CHAPTER ONE: ACT I

 

     I wanted to share an excerpt of an article out of Saturday's Sacramento Bee.  It actually gives me the feeling that some people really want to do something with their lives.  I'm putting almost the entire article up, so I'm letting you know it's pretty long.

By Don Babwin, Associated Press    
     It was just a movie set, but in a moment it showed Chris Gardner where he'd been - and how far he'd come.
     There was actor Will Smith - who was playing Gardner, a former homeless man turned millionaire - Gardner stood in what looked like the train station bathroom where he once slept a quarter-century ago.
     The story of how the 52-year-old Gardner did just that, climbed out of homelessness and became a millionaire stockbroker with his own 15-employee Chicago firm, is being turned into a motion picture, due out in December.
     Even in the realm of rags-to-riches tales, Gardner's story is unique.  Take, for example, the events that led to his descent into homelessness.
     A medical supplies salesman barely making enough money to support his girlfriend and baby, Gardner had one of those Hollywood moments in a San Francisco parking lot in 1980 when he spotted a man looking for a place to park his red Ferrari.
     "I said to him, 'You can have my (parking) place but I've got to ask you two questions.  What do you do and how do you do it?'" recalled Gardner.
     The man was a stockbroker.  Gardner didn't know a single stockbroker or even what one did.  But the man said he made $80,000 a month - $50,000 more than Gardner made a year.
     Gardner found a brokerage firm willing to hire him and quit his job.  But when he showed up for work he learned the guy who'd hired him had been fired.  Gardner's job was gone.
     Then, days before a scheduled interview with Dean Witter, a loud fight with his girlfriend brought the police to his door.  The next thing Gardner knew they were asking him for $1,200 to clear up some unpaid parking tickets.  They may as well have asked for $12 million.  Gardner spent 10 days in jail.
     When he was released, his girlfriend and son were gone.  He had no money, no home and the only clothes he had for his job interview the next day were the ones he had worn to jail.
     A few months later came a knock on the door of the boardinghouse where he was staying.  "It's my ex and, guess what, she doesn't want the baby anymore, here," he said.  "The boardinghouse does not allow children.  That's how we became homeless."
     Some nights they stayed in a $25-a-night hotel, a park or under his desk at work.  And a few nights were spent in an Oakland BART station.
     Finally, they moved into a homeless hotel in San Francisco, run by Glide Memorial Unified Methodist Church.
     "There were no keys, so every day you take everything with you," said Gardner.  "For a year, I'd take my son, his stroller, a big duffel bag with all his clothes in it, my briefcase, an umbrella, the biggest bag of Pampers in the world, one suit on my back and one suit in a hanging bag and we'd hit it every day."
     When it rained, he covered the stroller with plastic sheets he'd picked up from dry cleaners.
     Daycare took a huge chunk of his meager stockbroker trainee salary, and it took Gardner about a year to save enough to move himself and his son into their own home.  From there, his career blossomed, and in 1987 he opened his own firm in Chicago.
     Gardner, who never went to college, has contributed tens of thousands of dollars to education, writing checks for as much as $25,000 to teachers, janitors, bus drivers and others who work at schools.
     Gardner is focusing much of his attention now on South Africa, trying to persuade investors to invest $1 billion there.
     "In the current state of our economy, creating an investment fund is critical," said Yusuf Omar, South African consul general in Chicago, who recently stopped by Gardner's office.
     For Gardner, helping South Africans pull themselves up makes perfect sense.
     "Everything I've learned working on Wall Street, 25 years, to be able to make a difference in the lives of a lot of people and we all make money, it (doesn't) get any better than that," he said.
    

     I wish everybody had his motivation and resolve.  When I first read this, I thought "If he can come this far, what's holding me back?"  Why don't we as a society try harder?  It has nothing to do with luck.  It's how bad you want it.  That's my question to you all.  Everybody has a goal in life.  How hard are you pushing yourself to reach it?  How bad do you want it?

