I Lost My Train of Thought

Take a walk through Vancouver and there is no doubt that you will be treated to some of the most diverse culture and style worldwide. I frequent downtown almost everyday so I have become familiar with the plethora of different people that call Vancouver: home. Through my exposure to all these different individuals, I have acquired a high level of tolerance. Now when I refer to "tolerance" I am not talking about racial equality, or racial togetherness. I'm over that shit, I get it, the first ten years of the 2000's are over; I'm not some sort of racial bigot who can't tell the difference between an Oreo, and you know, like, Tiger Woods or somebody...one of them blacks. No, this tolerance I speak of refers to my ability to be accepting of people's apparel, mannerisms, and lifestyle. As I have many different social groups influencing how I both dress and act, what kind of music I listen to, and how I speak, I am not one to single out certain sub-cultures. I figure I'm a decent person; I tend not to stereotype or label large groups of people, and never have I outwardly expressed hate towards people that are different than me. I can be a bit of a dick, but really, when has being a dick had anything to do with decency?

Unfortunately, my level of tolerance only goes so far. Certain crowds are slowly making their way to the mainstream, and in retrospect, they've been creeping around for a while now. Now before I tear apart these worthless motherfuckers who dare consider themselves humans, I'll start with a lighter note: a meager circle of people that doesn't actually piss me off as much as confuse the hell out of me: Urban Indiana Jones types.

For the record: I, Hawkins, am a devout supporter of anything Indiana Jones preceding 2008; I believe that Indy, informally referred to as Harrison Ford, is a hero amongst men, and a tribute to anything badder than bad ass. I would also like to include a official statement from the internet: "Any attempt to argue against his greatness is proof of Nazi sympathy, and the perpetrator is to be labeled a kraut and/or Hun." Yes, you heard it people, that quote comes straight off the official doctrine of Urbandictionary.com, therefore, it must be legit.

Anyways, recently it has come to my attention that these apparent modern day, urbanized Indiana Jones characters have been popping up. When I say popping up, I don't just mean here and there, as if it were something to completely disregard like Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. No, I have been seeing a significant number of these inner-city archeologists, even as much as once a week. Seriously, I was walking through Gastown, minding my own business, and out of no where, I hear the sound of a bull whip crack, and this bearded fellow comes running out of a local antique shop, screaming something about belonging in a museum. I don't know what he was on about, but I do know one thing: WE DO NOT HAVE ROOM FOR THIS RECKLESS BEHAVIOR. Look at yourself, man, you've got be in your late twenties at least, your covered in mud and soot, and your running full speed into the street carrying some sort of imitation Sphinx head. Not to mention your seemingly paying homage to the greatest hero/archeologist/teacher/womanizer/Han Solo of all time, and your wearing almost all leather. What the fuck is the matter with you? Your fucking fedora is made of leather, and your pants to? Grow the fuck up you weirdo, you weirdo-beardo, before I call the god damn SPCA. I'm sorry for that outburst, but I feel under these circumstances it was completely appropriate, and if anything: too tame.

Like I said earlier, I am completely tolerant. I listen to weird music, I choose to wear certain distinguishing things, I've hung around with people who dress up in all black, spikes on their shoulders, machetes through their ears, and syringes through their lips, and I have no problem with these people. Even I will admit to dressing a little unusual now and again, but guess what. I save those certain times for October 31st. Or I don't know, sometimes Easter gets a little fucked up and I decide to wear some heinous shit; don't bother asking, it's a family thing. But if you decide your going to reveal yourself to the public, and showcase your tracking abilities or whatever you want to call it, please, I beg of you, track your way into an open sewer pipe, or off of the Shang-ri-la, or even better, into that big pit where their building the Ritz Carlton. No lie, I've heard on numerous occasion that there's an enchanted aquatic Indian burial ground down there; I'm sure you'll be able to find some bullshit to preserve.

Looking back over this post I realize that my feelings towards these people may be a bit stronger than I had originally predicted. If I were to summarize, which I won't, it even seems that I hold negative connotations towards them. Oh well, I guess I'll just have to add them to my list.

But, I must trek forward, on to the very reason I began this post.

