CLASSYxCORRUPT

So, I recently made a YouTube channel called CLASSYxCORRUPT (hence the repeat for a cover pic, that’s the YouTube one I use). When I say recently, I mean like three days ago. I’ve only made one video so far, and I am currently editing another one right now on my top notch editing system. It’s called windows moviemaker. Would 100% recommend to all aspiring filmmakers who are looking to end their dream career early, because this damn program will do exactly that. It didn’t even come with an online instruction manual. If anyone else is like me and transforms into a drooling neanderthal as soon as a they try to use a piece of technology, then you can relate.

Yes, I am a man. Yes, I am asking for an instruction manual. Yes, I am breaking all manly rules. But this aint no ikea night table I’m trying to use here. I’m tackling something way bigger.

Anyways, besides moviemaker, I’ve been really enjoying it. I made a video for Bell Let’s Talk day (link here) and since then I’ve realized how much fun it is to make videos.

After all that talk of cheesy inspiration, guess what my first video was about?

Making tea.

Now ask me how badass I am. Actually, you don’t even need to. You already know the answer.

The video (click here. it’s cool. seriously. please.) is basically like stomp the yard, but with tea, and without any rhythm. So nothing like stomp the yard. Man, I wish I was like stomp the yard. Go google them if you don’t know who I’m talking about you. You had enough extra time in your day to read this blog, tell me honestly you have something better to do. No. You don’t. So there.

Side note. It took me three tries to spell rhythm. And not three tries to get it right. As in three tries before I gave up and googled it. My decision to become an English major was clearly correct.

I do have some other grand plans coming up regarding future videos, so I’ll be blogging about that, and try to keep up with other daily things. A reading week ski trip might be in order, and that’s already a bad idea. Which in turn means great blogging material. I’ll see how that turns out.

Reading week also means photography collabs with denimjoy, who I haven’t seen in a while. She’s slaying it, as per usual.

I’ll leave with this convo that I overheard at work between a customer and a coworker:

“man, do you guys have these shoes?” (customer)

“nope, sorry dude. I’ve never even see those before. Are those red yeezy’s?”

“I don’t know, my girlfriend just gives me pictures of shit online and tells me to go buy it man. I swear half of this shit doesn’t exist.”

“yeah those definitely aren’t real.”

“….I’m just going to take her money to the casino. If I win I’ll share some with you. peace”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how to deal with your significant other when they’re annoying you. Take all their money and blow it at a casino (the guy didn’t come back).

How Mountains Sleep.

I want to say I’ve been busy this break, but I haven’t. I’ve just been lazy.

Yesterday I was hanging out with my girlfriend, skating on my ice rink. You know. White people things.

We took a little tea break (white people things) and took a quick power nap. When the alarm went off, I got up, like a normal human.

But not my girlfriend. Nope. Apparently she wakes up like a mountain.

After a full minute after laughter I managed to ask how exactly a mountain wakes up, which resulted in a demonstration. It’s essentially the fetal position, but on your knees, with your face to one side.

If you sleep like that or wake up like that, you are a mountain. Fun fact.

According to her, those mountains from the cartoons (You know which ones she means, right? I sure as hell don’t) wake up like this, and then walk around a bit. I’ve never heard of sleeping, waking, or walking mountains, but I was pretty television deprived as a child. So it’s definitely possible.

Next time you watch tv, let me know if you see any mountains waking up. Or sleeping. Or just doing anything that isn’t sitting there and being a mountain.

 

Here’s a couple of quotes from 2015 that didn’t make it into a full blog:

(Me) “You’re funny man. You should be a stand-up comedian.”                       (Friend) “Thanks. It’s a result of school bullying and an emotionally traumatizing childhood.”

(Grandma) “What do you guys think is in that truck?”                             *Large truck with a tarp covering the back of it*                                                  (Dad) “Mexicans.”

(Me) “Why are you going to church? Are you even religious?”                            (Sister) “Nah. I’m kind of like the Switzerland of religion”

(Me) “How was your vacation?”                                                                                  (Friend) “Well, I booked the wrong flight, so I went to San Francisco instead of New York. I didn’t have anywhere to stay, so I just found some couple online that offered me a place to crash on their couch. They had a giant party that night, so I drank a ton with them and some other people in San Fran. Then I had to meet my parents in New York, so I booked another flight and left.”                                                                                                                (Me) “You know, you make me feel a lot better about how my life is going.”

