I have an awful attitude when it comes to sleep. Notably, I despise the idea of it. Given that most human beings require around eight hours of it a night, that eats up a third of one's life - that's right, a third of your life is spent in bed, and not in the good way! Some people love sleeping, and would do it all day if they could. Some do, and consider it to be a form of consciousness where they walk about on autopilot all day.
As for myself, sleeping seems like a waste of perfectly valuable time. Nothing is accomplished, one is extraordinarily vulnerable to outside threats, and one does not stop aging. Given this, why the hell do we do it, outside of it being a biological need? I would much rather get my refresh from something that didn't suck up eight hours of my time, thanks. Maybe I could create some sort of instant-refresh machine, kind of like a checkpoint in most video games. Need to rest? Just pop into the AutoRefresh 2000 and suddenly you're good as new; you just slept eight hours in two seconds.
Some of this attitude comes from my light insomnia. There are nights where I can't get to sleep, and it's infuriating every time. So I may or may not have consciously decided that sleep is the devil as a way to cope with the fact that I can't have it all the time. But this would more likely explain a desire to sleep as opposed to a desire to avoid it! Since I've yet to meet anyone who feels the same as I do about sleep, the only logical conclusion is that I am a superior breed of human being whose focus is on productivity and efficiency (and who is mysteriously lagged down by modern society's lackadaisical lifestyle).
The time I spend sleeping could be spent reading, writing, or steadily losing my mind. Eight hours of self betterment down the drain, and why? Because my body seems to think it needs to rest, recharge, and clear things out. What really sucks is that when I try to take that time to read and write, only half gets absorbed because of exhaustion. Truly, the war I wage is a losing one. Hell, even now I fear I'm rambling on due to my heavy eyelids.
I should give up and go to bed, but I don't want to. That siren can take her call and choke on it, because I'm not buying her product. I don't want her fluffy sheets nor her gentle caress. I don't want the wacky, often far-too-realistic dreams I end up having. I want to spend my time doing something that will either enrich me or make me rich. Maybe enrich a rich guy named Rich. See what I mean about not making sense?
You know what? Sleep should be a privilege. If you don't exercise or use your brain for more than breathing, you don't get to sleep! After all, if you're just running on autopilot, it's not as though you are giving your brain much of a work out. Instead, you're giving it a bag of Doritos, the remote, and a copy of the TV Guide. That thing's doing nothing but crying over Lifetime movies. You know, the one with the girl and the husband who beats her, but she gets better and becomes strong only to find true love?
I think I just accidentally spoiled every Lifetime movie past, present, and future. You're welcome, now go read a fucking book.
12/14/11
10/6/11
How To Be Unproductive
Productivity is considered a good thing. It builds bridges, crosses gaps, creates religions, and in general makes everyone feel good about themselves. If you're not productive, you are considered lazy, a slacker, a good-for-nothing, and an overall bum. The problem is that with the advent of television shows depicting people working, the internet, and cell phones that do more than make calls, being productive in this world is damn hard; nearly everyone I know has ADD, simply because they never learned discipline.
Speaking of reality TV shows, why *do* we have this preoccupation with watching people performing in their occupation of choice? It started, I think, with Deadliest Catch. Then it was Pawn Stars, then Cake Boss, then Auction Your Shit, then Storage Wars. At first, these shows were interesting. Even I'll admit that I found Pawn Stars to be fascinating not because of the individuals who work in the shop, but because of the pieces of history and Americana that often find their way into that particular shop. It's a small history lesson every episode, which is more than most shows can say.
Still, what the hell? What is there to learn from Storage Wars, or Ice Road Truckers? Oh, and Army Wives! Who the hell wants to watch a bunch of military wives whine about how their husbands volunteered for service during war time and were shipped out? Have we become so devoid of actual culture that we actually enjoy sitting on our asses watching television that has no purpose other than to brain drain?
