The worst part is that this building is directly across the street from a playground, and inside a so-called “neighborhood watch” program. As someone who’s had my house trashed by my own next-door neighbor, I can see why I got the hell out of here.

Check out more of my pictures from around town at my Flickr page.

But being from the southern part of the north, I’m used to different people. Yes, I got to put up with the trailer junkies flying the rebel flag, and the people that ride the coal train for fun. But, there was also a much more social type. A “vibe,” if you will. You could walk up and down the street and meet all kinds of people who were quick to give you a “hello” as you whisked by them. People would wave as they pass each other on the city streets, and only rarely did it result in a wreck and very nasty lawsuit.

Walking down the streets of Indianapolis I get a much different feeling, and I don’t mean the typical feeling of imminent gang-rape that I get at night. The feeling of community isn’t quite there. Yeah, it’s a big city and I’m downtown. I will likely never, ever see the people I pass by again in my life.

Yet, I always make eye contact. The reactions are amazing. An old man cowers in fear and checks to make sure his wallet is secure. Yeah, I’m young, but when the hell did I get a tough face? If anything, a feeble old man is more likely to mug me. The blond woman in her argyle scarf just quickly glances away. Apparantly she was looking at me, but was afraid that I’d even look at her. Oh, and apparantly they make argyle scarves now.

But there’s always the few, the proud, that have no problem with being the least bit social. They look, they nod, they may even let out with a slight grunt that resembles a “hey.” Is it that hard to just be nice? You don’t have to go out of your way for someone.

But even I have my times where I want to walk with my sunglasses on, my hood up, and my iPod on full blast to seclude myself from the world. I guess we all have our moments.

It’s no hidden fact that burgers, especially those made by Burger King, are some of the grossest looking edible products on Earth. The thought of this being mixed with sex is really enough to make me want to puke.

But since when are provocative ads new? They’re definitely not…

But why… WHY.. in the hell would you mix hot chicks with fast food? Even Paris Hilton couldn’t make Hardees burgers look sexy… if anything, I was worried that the poor burger would contract chlamydia. Please stop this hot-girls-with-fast-food craze now.. pretty please?

I can’t grab life, I can’t have hope. I wonder why everyone sees such a need to dwell on what they don’t have, instead of what they do. Even I wish I could be above this, but I fall guilty to it, too. People grow so tired of something they’ve had. It’s used up, it’s worn, it’s no longer fun. It may even be a little sticky. So instead we see the new thing and want it, when we know very well it’ll suffer the same fate.

I can’t have it. And why can’t we be fine with that? We’re all little kids on the inside. We go home to a toybox full of toys after throwing a tantrum in Wal-Mart over Tickle Me Elmo. It ends up being fun for everyone around to watch, but damn it sucks to be the kid in that situation, doesn’t it? But as soon as we get our cookie, we forget all about whatever it was that we wanted.

I can’t believe it’s not butter. Why am I writing this? Perhaps it has some hidden meaning. Only kinda. Maybe I felt like writing something really emo. Nah. Possibly I thought people would find it interesting, but not really. I’m simply writing what’s coming to my head as I’m sitting directly outside a Starbucks. It’s -5° out and I can smell the sweet aroma of Grande Java Mocha Whatever. But why pay $7 for it when I can easily fix myself some at home? After all, what I had at home seemed just fine last week.

Maybe I can’t yet grasp the concept of mind over mouth.

Rogan

No, the hidden-camera-and-earpiece idea isn’t anything new by any means. It’s been used on everything from Punk’d to David Letterman. GSIMH (hell of an abbreviation, isn’t it?) tries to be different by making the tasks “hilarious and embarrassing.” As I watched last night, I saw a girl who had to make people line up for 3 minutes for no reason, and guess which of a group of people would make it across the street at an intersection the quickest.

The “bonus round,” if you can call it that, asked her to convince a man to marry her. A full wedding was set up in a park, minus a groom, and the poor girl had to find a guy willing to fill-in for the groom, including writing vows and kissing the bride. It sounds impossible, sure, but the girl managed to do it …and that’s probably the point where I began to become addicted to this awful, awful show.

I’ve never watched Fox’s awful The Moment of Truth, and I’ve even rarely watched Punk’d. Yet, there’s something about this girl humiliating herself and members of the general public that oddly enticed me. Yes, it’s a guilty pleasure to me now. Of course, since it’s on Saturdays on CBS, I’m it’s only got a few weeks before its cancelled, but until then I’ll be watching and giggling horrendously as these idiots make fools of themselves in front of people on the street, and probably a couple million viewers.

Photo: Cliff Lipson/CBS.

Ferguson

So now I’ve begun to put together criteria. The person must be living. Dead people, to put it simply, are not awesome, nor hygienic. The person must have talent and ability. This immediately rules out Joe Francis, Bill O’Rielly, and all people who identify themselves as “rappers.” Lastly, the person must be from this planet. This excludes Obatma.

Immediately my mind is drawn to one person: Craig Ferguson. This man is always eager to point out that it is a great day in America, and damn it, it always is. He’s on TV almost every night with great material and has the charm of a prince. This lone individual could easily be the most awesome person in the world. But then I realized, however, that he does not qualify. You see, Craig Ferguson is a Scotchman, and Scottish Parliament repeatedly opposed James I’s requests for taxation to pay an English ransom in the 1420s, and for this I will never forgive them. Therefore, the most awesome person may not be from Scotland.

