If life were a song
Would you sing along
Or sit back and complain
How the lyrics are wrong?
If life were a race
Would you keep up the pace
Or fall back with a look
Of disdain on your face?
If life were a contest
Would your life be the best
Or would you fit in
And just be one of the rest?
If life were an unfinished poem
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
King Tut Wore Fancy Headdresses...Not That There's Anything Wrong With That
On my way to the Dallas Museum of Art I was offered a free queer hug. I accepted of course, primarily because I never turn down anything free.
I immediately wanted to know why I was getting a free queer hug, but the hug providers had just gotten there and were very busy, so I didn't get much information beyond the obvious.
Further research indicates that this was part of a "Queer Kiss-in" event created by Queer Liberaction, a Dallas based organization steered towards protecting the civil rights of homosexuals.
I happen to run into the event thanks to the generous hospitality of local family members. My second cousin Beverly and her husband Greg had welcomed me into their home with open arms earlier in the week , and now Greg has invited me to see the famous King Tut exhibit in
downtown Dallas. One queer hug later, we are heading past a giant Egyptian guard and into the Dallas Museum of Art.
I owe Greg and Beverly a debt of gratitude because the King Tut exhibit is nothing short of remarkable. It contains room after room of ancient Egyptian artifacts and interesting information on Egyptian history.
The last five rooms hold various treasures excavated straight from Tut's tomb, which is quite the sacrifice if you believe in the curse of King Tut's tomb. Incidentally, if you do believe in the curse, contact me at Logan@projectmeaning.com. I have a financial opportunity for you that coincidentally involves pyramids.
The amazing thing about the artifacts, aside from the pristine condition they remain in after well over three thousand years, is the intricate detail and craftsmanship used. It really drove home the point that entire advanced civilizations existed well before our own and that these civilizations were in many ways just as advanced if not more so than 21st century America.
And yet, they were still prone to fantastic superstitions and steadfast faiths. I have to view their beliefs as such because, frankly, were I to take them at face value, I would be committing an unpardonable sin walking through a museum of a dead pharaoh's treasures. Not only would I be disrespecting the wishes of the dead, but I would be financially contributing to the degradation of Tutankhamun's afterlife.
It seems the Ancient Egyptians also put a lot of thought into the meaning of life. They even devoted a symbol in their alphabet to "life." This symbol is found on many of the artifacts displayed in the museum.
Tutankhamun's life on earth was spectacular but short-lived. Becoming King of Egypt at the impressionable age of nine, he died before reaching his twentieth birthday. And yet his legacy is not limited to the discovery of his burial.
Tut's reign directly followed the rule of Akhenaten, a pharaoh most historians believe to be Tut's father. Akhenaten is best known for changing many of Egypt's deeply seeded and long held beliefs. The most radical change, perhaps, was the shift from a polytheistic society to the worship of a single God, Aten, a disk in the sun.
Tut quickly changed this, restoring most of the society's traditional customs and beliefs, including the worship of many Gods. After all, worshiping one God was an absolutely ridiculous notion.
Which brings me back to free queer hugs.
If one of the great civilizations of all time can radically change the foundation of their religion on the whims of a twelve-year-old rebelling against his father, I think it's only fair that we make an exception for gay people in 2009.
Even if you do believe that the bible directly forbids homosexuality (and if so, you should see that entire list before you make your reservations for heaven), it is presumptive and arrogant to discriminate against a large group of people over something as inconsequential as sexual orientation.
So next time you see a gay person, transgendered individual, or straight guy who just happens to really like musicals holding up a sign, don't be afraid. Give them a hug.
And tell them Akhenaten sent you.
I immediately wanted to know why I was getting a free queer hug, but the hug providers had just gotten there and were very busy, so I didn't get much information beyond the obvious.Further research indicates that this was part of a "Queer Kiss-in" event created by Queer Liberaction, a Dallas based organization steered towards protecting the civil rights of homosexuals.
I happen to run into the event thanks to the generous hospitality of local family members. My second cousin Beverly and her husband Greg had welcomed me into their home with open arms earlier in the week , and now Greg has invited me to see the famous King Tut exhibit in
downtown Dallas. One queer hug later, we are heading past a giant Egyptian guard and into the Dallas Museum of Art.I owe Greg and Beverly a debt of gratitude because the King Tut exhibit is nothing short of remarkable. It contains room after room of ancient Egyptian artifacts and interesting information on Egyptian history.
The last five rooms hold various treasures excavated straight from Tut's tomb, which is quite the sacrifice if you believe in the curse of King Tut's tomb. Incidentally, if you do believe in the curse, contact me at Logan@projectmeaning.com. I have a financial opportunity for you that coincidentally involves pyramids.
The amazing thing about the artifacts, aside from the pristine condition they remain in after well over three thousand years, is the intricate detail and craftsmanship used. It really drove home the point that entire advanced civilizations existed well before our own and that these civilizations were in many ways just as advanced if not more so than 21st century America.
And yet, they were still prone to fantastic superstitions and steadfast faiths. I have to view their beliefs as such because, frankly, were I to take them at face value, I would be committing an unpardonable sin walking through a museum of a dead pharaoh's treasures. Not only would I be disrespecting the wishes of the dead, but I would be financially contributing to the degradation of Tutankhamun's afterlife.
It seems the Ancient Egyptians also put a lot of thought into the meaning of life. They even devoted a symbol in their alphabet to "life." This symbol is found on many of the artifacts displayed in the museum.
Tutankhamun's life on earth was spectacular but short-lived. Becoming King of Egypt at the impressionable age of nine, he died before reaching his twentieth birthday. And yet his legacy is not limited to the discovery of his burial.
Tut's reign directly followed the rule of Akhenaten, a pharaoh most historians believe to be Tut's father. Akhenaten is best known for changing many of Egypt's deeply seeded and long held beliefs. The most radical change, perhaps, was the shift from a polytheistic society to the worship of a single God, Aten, a disk in the sun.
Tut quickly changed this, restoring most of the society's traditional customs and beliefs, including the worship of many Gods. After all, worshiping one God was an absolutely ridiculous notion.
Which brings me back to free queer hugs.
If one of the great civilizations of all time can radically change the foundation of their religion on the whims of a twelve-year-old rebelling against his father, I think it's only fair that we make an exception for gay people in 2009.
Even if you do believe that the bible directly forbids homosexuality (and if so, you should see that entire list before you make your reservations for heaven), it is presumptive and arrogant to discriminate against a large group of people over something as inconsequential as sexual orientation.