Family Christmas.

My family is the hugest gong show to exist on this planet.

My father has four siblings; three sisters and one brother. For me, that means a lot of aunts, one uncle, and a ton of cousins.

Fortunately, they’re all just as messed up as I am, so we all get along pretty well.

Even my Oppa came over for a bit. If you’re seriously that uncultured, then I’ll just have to let you know that’s German for Grandpa. Guess what. My Grandpa is German. I just figured you sort of needed that gap bridged for you.

According to my eldest cousin, our Oppa was getting quite crafty with his food -dipping the sushi in ranch salad dressing and whatnot.

I don’t think they have sushi in Germany, so it’s really not his fault.

Said eldest cousin was also a topic of talk that night, because she drove one of the aunts here. We asked the aunt how the cousin’s driving was, and the response was: “Well, we were whipping down the Yellowhead highway, and when we took a corner I saw something go shooting across the backseat. I thought it was the appetizers, but she said it was just some other random shit in the backseat. I told her it was kind of slippery, but she just brushed it off because she got winter tires a day before. I didn’t know that meant we could go twenty over the limit in a snow storm, but we’re here in one piece and with some trashed appetizers. Merry Christmas guys.”

We also built an ice rink in the backyard this year. We managed to get the whole family out there, including uncle Victor, the pseudo-redneck with a frequent catchphrase of “Jesus Christ”, and aunt Lisa, who is more so a kid than the youngest of the cousins.

The game of pickup hockey we played was a disaster. My dad destroyed his good patella (he only has one to begin with) body checking me fifteen feet off the rink, so we were both hurting the morning after. I managed to get some great pictures of our babiest cousin, who definitely got the best genes in the family. She’s stupidly photogenic, it’s almost unfair. She’s a little princess.

I leave soon for another big ski trip, this time with the other side of the family. Fortunately they’re just as wacky, so there will be some good stories to tell after!

Road Trip of the Century: Pt. II

The past few days have gone by way too fast. Our road trip wrapped up with some expected injuries and near death experiences, and then it was a long drive back home to meet up with the family for a Christmas get together.

Let’s recap.

The first day of boarding was awesome. The snow was great, and we were on the hill at the ass crack of dawn (more commonly known as 9am). The hill was dead, most likely because people were fleeing the natural disaster that we are on snowboards, but hey -it meant more snow for us.

The second day we got to the hill a little bit later, to avoid the early morning freezing temperatures. This is when we met poncho girl, the average looking, average skilled female snowboarder who wore a poncho. Not a big deal, except I own the exact same poncho. We were clearly destined to be friends. The only issue? I don’t really do the whole friends deal.

So after awkwardly snowboarding by her and yelling “Poncho girl I like your poncho” I snowboarded away as fast as possible and never saw her again.

I am just so good at being social.

That night we went out to the bar to see a live band called Shred Kelly. I forgot the name at one point and just started calling them Shredded Kale, so we’re going to stick with that instead. I mean really, it’s a way cooler band name, and who wouldn’t want to promote a healthy vegetable.

The bar had this awesome deal of $5 a pint, which resulted in a copious amount of alcohol consumption, and a hell of a walk home. I decided that jumping as far as I could down the steps of the bar was a good idea, so I began the walk home with a severely rolled ankle. Luckily, alcohol is fantastic for both causing you to make dumb decisions, and then dulling the pain that results from it. So I wasn’t hurting until the morning after.

The walk home was filled with intense sports and shenanigans. I decided that I was a parkour master (true both sober and intoxicated), and performed extreme stunts off of every obstacle I could find. This initially resulted in jumping over fire hydrants and the such, but intensive exercise is really quite tiring -so by the time we reached home base, I was simply running up to poles and kicking them before running away.

I also decided that it would be a hilarious prank to throw snow on the windshields of every single car we walked past, and I mean every single car. I was methodical, precise, and ultimately, still very drunk. But you better believe that I sure showed all those people -they’re going to have to press one button in their car in the morning to wipe that snow off. Hah.

The morning after was death itself. I won’t go into details, just know it was brutal. But because I’m a real trooper, we still made it on to the hill, albeit slightly later. A slice of greasy pizza and we were ready to shred.

