Well, the holiday season be upon us once again, and the year is about to draw to a close. Normally, I’d wrap up the year with a few standard issue posts (Christmas List for Celebs, Top 10 Albums of the Year, etc.). But it seems everyone has their own little take on end-of-the-year awards. VH1, Comedy Central, shit, I’m sure fuckin’ PAX has a year-end special. Still, I started a tradition last year with the first ever "Jump The Landshark" Awards, and I feel obligated to at least keep that tradition in season.

However, instead of handing out multiple honors as I did this year, I have one massive clusterfuck of an award I like to call the Universal Jump the Landshark Award.

And this prestigious honor I bestow upon…

Everyone.

Because every single man, woman, and child on the face of the earth jumped the Landshark in some way, shape or form, this calendar year.

You did it, your mom did it, your lover did it, your sibling(s) did it, even I did it.

My ex made me watch the MTV VMA pre-show. I still feel contaminated.

In all seriousness, though, 2004 was the year from hell. Superficiality overtook substance. Intelligence became a major liability that no one seemed to shell out extra for. Style became a language in and of itself, and altogether eclipsed the importance of talent. Ignorance was bliss to millions of humans. Media dulled the senses and dictated what we needed to know. Logic took a backseat to just about everything. Our culture continued to be dulled by massively stupid public figures. We got a taste of human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together, and mass hysteria. And most troubling of all, people never seemed to want to question the “truth.”

In truth, I found 2004 to be the most frustrating and disappointing year I have waltzed through in some time. Now I’m not trying to bring anyone down, nor am I trying to bear an oversized and much-unneeded cross on my shoulders. However, those of you who know me well know that I underwent a great deal of personal and professional hardship throughout the year. To be fair, there were some highlights, no question about it. And I would like to think that in the end, the positive experiences outweigh the negative. But I can’t shake the fact that the negative were far more numerous, and much too frequent for my liking. For me, the three best things about the year were completing and receiving my MBA, being elected to the Sons of Pericles Supreme Lodge, and the Red Sox winning the Series. Aside from a few weddings I attended and thoroughly enjoyed, the rest of the year kind of blew koalas.

And when I wasn’t encountering death of friends and family, unemployment, or failed relationships, all around me it seemed the rest of the world was just heading nuts-first into a tailspin and not really giving much of a shit. Maybe it’s me (but then again, it’s my blog, so I’m allowed to be me, and fuck you if you don’t like it), but it just seems like all the principles of logic, reason, common sense, and progression have fallen tragically by the wayside with a resounding thud. I don’t know who or what to blame, but I know that it makes me excruciatingly sad. I just feel like people, in this nation and around the world, don’t seem to care about anything anymore. More and more, it seems we the people of the planet Earth are growing more resigned to just putz around like a tribe of hopeless lemmings.

And folks, believe me, I am not limiting this to political outlooks. I’m talking in very broad, general terms. It’s just that… I don’t feel the rules seem to apply to folks all that much anymore. It’s like I meandered directly into this bizarre Wonderwasteland where everything is ass-backwards and no one really seems to care al that much. Let’s just be complacent with the feces that’s forked over to us at the buffet and sport a big shit-eatin’ grin while we devour it.

See, I can’t do that. I learned a long time ago not to remain complacent with myself, or the events around me. I learned that if I feel something is wrong, it’s my duty to speak up about it. It’s one of the reasons I started this stupid blog in the first place, and this mass realization is no different for me. There is something horribly wrong with the world today, and while I cannot put my finger on it precisely, while I cannot look to one lone source and say, “there it is,” I can sense, in very broad terms, that things are way too far left of center.

I feel that, in short, narrow-mindedness has overtaken our nation. To me, that’s frightening. As a child, I was always taught to ask questions when curious, or doubtful, or unsure. And I do to this day. I question everything. Beliefs, leaders, actions, authorities, everything. And that is not to say that I am looking at this through purely biased eyes, ladies and germs. I may not agree with everything that goes on around me, and I shouldn’t have to. The world should not have to suit my needs at all times. However, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a major bug in the system that is somehow reproducing in brain matter across the globe.

Perfect example. I saw someone at the local pharmacy purchasing the Clapper today. The fuckin’ Clapper. I didn’t even know they still made those damn things.

