Zach Vineyard

I just had an idea for an art exhibit. I’m not saying that it’s kitsch, but I’m not denying it either. 

My art show would consist of a blank white wall with all my shirts from the week. I’m not sure how it happens, but almost every shirt I wore this week looks like Jackson Pollock took the condiment bottles from Subway and went to town on them.

The titles would be similar to this:

Thursday: Meatball Marinara Baptism

Tuesday: Job Interview Pit Stains With Nacho Cheese Tear Drops

Monday: Rejection Letter Triple Chocolate Comfort Cake

I would let the patrons come to there own conclusions of what the symbolism might mean, but if I was trying to impress a girl it would go something like this…

The clean shirt is a symbol of our attempts to go through life unscathed, to maintain an aura of purity in the eyes of the world. The stains represent our life story, no matter how hard we try to keep the shirts clean, they will become dirty just through walking through this world. 

or,

The stained shirts represent living life, the pure white shirt at the end represents the one we wear when we are buried.

(Ok, Some where along the lines, this turned morbid.)

But the possibility of this happening is Astronomical…  (Me, actually impressing the girl)

…but the art show just might workout!

———–

Today marks the first day of me learning Filipino; it also marks the last day of me learning Filipino.

I hate shaving in the morning, or as I call it; minor surgery under bad light, and poor cognitive skills. But more than that (I know you shouldn’t start a sentence with ‘but’, but that’s just another reason why I’m a rebel) I hate the defamation of male ideology, by removing a part of us that makes us who we are for the sake of societal norms, but what can I say; I’m a Manist. (I guess that’s not a real word as spell checker is having a tantrum.)

I don’t actually care about that, I just don’t want to shave around my beauty mark. Ok, I’ve never actually called my mole a beauty mark before, well, just once, and the next thing I know the bourgeoisie chasing me with pitch forks and torches.

The reason I hate it is that every time I nick it with my razor I have to wear a very attractive sheet of toilet paper to stop the anemic blood flow. So this, combined with the reappearance of my arch-nemesis ‘acne’ (I hate halloween candy) makes for the perfect time to make a good impression. The worst is that it’s all on my right side so, I’m totally phantom of the opera’ing it right now.

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Yeah, so in passing I may or may not have mentioned that I do or do not blog to a girl today. It was so benign and innocent, but only now am I realizing the slight repercussions of having a few years of your life of daily thoughts on record for the world of women to analyze.

In a scurry to see if I had written anything incriminating I realized that I have over 4 years of my life on record, the hay day of the blog in ’06′ some of the depressingly funny posts of ’07′. The full of hope posts of ’04′ and the weird phase of ’05′.

This can only go two ways, and I fear neither.

It was a calculated indecision.

As of this moment I am in a Marketing class. It’s different and I’m starting to wonder how different from the advertising classes that I took, but our first assignment was to introduce ourselves with a motto. I was late and so I got to see everyone’s before mine. Most had taken brands and placed them on themselves like: Just do it, and Change we can believe in, mine was…different.

Hi my name is Zach and my motto is:

“God made me handsome for a reason!”

My motto is a jest on vanity and pre-determinism. It helps to remind me that life is not as complicated as some would like it to be and that that I’m in charge of my own destiny.

No one makes me do anything, I make my own choices.

Although, putting the burden of those choices on a higher power is awfully tempting.

I think I may need a new motto?

Response on everyone else’s: 3

Responses on mine: 0

It’s gonna be a good semester.

———–

I had one of those exhausting deep naps that you wake up from and you haven’t felt this disoriented since leaving the womb, but I remembered laughing at a comic strip that I read some where, or my mind made up while dreaming.

It’s single panel of mob men fussing over a guy, feeding him a sandwhich, massaging his feet… etc, when one of the mob men says out loud, “Wait a sec, I’m not sure if this is what the boss meant by “take care of him” ? ”

my subconscious thought this was hilarious for some reason.

I have the day off tomorrow, so tonight I am a existentialist philosopher willing to take on the rhetoric of the universe, only because I can sleep in tomorrow.

I’m writing right now not about what I’m really thinking about, but just to mark the moment. A stamp in the time line of existence that will trigger the real memory and the realizations, and feelings that I derived from them. Funny thing is that I know myself well enough that I won’t remember what I was really thinking, but will have forgotten by the time I wake up. I will then rack my brains about the incredible insight that I should have written down, but give up and eat dry raisin bran as I forgot to get milk once again, but that’s just my way of coping with tinges of regret and failure.

The system works.

——

When life is measured by the progress of your peers and you find yourself excelling in all the things that are unmeasurable and faltering in the three basic divininators of progress: life, love, and money. It’s OK to develop a sense of humor about these things otherwise it would just hurt too much.

… it hurts, it hurts bad.

My problem is that I am rich, rich in friends, in health, in family…you know, the lame kind of rich. The kind of rich that only pays off in heaven, and even then you realize that you weren’t good enough to get the deluxe jacuzzi in your mansion in the sky, and Mother Teresa smirks at your jaguar x edition that we all know was meant to sell to the middle class price range.

So that’s when you ask yourself, how did it come to this? How and why am I comparing myself to people in completely different circumstances, and wishing for similar results.

I’ll tell you why, it’s because it’s an easy litmus test of life. It’s no where nearly accurate, and devastatingly misleading in it’s results, but it’s hard to ignore.

Hmm, I’ve already kinda forgot what got me all worked up, oh wait, there it is…

God, that sucks…

What’s the going rate for life long friends?