Recently, a television show has been brought to my attention, and apparently it has created quite the buzz. Basically, the characters on this show, whether their real or fictionalized , have been asked to act like fucking tanned babies, who most-definitely were dropped after birth, and not just once. I'm talking like the doctor dropped the child during delivery, the mother dropped the already unconscious baby on her first attempts to hold it, and then on the car ride home the father dangled the baby out the car M.J. style and dropped it under the car's tires. If you hadn't already guessed, the babbling idiots I speak of spend most of their time on their time slot called Jersey Shore. These beefed up, sun-burnt, Italian-American assholes are creating their own little anti-culture originating in New Jersey, but its quickly going global. I can't imagine why anyone would want to follow suite with these morons, but that is the thing, people are. I guess it all started with Ed Hardy a few years back, but now this fad is more mainstream than ever.

Fuck, to tell you the truth, I'm pretty ranted out. I got all worked up over Indiana Jones I'm pretty tired of being pissed off. I'll say one more thing:

I was taking a stroll down the street a few days ago, and I guess school was just getting out because all these little kids started walking towards me. Anyways, when I got closer I could make them out a bit better, and leading the pack was this stupid fucking 10 or something year old decked out in Jersey Shore fashion. This white kid's hair is gelled directly up, he's wearing a beater and has several silver bracelets. I brush by this kid, and as I'm walking past I hear: "Watch it, nigga." I stop, I can't believe what I'm hearing; he can't be talking to me, can he? I turn, and what do I see? This little mother fucker staring me right in the face. Right then and there I didn't give a fuck that he was 11; I walked over to him, gave him the ol' death eye, and then shoved him over. Yeah, that shut him up. Then I leaned in real close to teach him a lesson, I whispered "You have to figure out who you are. Can't you see that you look like a fucking idiot? A young, white kid dressed up in douche bag clothing, speaking like you aren't supposed to be speaking, I mean come on, your from Vancouver, not New Jersey, you fool. Show a little self-respect." He was silent, his eyes were a bit glazed, tearing over from a lesson learned. I decided to finish him off: "Figure your shit out."

Then I flashed him with my solid gold teeth, and spat a little diamond out on him.

Bitch.

Saturday Afterthought

Having just become a blogger, I've learned that commitment is a crucial factor in your success. Whether you can't find the time, or can't even be bothered to write consistently, your blog loses any chance at gaining credibility, and through that, no one will choose to follow. No one wants to read blog entries that entail an entire person's year worth of thought or experiences in one post. The authors ideas need to be fresh; they need to flow in a way that random internet folk won't have problems finding time to read them day-to-day. I don't have a problem with my dedication; I am willing to take a couple of hours out everyday to write a coherent article, throw in a bit of humour, and then fix it up so it's not just some piece of shit rant. Or so I'm hoping. No, my problem lies in the quality aspect of my writing. Creating original pieces everyday is hard, there is no way in fuck that I'm that creative. And sure, I could probably think of one thing a day to write on, but in reality those ideas would probably start turning to subject matter I might have written about in grade 7. Mole people, for instance. I use to write about those blood thirsty fuckers day in and day out. Going into great detail about their ritual sacrifices, their strange hierarchies, and the way they would burst into classrooms to teach life lessons right before brutally massacring everyone inside. Yeah, I was definitely in my own element back in the day.

Turn That Frown Upside Down

With only a few minutes left before January 22nd, 2010, I thought I would throw up a quick post. The picture was originally taken from www.vancouverisawesome.com, but I took it, modified it, and made it my laptop background. I will mention, these trees have proceeded to enter my dreams. Believe it or not, they're actually quite friendly. Don't worry kids, they won't rape you...Yeah, sure; don't believe everything smiling trees tell you.

Please Direct Your Attention to the Front

Would you please shut the hell up and listen to me? Thank you. Yes, I said thank you, kind sir. That's what blogging is all about, is it not? To allow people to follow the ideas and or life of an individual. Generally, if that individual is not writing about themselves, they choose to write about music, movies, or any other sort of thing that interests them. I've also noticed that people tend to use humour or "shock-tactics" to draw attention to themselves. All I can say to those people is: a fuck you. A comedic edge to any piece can be positive, but only if executed properly. But purposely being disgusting or crude is a vile strategy at earning respect and viewership. You know what I once did? I once glued my hands to my dick so I was never not jerking off, this was right around the time i discovered the internet, so yeah, like a week ago. See? Now, some of you may think I'm being a bit of a hypocrite; some of you might be asking, "But, Hawkins, I thought you said you hated shock-tactic bullshit, and all the scum that use it?" Well, Mr. Idiot, you can just leave your opinion to yourself. The difference between the festering perverts on the internet and me, is that my story is true; it is fact. My hand is stuck mid shaft, and let me tell you, it hurts, a lot. At first I was like: holy fuck, best idea ever! Yeah, after about 15 minutes, I passed out, woke up a few hours later, dick still in hand. Unpleasant stuff. Anyways, the point of this seemingly barbaric story is to give an example into what I find appropriate, and what I don't.

