Archive for April, 2010

April 24, 2010

How DO those magnets work?


You know, I never really wanted to talk about this ever again. I really didn’t. Okay, well maybe during happy hour where it’d make for a decent bar story that no one would really believe anyway. I’d like to talk about it at that moment. Then, a few days ago, all of my dear friends sent me a link to a video claiming that “my people” came out with another video. An awesome video.

They were all lying and I hope they die in a fire.

Here is that video that brought back a bunch of terrible memories. WARNING: NSFW (Language).

Since then, it’s exploded into the ranks of an internet meme. It’s everywhere, forcing me to remember that I worked for them. (Well, I interned anyway.) Some people seem surprized by the whole thing. I mean hell, ICP’s songs are often about having sex with dead bodies and violence. What’s up with this one being kinda spiritual? Well, honestly, I could go ahead and explain that. For research, I read Violent J’s autobiography before I started working for them.  Through that, as well as my encounters with their employees and fans, I learned alot about the whole Juggalo culture-way more than I think anyone not associated with them knows. Actually considering that most of them don’t make it through high school, I’m pretty sure I have a deeper grasp than most of them. (Though I will admit I’ve met some rather sharp Juggalos who are really nice guys).

So yes, I could explain how that song makes perfect sense considering their beliefs and worldview, and I could even tell you about their beliefs and how it’s akin to a very strange Christianity, but I doubt anyone would find it interesting.

So instead, I’ll tell you the strangeness that was working for them! (That and I feel like copy-pasting the whole report on my internship for my Intern Practum class would be cheating).

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April 19, 2010

Finding the Perfect House Part 2: The House on Silent Hill


In honor of Tax Day, since the lady and I just received our promised First Time Homeowner Tax Credit, I will share with you some of the horrors of the time I spent before I ended up in the house I am in currently.

And like all good trilogies, I’m going to start in the middle.

Since my mother had found renters who would actually pay the rent at the house I had been living in, I was booted. My sister was also starting college and she wanted to live less than an hour away from it. To kill two college kids with one house, my  soon-to-be-ex-stepfather-guy started looking around to find a place to throw us into. He also wanted to try the whole “owning property to make extra money by charging rent” thing.

After an entire summer of looking (and getting outbid), we found what is now referred to as The House on Silent Hill. While we should have realized what we were getting ourselves into, the college semester was starting and we had grown tired of rejection. My soon-to-be-ex-stepfather-guy snatched up the house and we quickly moved in. By quickly, I mean of course overnight and without much thought.

The outside of the house appeared like something straight out of a Tim Burton fairy tale. The outside was painted a candy apple red and resembled a gingerbread house.  It’s long front yard was full of weeds and was surrounded by trees. In the center of the yard were two long dead trees, with only the twelve-foot-high trunks remained standing like some ancient pagan site. The whole lot seemed to stand out from the normal neighborhood that surrounded it.

But inside is where things got weird.

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April 5, 2010

The Origins of a Story (and of a Writer)


Despite the fact that I started this blog about my desires to get published, I haven’t really spoken about any of my writing at all have I? Let’s change that shall we?

You never seem to hear why writers start writing, what gave them that first kick that said, “hey this story thing is pretty sweet! I should really try making this hobby into a lifelong chase” (Stephen King mentions writing for his school paper, but that’s it). I think I know why we don’t: it’s pretty embarrassing and tells you too much about ourselves and our youth. If I was a smart man, I’d delete this entire post before I can complete it, walk away and think of something else to write.

But I’m not a smart man. (And what do I have to lose, other than your respect?)

Being a young lad, I skipped to the rental store with my mother and rented this little game (you may have heard of it) called Final Fantasy VII. I dug roman numerals, and somewhere saw an ad with the anime-ish characters and found myself spell bound. I played, got mad, continued playing, and “meh’ed” at Aerith dying. Then one day while looking up information for the game, I ran into something strange. It was a story about the characters of Final Fantasy 7, but it wasn’t written by the people who made the game, it was written by a normal guy. That’s right, I had encountered my first fanfic. I can’t remember the name, but it was something like FF7: How it Really Happened. It was a retelling of the first quarter of the game, in script format, and was very, very “lulzy” for my young self. I passed it along to my friends and we all enjoyed a heartily, pubescent laugh.

At the time, my good friend Jacob-a man among men-had this thing called Jacob’s News using this new fancy creation called “email” (you may have heard of that as well). It was a sorta weekly thing he had going on where he’d write… well, the news! Mainly stuff going on in his life, but for some reason it was the coolest thing ever. Hell, it was awesome, and I can’t remember why. One fateful day when I found out that Sega would stop making consoles and would only make video games I had this very strange sensation. My head was full of this strange electricity that buzzed and buzzed and filled my mental head-space with vivid images and loud colors.

I believe it was called inspiration (or someone had spiked my Capri Sun with acid).

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