tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5411722217485971922024-03-05T19:08:54.765-08:00PartyblogUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-20798402456329004842011-11-19T01:07:00.000-08:002013-02-11T22:15:51.157-08:00Party Foul #1 – Needless destruction by fire, the supreme party foul…<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Needless destruction by fire, is the supreme party foul…The proverbial party foul appropriately begins with the beginning, i.e. where it ends. The original party necessitated fire, and out of fire cometh the original party foul. How I love fire - providing the energy to attract focus, a surrounding membrane for music, gathering, food and dance, safety from the unknown forces of the night. The sun of the night. Yet in the face of creativity and warmth, lies the darkness of fire's power; despite its usefulness, fire can be used to realize the jealousy of man -- unleashing destructive and sadistic forces, that burn down villages and towns. Fire that destroys the party does not bring the party. Fire allows the one who believes its party inferior, even if invited, to swiftly lay waste to another's party. <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The origin of the party foul mirrors the self and the perceived limitations of the self - true or false it matters not; only that which is perceived is reality. And fire is never satisfied, but it merely consumes, until dust remains. Yes, the supreme party foul -- destruction by fire. If it burns hot enough and large enough, it will result in complete destruction of mankind while in the right arsonist’s hands. </span></div>
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The party foul of destruction by fire need not be pernicious; while unclear, it may have arisen as early humans tasked with watching the fire itself fell asleep and allowed the fire to come into the wrong person's hands, or if it simply sparked and spread by its own physical forces, and thereafter roamed freely through the campsite, as the early humanoids were screaming in anger and desperation until the fire subsided. Carelessness too is a party foul; a party foul need not be intentional but may arise from mere negligence of the partier. Whether humans willfully allow the chaos to ensue or watch in silence, the effect is the same - fire consumes!<br />
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Within the party foul lies the danger of the party: manifestations of the self in its most destructive force. This is not specific to the party however but arises in all forms of social interaction -- humans can unleash their inner party-demons to realize massive destruction and pain. Ironically, the demons themselves were most likely created out of destruction and pain, while humans foolishly repeat these wrongs after experiencing them in the first place as an attempt to overcome these demons. Fools, a party-fouled cannot utilize the exacting tools of the party-foul to overcome the party foul...fire cannot defeat fire; a mirror that replicates does not defeat but merely doubles over, exacerbates.<br />
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Within the belly of the Dragon lies fear of the infinite that drives the party foul; a reminder of our own limitations in an imperfect mind-body. However within the light of the heart fuels the party-self; love and creation, which is cyclical and undying. How quickly can the dragon's fire overtake the soft light of the heart, which is the guiding force of the party, and party-balance is lost in favor of the party foul. Do not be mistaken -- the party foul's affects can be quick and devastating, leading to chaos, anger, destruction, and hatred. Calm the dragon in the face of infinite fear and the party will never defeat you! Quiet the fire that survives in the belly of the Dragon, and you will overcome the party foul, be immediately united with the greater party force -- the ultimate god-head of the party -- the Boomskull. Murphy’s law (i.e. Buddhism) dictates – shit happens, so how are you going to deal with it? The ultimate party rule in the face of the party foul: Open your mirror, turn it inwards, and show the dragon its ugliness. Now watch as the light suddenly overcomes the dragon and turns its strength in unison with party-preservation! </div>
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Remember, the only place appropriate for an uncontrollable fire is <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0rvrRx-3eUE"><span style="color: blue;">on the dance floor</span></a>. </div>
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The failure to avert a fire, itself is a party foul, even if the fire appears under control or dead such that its overseer believes it will not spread to a massive scale. We have seen such an occurrence on Penn State's campus in the fall of 2011. What senior officials at Penn State believed was under control ten years ago, as their party-fouler began to run amuck around campus, committing unspeakable horrors that caused embers of hatred and loathing to go unnoticed around campus, while officials ignored the warnings and threats, just as the fire seems like it will go away unnoticed, suddenly it sparks into a force driven by its own burning hunger, swallowing a pillar of strength within its realm, all because the fire was not snuffed out early, and the requisite party-fouler brought to justice. Yes, when the risk exists that fire will engulf and kill, do not ignore the fire even if in your human ignorance it seems controlled. Because just as the fire seems about to die, suddenly it spreads with the force and immediacy seemingly incomprehensible, if only were it not completely predictable.<br />
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Molly the Dog is licking my face. I am on the futon -- her bed. The golden retriever intends to motivate motion. Big J walks into bedroom after surveying the messy damage I caused from browned-out cooking in his kitchen – </div>
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“It stinks like ass downstairs – what the hell did you cook?”</div>
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Immediately, wary of the early morning criticism due to a pounding headache, I am arguing with him, “I made tuna melts for you and me – but you were passed out when I got up here. I cleaned up – it shouldn’t smell like tuna too bad.”</div>
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“It doesn’t smell like tuna down there, it smells like something else. Why are there two empty Coors lights on my desk?” He has one of those giant Ikea desks that are really ugly and full of corrogated steel.</div>
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“I grabbed one for you, one for me, but like I said, you were passed out.”</div>
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“The Coors belongs to my roommate you ass…I had micro-brews downstairs…why are you drinking this beer and not mine?”</div>
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“Whatever dude. I don’t know – let me go back to sleep…”</div>
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“What tuna did you use to cook downstairs? Starkist Chunk Light or the Albacore White? What bread did you use? The Arnold Bakery Cracked Wheat or the Stroman’s?” </div>
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“You are a cracked wheat. We are living in a material world,” Head pounding, this conversation is worse than Madonna<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CQHIP-38jA"><span style="color: blue;"> while hungover</span></a>. “Arnold’s and the Texas Toast I suppose.”</div>
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“I don’t even own that bread! Now I have to buy my roommate tuna, beer, fancy bread, and Texas Toast too. You have no respect for communal living!”</div>
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<i>Dude, seriously, suck my balls. I was so friggin’ hungry last night. We don't even own material goods (bull-ish). </i></div>
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Real World 2120: Episode You Stole My Tuna and Coors Lizzy, suddenly comes to a head, “God – do I look like a red-headed bike-messenger’s step-child born from Puck’s asshole? We’re talking a dollar’s worth of tuna, two slices of Texas Toast, and two Silver Bullets for <a href="http://blogs.citypages.com/blotter/Flying_Spaghetti_Monster.jpg"><span style="color: blue;">Spaghetti Monster’s</span></a> sake!” </div>
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“Just go down there and see if you smell anything! Something’s not right…”</div>
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Big J’s kitchen smells like propane. The front burner is turned 20 degrees into the on position.<i> Hmm…interesting, I turned it off…<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Multiverse">the multiverse must have turned it back on</a>. </i></div>
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I return upstairs to go back to bed, but the dog is sitting on the futon, smiling and wagging her tail. That bitch…</div>
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“Uhh…well, I noticed the stove may not have been turned off all the way…” </div>
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“What! You left the stove on all night?” </div>
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“No, I didn’t leave it on. Someone else must of turned it on or it just must not have turned off all the way. Besides, the flame wasn’t burning all night. Just that the burner may not have been turned all the way off really...a slight gas leak. It wouldn’t have been enough gas to start a fire. Gas frequently runs incessantly, think of it like a pilot light...only a slight leak…just air it out…” </div>
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“Hold on. All of those statements are contradictory. Someone else must have left it on? Wait, you're other selves?”</div>
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What is he talking about? Typical lawyer, twisting my words. That doesn't even make sense...</div>
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“No. That’s not what I said. I turned off the stove, but it didn’t twist all the way off. Must be defective…”</div>
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“You Dumbass! You could have <span style="color: blue;">burnt down</span> the house!” </div>
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“Good thing you didn’t light up. Besides…”</div>
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“…A <i>slight </i>gas leak? Air it out? I’ll air you out, alright, but that’s not good enough. Are you a moron? Slight gas leaks leads to slight gas explosions!”</div>
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As vividly evidenced by the <a href="http://www.businessinsider.com/amazing-photos-of-the-deepwater-oil-explosion-2010-4#-1"><span style="color: blue;">Earth’s version of the Death Star</span></a>, </div>
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leaky pipes can lead to serious death and destruction. Methane buildup from a persistent source can be detrimental towards life forms around it…so can plutonium or uranium that reaching critical mass. Individuals generally responsible for an all consuming fire rarely accept culpability. “<i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Tibbets">If you give me the same circumstances, I’d do it again.</a>”</i> </div>
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Consider the <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.swissinfo.ch/eng/science_technology/Transocean,_BP_and_Halliburton_pass_the_buck.html?cid=8871518&rss=true">following stellar exchange</a></span> from the asshole of corporate America:</div>
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<b><i>Random Transocean Exec</i></b><i>: pfft, it’s not my problem. It’s not like we owned the goddamn rig. <b>Random BP Exec</b>: pfft…we were only reaping millions in profits in natural resources that legally belong to my company, not the people of the Americas or the Caribbeans. We privately exploit the country’s natural resources. What did we ever do wrong? We’re the victims! Safety is Transocean’s job! </i></div>
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<b><i>Random Halliburton Exec</i></b><i>: C’mon, what’d you expect? We’re Haliburton? Of course we’d f*ck this up…I mean, screw those other guys! It’s their fault! This isn’t fair!</i></div>
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<b><i>Dipshit Politician</i></b>: <a href="http://www.reuters.com/article/idUSN0321388420100503"><i><span style="color: blue;">Anyone ever think of installing an acoustic trigger</span></i></a><i> – because we certainly didn’t?</i></div>
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<b><i>Lamar “suck on my drill” McKay</i></b>: THE ACCOUSTIC TRIGGER DOES NOTHING! MY EYES MY EYES! </div>
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“Look. I turned off the stove…maybe the dog turned it on?” She’s still wagging her tail and smiling, “She is fairly sneaky…”</div>
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“Dude. This isn’t a fart...you can’t blame it on the dog.”</div>
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“Chill out man – you’re freaking out like Jim Kosek. It’s not that big deal....” </div>
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“IT IS A BIG DEAL!” Looking for an insult, Big J pauses, “<b>You can’t cook in my house anymore!</b>”</div>
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A few weeks ago during the great <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kpxiCxO5k0g"><span style="color: blue;">Snowpocalype</span></a> of 2010, I was voted most likely to burn down the rental house that my friends and I had procured for President's Day Weekend. Now I see their reasoning. Nonetheless, I feel the need to…<i>defend myself -- ooo...for something that you f*cked up? Yeah, that's a party foul. Five yards.</i><br />
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<i>Denial of the Party Foul is itself a Party Foul...(read more about Party Foul Denial <a href="http://blogtheparty.com/?page_id=43" rel="nofollow">here</a>)</i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-50562922817313263692011-11-10T04:57:00.000-08:002013-02-11T21:54:37.624-08:00Welcome to the Party Foul!Which brings us to the party foul...<br />
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This Universe, like the human mind, walks a delicate balance between order and disorder. Up to this point in human history, we have successfully navigated the milky balance between animus and anima, the ability to create with the hunger to destroy, entropy v. anarchy, etc. </div>
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The party foul represents the moment that complete disorder is unleashed. When all reason breaks down, Pandora’s Box is opened and irrationality ensues; the negative consequences of the party foul spread like wild-fire. Religions cast this great struggle as good v. evil, sin v. austerity. When the dragon overcomes, the Partiers, <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">like John Jenson, Rick the Rat, C-Money, Gards, Fat Pay, Shady G, Euro P Gold, Cousin J, Party Boy Geazy, Party Girl Pinky, Tinka, Juicy Jules, Cousin SEP, Big Z, Big Mike, Big J, CRSN, the Flag Man, Lil' Prince, Lil' Smokey, Ronnie, Danny Boy, Bosch, Eh Goddamit, Quark, Big Davidson, Cliffbar, Aro, Hercules Einstein, Vicky the Viking, Emily the Baker, the Booty, Mexico, Peach Pie, Pigs, CC, J-Man, Strawberry, TaxMan, Suzers, Blazin D, Chuck the Hipster, Nosey Lena, BeReal, Tax Man, Kristophe the Beer Man, understand a different form of chaos – and decry Party Foul! The Party Foul marks that moment in time when the pure unpredictability of the universe is unleashed in human form, and all hell breaks loose around those within the strings of the persona’s party-foul. </span>Most of the time, the party foul sets in motion a series of events, compounding, consuming others in its course of destruction until there is nothing left, the momentum disipated, but the indicia of destruction.</div>