Sorry, back to the narrative. I figure I can give a little bit of insight into who I am, briefly touch on my life so far, and where I've grown up.

I was born on June 8th, 1990, at the Lions Gate Hospital in Vancouver, Canada. Like some sort of hell spawn, I arrived on my father's birthday. I guess in a way I was some sort of sick joke, a permanent reminder of the mistake he made 9 months previous. I mean, it's easy to completely disregard your child from their birth onward, but when your reminded every year that you share that special day with someone, they get a little harder to forget. Living the first few years of my life in North Vancouver, I moved on to West Van once I hit the age of three. I lived out the next 15 years in the Eagle Harbour area, forging many lasting friendships, and ridding the world of Neo-Nazi bastards. Yes, life in West Van was tough, it kept me on my toes, I never really knew what to expect. Growing up - weapon of choice: hedge trimmer, mostly. If not hedge trimmer, fuck, i don't know, brick? I'm not all that creative, mostly I tend to use whatever is in arms reach. I never really minded school; I attended three different grade schools: Eagle Harbour Primary, Caulfield Elementary, and finally: Rockridge Secondary. Like I said, I didn't mind school. What I didn't enjoy was tools, condescending teachers, any sort of school work, and attending class. Yeah, it wasn't all that bad, only qualities that seemed to get in the way of my full enjoyment. The last two years I have been attending the University of British Columbia; I am currently living in Kitsilano, and let me tell you, it is far more enjoyable than anything West Vancouver has to offer. Other than the high population of pirates, and door-to-door homeless beggars, I really have nothing to complain about.

Welcome to my castle.

After many years of parental oppression, which in turn led to my severe ignorance of anything remotely technology based, I finally have access to this wonderful thing people call: the internet. Yes, it's been about a week since I accessed this superhighway for the very first time, and I must say that it has been quite the event. I mean, after being introduced to both the telephone, and the television on the very same day, I thought nothing could top such marvels. How wrong I was. The internet is by far the most intriguing thing I have ever laid eyes on. Normally, I'd go on to say what other intriguing things I've seen prior to this, but really, who gives a fuck?

This internet thing seems pretty legit, what with all the pictures and videos, and instantly streamed data; it really is redefining the way we live. But is anyone aware of the amount of pornography on this thing? After I first logged on it took me about three minutes to run across my first porn link. I'll tell you, my eyes lit up like, shit, I don't know, jack-o-lanterns on Halloween; wait, no, it wasn't like that. They lit up like Van-City on 4/20...4:20a.m. and p.m, well, actually like whenever. Anyways, i clicked on the link, and there I sat watching a bukake session for about fifteen minutes. This poor Asian girl was just getting wrecked by these massive studs. Yeah, my dick practically exploded. I've been on the farm a couple times, but I never realized that breeding horses had a thing for defenseless Asian chicks. I was completely stunned; there was Black Beauty, Hidalgo, Shawdowfax, My Little Pony (Why God, My Little Pony?!), and Tobey Maguire beating off into this girl's face. The internet is a fucked up place; I wonder if this is where Mr. Gore imagined his creation would be in 2010. I had the privilege of seeing his two daughters Karenna and Kristin getting freaky with each other; I think i caught that one on the Democrats website, some sorta political pump up. Shit, pump up indeed. Bravo, Al Gore.

Well, I think I've successfully missed the point of my first post. The point, what was it again, I don't even think I covered it. Anyways, this is my blog: Modern Day Castle. I really have no idea how often I'll be posting, the quality of said posts, or if anyone will even read them. I'm not even sure if I'm right for the internet, or if I'm ready for the criticism. We will see! A week ago something great was revealed to me, maybe some day I will be able to reveal something great to all of you people.

"WELCOME TO MY CASTLE."