The Internet, oncea place of learning and always the porn capital of the universe, is of even less help. It is chock full of websites that will suck out your brain and dull your senses. There's nothing positive to gain from a website such as Facebook that doesn't equate to masturbation - doing something exclusively to feel better about yourself. I'll admit that the Internet has absolutely ruined any sense of self-discipline and imagination that I once possessed.
I used to be thrilled at the idea of writing. I remember when I'd take my mother's electronic typewriter so that I could write my Star Wars fan fiction (Rogue Squadron, bitches) more readily. It never got anywhere, and I'm sure the pages are long gone, but I still remember writing it, and being happy about it. I used to fill notebooks, especially in high school, with theories, philosophies, stories, poetry, and musings. Now I appear to only collect notebooks, with multiple pages left blank for years. Even my regular moleskin gets little to no love for me, and well over 3/4 of it is blank. The only writing I do is the occasional blog post and D&D adventures, which I admit is better than nothing and lets me dip into that fantasyland I've been hiding for ten years.
Even my appetite for reading has lessened. I used to devour books, mostly fiction, and as I grew older I wound up having an intense dislike for fiction and moved on to nonfiction. But still, I read less than I should or than I'd like, but I have trouble making a conscious effort to do so. I have a reading list longer than I'd like to admit. Hell, I still want to reread John Adams by David McCullough, but I doubt I'll ever get around to it. Frankly put, my discipline is in a sad state, and I think almost the entire world under the age of 40 is in the same boat.
It's easy to blame external sources for our lack of productivity, but what's really to blame? The Internet, TV, cell phones, and video games? Doubtful. For everything these things have done to ruin us, we've no one to blame but ourselves for our lack of discipline. Hear that? It's your own damn fault you can find nothing better to do but rot in front of your TV or computer screen.
If you want to be productive, step away from the internet, turn the TV off, and go do something. Force yourself past that initial point of resistance, and continue to do so every time you hit that all-too-familiar roadblock of laze and procrastination. It's the only thing that will save you from having a biography that reads "He played video games, watched TV, and converted oxygen to carbon dioxide. I suppose he was an alright guy."
Speaking of reality TV shows, why *do* we have this preoccupation with watching people performing in their occupation of choice? It started, I think, with Deadliest Catch. Then it was Pawn Stars, then Cake Boss, then Auction Your Shit, then Storage Wars. At first, these shows were interesting. Even I'll admit that I found Pawn Stars to be fascinating not because of the individuals who work in the shop, but because of the pieces of history and Americana that often find their way into that particular shop. It's a small history lesson every episode, which is more than most shows can say.
Still, what the hell? What is there to learn from Storage Wars, or Ice Road Truckers? Oh, and Army Wives! Who the hell wants to watch a bunch of military wives whine about how their husbands volunteered for service during war time and were shipped out? Have we become so devoid of actual culture that we actually enjoy sitting on our asses watching television that has no purpose other than to brain drain?
The Internet, once
I used to be thrilled at the idea of writing. I remember when I'd take my mother's electronic typewriter so that I could write my Star Wars fan fiction (Rogue Squadron, bitches) more readily. It never got anywhere, and I'm sure the pages are long gone, but I still remember writing it, and being happy about it. I used to fill notebooks, especially in high school, with theories, philosophies, stories, poetry, and musings. Now I appear to only collect notebooks, with multiple pages left blank for years. Even my regular moleskin gets little to no love for me, and well over 3/4 of it is blank. The only writing I do is the occasional blog post and D&D adventures, which I admit is better than nothing and lets me dip into that fantasyland I've been hiding for ten years.
Even my appetite for reading has lessened. I used to devour books, mostly fiction, and as I grew older I wound up having an intense dislike for fiction and moved on to nonfiction. But still, I read less than I should or than I'd like, but I have trouble making a conscious effort to do so. I have a reading list longer than I'd like to admit. Hell, I still want to reread John Adams by David McCullough, but I doubt I'll ever get around to it. Frankly put, my discipline is in a sad state, and I think almost the entire world under the age of 40 is in the same boat.