Maddow

So I simply take a 90-degree turn to MSNBC for my next two candidates: a one-two punch of Keith Olbermann and Rachel Maddow. These two, like Ferguson, come on every night to give their views of the world. Most of the time, these views side very much with the Democratic Party, and damn it if that doesn’t make them awesome enough. However, the world’s most awesome worldly person in the world should be fair and look at things from both angles. Don’t get me wrong, Maddow easily takes the title of world’s most awesome lesbian.

As I flip through the channels on my fancy color television set, I decide on a new rule: you are not considered ‘alive’ if people don’t even know whether you are or not. So now Abe Vigoda, Larry King, and my 3rd grade music teacher are all gone from the mix. Who else is left? Obatma’s less-famous half-brother Barack Obama and Mrs. Shank, my high school economics teacher, are both too obvious. Perhaps my fake award could go to the lonely man who filmed the infamous video ‘2 Girls, 1 Cup.’

But, no, there needs to be a certain standard of dignity to be upheld by the award. To give this to some sort of commoner would be a disgrace and insult to my post-reading audience, all three of them. Maybe the most awesome person in the world is the guy who invented the cute little Smart Car… and then tried to claim he was straight.

Goldberg

No. I’ve figured it out. After careful deliberation and a shot of legal beverage, I’ve concluded that the single most awesome person in this very world is simply Barry Goldberg. Barry. Effing. Goldberg. Who is he? He is the Santa who stood outside of a Wal-Mart in Lisbon, CT and handed out $10 gift cards to every person he saw. Of course, he was immediately shooed away by Wal-Mart’s security guards/greeters. But, damn it, a $1300 good deed shouldn’t go unnoticed. This 41-year-old man simply did something nice. Maybe that’s all it takes. Maybe he really is the most awesome person in the world?

Nah, it’s probably me after all. I’m just modest.

WWN has always been America’s finest news source, even after it stopped releasing printed copies in 2007. I personally read the website every day, and I’m a devout follower of columnist Ed Anger. His views typically reflect those of mine, including pushing for the movement of giving guns to school teachers, and paving the rainforest.

But, my dear WWN, I’m posting this asking you to come back! Your website is simply a sparsely-updated Wordpress blog posting non-sensical stories (much like this one,) and you no longer have the former glory that you once had in your hayday. For Christ’s sake, your pictures are now in color! How could you let this happen?

You follow Bat Boy around like he’s Bruce Willis, when you should instead be focusing your attention the dinosaur people that are being used as hat-racks at the Cleveland airport, or the skunk-man that was unjustly run over by a truck in Utah. You once provided news that even the Onion had too much journalistic integrity to publish. But, now, you seem to be run by a couple of twenty-two year old guys in a basement who like playing with Photoshop.

I’ll miss ye, and God bless Bat Boy.

Robert Q. Lewis

You see, I lead a screwed up life. So screwed up, in fact, that I don’t even use my real name on most websites. The mind-numbingly homosexual pseudonym of Jake P. Lewis came to me after seeing the works of 1950’s tv personality Robert Q. Lewis, who was mind-numbingly homosexual. What can I say? I’m big on obscure cultural references.

But that’s all entirely irrelevant. So irrelevant, in fact, that I decided to go see my great-grandpa. The poor guy, old and senile, lives in a trash-filled home. He doesn’t feel the need to throw anything away. As I sat skimming over a yellowed newspaper from 1986, reading about some idiots making a human chain, I noticed the paper towel lying on his dinner table. The flower-printed pattern was clearly worn, but the napkin was folded ever-so-neatly, as if to be kept in pristine condition. This was in the middle of kitchen where even the roaches had stopped eating. They were full. Wow, I can’t wait to get old.

I never saw my great-grandpa, though. You see, during the two hours I was there, he was on the toilet. Stark naked. This is the grumbling old man’s way of avoiding company. Clever. I could learn something.

But that’s all obnoxiously irrelevant. You see, today I had a hell of time sleeping. Bitches woke me up by calling me at 1:30pm, the nerve. But, I recovered, and spent most of the night at my sister’s house with her, her live-in beneficial friend, my mom, and my two-year-old “OMG-he’s-so-cute-I-would-pinch-his-cheeks-but-he-would-cry” nephew.

Irrelevant

“Dake, Dake!” he cried up at me when he arrived. This poor kid I wonder about often. Constantly he’s trying on his mother’s shoes, wearing jewelry, and locking himself in the closet. I can’t wait to see him buying his first pair of skinny jeans at six.

“Fight!” he said at me, standing on his bed with a menacing look to his face. As I kneeled on to the bed, with giant foam Hulk gloves over my hand, I should’ve seen what was coming next. “Uggghhdgfbnscnmnbsvb.” Yup, a swift punch from a two-year-old’s fist to my crotch.

But that’s all fantastically irrelevant. I was driving home tonight as I passed the orange-lit tattered remains of a blue Indiana state flag (somebody has real Hoosier pride,) and the frozen puddle under a McDonalds sweet tea cup, (who in the hell would waste such heavenly goodness?) I thought about what was in store for the rest of the night.

But that’s all hopelessly irrelevant. I just decided to write a post. And, bless your soul, you decided to read it. Men of few words are the best men. I, however, am an idiotic rambler.