Read Me Like A Book

 

                                                       photo courtesy of edudemic.com

It dawns on me as of this writing that a creative outlet is what I need to thrive. Blogging has always been a nice hobby, something to give me an avenue to express myself, get my thoughts out there for anyone that cared to take a look. 

It grew from the seed implanted when I first began writing sports related articles for my college newspaper. Somewhere in between I had a little blog that I posted some sports articles on, and within a week or so, I was asked to write under the mantle of Bleacher Report. Almost four years later, I am now a Featured Columnist for the website, and can boast of impressive read totals for each article that I post. 

But my love for the written word has always been devoted more to the creative, fictional side of things than hard and serious news stories. My old laptop is filled with files of random and useless short stories. There may even be one or two (maybe five) half-written novels on the hard-drive as well. Nothing worth mentioning here, but a lot of time and effort went into those writings.

Now as I sit here tapping away at the keyboard, I'm struck by an almost profound sense of loss. The loss of not having some of those writings to simply look over and laugh at how stupid I could have been t write those things. How poorly written they were. Even the ridiculous subject matter (one of which included a duck that a little boy believed to be his grandfather). 

But the loss is mainly in wondering if I can ever get back the magic that I sometimes felt when writing. There were times when I felt as if electricity was coursing through my veins as I wrote.

I haven't felt that way in a long time. But something tells me that the feeling is going to be making a comeback sometime very soon.

The Destination Of Inspiration

                                                 photo courtesy of www.biography.com

It's not secret to anyone that my love affair with Charles Bukowski is paramount to all other literary figures. It was him that inspired me to begin writing in the first place. It has now been a ten-plus year journey that has had its ups and downs.

I've never really been able to relate to why Hank always struck a chord with me, but ever since an introduction to literature course I took my second semester in college, I was hooked by his words, which at many times could be lovingly described as vulgar.

And maybe that's why I always related to him. Not that I'm a pervert, or degenerate, but boiling things down to their lowest common denominator has always been my calling card. Why waste time and energy being indirect. 

It's best to speak in a no-nonsense manner. And if people don't agree, I think Bukowski would probably call them full of shit and throw a punch. 

Which might not be MY style, but the part about being blunt certainly rings true. It was put to me a couple of weeks ago by a friend that I generally "give zero fucks."

There is a level of honesty in his writings that simply led me to fall in love instantaneously. Vulgarity and subject matter aside, the guy knew how to tell a story. I'd love to say that I could carry that mantle into my generation, but at the end of the day, it might be hard since my parents don't constantly beat each other, my car runs perfectly and I only enjoy the occasional drink. 

Even so, it's something to shoot for.

Taking my cues from a guy that said that one of the keys to life was "to fuck a great many women," and wrote countless stories of brutal violence and blackout drinking might not be something that many people would expect from me. And despite the fact that he seemed to be an abusive alcoholic, and lived a life of pain and suffering, there was a great beauty in his written words. And clearly I'm not the only one that thinks so. To wit, Bukowski is now regarded as an essential figure in the genre of literature.

Which in the end is not too bad for a guy whose tombstone reads "Don't try."

On The Rocky Franchise

                                            photo courtesy of widescreenworld.blogspot.com


As many of you who follow my Twitter or are my Facebook friends can well attest, my latest mental obsession has been with viewing the Rocky franchise of movies.

I've been annoying my co-workers by calling myself "the Ultimate Male" as Thunderlips did in Rocky III.

I have been yelling "Hey woman!" at my girlfriend as Clubber Lang did in that same film.

It's only a matter of time before I start running laps around an outside track and facing cutaway shots of mysterious substances being shot into my rippling shoulders like Ivan Drago in the fourth installment, or sprinting up a series of steps like Rocky did in every film.

The bigger situation with this though is that I realized that these films actually teach life lessons.

The first installment taught us to never give up, no matter what the odds.

Rocky II preaches the same thing, only this time Rocky gets the big payoff by defeating Apollo Creed.

Rocky III teaches you to stick up for your woman, an archaic idea, but still a value to have for any young man growing up.

Rocky IV taught us all that one fictional boxer could topple the entire Soviet Union.

Rocky V taught us that Tommy Morrison has no business being an actor.

