OCD? ...I Disagree

Hey friends. I know I haven't written in a while, but something has been irking me lately.

I was walking down the street and counting my steps between cracks in the pavement because I inherently prefer them to be an even number when I remembered something: That behavior is obsessive-compulsive.
While I do think that the behavior of people with OCD is fascinating, and to some degree completely mesmerizing, it's got nothing to do with what I want to call to attention here.

A ton of people have obsessive compulsive traits, whether it's hand-washing, putting on clothing in a certain order, or refusing to walk out a different door that you walked in (I think there's a silly sex joke in here somewhere, I'm just not gonna go for it right now), and all these things are fine by me.

But here's what gets me.

Some of you assholes will compulsively do something in front of me and then apologize and say "Ugh, sorry, I'm really OCD."

No you're not.
You are not Obsessive-compulsive Disorder.
You may have tendencies relating to it or have symptoms of the disorder, but you are not a disorder.
Stop being dumb.
Learn to use words.



Of course, maybe this is all a compulsion of mine, but if you take issue with that, kindly shut up.

Dicey Subject

I am apparently really bad at keeping on topic with my other blog. That is to say, I'm bad at keeping it as a blog that documents my life as it pertains to trying to break into the world of comedy, acting, and/or entertaining. I think it's got a bigger audience than this one (twice the number of Blogger.com followers as this one...both in single digits. Baller-status), so I tend to write things in there that belong in this blog. This one is supposed to be my musings on life. So that's what this is gonna be.

I read an article last week, sent to me by my friend Jen (over at http://jenniterjackon.wordpress.com) and written by Ricky Gervais about how he doesn't believe in God. Not a matter of not believing, but more matter-of-factly stating that there isn't a god. I'll get back to this in a moment.

Upon leaving home after Christmas I brought a few books back with me, two of which are nonfiction short-story collections from college. One of which has a couple written by a professor I had, but that's not the point. The point is that I just picked a random story and read it. It was basically about the writer abandoning faith in religion and how it crushed her mother but made her feel a better understanding of the world.

It's pretty clear that religion has a huge hold on American society, as well as it does the rest of the world. I'm not interested in debating the merits of religion, those of you who know me know that I'm not a church-goer and don't really care either way if you are, so don't bother thinking about that.

Instead, think about how many articles and books you've heard of in the realm of popular writing, whatever that means to you. A decent amount of books, it can be argued, are either straightforward books about religion (see: the always-massive religion section at bookstores) or thinly veiled books about religion (see: Narnia and the like). Religious writing is generally a big deal; if it is well written, it becomes an important piece of religious literature (again, go to the religion section and look at how they've all won awards).

So on the flip side, why is it always note-worthy when someone writes about a disbelief in God/religion?

I don't have an answer for this but it's endlessly fascinating. Some of the greatest minds in our world right now do not believe in a god or gods. When they write about it, it's gripping. Is it possible that, if they wrote it well-enough, someone could write a novel where the entire point is that there is no god, and this becomes a best-seller - changing the way a reading population views religion?

It's surely been tried, make no mistake of that, but is it possible in a society that is so dependent on religion?

Makes you wonder, right?


Note: I've mentioned before that I have something in mind when I start writing and invariably end up off-topic. This was on-topic, but oh my god...I can't believe how far awry this idea went. I had some really poignant things that I wanted to put in here and virtually none of them made it and now I can't make room for them/remember what they were. Curse you, writing.

Twitter(o) Killed the Blog(eo) Star

How weird is it to title a blog post after something that is effectively eliminating my post frequency? (not to mention reaching really hard for a Buggles reference)
On a scale of 1-this picture, it's solidly in the Ricky Williams wearing a wedding dress range.
But how did this happen? I originally resisted Twitter...what changed?
Shaq came to Cleveland. That's what changed.
I got on Twitter because I had heard that Shaq would do silly things like give out tickets to fans who found him based on his tweets. I heard he did this kind of thing on a semi-regular basis and I thought it was awesome. Once he was traded to the Cavaliers, I caved. I wanted the chance to be a part of that kind of tomfoolery.
Something happened in the months that followed...I started enjoying the process of tweeting.
It becomes a challenge for me to try to not say incredibly mundane things - or at least not most of the time. I try to be entertaining, although I try to do so without copying anyone else's jokes/style/premises.
As a result of all this, I now tweet a veritable crapload of times per day (I'm guessing close to 10, I don't want to look and find out it's way more than that) about things that I hope other people find interesting. This has killed my blogging.
After spending my entire life being overly wordy and descriptive about everything, Twitter has afforded me the challenge of trying to condense my thoughts into 140 characters despite my habit of using roughly 140 characters in a standard sentence...I've never been a fan of that subject/verb/object/punctuation simplistic bullshit.

