Movin' on up.

Much like the Jeffersons, I'm movin' on up. Unlike the Jeffersons, unfortunately, I'm not getting a deluxe apartment in the sky. Instead, I'm just getting a new blog address over on wordpress.com that allows me a little more flexibility and ease of use when it comes to designing the sucker.

Wanna check out the bare-bones version of the new site? Then head on over to creativepetrol.wordpress.com

Rejoice! Rejoice! Maximum Lazy now possible!

If there's one thing I know, it's this: NetFlix NetRox. I really didn't think there could ever be a better man-made creation than a monthly-fee-based mail-order movie rental service.

Then I saw the Roku box that streamed said movies right to my TV. "Touche, NetFlix," I said. "Well played." I was indeed thoroughly overjoyed by this new creation, and thought it to be the pinnacle of human innovation. In fact, once I had the money to flush down the shitter on unnecessary crap, I was to own one.

But, sadly, now Roku will never get their hands on my hard-earned dough. Why, you ask?

Lo and behold -- NetFlix on XBOX 360. Coming this fall to a living room near you. I can't believe I'm saying this, but blessed be Microsoft and the most heavenly game console/media server she has bestowed upon us.

Amen.

Need proof that the miracle is actually happening? Check the pic. It's the new XBOX 360 Dashboard (again, coming this fall) with a NetFlix queue on it. Thanks, Engadget.

My missile's bigger than your missile

As you may have heard, Iran held a missile test yesterday, which was made 100% more spectacular when they photoshopped a few extra missiles into official photos of the event. This is the chopped pic:



What you probably didn't hear in the news is that I also held a missile test in my back yard. Personally, I think mine was better. Massive ogre baby FTW. And yes, as you may have gathered from the pink trail on the left missile, I fully support breast cancer. And by "fully support breast cancer", I mean "boobies make me tingly in my no-no spot."

Cock Shots

About 20 minutes ago, my pal Ralston IM'd me this webpage, which is supposedly what some blogger got when he left a disposable camera out on a public park bench. After taking a look at the photos, I call bullshit.

Why? Why? I'll tell you why.

Because after a total of about a day sitting out in a public place, there are pics of too-smiley lady, inanimate objects from off-kilter perspectives and psuedo-alternative-halfway-annoyed-but-really-loving-this girl (all pictured here):







But there isn't one (and by 'isn't one' I mean 'NOT EVEN FUCKING ONE') cock shot in the bunch! I mean really, folks. What's the world coming to? I don't know how, if anybody left a random disposable camera out for a whole day for random people to use, you wouldn't get even one guy who powers up the flash, pulls out his waistband and, well, pops a shot.

Apparently, cock shots weren't anybody else's first thought (worrisome), but once presented with the situation, most joined me in stunned disbelief. Or maybe they were just REALLY weirded out. Regardless, Mary thought the whole thing was pretty funny, as you can see from the following conversation.

Mary: ralston told me what you said about the roll of film -- it made me pee.
Nick: I sincerely do not know how there isn't a dick on that roll of film
Nick: In fact, I think he might have snipped out that frame when he posted the pics online.
Mary: i told ralston i might try that downtown and see what happens... i'm certain we would come up with cock shots...
Nick: I would hope so...if not that's strike 3 against Lawrence as far as I'm concerned
Nick: Strike 1: Goddamn hippies
Nick: Strike 2: Mutha-fuckin' hippies
Nick: Strike 3: lack of cock shots on a disposable camera
Mary: noted. i can't do anything about the hippies, but i might be able to get some cock shots on a disposable camera.
Nick: And even if you don't get cock shots, you'll at least get a few pictures of some son-of-a-bitch hippies
Nick: Just consider yourself lucky you don't have a smell-o-camera.
Mary: ooh -- lovely thought.

Lovely thought indeed, Mary. Lovely thought, indeed. But the question remains: Just what are the men of Lawrence packing? Whatever it is, I'm betting it's organic, locally grown and smells a little something like - you guessed it - hippies.

Your fave blogger (probably not) in Ink

And by "your fave" I mean "you've at least seen his blog once."

Check out the Kinney-ized version of the free local rag Ink's Office Space story here.

To my 5-7 hits per day: Sorry, yo.

As some of you may have noticed, but probably not, I haven't been posting here quite as frequently lately. The reasons for this are three-fold.

First, I have just been a busier guy lately. Between figuring out this whole home ownership thing, being swamped (and therefore frazzled in the evenings) at work and preparing for the wedding, I just haven't had as much time for the ol' blog.

Second, I don't yet have internet access at the new house, so my time on a computer is much more limited.

And third, I've been thinking about what exactly this blog is. Over the last month or two, it seems that it has become a "best of reddit" site instead of a way to further my own creative drive. Soon, I shall get back to posting more of my own writing (and I hope a few pics, too), and I guess we'll just see where things go from there.