ACT III    

     First and foremost, my current screen-name CAMERON HATES EMO KIDS, is not all-encompassing.  In general, I hate emo kids more for their fashion (or lack thereof) and the fact that they feel they are scorned by the world.  It has nothing to do with their music.  I actually like a few of the bands out there, but not a whole lot, mind you.

     Emo is emotional music.  I understand that.  All music should be made and played with 100% pure emotion.  I also understand that most people have experienced hearbreak.  That's fine.  But please, write some songs about happiness and death (but not suicide).  Do something different.  I honestly don't remember when I first heard the term "emo."  I was listening to Finch long before I heard that word.  Geez, I remember when AFI used to be punk.  They suck my ass now.  To me, the emo craze is nothing more than a phase, like hammer pants and Billy Ray Cyrus.  It will subside, in due time.

     I will be breaking this emo-chapter up into little emo-segments . . . . . . Starting now:

-Emo-Segment One: Emo Fashion

     We have all seen the Emo video that has circulated a few times on MySpace.  That is the emo fashion I am talking about.  Guys do not need to wear girls pants, regardless of how they think they look in them.  They wear their pretty belts with the buckles to the side.

          Q: Why do emo kids wear white belts?

          A: Because they suck at karate.

     Then there's the hair thing.  Fucking comb your shit.  Even if I've been sleeping for twelve hours, my hair still looks better than that when I wake up.  Your hair does not need to do that flippy thing like that guy from that band.

-Emo-Segment Two: Emo Music (Includes Screamo and Two-Step)

     What most of you may not know, is that I do listen to some of this music . . . . . but not a whole lot.  About all I can tolerate in any of the bands' music is the music itself. 99% of the time, the singer is the worst component of the band.  That applies mostly to screamo.  I can't understand a damn word you are saying (Bennett).  If I wanted to not understand any of the lyrics, I would either a) go to a Napalm Death concert, or b) just leave.  The emo singers are too high-pitched and whiny.  Stop singing about heartbreak and other girly shit like that.  Sack up, or just go kill yourself.  Oh, and take your faggy two-step dancing fairies with you.

     I can't dance for shit (I have witnesses), but come on.  That isn't even dancing.  I was actually near this clusterfuck of assholes at a couple of shows.  Swinging arms around.  One of those fuckbags almost hit me.  I so wanted to just end him, but then all his friends would start writing songs about it.  He ended up being the guitarist in one of the aforementioned screamo bands, so I don't know why I let him be.  Wait, yeah I do.  He'd probably wipe his mascara on me.

-Emo-Segment Three: Suicide

     Just do it.  Nobody will miss you.  (On the plus side, you'll get thousands more comments on your MySpace.)

     In closing, I just want to reiterate that this isn't an emo-bashing.  This is just me voicing my opinions about this subject.  If you have a problem with it, tough.  Write a song about it.  Write a song about fat people.  Mention me by name.  That would be great.

     The other chapters I've written have been the same way.  To all of you emo fags out there, I'm not singling you out or discriminating against you.  I hate everybody equally.  That's why I still have more chapters to write.

 

End

 

(For those of you that are interested, Chapter One: Act IV will be about those that lack common sense, the ones I lovingly refer to as Idiots.  Thanks for reading.)