The main idea is that no matter what the obstacle, you can always persevere. Although the filmmakers almost ended that idea by having Tommy Gunn kill Rocky in the famous streetfight in the unwatchable Rocky V.

Luckily for Rocky, the ending was scrapped.

Not as lucky for movie fans, there would be another installment.

Mason "the Line" Dixon?

Really?

Really really?

Hard Work and Dedication: Do Nice Guys Finish Last?

I was always told that if you work hard and really put forth your best effort, things will eventually go your way.

I lose faith in that advice from time to time.

I by no means have had a rough life in terms of struggling. I've never gone hungry, or lacked a roof over my head.

But at times, I have felt that I'm walking alone in life. Which was always ok in the past, because my feeling was that I never needed anyone to succeed.

But now, in my wise and learned state, I realize that one of the keys to life is making connections. It IS all in who you know. Your life, or more importantly, your professional life, is based very heavily on connections.

Which is sort of sad for a lot of people that have genuine drive and talent and miss out on opportunities because of a lack of lucky networking.

Maybe I'm wrong.

Maybe I'm cynical.

But I'm also probably right.

On Love

The word love has the potential to mean many different things to many different people. It can strike fear in a heart, or warm one to the point of overflowing.

When I was five, I thought that love meant sharing your crayons.

When I was twelve, I thought that you were automatically in love with anyone that you dated (whatever "dating" is at age twelve).

When I was fourteen, I thought that love was crushing on a girl who didn't even know that I existed. At that age, buying a girl a chocolate rose and sheepishly asking her "Will you go out with me?" was a life-changing ordeal. She remains to this day the only girl who has ever turned down my request for a date.

But she's a cow now, so I take comfort in that.

When I was seventeen, love meant stealing my friends girlfriend, because she seemed to be a nice girl. Enter my story about her father being a concentration camp survivor, and comparing me to a guard that he feared when he was a little boy. Needless to say, that was not love. But it does make for an interesting story.

When I was nineteen, love really kicked the shot out of me. I was positive that I knew what love was, I knew the ins and outs of the dreaded word.

I knew nothing. I know that now.

Then for many years, I thought that I was really in love. I thought that I was set for life. I thought that I was happy.

I know that that I was being controlled. Programmed. Used as a plaything. The victim of a vindictive and mentally abusive shrew.

Not that I'm bitter of course.

Then fate intervened and said to me "You've paid your dues. You've suffered enough. It's time for you to be happy."

Which was kind of weird, because I had no idea that fate could actually speak, let alone sound like James Earl Jones.

Love is one of those things that works in funny ways. Chances meetings can lead to great things. Random events can lead to eternal happiness. Going out on a limb can be the key to putting a permanent smile on your face.

I can attest to all of these things first-hand. One of my literary idols, Ernest Hemingway once said "There isn't always an explanation for everything." I've always agreed with that statement...so much so in fact that it was my senior quote in the high school yearbook.

I may not be able to explain why I'm in love, but I know for a certainty that I don't ever want that feeling to go away. Nor do I ever plan on allowing it to go away, and I'll do anything that I can to insure that it never does.

The Rules of War

(In honor of this blog being read in Russia for the first time, I dedicate this post to the masters of the slash and burn technique. Froze a certain Nazi douchebag right in his tracks during World War II)

I feel like wars can be over in like, three seconds nowadays. Which really leads to the question of why the hell American troops have been in Iraq for like, twenty years now, but that's another post for another day. Warfare used to be more civilized right?

There's something about standing in lines and just shooting at each other that seems more fair doesn't it?

Couldn't wars be won based on things other than weaponry and money? It could save a lot of money and blood.

So let's put aside all of the jets and WMD's and just make up five new rules of engagement for warfare in today's society.

1. World leaders should be involved in slap fights. Wouldn't all Americans love to see Barack Obama lay the smack down on Muammar Quaddafi?

Oh wait, that can't happen anymore.

What about Kim Jong-Il? Oh.

Too soon?

2. Has anyone seen You Don't Mess With the Zohan? All dissension that's been going on for more than twenty years needs to be decided with a hacky sack. It's so democratic it hurts.

3. Beauty contests should decide all land disputes. Sorry residents of Uglystan.

4. All guns should be replaced with wiffleball bats. Youtube would crash with the amount of videos being posted. And people everywhere would care about wars, especially if it meant seeing others get nailed in the genitals with a yellow stick.

