Nullifying Negative Connotations

"Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop."

The instructions delivered by the King of Hearts to that neurotic White Rabbit always seemed simple enough to me growing up, and yet one of the hardest things for me as a writer is avoiding a 'forced entry', if you will. I'll never forget the importance of my ninth grade English teacher, Ms. McGuinness, and her tricks to conquering boring writing. Aside from completely barring the use of "good" as an adjective, she was ever firm on the "why", looking high and low for the underlying theme even if, as I often thought, there was none. Most of all, though, she despised the use of "cookie-cutter" statements: in conclusion, firstly, first of all; even the famed 'once upon a time' was subject to her grammatical authority. Despite having to toil through themed essays, and tearing to pieces every epic poem ever written, I owe a lot of what I know to Ms. McGuinness who was always there, standing over your shoulder, ready to ask "why". Thank you, Ms. McGuinness - due to you I can artfully and deftly scribe one-thousand words about absolutely nothing.

That is, if I ever get around to it. One thing I am not is a pancake; however, I am a massive procrastinator. There's no real point to stating that fact, except that if you're expecting regular posts you're in for a let-down - that, and it's a lead-in for my next topic of discussion: something else I am!

Whenever job applications or social networking site surveys ask me to describe myself in three words I'm always slightly tempted to reply with Johannes factotum, leaving the last word free for, I dunno, boobs or fart or something to that ilk. (Also, ten bonus points and/or a cupcake to the person who can tell me who coined the term Johannes factotum. ) Literally translated into Johnny-do-it-all, it eventually became the "Jack of all trades" that we know today. What most of you all don't know is the pairing line to the original couplet that begins Jack of all trades, master of none. It's a traditional case of ignorance, and so I feel the need to enlighten and perhaps reverse this wayward stereotype that has nearly reversed how a Johannes factotum should be viewed. Many extraordinary people were labeled as "generalists", assuring us that the connotation was never meant to be negative. Here, I'll give you a few examples of esteemed polymaths: Leonardo da Vinci, Aristotle, and Benjamin Franklin. There are a ton more, and I'm welcoming everyone to send in their examples. DO EET. Oh, and here's what the real and total couplet looks like:

Jack of all trades, master of none,
though offtimes better than master of one.

So, ha! Suck on that, fuckers! There was a time when I was an angry little lady; no matter what I did I was never exceptional at anything! It was frustrating and infuriating trying to find my 'niche', seemingly surrounded by kids who were gifted at everything. And then one day it clicked, the pieces fell into place, the planets aligned. I had an epiphany! While I may not be fantastic at everything I try, I can do everything that I try and there's something to be said about that.

Noun
jack of all trades, master of none
1. (idiomatic) A person who has a competent grasp of many skills but who is not outstanding in any one.

Alright! So I'm no prodigy, big fucking deal. I'm a polymath and I am fiiiiine with that. More than fine, ecstatic! To all mah Johannes factotums out d'ere, West West! I got yo' backs.

I'll leave it at that today, 'cause I gots shit to do, yo! No really, though, I have to get some chores done, WoW time, and a nap in before dinner. Busy bee! BUT FIRST KITTEHZ!!1!

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

To Clean, or not to Clean?

Three cups of coffee, two bowls, and one chapter later and I am still shirking my chores. I know I'll get it done, eventually, but right now I dun wanna! Random aside: are you supposed to capitalize those "tag" words? I can't help but do it. It's times like these when I really wish that magic were real, but then we'd all be big, fat, slobbering idiots, instead of just some of us. Cleanus Litterus! Yeah, I guess it's good that we can't all be perpetually lazy fuckheads.

So, as a lot of you know, I have this addiction to a book series titled "The Cat Who...", and while I'm never ashamed to flaunt my collection of first editions, I have to admit that owning almost thirty "Cat Who" related books is astounding for someone with such flighty convictions. I really am a Jill of All Trades, yet Master of none, but that is a different story for a different day. There are many reasons why I am such an avid fan of Ms. Jackson Braun and the world she's created in her series. I'll admit that, aside from a few main characters, two of which are cats, there isn't much in the way of character development. For the first ten or so books the plot tends to drag and dead-end, and there are numerous trivial inconsistencies. Once or twice, for me, the mystery's resolution has been painfully obvious only a mere four chapters in, but to invent elaborate riddles and incorporate two cats, an aging journalist, and a slew of "Yokel Locals" thirty times over isn't easy either.

What she [Ms. Braun] has done is created a rich and colorful township full of old town values and charming ideals. Her personal feelings of ecological preservation and animal rights bleeds through into these novels in a delicate and heartfelt way. If it didn't snow, and weren't fictional, I'd move to Moose County, 400 miles north of everywhere, in two shakes of a cat's tail. What is lacking in depth is made up for by Ms. Braun's lengthy background in fine cuisine and interior design and she proceeds to describe the meals and surroundings of the main character constantly. Beware: Cat Who books will probably make you hungry. Despite all of the quirks, I am absolutely hooked on this series and will continue to devour it voraciously over and over.

