The Movie Will Start In Ten Seconds
I wish I had more time to read. I wish I could read what I wanted to read instead of fucking schoolwork. I wish if I had time to read that I'd actually do it instead of getting distracted by porn or TV.
Whatever.
It's a tad odd not having anything in particular pissing me off lately, which is my piss-poor explanation for lack of posts. Basically as of late life in general has been pissing me off, and if I were to post about that it'd come off as some god-i-hate-my-dad-i-sometimes-hit-mypillow-out-of-angst type blog bullshit:
"I look outside and, like, everything is just... you know? Like, it's just, you know... God. Do you ever, like, just look? And, like, everything just seems like shades of grey and falling leaves... Ashes to dust, man... There was this guy once... Like... I don't even know. Man."
Actually, that came off as a step above most people's posts. Dammit, I'm too damn good. I can't help it.
Yeah. But I do feel bad not updating as often as I oughta be. I remember the hey-day, man. There was so much hey, it was nuts. They named a whole day after it. Back when I posted at least once a day, and each one bit like a barracuda; enough to warrant changing the name to "biteaccuda"; it'd be lame but appropiate; there are too many semi-colons in this sentence; all my grammar-nazi readers will be pissed; oh well. So seeing as how I have no particular subject that causes me intense brooding grief that can only be dealt with by typing nasty words, I'll have to revert to one of many oft-mentioned and quite overplayed verbal rantings. Stop me if you've heard this one:
Fuck playgrounds made of plastic. I suppose if it suited you, you could turn this into a literal context and go have sex on playgrounds as I have delved in in the past, but I mean in more of the typical Jack fashion of "Grr". Like an angry "I don't like you very much" grr. You know, that kind. All these damned new wave inhuman and cold plastic vehicles of childish abandon are ruining a generation of children. I am a staunch advocate of taking good care of children so that they may one day grow up to be the kind of people that don't piss me off. (Granted I'm not gonna have kids, because I don't think I live up to my parental standards.) One of the staples of a healthy and beneficial childhood, which in turn spurns a healthy and positive adult life, is playground play. You know, falling off the tops of slides and eating sand and getting splinters and getting beat up by the neighborhood bully kid and grass stains and tripping and falling on your face and putting your eye out and getting bee stings and head, knee and wrist injuries. Kids need to get the shit beat out of them, and I don't mean in a child abuse sense. Child abuse ain't cool. Don't play that shit, yo. No, I mean kids learn how to survive real life on the playground. They get broken bones and bruises and scars and cuts and bloody noses and all that good stuff and it teaches them not only how to deal with them, but how to have a good old fashioned mom's-gonna-be-pissed-when-she-finds-out fun, which is essential to their general maturation.
But now, possibly due to lawsuits or dead kids, most playgrounds are of the plastic variety. My home in Minnesota has one of the last wooden playgrounds I still see around two blocks from my house, and I still fucking play on that shit. But now everything's orange slides and blue bars and monkey bars too short to play chicken on. And I say "boo" on that. If kids don't get hurt while young, they miss out an important part of their early development and grow up to be Republicans. Play is educational, and we don't want kids to find out too early that education sucks. They need that early period of good ol' rowdy times, which are all but forgotten in the stale world of lame playgrounds. I want kids bumping their heads playing Don't Touch The Ground Tag and daring each other to jump off the top of something. Kids need pain, kids need to cry, kids need to rip their clothes while playing kickball, kids need to get all bloodied up and return to play nonetheless. It's good for 'em.
There is the rare breed of kid (which I am proud to say I was included in) that finds ways to hurt themselves on seemingly sterile playground equipment. For any kids reading this (and you shouldn't be; I have naughty language and you should be asleep) climbing on top of monkey bars often does the trick. Depending on the height of the slide, climbing on top of that always works too. Diving into the slide headfirst usually gets you pretty banged up. Try exploring areas you weren't meant to be, as though it were some sort of video game that you got tired of. Jump off the swings. Really far. Try to beat your record. I still do this. Land on things other than your feet. Fall straight down. Whatever it takes. I myself somehow managed to get my head caught in the spinny tic-tac-toe thing as a child. I don't remember how I got it in there, or out for that matter, but it was an adventure. Use your imagination. If you mom tells you not to get down from something before you hurt yourself, that's usually a good sign. Stick with whatever that was. Keep an open mind and I'm sure you'll be crying and using band-aids a'plenty in no time.
It's not that I like to see kids in pain; I just honestly think it's an important part to growing to get hurt on the playground. Just like reading, painting, peeing in the neighbors yard, and Mr. Rogers, pain is essential and leads to a positive adult life. I believe in you, kids. Make me proud.
Whatever.
It's a tad odd not having anything in particular pissing me off lately, which is my piss-poor explanation for lack of posts. Basically as of late life in general has been pissing me off, and if I were to post about that it'd come off as some god-i-hate-my-dad-i-sometimes-hit-mypillow-out-of-angst type blog bullshit:
"I look outside and, like, everything is just... you know? Like, it's just, you know... God. Do you ever, like, just look? And, like, everything just seems like shades of grey and falling leaves... Ashes to dust, man... There was this guy once... Like... I don't even know. Man."
Actually, that came off as a step above most people's posts. Dammit, I'm too damn good. I can't help it.