We made it to the highest part of the mountain on our last day, and there was some awesome snow up there, as well as a lot more trees. This meant a lot more face-plants. I would jump a small shrub and celebrate how amazing I was, and while daydreaming about going to the next X games I would smack into another approaching tree. This process happened multiple times. But hey, it’s hard to make my face any uglier, so I really wasn’t risking much.

The whole trip was really amazing. Excessive snowboarding, excessive drinking, and a total lack of friends (both female and male) really summed up how I was going about life. Gotta love when a road trip represents your future.

Check out other pics I took here!

Road Trip of the Century: Pt. I

Today marked the beginning of a grand adventure. I worked the first half of the day, and my friend had an early exam, then we were off. When I asked him how the exam was, I was sent a gif of a young child getting bashed by an over-sized exercise ball. Ever seen that gif? It really represents my life. Check it out.

We began by packing the small two door car that would be our crap-mobile, likely one way ticket to Jasper. We had a choice between the two door, front wheel drive coup or a four wheel drive, four door jeep, and we made what we determined to be the wiser decision.

Sometimes you gotta be a little ballsy with life choices. I really showed the world on this one.

We came across the dilemma of how to safely pack the eggs in the cooler. The logical solution? Cram a pillow into the cooler. Those eggs aren’t going anywhere. Perfect.

This major success was slightly rained on when I dropped the “survival kit” that my mom packed for us. This essential bag of miscellaneous goodies included exactly four ‘nola bars (slang for granola. Get with it), two water bottles, one flashlight, and of course, what else besides a French Baguette scented candle.

Only the essentials.

Now, science, or even just logic, says that when you drop glass it shatters. I’m not sure who decided candles should be made of glass, but that really needs to be rethought.

One shattered candle later, we were on the road.

The trip itself wasn’t overly exciting, except for a daring triple pass by a semi-truck. It passed our car, a car in front of us, and a semi in front of both of us.

Like I said, sometimes you gotta be a little ballsy with your life choices. This guy was just an idiot.

Overall, a pretty docile day. Tomorrow we actually hit the hill for some boarding, so I’m sure there will be some mild concussions and possibly a punctured lung here and there.

It’ll the second part of this grand adventure.

The Journey of Two Idiots.

Final exams are done. Thank god for that, because I was in absolute shambles during exam season. I handed in my final test, and my professor asked why I had my shirt on backwards. The fact that he noticed before I did made a tear roll down my cheek.

But, I’ve survived. And now I’m off on a trip with a fellow dumbass to celebrate the end of our suffering.

We’ve decided to drive to Jasper (this is where the vegetarian aunt lives) and crash there for a few days. Snowboarding, drinking, and dumb ideas that have not been thought through but that will still be pulled off are all activities we plan on doing.

This is more so an intro blog. I’ll be bringing my camera and laptop on the trip to give you a day by day update of the dumb stuff that goes down. I can guarantee that there will be a grand story after each day, because this is the friend that “helped” me throw marshmallows at a stranger. It’s never not a regrettable time with him. That’s how the saying goes, right?

I figured I would go out and practice on the terrain park at home. But four runs and five face-plants later (yes I managed to face-plant twice on one run) I gave up physical activity for warmth, indoors, and laziness. A great decision, in my opinion.

Anyways, I’ll keep posting during the trip. It should be a fantastic disaster. Do you ever think about how successful you’d be if you had a reality T.V. show? I do all the time. Then I remember that it would basically be a carbon copy of America’s funniest home videos, just all in one family. That’s why producers keep turning me down.

Enjoy the snow, everyone!

Hah. I can say everyone because the only people who read this are my relatives that live here, or my friends who I annoy until they agree to read it just to shut me up. Thanks guys.

Legally Half-Blind.

Alright, so I’m not actually legally half-blind. Legally, no, half-blind, yes. But I bet if I applied for legal half-blindness I would get it. It just doesn’t get you as many discounts as senior citizen status, so I haven’t bothered to make that happen.

Anyways, let me tell you how I was blinded.

It was a classic game of king of the hill at my friend’s house. There was a ravine right behind his house, so we would always play there and build forts and all that stuff. Well, he built the forts, because we’ve already determined I’m terrible at building stuff.