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For example, following the party foul of the <i>2001-2 New Year's Party</i>, which you haven't yet learned of but will be detailed shortly, after Joe Jenson jettisoned Dude-Bro Burrows through the wall, it set off a course of events that is impossible to measure in scope and breadth:</div>
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Jensen's girl Yoni walked away from the relationship <br />
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She is now a mommy. Jensen joined the Marines, where he lived at Camp Pendelton, </div>
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California and Okinawa, Japan. This decision could be directly linked </div>
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to the lost girl who would have been otherwise. <br />
Anything is possible in the multiverse, </div>
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and a properly executed party foul changes history in manifestations </div>
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that may never be truly comprehended. Were it not for a Tsunami that struck in Thailand </div>
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the day after Christmas, 2004, Joe Jenson may have been shipped off to Iraq. </div>
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A few days after Joe Jenson put a hole in the wall with a human body, </div>
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riddled with the guilt of causation, I found myself in the back seat of a car </div>
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going 70 miles an hour at 4 AM around the curvy roads in the Mainline, </div>
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and Danny Boy hit a patch of ice and the car swerved right and over a wall, </div>
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flipped across the street and landed with a defeaning thud. </div>
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A BMW collapsed into a shattered meatball. </div>
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Bosch was in the front passenger’s side, upon touchdown,</div>
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his ankle broken into pieces as well. His winter was spent hobbling around </div>
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Cornel’s campus with a walking boot in tow, struggling through the snow. </div>
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My head, bloodied from the impact, vividly remembers </div>
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struggling from an upside down angle, a car that smelled of fuel, </div>
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and how difficult it was to unbuckle while strapped in the wrong way. </div>
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It’s all related to the party foul. We’re all connected for better or worse. </div>
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The greatest party foul of the information-age occurred September 11, 2001, championed by a powerful and influential group of shadowy world leaders.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></a> It has led to years of war, destruction, and a lost generation of volunteers that have returned home without any hope for the future, devastated by PTSD and no longer able to integrate into society. Villages and a century of culture lost in the wake of war. Adolescent recruits drawn into a war by a propaganda machine. A media obsessed with images of firey planes and destruction, flames that unfolded into bloodlust and rage. A complacent government that ignored the warning signs, and potentially understood the benefits of war to its benefactors. A country traumatized by the memory of a day survived by all those who observed on television, and obsessed with exacting that same carnage against innocent civilians thousands of miles away. Party fouls abound. <br />
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Everyone alive remembers that fateful day. While in college at Emory University, a few blocks away from the CDC, watching televisions in the gym after class was cancelled, briefly in fear that an attack may take place close-by. The student population resembled a walking lot of zombies, confused and destinationless, hungry because Dobbs Cafeteria had been closed. About 10% of the school’s population hailed from the New York Metro region, 5% from the DC region, unspeakable sorrow and fear. School was cancelled for two days, so then everybody went home to relive the nightmare on television thousands of times in the next 48 hours. Since school was cancelled – I invited people over -- a group of select friends - C-Bo, Crackhead, couple of freshman girls from New York who did not know anyone, and Beastie Girl - this hot sophomore I’d been courting for a couple of weeks. We are drinking games for 2 hours – </div>
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Make a rule – little Shreepal rule – you have to take the little Shreepal off of the cup before you drink. <i>Eh don't drink me! You just drank Shreepal, you have to drink!</i></div>
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<i>"Eh Goddamit! I'm gonna cut you. I don't talk like that!"</i></div>
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"Hey man, Sweeps man, you kinda do sound like that man..." Says Crackhead, a handsome 6'2" baseball star from Valdosta who had quit the baseball team and about half his brain when he joined the fraternity to become a ladies' man drinker as opposed to a ladies' man athlete, Lauren Freshman in his left arm, who is interested in C-Bo but C-Bo and all 135 pounds of him is already passed out on the couch after like 5 beers. Been a long day for C-Bo, his family from North Jersey, lots of firemen, lots of stress, I just hope he doesn't pee on the couch like he did last week.</div>
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"Shit, two queens, I can’t play." "AH! You didn’t take off the little Shreeps" yells the Beastie Girl, "DRINK!" </div>
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The Beastie Girl stayed over that night. We dated for two years. Almost started a family, if it weren't for distance, graduation, moving to different cities and starting carreers, and therein lies the strangeness of our world, where beauty occassionally arises from tragedy; French women fall in love with wonkey U.S. soldiers during WWII, yes there is always the slim promise of opportunity, even in the face of sheer horror, that is a reason to get up everyday even in the most disheartening of circumstances. </div>
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></a> The iconic 21<sup>st</sup> century party foul in no-way overshadows the political party fouls of the 20<sup>th</sup> century – the Holocaust, the A Bombs, the annexation of Palestine and corresponding internment of its people, Stalin’s “Gulag Archipelago” and engineering of the Ukrainian famine, the Cambodian Killing Fields, Ruwandan and Bosnian genocides – too much sorrow and pain to list from historical eras that people hope to forget, but their mere occurrence and remembrance seems to perpetuate further violence. The party foul is rooted in the marginalization of the other, fratricide, that people are worth excluding or not sympathizing with because understanding would require a person to turn the mirror inwards; instead of introspection, much simpler instead to condemn another. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-88195822254518249522011-11-01T21:22:00.000-07:002013-02-11T21:52:48.065-08:00Party Rule #6: always eat before you party…<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i>Party Rule #5: always eat before you party…this way you don’t burn down the house… </i></div>
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<i>Order Dominos. 4 out of 5 prefer the new recipe. Perplexingly, however, with the exception of New York, it is nearly impossible to get a friggin’ Gyro delivered at 2 AM. I have a dream where all races and peoples, across the world, shall have universal access to food, and late night pizza delivery…don’t cook drunk, don’t forget to turn off the stove, and don’t collect 200 dollars!</i></div>
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On the cab ride home from the club, we bypassed the <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Great-American-Diner-and-Pub-aka-Pub-2-Bensalem-PA/208336549366#%21/pages/The-Great-American-Diner-and-Pub-aka-Pub-2-Bensalem-PA/208336549366?v=info#info_edit_sections">Great American Dinner Pub</a></span>, the archetypical late night livery in Bensalem, and nowhere would deliver that late.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=541172221748597192&postID=8819582225451824952#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=541172221748597192&postID=8819582225451824952#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">[1]</span></span></span></a> When dining at the Pub, ask for Kurt, the late night waiter with a sweet, green, cartoony tattoo-sleeve, green eyes, a boyish face, and skittish smile. Don’t worry however; he’s too polite to spit on your food. He must be a graphic designer or artist by day, and waiting tables at night, because he’ll draw a cartoon of Goofy on your check at the end of the meal. Nothing is better than receiving a hand-drawn Goofy on a late night dinner check. If you still need convincing, the Philly Cheesesteak Omelette is the bomb, and there’s Naked Photo Hunt at the tables, boys’ and girls’ edition. <i>“Oh Sh*t! Kurt the Killah drew Goofy on my check again! HAHA!!! Damn, look at those boobies!” </i> </div>
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Drunkenly, I raided Big J’s kitchen for anything edible – two pieces of Texas Toast from the freezer, along with stealing two pieces of sliced wheat bread in a plastic bag on the kitchen counter, take two cans of tuna – fry the melts in some oil – steal two Coors Lights from the fridge in the bar for Big J so he could enjoy his tuna melt, and it’s steal a meal deal, cheap. By the time I get up to his room twenty minutes later he was passed out asleep.</div>
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Sometimes in life you <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.archive.org/details/pgroove2011-10-01.flac16">just have to steal</a></span> (listen to Song 8, from that hyperlink. It is <i>Stealy Man</i>, by Perpetual Groove. The website it is from is archive.org, one of the most important internet recepticles of information, along with wikipedia.org.). According to a rule of nature, you have to steal in life, the question is will you steal and give back, or simply steal and keep for yourself. <i>The latter, of course...then my friend, you are engaged in a party foul...</i> </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-79102251798212064532011-10-31T03:19:00.000-07:002011-11-02T08:29:57.388-07:00The Katrina Mardi Gras<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My Mardi Gras story begins the moment C-Money waltzed into the library on Monday, February 27, 2006; a true shocker - his presence in the library fleeting and rare because C-Money scorns mindless waste of mindful energy, and therefore avoids the library at all costs. I demand an explanation, “Dude! What the hell are you doing here?” His tall frame laughed, explaining that he had arrived to rescue me from myself, “I am here to take you to f*cking Mardi Gras that’s what, you hatchet-wound!” The visions of flooding, pain, and loss that had filled the televisions for weeks provided too tempting an opportunity to see the revitalization, to participate in a renaissance of the jewel of the south on such massive proportions: an emotional swing that humans rarely experience in a single lifetime. “Are you serious?” I asked. “Uh, yeah!” he said courtly. C-Money was always serious, never denying the truth of his natural mystic. “Did I stutter?” “F*ck yeah! Let’s Go!” People look at me disapprovingly, in the middle of the ground floor screaming and jumping like a monkey, gathering my books and throwing them violently into my bag, fearing that without quick action the 6’ 4” southern charmer might change his mind. <i>Damn you boys have a pep in your step, </i>said the friendly janitor, as we scramble towards the exits, fumbling with cell phones. <i>F*ck yeah, we goin’ gator huntin’. </i>Within minutes, Stinky is on the line and agrees to trade her car for mine for 2 days so we can travel in style. Truants on Mardi Gras need to travel to the </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eIUzq7X020A"><span style="color: blue;">dirty dirty</span></a> in American style, not in a VW Jetta, but a Jeep Cherokee. Within minutes, C-Money has commitments to fill the car: Mexico, J-Man, and the Booty are in, and we’re rolling.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We pack the cooler full of whatever we can find including any delectibles in the freeze box; it is a pantry-raiding grab-bag full of booze (half fill bottles of rum and vodka) plus a few random PBRs, Busches, Corona, throw a Gatoraid, half-full bottles of water, some Kraft cheese singles -- and anything else that won’t spoil over the next three days and we have a veritable survival kit. Mexico is still in bed, not atypical for 5 in the PM, after a busy afternoon, but he is our driver, and it is not like he is missing class anyway, because he doesn't goes to class in the first place; so throw him behind the wheel because he's done twenty hour straight drives from Texas to North Carolina on no sleep but for the power of Framton leading from his shirt pocket directly to the mucousa of the brain. J-Man is packin flower-power heat for everyone, moving speedily towards the car with a knapsack full of the unknown, that is mostly sleeping bag and pillow. Even though this car is ridin dirty, J-Man never fears a car ride with 4 full on honkey-looking dudes. J-Man is half honkey, half-black, full honey, and cognizant of the phenomenon that if outnumbered by all-white dudes, and not driving, he cannot get pulled over for a DWB; nevertheless we are aware of the risks and therefore must maintain a clean compartment within the car, to avoid any reasonable suspicion. Not that we are breaking any laws, but we know our rights. This also explains why the Booty arrives soon thereafter, replete with the the radar detector (<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbBf37WAJ7g">to tell me where the cops is</a>) a few minutes late but early by Booty standards, and already complaining that the car has not started moving yet. C-Money has been ready, is always ready, and doesn’t need any clothes, or anything else, because he always keeps a toothbrush on him. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Six hours later, Mexico pulls us into Atlanta. Ever since Ray Lewis killed that guy after the Superbowl it’s never been the same. <i>Hey, goddammit let's just stay here for the night..."F</i>orget that, Geezy, we have to keep going, continue through the night." <i>No man, I have girls here that want to bang me. I went to college here...I'm telling you. "</i>Geezy, you haven't had a girl want to bang you ever. We have to push through. There is business to attend to." The ride continues through the night for the sake of one of the greatest parties on Earth. <br />
