Alright people, listen up. Nobody is reading this shit. This is a good thing for humanity in general. But since I feel like I need to update something, I'm gonna update.
There have been some staff changes here at the Dog Farts. The general manager (aka "The Ex") has been fired and replaced with the most amzing woman to ever walk the face of this earth (aka "The Wife").
"The Other Kid" is no longer around. Unfortunately her family moved. This made "The Kid" sad.
"The Teenager" has replaced "The Other Kid". Let's just say she makes life interesting and leave it at that.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Seventy Six
'Twas seven and four of '76
A document born with signatures 'fixed
From the quill iron ink, upon the dried skin
The author Jefferson, wisest of men
Men would rise up, pride in their chests
"No longer shall we live so oppressed"
So send out your army in coats of Red
And we will ensure they return dead
Go forth, spread the word smitty Revere
"To arms!" went the cry, the British are here!
The long musket's fire brings death in the mud
For the price of Liberty is paid in blood
From Washington crossing the cold Delaware
To singing the praises of the rocket's red glare
For on this day we must celebrate
The birth of of our nation glorious, great
So look to the stars as the fireworks fly
And give thanks and praise on this Fourth of July
~Christopher Gibson
A document born with signatures 'fixed
From the quill iron ink, upon the dried skin
The author Jefferson, wisest of men
Men would rise up, pride in their chests
"No longer shall we live so oppressed"
So send out your army in coats of Red
And we will ensure they return dead
Go forth, spread the word smitty Revere
"To arms!" went the cry, the British are here!
The long musket's fire brings death in the mud
For the price of Liberty is paid in blood
From Washington crossing the cold Delaware
To singing the praises of the rocket's red glare
For on this day we must celebrate
The birth of of our nation glorious, great
So look to the stars as the fireworks fly
And give thanks and praise on this Fourth of July
~Christopher Gibson
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I Wanna Get Dirty With Mike Rowe
For those of you who know me, it should come as no surprise that I have a
mantastic man crush on Mike Rowe. Ever since my first episode of "Dirty Jobs", I have been enamored with this fine example of American Manhood. I have always had a touch of the rainbow inside me, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Granted, not to the point where I want some dude drilling me from behind like he's trying to frack a new deep shale oil well, but just enough that I can appreciate the male form and admit it when a man is attractive, or for that matter even sexy.
As so often happens with all relationships, the newness had worn off and I found myself wondering just how many dirty jobs there are in this world that he could do that would peek my interest. I found myself thinking that I had fallen out of love with him, seeing him on the occasional Ford commercial thinking to myself that he had sold out to "the man". That was, until I came across this iReport he posted on CNN.
Needless to say, the flame has been re-kindled. Everything he says in that
piece is true. We as Americans have become disenchanted with hard work. It should come as no surprise to us that so many people from other countries view us as lazy. We have become accustomed to a life of leisure, afraid to get our hands dirty and get down to some real work.
There is a certain satisfaction in doing dirty work, a sense of pride in a job
well done. I am certainly not one who can say that he works "hard" for a
living, but I am also not afraid to get down and dirty when the job calls for
it. I cut my own grass, change my own oil, do as much home repair as I am capable of. It not only feels good to do a hard days work, it's good for you.
So I take this opportunity to tell you to take a look around you. Find the
invisible people that you so often take for granted, the janitor, the plumber, the trash man, the soldier, and thank them. Thank them for doing the dirty work that you don't want or care to do. Thank them for getting out of bed day after day and working hard so that we as Americans can have a better life. Or better yet, take a day off and volunteer somewhere like Habitat for Humanity and get dirty yourself.
mantastic man crush on Mike Rowe. Ever since my first episode of "Dirty Jobs", I have been enamored with this fine example of American Manhood. I have always had a touch of the rainbow inside me, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Granted, not to the point where I want some dude drilling me from behind like he's trying to frack a new deep shale oil well, but just enough that I can appreciate the male form and admit it when a man is attractive, or for that matter even sexy.
As so often happens with all relationships, the newness had worn off and I found myself wondering just how many dirty jobs there are in this world that he could do that would peek my interest. I found myself thinking that I had fallen out of love with him, seeing him on the occasional Ford commercial thinking to myself that he had sold out to "the man". That was, until I came across this iReport he posted on CNN.
Needless to say, the flame has been re-kindled. Everything he says in that
piece is true. We as Americans have become disenchanted with hard work. It should come as no surprise to us that so many people from other countries view us as lazy. We have become accustomed to a life of leisure, afraid to get our hands dirty and get down to some real work.