So next time you see a gay person, transgendered individual, or straight guy who just happens to really like musicals holding up a sign, don't be afraid. Give them a hug.
And tell them Akhenaten sent you.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Six Degrees to Incarceration
It's time for another "Super Exciting Amazing Internet Time Waster!" (copyright projectmeaning.com) This is where I come up with a revolutionary (okay...really I'm just aiming for passable) game designed to get you through that particularly long day of sitting in a cubicle pretending to work/ sitting at a desk pretending to listen/ fighting The Man in your own special, passive-aggressive way.
This edition's game was created out of a love for sports. As a huge sports fan, I'm tired of seeing athletes unfairly portrayed by the media simply because those athletes happen to think they're above the law.
So a disproportionate amount of athletes happen to be guilty of cheating (on their spouses and with steroids), irrationally violent behavior (towards their spouses, because of steroids), and murder (of their spouses...you get the point).
Why does that always have to be a negative? Condemning star athletes for their intolerable actions clearly isn't working, so why not just embrace their bad behavior? Instead of ruining Sportscenter with hour long exposes on the latest scandal sports fans could care less about, let's just make an enjoyable game out of it.
Remember that game "Six Degrees of Separation?" It thrived off of the theory that, because Kevin Bacon starred in so many films, you could connect any actor in Hollywood to a movie Bacon was in using six steps or less. Even Carrot Top.
You know, Carrot Top was in the epic Dennis the Menace Strikes Again! which also featured
(1) Betty White, who also graced the cast of Bringing Down the House, a vehicle for Steve Martin and
(2) Queen Latifah, who also stars in Beauty Shop, which features
(3) Mr. Footloose himself, Kevin Bacon.
That's Carrot Top to Kevin Bacon in just three steps.
What could be easier?
Well, what if we replaced "Hollywood actors" with "professional athletes" and "Kevin Bacon" with "DUIs?"
We would have my new game: "Six Degrees to Incarceration."
Let's be honest, you could easily replace "DUI" with "rape allegation," "domestic violence charge" or (if you make it an "athletes named Ronaldo" version) "transvestite/orgy hooker related incident" and not miss a beat.
But for simplicity's sake, I'm willing to anoint athlete DUIs as the next Kevin Bacon. I'll let you do your own, but here's a few media darlings to get you started:
Currently hands the football off to Dominic Rhodes, who was charged with a DUI in 2007.
One Degree.
Played with star safety Lawyer Milloy until 2003. Milloy was arrested for a DUI last year.
One Degree.
Of course, Brady rose to prominence by beating the St. Louis Rams in Superbowl 36. The Rams star defensive end, Leonard Little, pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter in 1998 when his drunk driving led to a woman's death. Six years later, he was pulled over for going 78 in a 55 zone, then proceeded to fail three roadside sobriety tests after police noted that he smelled like alcohol. He was given a misdemeanor for speeding and continues to play for the Rams to this day.
Jordan played in the 1992 Olympics on "The Dream Team." You know who else was on that roster? Charles Barkley, who barely missed an extreme DUI (.149) earlier this year.
One Degree.
Okay, so football and basketball are too easy. I'm willing to go out on a limb and say hockey, baseball, and mixed martial arts aren't much tougher. But how about something less testosterone induced...like figure skating.
Of course, we all know the story of Tonya Harding's calculated attack on Kerrigan's knee, and then Nancy's courageous return to the 1994 Olympics where she missed the gold by a mere fraction of a point.
What you might not remember is who beat her out for the gold. The answer? Pint-sized Ukranian Oksana Baiul, who incidentally was charged with a DUI three years later in Connecticut after crashing her car into a tree.
One degree.
Oh yeah, and Harding also has a DUI on her record. But that's so easy it feels like cheating.
Actually, I'm thinking about changing the game to "One Degree to Incarceration."
This edition's game was created out of a love for sports. As a huge sports fan, I'm tired of seeing athletes unfairly portrayed by the media simply because those athletes happen to think they're above the law.
So a disproportionate amount of athletes happen to be guilty of cheating (on their spouses and with steroids), irrationally violent behavior (towards their spouses, because of steroids), and murder (of their spouses...you get the point).
Why does that always have to be a negative? Condemning star athletes for their intolerable actions clearly isn't working, so why not just embrace their bad behavior? Instead of ruining Sportscenter with hour long exposes on the latest scandal sports fans could care less about, let's just make an enjoyable game out of it.
Remember that game "Six Degrees of Separation?" It thrived off of the theory that, because Kevin Bacon starred in so many films, you could connect any actor in Hollywood to a movie Bacon was in using six steps or less. Even Carrot Top.
You know, Carrot Top was in the epic Dennis the Menace Strikes Again! which also featured
(1) Betty White, who also graced the cast of Bringing Down the House, a vehicle for Steve Martin and
(2) Queen Latifah, who also stars in Beauty Shop, which features
(3) Mr. Footloose himself, Kevin Bacon.
That's Carrot Top to Kevin Bacon in just three steps.
What could be easier?
Well, what if we replaced "Hollywood actors" with "professional athletes" and "Kevin Bacon" with "DUIs?"
We would have my new game: "Six Degrees to Incarceration."
Let's be honest, you could easily replace "DUI" with "rape allegation," "domestic violence charge" or (if you make it an "athletes named Ronaldo" version) "transvestite/orgy hooker related incident" and not miss a beat.
But for simplicity's sake, I'm willing to anoint athlete DUIs as the next Kevin Bacon. I'll let you do your own, but here's a few media darlings to get you started:
Star Quarterback/ Successful Product Spokesman Peyton Manning:
Currently hands the football off to Dominic Rhodes, who was charged with a DUI in 2007.
One Degree.
Star Quarterback/ Golden Boy/ Supermodel Dater Tom Brady:
Played with star safety Lawyer Milloy until 2003. Milloy was arrested for a DUI last year.
One Degree.
Of course, Brady rose to prominence by beating the St. Louis Rams in Superbowl 36. The Rams star defensive end, Leonard Little, pleaded guilty to involuntary manslaughter in 1998 when his drunk driving led to a woman's death. Six years later, he was pulled over for going 78 in a 55 zone, then proceeded to fail three roadside sobriety tests after police noted that he smelled like alcohol. He was given a misdemeanor for speeding and continues to play for the Rams to this day.
NBA Legend/ Star of Space Jam Michael Jordan:
Jordan played in the 1992 Olympics on "The Dream Team." You know who else was on that roster? Charles Barkley, who barely missed an extreme DUI (.149) earlier this year.