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The big blue Jeep pushes through, with Mexico at the wheel, what I could call a flaming head full of steam, but nothing powering it, just going on fumes, the promise of adrenaline and adventure -- human's greatest high. Drifting off in the bitch seat while the c<i>ar</i> pushes forth, onward into the darkness of the evening with a promise of a sunlight and human contact, pushing deeper, 6 hours later -- New Orleans’ seems to arrive with the blueish hue of dawn. The landscape resembles a warzone: houses, neighborhoods, ripped to shreds, making sheet rock and dry wall look like paper, strewn about the ground, witness to Earth's fury. <i>Holy shit! </i>Someone yells, and for a moment I am awake.<i> Look at that!</i><i> </i>It is a Wal-Mart, and it is ripped to shreds. <i></i><br />
<i>I heard this hurricane wasn't that strong...</i><br />
<i>Whoever said that was smoking crack. This thing destroyed an entire city.</i> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">* * *<br />
Mexico pulls up to the Hotel Le Pavillion -- a shining homage to post-Victorian industrialism of the roaring 20s – and the hotel is remarkably, unnoticeably damaged. Our reservation, however, is for 2 PM later that day, which we reserved via Expedia's phone service 6 hours earlier when departing Atlanta's city limits on I-75, and not surprisingly, the hotel won’t check us in at 7 AM however. The obvious solution is to park the car and head into the Latin Quarter, driking beers without having experienced any sleep, and stumble into the early morning party, Fat Tuesday, the year of our Lord, 2006, only to find a veritable riot at 300 Bourbon Street. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Thousands of people are screaming at a balcony. This is the hotel we wanted to stay at but it was booked solid unless someone wanted to reserve a room at the Royal Sonesta for three days, which according to C-Money, was remarkable -- "Normally, you have to book this at least a year in advance. We could stay here if we wanted, if we only had f-you money..." There swarms of people waiving towards the balcony where young blonde haired women are throwing beads at our heads. It is a strange find early in the morning, as it would seem to defy all rationality that hundreds of people would be fighting over beads at 7:30 in the morning. The Butt sees what's going on...<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uRGyFlbD8H4"><span style="color: blue;">Brittney Spears</span></a> is the ring-leader of the young blondes on the balcony, and she is throwing beads at our heads. It seems that her distant cousins are getting in the act, with bleached hair and drunk on the power of pursuasion. With the knowledge that Brittney is throwing these beads, suddenly I am fighting large men for the beads from her hands. <i>Outta my way! I want Brittney's Beads…</i> C-Money, the Mardi Gras impresario proclaims, points towards the balcony, “See, everyone who’s anyone stays at the Royal Sonesta for Mardi Gras. Brittney is from NOLA Geezy! She has plenty of beads. And she knows the deal." <i>Yes. If I can get Brittney's beads, maybe I can get some of her good fortune as well.</i> "Maybe, but her cousins aren't going to make out with you regardless.” Suddenly a stout 50-year-old, the size of a fullback, bumps me, head down. He has somewhere to be. <i>Oh Shit!</i><i> </i>"C-Money, you see who that was?" <i>That’s Emeril Legassi! Yo – your show is the jam - BAM!</i> “Bam!” He responds, and continues to push us out of his way.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i>Getting pushed around in a crowd by rich assholes reminds me of the time I was in line at He’s Not Here in Chapel Hill for Big Beer Night, held every Tuesday during the summer of my first summer in law school. According to urban legend, the owners re-named the bar after Jordan graduated, because it was his favorite spot in Chapel Hill and people would always call and ask for him and the bartenders would respond – “He’s Not Here!”A crew of large black dudes unexpectdedly and violently push me out of the way, cutting directly to the front. “Hey Jerks!” I yell. An undergrad is next to me, wide-eyed, mad, and proclaims, “Do you know who that was?” “Yeah, some dickhead who just cut line!” She then pushes me out of the way so she can get to the front of the line… “What does this look like, to you people, Summer Slam?” I get in, and there’s a palpable buzz… Richter tells me, in his sleepy Cali drawl – “Hey, dude, did you see? Michael Jordan just walked into the bar…” </i>"No way! I just got pushed by Michael Jordan's cronies. Now I know how Patrick Ewing feels." Peepsing my way towards the front, Jordan is already behind the bar, drinking beer out of his shoe.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a> Guess he cut the beer line too. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Emeril walks to the center of Music Legends Park, parting the sea of people like a rotund Charlton Hesston. An elevated desk sits in the middle of the plaza, for the filming of Good Morning America. “Sweet,” says C-Money, “Time to get some beignets.” Sleepless and disoriented, we head to the jam packed <i>Café du Monde </i>for well needed chicory coffee and donuts. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mexico is banging on the windows. I am lying across the cooler in the back. Everyone else is in the cabin, napping, sweaty, and hot. “They’re checking us in!” In the street, a parade has materialized. Floats jam packed with Cajuns and Creoles - <i>WAHARHAR!</i> - dressed like kings and queens are honking and be-bopping, enormous speakers pumping <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVwUf3O--s4"><span style="color: blue;">Zydeco</span></a> from a flotilla civilly making its way around the Jeep / bead-repository. Parade kings and queens are smiling, gyrating their hips, and aiming beads directly at our heads as we stand outside of the car confused and disheveled. Beads fall like chocolate rain upon our heads and the car. The Jeep’s blue paint is barely visible under the litter. Booty snatches yellow toy underwear from the sky that he places in the car’s rearview mirror. <i>Please baby Jesus, don’t tow this car…</i> “Don’t worry Geezy. It blends in now with the community, like camouflage.” Booty looks at his watch, “Shit, I have to call my girlfriend. I told her I was in the library.” I look to J-Man, who is puffing a ciggie, for reassurance, and he shrugs his shoulders… </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Back into the quarter in the early afternoon, and it is still packed with people, but drunker. A small restaurant on St. Charles St. with signs in the window that say, simply, “Hiring,” is serving a half menu of poy bo’ deliciousness: fried oysters, fried shrimp, clam, grouper, and muffalettas land-lubbers. The back half of the restaurant is dark with chairs on the table. A young waitress with short brown hair apologizes that the menu is limited. “Most of the staff moved away,” she explains, “This is about half of the regular menu; we’ve had a heck of a time getting the restaurant back up and running since Katrina.” <i>Yeah, we came down for Mardi Gras to party and support the city by spending some money…</i>“Well look at you boys…yes we’ve had a decent showing this year but it’s been remarkably tame.” “That’s amazing,” I explain, “I’m having the greatest time of my life. I never want to leave.” <i>We are hiring…</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The evening of Fat Tuesday, people flow indiscriminately in the Quarter - a mass of humanity and strawberry hurricanes. Drinks are everywhere; it’s an open container Arabian market. Bars on the street will just sell you drinks in styrophome cups. <i>Hold on Mr. Daiquiri shop operator, for only two dollars I can add an extra shot of ever-clear to my 20 oz frozen drink of death? How could I pass up such a windfall!</i> The wealthy, poor and derelicts alike together under yellow lights and horns. Soon I am dancing with homeless people in the streets. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">At midnight, bright lights are shining in my face and loud horns are blasting. Street cleaners and cops have suddenly taken over the Quarter, chasing away partiers who scramble to another block. C-Money is screaming at me - everyone else having disappeared, “At the strikes of midnight, people must to empty the streets. This town is religion town, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVWnBfzm7EU"><span style="color: blue;">so when Ash Wednesday comes around</span></a>, the party ends. This year, however, they’re going to let it go on a bit longer.” </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Yes, although lives had been destroyed, the resilient quality of human nature would ensure the Big Easy’s survival. I wake up on the floor of the four star hotel room. A confused and disoriented litte boy, “J-Man, J-Man, what happened to you last night? We lost you, where’d you go? “I don’t know. I was with you guys, then next thing I knew I was with some locals, and I started making out with a lady in the middle of the street on a car.” “That’s crazy J-man, how did she look?” “I don’t remember.” “Well how old was she?” “I’m not sure.” “Do you remember anything?” “Not really.” <i>Are you sure she wasn’t a tranny? No, not really...</i> </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1"><div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Fine. Jordan wasn’t drinking beer out of his shoe. But he was drinking a Corona with his shoe in the other hand, holding it up for people to admire. </span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-64943290161831463162011-10-15T03:31:00.000-07:002011-10-15T03:31:33.405-07:00Party Rule # 5 – Fist Pump to the Universal Party Balance<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">[continued from Party Rule # 4]</i><br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcHKOC64KnE">Go with the Party Flow</a>. AKA <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Quickening…</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I move further into the Thunderdome's bowl, dancing low now, bending like a surfer, at face level with people’s waistlines in the midst of a group dance -- like a dancehall barbarian in the Philadelphian savanna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A girl </span>screams at me – “What are you doing!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>but I am moving in synch with the atmosphere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probe further.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another brunette with senses sees I’m getting away with too much and her will penetrates mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Compelled to make physical contact, she backs that thang up, pushing me backwards into a crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I brace myself to try to ride the wild cowgirl to Akon’s second verse of David Guetta’s <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xo_7bhk1UzA"><span style="color: blue;">Sexy Bitch</span></a>, a club classic - <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">DAMN GIRL!!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Sweat is now pouring through, it is late, and the experience is nearing a close. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a shorter male with a scarf on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looks Latin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The scarf is mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It must have fallen to the floor while dancing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I entreat, “Hey man – that’s my scarf.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Give it back to me if I buy you a beer?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Okay okay – you go, go.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He points to the bar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shake my head – “No, no, you have to come with me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He nods, obliges, and removes the scarf after I procure him a bud light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We cheers and live well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Although my goal is sexual at the outset of the night like most of the other males at this scene, something kicks in - something is different tonight, and I can feel it; it is tangible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I see people fist pumping and jumping to the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What are they pumping to; what are they signaling to?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is it the DJ?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, higher…Are they praying to the disco ball?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, that’s stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Higher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another sensibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel it because chills are running down my spine and w<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">ithout question, I am fist pumping and jumping to the sky in unison as well -- to</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> a</span> universal party-oneness. Finally, I understand why we fist pump -- <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><em>Don’t look back, </em></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">move past the object and to the second-level, the phenomenal</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <em>Fist pump – Chest bump, to the force that makes the universe funk, a </em><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/10/science/space/10galaxy.html"><span style="color: blue;"><em>pinhead</em></span></a><em> balancing the wings of everything…</em>The fist pump is a prayer to the eternal party force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Through the fist pump, party-oneness becomes easier to obtain: the act of connection with every living being in the room - the dj, the dancers, the bouncers, the bartenders. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Collective dance strips the protective layers by encouraging group thought and connection, and within the realm of the club, all races are together as one party-whole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Appropriate levels of intoxication can also encourage party-oneness, but it is not necessary. </span>Freud calls this the greater oceanic feeling, otherwise known as entry into the collective unconscious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Party-oneness requires reacting to the forces and energies in the room, not fighting it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The party person becomes the moment -- You are the actor, the entertainment, the main character, and yet an extra merely secondary to the identity of the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At a good party all party goers are main characters lacking individuality – the collective identity transcends everyone into a greater mutually amenable being – all shift to a higher plane of perception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dudes bumping into me, I don’t care – I’m not bothered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Guys bumping into girls; they don’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re not bothered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The music pushes them into each other, reminding each that they are merely forces on earth who move with the waves of time and music.