Well, I've killed a significant amount of time posting this bullshit. Time for a cigarette and another cup of coffee and then chores. BORING. Hopefully, WoW will be up by then. Oh, yeah, before I go, get this: my WoW server went down this morning for what those assholes at Blizzard dare to call a "brief maintenance". I checked the site. To them "brief" is three mother fucking hours. Jerkoffs.

Before I depart with the usual KITTEH!?!!1 I leave you with these fine words of wisdom:

Did you hear that they're melting down all the plastic that was in Michael Jackson to make a slide so that kids can go down on him again?

Boooo! Hiisssss! Yeah, I know. Fuck you, too. I think it's hilarious.

See? All better now. I had this one for the 4th, but I didn't post and I'll be damned if I'm waiting a whole fucking year to use it. KITTEH!

"I must not fear.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

I will face my fear.

I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.

Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.

Only I will remain."

At Least We're Dreaming

There are very few things that shake the steadiest hand, but stoics the world over have faltered at a dream. A dream is defined, by Dictionary.com, as "a succession of images, thoughts, or emotions passing through the mind during sleep," and you'll noticed they tacked that tricky word 'emotion' at the end there. These involuntary visions, they captivate, overwhelm, and scare some; me, I'm always left in a state of melancholy and it's really starting to piss me off.

Once upon a time, far away, I was deeply rooted in a belief that dreams were some sort of "cosmic message service" that subtly nudged you towards wherever the hell it was you were supposed to be. I know, it's a fantastical idea, but I was younger and way too whimsical. Now that I have at least one foot firmly planted here on Earth, I realize that I have no idea what dreams really are, but I'm damn sure what they aren't.

Dreams are not some guiding force, swerving you this way and that, giving you secrets from beyond. Dreams are not so cut and dry that they can be instantly divined, either. I own at least three different books, calling themselves "Dream Dictionaries", claiming to be the definitive translation to all things slumber. Bullshit! Let's lay out an example: the Dreamers Dictionary defines a large body of water, seem in a dream, represents sexuality. Hm, we'll ignore the vague, one word definition and concentrate on why this is all a fucking farce. What happens if I'm terrified of water? That sure as hell wouldn't represent sexuality to me at all. I guess I'm just too much of a dumb shit to realize that it's representing my sexuality? Oh damn, maybe I'm terrified ... of my sexuality! That's it! I'm gay! ... see? All bullshit. (Take that, Penn & Teller!)

Short of never sleeping again, there's only one solution to my sleepy situation: come to terms with my dreams. Who knows, mayhap it'll be a sane and rational conversation? "Brain, we need to talk ... maybe you should take a seat. Once or twice a week you give me these ... dreams, and well, I don't like 'em. Knock it off, bitch!" I'm a content person, for the most part, and I'm an intelligent adult (again, for the most part) so I cannot fathom why I still have childish dreams about fairytale romances and finding love. I know that I can't control the content of my dreams, but I loathe the fact that my dreams are comprised of such a mushy load of crap. I blame Hollywood.

No, really. Hollywood. Pushing that romance novel bullshit on us at every turn. Perfectly functioning couples break up every single day because of 'Chick Flicks'. Ladies, you wanna know why men hate those movies? It's not because they don't have feelings, it's because those movies are vapid, inane, and just plain old fucking stupid. That shit doesn't happen! There is no such thing as that perfect moment where all of the pieces fall into place and he says just the right thing. Why the hell are you gonna leave a perfectly good man, or woman, because there might be someone else out there? That shit isn't real! It's in a movie for a reason, you dipshit. If you're in a relationship and you happen to meet someone better, well que sera, sera. Shit happens. But, don't sit there and pine away and wonder "what if"... morons.

Ahhh, I feel better. I hope you do, too. No? Need a hug? How about a kitty?!



"Cats are cats . . . the world over!
These intelligent, peace-loving, four-footed friends - who are without prejudice, without hate, without greed - may someday teach us something." -- James Mackintosh Qwilleran

Happy Fourt- Oh Wait, That's Tomorrow.

MJ - It's what's for breakfast! And brunch, lunch, afternoon snack, dinner, the munchies...

I am so goddamn tired of hearing, reading, and talking about Michael Jackson; fortunately, I have plenty of energy left for yelling, cursing, ranting and/or raving! Yes, I understand that the creepy, twisted husk of a man, who was starting to resemble an aged birch tree, was "iconic", but even the most minute and idiotic details surrounding his life and death are now inescapable. I would fully expect, at the risk of sounding racist, Jet magazine and BET to be all over this like, heh heh, white on rice, but c'mon! CNN is even acting like they give a shit! Not just one shit, either, two shits! Anderson Cooper doesn't know all of the words to "Thriller", and I'm more than willing to bet he doesn't care! Being the news junkie that I am, it infuriates me to no end that my daily headlines are filled with trivial bullshit about a crazy ass pedophile. There are real things happening in the real world, people, so pull your fucking heads out of La-La Land... or should I say NeverLand? Please, stop reporting around-the-clock coverage from in front of Michael Jackson's house, get back to the real news, and let us cave-dwelling internet goers handle reporting the inane shit - we're good at it.

