A Little Pent Up Jealousy

You probably can't tell that of right now, I've only had 195 views on my blog. As you might be able to suspect, this isn't very much... Most blogs in my class have less then mine, some even breaking 100 as we speak, but a few have over 500 and in one of my friend's cases, over 2000. I think it's impressive and I won't whine, but I find it fusterating that I have so few. You could attribute it to how I'm not consistantly posting or how, some posts, I admit are basically garbage. The one friend that does have over 2000 says that he constant pings his blog, which would explain why he has so many, considering that search engines would lead directly to him.

It's interesting to see the statistics of blogger. For instance, out of my 200 views, over half of the view are made on internet explorer and the vast majority of the people who have ever seen my site, perfer windows in their computer company. Surprizingly, the next highest amount of viewers use an iPod. I don't know how, but out of the people who have seen my blog, most are from the USA, but a sizable portion hails from Russia and a few from Germany. I don't know what my appeal is to those countries, but I'm glad that it isn't all just Americans.

Hopefully if I can convince enough people to join blogs with me, we could have over 1,000!

-The Observer

Why did the Chicken Cross the Road?

Anti-Jokes turn jokes into statements making things that seem to obviously start of as a joke end up tragically, resulting in humor through the unexpected. Pulling on people's imaginations, overused jokes, prevalent racism, sexism and antisemitism, these jokes make people laugh at the unrealistic (for a joke) answers. Many are considered "crossing the line" but a good number are appropriate.

Some that are considered anti-jokes from anti-joke.com include, but are not limited by:

Your mama is so fat, diet and exercise would probably save her life.

How do you punish an electrician?           Kill his family.

What happens when you step on a bear trap?          A lot of pain.

What did the black guy say to the white guy?          I'm black.

Why did the chicken commit suicide?         To get to the otherside.

What do Chinese kids make for father's day?          Shoes.

What's worse than finding a worm in your apple?         The Holocaust.

An Irishman walks out of a bar.

Your friend is so gay that he has consensual sex with other men and enjoys it.

What would George Washington do if he were alive today?          Scream and scratch at the top of his coffin. 

What did the boy with no arms and no legs get for Christmas?          Cancer. 

How many Jews does it take to change a light bulb?          Two, one to change it and the other to hold the ladder so the first man won't fall and hurt himself.

What did the homeless man get for Christmas?         Nothing.

Demain, dès l'aube

The poem written by Victor Hugo of France back in the 1800's is considered the best poetry by the writer who also wrote the play, The Hunchback of Notredam.

From Gary Buchland's website, the text is both written in French and translated into English.

Demain, dès l'aube, à l'heure où blanchit la campagne,
Je partirai. Vois-tu, je sais que tu m'attends.
J'irai par la forêt, j'irai par la montagne.
Je ne puis demeurer loin de toi plus longtemps.

Je marcherai les yeux fixés sur mes pensées,
Sans rien voir au dehors, sans entendre aucun bruit,
Seul, inconnu, le dos courbé, les mains croisées,
Triste, et le jour pour moi sera comme la nuit.

Je ne regarderai ni l'or du soir qui tombe,
Ni les voiles au loin descendant vers Harfleur,
Et quand j'arriverai, je mettrai sur ta tombe
Un bouquet de houx vert et de bruyère en fleur.

The translation reads, 

Tomorrow, at dawn, at the hour when the countryside is alit,
I will leave. See here, you know what I must do.
I will go through the forest, I will go across the mountain.
I will not remain far from you for long.

I will trudge on with eyes fixed on my thoughts,
Without seeing what it outside of me, without hearing any noise,
Alone, unknown, bent, with crossed hands,
Sad, and the day will be for me as night.

I will not notice either the golden sunset as night falls,
Nor the distant mist which descends over Harfleur,
And when I arrive, I will place on your grave
A bouquet of holly and heather in bloom.

This poem was originally made for his oldest daughter who died when she drowned after a boat captised. Her young husband also died when he tried to rescue her. Hugo wrote this in a grief for her that lives on today as inspiration for many musical arrangements and seen as his greatest work. 

I find that this poem is something that I yearn to want to know. I'm unfortunate to have never been taught many languages and therefore it adds a mystery to the item itself when it is played, for is not the unknown an illusion that we create to bemuddle ourselves into thinking that gives us an unprecedented control of the aspects of  false world we make for ourselves? Or more simply put, doesn't mystery allow us to view the world as we want?

This is why I was sad that I looked up the lyrics to this song when I wrote this, for what it could be was overshadowed by what it is and unlike us it cannot change itself.