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Attending a party simply for sexual encounters leaves the seeker unsatisfied and frustrated, or emotionally cheapened by the physical obsession and objectification.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freud understood that humans are inevitably sexual creatures, especially at the party, so sex is always there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is the elephant in the room but shouldn’t be the objective to partying, for it separates the ego from the collective whole by shifting the focus to individual desires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Party-oneness is most tangible while partying, and easily obtainable when not entirely distracted by sex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It requires reacting to the forces and energies in the room -- not fighting it – and suddenly there is a sense of oneness with all living things, connection with the dj, the dancers, the bouncers, the bartenders – understanding the energy and sharing with all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The party epiphany leads the individual to party for party oneness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span>The key to party-oneness is feeling the strings in the room and letting the party take you where it will. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One who parties for the party itself never departs unsatisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unencumbered, the party soul remains pure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">At 2 AM the lights come on like a spot light from the heavens, indicating, sadly, that the party is over… On the walk out of the club, Big J is asking people “Anyone going back to Bensalem?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyone can give us a ride to Bensalem?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is Northern Liberties, aka <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">No. Li’s</i>, yet Big J feels secure enough to ask random strangers for a ride home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He clearly is still partying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two young lovers who compliment his beads receive the broken set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She asks for the set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He obliges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I criticize that his breaking the cardinal bead-rule of giving away the large beads for nothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> How quickly I transgressed into materialism. </span>He explains his reasoning, which holds up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Besiedse,” he says, “Besides, there’s no more use for a broken set of beadsz.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Big J man way to </i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lDCYjb8RHk"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;">rock</span></i></a><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> the house</i>…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We throw down again for another cab, driven by another nice, young African man ensuring safe delivery back to Big J’s house -- a bargain at 30 dollars per head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon arrival, he passes out, and I raid his fridge.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-3564628273355128042011-10-15T03:30:00.000-07:002011-10-15T03:30:59.680-07:00Party Rule # 4 – Always be nice to bouncers…<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The large bouncer is scouring the line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nice</i>, with a few gold crowns and big smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What’s up fellas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nice beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You gotta get in line.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He informs us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Alright, I gotta listen to this guy, he’s scary…” “Hey man,” he chuckles, “No reason to be scared o’ me.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pointing at the ladies, impeccable with their dark jackets, tight jeans, and hair: perma-wet sheen dark curls, $creaming out to the world – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Look at me!</i> “Those is who you gotta watch out for.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Bouncers get paid to get yelled at.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They prevent rowdy drunks from starting fights and from threatening seductive patrons and bartenders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the face of chaos, they are rule of law, giving the appearance of order and authority at the club, so that utter anarchy doesn’t ensue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be nice to your bouncers, listen to them, and joke with them; they have to be outside all night and don’t care if you get in or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fate of your evening lies in their hands, so if you’re nice they may let you in without waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">An inebriated bro, his frosted-tipped hair fully spiked and wearing a long-sleeved graphic shirt, starts yelling at the bouncers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s been kicked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Man, that’s cowsh-t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not that drank.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s pointing, never good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“All my friends are inside.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bouncer with gold teeth starts yelling, “You! You’re outta here!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Arms extended, the mountain of a man is walking towards him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His friends are now dragging him away, pulling the drunk white kid away from his goal.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We step to the front of the line now, away from the fray, behind a group of white kids with nore printed tees and spiky hair who had also jumped in line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bouncers step up, and tell the kids they can’t get in; they have to wait in the long line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turn, and the line slithers for at least a quarter of a mile, crowds of people – more guys in printed tees and females in pea-coats and short black dresses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The line jumpers – their faces speak volumes. With utter despair and sadness seen in turned lips and broken eyes, they forfeit their party-attempt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Again, paranoia, that it’s never going to happen, sneaks in…Defeated, I turn back around to face Big J and bemoan, “J, man, let’s get out of here and get some cigs, we’re never getting in...”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, Big J is no longer next to me or listening; he’s approaching the line keepers with open arms and they are frisking him, preparing him for admission into da club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I step behind him quickly, smiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The line kings smile back, nodding, giving that quiet sense of embrace, the greatest acknowledgment one person can give to another: acceptance – “I like the beads” an intimidating bouncer with a shaved head admits, “Thanks, I brought them up from Mardi Gras just for you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nice!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He approves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We made it to the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Big J arrives to pay and says he’s on “Mikey W’s list”, or “Mikey-P, that’s what they said outside.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I get up and say, “I’m on Mikey P, W or whatever he goes by these days.” The cashier, American by birth, likely European by descent, smiles at the irony - a male taking the name of his female counterpart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">On ground level, there is the Bamboo Deck, a coat-check, and side club that is generally empty but is now bustling with other party-goers in fanciful clothing, shiny colors, sequins, and inferior Mardi Gras beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Night at the Roxxy is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Night at the Roxbury </i>on steroids and ecstasy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can feel thumping above, like a giant heart waiting to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ObJc7JQt-SM"><span style="color: blue;">take it in</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are people walking down, smiling and nodding at our appearance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the top of stairs an orgy of sound awaits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We turn up the stairs and enter the Thunderdome.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Roxxy's mainfloor is set up like a bowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two bar areas surround the perimeter such that onlookers can observe the large and fluid group dance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We walk into this giant, flashing vortex, where individual identity is lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A young party-girl approaches us from the center, meeting us at the periphery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is clearly intoxicated on sexual empowerment or something else chemically attached to her brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She immediately flashes me (with a smile).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I oblige her with a cheap set of beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She waives at Big J, and repeats – rinse and repeat.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“HAHAHA!” he smiles “Yeah!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Spin cycle time. The intoxication of her youthful sexual power and pheromones demand his attention -- but she had our attention regardless -- she needed not buy into this materialist corruption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They immediately are grinding on one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within seconds, this gesture has made his week, month, and year, a stark contrast from a daily life trapped in a cold and artless office, reminding him there is contact out there, even if superficial and disingenuous. Gazing at this frottage factory, I have instantly encouraged the degradation of this young female, recognizing not her spirit but glorifying the object. To escape disgust and guilt I go quickly for a beer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wade through the middle of the crowd, surfing towards the back-bar, with the goal of re-upping like Super Mario and further losing myself into this spectacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Always drink whiskey neat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s a whiskey neat?</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Barkeep, could I trouble you for a whiskey neat!”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I’ve made my way through to the Back Bar, a quiet, yellow bar that connects to a suspended bridge that overlooks the bamboo patio and shallow pool.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a stripper pole in this bar, which is occassionally utilized by those enrolled in<a href="http://www.platinumpoledancestudio.com/"> pole dancing class</a>, in order to display their new moves. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The bartender, a young, sandy-haired chap with <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbgKEjNBHqM"><span style="color: blue;">Buddy Holly</span></a> glasses, resembling a pre-lapsarian Cobain, asks innocently, “What’s a whiskey neat?” </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“WHAT DUDE?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whiskey neat is the simplest, purest of all drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simply whiskey poured into a shot glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s neat because there’s nothing except whiskey. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only way to drink whiskey. Barkeep dude, you want a shot of Crown Royal neat?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Maybe later…”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“In that case, make it 2 Crown Royals - neat! And a beer…”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The bartender is confused.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey - You going to pour or not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s do this!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He abides.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dude – you want the shot or not?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Laughing, shaking his head, no…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’m a rum and coke guy…</i>I know who will<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">…</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">One shot down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One shot in my hand, and a beer in the right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m on the search for Big J, and I attempt to re-enter the Thunderdome but a large bouncer stops me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Friday / 18 and up nights, all the underage kids are on the dancefloor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don’t want degenerate 29-year olds such as myself plying minors with booze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a classy joint, he explains, in words such as “No booze on the dance floor.” I nod my head in acceptance, and he winks back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Back through the yellow bar, I nod at Buddy Holly, and he nods back, diggin’ it – <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whiskey Neat guy – </i>he yells.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then back around the periphery, and there is Big J, beer in hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hand him the shot of whiskey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He protests, “No way man – if I drink that I’ll puke.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shrug, down my second whiskey, and chide at him for being such a p.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another party girl approaches us, a neck full of beads – “Nice, what you have to do for all of those?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She smiles and points to the stage, “I was over there!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are women on the stage and the crowd and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qydp6OIIAcw"><span style="color: blue;">DJ</span></a> are throwing beads at them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what’s more predictable, that they’re on stage, or that we can’t stop staring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I break off again away from Big J, drinking my beer and moving fluidly with the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One party-goer approaches me and compliments my beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She’s got an id around her neck, and I insult her beads for not being as sweet as mine. “You want to get some more?