One Degree.
Okay, so football and basketball are too easy. I'm willing to go out on a limb and say hockey, baseball, and mixed martial arts aren't much tougher. But how about something less testosterone induced...like figure skating.
Star Figure Skater/ America's Sweetheart/ Person Least Likely to send Tonya Harding a Christmas card Nancy Kerrigan:
Of course, we all know the story of Tonya Harding's calculated attack on Kerrigan's knee, and then Nancy's courageous return to the 1994 Olympics where she missed the gold by a mere fraction of a point.
What you might not remember is who beat her out for the gold. The answer? Pint-sized Ukranian Oksana Baiul, who incidentally was charged with a DUI three years later in Connecticut after crashing her car into a tree.
One degree.
Oh yeah, and Harding also has a DUI on her record. But that's so easy it feels like cheating.
Actually, I'm thinking about changing the game to "One Degree to Incarceration."
Friday, February 20, 2009
Towing the Line
When you live in your 1992 van and sleep in a different Walmart parking lot every week, you have to accept that you're going to have some days when you're woken up by cops pounding on your door.
When you live in your 1992 van and you're woken up by cops pounding on your door, it's usually a good sign to leave town.
When you're leaving town and said town is in the desert, and you live in your 1992 van, there's a good chance that at some point on your trip, large clouds of steam will spew from your engine and your van will stop moving.
When large clouds of steam spew from your engine and your van stops moving in the middle of the desert, it's probably best to get towed to the nearest town.
When you get towed to the nearest town and realize all of the mechanics are closed on the weekends, the smart thing to do is to have the tow truck driver park your van at a shop and wait for the weekend to pass.
While you're waiting for the weekend to pass, there's a good chance that the man selling various goods out of the back of his truck across the street will approach you with advice.
When that man approaches you and explains that in his opinion the clouds of steam only happened because your radiator cap was off and, since the van seems to be running now, the smart thing to do would be to keep driving it until you can get to the nearest city, which happens to be 188 miles away...DO NOT listen to that man.
When you DO listen to that man and find yourself fifty miles down the road and eighty miles from the next town, its not going to feel good when your van stops working again, forcing you to pull over onto a narrow shoulder of a high speed thoroughfare.
When you find yourself on the side of the road, calling yet another tow company, chances are you'll find that most insurance companies don't cover a second tow for the same incident; you'll also likely discover that eighty mile tows in the middle of the desert aren't cheap...much like auto repairs.
When you're loudly cursing your luck and hoping that the passing traffic doesn't hit your home/vehicle/piece of shit, be prepared to talk to the highway patrolman who will inevitably stop by.
When that patrolman comes by to investigate, be prepared to take a breathalyzer test for absolutely no good reason, pass it with a 0.00, and then have the patrolman eye you up and down with a "I can't believe this guy isn't drunk" look on his face.
When he gives you that look, be sure to politely thank him for his help; you never know who might be pounding on your door to wake you up tomorrow.
When you live in your 1992 van and you're woken up by cops pounding on your door, it's usually a good sign to leave town.
When you're leaving town and said town is in the desert, and you live in your 1992 van, there's a good chance that at some point on your trip, large clouds of steam will spew from your engine and your van will stop moving.
When large clouds of steam spew from your engine and your van stops moving in the middle of the desert, it's probably best to get towed to the nearest town.
When you get towed to the nearest town and realize all of the mechanics are closed on the weekends, the smart thing to do is to have the tow truck driver park your van at a shop and wait for the weekend to pass.
While you're waiting for the weekend to pass, there's a good chance that the man selling various goods out of the back of his truck across the street will approach you with advice.
When that man approaches you and explains that in his opinion the clouds of steam only happened because your radiator cap was off and, since the van seems to be running now, the smart thing to do would be to keep driving it until you can get to the nearest city, which happens to be 188 miles away...DO NOT listen to that man.
When you DO listen to that man and find yourself fifty miles down the road and eighty miles from the next town, its not going to feel good when your van stops working again, forcing you to pull over onto a narrow shoulder of a high speed thoroughfare.
When you find yourself on the side of the road, calling yet another tow company, chances are you'll find that most insurance companies don't cover a second tow for the same incident; you'll also likely discover that eighty mile tows in the middle of the desert aren't cheap...much like auto repairs.
When you're loudly cursing your luck and hoping that the passing traffic doesn't hit your home/vehicle/piece of shit, be prepared to talk to the highway patrolman who will inevitably stop by.
When that patrolman comes by to investigate, be prepared to take a breathalyzer test for absolutely no good reason, pass it with a 0.00, and then have the patrolman eye you up and down with a "I can't believe this guy isn't drunk" look on his face.
When he gives you that look, be sure to politely thank him for his help; you never know who might be pounding on your door to wake you up tomorrow.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
This is Gonna Be Huger
So I'm sitting in my van, minding my own business, when I hear a group of obnoxiously loud teenagers approach.
"Have...fun...and...be...safe," one of them reads off of the van with all of the vigor of a dyslexic fourth grader. "What the fuck?"
The next thing I hear is a loud splat on the side of the van. Grabbing my shoes, I hop out of the van to see what happened. By the time I do, the group is speeding away. I look to the source of the noise only to realize that one of them had tossed a cup of ice and blue Powerade at the van.
Ah, yes...the "that's fucking gay" faction of society. I have never been able to understand this mentality. It's different, therefore it deserves immediate scorn.
I can't imagine how I would ever get to a point in my life where disrespecting a complete stranger's property would seem like a good idea. And if I did, I would like to think I would come up with something more creative/meaningful/masculine than a Powerade attack.
Still, I'm insecure enough to know that I don't want those vandals, should they be curious (unlikely) or should they have a thirst for reading (less likely), to stumble upon my blog and read yesterday's poem first. It's a nice little poem, but definitely not something that would win over a "that's fucking gay" type.
No, I need something crude, obnoxious, and entirely without merit. That's why I'm bringing back "This is Gonna Be Huge."
Here's how it works: As an homage to the popular double entendre "that's what she said," I will periodically invite guest bloggers to compete with me in a battle of inappropriate wits. I will introduce five topics, and each of us will come up with a relevant "that's what she said" line for each topic, with an honorable mention thrown in for good measure.
Tonight's guest blogger will be Derek Fulcher, a good friend who I've known since the third grade and an aspiring anesthesiologist. As far as I know, he's never thrown Powerade at my van.