So look out for some new posts soon -- I'm still staying busy, but I'm sure I can find 15 minutes a day to get a few words down on my digital notepad.

Until then,
NK

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, CockSucker, MotherFucker, and Tits

I don't usually care when celebrities pass away, as most celebrities just aren't worth caring about. George Carlin, though, was a funny man with huge balls who I greatly admire.

That's all I'll say. Now, enjoy a couple of Carlin's greatest hits (thanks, YouTube):


First, on religion:


And now, the great one:

Time to get some dirt under my nails.

I went to buy my wedding band last weekend, and much to my surprise, they don't make the one I want in the size I need. I'm a size 14.5. The ring only goes up to size 13. What a predicament.

All last week I thought about shopping around or having one custom-made. I suppose that might work, but it seems like the problem isn't necessarily that the ring is too small. It just may be that my finger is too big.

So, as of this weekend, I'm going to make my life a better one. Run more. Eat (and drink) better and less. Take control of my health and my life. Because as (and talk about great advice from unlikely places) Chad Johnson in the latest ESPN Magazine:

"Some people say the grass is always greener on the other side. I say be the gardner. Water the grass. Feed the grass. Make your own grass grow.

I make the grass grow wherever I am.

I am the gardner."

Esquire? Really?

(Good) Relationship advice come from unlikely sources sometimes. Here's some from the typically annoying Esquire:

"The Faithful Man is a stranger among men. Among men, where it is an article of faith that no man is capable of sexual fidelity--that sexual fidelity is, in evolutionary terms, unnatural--the Faithful Man is considered suspect. Because infidelity is seen as entrepreneurial, he is seen as lacking in the drive and daring that make for compromised husbands and successful capitalists.

Go to a steak house: At the same table where an Unfaithful Man counts his latest conquest, the Faithful Man keeps a prim silence about his principled surrender. Even when a friend who avers that he could never stay faithful asks the Faithful Man how he does, the Faithful Man makes excuses for his success rather than boasts about it. "I dunno," he says. "I guess I have a great wife."

Among men, he accepts the moral equivalence of fidelity and infidelity, because moral judgment is one of the few deal breakers in male friendships. Among men, he presents his fidelity as a condition passively acquired--as something that just happened to him--because he doesn't want to present it as an ideal he has actively pursued. And so, among men, he has a secret, and the secret is this: He does judge. He does presume that fidelity is morally superior to infidelity. He does idealize it, and he does actively pursue it. Indeed, he knows fidelity wouldn't be worth the bother--it wouldn't even be possible--if he didn't tell himself it was the most important thing in the world.

In the absence of a sustaining mythology of male faithfulness, he has had to develop his own private one, wherein he struggles to be true not just to his wife and his family but also to himself. At issue is the question of choice, and choosing is the difference between surrender and defeat. Sure, the Faithful Man has surrendered to his vows and his marriage and, yes, his wife. But he has chosen to surrender, because the choice, as he sees it, is not between cheating and not cheating; it's between love and the utter desolation and meaninglessness of lies. He has had to draw the line in order to walk it, and he has had to give up some part of his volition in order to keep himself whole.

How does he know that he's chosen? Well, he knows he's chosen because he knows he chooses. Every day, when he wakes up to his home and his life and his wife's face on the pillow, he makes sure to say, "Yes, this," or more important, "Yes, her," because fidelity without active assent is just as futile and confining and absurd as other men say it is. Every day he chooses, every day he has to choose, every day he has to keep on choosing, every day until he's dead. And when one of his friends asks him how he does it, he's only trying to tell the truth when he mutters, "I dunno. I guess I have a great wife."

New Home.

I'm in, and I'm thrilled.




That's what he said.

Another quote, this time from a Salon.com article entitled "How Rock Band Saved My Marriage"

Life is filled with unpleasant realities. We have to watch what we eat and go to the dentist; we have to control our spending and unplug our electrical devices at night, lest we become obese and toothless, drowning in a sea of consumer debt and glacial melt. None of us can stay 18, and very few of us will ever be rock stars. It's important to acknowledge this; it's healthy. But sometimes we need to escape into a daydream in order to face what we've become, and what we will be. And if once in a while you can escape with someone else, then that's about the best you can do.

I know I'm not in my 30's or 40's yet. Hell, I'm not even technically in my mid 20's yet. But still, I see myself aging. Getting bigger. More mature. Less energetic. I'm starting to realize that if I ever want to get better or thinner or smarter, then the time is now.

Pretty soon I'll be staring at my life and I'll be too far gone to ever go back. This scares the living shit out of me.