5. The first country that can successfully sing "We Are The Champions" in its entirety wins. No disputes. Bonus points awarded for dressing like Freddie Mercury. I'm talking to you here you here of Norway.

Also, you can't win anything just because you say "I win." The global climate should not be decided by an argument that any three year-old can make.

Though when you think about it, are politicians any better than toddlers?

Thoughts?

Surprise!

I hate surprises.

Let me rephrase that: I actually love surprises, but I hate when I know something is coming but don't know what it is.

And of course, I'm always the recipient of the "you're gonna LOVE what I got you for (insert special occasion here)". And usually, I imagine that I'm getting a new car or something and end up with a brand spanking new ballpoint pen.

I hate the guessing game. When I know something is coming my way, I tend to try not to think about it. It limits my stress, and I think limits the stress of the person that's doing the surprising. And anyway, I normally don't NEED anything, so it's pretty easy for me to figure things out.

I haven't been surprised about a gift in roughly six years. I guess that I'm just a natural detective.

Of course, there are things in life that I find surprising. Among them are that:

-I had no idea that Jon Jones would defeat Mauricio Rua for the UFC Light Heavyweight title in March. If I had, I could have made some money.

-I had no idea that ALL women perfume their lady parts. It's just a fact.

-I had no idea that a Christmas CD is only acceptable if it has two versions each, count them TWO of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" AND "Baby, It's Cold Outside."

-It is possible to die from a disorder known as "cute overload."

-The housing market in California is cheaper than New York.

-I was very surprised to find that there really is no difference in taste between Dr. Pepper and Diet Dr. Pepper.

A random sampling to be sure, but that probably accounts for 80% of the things that surprise me these days.

Let's remember, I'm a New Yorker.

D'OH. Or Dough. Money...That's What I'm Talking About

I was feeling really good last night. Invigorated, almost like I could do anything.

Isn't it funny how fleeting those moments can be?

What I wouldn't give to be able to sustain that feeling for a lifetime. But true happiness can never last that long can it? I'm not talking just having a nice life.

I'm referring to the life of privilege. I wonder if those with unlimited resources are even blissfully happy all the time.

I think a pile of money would quell every fear that I have in life. Well, except for the fear of gold diggers, which I don't currently have, because well, I don't have any gold to dig.

I used to watch Duck Tales when I was little, and think that it was kind of funny that Scrooge McDuck went swimming in the money in his vault. But who the hell wouldn't want to do that? If I had that much loot, I'd be doing laps as well.

I'd convert the coins to bills though, so that I didn't snap my spine upon the impact of the initial dive.

I'm often asked the hypothetical question of what I would do with a million dollars.

My answer is always sensible; a house, a car, maybe pay off my student loans.

But would I really do all of those things? Maybe. But I'd blow the rest of the money on stupid things.

For instance, who wouldn't want a solid gold puppy?
Or a diamond encrusted toothbrush.

There's also a lot to be said for just having a weekend bender in Las Vegas. I've never been, and if I blew the kind of money that I think I would, I probably never should. But if I had the cash to drop, why the hell not?

But in reality, I would probably just save the money, and live off of it for awhile, not going crazy, just letting it trickle away a bit at a time.

Then again, I might just hire Nicki Minaj to play my first annual Earth Day festival, and the whole plan could go to hell.

The Alter Ego In ME.

In my younger and impressionable years, I always told people that I really felt like I was two people. There was Bryan, and there was Haas.

True, together that is my name. But I always thought that there was a real distinction between the two.

I always thought of Bryan as the all encompassing me. The normal person that you'd see day to day, moment to moment. He was no one really, just another cog in the machine.

Haas was the popular one. The one that came out in weaker moments, maybe ones of drunken influence, or other mind-altering ways. People liked this persona. He was fun, had confidence, a mean streak. He was someone that I thought I wanted to be.

He was an asshole. And he's gone.

Now in this present time, I still see two versions of myself. Only now I look at it slightly differently.

Anyone that knows anything about me knows of my passion for writing.And it is my dream of dreams to write the great American novel.

A lofty goal to be sure, but one that I still hope to attain. And I have always said that if and when that happens, I would use a pen name. I just always thought that was a cool way to go. Almost like the alter ego that I was referring to.