Yeah. But I do feel bad not updating as often as I oughta be. I remember the hey-day, man. There was so much hey, it was nuts. They named a whole day after it. Back when I posted at least once a day, and each one bit like a barracuda; enough to warrant changing the name to "biteaccuda"; it'd be lame but appropiate; there are too many semi-colons in this sentence; all my grammar-nazi readers will be pissed; oh well. So seeing as how I have no particular subject that causes me intense brooding grief that can only be dealt with by typing nasty words, I'll have to revert to one of many oft-mentioned and quite overplayed verbal rantings. Stop me if you've heard this one:
Fuck playgrounds made of plastic. I suppose if it suited you, you could turn this into a literal context and go have sex on playgrounds as I have delved in in the past, but I mean in more of the typical Jack fashion of "Grr". Like an angry "I don't like you very much" grr. You know, that kind. All these damned new wave inhuman and cold plastic vehicles of childish abandon are ruining a generation of children. I am a staunch advocate of taking good care of children so that they may one day grow up to be the kind of people that don't piss me off. (Granted I'm not gonna have kids, because I don't think I live up to my parental standards.) One of the staples of a healthy and beneficial childhood, which in turn spurns a healthy and positive adult life, is playground play. You know, falling off the tops of slides and eating sand and getting splinters and getting beat up by the neighborhood bully kid and grass stains and tripping and falling on your face and putting your eye out and getting bee stings and head, knee and wrist injuries. Kids need to get the shit beat out of them, and I don't mean in a child abuse sense. Child abuse ain't cool. Don't play that shit, yo. No, I mean kids learn how to survive real life on the playground. They get broken bones and bruises and scars and cuts and bloody noses and all that good stuff and it teaches them not only how to deal with them, but how to have a good old fashioned mom's-gonna-be-pissed-when-she-finds-out fun, which is essential to their general maturation.
But now, possibly due to lawsuits or dead kids, most playgrounds are of the plastic variety. My home in Minnesota has one of the last wooden playgrounds I still see around two blocks from my house, and I still fucking play on that shit. But now everything's orange slides and blue bars and monkey bars too short to play chicken on. And I say "boo" on that. If kids don't get hurt while young, they miss out an important part of their early development and grow up to be Republicans. Play is educational, and we don't want kids to find out too early that education sucks. They need that early period of good ol' rowdy times, which are all but forgotten in the stale world of lame playgrounds. I want kids bumping their heads playing Don't Touch The Ground Tag and daring each other to jump off the top of something. Kids need pain, kids need to cry, kids need to rip their clothes while playing kickball, kids need to get all bloodied up and return to play nonetheless. It's good for 'em.
There is the rare breed of kid (which I am proud to say I was included in) that finds ways to hurt themselves on seemingly sterile playground equipment. For any kids reading this (and you shouldn't be; I have naughty language and you should be asleep) climbing on top of monkey bars often does the trick. Depending on the height of the slide, climbing on top of that always works too. Diving into the slide headfirst usually gets you pretty banged up. Try exploring areas you weren't meant to be, as though it were some sort of video game that you got tired of. Jump off the swings. Really far. Try to beat your record. I still do this. Land on things other than your feet. Fall straight down. Whatever it takes. I myself somehow managed to get my head caught in the spinny tic-tac-toe thing as a child. I don't remember how I got it in there, or out for that matter, but it was an adventure. Use your imagination. If you mom tells you not to get down from something before you hurt yourself, that's usually a good sign. Stick with whatever that was. Keep an open mind and I'm sure you'll be crying and using band-aids a'plenty in no time.
It's not that I like to see kids in pain; I just honestly think it's an important part to growing to get hurt on the playground. Just like reading, painting, peeing in the neighbors yard, and Mr. Rogers, pain is essential and leads to a positive adult life. I believe in you, kids. Make me proud.
posted by MC Harv at 1:55 AM
9 Comments:
I was at a park near me recently and thinking the same thing! The park has an upper level and a lower level (just the lay of the land) and I remember when the lower level playground had wooden everything. It was classic and it was fun and goddammit, there's nothing wrong with a splinter every now and again! And I can't stand the rubbery floors they're putting underneath swing sets these days -- they hurt more than sand or wood chips!
The part that's the worst for me is I feel like the classic childhood fixtures are disappearing, being replaced by sterilized, neon-colored, too-safe-to-be-terribly-fun playground sets. So yeh, I agree wholeheartedly, eh?
"Child abuse ain't cool. Don't play that shit, yo."
Ahaha shit, had me rollin. This is some good old fashioned jack right here. Don't worry jack, you don't have to be pissed off to be effective. Just imagining your head stuck in a spinny tic tac toe thing is enough for me.
Well, to be fair, you were more accident prone than most kids when you were younger,
I hate plastic playground because it's boring as hell. I long for the days of towering metal fixtures of death. Shoots and Ladders, now there's a mother fucking park, bitches.
Minnesota also has the added benifit of having slipery slopes of death for a big chunk of the year. Nothing teaches you the joy of play like sledding and snow balls, especially on hills paved with ice.
Jack, I'm glad you're full of enough babbling that you can turn a directionless post into a coherent rant, iut's what makes you so silly.
-Thomas
It's rants like this that makes me wish I could marry more than one man. Will you have my children, Jack Spencer?
I'd be more than happy to have your children. I'm sure we could work it out with PHF.
It would have to be you, 'cause I'm *fixed.*
All that flirting aside (for only a minute, though, don't worry) I agree with you. You know my theory of child rearing:
Let 'em go and do whatever it is they're gonna do, provide meals, a bed, regular baths and the occassional spankin'. I hate when moms hover underneath the playsets, as if they can catch the little bugger when it falls!!
Go, Jack, Go!
Maybe she just wants to pawn her children off on you; mighty expensive things, you know.
Ironically, I suddenly got Mouse on Mars' "Wipe That Sound" stuck in my head and it's the part where they're screaming, "Get out of my head." I thought I 'd share that trivial nothing with you all.
-Thomas
You're a sweetie pie, Jack. And yes, I did dream of our night together, and I composed a sarcastic post in my head, but the words were forgotten when I woke up.
Hey, by the way, quit slacking!! I'm getting that hmmm feeling around here.
Sorry...
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