Sorry I haven't been on UG very much lately, yesterday was the first time in like 3 weeks. I pretty much sold my soul to Burger King so they're taking up most of my time. School is gonna be starting soon so I'll have even less time then. At least now I can afford a Digitech rp90 pedal so I got that to look forward to in 2-5 business days lol. So thats my explaination to not answering any comments/messages you may send.
Ok lets start this story from last Monday, June 2nd. The Pittsburgh Penguins were in the Stanley Cup finals against the Detriot Redwings. The Red Wings were 3-1 in the playoffs (if your not familiar with hockey, they play to the best of 7) and the Pens needed to win every game to stay in. The Pens were down by 2 in the 3rd period and they had lost Sergei Gonchar to an injury. Miraculously, they tied with 37 seconds left and went into sudden death overtime. No one scored but Petr Sykora said he was going to score the winning goal. He wasn't taken 100% seriously because this was his first year in the NHL. They went into 2nd overtime. Still -- no one scored. The game dragged on to the morning. 10 minutes into the 3rd overtime, Petr Sykora scored. The Detroit stadium roared with anger. The Penguins still had a chance.
Me and my dad were so motivated from this victory that we vowed to make an exact replica of the Stanley Cup. Exact dimensions were drawn and materials were purchased. Last night on Wednesday, June 4th, an hour before the 6th game started, I began construction on our Cup. The bottom part was all sheets of aluminum (not like tin foil) and the top rings were styrofoam. I used all kind of complex calculations and such, measured, and cut stuff on commercial and between periods. In the 3rd period the Pens were down by 2 and on a power play. With 1:30 left they scored once and it looked like it was going to be a repeat of Mondays game... But the clock slowly ran out and hearts were broken. Motivation from the Pens for building my Stanley Cup is gone but I have a big metal tube and chunks of styrofoam sitting in my livingroom. I'm pretty sure my mom will be mad about that if I don't do something about it. I might as well finish it... Maybe the Penguins will make it to the finals next year...
It was a mild spring day in the month of May, Timothy was energetic and youthful. He became ensnared on what would inevidably be the hook of Death, dragging the life out of him. He came to me for help. Little did he know, that would be the last thing he would ever freely do. I evaluated the extent of his injuries. As soon as I saw the depth of the wound, I knew the chances were slim. I prepped him for surgery. Once Timothy's life was in my hand, I panicked. With no other options, I inquired the wisdom of those who were previously advised on the subject. I then knew what I had to do. Timothy's time was about to run out and no matter what I did, Timothy wouldn't have survived. The question was no longer 'How do I save him?'... no... now it was more like 'How do I end his misery?'. I was forced to cut the line that was holding him so high above his friends and family. Timothy's spirit came crashing down with the strength of a tidal wave and silence struck the operating room. Timothy was in the height of his youth and a single tragedy robbed him of all he ever knew. His mourners all gathered around his corps and each of his friends left with a small peice of him in their hearts. He was the first pacient I had ever lost in surgery and his memory will forever haunt me. He trusted me with his life and I let him down. I'm sure he is looking up through the murky depths, searching for a second chance... another chance to frolic among the lily pads and sunglasses.
"A man had two sons, and the younger son said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of your estate that should come to me.' So the father divided the property between them. After a few days, the younger son collected all his belongings and set off to a distant country where he squandered his inheritance on a life of dissipation. When he had freely spent everything, a severe famine struck that country, and he found himself in dire need. So he hired himself out to one of the local citizens who sent him to his farm to tend the swine. And he longed to eat his fill of the pods on which the swine fed, but nobody gave him any. Coming to his senses he thought, 'How many of my father's hired workers have more than enough food to eat, but here am I, dying from hunger. I shall get up and go to my father and I shall say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I no longer deserve to be called your son; treat me as you would treat one of your hired workers."' So he got up and went back to his father. While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son, embraced him and kissed him. His son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you; I no longer deserve to be called your son.' But his father ordered his servants, 'Quickly bring the finest robe and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. Take the fattened calf and slaughter it. Then let us celebrate with a feast, because this son of mine was dead, and has come to life again; he was lost, and has been found.' Then the celebration began. Now the older son had been out in the field and, on his way back, as he neared the house, he heard the sound of music and dancing. He called one of the servants and asked what this might mean. The servant said to him, 'Your brother has returned and your father has slaughtered the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.' He became angry, and when he refused to enter the house, his father came out and pleaded with him. He said to his father in reply, 'Look, all these years I served you and not once did I disobey your orders; yet you never gave me even a young goat to feast on with my friends. But when your son returns who swallowed up your property with prostitutes, for him you slaughter the fattened calf.' He said to him, 'My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.'"