ACT II

     Rarely do I complain about drivers.  All drivers are assholes.  There is no denying that.  I'm definitely one of them.  I do use my blinkers when I have to cut someone off, and I wave.  That makes me better than most.  I don't have any problems with getting cut off, unless you're right at my fender.  Then we're gonna tangle.  There are types of drivers I do not have an affinity for, as I will introduce you to.
     We see all the newer Civics, Integras and what not with modified exhaust, body kits and the like.  I'm talking the jackasses that put resonators and shit on their '91 Sentras and '85 Cutlass Cieras.  I don't want to see 20" rims on a Toyota Cressida, much less an old Cavalier.  Why do people do this shit?  Why put money into a piece of shit car?  To look cool?  I guarantee you it doesn't.  Oooh, let me put some spinners on my Grand Prix.  And I can't forget the glass packs.  I'd be gangsta if I did that shit, let me tell ya.
     I honestly don't know why someone would want to make an ugly car even uglier.  I could piss on it.  That would be custom.  And one of a kind.  You could use the money spent on the carbon fiber hood to, oh I don't know, get another car.  Maybe all one color, instead of 3-tone rattle-can.  I guess we all have to be cool in one way or another.  Maybe I'll put Euro lights on my car.  Yeah, that would be great.
     Next on the agenda.  I love trucks.  I miss my old Chevy ton.  What I see all too often however, is the Excursions, F-250s, Silverados, etc.  with way too much lift and riding on like 37s.  Is that really needed?  I know you don't wheel your shit.  The body is too straight.  No dents.  Oh, can't forget the redneck sticker in the window.  Fuck you.  If you drive a big-ass truck, it better be banged up.  The exception would be if it's a company truck with advertising on it.  You want to stand out.  That's borderline acceptable.  Otherwise, it looks like shit.  Not like the Mercury Capri with 18" Daytons, but pretty damn close.
     Number three on the list:  Toasters on Wheels.  I hate Scion xAs, xBs, Honda Elements, Pontiac Azteks, etc.  What in the flying blue hell are these.  I've seen bumper stickers on these damn things that confirm the toaster ideology.  What possessed you to get one?  I've seen cars at Pick N' Pull ( http://www.picknpull.com ) that look better than these.
     To top it off, I now see cross-pollenation between all of these.  I've seen xBs with spinners.  The one that stands out is the middle aged bald guy sporting his shit on Auburn.  I thought middle-aged men bought mid-90s Corvettes when they hit their mid-life crises?  I guess I'm out of the loop.
     Anyways, I hate that shit.  I hate all of you that do that shit to your cars.  I respect that you take an interest in something constructive, but I'm still gonna be the first to laugh at you.  Fags.

End

( I apologize for how long it took to post Act II.  I just got lazy.  Act III will take a while, for sure.  Just wanted to give a heads up for my few readers.  This will be the Emo act.  Save the suicide notes to use for comments in Act III.  Thanks.)

     I hadn't realized when coming up with this enormous blog that my first chapter would be so huge.  "I Hate People" is so general, I need to break it into acts to be more group specific.  I thank Jill for pointing out how all-encompassing the first chapter will be.  Comments will be accepted.  Ridiculous banter is a plus.  Away we go. . . . .

ACT I

     This will start with a subject that is near and dear to my heart, as well as my wallet.  I hate homeless people.  It has absolutely nothing to do with hygiene, despite some common stereotyping..  I will now clarify what I hate and what I don't, to avoid any confusion.
     There are two types of homeless people, or urban cancer, if you will.  The Type A transient is the regular John or Jane that just got evicted, lost their house to a fire, lost their job, etc., and are temporarily displaced.  I have no problem with these folks.  Shit happens.  I respect them even more for fighting back to getting a roof over their heads, a new job, and the like.  If they decide not to care, they turn into the Type B transient, which would be the haggrid, unkempt, mop of a person that sleeps in alleys, is a regular at Salvation Army, always sits at the offramp with a sign reading "Vietnam Vet in troubled times" or "Will work for food," or some other panhandling shit.  I do not buy into helping the homeless.  The needy, sure, but not the homeless.  Especially when I see the same ones over and over and over again.  Where is our money going?  Obviously not into toothpaste or deodorant.  Do they even try to get jobs?  I doubt it.  Free money is better than working for it.
     Don't get me wrong, we can't herd them up and stick them in Rio Linda or anything.  Why doesn't anybody donate shavers or hand-me-down clothes.  I know a lot of companies are doing that, but we could do more.  It makes me sick seeing these people not even trying to better themselves.  Get a damn razor, some scissors, a cheap suit, a breath mint and some shoe polish, and go to a job interview.  I doubt any of them are unschooled.  I'm sure several have degrees.  Do they apply them?  Hell no.  Get a job, and quit making us pity you.  I sure as shit don't.
     Now, we can all be homeless at one time or another.  I may get fired tomorrow and kicked out.  It would suck.  However, I would not leech off society to get by.  I will do my best to get back into the swing of things.  For those of you that would rather let the general populous take care of you, I hope I mistake you for a speed bump on a dark, rainy night.