It's easy to blame external sources for our lack of productivity, but what's really to blame? The Internet, TV, cell phones, and video games? Doubtful. For everything these things have done to ruin us, we've no one to blame but ourselves for our lack of discipline. Hear that? It's your own damn fault you can find nothing better to do but rot in front of your TV or computer screen.
If you want to be productive, step away from the internet, turn the TV off, and go do something. Force yourself past that initial point of resistance, and continue to do so every time you hit that all-too-familiar roadblock of laze and procrastination. It's the only thing that will save you from having a biography that reads "He played video games, watched TV, and converted oxygen to carbon dioxide. I suppose he was an alright guy."
9/13/11
Your Legs Are Too Long, And I Hate You
While wandering around the wonderfully low price, low class, and low-American-made products wonderland that is Wal-Mart, a strange, rhythmic 'swoosh' sound assaulted my ears. It sounded like a hard-bristled brush being rubbed against a ceramic tile. This is actually a sound many of you are familiar with, as you've either generated it or been a victim of it.
This horrifying sound is caused by one thing, and one thing only: people who have muscle mass so deficient that they are unable to lift their feet while they walk. Well, that's not entirely true. It is also generated by people who either never learned how to properly walk or are so lazy that they lift their feet only enough to be able to swing their leg forward, essentially dragging the sole of their shoes against the ground.
When I learned how to walk, it went something like this: step, lift foot, move foot forward, plant foot, repeat with opposite foot, repeat. It was that simple, and I mastered it by the time I was three. I was a walking master. If I was able to figure out how to walk so easily, how is it that other individuals above the age of three are unable to lift their feet enough to not shuffle about? Did they never make it past that stage of development physically?
What's worse, it's clear they make no effort to lift their feet - clearly that level of physical exertion puts too much strain on their frail human bodies. So while they're walking around, all you hear is the sultry, sexy sound of their shoe brand of choice being dragged forcibly across the floor. Yeah, that's right, baby! Drag those feet! Nothing is sexier than a woman incapable of walking correctly!
Not only does this actually make your shoes wear down faster, but it makes you prone to falling on your face, which I admit would amuse me greatly. But that's beside the point, which is that you should pick up your fucking feet - shuffling about makes you look like a Neanderthal. If you are incapable of lifting your feet while you walk, perhaps I'll have to saw your legs off, as they're apparently far too long, you freak.
This horrifying sound is caused by one thing, and one thing only: people who have muscle mass so deficient that they are unable to lift their feet while they walk. Well, that's not entirely true. It is also generated by people who either never learned how to properly walk or are so lazy that they lift their feet only enough to be able to swing their leg forward, essentially dragging the sole of their shoes against the ground.
When I learned how to walk, it went something like this: step, lift foot, move foot forward, plant foot, repeat with opposite foot, repeat. It was that simple, and I mastered it by the time I was three. I was a walking master. If I was able to figure out how to walk so easily, how is it that other individuals above the age of three are unable to lift their feet enough to not shuffle about? Did they never make it past that stage of development physically?
What's worse, it's clear they make no effort to lift their feet - clearly that level of physical exertion puts too much strain on their frail human bodies. So while they're walking around, all you hear is the sultry, sexy sound of their shoe brand of choice being dragged forcibly across the floor. Yeah, that's right, baby! Drag those feet! Nothing is sexier than a woman incapable of walking correctly!
Not only does this actually make your shoes wear down faster, but it makes you prone to falling on your face, which I admit would amuse me greatly. But that's beside the point, which is that you should pick up your fucking feet - shuffling about makes you look like a Neanderthal. If you are incapable of lifting your feet while you walk, perhaps I'll have to saw your legs off, as they're apparently far too long, you freak.
5/31/11
I See You Touching Myself
When I was young, I went for adventures in the woods behind my house. It was fantastic, and to this day I'm still shocked that I made it back to the house before dark most days. It started with my brother and I finding a suitable spot to make something of a fort. It was across a brook, which is really small but when you are six seems incredibly wide and deep. So we decided to needed a way to cross this without getting our legs soaked - we built a bridge out of a couple smaller trees we felled.