Let's get started.
The Academy Awards:
Logan- This is going to be even bigger than The Golden Globes.
Derek- Look at all those hunky guys coming down the red carpet!
Honorable Mention- I'd like to Milk your Slumdog.
The Economy:
Logan- Bad things happen when Fannie and Freddie get together.
Derek- I doubt Obama's package will be able to stimulate me (and my family).
Honorable Mention- That's the last time I give Bernie Madoff what he wants. / I think Bernie Madoff just screwed me.
The Internet:
Logan- I need to get off; I think I just got a virus.
Derek- It sure is taking you a long time to log-in (to my site).
Honorable Mention- You should really check out Myspace.
Great Philosophers Throughout History:
Logan- Speak softly and carry a big stick. (Theodore Roosevelt)
Derek- I think dudes who bite jackets after drinking heavily are hot. (Derek Fulcher)
Honorable Mention- From such crooked wood as that which man is made of, nothing straight can be fashioned. (Immanuel Kant)
What? I said Kant.
And before I finish...
The Snuggie:
Logan- I'm able to do things in bed with my hands I never thought possible!
Derek- I don't think I can fit my arms in there (without some help).
Honorable Mention- (Direct quotes from the promotional video on getsnuggie.com)
"Blankets are okay, but they can slip and slide, and when you need to reach for something, your arms are trapped inside."
"Super large. One size fits all."
"With Snuggie, you can get up and still stay warm."
"You can snuggle your baby in your arms, or keep your pet close at hand."
"Now you can do what you need to and stay totally warm."
As always, thanks for coming.
"Have...fun...and...be...safe," one of them reads off of the van with all of the vigor of a dyslexic fourth grader. "What the fuck?"
The next thing I hear is a loud splat on the side of the van. Grabbing my shoes, I hop out of the van to see what happened. By the time I do, the group is speeding away. I look to the source of the noise only to realize that one of them had tossed a cup of ice and blue Powerade at the van.
Ah, yes...the "that's fucking gay" faction of society. I have never been able to understand this mentality. It's different, therefore it deserves immediate scorn.
I can't imagine how I would ever get to a point in my life where disrespecting a complete stranger's property would seem like a good idea. And if I did, I would like to think I would come up with something more creative/meaningful/masculine than a Powerade attack.
Still, I'm insecure enough to know that I don't want those vandals, should they be curious (unlikely) or should they have a thirst for reading (less likely), to stumble upon my blog and read yesterday's poem first. It's a nice little poem, but definitely not something that would win over a "that's fucking gay" type.
No, I need something crude, obnoxious, and entirely without merit. That's why I'm bringing back "This is Gonna Be Huge."
Here's how it works: As an homage to the popular double entendre "that's what she said," I will periodically invite guest bloggers to compete with me in a battle of inappropriate wits. I will introduce five topics, and each of us will come up with a relevant "that's what she said" line for each topic, with an honorable mention thrown in for good measure.
Tonight's guest blogger will be Derek Fulcher, a good friend who I've known since the third grade and an aspiring anesthesiologist. As far as I know, he's never thrown Powerade at my van.
Let's get started.
The Academy Awards:
Logan- This is going to be even bigger than The Golden Globes.
Derek- Look at all those hunky guys coming down the red carpet!
Honorable Mention- I'd like to Milk your Slumdog.
The Economy:
Logan- Bad things happen when Fannie and Freddie get together.
Derek- I doubt Obama's package will be able to stimulate me (and my family).
Honorable Mention- That's the last time I give Bernie Madoff what he wants. / I think Bernie Madoff just screwed me.
The Internet:
Logan- I need to get off; I think I just got a virus.
Derek- It sure is taking you a long time to log-in (to my site).
Honorable Mention- You should really check out Myspace.
Great Philosophers Throughout History:
Logan- Speak softly and carry a big stick. (Theodore Roosevelt)
Derek- I think dudes who bite jackets after drinking heavily are hot. (Derek Fulcher)
Honorable Mention- From such crooked wood as that which man is made of, nothing straight can be fashioned. (Immanuel Kant)
What? I said Kant.
And before I finish...
The Snuggie:
Logan- I'm able to do things in bed with my hands I never thought possible!
Derek- I don't think I can fit my arms in there (without some help).
Honorable Mention- (Direct quotes from the promotional video on getsnuggie.com)
"Blankets are okay, but they can slip and slide, and when you need to reach for something, your arms are trapped inside."
"Super large. One size fits all."
"With Snuggie, you can get up and still stay warm."
"You can snuggle your baby in your arms, or keep your pet close at hand."
"Now you can do what you need to and stay totally warm."
As always, thanks for coming.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sticks and Stones
The longest word that I ever made up
was not
Bittleskilittleshebottleteacup.
The craziest word that I ever created
was not
Mockappleslapplenewalkenberated.
The silliest word that I ever designed
was not
Smegalillegalmaraudinrefined.
But the one word I’ve heard that I find quite absurd
Worse than blogenschpiel, wooznut, or flockenmeturd,
And sillier even than smopacanary,
The one word I don’t get is the word “ordinary.”
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Horror Babies and Urinal Phones
This blog is designed to find the meaning of life by examining the human condition. I'm not saying the meaning of life is necessarily explained through the human condition, but I am not qualified nor adept at analyzing amoebas and I can not contribute intriguing observations on The Big Bang Theory unless we're discussing the CBS sitcom.
But human interaction? Generally, I think there is a lot to learn from there.
The problem with learning from the human condition is that occasionally people will do something so stupid, so unconscionable, so maddeningly irrational and random that you have to scrap any breakthroughs you've had on human thought and start all over.
Two of these instances happened over the weekend. But instead of curling up into the fetal position, I'm going to do my best to make sense of the madness by analyzing the events from various angles in the hope that maybe a helpful pattern will emerge from the insanity.
Incident #1: After playing a game of basketball at the gym, I head to the locker room to shower. Before showering, I head to the bathroom to relieve myself. As I do, I hear someone carrying on a loud conversation. Sure enough, a man is standing at a urinal,
talking loudly on his cell phone as he is pissing.
Why This Makes Me Wish Hell Existed: Cell phone use has gotten out of hand, and it has not contributed positively to common decency in America. It's bad enough that we now have to listen to other people's loud phone conversations on the bus, in restaurants, and in movie theatres, but now the bathroom too? To make matters worse, this guy transitioned from the restroom to the gym without ending his call...or washing his hands.