Ask me about the Europeans, me and the youth I was leading met at The Great Salt Lake.

I’ll blog later, too tired, not fun.

and many more web pages on drudgereport to search before I sleep,

and many more web pages on drudgereport to search before I sleep.

—————-

in my old ways…

—–

I live in Park City now, but I stayed inside all day and ignored all that wonderful nature and didn’t give into the siren song of the hippies to come join them on the trails. It was tougher than you can possibly imagine, but I read one of my favorite books, watched great recorded TV and didn’t do my homework. I’ll pay for it later, but it was the best.

I do that alot, I put alot on Future Zach. Mostly, because he has no say in the matter, Future Zach is very benevolant and handles these crisis that Present Zach gives him the best he can, but that Past Zach, man, what a jerk!

—–

It’s that time of the month for me…Those few days before payday when your creativity with the pork and beans shines, when you make your last Dr. Pepper last and last. When even the widows mite seems a fortune. The funny thing is that I act surprised every time it happens. It’s a vicious cycle, but evidently one that I enjoy as I repeat it like clockwork.

It reminds me of a book a read when I was in elementary school about a boy who was trapped in the wilderness with only his wits and a hatchet. The boy had found out through great difficulty how to live off the land, and at the end of the book he found a kings ransom of dried food.

What he says when he finds the food is the same thing I say everytime I get my paycheck,”I can make this last, I can make it last as long as I need, but first…I will have a feast.”

Just a few days till I feast.

——

I’ve had a dry cough this last week, Nate says that a hot shower will clear it up, but I’m not dealing with any of his folktale remedies.

I moved to Park City and I’ve been way to tired to update anything so I’m just gonna plagerize a letter that I wrote to a buddy of mine and call it good.

————

Although i wouldn’t know as I never get invited to the good parties.

Dude it is awesome, there is almost too much to do here. free concerts left and right, but never up or down…it’s strange.

I’ve been here a week, and the damnedest thing happened…I got altitude sickness. It came out of nowhere and struck with such vengeance that not even my sacrifices of old Dr. Pepper cans could dissuade the onslaught of vomitation.

I have a nature preserve out my back door, and while beautiful those damn endangered cranes are endangered for a damn reason.

We are still living in our filth as we have still not recovered from the great move of 08. My grand children will be talking about it in there Sunday school lessons.

I awaken to the wonderful melodious sounds of a 1968 Honda motorcycle backfiring at 8:00 am. I’ve grown use to it in a terrible way as one day he slept in and I was late to an appointment.

The move was costly so we’ve been hitting park city on a budget, which means making the rounds on the free samples at the farmers market more than once. We probably could have gotten around again, but I only know two accents.

I’m thinking about working at a ski resort, but it’s a real battle between which demeaning job do I take. I’m leaning towards the one where the slop bucket is optional but the eye patch is mandatory.

if you’re ever in the area, stop on by and well get this amazing bread from the local Albertsons.

Everything just tastes better in Park City

Things that I have a love/hate relationship with

Email – if I had one superpower it would be to develop a program that can take back emails. At least give me a buffer of 5 minutes before it actually sent it. Think of all the pain and angst that it would solve if I can just wave my hand and undo that vain attempt of witticism and just go with the casual, sup.

My hair – with out fail, my hair will fail me. It waits till something important is happening and no matter what spell or hex I try to put on it I always look I’m in third grade or trying out a new hair style. I would just like some consistency. I would just like to depend on the one thing that I depend on for maintaining my image.

Love – the easiest to pick on is the part of the brain that controls the dopamine levels. Now, I’m no fancy astronaut, but the part of the brain that controls our fight or flight response must be directly connected with the part that demands that we put on bad cologne and go to socially awkward events. Cause every time I approach a women I get a shot of adrenaline that sends me talking like a mad man, and sometimes right before I get there I’ll turn right around as if I have no control over it. It makes no sense and I can at least take comfort in that I have no control over that part of me. But it’s all done in  the hope that if we do meet someone and things go right, that the brain will reward us with that feeling of floating on our feet, and who doesn’t like that?

I don’t, I don’t like that in order to get those great feelings I must be dependent on another. It’s cruel and unusual punishment and it’s the way things have worked for millions of years. Thats why I hate that the best part of life has to be shared with another. Otherwise we never get that mental cocktail that everyone keeps writing and telling us about for centuries.

Oh, well

I’m naturally lazy, which is strange as I do not see how that trait would survive in the world of genetics. If anything, it should have been weeded out of people just like the tail and disco.

The great truth is that it’s not easy being lazy. It takes time and I wouldn’t say practice, but more along the lines of devotion to not do anything all day.

The even greater truth is that I have to work my beautiful assets off to even have a day like that.

So, for some reason being lazy… is my reward system.

Laziness must be an indicator of safety and a plenitude of food, otherwise my primordial mind would be spent figuring ways to procure such things.

The ability to veg out or reduce our output must have been a coping mechanism for the long winters when energy needed to be reduced so the food would last the winter.

To be anxiously engaged in a cause goes against nature.

That mentallity constantly means that the barbarians are at the gates, if not literally at least mentally and that kind of emotional distress can cause a person to do insane things.

It’s not that I’m trying to get out of something, I’m just trying to understand how the concept of “lazy” became a negative, when in actuality it’s a beacon of progress.

—–

This was my argument that I had with myself for not going to the gym.

…Damn I’m good.