I hate it when people post the tabs for just the main riff to those same overused songs over and over again when there are like 30 other tabs for the entire song already on UG. Not that I'm saying songs like Iron Man, Smoke On The Water and Seven Nation Army are bad, they're some of my favorites, but they can easily fall into the wrong hands. I just rejected a bunch of tabs like this from the tabs pending approval thing:
It's a disgrace and a waste of time to all UGers and the bands that sing the songs that they're disrespecting.
As you can probably tell by now, I have deep-seated anger issues lol. So... be a good UGer and vote "yes" for all the good tabs... like mine!
I hate having to talk in front of the class and giving presentations and stuff like that with an INDESCRIBABLE PASSION. I have to give a Spanish presentation about my childhood next week and I'm really not looking forward to it. I should be trying to figure out what I'm gonna say right now but I'm just gonna bitch about it for a while.
I'm seriously a really horrible public speaker. I can't hold paper or anything like that because my hands shake so bad, it rattles really loud and I get even more self-conscious.
Not to sound concieted, but I know my presentation will be one of the best because there are only 6 people in my class that didn't basically skip Spanish I (there are 2 Spanish I teachers and one of them does absolutely nothing all year; people in his class literally didn't know one word of Spanish... I had the good teacher) and I always have high 90s in that class anyway. All that aside, I'm still freaking out about it. It makes me want to jump off a bridge.
I think that, over time, people do change. People are changed by their/or someone very close to them's experiences and impressions of life. For example, my friend, Cass was at the beach and she got pulled out by a rip tide and she almost drowned, it was a pretty bad scene. Now, she's nervous about going into the ocean. This is opposed to my cousin, Steve (featured in my other blog, This Concerns Pretty Much Everyone). Steve moved from in town to out in the country and he developed this totally fake hick accent within a month or 2. Many of his stories involved farm animals (which he never owned one) and planting crops (the closest thing he ever did to that was when our grandma let him plant 2 rows of corn).
My definition of a fake person is someone who is changed by someone else's (unless its someone very close to them) experiences and impressions of life.
I think I would be alot better on guitar if I could still read music. After I quit taking lessons, I only ever used tabs and I eventually forgot sheet music. Now, I just don't have the motivation to re-learn. Whenever I talk to people just starting out I tell them to learn to read music right from the start. I think knowing where all the notes are would make you better with chords and scales.
Even though I never actually played it, I hate that damn Guitar Hero. I feel as though I worked my ass off to get to the skill level I'm at today playing a real guitar. Now, every idiot with 100 bucks and a lot of time can say he can play the guitar.
A Guitar Hero controller has what? Like 5 buttons. A real guitar has 6 strings and 22 frets give or take (not to mention chords, scales, harmonics, different picking styles, and other such things of that nature). What skill does Guitar Hero actually require? A very small amount of hand-eye coordination? It's sure as hell not a sense of rythm, the computer gives them that.
I know I'm probably just being an ignorant jerk with anger issues, but tell me if you feel the same way as I do.
Wait, I have to edit this... Its just the losers who waste WAYYYY too much time getting really good at Guitar Hero and are all smug about it that piss me off
Just because I use guitars as an example, this pertains to anyone who plays any kind of instrumet:
When your just starting out or even if you've been playing for quite some time but never really caught on, please don't lie about your skill level. Never tell people that you're really good, even if you think you are. Chances are you're not and you'll end up making an ass of yourself. Even if you think you'll never see that person again, it will only blow up in your face.
My cousin, Steve, started playing about 2 years ago. He told me that he got really awesome and he could play One by Metallica. I thought to myself, "Man, I can't even play One. He must kick ass," After he got a new Ibanez for his birthday, he told me to come over his house to see it... Plus I wanted to hear him play.
He started playing the intro to One, and he was kinda shakey. I figured he just got that guitar and he's not used to it yet. Then, he got to that solo right in the beginning and he totally skipped it. I grew concerned. Before it even got to that part where the intro just speeds up a little, he stopped and said "I told ya I could play One!" I snatched the guitar out of his hand and played something really fast. I could see it in his eyes that he wanted to die right then and there. And just when he thought his self esteem couldn't get any lower, all his friends walk in. They said they heard us playing and they looked kind of pissed off at Steve. As it turned out, he made his friends listen to a CD with One on it and he told them that it was his band playing a cover of it.
The moral of this story is that you probably suck so don't tell people you're really good. I've seen this happen to a lot of people (not including myself, I know I suck), and it always ends badly.
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allie_is_cool's blogs, last updated : August 18, 2008