Who would Samuel Clemens be without Mark Twain? Theodor Geisel without Dr. Seuss? Horror master Stephen King wrote as Richard Bachman.

Hell, even the master of alter egos comic pioneer Stan Lee was born Stanley Martin Lieber.

So I decided roughly two years ago that my name would become Andrew James.

That has remained a secret until this writing. No one has ever heard that name spoken aloud or written before in reference to my goals. The person to read this post first will be only the second person to know.

Inspiration is hard to come by, anyone that has written anything can tell you that. Whether it's a term paper or an epic piece of literature, any writer that tells you that they've never been faced with a lack of material is lying to you.

Just like any woman that tells you that she can climax with a man on top.

Lies.

The point is, that as someone else, you can be free of all of the things that burden you. Bryan Haas may have his hang-ups, trials and tribulations.

But Andrew James is a blank canvas. He can be anything he wants.

It sounds childish, and maybe it is. But I choose to believe it. And if you think about it enough, it just might makes sense to you too.

I Gave Up. Now I'm Giving Up On That.

It's been awhile since I've said anything of note here. There's any number of reasons why that's happened, not the least of which being that I thought that writing about world events was something that I would find fulfilling.

Upon further reflection however, it only made me sound like a whiny nothing, so fuck that idea. I'm coming back with what you all came here to read in the first place; my random musings.

Or more specifically, my random musings about things that are pissing me off. So from here on in, enjoy the ride kids, because it's going to get bumpy in a big way.

Are They Predicting A Hurricane?

I could be wrong, but is there a hurricane heading up the East coast of the U.S.?

I heard something about it on the radio. Or maybe it was tv. Possibly even a newspaper (whatever that is in this day and age).

Or maybe it was all three, plus the internet, word of mouth and probably even sky-writing.

Hurricane Irene is headed straight for the Haastile Homeland of Long Island. It's just a fact at the moment.

However, I have never held any stock in what any meteorologist anywhere has ever said. In fact, I once heard somewhere that "meteorologist" is Latin for "liar."

To demonstrate my point, I looked at weather.com this afternoon, where it said that there was a 50 percent chance of rain in Freeport today. I immediately looked outside to find a torrential downpour.

'Nuff said.

And while I do not doubt the validity of the the statement that a sizable hurricane is currently destroying the Bahamas, and making it's way directly for North Carolina, I'm not entirely sold on it absolutely rocking my world just yet.

First off, it's moving incredibly slow at the moment, and while it was predicted (this morning)to be directly over us by Saturday afternoon, the forecast now says early Sunday morning, possibly even the evening.

And while most of my co-workers and even Haastili-she were obsessively refreshing their webpages for the latest storm updates, I'm still not sold on impending doom. Oh sure, they'll be a ton of rain, and probably some ridiculous wind, but hopefully no devastation.

But just because I'm a superstitious guy (or insane. One of the two), I filled up my car with gas today at the same station in which I fed my car the last time we were going to have a "blizzard," and ended up getting little more than a dusting of the frosty white stuff. It might just be me, but those stupid things count for something in my favor.

So for now, I'll just go about business as usual. And if I do end up eating my words, you'll see me rowing down my block come Monday morning on my closet door.

Earthquake!

If you live on the East Coast of the United States, you likely felt some type of tremor this afternoon when an earthquake centered in Virginia sent unprepared people scrambling for cover.

I myself was standing in the main office of my workplace, and didn't feel anything.

However, one of my co-workers thought she was having a stroke and asked why she felt like she was vibrating (no joke here). I suspected it had something to do with the construction crew in our parking lot drilling for soil samples.

However, many of my Facebook friends confirmed shortly thereafter that they too felt a rumble, and were panicking accordingly.

One of them compared it to the recent disasters in Haiti and Japan.

And THAT, my friends, is where I ceased being confused about the earthquake and instead became incensed about the sheer insanity that some people display.

The ground rumbled. That was it. Here on Long Island there was no more than a tremble. No buildings crashing to the ground, no trucks being swallowed up by huge cracks in the Earth. Not even a car alarm going off.

Entire areas of a country were destroyed in Haiti and Japan by natural disasters. How does that remotely compare?

