This is the third entry. In the blog.

Hey everyone. Or no one. Guess that sort of thing matters and exists according to my mood, optimist or pessimist? Anyway, whomever is reading this, welcome.

Today was pretty ordinary at work. It was a lot slower in the morning then it usually is, but the midmorning and afternoon went by fairly quick. About as average as a workday can get. I didn't get all the fascinatingly perverse stories from Chuck that I usually get, which was both a blessing and a bummer. However, and the fact that I'm writing this really speaks to the level of boredom my life has delved, Mauro stole some of my bubble wrap. That don't fly with me, ya hear? Keep your eyes open, Mr. Rodriguez.

So after work My mom made my go to this old woman who is the mother of one of my aunts through marriage house and mow the lawn. It was pretty ordinary, I didn't really feel like doing it but it was something that needed to be done I suppose. I took off my shirt and felt positively middle aged as I walked around the yard, swatting away insects and making certain I got every corner of the overgrowth tamed and contained. In truth, shes a lonely old lady, and while I resent her for allowing her broke garage door to maim me in the past (If anyone wants to know, ask) and I don't particularly like mowing lawns, I sort of feel good helping her out every so often. Well, every two weeks, thats how often so often is, haha.

I guess I'm a little old fashioned in that sense. Helping your elders has always sort of been a mainstay of my personality, or I'd like to think so. Anyone who knows me fairly well knows I am fairly polite, and I know for a fact I up the courteousness around seniors and such. I was reflecting on that today while I was mowing the lawn, and I thought if it was really appropriate. I mean, who's to say that because someone or something is older they deserve more respect, intrinsically? They shouldn't. Honestly, it doesn't make sense. There is nothing worse then an old fool, and there are plenty of them in the world. Just because something is no longer young doesn't mean it has some sort of wisdom or purpose that it traded in for its youthful exuberance. And I suppose that that is sort of a scary thought for me. Some day my youth will fade, and I'll just be an old crone, sitting alone in the dark eating TV dinners and waiting for the reaper to come a'knockin.

Till then, though, I'm going to keep blogging.

So heres something that really annoys me (it is not my intention to turn my blog into a place to complain about stuff, haha. If it turns out that way, which is a real and distinct possibility, just remember that its not what I wanted it to be, but rather what it became). I hate it when people pretend to be poets. But Dan, who's to say what talent is in poetry, or in any form of art? How can you pass judgement on th masses as such? While this sort of thing is highly subjecive, I can only speak for myself. I am not a master of poetry, but I do like it and read it fairly frequently, and for me there is just a voice. This voice is everything for a poet. It can either enchant the reader, lead them down verbal paths not previously explored, or strand them alone in some terrible desert of awful expressionism, lost and exiled from the realm of the beautiful. I guess its true that people who write bad poetry are still poets, so what I should say is I don't like poets who are bad at their craft, as I wouldent like a doctor whos bad at theirs or a prostitute who is terrible at hers (I am not saying anything overt here, haha). I could go on about this, but I'm tired of thinking about it and will be moving on to the official rant of todays post. (By all means, the third rant in actuality)

Rant: Human Originality: Fact or Fiction?

Ever think of yourself as interchangable parts, like a car or rifle? Sometimes I can't help but think of organs and bones as nothing put parts, like a machine. If you can exchange livers and kidneys and hair, whats to say you can't exchange senses of humor or dry wits? Literally, this is an impossibility as brain transfers, and their corresponding facets of knowledge, have not been mastered yet. However, how do I know that my exact sense of humor, or love of roses, or lust for natalie portman isint in some other guys mind, precisely and exactly the same? In all likely hood, it is, right? So, follow me here, if it was possible to exchange these things, would it not be possible then to recreate and mass produce people of the same personality in different minds? is there anyone so unique that nothing i their brain corresponds to anyone elses? And if so, are these the only truly unique people? Seem's like it to me. So it would seem only the mentally unstable and severly brilliant are real one-of-a-kinds, and the rest of us are mismashed pieces to the same puzzle.

I hope not, but I think so.

I may or may not start throwing quotes into these entries as well, so here goes that experiment.


my favorite quote: Every man is guilty of the good he could have done- Voltaire

Till tomorrow,

-DH