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Haha – no way!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m married and I have a six year old at home.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Nice!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Congratulations – she’ll be out here sooner than you can imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Decades fly by.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m from <a href="http://www.q102.com/main.html"><span style="color: blue;">Q102</span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We promote this party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What do you think?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I think it’s awesome!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Big J, on the other hand, is avoiding socially inept conversations with radio promoters, instead enjoying a never-ending party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Late in the evening, while we’re walking out of the club, he gives away his beads to a white hot party-girl with her impeccable party-boy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I chastise Big J.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He giddily explains:</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Look man, I’m wasted and I had the time of my life!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Definitely the most fun I’ve had in months!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe the most fun since I’ve had since Phish Halloween.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You need to understand, however, those beads were broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All night I walked up to girls, and they would see my beads and get stoked and literally grab me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were totally mesmerized and obsessed with the notion of obtaining my beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would nod in agreement, and they would flash me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve never experienced anything like that in my entire life!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hot girls coming up to me and showing off their stuff!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This worked really well until just before we left, a girl came up to me and flashed me, but just in her bra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pretended like I would give them to her –“ he motions, as if he’s taking them off – “then I put them back on myself, instead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t appreciate the trickery, and grabbed my beads and pulled down, ripping the strand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave them away to that couple because they were nice. They complimented us and joked with us, assuming we’d had one helluva time based upon our showing of neck accoutrements.”</div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;"><div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> The psychology has set in; beads are currency.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironically, one will exchange the right to </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gaze"><span style="color: blue; font-size: x-small;">gaze</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> for something lacking monetary value.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There must be some transitory intrinsic value.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Empowering and degrading is sexual appreciation of the human form at its basest and purest level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lust that which we lack, but value in the object and not the individual.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, the degradation of society, before the awakening. </span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-91238415322354741042011-10-15T03:28:00.000-07:002011-10-15T03:28:55.313-07:00Party Rule #3 – Always take a cab, because money is no object when partying…<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Money has no intrinsic value anyway, and it is most valuable when partying, because it grants complete access to your party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This does not mean that one should be wasteful with money.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Purchasing bottles of Grey Goose v. Skyy Vodka makes no difference, there’s no point in spending hundreds of dollars extra on Grey Goose to impress others, nor is it ever a great idea to drink an entire bottle of liquor at a club in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I propose: if you’re hanging out with individuals that you need to impress by wasting money on Grey Goose, at places where you need to be buying bottles of alcohol in order to party, then you’re not doing a good job of partying in the first place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Naturally, the next topic of discussion was mode of transport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suggest to Big J that he drive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have a car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He protests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three beers deep, and he complains that if he drives; he’ll stop drinking and won’t have fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well then you’re not a very sophisticated partier if you can’t have fun unless intoxicated.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">His voice booms, “Well if you can have so much fun, why don’t YOU just drive my car?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lives about 20 miles from the club, and I have no desire to drive his Mustang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How much would a cab cost?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“A cab costs 50 dollars.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sinking feeling that maybe we won’t make it out to the post-Mardi Gras Mardi Gras Party sets in, and paranoia, the anti-party force, creeps up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Suddenly: inspiration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Well, if we’re all slaves anyway to the universe, and this is exactly what we’re supposed to be doing, screw it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s get twisted and take a cab!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah!” “Vodka shots!” </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A $50 cab ride will not ruin your party; it will MAKE your party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Better to spend $50 on a cab than to risk death, arrest, humiliation, or injury while driving intoxicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The round trip average cost of cab fare is worth maintaining a worry-free and safe <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">mode d’emlploi</i>, as the whole purpose of the awakening life is to enjoy and continue existence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If the net worth of your life is not worth 50 dollars, then you’re not attending the right parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The party goal is to keep the party going as long as possible and live to party another day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, treating yourself to a driver is one of the greatest luxuries in the world, standard procedure, and by partying in-style, you increase party enjoyment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOsBWLRnEmxH5WdgNELMGSC3ngSb8fn2jCrx8qMvKLnpKcywV3S1xqyjBvW8_FPbuPYSxo-NZOFoiohs8PznrQPxaftQzODfAGeQ5EBaoMFhyphenhyphenShyUFlkHAUTkluPMY8pq8x4j2s8msOM/s1600/Jaws+of+life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOsBWLRnEmxH5WdgNELMGSC3ngSb8fn2jCrx8qMvKLnpKcywV3S1xqyjBvW8_FPbuPYSxo-NZOFoiohs8PznrQPxaftQzODfAGeQ5EBaoMFhyphenhyphenShyUFlkHAUTkluPMY8pq8x4j2s8msOM/s320/Jaws+of+life.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>-Better to spend $50 on a cab than to risk death, arrest, humiliation, </em></div><div align="center" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>or injury while driving intoxicated.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> PBG</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The shots are poured and they are large.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Warm Smirnoff vodka is poison.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The purpose of this heavy neurotoxin is to dissipate the self into the reptilian brain, until all action is merely reaction, no thought, no hesitation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Large shots catalyze the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dude!” he grimaces after a large swig.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I can’t drink all of this.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Do you want to party, or do you want to party?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pathetic, but it takes vodka and 3 beers for oneness to set in: we are exactly where we should be at this exact moment in time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“This is exactly what we should be doing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no other option, so just drink the piss out of some piss!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Minutes later, the cabbie arrives in an American car, resembling a Buick or an Oldsmobile, with fancy GPS and tracking devices on the front dash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We scurry over snow piles to get in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is in his late 20s, African, and he’s amused by the sight of two bumbling white dudes, necks full of beads, climbing over snow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You boys going to party?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah we’re going to party.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Haha- me too - later tonight.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“If you gotta better party…” I scream, “you’d better tell us about it…unless you think we would get messed up at your party, in case white boys aren’t encouraged.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Ha-ha!” He laughs, “you’d be fine, but it might be a little quiet for you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Screw that, we want to do it right!”</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We chit-chat about his car: 100 bucks per day to rent the cab, and he can’t even pick-up people in the city; he can only drive to and from Bensalem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My boss, he got so much money because he has the medallion, and he make-a da money everyday guarantee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Man, sometimes I lose-a da money when I get no fare. I work-a da 12 hour day, seven day week!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Man, that’s crazy…you can’t even pick someone up when you drop us off, then take them somewhere in Philly?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No man…the city controls all dat sheet. Odawise dere would be cabs evarywhere picking up-a da people left and right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all about control.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You gotta love competition in this country – where capitalism is discouraged when it might actually help the working man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shit man, you don’t take a day off?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That’s a violation of federal employment laws,” says Big J, an employment lawyer, fired up by the threat of litigation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They have to pay you overtime if you’re working over 40 hours a week!” “No man, I’m a da independent contractah…” “Yeah, what if he’s an independent contractor?” “Irrelevant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If his boss takes a portion of his pay, advertises out his cab service on the car door, and controls his hours, our man here is an employee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You deserve overtime man.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="http://theroxxyphilly.com/"><span style="color: blue;">Club La Roxxy</span></a> – Philadelphia’s Premier Party Location</i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">We arrive at our destination – Philadelphia’s premier party location - one of the best party spots on the North East in general, featuring a hundred-thousand dollar light and speaker system, lasers, stages, screens, strobe lights, HUGE disco balls, and scantily clad bartenders serving 2 dollar Bud Lights all night long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the summer, the party goes outside to the bamboo deck and pool and gets even creepier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There’s like a line halfway down the block on N. Delaware Ave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We jump out the car and cross the median, dodging snow drifts in make-shift Mardi Gras uniforms, cutting right to the front of the line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Hey man – I know Mikey-W,” Random spikey-haired bros scream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s Mikey-P now, he just got married,” chuckles the behemoth at the point of entry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“He took her name.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Mikey-W is the promoter for Club La Roxxy.<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s modest and unimposing if you meet the man in the flesh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most big city promoters feature flamboyant clothing, outspoken hypocrisy, and are loathsome to males, such as myself, not on the VIP list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mikey-W on the other hand is friendly, calmly smokes cigarettes, and encourages all comers to La Roxxy through daily text messages and weekly emails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you email Mikey-W, to “get on his list,” from 9 to 11 you get free admission and free well drinks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tip your bartenders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;"><div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=541172221748597192#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Mikey-W recently retired for family reasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I texted him to wish him luck in his future endeavors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I get the name of the new promoter I’ll let you know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-37834839063099473642011-10-15T03:22:00.000-07:002011-10-15T03:22:14.281-07:00Party Rule # 2 – There’s no free will – so go with the party flow…<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In preparing to party, Big J and I frequently engage in philistine argument, which keeps the mind flexible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Underneath the party sheen, Big J, like most party-misfits, is an introspective human pushing the boundaries of the mind by whatever means necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His religion is atheism, yet his outlook reveals a fundamental faith in the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Challenge him to a debate on faith, and you may find that his eclipses yours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a unifying theme of party-goers globally, that the universe <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pronoia_%28psychology%29"><span style="color: blue;">conspires in your favor</span></a> to bring you before amazing places, people and parties… </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The conversation now focuses on free will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big J claims that free will is just an illusion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As an agnostic, my immediate response is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bull shit. </i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Experientially, free will is witnessed as real through our perceptions, what makes us paranoid, and what we choose to believe in: conspiracies, extra-terrestrials, Jesus, environmental degradation, pre-marital sex, prohibition, the corporate capture of American Democrazy, and, most importantly, the creation and appreciation of art and music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>“Look, I decide to move my arm, I move my arm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It moves, because my brain tells it to move.