I'm getting sick and tired of people making mountains out of molehills. If your finger hurts, you don't have cancer. If your car has a scratch on the bumper, it's not totaled.

And for that matter, gaining five pounds doesn't make you obese. Unless you already are obese. In that case, re-evalaute your eating habits.

This actually goes hand in hand with my entry from yesterday. This is such an "American" idea.

How have we become so obessed with stupidity as a culture? Everyone seems to have some incurable disease and the only medication is attention. If I have a cold, you have to have swine flu. If you have an incredible spouse, I have a better one.

Our culture as a whole has become one gigantic game of "Can You Top This?"

Am I alone in thinking that this is just getting a little bit out of hand?

The Crisis in Libya: My Thoughts

Maybe it's just me, but this whole debacle that's going on in Libya should be none of our (the United States') business.

It's kind of a shame that this whole idea of "trying to help" has become a typically American idea. Did you ever stop to think that maybe Americans wouldn't be so reviled if we weren't all such opinionated gossip queens?

The moment something seems out of hand somewhere, all of a sudden American forces are there to help. Wouldn't it be easier (and billions of dollars cheaper) to just sit on the sidelines and watch? We're a country that has a debt about as big as the cosmos, and we're throwing wads of money at a situation that doesn't even impact us as a whole.

Sure, there's oil in Libya. Sure we need to prove that we're at the forefront of the world when it comes to "keeping the peace." But in truth, we just come away with more egg on our face because in turn, everyone looks at us as the hall monitor of the globe

And really, how popular was that guy?

It just seems like we're doing more harm than good at this point.

Domestically, we wonder why we're wasting money on a situation that will likely never work itself out. Even if the rebels in Libya do manage to completely overthrow Muammar Gadddafi and his troops, then what?

We'll have another country that's in utter disarray, that we'll probably end up supporting with billions of dollars that we don't have in the first place. Things are real bad with Gaddafi, but will they really be better with a rebel leader at the helm of the government?

That person inherits a country in hysteria and an impending retaliatory strike from Gaddafi and his supporters. And that's just scratching the surface of what's to come.

I know it's easy to sit here and try to solve these problems from a computer. And I'm aware that my thoughts are not indicative of many people out there. But there are a lot of people that probably agree with me, at least on some level.

I'm not trying to fix the problems, or even inspire change. I'm simply trying to say that this country is bleeding credibility and jumping into yet another mess is exactly what we do not need at this point.

Now We Take On A Real Tone

It dawns on me that I generally use this blog as a means of bitching or complaining about things that are annoying me. And lately, that fact is actually what is annoying me.

So from here on, this site will feature entries dedicated to current events of all types, but will still maintain the Haastile nature to which you the reader have become accustomed.

Whether or not you choose to continue to read it is your business. But hey, you might just learn something.

On Bad Judgement

I'm not even going to begin this post with a clever lead-in.

I'm going to say what I'm thinking, because it needs to be said.

How fucked up of a society are we that in this day and age, people with disabilities are still so incredibly discriminated against?

Ok, now that I've stepped down off of my soapbox, I'll explain that.

The basis of my anger today is a story out of the UK about a 12-year old girl (who happens to have Down Syndrome) not being allowed to fly as an unaccompanied minor on British Airways after a sales representative told her mother that they didn't allow children with the condition to fly with their company because "we've had problems in
the past."

The link to the original article can be found here.

The company is offering the family two return tickets as compensation. I say that that is not even scratching the surface of settling the
debt.

First of all, why are children with Down Syndrome, or any other disability, really that different from a normal child?

We've all been on that proverbial flight where a screaming child makes it the "flight from hell." Does it really make any difference if that child is handicapped?

The answer should be no.

Secondly, whatever ticket agent spoke to the girl's mother should be immediately terminated. The company maintains that it is not in fact company policy to prevent minors with Down Syndrome from travelling unaccompanied. This woman either was not properly trained, or let personal feelings take over.

Either way, a grievous error in judgement was made, and the company should take appropriate measures to ensure that it does not ever happen again, which they are doing in the form of a companywide disability awareness program and additional training for all customer service agents.

Random Musings:

I think that I've come to terms with the one thing that I do best. Quite frankly, I'm incredibly good at telling it like it is, and seeing things that most people would never notice.