I think the one moment that hit home the most for me this year was Jon Stewart’s appearance on Crossfire. Stewart commented (and I’m paraphrasing) that there is “something very wrong with the nation right now.” He went on to say that the host, who touts himself as a serious reporter, really isn’t doing anything about it.

I agree with Jon, and I think we should all be allowed to point the finger at the masses and ourselves and say that we’re not doing anything about it. And those of us who at least are cognizant of the problems at hand don’t know where to start.

Admittedly, I don’t know where to start myself.

But I, for one, fully intend to fight the battle with the greatest weapon I have at my disposal. When armed with it and fully loaded, I am slightly invincible against literal and figurative slings and arrows. When wielding it, I can cut through the thickest slab of idiocy, inconsistency, and dishonesty possible. And when using it on others, I can at times influence them to join the good fight.

It’s called my brain. I invite you all to lock and load along with me, and raise the roof in the ’05.

Farewell to this horribly sad and tragic year. All honesty, I won’t miss it a bit.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant whatever.

go oBefore you go any further, I’d suggest you bring yourself up to speed with what happened in Columbus, Ohio this past Wednesday night.

Now, I’m not one to typically comment on major losses in the entertainment industry, save my praise for the late Johnny Cash last year in lieu of MTV’s petty disregard for him.

But Dime… Dime hits close to home, for some reason. Part of that unidentifiable reason may be the fact that if you were a fan and knew anything about the man, he seemed like family to you. And to hear that he was cut down without the slightest hint of provocation is downright heartbreaking.

To put it bluntly, this entire thing makes no sense. It’s all so damn surreal, it seems like a horribly bad episode of Law & Order. Sadly enough, odds are that this scenario will be “ripped from the headlines” and projected onto the small screen.

And in truth, that probable homage would give this incident more coverage than mainstream music media has bothered to grant the situation. I mean, it received major news coverage, no doubt. CNN, MSNBC, all the major outlets carried the story. But you’d think that major music outlets, i.e., MTV, VH1, and radio would pay more attention to this. Y’know, since it’s relative to the industry.

But per usual, said outlets have given this situation nothing more than a small blurb on their websites or between-program news briefs. Even most rock radio stations didn’t carry the story for more than a few hours.

I remember back in 2002 when Layne Staley died, and his passing received a modicum of coverage. One week after his body was discovered, Lisa Lopes was killed in a car crash, and MTV treated her like Princess Diana.

Y’wanna know why? I’m gonna throw political correctness by the wayside and say it’s ‘cause Dime and Layne were slaves to the white man!

Oh, wrong prejudicial preference. Sorry. It’s really ‘cause they’re of the hard rock/metal genre. See, ‘cause rock in general is considered passé by MTV and VH1 (unless you’re in one of those horrendously overrated indie college bands like Modest Mouse, Franz Ferdinand or Bard’s Ballsack). I wish these fucking narrow-minded twits would call a spade a spade, and a loss a loss.

And believe me… Dime is a loss. The guy was a fucking phenomenal guitarist. I had the privilege of seeing him play with Pantera once in New Haven, and they were amazing. Dime was especially impressive. I’m something of a guitar aficionado (which means I love guitar-based music, but am not good enough to play myself), and I can just tell when a guy is playing with everything he has. I’ve seen it with Joe Perry, Zakk Wylde, Eric Clapton, Steve Vai, and yes. I saw it with Dime, too. The guy was so innovative, and really helped to put a new spin on the world of thrash, which was waning at the time.

That’s one reason why Far Beyond Driven debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard charts in 1994. These guys built their following the old-fashioned way: working their asses off from dusk ‘til dawn in front of live audiences. C’mon, you really think most rock stations would play Pantera at any point in time? Trust me, it’s a very rare thing. That’s why the band was so special to a lot of people. They were the workingman’s metal band when Metallica and Megadeth were going down more commercially gainful roads, musically speaking.

I never had the pleasure to see Dime and Vinnie play in Damageplan. I missed the opportunity by a hair’s inch on December 4th of this year, when they tackled the Webster Theatre in Hartford. Unfortunately, I could not make it. I just figured that they’d be around again in no time.