End

(I haven't done an essay-style paper in a while.  Please hold off on critiquing why I have no thesis statement, etc.  I'm just having a little fun.)

     Originally, this was going to be a hellacious rant against stupid people, but I figured I'd expand on it and break it up into chapters.  Most of you, my closer friends anyways, already know my thoughts and views on these subjects.  Some of you may not like anything I write, and I know a lot of you will appreciate what I have to say.  Comment on it, delete me as a friend, I don't care.  I just felt the need to post how I feel about certain subjects.  I'm just having fun at the expense of others.

Introduction
Chapter One: I Hate People
Chapter Two: Who Needs Politics?  My Middle Finger Says I Don't
Chapter Three: Why Old People And Alcohol Do Not Mix
Chapter Four: Sports: Why Athletes Are Worth It, and Why They're Not
Chapter Five: Cars, Trucks, & SUVs: The Deadly Triangle Of Consumerism
Chapter Six: Your Religion: Keep It Away From Me, And You Will Not Be Wrong
End Credits/Outro

If any of you have anything you'd like to help add to each chapter, either send me a message or a comment.  Your name and witty insight will be mentioned upon request.

I hope you all enjoy.

Cameron

Hosted By: Cameron Fulk
When: Sunday Jan 01, 2006
at 10:00 AM
Where: Rusch Park
Antelope Road
Citrus Heights, CA 95621
US
Description:
Cameron Fulk

Click Here To View Event

Today, class, I'm going to talk about that magnificent, invisible being that showers love over all of you.  That's right folks, I'm talking god.  I'm normally pretty mellow about religion, and those of you that know me know my beliefs.  It just pisses me off when one of the "Cool New People" has a screen name of "God Is Great."  Oh is he??  Well, I'll be a monkey's bare-assed uncle.  We all know if I change my screen name to "Satan-4-Life" or something blasphemous of that sort that I'll be ridiculed.  Not like that matters.  I let a bible group add me, knowing full well they were just whoring.  If they actually looked at my page, and saw my 666 profile view pic, do you think they would have added me?  Nevermind my musical interests.  They weren't scared of Mushroomhead, or even ABBA.  Maybe it's a very unorthodox religious group, like David Koresh had in Waco. 

It's really not that big of a deal.  I just like spouting off shit like this.  Plus, I haven't posted a blog since I proved Elvis was really dead.

That's all. 

Cheers, queers.

I will now attempt to profess my love for the late, great, "father of rock & roll" Elvis Presley. 

http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a236/cameronfulk/elvis2.jpg

     No I won't.  I don't like Elvis.  I never really have.  I liked Priscilla Presley in the Naked Gun movies.  I liked Lisa Marie after she divorced Michael Jackson and before she became a "Pop Star."  However, I have, nor ever will, even have a mild interest in Elvis.  None of his music appeals to me.  I think there was only one decent song and that was one that Roy Orbison covered.  I don't even remember the song.  I just know Roy's version was much, much better.
     It's not that I think he was a terrible musician.  I just think his music sucks.  Now, all of you Elvis aficionados can comment all you want, and make fun of how much I love ABBA, but that's fair.  I just don't like Elvis.  He's like half of the Beatles and how half of the Stones should be............................dead.

http://i12.photobucket.com/albums/a236/cameronfulk/elvis.jpg

My g-mother in Indiana is obsessed with him, and I don't see the fascination.  But geez, Indiana, which doesn't surprise me, has a course offered at IU.....
http://www.indiana.edu/~bodnarje/elvis.htm  HISTORY A225: ELVIS AND POSTWAR AMERICA

     I don't understand the infatuation with this guy.  I don't intend to ever understand, nor do I want to ever understand.  I would rather learn to line dance than  "discover Elvis'" music.  I hope none of you think less of me.  Actually, I really don't care.  Elvis is dead, but lives on through his music, just like Tupac, Big Pun, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, the guy from Milli Vanilli, and Shannon Hoon from Blind Melon. 
     Well, that's all for today.  Eiran, I did this for you.