Here is a short list of what I am talking about:

1. After seeing two Broadway shows this weekend, it has come to my attention that like, every actor on Earth has guest starred on some incarnation of Law and Order. It must be a rite of passage for up and coming actors.

2. People don't listen, No joke here, just factual information.

3. Old ladies come in only two varieties: bitches and angels. They're either the type that would run you over with their yacht-sized Buick, or the type that would offer you something from a candy dish. There is no in-between.

4. Swamp People is a brilliant television program. The fact that people who speak English need to be subtitled is mildly hysterical to me.

5. If you think that you can sing, you're probably wrong.

6. The Leprechaun series is one of the most underrated horror film franchises ever. No Lucky Charms here kids, just brutality and dark humor. In fact, that might be a new topic for me in the near future.

7. Being fashionable does not give you creative license to dress like a mental patient.

An Update

In the last week, I have:

-mourned the death of my grandfather. There will be a detailed account of this in the coming days.

-gained a new found respect for country music.

-bought a new hoodie. For most of you, this is nothing special. For me, it's a true process.

-tried to solve World Hunger. I failed.

-come to terms with my own mortality. Which was easier than I thought it would be.

-begun preparations for a new literary endeavor. More details to come.

On Going In A Different Direction

Recently I told you all about a short story that I penned that I was very proud of. In fact, I've come to the realization that out of all of the things that have ever come out of my brain, that story was my favorite.

Maybe not the most well written, or the most interesting, but my favorite nonetheless.

I've written in the past about my newfound love of short stories, and it dawned on me earlier today (as I was almost freezing to death, another entry for another day) that I might be better off entering into the world of short stories rather than a full fledged novel.

At this juncture, I find the idea of sitting down for a short period of time and just pouring myself into something visceral or heartfelt very alluring. And yes, I realize that those two feelings are entirely contradictory. Which is kind of my point.

It may never go anywhere. I may end up being the greatest short story writer of this generation. I don't know, I don't have a crystal ball.

And if I did, I would be constantly betting on horses. And I'd have the monetary means to simply publish my own rantings.

Ah, what a dream.

On Lost Feelings

One of the greatest joys that I have in life is when I'm cleaning, or going through old things and I come across things that I have written in the past.

I wrote a short story back in like, May and I was really proud of it at the time. I wrote it by hand (which is pretty rare these days), and then planned to dictate it into a Word document later that day, or whenever I had a spare second.

I guess days turned to weeks and weeks to months, and I lost track of it. Then last Sunday, I found the story in a series of crumpled-up pieces of paper in my CD rack.The subject and story don't really matter at this time, but the pleasure that I took in reading, rewriting and then dictating it into that Word document was really refreshing.

I remembered what it was like to be creative, if even for a few minutes. It's a feeling that I've been severely missing for some time now. Now if I can harness it into something great (or even something decent), I'll finally be in a place that I want to be in.

On Retribution

I've never been a big proponent of getting even for past injustices. Even though I sometimes want to act before I think, I've seldom let it get the best of me.

Sure, there are things that have happened in my life that I wish could be changed. Wrongs that could be righted.

I'd love to find the guy who sucker punched me in eighth grade and make him cry, just like he did to me back then. But life has done that for me. He's a fat pothead now with no education, no job and no future.

But I don't take any pleasure in that. The scum of the Earth never succeed.

Ok, maybe they do. But in this instance, that's not the case.

I'm the kind of guy that doesn't hold grudges. Unless you apply it to professional sports. Because the New York Islanders need to work off about twenty years worth of my grief.

Or to my fifth grade teacher who didn't let me play Peter Pan in the school play.

Why you might ask?

"You're too husky to be Peter Pan. No one will believe that you can fly."

In effect, you crushed the spirit of an eleven year old kid. Congratulations dear educator.

So it's interesting to note that she was transferred out of the school a couple of years later. It might be because of her terrible attitude towards her students. It might be because she was a dried up old whore. Either way, I hope she gets influenza.

But overall, anyone who has done me any wrong over the years can rest easy. I bear no hard feelings towards you. In fact, I bear no real hard feelings toward anyone or anything that has ever happened to me.

On another note, I found out today that a not-so-kind ex's father is not what he portrays himself to be.

And I find that absolutely hysterical!