And to me, it’s sad to know that such a return is never going to happen. And I’m not the only one feeling it. The hard rock community has banded together, forsaken all feuds and beefs with one another in Dime’s name. Zakk Wylde, Ozzy Osbourne, Lars Ulrich, Dave Mustaine, Scott Ian, Rob Zombie, Jerry Cantrell, even Dime’s former bandmate turned apparent rival Phil Anselmo has offered up a tribute whilst still grieving.

That speaks highly of the individual, to me. Here was a guy who seemed to get along with practically everyone he met. That’s what makes this senseless death even worse. Dime did nothing to hurt anyone. He never did anything to deserve this. Neither did the three other innocents who were gunned down by a flat-out psychopath.

No one deserves to die because their band broke up. It’s that simple. And make no mistake about it… Dime may have been a long-haired, tattooed, cursin’, cussin’, dirty ol’ boozehound of a metalhead. But this is still a tragedy.

I’d say something touching like, “keep shredding, Dime,” or, “it’s gonna be real quiet without ya, Dime.” But I didn’t know the man. So instead, I’m gonna fix myself a couple of black-toothed grins in honor of the man.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

So we’re onto two years, huh? Two honkin’ years I’ve been swimming these dreaded Landshark-infested waters. Wow. That’s longer than most of my relationships. That’s longer than the lifespan of some babies. In third worl—I’m sorry. Developing countries.

Well, I wish I could say I have something special planned, but, the truth is, I really don’t. It has been a brutal couple of months for me, although to be perfectly honest, it’s not fair of me to bitch about my world-class troubles to you folks.

I would much prefer to bitch about far more petty things.

That being said, there is something I would like to touch on. We rely on a lot of proverbs in our society, but many of them are untrue or simply don’t make sense. For example…

“A rolling stone gathers no moss.” Well what if it rolls through a very mossy valley? Wouldn’t it gather a little moss then?

“Don’t spit/piss in the wind.” Somehow, spitting and pissing got lumped together in the same basic action simply because they’re both bodily fluids. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t concur with said categorization. You never hear about someone being spat off. No guy ever claims that someone pissed in his face. Weird. Anyway, the assumption here is that the gust of wind will cause the spit/piss to blow back toward you, thereby soiling your person. But what if you make an attempt at testing the wind direction? Y’know, stick your finger in your mouth and hold your hand upward. If the wind is blowing to the northeast, point your lips/shlong to the northeast and unleash the fury. Odds are you’ll get some extra mileage out of the release.

“A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” First off, this makes no sense at all. There’s no real logic behind it. How can one bird be worth more than two birds? If you have one apple in your hand, unless it’s really, really big, it’s not going to be worth more than two apples on a tree. This one needs to be scrapped.

“A man is known by the company he keeps.” What if he’s known by his sixth finger? I bet you wouldn’t care about the company he keeps then.

“A stitch in time saves nine.” How do you stitch time? Time is not a tangible fabric. And why nine? What is so important about nine stitches? You know what this one ought to say? “A stitch in your gash prevents some excessive blood loss, but nine stitches will prevent more.”

“A man’s home is his castle.” Unless his home is a cardboard box.

“All is fair in love and war.” Well that’s good to know. Next time a girl breaks my heart, I’ll stab her with a bayonet. Hey, if it’s fair in war, what’s the problem, judge?

“Barking dogs seldom bite.” Does that include dogs that are rabid? I mean, I don’t know how accurate Cujo was, but I’d assume that rabid dogs bark and bite on pretty equal scales.

“Better to die with honor than live with shame.” This is stupid. I’d rather live than die, period. Whoever came up with this was obviously suicidal, hence it needs to be scrapped entirely.

“Crime does not pay.” Unless you get away with it, right O.J.?

“Cleanliness is next to godliness.” I bet Jesus would really take offense to this. Think about it; He lived, for the most part, in filth and poverty, and hung out with fishermen and prostitutes. I’m sure they all enjoyed a good scrubbing as much as the next concubine, but rarely had the opportunity to do so. But that didn’t stop J.C. from hangin’ with ‘em. But I guess that’s the kind of cat He was. Class act, we need more people like Him.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched.” Whoever came up with this one must’ve owned a farm near Chernobyl. Because unless you get a lotta mutant chickens with multiple heads, you can pretty damn well count the number of chickens you can expect before the break the shell.