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yeah, but where does that impulse to tell your brain to move it come from?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What are you talking about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Haha,” he laughs at my ignorance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“No, what causes that synapse to fire?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll agree, in the end, that your bran is just chemistry.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I nod my head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Now, the chemistry that causes your movements, your thoughts – they are merely electricity moving in your head, as set in motion by the Big Bang.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Agreed.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Thus, in order to truly control your thoughts, you’d have to control electricity.” </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“What are you talking about? I control which synapses to fire.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Exactly, then you would have to control chemistry.” <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hmm… </i>“Either that, or it’s just the science in your brain playing out as set in motion by the creation of the universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scientists are now at a point where they’re not sure if they agree whether humans can control the science in their brain, or if it’s all just chemistry.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Surely you don’t believe that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Humans placed in boxes deteriorate, and they do not evolve into advanced minds.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Let me show you something.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Big J, big beer in hand, plays this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6S9OidmNZM&playnext_from=TL&videos=mlOXxnrivnQ&feature=rec-LGOUT-exp_fresh%2Bdiv-1r-4-HM"><span style="color: blue;">YouTube Video</span></a> for an example of Libet’s experiment, which examines the brain activity of a subject directed to do something randomly, such as pressing a button without pattern.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The results indicate that the subject’s brain is activated up to six seconds before the moment he or she randomly presses the button, i.e. before the subject “decides” to spontaneously damper the trigger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The origin of this impulse unclear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Yeah, well, that’s to be expected – the part of his brain that moves his finger is stimulated prior to pressing the button.</em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
"You’re missing the point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The decision to press enters his brain prior to what he perceives is the conscious decision of when to press.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thus, the decision to press and when enters his brain well before he actually presses the button, and we don’t know where this decision comes from or what triggers it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The decision is made for him, and the conscious mind is merely perceiving that decision after it takes place, believing it is making that decision, when in fact, there appears to be no freedom as to when the decision to press the button occurs.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">“So there’s no freedom of thought?”</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><em>Big J </em>-- The existential problem presents two seemingly unacceptable realities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do not claim to know which of the two is correct.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matter reacts to other matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are only so many elements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Carbon reacts with water given the same conditions every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no secondary way carbon interacts with water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is always the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it has been since the big bang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your thoughts are grounded in this principle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether that actually matters is another discussion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matter controls thoughts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is option one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If this is true, there is no free will.</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Another equally interesting possibility exists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thought controls matter. If that is the case, then we are all God…</div></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEAbOIeEwV8_xg5KRq5h_-HEYostY2B7THtAdteHn8cMLLfER_FRqE940c0YIMZiVZhin9lINfYAl8-WqJ5MiAXkFuNGGhk8euXZz5u6089GlgADZJlW6VBgWYhtKZyL_tTgkiMbSR8E/s1600/Buddha+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="cssfloat: left; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEAbOIeEwV8_xg5KRq5h_-HEYostY2B7THtAdteHn8cMLLfER_FRqE940c0YIMZiVZhin9lINfYAl8-WqJ5MiAXkFuNGGhk8euXZz5u6089GlgADZJlW6VBgWYhtKZyL_tTgkiMbSR8E/s320/Buddha+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Taking it one step further, we are all matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing special about our bodies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is just carbon, water, elements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the decisions we think we perceive are automated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Water always boils at 212 degrees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unless you change it and add salt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then is boils slightly higher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s always the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if thought is an illusion, and thought is as automatic as the boiling degree of water, then there is a much bigger problem we still have not addressed.</div></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There is no I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The system which makes every decision you think you make is so much larger than you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all the Big Bang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Boom! You are the big bang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So is every piece of all matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The very fabric of existence is all the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are not part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no individual I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no differentiation between “living” and “inanimate”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is all matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matter is one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are all one. “</div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Partyboygeezy -- </em>You’re freaking me out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course I exist as an individual and can make my own decisions.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Can you, or is that just an illusion?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do you really think you are making those decisions, or it’s dictated by the big bang and the system naturally created by it?</em></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Partyboygeezy -- </em>I think I’m starting to understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The heart beats naturally, and we don’t think that we are controlling our heart – even though it is controlled by the synapses in our brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why do we think that we can consciously control the synapses that don’t fire uniformly? But then what about laws?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you can’t change people’s actions with laws, if they’re all purely reactionary, then what’s the point to laws?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Big J</em> -- Look, this creates many problems with the way humans have created society, if everything is merely reactive to the natural course of events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you’re forgetting that decision-making is situational, therefore situations seem to dictate how events unfold, but put yourself in a given situation at a given time, and you will react with the same reaction in every circumstance.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Partyboygeezy -- </em>So then let’s just do away with everything – all social rules and laws that is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s just go crazy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who are programmed to follow the laws would do it anyway, based upon moral reflection, and those that are programmed not to follow the laws, won’t follow them anyway – so what’s the point?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Big J shrugs, “There is none.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Then it all started to unravel, perceived reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sense of panic crept into my being, and I clung for control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hold on, you’re an atheist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re promoting predestination, the most rigid of all theistic philosophies, one that promotes hierarchy and denounces social justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can you believe in predestination, if you don’t believe in God?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><em>Big J </em>-- I put my faith in science, the science that was set into motion during the big bang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ironic, isn’t it, that atheists and the most fundamental of religious thinkers essentially believe the same thing?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Well, then you just believe in God, don’t you?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If Creation made everything happen, and it’s all happening just as it’s supposed to, you believe in the same order that fundamentalists are talking about when they talk about God.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“I don’t really believe that there is a puppet master pulling strings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all put into order, and the order is undeniable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a single human do you believe that you can alter that order in any way?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then you yourself are a god.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
"But really, we’re all God in the end, right, because we’re all part of the same fabric we’re talking about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would also go to say that you believe in god because you’re part of that order."</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Well, if that’s what you think God is, if that’s what you’re describing, then yes, I suppose I believe in God.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Snap!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got you to believe in God, you dirty hell-worshipping atheist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sick of this conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s get drunk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You will believe in God and feel like God when you see all these women shoving themselves at you to steal those worthless Chinese beads I gave you.”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-29782897153923030272011-10-15T03:20:00.000-07:002011-10-15T03:20:41.727-07:00Party Rule # 1 – be prepared to party at all times according to the rules of the party…<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Different parties have different rules.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pool parties require swim wear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Costume parties demand costumes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mardi Gras requires impressive beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Four years earlier, I had road tripped to New Orleans for Mardi Gras 2006, in the eclipse of Katrina. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sadly, New Orleans had been cleared of buildings, lives, families, and businesses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It even closed the Wal-Mart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet, in the wake of Katrina, the people came to the party, promising the city’s survival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did my part, as did my four party boy companions: The Butt, C-Money, J-Man, and Mexico.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mardi Gras 2006, through its spirit, resuscitated the Big Easy, and its magical beads found a way back to Big-J on this evening that would now enlighten his spirit with their power of survival.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">These beads had been wasting away their Earth-life in my closet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beads, like humans, are built to party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unlike humans, it is their sole purpose on Earth. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Created to support New Orleans’ renaissance, their life goal was not being realized by gathering dust in my closet and Now was the time for these beads to re-emerge unto the party world on Big J’s nape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">…and don’t be subject to premature bead ejection…</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">While chugging craft beer in his Bucks County Rent-A-Mansion, I proselytize, “Bead theory holds that all beads are connected, but the thicker the beads the better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Size matters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One set of large beads is better than many small beads.