Encounters with Nature on the Way Home from Work

It was a night like any other, as I walked, neither briskly nor slowly, towards mah humble abode from CiCi's Pizza. My legs were weak from standing for four hours at work, but I was feeling otherwise content; the three hour nap I had earlier in the day kept me feeling awake, and my tum-tum was full of num-nums. Suddenly, a wild rabbit appears! Or perhaps not. Upon closer inspection, it wasn't your ordinary street rabbit. No, this was a large bunny rabbit, the kind you keep as a pet. It's adowabwe fwuffy white tail bounced up and down as he hopped along gaily. I approached slowly, with curiosity abounding. Oddly enough, the big-eared fluff-ball surprised me with it's not-running-away-ness as I neared his little twitchy nose and shifty whiskers. He eyed me, then continued with his grass-munching. I stepped once; he hopped away once. I stepped again; he hopped away once more. I got close enough to touch his soft fuzzy-wuzzy hair, and then he was all like "hey bro, I'm just tryna eat some grass over here, do you mind?" (of course, he said this with his big round eyes, and not a voice. I sadly didn't discover a talking rabbit). We continued our little dance of one step one hop for near five minutes, and I attempted to persuade him to come closer, to no avail, with some grass I plucked. He eventually grew tired of me looming over him like a freaky bald thing that walks on it's hind legs, and he scampered off to do other rabbity things.

Just minutes later, I was busy making a moron of myself trying to open the locked back door. I eventually wisened up and made my way to the side garage door, which is left open about five inches so our cats can come and go. I pushed my way through the makeshift barricade put in place so it wouldn't fly about in the event of high winds and found myself not being able to see anything. I widened my eyes as much as I could, expecting somehow to catch more light rays or something. Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of the devilish beady gleam of the eyes of a raccoon. My initial reaction was something along the lines of "hey kitty." My second reaction was "AAAAAIIIEIIEIEIEIIEAIEIEIEEEH!!!" I quickly tried to close the door, which in hindsight, I had no idea what the heck I'd do if I managed to lock the thing in there. Keep it as a pet? Probably. Anyways, I was unsuccessful in closing the door because of the block of wood that was totally put there to keep it open. In the process however, I found a big weird stick with a funky crook at the end, which was good enough for me. I swung it around frantically, not really wanting to hurting to thing, but still sort of freaking out. He almost fell into a hole that I'm not really sure of its purpose, but still made his way through the open door. I don't know that he'll ever be coming back, because I know that I sure wouldn't. 

MJ

Earlier I was listening to the radio when I heard a familiar catchy tune; young Michael Jacksons voice came over the speakers. I heard him and his siblings from the Jackson 5 sing one of their greatest hits, "ABC," and I couldn't help but remember back to when he first died. I was sitting in my best friends mini-van, waiting in the parking lot at Swan Bros Dairy company when his mom got a phone call. I don't remember her reaction, whether or not it was negative or indifferent, but I remember we all just kinda sat there for a few minutes until one of us said "Michael Jackson jokes will never be the same."

Throughout his life, he had be the object of all different kinds of slander, praise, glorification, defamation, and everything in-between. I was young enough when most of it was going on that I didn't care much for it at all; I only knew what others told me. And not that there's anything particularly wrong with secondhand information, but maybe I shouldn't have listened to as much of it as I did. I was absolutely apathetic when I heard that he had passed away, but I knew absolutely nothing about him. At this point in my life I knew maybe two or three of his more famous songs, and thought of him as some creepy pedo with freaky white skin.

Something changed inside when I happened upon a live stream of his children speaking at his funeral. First off, they were like, ten? Courageous kids.

But they weren't just up there to say goodbye. I remember one of them talking extensively on how, despite all the media's attention to what would seem like him being a poor father, he was "the greatest daddy ever." I know it's easy for a kid to say that about their parent, but just hearing that little voice broke something inside of me.

Since then, I've somehow disregarded most of the awful things I've heard about him, and it may just be respect for the deceased, but I've gained a whole lot of respect for the man and what he went through over the span of his whole life. He was, and is, the king of pop. Forever and always. He was immensely influential, sort of like the Beatles, except with catchier music, and created some of the most awesome dances ever, like MC Hammer, except without the parachute pants. He wore a fedora and pinstripe suits. He wrote a song about zombies. Truth be told, he sounds like the coolest man ever.

Rest in peace MJ. You're an inspiration, and you could walk backwards while seemingly stepping forwards. I applaud you.

This ain't Monty Python's Meaning of Life.