“A picture is worth a thousand words.” Well what if it’s a picture of a chair? Or a wall? Or just some grass? How many words is it worth then? Honestly, how many words could you generate from a picture of a chair? “Um… sit… um… legs, err… wood… um… how many do I have to go? Shit.”

“Great minds think alike.” Well not always. Theoretically, Hitler and Einstein were great minds. I highly doubt they thought alike.

“Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.” It sounds like good advice, but then they nail ya with “He who hesitates is lost.” Well if I don’t hesitate, then I must be rushing in. But then I go where angels fear to tread. So I must hesitate. But then I’m lost. I’m so torn. What do I do? Maybe I shouldn’t hesitate or rush, maybe I’ll just walk. Unless it’s over thin ice. Then I have to tread lightly. God, there are so many rules. That Superman is a prick, he gets to fly wherever he pleases. I have to choose from options, none of which are appealing.

“Life is just a bowl of cherries.” Except when you’re getting boned by the company.

“Many hands make light work.” Well what if the many hands belong to many midgets? I don’t think they’ll get it done any quicker, do you? Or what if the hands belong to children? Hey, that shit flies in some third worl—developing countries. Then you’d need many, many hands. And that is not specified in this proverb.

“Nothing is certain in life but death and taxes.” Unless you’re homeless. Then you’re pretty much going to have to settle on death alone. Sorry.

Lastly, this is a favorite of mind. “The pot calls the kettle black.” I take issue with this one. I’ll bet you sometimes the pot calls the kettle “Murray.”

Now apologize to the Landshark for forgetting his birthday. You made him cry. You filthy whores.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Ever occur to you how medicated this nation is? Just stop for a second and think about it. How many people do you know personally who are on some type of drug to help them get through the day? How many drugs are you on for the same purpose? Can you count on your hand how many times a year you go to the pharmacy to drop off a prescription?

When did we lose 100% ownership of our bodies to 100mg of whatever the doc scribbled on that little ticket?

I gotta tell you, I’ve been mulling over this subject a lot. And I’ll tell you why: because from September of last year up until just last month, I’ve been on a daily dosage of Zoloft. The reasons why aren’t really relevant, let’s just say I felt the need to go to therapy for my well being, and my doctor, in turn, laid pen to paper and told me to go get help in the form of a tiny pill to be taken once every morning on a full stomach.

I was hesitant at first. I told him that I wanted to do this without the inclusion of drugs into the mix, but I decided to give him a chance. So I went on the prescribed dosage, and after a while, I began to feel better about things, functioning at my normal level per usual. So I figured, “hey, it must be the prescription, right?”

Now to those of you who know me personally, you can attest that I’ve had a lot of mounting frustration over the past several months regarding the stagnant job market, and the effect on my person has been significant, to say the least. Truthfully, from August up until last month, I was in a serious rut. I would come home after working a paltry 5-hour day and yearn for a lengthy nap when I did next to nothing at the office. I barely had energy to go to the gym after 7-8 hours of sleep each night. My involvement with the job hunt was tepid at best, and my typical lust for life needed a hefty dose of Viagra to ignite the old flames. The strain took a toll on my relationship, which, for the record, is now over, and it also caused a lot of friction between my parents and I.

Now, I was still on my prescription at this point. The thought did cross my mind that if I was this bad about things, maybe it was time to up the prescription grade. Maybe it was time for Prozac or heavier. But then I paused, and thought to myself, “What has my doctor really done for me the last ten months other than refill my prescription every 4-6 weeks? At what point did we discontinue the therapy itself? Do I even remember? Did I even care?”

So, with things looking as down as they could get in the belfry, I made a conscious decision, in an effort to repair myself and the relationships with my girlfriend, my parents, and my friends. The first step in doing so was to discontinue sessions with my shrink, and also slowly take myself off of Zoloft. I think I knew that unconsciously, it would have to come to this, because I requested he cut back the dosage nearly a month before I took a sharp left turn at the fork in the road. I finally severed all ties from my so-called doctor last week with the intent to find someone new. Someone who doesn’t just abide by keeping his or her patients in check through some pills.