Possible Excuses: This behavior is completely indefensible unless this man had one of the following excuses:
+ He works for the department of defense and the man in the nearby stall is a suspected terrorist.
+ He is in the middle of one of those bad action movies where if the hero hangs up or drops the call, New York City blows up.
+ Due to a rare disease, he has to pee approximately eighty times a day to survive, and he just wouldn't be able to get anything done during the day if he didn't multitask.
Judging by his demeanor, none of these were the case.
What This Means in the Bigger Picture: If one guy is doing this, it means others are too, with even more to follow in the future. Before you know it, half of society will be carrying on conversations while using the toilet. As shared urination becomes increasingly acceptable, public urination will start to lose its stigma. By the year 2025, it will be commonplace for a guy to whip it out in the middle of a job interview and start pissing in the trash can. This will continue until 2034, when the Great Urinal Flood destroys the city of Albuquerque.
Incident #2: After a long day, I decide to see a movie at a nearby theater. Since I was tired and wanted to be mindlessly entertained, I decided on Friday the 13th. Ten minutes into the movie, right as Jason is burning a naked coed alive, I hear an unusual scream. It's not coming from the characters onscreen, but rather from a baby crying in the audience.
Why This Makes Me Wish Hell Existed: Not only did these parents bring their kid to a horror movie, but they refused to leave even after the kid started crying. The crying continued throughout the movie at various intervals. If you have a baby, and you can't afford a babysitter, you lose the right to see movies in public. If you absolutely can't lose that right, pick a better movie for your child than Friday the 13th. If that is too difficult to do, you probably should not have reproduced in the first place.
Possible Excuses: This behavior is completely indefensible unless these parents had one of the following excuses:
+ They went to a town hall meeting where Barack Obama specifically asked them to go out and see more movies to help stimulate the economy.
+ One of them directed the movie.
+ Their child is the spawn of Satan and can only be soothed by visuals of abnormally attractive young adults being brutally murdered in oddly creative ways. (Even then, you could always go to Blockbuster.)
What This Means in the Bigger Picture: If parents continue to bring their children to wildly inappropriate movies and let them cry throughout in direct defiance of common courtesy, they will inevitably produce offspring who will no doubt continue learned behavior. Eventually, so many children will be attending R-rated movies that the ratings system will slowly fade away. In September of 2034, just months after The Great Urinal Flood destroys Albuquerque, the country will be captivated by the story of Freddy Krueger Horowitz, the first two-year-old to be tried for murder as an adult.
But human interaction? Generally, I think there is a lot to learn from there.
The problem with learning from the human condition is that occasionally people will do something so stupid, so unconscionable, so maddeningly irrational and random that you have to scrap any breakthroughs you've had on human thought and start all over.
Two of these instances happened over the weekend. But instead of curling up into the fetal position, I'm going to do my best to make sense of the madness by analyzing the events from various angles in the hope that maybe a helpful pattern will emerge from the insanity.
Incident #1: After playing a game of basketball at the gym, I head to the locker room to shower. Before showering, I head to the bathroom to relieve myself. As I do, I hear someone carrying on a loud conversation. Sure enough, a man is standing at a urinal,
talking loudly on his cell phone as he is pissing.Why This Makes Me Wish Hell Existed: Cell phone use has gotten out of hand, and it has not contributed positively to common decency in America. It's bad enough that we now have to listen to other people's loud phone conversations on the bus, in restaurants, and in movie theatres, but now the bathroom too? To make matters worse, this guy transitioned from the restroom to the gym without ending his call...or washing his hands.
Possible Excuses: This behavior is completely indefensible unless this man had one of the following excuses:
+ He works for the department of defense and the man in the nearby stall is a suspected terrorist.
+ He is in the middle of one of those bad action movies where if the hero hangs up or drops the call, New York City blows up.
+ Due to a rare disease, he has to pee approximately eighty times a day to survive, and he just wouldn't be able to get anything done during the day if he didn't multitask.
Judging by his demeanor, none of these were the case.
What This Means in the Bigger Picture: If one guy is doing this, it means others are too, with even more to follow in the future. Before you know it, half of society will be carrying on conversations while using the toilet. As shared urination becomes increasingly acceptable, public urination will start to lose its stigma. By the year 2025, it will be commonplace for a guy to whip it out in the middle of a job interview and start pissing in the trash can. This will continue until 2034, when the Great Urinal Flood destroys the city of Albuquerque.
Incident #2: After a long day, I decide to see a movie at a nearby theater. Since I was tired and wanted to be mindlessly entertained, I decided on Friday the 13th. Ten minutes into the movie, right as Jason is burning a naked coed alive, I hear an unusual scream. It's not coming from the characters onscreen, but rather from a baby crying in the audience.
Why This Makes Me Wish Hell Existed: Not only did these parents bring their kid to a horror movie, but they refused to leave even after the kid started crying. The crying continued throughout the movie at various intervals. If you have a baby, and you can't afford a babysitter, you lose the right to see movies in public. If you absolutely can't lose that right, pick a better movie for your child than Friday the 13th. If that is too difficult to do, you probably should not have reproduced in the first place.
Possible Excuses: This behavior is completely indefensible unless these parents had one of the following excuses:
+ They went to a town hall meeting where Barack Obama specifically asked them to go out and see more movies to help stimulate the economy.
+ One of them directed the movie.
+ Their child is the spawn of Satan and can only be soothed by visuals of abnormally attractive young adults being brutally murdered in oddly creative ways. (Even then, you could always go to Blockbuster.)
What This Means in the Bigger Picture: If parents continue to bring their children to wildly inappropriate movies and let them cry throughout in direct defiance of common courtesy, they will inevitably produce offspring who will no doubt continue learned behavior. Eventually, so many children will be attending R-rated movies that the ratings system will slowly fade away. In September of 2034, just months after The Great Urinal Flood destroys Albuquerque, the country will be captivated by the story of Freddy Krueger Horowitz, the first two-year-old to be tried for murder as an adult.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Never Bet on Irony
Have you ever gone to a sporting event where you had no rooting interest in either team? It's hard to enjoy.
Have you ever gone to a sporting event in Las Vegas where you had no rooting interest in either team? It's very easy to enjoy.
You know, unless you like money.
"They're a lock," my friend Ryan insists, referring to the Brigham Young football team.
"You like everything Mormon," I respond skeptically. And it's true. In Ryan's mind, Eliza Dushku is the hottest woman on the planet, Chet is the coolest cast member on the current season of The Real World, and Rob Morris is an all-time great linebacker.