And that's why, starting today, I'm making life a more fun, more centered and just all around better trip. Join in if you want, but brace yourself. If I know myself as well as I think I do, then it's gonna be one wild and crazy ride.

Quote

I would say I want to do a quote of the day (and I will try), but it'll probably just end up being whenever one smacks me across the face.

Here's what hit me today:

"Wars are poor chisels for carving out peaceful tomorrows."

-- Martin Luther King, Jr.

What the fuck?

OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets

For those of you that know me, you know this just ain't right.

Damn it! That sentence contained no fucking swear words.

OK, I think we've probably beaten that one into the ground now.

Ass.

The end is nigh.

Just take a look at this superstorm in Chile (which, by the way, hit them at the same time as a volcano eruption) and tell me I'm not right.

Clarity

Ever since the day I graduated from what today still feels like my home, I've struggled.
I've struggled with selling out.
I've struggled with the day-to-day grind.
I've struggled with what's become of my life.

But every day I see her, I regain my purpose.
She is my happiness.
She is my fun.
She is my clarity.

I come home every day to stories of pre-schoolers.
They could care less about the concept.
They could care less about the big idea.
They could care less about the best way to sell.
And they make me care about it a little less, too.

And it's oh so refreshing to forget about it all.

What's the goal in your life?
What's the objective?
What's the point?

Let me tell you.
For me, it's her.
It's them.
It's It.
And I'll never forget It.

Don't you ever, ever, ever forget It, either.
Because It, my friends,
It is all that matters.

This is the better than anything we do

I found this picture on reddit.com. Not trying to sell anything or anything. Just a picture. And it makes me want to buy the best food for my dog worse than anything we've ever created in this place.

Despite all the problems, all the fighting, all the war, America is still an OK place. Here's why:



"There was recently a report that someone in Pakistan had published in a newspaper an offer of a reward to anyone who killed an American, any American.

So an Australian dentist wrote the following to let everyone know what an American is, so they would know when they found one:

An American is English, or French, or Italian, Irish, German, Spanish, Polish, Russian or Greek. An American may also be Canadian, Mexican, African, Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, Australian, Iranian, Asian, or Arab, or Pakistani, or Afghan. An American may also be a Cherokee, Osage, Blackfoot, Navaho, Apache, Seminole or one of the many other tribes known as native Americans.

An American is Christian, or he could be Jewish, or Buddhist, or Muslim. In fact, there are more Muslims in America than in Afghanistan. The only difference is that in America they are free to worship as each of them chooses. An American is also free to believe in no religion. For that he will answer only to God, not to the government, or to armed thugs claiming to speak for the government and for God.

An American is from the most prosperous land in the history of the world.

The root of that prosperity can be found in the Declaration of Independence, which recognizes the God given right of each person the pursuit of happiness.

An American is generous.

Americans have helped out just about every other nation in the world in their time of need. When Afghanistan was overrun by the Soviet army 20 years ago, Americans came with arms and supplies to enable the people to win back their country. As of the morning of September 11, Americans had given more than any other nation to the poor in Afghanistan.

Americans welcome the best, the best products, the best books, the best music, the best food, the best athletes. But they also welcome the least.

The national symbol of America, The Statue of Liberty, welcomes your tired and your poor, the wretched refuse of your teeming shores, the homeless, tempest tossed. These in fact are the people who built America.. Some of them were working in the Twin Towers the morning of September 11, 2001 earning a better life for their families. I've been told that the World Trade Center victims were from at least 30 other countries, cultures, and first languages, including those that aided and abetted the terrorists.

So you can try to kill an American if you must. Hitler did. So did General Tojo, and Stalin, and Mao Tse-Tung, and every bloodthirsty tyrant in the history of the world. But, in doing so you would just be killing yourself. Because Americans are not a particular people from a particular place. They are the embodiment of the human spirit of freedom.

Everyone who holds to that spirit, everywhere, is an American."



Let's be generous, let's be kind, let's be welcoming to all. Let's be understanding so that we may all be free. Let's be Americans.

Practice more, preach less.

Visitation Catholic Parish down on 55th and Main recently completed a $14 million renovation. They claim it is because they needed more space to accomodate an increasing number of parishoners. I went in today, and saw Italian marble tiles and custom-made solid oak pews.

Saddened, but not unsurprised by this number, I wondered aloud why they needed that much.

My mom explained that "A house of God should have nice things out of respect for Him."

"I guess," I said, "but I think feeding a few of His less-fortunate creatures would have sat well with The Big Man, too."

Good luck, boys.

I saw this photo of a bunch of guys my age headed to war on one of the social news sites. The fact that a few of them may not come back saddens me. Then I got an email from an old friend. He informed me that we have an old shared co-worker and friend on that flight across the Atlantic. Now the thought that even one of them might not come back REALLY saddens me.