Now, before this meeting, I had already taken myself off of Zoloft. And I mean completely off. No morning dose, no half dose, no quarter dose, none of the above. Moreover, I went through no withdrawal symptoms whatsoever.

I have a new mantra regarding medication: unless I am formally diagnosed with any type of illness or disorder, I want to go about my life as pure as possible. In short, I want to keep my system clean. I find that for me, it’s the best way to approach the gamut, and I operate at my peak under such conditions. To boot, I'm still feeling better than ever despite the fact that my girlfriend and I ultimately broke up. That's gotta stand for something, no?

That’s not to say that all medication is bad. I’m fully aware that there are a lot of physical and psychological disorders that cannot be approached without the application of certain prescription drugs. Be that as it may, I do believe that at least 50% of the prescription-taking populous probably doesn’t even need medication to function properly. Sure, the pills make for nice training wheels, and maybe get you off to a good start on improvement. But they should not evolve into eternal crutches for us to lean on just to get through one 24-hour session. A lot can be accomplished with therapy, be it of a physical or psychological nature.

Moreover, as silly as it may sound to the skeptics out there, I truly believe that we need to heavily consider hypnotherapy as a viable alternative to swallowing a couple hundred milligrams a week. Remember that we humanoids only use a mere 10% of our brain on a daily basis. There’s still a great deal of untapped potential for self-healing capabilities. We have not even begun to scratch the surface of what the human brain can do for us, and I honestly feel that it’s high time we began to look into the matter with more open-minded peepers.

Of course, serious consideration of the above methods would throw a sharp left hook toward the pharmaceutical industry, and they can’t have that. I hate to get all uber-liberal-fuck-corporate-America-and-everyone-entrenched-within-it, but it’s true. The pharmaceutical industry is big business in this nation, and a lot of people have gotten very wealthy by researching and manufacturing drugs to assist people with problems. It’s a known fact. Bayer, Pfizer, Bristol-Myers Squibb, etc. Big business, big money, big plans. You need look no further than stock market to realize that these companies are raking in major funds as a result of the work they do. And I’m sure that they’ll chalk it all up to “working for the greater good.” Well, yeah, you do help a lot of people. But that’s not to say that those people weren’t already able to help themselves, at least on an esoteric level.

And that is why we will never see hypnotherapy considered a fully viable, acknowledged and legitimized practice in the eyes of the scientific community. Too many people in that upper 1% have a lot of money tied up in these companies, and they simply will not allow for such methods to break through into the mainstream. Call me a conspiracy theorist if you like, but I’m just following a long chain of common sense.

Think about it. In a way, we are conditioned, from the time we’re kids, to take pills to help us improve. How quickly did you go from Flintstone’s Vitamins to Tylenol?

At this time, I’d like to pass the mic over to Master George Carlin. The following is a verbatim transcript of an excerpt from his 1971 album FM & AM. I listened to this again recently, albeit after I had already made my decision to come off Zoloft. Still, listening to the wise pundit that Carlin was (and still is more than 30 years following this particular routine), the reasoning behind his typically biting comedy is really quite thorough and wonderfully sage. Of course, I could write a whole book on the brilliance in Carlin’s routines, but I want to stay on one topic right now. So, with that said, I invite you to read on, true believer…

“No big thing, we’re just kinda dopey folks, and we have all these drugs available to us. Y’know, that’s why there’s a drug problem, man. There’s all those drug stores, right? Every three, four blocks, there’s a big sign: Drugs… ‘Open All Night - Drugs,’ ‘We Deliver Drugs,’ ‘Cut Rate Drugs.’ It’s the biggest thing on their sign! ‘Cosmetics, Sundries, Drugs.’

“And the pharmacist is always stoned, you ever notice that? Check his eyes, he’s experimenting with something, man. How come he can never fill a prescription right, y’know? He always gives you that, ‘Better come back in an hour, man… I can’t even read the bastard.’