The fort didn't take root due to lack of work, but it still left me with a desire to go out into the forest. So I did, and continued to do so for years. While out there by myself and with my brother/dad, I learned how to survive in rough conditions. But most importantly, I drank from water sources most city-dwelling individuals would die from consuming. I believe my drinking from brooks, streams, and rivers granted me a stronger immune system - at the very least, I've had less bacterial infections than many people I know.
That, however, did not prepare me for the absolute horror that the common cold brings upon me. Like a Mack truck smacking into a Ford Fiesta head-on (apply directly to the forehead) at 95 MPH, the common cold totals me - yes, an insurance company flat-out tells my friends and family to just order a new one; it's that bad. You think having the sniffles and a cough is bad? Well, gentle reader, man the fuck up and ship off to Boston - you can't top the aches, the clogged sinuses, the faucet nose, the headaches, the bronchial congestion that gets worse when one goes horizontal. And this isn't simply for a day or two, no - it's for 4-5 days, sometimes a week. If I have it really bad, two weeks of hell.
For a simple, common virus, it's Godzilla. I am Tokyo. Everyone around me is The Blue Oyster Cult. Yes, there are Japanese people in train cars inside of me being thrown across my sinuses. The ultimate irony? I think this may be nature's way of giving me the finger for never contracting the flu. I couldn't catch the flu if I rubbed a flu-infected individual's feces on my face and took a swim in their vomit. I'm fairly certain I am an antibody in and of myself.
Don't want the flu, baby? Fuck the shot; have a tall glass of me.
The fort didn't take root due to lack of work, but it still left me with a desire to go out into the forest. So I did, and continued to do so for years. While out there by myself and with my brother/dad, I learned how to survive in rough conditions. But most importantly, I drank from water sources most city-dwelling individuals would die from consuming. I believe my drinking from brooks, streams, and rivers granted me a stronger immune system - at the very least, I've had less bacterial infections than many people I know.
That, however, did not prepare me for the absolute horror that the common cold brings upon me. Like a Mack truck smacking into a Ford Fiesta head-on (apply directly to the forehead) at 95 MPH, the common cold totals me - yes, an insurance company flat-out tells my friends and family to just order a new one; it's that bad. You think having the sniffles and a cough is bad? Well, gentle reader, man the fuck up and ship off to Boston - you can't top the aches, the clogged sinuses, the faucet nose, the headaches, the bronchial congestion that gets worse when one goes horizontal. And this isn't simply for a day or two, no - it's for 4-5 days, sometimes a week. If I have it really bad, two weeks of hell.
For a simple, common virus, it's Godzilla. I am Tokyo. Everyone around me is The Blue Oyster Cult. Yes, there are Japanese people in train cars inside of me being thrown across my sinuses. The ultimate irony? I think this may be nature's way of giving me the finger for never contracting the flu. I couldn't catch the flu if I rubbed a flu-infected individual's feces on my face and took a swim in their vomit. I'm fairly certain I am an antibody in and of myself.
Don't want the flu, baby? Fuck the shot; have a tall glass of me.
5/4/11
Post Titles Are Pointless.
Hello, everyone, and welcome to Disobedient Swede, a cute little blog from the right side of the tracks that'll treat you right and take you home to its mama like a good bundle of text should - but not before it takes you out back behind the dumpsters, has its way with you, and leaves you shaking and holding a crumpled hundred-dollar bill. That's just business to Disobedient Swede, and business is good.*
I am here to entertain, exacerbate, enrage, enrich, opine, hypothesize, and muse on anything that comes to my mind. I plan on exploring the depths of human behavior, politics, psychology, sociology, why I am terrible at mathematics, good books, bad books, education, and much more. If I have a well thought-out post about how our education system is failing our children one day and then follow it up with a post that is, essentially, me drooling on my keyboard, then consider it par for the course.
Disregard everything I've just told you: I'm not here for you, I'm here for my own ego.
(* - bonus points if you read this in Morgan Freeman's voice. Extra bonus points if you read it in Gordon Freeman's voice.)
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