The Reasons Behind It All

I'm checking my e-mail frantically for assurance that I'm not fucked in a big way.

I had written to an admissions counselor at the University of Colorado [CU] asking for information on their community college transfer program. To my dismay, she wrote that entry into CU is contingent on demonstrating a high school transcript as proof of graduation. So, I wrote her back, asking for clarification on whether or not a GED was satisfactory, and if not, to what degree it would impede on my ability to transfer.

When people ask me why I dropped out of high school, I usually joke, "For the street cred." And to be honest, the reason I respond with a quip is because I don't know the answer anymore. I trust that I must have known the answer at one point in time, because obviously it was persuasive enough for me to risk flushing my future down the toilet. Yeah, I must've just forgotten.

One thing I do remember, however, was that I did not consider the possible ramifications very clearly. My naiveté glossed over the messy details of "But, what if?" and assumed it would be clear sailing from here on out. I did not consider, for example, that my high school counselor did not know what she was talking about when she said, "Employers and University admission offices don't distinguish between a High School Diploma and a General Education Diploma." Most importantly, I failed to truly consider my Father's words, "Don't you see, Gabriel? If you get your GED, nobody will take you seriously!" He was right, people don't take me seriously. And I don't blame them. My resume, with its highlights of "GED" and "Community College", spells loud and clear, "Fuck up until further notice."

When I tell people about my ambitions to study Political Science and Journalism [and more recently, Public International Law], I always get that "Aw, how cute, he has ambitions" smile. At first, I wouldn't let it phase me. I was arrogant; I knew in my mind I was most likely more intelligent than the person sitting across from me. And not just that, I was better looking, too. And shit, I could definitely bench more than them. Yeah, fuck them. With time, however, my house-of-cards arrogance matured in honest humility. And today, with a dash of insecurity, I will usually add, "But, it's just a dream of mine," or, "Of course, I've got a back up plan in case that doesn't work out [Which is a lie]." As if I'm apologizing for having dreams and ambitions, for possessing the inherent and overwhelming desire to tap into the deepest reservoirs of my God-given potential.

I can't, however, go through life apologizing for my existence. I'm not going to walk my days on earth with my shoulders slumped and gaze focused on the ground. No. Head up, shoulders square, gaze steady, that's how I should carry myself.

And hence, I've revived this "blog" I used to have back in the day [When I used to be cockier, hence the title "Messiah of Reason"]. It's a part of a multi-front war I'm waging against this God damned GED stigma I've created for myself. I'm going to use this as a means to practice my writing. More specifically, to become more effective in organizing and presenting my thoughts intelligently and clearly, so as to override your suspicion that I'm a fucking idiot just because I don't have a high school diploma. Also, writing well gives anyone a competitive advantage in the game of life.

"Blogger" assholes...

The stupid shit that people decide to do to their "blogs" astounds me. Here's a short list of all the shit that pisses me off:

1.) Autoplay Music:
The Problem:
Putting music on your site is fine. But making it play automatically is obnoxious. First of all, the chances that anyone else is going to enjoy your taste in music is pretty small, especially when it's fuckin Alicia Keys. Second, no matter what kind of music you put up on there, nobody is going to mistake you for having a personality. And third, if your conceited, pseudo-intellectual ramblings won't kill my attention span, then your background music will.

How to Improve:
Don't make it play automatically, douche. Take me for example, mine doesn't play automatically. It's a discreet interface at the top right of the screen that patiently waits for you to press the "play" button if you so choose. It even politely asks at the top of it, "enjoy music?"

2.) HIDDEN Autoplay Music:
The Problem:
ROAR!!! That shit is just uncalled for. Seriously, if you make your music play automatically WITHOUT MY CONSENT and then go on to HIDE THE STOP BUTTON you are a MEAN-SPIRITED BASTARD.

How to Improve:
Allow us the choice to stop your shitty song from playing, you fascist.

3.) Hidden Dashboard:
The Problem: People who hide that little strip at the top that has the "next blog" button. Do you know why the "next blog" button is there? Because your blog fuckin sucks, and we want to skip it. Stop hoarding all of the attention.

How to Improve:
Pretty self-explanatory. Put it back on there.

4.) Pseudo-intellectual blogs:
Okay, these are easy to recognize. Firstly, they always have a lame title that either is some allusion to Greek mythology ("Daedalus' Precaution") or something else that's stupid, like ("In parallel with the Universe"). Then, 9 times out of 10, the description will have the word "ramblings" in it. "Merely the conceinted ramblings of a self-proclaimed nerd." Ramblings = shit. And yeah. There's no reason to 'self-proclaim' that you're a nerd, it's pretty fuckin obvious.

How to Improve:
Shut the fuck up.

5.) 40+ blogger:
You have no right to be "blogging" or even using the self-check out stand at Wal*Mart if you're above the age of 40. This is OUR generation, you fucking ex-hippies. If it weren't for you old motherfuckers who have no idea how to operate a computer the tech support lines wouldn't fucking busy all the time. That pisses me off, dude. I'm on hold with a REAL PROBLEM while some Vietnam era baby boomer can't figure out how to check his e-mail.

How to Improve:
Get younger?

That is all.

Florence, Italy

That's a photo I took while I was in Florence last summer. She's a tragic heroine, to say the least.

By the 15th century, Florence was the heart of the renaissance, pulsating with vibrant scientific, artistic and literary craftsmen. Some of the greatest men who have ever lived paced her streets.

Now, summer 2006, she's just another prostitute to predatory tourists, scam artists, and graffiti delinquents.

Oh well, the food was good and the chicks were hot.