What's that? You've never heard of Rob Morris?
Exactly.
However, I must say that Ryan's logic is very persuasive in this instance.
"BYU is a three point underdog, right?" an eager Ryan explains. "But that doesn't make sense. Arizona has a worse record, they're inexperienced in bowl games, and they've performed much worse than BYU against common opponents. So why is Arizona favored on the betting line?"
"Why is Arizona favored?"
"Because mormons don't bet!" Ryan exclaims. "All of the Wildcat fans are coming into town placing bets on their team,and meanwhile the BYU fans are going to church. They can't bet. It's against their religion. So of course Arizona is favored on the money line."
"Brilliant!" I respond excitedly. "It would be stupid not to put fifty dollars on Brigham Young!"
"Well, I don't know about fifty..."
"It's settled then. Fifty dollars on the Cougars. I can't see how this could possibly go wrong."
It is mere hours later, as I find myself surrounded by ravenous Arizona fans celebrating a long Wildcat touchdown, that I fully realize the karma implications of placing a football bet based on religious doctrine.
While the BYU contingent in Vegas politely applauds their team, the Arizona fans go wild, easily swinging the momentum of the contest by providing a decided home field advantage. As the final seconds tick away and I realize that the team I have been rooting for all game was destined to lose, and therefore lose me fifty bucks, I look around at the excited Arizona fan base.
"I'm storming the field!" one friend in Wildcat attire yells out."I'm coming with you!" adds another.
Hmmm. Why the Hell not?
I move my way to the barricade separating the crowd from the field and jump down, the only fan wearing blue in a sea of red.
As Arizona players soak in the spectacle, euphoric fans converge in the center of the field, snapping pictures and hugging each other in delight.
Meanwhile, I do my best to blend in, conveniently ignoring the fact that my wallet is now significantly lighter and that I had spent the better part of three hours rooting against everyone in the mob that now surrounds me.
Ryan does not join us on the field. He left midway through the fourth quarter. When I call him on the phone, he is decidedly humbled."Okay..." he laughs, "maybe not a total lock."
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
With His Teeth
Vegas keeps roping me in.
Like a Siren in The Odyssey, Sin City lures me back against my better judgment time and time again, only to punch me in the face harder than Chris Brown doing his best Ike Turner impression.
This time, I am invited to attend a college football bowl game between the University of Arizona Wildcats and the Brigham Young Cougars. A bunch of friends from high school, most of them Arizona alumni, are going to the game and, though I don't feel particularly strongly about either team, it seems like a good idea to visit some friends I don't get to see much these days.
My friends are staying at Imperial Palace, so I am instructed to meet them there. After circling the casino for about twenty minutes, I finally find oversized parking and head inside. It is night-time, and we're in Vegas, so the entire group is already drunk by the time I get there.
One good friend is already drunker than I have ever seen him. I'm talking overly-friendly-slurring-words-falling-down-all-hands-make-sure-he-doesn't-drown-in-toilet-water drunk. So drunk, in fact, that in between rounds of beer pong, he decides to bite my jacket, ripping a huge hole in the seam.
Now, when a girl rips a hole in your jacket, you've got a story you can be proud of. When one of your best guy friends does it, you hold it over his head, threatening to bring it up constantly, but knowing that it doesn't exactly put you in the most masculine light either. "Hey Buddy, remember when you ripped my jacket with your teeth?" isn't going into my wingman lines hall-of-fame.
But as awkward as it is for me, it is much worse for my drunken friend. Especially because he knows about this blog, and he knows that I am not the type to leave out important details, like the name of my friend who got so drunk that he ripped my jacket open with his teeth.
"You're going to mention this in your blog, aren't you?" he casually states the next day.
Sorry Buddy, but I have no choice.
Let's face it, on the gaydometer (it's the new gaydar), with a one being tivoing Grey's Anatomy, a five being having sex with another man, and a ten being attaining a high position in the government and fervently legislating against the rights of homosexuals, "ripping open another guy's jacket with your teeth" ranks a solid four.
It's just too strange/awkward/hilarious not to mention. But I will be leaving out my friend's name out of respect, and to avoid a strange/awkard/hilarious scandal should he ever decide to run for political office.
Plus, he paid for my buffet at Sweet Tomatoes to apologize which, come to think of it, is at least a seven.
Check back soon to learn why gambling, football, and Mormonism don't mix.
Like a Siren in The Odyssey, Sin City lures me back against my better judgment time and time again, only to punch me in the face harder than Chris Brown doing his best Ike Turner impression.
This time, I am invited to attend a college football bowl game between the University of Arizona Wildcats and the Brigham Young Cougars. A bunch of friends from high school, most of them Arizona alumni, are going to the game and, though I don't feel particularly strongly about either team, it seems like a good idea to visit some friends I don't get to see much these days.
My friends are staying at Imperial Palace, so I am instructed to meet them there. After circling the casino for about twenty minutes, I finally find oversized parking and head inside. It is night-time, and we're in Vegas, so the entire group is already drunk by the time I get there.
One good friend is already drunker than I have ever seen him. I'm talking overly-friendly-slurring-words-falling-down-all-hands-make-sure-he-doesn't-drown-in-toilet-water drunk. So drunk, in fact, that in between rounds of beer pong, he decides to bite my jacket, ripping a huge hole in the seam.
Now, when a girl rips a hole in your jacket, you've got a story you can be proud of. When one of your best guy friends does it, you hold it over his head, threatening to bring it up constantly, but knowing that it doesn't exactly put you in the most masculine light either. "Hey Buddy, remember when you ripped my jacket with your teeth?" isn't going into my wingman lines hall-of-fame.
But as awkward as it is for me, it is much worse for my drunken friend. Especially because he knows about this blog, and he knows that I am not the type to leave out important details, like the name of my friend who got so drunk that he ripped my jacket open with his teeth.
"You're going to mention this in your blog, aren't you?" he casually states the next day.
Sorry Buddy, but I have no choice.
Let's face it, on the gaydometer (it's the new gaydar), with a one being tivoing Grey's Anatomy, a five being having sex with another man, and a ten being attaining a high position in the government and fervently legislating against the rights of homosexuals, "ripping open another guy's jacket with your teeth" ranks a solid four.
It's just too strange/awkward/hilarious not to mention. But I will be leaving out my friend's name out of respect, and to avoid a strange/awkard/hilarious scandal should he ever decide to run for political office.
Plus, he paid for my buffet at Sweet Tomatoes to apologize which, come to think of it, is at least a seven.