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Large beads centralize one’s attention and draw in focus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have many, many strands of small, independent beads in different colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The loss of additional bead-strands, and I myself would risk losing bead gravitas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grant you these, and leave myself at critical bead-mass.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I hand him the sweetest set of single beads in my possession: a thick, dynamic strand of multitudinous beads, intermingling red, blue and green in chains and links, shining in distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They would catapult Big J to a level of attention that he deserved, as an enlightened party boy, but rarely achieved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“The simple economics of supply and demand demands your success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Demand for quality beads will be insanely high.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This party doubles as a game where the goal is to collect as many high quality beads as possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Supply for superior beads, on the other hand, will be extremely low.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I provide historical perspective, “As Darwinian chance would have it, the Philadelphia port, once the greatest trade center of the Americas, no longer enjoys such status, and therefore receives not massive shipments of Chinese-made toy beads, as does the Mississippi Delta.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blame Napolean, and his stupid brother <a href="http://www.philaathenaeum.org/bonaparte/page1.html"><span style="color: blue;">Joseph</span></a> for selling the Mississippi River to Jefferson, thereby screwing our city and leaving us in bead envy, forcing the best beads to arrive via the I-10, I-85, I-95 <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2FdVBMcrqY4"><span style="color: blue;">dirty south route</span></a>, along with other, more potent, party supplies as well.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Wait, but didn’t the Louisiana Purchase ensure the existence of Mardi Gras as well?”</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Just shut up and listen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The temptation is going to be to give them away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whatever you do, even if the hottest girl you’ve ever seen invades your psyche and demands those beads, such that seemingly the Creator itself wants you to give away the beads, and you’d have to cut off your hands to avoid giving them away, then cut your hands despite your ass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These beads are hypnotic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The social pressure of getting the best set in the room will drive these predictable human-beings to throw themselves at you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t do it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Thus, Big J, with merely a single set of braided beads, would be better prepared in his party endeavors than the competition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“Partying, like anything else in life, takes patience and mystique.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you give in to the power of others prematurely you will lose your own power.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I warn him of the dangers, however, of possessing that which others want, when not in a position to give away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Others may attack, surge, approach aggressively, or resort to trickery to obtain your power, even nudity.” “No!” “Yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do not be led astray by their forces or magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With those beads, go your verve, and you will be rendered useless as a vampire with sunglasses, as Superman with Kryptonite, as a eunuch with a condom.” </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">“I won’t give these beads away!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Not even if the hottest girl I’ve ever seen wants them!” </i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Wants them?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Big J – only if she takes you right then and there because, mystically, her soul is linked to these beads through you and needs them so badly that she will do anything.” </i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“YEAH!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I WON’T DO IT!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>UNLESS SHE WANTS TO DO IT!” </i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Then you know what she’ll have?” </i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“What?” </i></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Shitty beads and crabs!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>We’re screaming and jumping like little children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His dog Molly is amid the fray, wrestling and barking at the screaming pair, who are pounding beers above her canine head.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">This conversation, sounding in bead theory and male objectification of the female form, coupled with the alcohol induced oncoming haze, served as a distraction from the haunting revelation that Big J had triggered about an hour ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-18393237601502181802011-10-15T03:07:00.000-07:002011-10-15T03:07:32.308-07:00MaRdi GrAs -- The World's Greatest Party<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The Party Epiphany occurred during the week surrounding Mardi Gras, 2010 AD, at <a href="http://theroxxyphilly.com/"><span style="color: blue;">Club LaRoxxy</span></a>, a superior party club in the superior party city, Philadelphia, PA.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">My companion that evening was Big J, a fellow seeker I’d met in grad school, with large hair, a large voice, a large stomach, and a large desire to party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This impulse to party for the truth inexorably links our souls in friendship. </div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">In 2010, Fat Tuesday occurred February 23.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mardi Gras at Club La Roxxy, however, occurred that following Friday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite this anachronism, I guaranteed Big J that this would be the greatest Mardi Gras he’s ever witnessed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, Mardi Gras never stops, it just goes into hibernation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VNUkoF4hUOAm7jrNrqr2Et_tMHs3TCPui0E6fqZpS3IGlp_0cTxxzJwgwn5iQqeM7BuF-ryIzLifacm7U3Y29WXbYvK1AtbWrmy-TkK8e9z_3aPJVFno6APMs0oOOey9gYkj0G1F-t0/s1600/100_0375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hca="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9VNUkoF4hUOAm7jrNrqr2Et_tMHs3TCPui0E6fqZpS3IGlp_0cTxxzJwgwn5iQqeM7BuF-ryIzLifacm7U3Y29WXbYvK1AtbWrmy-TkK8e9z_3aPJVFno6APMs0oOOey9gYkj0G1F-t0/s320/100_0375.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mardi Gras requires impressive beads.</i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">-</i>PBG.</div><div align="center"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-46245011190494612042011-10-15T03:05:00.000-07:002012-02-05T13:29:44.152-08:00The Party Epiphany<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"></i><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Introduction</span></b></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Life lacks meaning, as a Taoist would say; there is no purpose other than being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Big Bang occurred billions of years ago, in an ordered fashion, leading to life on this Earth as we know it, and likely upon other distant planets as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It set in motion an inevitable course of events, culminating with your life on Earth, in this form of matter, at this very exact moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/QbXktday4J4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>In a strange twist of fate, sex, and timing, BOOM you arrive by pure, perfectly ordered fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> U</span>nto Earth, naked, cold, screaming, assuming you survive the birth process, which for thousands of years was dicey at best -- still is in vast parts of the globe. You rely upon controlled randomness that parents or someone you are thrust upon will care for you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
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Most of us are born to this world amidst poverty, famine, or tragedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only a select few can even afford to provide chemical replacements for mother’s milk – a baby formula. As a baby, you yearn for the <span style="background-color: yellow;">breast</span>, be it little known if momma can afford chalky formula, and the rest of the world, an unknown, cries for momma's teet whilst momma struggles for a meal. While others enjoy a certain gambler’s quality that succeeds in capitalism.<br />
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Nonetheless vast populations of our country seeks to prohibit abortion wholesale...as if I was asked to be born and would be any better off if not? Comical in fact, I would be in the same scenario, but simply lacking the fear of what becomes of this whole process. Hopefully parents or someone you are thrust upon will care for you as a human or other rational being. It is through acceptance of the sheer blessedness of one's survival that the desire to party springs -- a celebration of life to the fullest.<br />
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For thousands of years, the birth process was dicey at best. Without perfect conditions, certain species even resort to fillial cannibalism to ensure survival. In vast swarths of the globe that lack computers, a constant flow of electricity, and modern medical equipment, birth remains a dangerous proposition. Darwin pushes us forward nonetheless.<br />
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For some strange evolutionary reason, humans wish to support a baby. You cannot support yourself as a baby. Survive malaria, small pox, the immune system strengthens, but it doesn't get easier. The only guarantee is that as you age, the probabilly of harm increases – forces out of your control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bully, a neighbor, in the pulpit, lurking, waiting, to abuse -- hopeful to survive without, and emerge whole, with an identity, a sense of self.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Those who do not may be sliced into halves, quarters, twos, threes, as images so severe, atavistic, quick to violent outbreaks, progressing out of some developmental eternal adolescence towards a purgatory, yet not their doing. Children are stolen everyday into bands of militants, gangs, porn, or maybe some hidden cult, and most of us don't care. Once you experience this jadedness, or simply become aware of the desire lurking, life itself loses consistency, becoming an early fear or showcase that Freud believes shapes one's future self. At</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> the onset of the fear, suddenly it is not so easy to jump and believe; and all that remains is</span> alienation, institutionalization, or imprisonment – be it actual or intellectual. This is the answer:<br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Fear of the Unknown</b><br />
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Possibly, negative experiences would not carry the same weight if it were not for the hidden unknown - the fear that pain is lurking, waiting to reappear, at the place and time it is not supposed to, where you are never safe...<em>why am I never safe? </em> Singular moments of despair, becoming the defining factor. Singular moments of helplessness defining one's body, mind, and soul. Dictating how to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lvXLfjXv-nA">Live, Love, Die</a>. <br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The fear in the unknown logically leads one to conclude that despair is truly what lurks behind the curtain. Despair and pain to follow, defines life, and death passes as well with all sentient beings. This reality to pain is worse than nothing. Find in nothing the promise of pasture's peace and quiet, a problem ends, along with pain. Nothing rests in peace, so it goes. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<strong>Becoming One's Fear -- The Great Irony</strong></div></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A story of evolution would implicate some intrinsic value to life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IJYy9S7F_GQ">Once the unborn spirits were blessed with the power of life</a>, a chain reaction was set into a course such that more life was desired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a consequence, there is a story of scarcity, and most living creatures struggle to survive; the struggle is programmed into our beings, and the future leads away from that conclusion. A consequence of evolution is to create the self - it drives procreation, persistence, and life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> A self's f</span>ears are even driven by evolution -- pain is stronger than the memory of love or ease -- guaranteeing a cave man to stay deep in his fear, keep away from the lion. Fear provides a tasteful tool from danger, but the mood is intangible, occassionaly despair overwhelms, fear suddently irrelevant, a shot of life again. As despair trolls, the self becomes the thing it hates, the opposite, the owner, the non-entity. Do not feed into the fear of the inevitable being and bring that fear to the exact moment. That moment is inevitable. The fear, however, the approach is avoidable. Certain memories bring a time into being, but the approach to that thought -- is key to the moment. You can elicit hate or acceptance. The reason to party? The reason I am here? I was younger, nobody liked me, so now I try to party to make friends. To feel cool. Truth is, what do you do with your party? How do you feel about it? I party to feel cool. No, why do you party? What do you do with the situation that brings you here? Do you party to feel cool, or do you party because you party, and now you build the most out of the moment, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fatP7thewQM">building a tower that doesn't fly too high</a>. You have two choices -- like Hitler would you die uncerimoniously and infamous? Like Nixon, ridiculed by the masses? Or will you die positive and unknown? </div></div><br />
<strong>The Power Person</strong></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