There is a certain satisfaction in doing dirty work, a sense of pride in a job
well done. I am certainly not one who can say that he works "hard" for a
living, but I am also not afraid to get down and dirty when the job calls for
it. I cut my own grass, change my own oil, do as much home repair as I am capable of. It not only feels good to do a hard days work, it's good for you.
So I take this opportunity to tell you to take a look around you. Find the
invisible people that you so often take for granted, the janitor, the plumber, the trash man, the soldier, and thank them. Thank them for doing the dirty work that you don't want or care to do. Thank them for getting out of bed day after day and working hard so that we as Americans can have a better life. Or better yet, take a day off and volunteer somewhere like Habitat for Humanity and get dirty yourself.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Looking for My Voice
Note: This is a post I wrote for a different publication, but I felt I really needed to put it here.
I want to be a writer. I tell myself that all the time, but I don’t do what it takes to become a writer. I don’t write. I sit in front of the blank computer screen, and eventually become discouraged because I don’t know how to start. Or if I do happen to get started, the constant pressing of the backspace button defeats the purpose. I haven’t learned to just let the words flow, to allow the work to take shape, to let it birth itself for the world to enjoy. Censor this, cut out that, edit on the fly. I feel that it should be easier. I am constantly interrupted by any number of things; life, work, the annoying goings on in my own head.
Do I have what it takes to be a writer? I have very little formal training in the English Arts. Sure I’ve had the requisite college hours to satisfy my degree requirements, but is that enough to become a writer? I read constantly, devouring page after page of mostly non-fiction, but peppering in a novel or two for good measure. Reading about the authors of these works usually goes something like “so and so graduated from such and such university with a degree in English”, or Journalism, or 18th century poetry, or any other number of degrees that require hour upon hour of studying and perfecting the written word. Very rarely do I read about the author and it goes something like “This author barely finished his associate’s degree, but decided he wanted to write a book so he did and now he’s famous”. Maybe someday that’s what the back of my book will say.
The fact that you are reading this means that I finally sat my fat butt down and gave my fingers a workout. Sometimes the words come easy. More often than not, though, I have to pry the thoughts from the cesspool that is my brain, forcing my fingers to replicate my thoughts onto the screen. It shouldn’t be so hard. I shouldn’t have to try, the words should just come. If only it were that easy.
I don’t want to write for a living. That’s not what my goal in life is. Actually, I’m not really sure what my goal in life is, but I’m pretty sure it’s not to be a full time writer. I know I don’t have the skills for that. I just want to write something substantial. Something that will make the reader not feel as if they have just wasted their time reading some garbage that some idiot felt the need to put into words. I want the reader to feel a connection, to feel that somehow my words and thoughts have put something into perspective for them. Perhaps my words and feelings could bring a little more understanding into the world. Maybe, just maybe, something I write will help bring comfort to someone in their time of need, or provide a well needed escape from the mundane.
Like most people, I am my harshest critic. I will write something, read it, and then delete it. “That’s crap. Nobody wants to read that. It doesn’t make any sense.” So in an effort to improve my writing, I seek feedback. Relying mostly on those closest to me, but other times asking the general public. My wife once told me that my writing lacked flavor, stating that it was the literary equivalent of “eating boiled white rice with no salt.” Ouch. Comments such as those, although harsh, are what it takes to force improvement. My writing won’t improve if nobody is honest and just says “oh yeah, that was great.” So I thank my wife for her harsh words and being honest with me. I need criticism, but at the same time I also crave validation. I need to know that I am on the right track, but I also need to know what to do in order to become a better writer.
“Try blogging” was one recommendation made recently to me by a friend of mine. Nope, no blogging. Why not? I guess it’s because I’m somewhat of a snob when it comes to writing, but I know that I don’t have the right to be. To me blogging isn’t “real” writing; it’s the online equivalent of a teenage girl keeping a diary. (Well, well, well, look who turned into a teenage girl. Asshat.) And let’s face it, my life is nowhere interesting enough for me to put it out there for the world to see and actually waste time reading about. Now, I know I am sure to catch flack for this point of view, and I probably should. I’ve read plenty of blogs where I thought the author was not only creative and poignant, but was capable of much greater writing than that of a mere blog.
Better writing won’t happen overnight, but it will happen. Because I will make it happen. I’ll write and write and write. And then when I think I’m finished, I’ll write some more. And then, I’ll write even more. Who knows, maybe someday you’ll be reading about me on the back cover of my book and wonder to yourself “how did this guy ever become such a good writer?” Maybe by then I will have found my voice.
Look, I Have a Blog?
You should write a blog. Who's brilliant f'ng idea was that?! Oh right, never mind. Anyhoo, I guess since I started it, I might as well try to update it every once and a while. So prepare to be dazzled. Or not. I wouldn't hold your breath.
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