I Can Haev Epic Mountz 2!

For those of you who don't know, or didn't care, I play a ridiculous amount of video games considering there are more productive things I could be doing. Having taken a long ass break from the monotonous grind that is WoW, I've been sucked, or suckered, back into the fray. Having found myself a wicked fun guild to run around with has added a new flavor, not to mention the few years of upgrades to the game I've missed allowing me to be pleasantly surprised when I stumble on to something "new".

I've been truckin' along at what I consider to be a fairly decent pace having only nineteen more levels to earn before I can play with the big kids. I'm not going to turn this into a WoW blog - that is a project of its own that I have tossed around in my head, but only in half seriousness - but I do want to post a few screenshots here and there. We'll start with the new skill they've added: "Trick Riding"

As you can see, I'm getting pretty good. Later, however, I decided that it was a little too gay for my tastes, being a Warlock and all, so I ditched the trick pony for some hardcore Steed-age.


Fuck yeah! That's one badass Death Horse. Whilst I roam around the expansive world (of Warcraft) critters will tremble, humanoids will flee, bitches will swoon! Whenever I'm on a particularly long sojourn I never fail to queue up an ever appropriate song by the one and only Dethklok:

"The Lost Vikings"

Riding, and riding, we search across the land
The snow, and wind, has frozen hearts of man
But we ride
We ride

Many days ago we left our homes
With swords to ride into the night
Fighting side by side to destroy our foes
And leave them without life

We stop, consider the land that we travelled
Our map's at home, direction unravelled
But we ride
We ride

Many days ago we left our homes
With swords to ride into the night
Fighting side by side to destroy our foes
And leave them without life

So much time has passed since we left our land
That we've become concerned
And we'll never find the battle
That we should have fought and won

But we won't stop searching

Lost but still we ride
Search until we die

We ride
We ride

Hungry and tired the frigid plain yeilds little
We trudge on further, eating pride and snow that's brittle

We ride
We ride

We come upon a witch who takes us in
To let us share her mighty fire
She asks of us our story and we lie and say
We ride around for hire
She asks us if we'd like to have her map
And points us in some direction
But we are far too proud and strong so we keep silent
And ignore her suggestion

Lost but still we ride
Search until we die
All the fault of pride
The gods weep in the night

Lost but still we ride
Search until we die
All the fault of pride
The gods weep in the night

We ride
We ride

It's an epic song and I recommend it to anyone with ears. Ya know what, even if you don't have ear! Fuck it! Go ahead and give it a listen anyway, or ... feel the vibrations or whatever the fuck it is they do. Anyways, I'm off for now, but not until I give you your daily dose of KITTENZ!

Peace out, bitches!

Gooooood Morning!

Oh, hey there everybody! I didn't see you there; c'mon inside and ... take off your shoes, please. Welcome to Walk Without Rhythm - the home of random fucking bullshit, magniloquent rants, and kitties. Go ahead, pretend that you don't like kitties ... I'll wait. Actually, no I won't - wanna know why? I don't give a fuck if you don't like kitties! It's my goddamn blog! If you don't wanna read it go away (shooooo), and I promise I won't give two shits.

Now that that's that, whoa, thatthatthatthattythat ... it's time to lay down some ground rules on this mutha':

• Numero Uno ~ Blog comments are enabled because you can say whatever the fuck you want, just don't expect it to make a difference.


• B - This blog is RATED ARRRR ~ I don't even wanna hear it if some snot-nosed punk ass kid reads this. Just don't.


• Penis ~ If you want me to read/follow your blog or add you on a messenger/social site send me a literate email request first or you will be denied. No exceptions.


• Orange ~ Yes, I AM the Grammar Police. Yes, I do typo. Feel free to scour each post for every little error and blast me for it. Also feel free to massage some sweltering testicles with your tongue, you prick.

And that's with only two three cups of coffee in me today. I like my coffee like I like my women: strong, black, with a spoon in them. Can you imagine what I look like this early in the morning having consumed copious quantities of caffeine? Now you don't have to!

D'awww! Look at me! I'm fucking cute! Anyway ... there is more coffee to be acquired and cigarettes that won't smoke themselves. If cigarettes smoked themselves would they give themselves cancer? I'll post more less interesting shit later!

To Do (Or Else):

• Change/Clean Cat-Shit box


• Vacuum house


• Swiffer© kitchen


• Play WoW


• More Kitty Piccers

Oh, fuck, I almost forgot! Here ya go, ladies:

KITTEH!!1

Go now. And may the Schwartz be with you.