Cameron

Killer concert last night. Downshift was good.  Nocturne was good.  Deconstruct was awesome.  Dope was okay.  Mushroomhead was the shit.  Good mix of old and new.  They even threw in a metalled-out Prince song which, surprisingly enough, sounded pretty damn good.  Had a good time there.  Talked with some of the bands, met some guys from other local bands, picked up some demos.  All in all, a good night.

Not really.

It's been a while since I've posted a blog.  My blogs aren't usually interesting, so it's not like anybody is missing anything.  Such as is the case on this one.  Let the mundane set in..............

Bought the new Taproot cd yesterday.  It is not too shabby.  Not quite as heavy as the first two cds, but plenty of good music nonetheless.  Thinking about getting the new 311 cd, but I'm gonna wait a while and do some more illegal downloading to decide if I like any of it.

Next subject:  I now know what store I'm promoting to.  I'm starting at the Mart in Placerville on Saturday.  So, I'll looking for a place up that way to keep from commuting too much.

We are about to see a local watering hole turn to shit rapidly.  That's right folks, I am referring to the Doghouse saloon.  Nappy and Mario have been removed from their bartending positions, and not fairly, I might add.  The only reason most of us went there, was because the Castro brothers moved there after Jan's closed.  Too bad for Tom.  He can't keep good people.  Ask these two and Tessa.  So now, the new hangout is Octane Motorsports.  It's right next to Corner Pocket.  Free pool, good beer, good food.  Damn, they should pay me to do this.  Free publicity is the best publicity.

Back to reality.  I got 5th last night in the 8-ball tournament, which is better than the last 2 weeks.  Drank too much afterward.  Passed out at Jeff & Rob's, only to go to work late.  Bowled tonight, if you can call it that.  147, 151, 171.  Series 469.  That's fuckin' weak.  I should have thrown left-handed.

Well, it's nite-nite time for this fat man.

Okay do them, I don't care.

Tessa and I, and Rob and Jeff went out to Corner Pocket to shoot some pool and drink some fat tire.  Tessa and I got 3 pitchers deep, and then all of us decided to head to the studio to try to play some music.  Yeah, it wasn't that great.  It's fine to knock a few back while you're playing, but not before.  Our timing was all fuckered up.  Anyways, yeah.  That was my night, after working today.  I'm off tomorrow.  Good shit.

Damn, I haven't done a blog in a while.  Oh yeah, those 12 hour days at the Mart are wearing me out, I guess.  Not much going on lately.  Went to Godfather's up at Madison and Dewey........picked up din-din for the family.  Met a cute brunette that worked up there.  I think her name was Stephanie.  I don't remember.  I didn't ask for a number or anything, because, well, I'm a big pussy.

Went to the studio after that.  Laid down some guitar tracks for Jeff to work on his bassline with.  That place is starting to sound good.  Rob is getting much better on the drumkit.  I'm surprised at how well they're both doing.  I need ideas for songs to cover/practice with while I'm writing up new music and lyrics.

Oh one more thing.  Cleopatra 2525 is now out on DVD, so any of you lovely people that "forgot" my birthday in June, hook it up.  I'll even accept it as an early Christmas/Hannukah/Kwanzaa present.  Yeah, I expect that to happen. 

Damn yesterday was a long day.  Put in a 12 hour shift at the Mart yesterday.  Worked 6a-7p with an hour lunch.  I had to be at Mardi Gras Lanes for my bowling league at 7:30, which gave me very little time to change and grab my gear.  Got done around 9:30, then went to the bar and had a pitcher of Icehouse.  $5/picher, you can't beat it.  Then I came home and crashed for about 10 hours.  I was beat yesterday.  So far today, all I've done is burn some CDs and watch the Rangers/Yankees game on ESPN.  What a life.  I might go to the studio later.