One approach, to nothing, simply, is to amass power and institute fear in others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since the dawn of modern civilization and the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VDd5wCSW7U"><span style="color: blue;">cities</span></a>, despots, abusers, bullies have fought incessantly to capture then sustain control over their surroundings and their brethren, believing that with enough power and re$ources it is even possible to defeat death – the great equalizer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sell status to the masses as God’s will, even controlling immortality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> C</span>heating death, through power, has reappeared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this century, over 2000 years after the story of a most powerful man who could cheat death only by forfeiture of all materialistic goods, not the acquisition of them, again the smartest, most powerful men in the world believe that they too, within a few decades, will be able to cheat death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They call it the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PR-m-QDDKPI&feature=related">Singularity</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Fools, do not fear are the trappings of loneliness or physically vulnerability.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Yes c</span>ontrol of one’s surroundings -- even others' thoughts, emotions, and struggles, will protect the Power Person, or incumbants of the sovereign from expulsion (so goes the thinking).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But what ticks internally in such an individual that can effectively (although temporarily) control its material surroundings?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is simply an unchecked ego -- a view of the self that is not genuine, but merely that which the Power Person seeks to project upon the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Control the physical world, the logic goes, and<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L_EEvpiNzO8"> live on forever</a>, while the public accepts your ego.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Within the Power Person, </span>the ego reigns supreme.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">So the ego can rule however it sees fit. But the true question is whether the ego is proving itself to others,or has nothing to prove? Think in this manner -- the form of one’s individual ego certainly dies at death, and the world's view of that individual, if persists at all, is no longer in that individual's control. The value of one's life therefor becomes judged by the effects of one's actions. Anything that persists individually post-mortem would be that supreme energy flowing through one’s body -- <a href="http://www.nme.com/nme-video/youtube/id/dMxrOOG6jAY">a formless soul</a> -- functionless without an agenda easily manipulated and morphed by brain waves pushing all thought and conciousness. However, it would be sensible that this soul that drives life would be attracted to the energy -- those waves -- within which it is accostomed. <br />
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If a projected ego is all that soul knows, it will go there after death -- attracted towards those waves of self doubt, loathing, paranoia, that drives the supreme insecure ego to strive for power in the first place. An ego merely built upon a false notion of self, a facade of insecurity which the Power Person wishes to sell to the masses, and why should it because that supreme thoughtful ego is completely loved by all, yet leaves no guidance for the soul, which is free at death to combine with however many forces it wishes to, bringing vampiric life-forces that only wish to suck for its own eternity -- a soul left free to abuse.<br />
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Save the soul from abuse! Build an identity for the self, against the negative currents, no matter how many, built a strong foundation of the self to stand independently, based not upon the fear of death or anonimity, but upon faith in the self, the collective community; with the only hope that after it all ends boy, the soul will be guided and attracted to the energy of faith and progress, enlivened to such positive energy into the cycle of life, and away from the larger trappings of pride and power that creates so much suffering for others. Cultivate your identity, if only to protect your soul, and hide it with an identiy<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> mask. There is something I believe in, it is called the </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RtmVMkaRlh8&feature=related">Boomskull</a>, it connects into the ultimate party, and it cultivates the identity, as long as the party soul is pure.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The ego represents nothing individually, and the individual ego that seeks power for the sense of power, to cheat death, controls no surroundings, in death lies merely alone. The ultimate goal merely unachievable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Should an ego persist past death, it is certainly swallowed by a greater ego – a greater stomach as part of a larger mystical food chain – leaving nothing but indigestions.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
Without death, there is no life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Death is the illusion that makes life possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life is limiting, yet it is the gateway that catapults your intellectual energy and spirit through the physical realm and into the universe, permeating everything, free to travel through all dimensions of reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Life is the gateway between the real and the imaginary. </span>Why fear the reentry into the imaginary?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> There was energy before; there will be energy after you, just not in your same form or substance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<strong>The Party People</strong></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">There is no rhyme or reason to these patterns of existence, so the question becomes – what to do about it?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small minority of humans, fortunate enough to survive comfortably, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NtILxBszyf8">disclaim</a> ownership at times, but generally situational luck that when considering the odds of birth in the first place, multiplied by the odds of suffering, the numbers become entirely befuddling for those in the top experience to comprehend why their lives are not replete with great suffering, and therefore meaning is ascribed – a fortunate past life, gifts from the heaven, a kind spirit acting in your benefit, because the sheer odds are too much for the minds to compute a life without great suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And the biggest irony, is just the middle class blue collar type...what did that person do to get here? </span>Without the strain of survival on the<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aAi6a_CZh4U"> palate</a>, a waking life not dedicated to fighting famine, disease, or dehydration, life suddenly lacks sense. Therefore, with such great fortune, why not dedicate life to the promotion of the human spirit at every turn, vitalized through the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">The party lives in the Boom. In the skull, for some partying is the ultimate goal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some party merely for themselves, while some fight to bring the party to others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the party people, and their souls are eternal.</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Ignore for a moment that partying, in its purest form, involves no war, no harm, and no physical injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those whom love to party love it not for those reasons, however; they love it organically as intrinsic within their soul, a calling that involves the mutual expression of the human form, uniting classes and races peacefully, in a single, fluid, love-Jones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Partying neither judges nor cares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is natural, inevitable, and celebratory, the most essential and harmonious of human impulses, chaperoning art, civilization, and love. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Partying without objective is charitable; it requires connecting with others, regardless of stature and status, encouraging cooperation and a shared collective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too often, however, partying is rightly perceived as a threat by the power-hungry, shunned as detrimental and morally vacant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When accepted by the conformist, partying is not lauded as a catalyst of free expression and social discourse, by derided as the devil.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only the devil calls another by such a name. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">True, at times individuals cannot control their impulses and emotions at a party, and negative consequences result.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, this has nothing to do with the party but the individual who has lost his way to his own demons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most likely, this is not acclimation with Boomskull, but Chasing of the Dragon – a consequence of materialistic desire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Overcome by the negative forces of the Dragon – self-doubt, envy, lust – and negative results flow from the flaws in the mind-body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, there are many negative results from excess – overeating (yet we do not call for the expulsion of foods or red meat), overtanning (yet we do not avoid the sun that giveth life), nymphomania (yet we still must procreate) – why therefore abandon the party and all its favors?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">I challenge the naysayer – what bereft results flow from the party itself?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">And ye cannot answer, for there is none…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">When work is done – do you choose to party?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">If the world ends tomorrow – will you party today?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">Were tonight your last on Earth - would you party?</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">If the answer is yes then join me…</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">You seekers, feeling misunderstood, fight the internal and external divisive forces with the unifying force of the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Become the individuals from whence the party springs!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">You, party person, capable of evil, shun the divisive force.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cultivate the inner Boomskull and languish with praise the unknown, unifying force that brings it together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Admonish that which tears apart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cherish the fear of the unknown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strive not to be overwhelmed by the fates.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Status, money, power, and control over the weak are not segues to happiness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Party with all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Explore the possibilities and landscapes of reality and the mind with the approach of acceptance and preservation of the party,<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=541172221748597192&postID=4624501119049461204#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a> and you will cultivate the inner Boomskull.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">With every tick of the clock, this form comes closer to its end on Earth, therefore, at every available moment moving forward, I say, party and <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7jSp2xmmEE">bring others into the fold</a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no greater objective in life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Use the informational superhighway to lead you to the party; make the world your party blog; party for the party itself and no other end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>This is the party epiphany.</div><div style="mso-element: footnote-list;"><br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="ftn1" style="mso-element: footnote;"><div class="MsoFootnoteText" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=541172221748597192&postID=4624501119049461204#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1" style="mso-footnote-id: ftn1;" title=""><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="mso-special-character: footnote;"><span class="MsoFootnoteReference"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="color: blue;">[1]</span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> I’m not talking about political parties, tea parties, or Tupperware parties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A party is simply a collection of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m talking about parties where the purpose is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">to party</i>, just like the song <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Party All the Time</i>, as performed by Eddie Murphy and composed by Rick James.</span></div></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-541172221748597192.post-41864378949185424072011-10-15T02:56:00.000-07:002011-10-15T02:56:38.941-07:00THe PArTy BLoG<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This website is dedicated to the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not simply about partying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is everything that is the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why we choose to party?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What happens at the party? The zen-like realizations at the party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The out-of-body experiences at the party. The life of the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is a society of people, factionalized, marginalized, and dehumanized, who are dedicated to partying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may be your co-worker, boss, or mail-room staff; they go by many names – the Lizard People, sybarites, extra-terrestrials, party people, wookies, hipsters, hippies, and crunk-heads. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They understand that partying, socializing, interacting with others: these are the most essential of human impulses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This ethos is followed by millions around the world, yet has been ignored and stifled by academics and media for too long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The informational superhighway called the internet welcomes those that seek to document the ways of the party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now is the time to party together!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> F</span>or those whom partying, socializing, and peacefully engaging with one another are the most fundamental of human emotion – UNITE – this is Boomskull…</i></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0