Well, it's been an interesting couple of weeks. I've purchased three new pieces of art in the past two weeks. One of which may or may not have contributed to me getting laid. I think when the artsy fartsy chick in the gallery saw me buying it, she was fooled into thinking I have good taste in art. Luckily she hasn't seen my complete collection, which includes some of the finest examples of the Dogs Playing Poker genre in the greater DC area. Even though the ninja fortress is not complete (no working kitchen sink yet) it's complete enough to hang stuff on the walls and have it look like those kind of houses where normal people live.
Now I usually don't talk about dating on this blog (because only chicks write dating blogs, and I don't have a uterus), but this story was too good to pass up. As I stared at my new purchase, I was approached by the artsy fartsy hottie with tattoos and piercings:
Girl: That's a great piece you bought. What is it that you like about that?
Ninja: Me? Well, it's art...but with bullet holes in it. What's not to like?
Girl: That piece is so visceral. It's got nice elements of brutalism and outsider art influences. It's so political too!
Ninja: Yeah...I thought the same thing. I like the visceral-ality-ness of it...and the outsider thing too...and the bullet holes. It's like a statement on Iraq, but with paradigms and synergies and stuff...or something.
Girl: [blank stare]
Ninja: Uhhh, actually, I can't put it into words (because I don't know what I'm talking about), but for me art is about emotions which are like, too visceral to even, like, put into words and stuff(note to self, look up "visceral" in the dictionary when you get home). Art is, like, something you just feel on the inside and, like, get a sense of its energy.
Girl: Exactly! That's how I feel about art too!
2. The Television is Evil
I re-connected my cable recently. I had it disconnected for a year to see if I could live without it. I figured it would force me to do more productive things like go to the gym more, and read more books. What it did, instead, was make me spend more time on "The Internets". So now it's back on and holy crap, is there some bad stuff on there. But, the shining beacon in the wasteland of TV nothingness is VH1, or "Reality TV Heroin” as I like to call it. Rock of Love (the stripper gets a “Bret” tattoo and still LOSES), Flavor of Love (runner up SPITS in winner’s face), The Pickup Artist (45 year old virgin goes to pickup school and STILL can’t pickup chicks), I love New York (group date degenerates into a fistfight), Scott Baiao is 45 and Still Single (he figures out over 2 months what everyone knows in the first 10 minutes…he’s single because he’s an asshole), Hogan Knows Best (pathetic washed up wrestler invents drama to boost his daughter’s “singing” career). Wow...seriously people.
I also got to renew my addiction to the home improvement shows on several channels, or "House Porn", as Mari likes to call it. I have a love-hate relationship with the flipping shows on there. They take inexperienced people, have them do everything wrong, then eventually sell their houses and still make a ton of money. While I hope that, despite my mistakes, I can sell my house in a year or two to a couple of yuppies with more money than brains, part of me wishes that they wouldn't. I try not to dwell on that because of Karma or Ju-ju, or whatever you call it in those religions that don't follow the teachings of the Pope and will therefore lead you to eternal damnation. Jus' sayin'
3. SAMBO Summit 2007 Update.
In other news, I'm really upset that the wedding in Illinois (Part 4 coming soon)
was on the same weekend as the SAMBO Summit 2007. It turns out that Oleg Taktarov showed up as a guest instructor and sparred with the students. That's right, THE Oleg Taktarov, bitchez! I reallllly wish I could've been there. If I sparred against a UFC champion like him, the first thing I would do is take a really cheap shot at him. Then, he would probably break my arm or give me a cool scar of some kind and when people ask me what happened I could say "I got into it with Oleg Taktarov, man...I mean, that guy's a UFC champ and all, but he got outta line and I'm not afraid to step to anybody, 'cuz that's just how I roll, baby." I mean, even if he knocked out all my teeth and I had to eat through a straw for a few months until they surgically reconstructed my jaw and ordered me new teeth, that would be a story I could tell my grandkids (except that by the time I got to be a grandpa, the story would eventually morph so much that I would be the winner...that's assuming that he only breaks my face, and doesn't rip my nuts off).
4. Britney Spears is Uber-white trash
I feel bad for anyone going through a divorce or losing her kids. But if anyone ever tells me again how Britney isn't white trash, I will laugh in their face. If she couldn't sing, she would be dancing on a stripper pole or advertising herself as a "Massage Therapist" on Craigslist, and living back in Louisiana in a single wide with no electricity with an alcoholic auto mechanic who beats her and her six kids (all by different babby daddies).
Sooooo....Britney fails to show up for court-ordered drug tests and is videotaped driving without a license, so the Judge gives her kids to K-Fed. (side note: If you suck at parenting so bad, that K-Fed is considered a better parent than you, then I feel sorry for your kids. There are kids that are raised by wolves who get better parenting than they would from K-Fed).
Anyway, she is ordered to turn over her kids, so she does...in the parking lot of a Carl's Jr. Then, instead of grieving like a normal person, she drives to a tanning salon. Prioritize much, Britney? I guess everyone grieves in their own way. Maybe she grieves by getting a Mystic Tan and a bikini wax?