The way I see it, or from the unbiased point of view I'm trying to see it from, the purpose of life is to pursue that question of "what is the purpose of life?" Depending on what you believe, it's probably something along the lines of pleasing a greater being, God. This works, because it is a purpose that cannot be fulfilled untill death, or untill we stop wanting to please God, in which case our lives purpose becomes pleasing ourselves. If you are an evolutionist, then pretty much your only purpose is to die and hope that your spawn have the heads of dinosaurs or something, I don't even know. Although, that would be pimpin' on a whole new level. If people didn't ask questions, we wouldn't have to think about the "purpose of life," and people would live life instead of wonder about it.

Since we are chasing this evasive question, we assume that there is an answer. Is there really a purpose to life? As a human being, probably not. I was born, I will live for a small while, and then I'll die, fertilize some dirt, something like that, tons of fun, eaten by maggots. But honestly, if you don't already have a purpose written out somewhere *cough* the Bible/Quran/Book of Mormon/Skymall *cough* then you're probably doomed to just look under leaves and whatnot.

"Oh leaf, why was I put here on earth?"
*rustle rustle*
"Should I be taking notes?"
*rustle*
"Oh I'm sorry great leaf! I didn't mean to anger you!"

His name is Russel. He's angered by the fact
that you're taking notes on his brethren.

Yeah, something like that. Do you have a purpose for living? Christians: yes, God put you here to do his bidding and whatnot. Deists: no, God left you here like an unwanted baby at an orphanage. Evolutionists: no, you were an accident, you're also like an unwanted baby, but you werent even put into an orphanage; you're the Sasquatch of the universe. Atheists: sure. In the (paraphrased) words of Dane Cook, you get to live, die, turn into a tree, then be chopped down by a sweaty lumberjack, turned into paper, and have the Bible printed on you. Do you even believe there is a purpose to life? You confuse me on a voluminous level. Congratulations. Muslims: yes! You are to spread the words of Mohammed el Prophet and kill those pesky infidels. Or, if you choose to believe that the whole of Islam isn't a radical terrorist group, you can just live out life and wait for your 72 virgins. Catholics: you are to follow Cathol and all his teachings (source: Eddie Izzard). Also, you have lots of nice orphanages (but not for Deists and Evolutionists.)


* Note: I know very little, and I realize this. However, if you still feel inclined to remind me, I welcome it with open arms. Also, I wrote this when I was like, fourteen, and edited very little. It's probably nor so good.

Class: unrelated to desired career. (for the time being?)

The other day I was trying to think of a way to get myself motivated for high-school Chemistry (which for some reason is taught out of a college level textbook?). Understandably, I had some difficulty. One solution I came up with was that I'd think to myself "every time I go into Chemistry class, I am a chemist!" And then I remembered that the only kind of chemist I'd ever be interested in is this kind. I got to thinking about my other classes as well, and my careers didn't match up with anything I'm really interested in.

• Every time I walk into Chemistry class, I'm a chemist.
• Every time I walk into Biblical Exegesis, I'm a Biblical scholar.
• Every time I walk into Government class, I'm a politician.
• Every time I walk into Anatomy class, I'm a physical therapist.
• Every time I walk into Greek class, I'm a scholar.
• Every time I walk into Algebra II class, I'm a failure.
• Every time I walk into Literature class, I'm in a book club.
• Every time I walk into History class, I'm a historian.

Is there any way we could have a sign language class? Or maybe I should just drop out and join ROTC. The military could be a good career. Admittedly, being a physical therapist wouldn't be too bad. If I was one, however, I'd want to work with injured soldiers, helping them regain a little bit of their civilian lives after suffering a serious ouchie. That'd be cool. And sign language, that's always been a dream of mine. Think maybe it could count as a language credit? Spanish is practical, but sign is elite; I'd be able to fit in with all the cool deaf kids.

Don't get me wrong, I love all most some of my classes just for kicks. Greek class is the flea's sneeze (it's like the cat's meow, but not). I just don't know if the schedule that's available is really an optimal use of my time based on what I want to do in life.

Has anyone ever seen Accepted? (It had Jonah Hill playing a fat idiot before he was a really famous fat idiot). I wouldn't suggest it, it's an awful movie. But it raises a good point that when people have the option to pick classes that they would enjoy immensely, they can draw learning out of some pretty crazy places. For instance, a bunch of skateboarders are studying applied physics by calculating equations about force and gravity and mass and all that good crap to see if a trick is possible, and then they're just like "dude" and they go out there and do sick flips and junk. Sitting in a classroom doing physics = whack. Spending half the class on a half-pipe doing tricks you just invented using physics = awesome.

Just a thought.

Fat, hilarious, famous idiocy.