Check back soon to learn why gambling, football, and Mormonism don't mix.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Youtube Association Game
Disclaimer: The following blog contains adult situations and both mature and immature themes. It may not be suitable reading material for children, teenagers, or Kirk Cameron fans. The views and opinions expressed in this blog are those of Logan Mosier and are not necessarily reflective of the views of projectmeaning.com and its subsidiaries.
I have a theory that Youtube.com, despite all of its wonderful intricacies, eventually boils down to one thing: softcore porn.
"But, Logan," you may be saying right now, "Youtube is so much more than softcore porn. I can watch important documentaries, catch up on current events, and even use my creativity to create videos myself."
Sure, all of these things are possible on Youtube. And let's face it, Youtube wouldn't be the same without bad music videos, guys getting hit in the nuts, and adorable animals performing human acts. But these things aren't why Google paid massive amounts of money to purchase everyone's favorite internet video site. They bought it because we as a people are obsessed with sex, and Youtube provides it in spades.
To test this theory, I created the Youtube Association Game, or YAG (catchy, I know). YAG is very user-friendly. Simply enter any commonly known word into the Youtube search bar, choose a video on the first page of results, then keep clicking related videos until they lead you to softcore porn.
It's easier than it sounds. Simply choose the least common video each time, and eventually you'll find wildy inappropriate material. Not every video will lead you to the promised land, primarily because related videos are often grouped by the person who submitted the original video, but every subject will eventually work.
Let's put YAG to the test with some difficult subjects.
Mother Teresa.
Bottom of the 1st page, Helen Keller and Mother Theresa 1 - life after death, incarnation.
Related video, Creation of the World - In the Beginning - 3.
Related video, でちゃう！ガールズＲ・Ｑ. Which is, of course, extremely disturbing, yet oddly titillating Japanese softcore porn.
That only took two steps to get from Mother Theresa to softcore porn. Let's try another one.
Adolf Hitler.
Middle of the 1st page, Somebody Stole Hitlers Car.
Related video, Hitler Plans Burning Man. (For those keeping count, that's one degree of separation between Hitler and Burning Man.)
Related video, Burning Man 2007.
Related video, tramp girls.
Related video, two hot chicks give a nice blowjob ;-). Technically, not porn, but you can imagine the related videos. Incidentally, this video has about seven million views, in case you're wondering what tags to give that video you're about to upload.
So we've covered Hitler and Mother Teresa with little challenge. But what about something more generic. I called up my friend Ryan and asked him to tell me the most random word he could think of. His response, of course, was "Asparagus."
Asparagus.
Towards the top of the 1st page, Asparagus.
Related video, First Asparagus Emerges.
Related video, Tiffany Evans - Girls Gone Wild.
Related video, exodus girls gone wild part 1.
"It's just that easy," I tell Ryan, explaining the concept of this blog.
He pauses.
"So you're really getting close to the meaning of life, huh?"
Touche.
I have a theory that Youtube.com, despite all of its wonderful intricacies, eventually boils down to one thing: softcore porn.
"But, Logan," you may be saying right now, "Youtube is so much more than softcore porn. I can watch important documentaries, catch up on current events, and even use my creativity to create videos myself."
Sure, all of these things are possible on Youtube. And let's face it, Youtube wouldn't be the same without bad music videos, guys getting hit in the nuts, and adorable animals performing human acts. But these things aren't why Google paid massive amounts of money to purchase everyone's favorite internet video site. They bought it because we as a people are obsessed with sex, and Youtube provides it in spades.
To test this theory, I created the Youtube Association Game, or YAG (catchy, I know). YAG is very user-friendly. Simply enter any commonly known word into the Youtube search bar, choose a video on the first page of results, then keep clicking related videos until they lead you to softcore porn.
It's easier than it sounds. Simply choose the least common video each time, and eventually you'll find wildy inappropriate material. Not every video will lead you to the promised land, primarily because related videos are often grouped by the person who submitted the original video, but every subject will eventually work.
Let's put YAG to the test with some difficult subjects.
Mother Teresa.
Bottom of the 1st page, Helen Keller and Mother Theresa 1 - life after death, incarnation.
Related video, Creation of the World - In the Beginning - 3.
Related video, でちゃう！ガールズＲ・Ｑ. Which is, of course, extremely disturbing, yet oddly titillating Japanese softcore porn.
That only took two steps to get from Mother Theresa to softcore porn. Let's try another one.
Adolf Hitler.
Middle of the 1st page, Somebody Stole Hitlers Car.
Related video, Hitler Plans Burning Man. (For those keeping count, that's one degree of separation between Hitler and Burning Man.)
Related video, Burning Man 2007.
Related video, tramp girls.
Related video, two hot chicks give a nice blowjob ;-). Technically, not porn, but you can imagine the related videos. Incidentally, this video has about seven million views, in case you're wondering what tags to give that video you're about to upload.
So we've covered Hitler and Mother Teresa with little challenge. But what about something more generic. I called up my friend Ryan and asked him to tell me the most random word he could think of. His response, of course, was "Asparagus."
Asparagus.
Towards the top of the 1st page, Asparagus.
Related video, First Asparagus Emerges.
Related video, Tiffany Evans - Girls Gone Wild.
Related video, exodus girls gone wild part 1.
"It's just that easy," I tell Ryan, explaining the concept of this blog.
He pauses.
"So you're really getting close to the meaning of life, huh?"
Touche.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Existential Experiments
It's been over half a year since I started this project, and I still haven't found the meaning of life.
Not only that, but I haven't cured cancer, brokered peace in the Middle East, or even become your next American Idol. Although I was named Time Magazine's person of the year in 2006.
So I've got that going for me...which is nice.
Anyway, the point is, it's time to step it up. So I'm introducing a new addition to the projectmeaning.com family. It's called "Existential Experiments."
Essentially, I'll be examining various theories on the meaning of life via quotes from historical greats, thoughts from people I meet along my trip, or the purveying wisdom of various religions or societies throughout time. I'll take each theory and apply the scientific method (or at least my warped version of the scientific method) by putting the theory into action.
Expect various Existential Experiments throughout the coming months. I'm hoping something useful will come from them, but I at least guarantee something entertaining.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Don't Be Alarmed
I think my van and I just had an argument.
I just got finished playing basketball and headed out to the van so I could transition to Walmart for the night. As I approached the van, I clicked the keyless entry button to unlock it.
Nothing.
So I try again. Still nothing.