“It’s no accident that we’re drug-oriented, really. The drug companies got us that way, and they’d like to keep us that way, y’know? I mean, that’s a simple thing. They start you early with the oral habit. Little orange-flavored aspirin for children… Pop! Pop! ‘Two in the mouth, son. Something wrong with your head? Pop! Pop! Two in the mouth. Remember that. Head. Mouth. These are orange, there’ll be other colors later.’ They even name it after a saint to throw you off, y’know? ‘S’alright, son, two in the mouth. St. Joseph.’ Pop! Pop! Remember ‘pop a chalk?’ ‘Pop a chalk!’ Pop! Pop! Guy goes to a dance when he’s 13, ‘How’s your head?’ Pop! Pop! ‘Two in the mouth, man.’

Carlin also mentions coffee, alcohol, and amphetamines as other heavily abused, rarely mentioned drugs, but this particular selection really kind of crystallizes the point I want to make about pharmaceutical drugs and the adolescent pre-conditioning to pill-popping. The examples may be a little dated, I grant you, but they still serve their purpose.

But there is an interesting point to be made here. And we’re only at the tip of the RX Iceberg, folks. Painkillers are another world unto themselves. You wanna talk about a real drug problem? How about all these celebrities and professional/college athletes that get hooked into these things? I can remember clear as a bell one interaction I heard during my senior year in college between two members of the lacrosse team:

“I’m sore as fuck. Got any PK’s?”

“Painkillers? Yeah, I got some back at my apartment.”

That, my friends, is a clear-cut case of how one doctor’s poor penmanship can lead to a whole world of trouble. You need look no further than the Betty Ford Center or something as seemingly absurd as the world of professional wrestling to see what kind of problems can be caused by prescription painkillers. There’s no question that these things can work miracles when it comes to handling pain, but by that same token, it’s also plain to see the resultant hazards that almost always seem to materialize. Look, I feel for athletes, after all, with the advances in medical healing, they are being pushed harder and more dangerously than ever before by their coaches, managers, team owners, teammates, fans, and God knows whom else. Again, this is off topic, and an entirely different post altogether, but over-reliance on these things will take you off the field and just put you in the ground, case closed.

Put it this way: you know these things are unavoidable in our culture when even a fat, lazy blowhard like Rush Limbaugh gets hooked.

Hey, I’m just calling it like I see it. I’ve already made my choice, and I know that, for some reason, there are lotsa folks in the Internet community who experience some form of depression or other psychological disorders, and as a result they do have to take medication. I’m not trying to influence anyone’s decision, all I can say is that for me, right now and forevermore, I feel a pure system is the way to go. And as far as said psychological problems go, there are other methods of dealing with them that don’t necessarily come in little orange bottles.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

Perhaps it’s fitting that the day after Halloween, I saw a ghost.

But not your typical-run-of-the mill-I-died-40-years-ago-in-a-freak-welding-accident-at-the-old-steel-mill-and-now-I’m-forced-to-haunt-this-popcorn-stand-for-the-rest-of-eternity-type of ghost.

No, true believers. I encountered a ghost from the past.

Tony Lemons.

The sourpuss embittered guido from my Market Research class at UNH. The same Tony Lemons who apparently had not matured past sophomore year in high school, and still tried to get his work done through the smart kid.
That’d be me.

Mr. Lemons was fixing his coffee next to me at the Mobil On-The-Run. He didn’t seem to recognize me, but I recognized him. That high stack of Dragonball Z-inspired oil slick he calls a head of hair… that permanently etched scowl on his ugly mug… those club-trash pants and shoes that he so proudly adorned.

I never forget an asshole.

Of course, I didn’t bother to chat, since I have nothing to say to him. Except maybe, “did you manage to graduate without swan-necking over someone else’s exam during finals?” Or, “did you ever consider giving a buck to every person who brought your GPA up a hundredth of a point?” Or, “goddamn, you still look like your mom inserted a quarter-pound of quick drying cement into her cooch just hours before you came out of the oven.”

And then we parted company. He paid for his coffee while I was still fixing mine. By the time I arrived at the register, he was long gone.

So what’s the point to this tale? The point is I feel I deserve to be commended for not only biting my tongue, but also for repressing the urge to tackle him between the automotive products and snacks and bludgeon him with a bottle of Castrol GTX for being the asshole he is.

‘Cause you see, my friends, while I never forget an asshole, I never forgive an asshole, either.

Goodnight, and have a pleasant tomorrow.