Michel Houellebecq is a Raging Sexaholic Adept at Splicing Raunchily Pornographic Material Into a Sociological Treatise on the Meaninglessness of 21st Century Western Man’s ExistenceJuly 31st, 2006
by R Kent
SAN ANTONIO, TX-
I think we can all agree that humans certainly have not even come close to living up to our potential.
The fact that we only use 10 percent of our brains is one, perhaps obvious, example.
But nowhere is the evidence more abundant than in your seemingly innocuous refrigerator.
I don’t consider taking pens from restaurants and stores to be stealing.
If a waiter at a Mexican eatery uses a pen with that eatery’s name printed on it, then I consider it okay for me to put it in my pocket.
For me, not them.
I’m sure those pens cost the restaurants something.
I’m also reasonably sure that the cost of the pen is factored in to the price of the items on the menu.
The Fourth of July is celebrated on the fourteenth of July in France.
They call it Bastille Day.
Actually, no they don’t.
We Americans call it Bastille Day, because it was on July 14, 1789, that French citizens upset with the monarchy stormed the Bastille in an act that sparked the French Revolution.
(My fiancée, who knows much more about French history than I certainly do, just read that line and said ‘that’s a simplification of facts’, but you can read more on it elsewhere if you like.)
French people just call it ‘La Fête Nationale’.
But they don’t go around saying ‘Bonne Fête Nationale’ to each other.
They also don’t dress up in red, white and blue.
Recently I was so caught up in the World Cup that I missed the All-Star Game.
What happened to me?
I was such a normal kid, growing up with a basketball hoop in the driveway, running pass patterns in the yard, oiling the baseball glove every spring.
Where did I go wrong?
How did soccer become so important to me?
Yeah, I know, I live in France now.
It was bound to creep in a little bit.
But man, missing the All-Star Game?
Is there any acceptable excuse? (more…)
LOS ANGELES, CA-
Just before my friend, Jett, passed away
I was working on a piece of writing
That I felt reflected certain aspects
Of our lives
Part of it went like this:
In the immortal words of Rob Lowe…
It’s all about last night, baby.
Last night I laughed until I cried.
Last night I banged my head until it threatened to disconnect from my neck.
Last night I un-earthed my rock roots, and found that I didn’t have to dig very far at all.
Last night I found Rock Heaven.
Last night a fireball singed off my eyelashes.
Last night I saw human frailty come head to head with Rock n Roll.
… I went to a KISS concert.
LOS ANGELES, CA-
Welcome, everybody, to thenervousbreakdown.com.
People have been asking me lately what this site is, and what it’s all about.
I always tell them that I don’t really know yet.
“As we get going,” I say to them, “I tend to believe that the site will tell us what it is, rather than the other way around.”
I’m not exactly sure what that means, but it sounds good, and people seem to like it, so I keep repeating it in an effort to sound knowledgeable.
On a general level, I guess you could call thenervousbreakdown a multi-blog site.
Or a multi-phlog site.
Or a collective experiment. (more…)