No big deal. It's a 1992 GMC Vandura. Asking it not to break down is like asking Mike Tyson not to get a tattoo on his face or asking David Spade not to impregnate playmates. No matter what you do, it's bound to happen sooner or later.
Resigned to the idea that the keyless entry stopped working, I grabbed the key to open the driver's side door the old fashion way. Only the second I unlocked it, the alarm went off.
I've already discussed my disdain for car alarms on this blog, but what I neglected to mention is that certain car alarms are particularly annoying. My van's alarm indisputably fits into this category. If there were a school for car alarms, my van's alarm would be the alarm that sits alone at lunch because all of the other alarms think he's too annoying, loud, and long-winded.
I've never known this about the alarm before, because everytime it goes off, I merely click the keyless entry to turn it off. This time, with the keyless entry not working, I searched fruitlessly for some way, any way, to turn it off. Nothing worked.
So for over three minutes I sat in dismay as my van made annoying sound after annoying sound. The creativity behind its obnoxiousness was astounding. About two minutes in, I started to fear it was one of those novelty alarms and would start yelling "Step the F away from the car. I repeat, back the F away from the car."
Mercifully, the alarm eventually stopped, and the keyless entry soon started working again too. Hopefully, it stays that way. When you sleep in your van, it's important to be inconspicuous, and there's nothing more conspicuous than an autograph-laden van that won't shut up.
I just got finished playing basketball and headed out to the van so I could transition to Walmart for the night. As I approached the van, I clicked the keyless entry button to unlock it.
Nothing.
So I try again. Still nothing.
No big deal. It's a 1992 GMC Vandura. Asking it not to break down is like asking Mike Tyson not to get a tattoo on his face or asking David Spade not to impregnate playmates. No matter what you do, it's bound to happen sooner or later.
Resigned to the idea that the keyless entry stopped working, I grabbed the key to open the driver's side door the old fashion way. Only the second I unlocked it, the alarm went off.
I've already discussed my disdain for car alarms on this blog, but what I neglected to mention is that certain car alarms are particularly annoying. My van's alarm indisputably fits into this category. If there were a school for car alarms, my van's alarm would be the alarm that sits alone at lunch because all of the other alarms think he's too annoying, loud, and long-winded.
I've never known this about the alarm before, because everytime it goes off, I merely click the keyless entry to turn it off. This time, with the keyless entry not working, I searched fruitlessly for some way, any way, to turn it off. Nothing worked.
So for over three minutes I sat in dismay as my van made annoying sound after annoying sound. The creativity behind its obnoxiousness was astounding. About two minutes in, I started to fear it was one of those novelty alarms and would start yelling "Step the F away from the car. I repeat, back the F away from the car."
Mercifully, the alarm eventually stopped, and the keyless entry soon started working again too. Hopefully, it stays that way. When you sleep in your van, it's important to be inconspicuous, and there's nothing more conspicuous than an autograph-laden van that won't shut up.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
The Batmobile Looks More Impressive on the Big Screen
As always, I have been traveling this fine country searching for the meaning of life and working rigorously to obtain as many educated, well-thought-out, and inspired life perspectives as possible. So without further ado, let me share some with you.
Okay, so maybe "working rigorously" was a bit of a stretch.
You're welcome, by the way. Any time.
I wrote a poem about the mythical "The Thing" after passing through Eastern Arizona the first time. I couldn't go twice and not get a signature from someone working there.
"Can you imagine having my name in grade school?" Jenny Bone sighed as she signed the van.
Kids can be so cruel.
Touche.
My van got towed twice in one day (more on that in a future blog). I decided it was necessary to have the tow-truck drivers sign right next to "No Breakdowns."
Irony makes me happy.
A pastor in Abilene bought me a drink at Starbucks in exchange for some good "meaning of life" conversation.
When converted to English, this loosely translates to "Thanks for watching me get drunk."
Or something like that.
I am now required by law to respond immediately to all bat signals. I took over after Christian Bale freaked out on the Terminator set.
As always,
Okay, so maybe "working rigorously" was a bit of a stretch.
You're welcome, by the way. Any time.
I wrote a poem about the mythical "The Thing" after passing through Eastern Arizona the first time. I couldn't go twice and not get a signature from someone working there.
"Can you imagine having my name in grade school?" Jenny Bone sighed as she signed the van.
Kids can be so cruel.
Touche.
My van got towed twice in one day (more on that in a future blog). I decided it was necessary to have the tow-truck drivers sign right next to "No Breakdowns."
Irony makes me happy.
A pastor in Abilene bought me a drink at Starbucks in exchange for some good "meaning of life" conversation.
When converted to English, this loosely translates to "Thanks for watching me get drunk."
Or something like that.
I am now required by law to respond immediately to all bat signals. I took over after Christian Bale freaked out on the Terminator set.As always,
Monday, February 2, 2009
Billy Joe Christopher Bobby McCoy
Billy Joe Christopher Bobby McCoy
Was the biggest and brightest of all Texas boys
His parents were prouder than a longhorn in heat
Cuz their physical specimen couldn’t be beat.
With an arm Smith and Wesson would surely admire
He could throw the length of the field and barely perspire
Entire teams often would choose to retire
When Big Billy McCoy’s eyes would light up with fire.
The best quarterback on the best team in town
On the practice field’s where Billy’d be found
All night and all day he’d run and he’d play
When the other kids left, Big Ol Billy’d stay.
Because that’s just the way things were in Billy’s day
Being second to anyone wasn’t okay
At least not in the way that it is now today
Billy hated football, but he never would say.
Because Billy Joe Christopher Bobby McCoy
The biggest and brightest of all Texas boys
If ever were given a true second chance,
Would gladly quit football if it meant he could dance.
Oh to dance and to dance, to live out true romance,
Billy once saw ballet; it was love at first glance
The polka, the fox trot,the cha cha, flamenco,
The charleston, waltz, pasa doble, the tango.
He knew he could not ever be properly taught
If his parents found out, if he ever was caught
He’d no longer be BJCB McCoy,
His father would swear he had no oldest boy.
When Johnny Tom Avery Michael McCoy,
Stared into the eyes of his prized oldest boy,
He did not see his son and all he could be,
All Johnny could see was a perfect QB.
So when Billy McCoy scored his final touchdown,
Bringing honor and joy to his small Texas town,
He just kept on running; never turned around
And to this day we’re told that he’s never been found.
But if you ever should escape to a land far away,
Where the field’s a stage and the game is a play,
The rumors persist and the locals they say
That a certain QB lives to dance every day.
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