that is probably a one way ticket to jail. But it is for a good cause and I could argue that in court. "Listen your honor, I understand how this appears to be my fault that Thomas had an allergic reaction to that concoction.  BUT. We all learned something today haven't we?  We learned that when you brew dandelions and swamp grass together it causes horrible diarrhea.  We know that tea won't work!!! On to the next experiment...am I right or am I right"  I will see all of you in county prison! Bon appétit!

Free Flow

Keeping an otherwise boring life dramatic is extremely taxing on my creativity center. It is not that life has gotten dull for me, but that I feel I am a little drained.  I think I found the perfect cure for my condition--a little free flow writing.  I learned this technique in high school and it works wonders for a slow mind. Basically a topic is chosen and without hesitation, no stopping whatsoever, I have to write continuously for ten minutes or so.  It may be erratic, it may not make sense, it may not flow, BUT it is the perfect window into what is going on through my mind.

Without further ado, the topic of bushes...

Bushes. I always wondered if there was a dispute in the plant world between all the different shrub like plants.  Do bushes mock grass?  Grass is so short and small, yet bushes are much bigger.  Grass cannot grow on top of a bush, yet a bush can grow on top of grass.  Is this like a big "fuck you" to all the grasses of the worlds. At night, when everyone is asleep, do bushes uproot themselves and just walk all over grass?  Does morning dew not have a scientific explanation at all, it could just be the result of bushes leaving their spots, peeing all over grass, and going back to home before humans wake up.  What if when grass dies it is actually from the hands, or should I say leaves, of the bushes.  Like some bush mafia lives in the deep woods, far away from human contact, and keeps an eye on grass.  God forbid grass does not buy fertilizer insurance or geese protection from bushes--they would be in for a world of hurt.

I feel like bushes and trees do not get along either.  Yea bushes tower over grass, but what about trees?  They do not stand a chance in hell.  Trees have more leaves, thicker trunks, and longer branches. Trees are to bushes as bushes are to grass.  I feel like trees have manipulated us humans into finding them more aesthetically pleasing than bushes.  Bushes try to be trees but lack any skills.  Have you ever seen a bush provide shade for a person, no.  Was the apple that fell upon Newton's head from a bush....NO. Yea they provide us blueberries and whatnot, but no blueberry is gonna help people understand the laws of gravity.

Fucking bushes man.  Pointless shrubs.  Bob Ross may have painted "happy bushes" in his paintings, but I can tell you they are not happy pieces of shrubbery.  They are bullies.  They pick on grass because it is a weak set of organic blades.  Trees are the only things that keep bushes in line. Without trees it would be pandaemonium out there. Maybe this free-flow writing is less about bushes and more about trees.  

Camo Hat Revisited

Camo Hat, confused and afraid, watched as Armani tackled his father to the cement floor. He stood and stared as the two fought in the columns of hanging meat. There was nothing he could do, he was small and weak, and most importantly frozen with fear. Armani had Giorgio pinned.
"My business is nothing because of your family...I hope you enjoyed your sons birthday because that was the last one you will ever see," screamed Armani.

Armani stood up, stared into Camo Hat's eyes and a small smirk came across his face.
"Your father made a big missed steak..."

At this point in time, positioned above Giorgio was a fresh cow carcass. Giorgio had killed it the other day and was preparing it for his son's high school graduation feast. Armani looked it up and down, hit the chain, and watched with joy as the carcass slammed down on Armani. He turned, and walked out the door. The deed was done. Camo Hat rushed to his father's side desperately trying to get the meat off his father, but to no avail.

He grabbed hold of the chains and tried to deadlift the meat of his dying dad, but he was too weak and small and the carcass didn't budge. Giorgio knew this was his last moment with his son so he pulled him close.
"Son...I leave you this business. Take care of the family...and take care of the meats" His last breath was accompanied by a gift. In his trembling hand, Giogrio presented Camo Hat with a camo hat, hence the name. Camo Hat dawned his new gift from his dying father and made a vow. As he wiped the tears from his eyes he knew what needed to be done. He could have saved his father if only he had been strong enough. He needed to dedicate himself to the art of lifting weights so nothing like this would ever happen again.

This is how Camo Hat came to be. Everyday he enters the FAC dawning the very camo hat his father had given to him after being crushed by a cow carcass. Every lift is for his father. Every grunt, every scream...every slam. He pretends each lift is the cow carcass, he resents himself for not being able to lift that everyday. Who am I to blame him for making a huge scene everyday in the gym. He dedicates each workout to Giorgio.

While moving, I still feel as though the screaming and slamming should come to an end. One of these days he will be too confident, lift too much weight, and be crushed just like his father was. Except instead of a cow carcass, it will be made of steel.

Camo Hat

Working at my schools gym has blessed me with a lot of perks.  I know many of the employees that work there and can get away with stuff that regular patrons cannot.  I am surrounded by fitness, so I can always stay in shape and up to date on new workouts and whatnot. However there is one perk that many people are blind to. I am surrounded by idiots. I love my coworkers and I have come to know many of the patrons, that being said they are the minority. I could probably write a book on the stupidity and absurdity I have seen go on at the FAC. One such individual, we will call him "Camo Hat," continues to throw me for a loop everyday.

Before I tell the tale of how he came to be, I should tell you a little bit why his story needs to be heard. Everyday without fail he manages to ruin the workout of anyone in his vicinity. He enters the free-weight section with a vengeance--what have these weights done to him?! He throws his gym bag around like a god damn rag doll. But this is minuscule compared to what he does to the weights. Regardless if he is lifting 50 lbs. or 200 lbs., he tosses them to the ground with pure aggression, making a resounding BOOM CRASH that disrupts everyone around him. It is all for attention, that is it. That sort of action is unnecessary; I have seen people lift two times as much as he can and they somehow manage to do so quietly....shocker. Anyway, enough of this rant, onto the birth story.

It had always confused me why Camo Hat felt the need to take so much unwarranted aggression out on the free-weights. Why was he so dedicated to being an obnoxious lifter? Well it all stems from his 16th birthday.  Camo Hat grew up in a very italian neighborhood in New York City. A family of butchers, Camo Hat was the oldest sibling of six in the Fetogianna family. He was an apprentice butcher at his father's shop; it had been in the family for three generations and Camo Hat was next in the Fetogianna to own and run the shop. Everyday he awoke early to open the store and left late to clean it up.

His sixteenth birthday went great. His father threw a small get together, a BBQ if you will, but an italian one. As the family was cleaning up the mess, Camo Hat's father, Giorgio, pulled him into the back. As they wandered the maze of frozen meat, a silhouette appeared in the distance.
"Happy birthday," the words were masked by the sound of refrigerators.
"Well if it isn't Armani Fortoganni. Can I ask what in the hell you are doing in my shop," questioned Giorgoio.

Armani Fortoganni owned a rival butcher shop down the street. His shop had been overshadowed by the Fetogianna since its founding. Their meat was dry, stale, and lacked flavor. Yet, Armani always seemed to blame the Giorgio for his failing business.

"You know god damn well why I am here...I have come to take what is mine!" Bellowed Armani as he sprinted towards Camo Hat and his father....