My roommate put a bird feeder outside of my house. No birds have showed up yet, but she’s optimistic. I wonder if the birds are afraid of our house, or if they just don’t see it. We have a cat, but he’s just about the laziest asshole on the planet, so I can’t imagine that birds would see him as too much of a threat. Honestly, this whole deal about the bird feeder isn’t really important at all, but I still feel uncomfortable writing about myself. It seems like that these introspective writers tend to use some kind of event in their lives to transition into what they’re really talking about. So, here we go.

When I was a kid, I really wanted a parrot. I’m not sure why, exactly, but I think I probably had some kind of odd fantasy about being this cool guy who walked around with a bird on his shoulder. This is something that may have had a lot to do with the fact that I was pretty uncool as a kid. Really, I might be the only person I’ve known to actually have been stuffed into a locker — believe me, it is actually possible even if you’re not named Screech. But who could hate someone with a giant parrot? He would be able to protect me and shit on everyone I hated. Of course, being the age I am now, walking around with a bird would make me look like I’m out of my mind.

It’s strange how there are some Christmases that I can’t remember one bit, but I vividly recall this one. I came downstairs and saw my gifts strewn about the living room floor. My eyes scanned for something in the shape of a cage, but I saw nothing. However, my parents were the types to give us our biggest gifts last. This was probably a good idea, since the experience of opening a sweater didn’t really compare to that of discovering an SNES. They probably wanted to end the day on a positive note so that my sister and I weren’t too annoyed at going to my aunt’s house and being bored as hell for several hours. Because the best gifts were last, I kept holding out hope that any second, a gigantic bird would come fly through the house, screech as if emerging from the bowels of Hell, and land on my shoulder in a dramatic display.

Soon enough, my gifts were winding down, and most of them were quite small. I came to a box that felt like it was probably some kind of large action figure. It resembled the box that a Buzz Lightyear figurine would come in (this is just for reference purposes, of course, as this occurred years before Toy Story was ever conceived). I opened the paper slowly, probably in order to prolong the unwrapping of gifts. Every second that ticked by was one more that I didn’t have to wear a sweater with a dinosaur embroidered on it. I didn’t even care about dinosaurs.

So I continued to open the present like an obsessive compulsive trying to unpack glass figurines. When I finally finished opening the paper on one side, I slowly slid the box out. Inside… was this.

Yes, it was a Pete the Repeat talking parrot. A toy. As I stared at the box with a look of both shock and disappointment, my parents laughed. “Hey look, it’s a parrot! Isn’t that great?” My sister also seemed to enjoy the joke, as she pressed the button on the parrot and said, “Kevin wishes I were real!” The parrot seemed all too happy to repeat the phrase while flapping its mechanical wings.

“Kevin wishes I were real.”

“Kevin wishes I were real.”

It stared at me with eyes that were dull and lifeless, much like those of a dairy cow or Martha Stewart. Although I could have, I didn’t cry. That would be a real dick move, since I just received hundreds of dollars worth of gifts which were littering the floor all around me. All I was able to muster was a defeated sigh.

Don’t get me wrong — I don’t resent my parents for not getting me a parrot when I was like 9. Actually, these days I realize that it’s probably better that they didn’t buy one. Parrots are loud, obnoxious, and I would have to clean up shit every day. Not only that, I don’t think it would have made me any cooler or more popular. A locker is small enough when one person is shoved in it, so it would likely be even worse with a giant bird scratching your face off in a state of panic.

The point of this whole story isn’t really the parrot. In reality, it’s about how the littlest thing like a bird feeder can create a spark in your mind and bring back memories that have long since disappeared. It’s best to let your mind wander sometimes… you never know what it will come up with.

If you’re like me, it will probably be something moderately depressing, apparently.

Television has enriched our lives since it was first introduced to the “New World” in the year 1653 by Christopher Columbus. Through it, we have learned about and seen things that otherwise would have passed by unnoticed by all except for experts in respective fields (or by those few assholes who claim to actually read books).

In fact, television programming has become an integral part of the American life. After all, the newspaper industry is failing, and the Internet is still slowly gaining acceptance among the older crowds. The radio is still around, but it has lost all but a small amount of the informational aspect of its programming in lieu of playing the same Lady GaGa song every 12 seconds. The fact is, television has a knack for “bridging the gap,” so to speak, between generations.

Here’s the problem, though: television is much less informative than it ever was in the past. The top rated shows are lifeless drivel designed to spit out advertising dollars — just as American Idol’s popularity begins to decline, Dancing With the Stars is up and around to take its place at the top of the food chain. These shows have nothing to offer humanity, and they’re stocked to the brim with filler material between actual content. The best reality show in recent years, Breaking Bonaduce, was met with fairly poor ratings. This is most likely due to the fact that nobody gave ratings on Danny Bonaduce’s outbursts, nor did they critique his performance so that the audience could know what to think about it instead of being forced to form their own opinions.

Some situation comedies have continued to find success. It is important to be entertained, of course, but it seems that the most intelligent  shows are the first to be dropped when ratings go south. In fact, most of the best programs only exist on premium networks like HBO and Showtime, because they’re the only ones willing to shell out the money to make a well-written (and ultimately less profitable) show.

Documentary-style television is still around, but it’s usually blurred and melded with the reality show aspect. Instead of seeing people do what makes them interesting, we get to watch 30 seconds of it and then hear them rattle on in a “talking head” format about whatever shitty thing they did two minutes prior.

So, what can we all do about this? I’m not naive, of course — I know that telling people not to watch shitty, mindless television isn’t going to do anything. Instead, why not just watch good shows, too? There’s plenty of decent programming out there if you’re willing to look. Start with Breaking Bad on AMC.

Do it for me, guys.

I’ve had a few blogs before, none of which stuck around for very long. The reasons for this are many — for example, if you were to say that I am pretty lazy, I would be unlikely to contend. The biggest reason, though, has been a severe lack of readership.

Everyone knows that it takes time to build up a blog that people actually want to read and/or follow. It makes sense, of course. If nobody knows who the hell you are, chances have it that they will not want to hear anything you have to say. I’ve got a plan, though, this time: I think I will actually write about something.

Let me make one thing clear at the start: I’m not a personal writer. Usually, my process begins by pointing out something I hate and then typing out all the reasons in a very general, inexpressive fashion. Don’t get me wrong, I like my writing. In fact, I think others kind of like it too. But this blog isn’t about my writing; it’s about me. This gives me an opportunity to broaden my horizons and discuss things with a much more personal voice than I have tended to use in the past. Beyond that, my writing has never been extremely socially conscious. This is something that I would like to improve upon, since bringing up real issues might help me organize my thoughts a little better.

It’s time to grow up, or something.

This is my first post, and I didn’t plan on making it funny or enlightening in any way. In fact, this post was for me, just as this blog is for me. I will try to update a lot, and in turn, will hope that you try to check it a lot for updates. Only with your help can I make $0.34 through Google AdSense and truly realize my dreams.

Well, that’s it for the moment. Here’s a preemptive thank you for reading, and hopefully (given this blog lasts a bit longer), another one for reading through my old posts and finding this gem.

Keep that dream alive, blogosphere.

Testing the new theme and settings and all that shit. Bear with me.