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that Twitter is a new release for my random thoughts. Instead of expounding on them in a blog entry, I've taken to shrinking them for tweets. It's not good or bad, it just is at this point.
As it stands, Twitter is the sexy mistress to my mildly attractive blog-wife. It's the Sandra Bullock to my tattooed wench.
Wait, what? He was married to Sandra Bullock and banged that fuh-reak?? Is he retarded?? Am I missing something here? Cheated on her (who looks good in nothing-special-about-that-picture pictures) with her. That's a real picture, folks. Seriously, even if you don't click any of the other links here, do that one. It's eye-opening.
Now that, my friends, makes you wonder...

I feel like writing

So don't bother trying to stop me.
I've been thinking about life a lot lately, partly because I don't have a job. By partly, of course, I mean mostly.
Anyway, I've seen some people lately that I hadn't seen in a while, people from various walks of life. Family, friends, siblings of friends, friends of siblings, and so on.
What strikes me is that it's a strange feeling when you realize that you think of someone in a different way than they think of you. For instance, if you were dumped and refuse to accept it, it's a very different relationship from the two sides. If you broke up with someone, but both understood the situation, then that's fine. It's the same situation, but when the points of view are skewed from a central theme, things get screwy.
Recently I ran into someone who I haven't actually talked to in a couple of years. He's a good kid, and will remain completely anonymous throughout this, and I hope neither of the 2 of you who read this will waste much time trying to figure out who it is (there are a couple people who fit the mold, so it's not worth agonizing over). I spoke with him not too long ago. I realized during our conversation that I felt like he had taken a younger-brother role in my life - I have no younger brothers, so it's logical for me - but it seemed pretty clear that he saw me somewhat differently. I'm not sure it was just as a friend, or if it was as someone from his past who he thought fondly of but didn't care much about, or if it was as a family friend...but I am pretty darn sure that he did not think of me as an older brother figure.
I'm not broken up about this incident. I'm not pouting about it or anything of that sort.
But for some reason it has stuck with me and made me wonder how people evaluate relationships through different lenses (so to speak).
It's not the same as liking someone who dislikes you - that's often a lack of communication or the lack of wanting to tell someone off. It's just a strange feeling: we've had the same experiences with each other, but the interactions seem to have had a more profound effect on me than they have on him.
The funny thing is that I'd love to pull him aside and explain all of this, but I don't think it would work on account of: A) not knowing if/when we'll cross paths again, 2) it wouldn't make a lot of sense to him, especially if my hunch regarding his emotions was accurate, and C) let's say he suddenly gets it and breaks down into tears...then what? Perhaps it would turn out really well, perhaps not.
I don't know how all this sounds, but I sort of don't really care. I just wonder about it in general...which ties into the title of this blog.

That thought didn't run quite as long as I expected, but that's OK. I was also thinking about mortality a bit earlier; partly due to the cancer scare my grandfather just had, and partly due to the fact that life and death are kind of a hand-in-hand thing...think about one and you'll inevitably think about the other.
As the saying goes; it's a simple choice...get busy living, or get busy dying.
What will you make of the one wild and precious life you've been given?
You only get one shot at it.
Just stop and think about that for a few minutes.


It is wild. It is precious. Think about the incredible things that have happened to you today. As simple as waking up and seeing the rain fall down today...there are people who can't do that. What you experience on a crappy day could be the most incredible experience of someone else's life.
I'm in a very "don't forget how lucky you are" mood.
I want to get up in front of a crowd and tell people this.
This is part of why I want to be famous. Imagine if a simple lesson like this were read by more than just the 10 or 15 people I might be able to sucker into reading this. What if I had 3,000,000 followers on Twitter and 10% of them read this? Of those 10%, if 1% of those read it and thought "wow...I'm lucky. Life is good. I want to share the literal or metaphorical wealth I've been given with someone," then I'd be thrilled.
But I have a small audience. For now.

Two special shout-outs at the end of this post. First is Lou Cirino, I know you google your name now and then, and this post is partially on account of you. I was thinking about this kind of stuff before you let me borrow "The Winners Manual," and now that I'm reading it, it's just making me want to sit down and write these things. So that's what I'm doing.
Second is tricky: I'm calling myself out. Not a shout-out, per se. I'm calling myself out to get the ball rolling a little faster. I need to stop accepting it if something doesn't go my way. I need to better myself. I can control that. It's not that hard.

Can I just please be famous already?
Someone hire me for a motivational speech.
Especially if you throw out the beginning half of this post.
I'm done now.