Forget Tumblr. Why Youtube? Myspace is lame. And Facebook…well…we’re still quite addicted to that, aren’t we? But Vine! Vine Vine Vine.
All along the grape Vine.
I have no idea what that means, but it felt right.
From what I understand so far, Vine is an app owned by Twitter that enables crazy-slash-bored people to create and post video clips. They usually don’t last more than 6 seconds and can be shared or embedded on other social networking services everywhere. Crazy right?
I’ve seen funny loops, crazy stunts, lame clips and some of the oddest little videos ever. My favorite part of this new Twitter app has to be the fresh outlet for more creativity. Sometimes going hand in hand with stupidity. But we’re only human, right?
To err is human.
And to video tape it is hilarious.
Once upon a time there was a magical place of different colors and fields of bacon. A place called ‘Murica. Once ruled by the stubborn red coats…now land of the free and high taxes. Suuuure sometimes there are racist bigots, religious fanatics and rich elitists, but hey…isn’t that what ‘Murica is all about?
USA! USA! USA!
Since when did the Revolution involve brain munching zombies? Is that why we blow up fire works on the 4th of July? Because our founding fathers used them to attract large herds of zombies and wiped them all out at once?
If that’s the case, here’s to hoping that history doesn’t actually repeat itself.
All joking aside, I think these kinds of things are hilarious. I’ve seen Ronald Reagan on a velociraptor, Obama on a lion with a crossbow and light saber, Lincoln on a grizzly with a big gun, FDR in a big transformers robot thing, JFK the alien hunter, and Teddy Roosevelt verses Bigfoot. I’ve even seen Bill Clinton fighting an alien invasion with a suicide bomber crocodile and Ronald McDonald as his sidekick. Machine guns at hand, a pretty lady on his side and a freaking saxophone hanging off his shoulder. Not to mention his fly is down. Well…we all sorta saw that coming.
So, tell me readers, what’s your favorite scenario? Which one is your favorite ‘Murican presidential badass? Or maybe you can make up your own and tell us all about it. I’m excited to read these.
Italo Calvino said: The more enlightened our houses are, the more their walls ooze ghosts. Image credit: “love Don’t live here anymore…” – © 2009 Robb North – made available under Attribution 2.0 Generic
Now, I don’t claim to have any education on the subject of ghosts. Or anything paranormal for that matter. Besides what I manage to make up in my own mind. So lets take this one-sided conversation to the metaphorical sphere. Something I believe I’m more familiar with.
When Google was asked, it told me that being enlightened either means having or showing a rational, modern and well-informed outlook, orrr just being spiritually aware.
The house you see above – with those rusty red bricks, forgotten windows and a dark ashy grey roof – is an inanimate object. Physically. Literally. All parts of a normal reality we perceive from our five senses. But if you bend that reality for just one moment with me and personify the house with that thing I call an imagination, you start to see a home that has seen many things. An enlightened house.
Enlightenment comes with wisdom. Wisdom comes with age. And age comes with ghosts. You know…baggage, demons, scars, ball and chains, lead in the shoes, rocks in the pockets. Things acquired over time that hide the innocent beauty that once was. Like our empty house above. What kind of ghosts do you think it has? What kind of people lived in it? Was it made by a pair of rough family-man hands? Or do you find it more of a cookie cutter company house?
You tell me.
What is your earliest memory? Describe it in detail: the place, the setting, the sights, smells, and sounds.
It’s hard to tell what your earliest memories are. And if you think about it, it’s actually very subjective. What if you believe in reincarnation? Then you might have several types of memories from several different past lives. For me, it’s the jumble of memories of those days just out of the diaper. A knot of images that weave together without really being in sync. Visiting family. Carrying around a stuffed animal. Preschool with my first set of friends. General things that are reinforced by stories told by my parents.
That’s really what the earliest memories come down to, isn’t it? Stories. And I do love stories. Short and sweet. Long and mysterious. Fast and thrilling. Slow and meaningful. All kinds. And those are the things I will remember forever.
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