He also introduced me to the delicious concept of chips on hamburgers, but that’s worth a blog post on its own. Seriously though, try it. White people things.

So here we were, playing king of the hill in the ravine. I’m sprinting to the top of the hill, full speed, gasping like an obese asthmatic, when I feel a hand wrap around my ankle. Now even at a young age, I had calves to match that of an Olympic weight squatter, so I wasn’t rattled. I just kept trucking.

Until my foot got yanked out from under me and I face planted. Hard. Right on to a stick.

Now, I’m convinced I closed my eye in time, but my friends that were watching (and later the doctor) told me I took that stick straight into the eyeball. As every young boy would do after their eye was punctured, I started to cry. It was weird. My eye didn’t actually hurt. I just felt like I should cry. It made sense at the time.

We went to the doctor, and this guy was absolutely ruthless. He just grabbed a pair of tweezers and starting jamming them around in my eye. This guy had clearly never played the “Operation” game because he was a savage with those tweezers. He also narrated whatever he was doing “Oh, and here’s a small piece of twig that I just dug out” which only made me feel like throwing up. I mean, guy. You’re already scraping my eyeball to shit with those tweezers, there’s no need to narrate HOW you’re scraping it to shit. I can feel you doing that perfectly fine on my own, thanks.

At the end of the day my eye wasn’t that injured, and I could see normally out of it. But when I get sleepy the eyelid starts to droop and go all lazy, so I’ll walk around at night looking like somebody very precisely jabbed their finger in my right eyeball and I’m reacting badly to it. Though I think most people would react badly to that.

So, basically half-blind. Just not confirmed by the government (yet).

 

 

 

My (Un)successful Acting Career.

If you clicked to read a story about a cute dog then my trap worked. Hah. It’s just a cute picture of a dog. Not even my dog, but my girlfriend’s dog (Don’t ask how I have a girlfriend, because that’s a-whole-nother story and I’m not quite sure myself).

Now that I’ve brought you here with cute dog photos, you’re obliged to read the rest of this blog. So do it.

I took Drama 149 this semester. My teacher was brutal, “Don’t clump on stage!” and was constantly talking just to hear herself “Focus people, focus! Nobody can be talking or even whispering when I talk, we need to FOCUS!”.

It was brutal.

Our final mark was a group project with four other people. Now what my group didn’t know is that I have a lot of prior experience in acting, back to my days as a child.

I could always pull off the “I’m going to be sick” excuse no matter what. I claim this is because I’m such a good actor, but I think it has to do with that one time my mom didn’t believe me and then I actually threw up in her van. She never doubted me from then on. All because of my stellar acting.

I also debuted in one of the top lesser known 2003 Broadway plays (meaning I was 6 at the time). This play was accurately named “Cheesestick and Meatstick”, modeled off my aunt’s vegetarian diet and consequently only ever performed in private with the close family. It was still Broadway though. Technicalities.

The play featured me as Meatstick, which everyone found hilarious and was totally lost on me at the time, and my sister as Cheesestick. Now why would “Cheesestick” be fighting for vegetarianism and not “cabbage ball” or a similarly creative name? I don’t know. It was part of the captivating mystery of the play. Play critiques don’t question the deets when the acting is this superb. Or when they don’t see the play.

Now, naturally, any villain of vegetarianism would have meat in their name, so that made sense. The stick part came from my extremely intimidating weapon that was literally a pillow stick. Add the two together and what do you get? A 6 year old running around beating his sister with a pillow and yelling Meatstick.

Good lord.

I’ll post a picture with my Grammy soon. It’s taking a while to get to me. Grammy are acting awards right? Or is that the Emmy.

I’ll probably just get both. One award isn’t enough for the quality of my acting career.

 

I just read this over editing it. I was one seriously messed up kid.

Am I An Adult Now?

I am technically considered eighteen years of age. Now, I’m not saying this is correct, but I show up to be this old in the government system. I guarantee that if any specialist looked at me they would determine that I have the mental capabilities of a five year old. At best.

I’ve also never done anything you would consider “adult”. Never traveled anywhere alone, never bought my own car or house, and never cooked my own meal. That last one is an adult action in my book, because my cooking skills are honestly abominable. I know for a fact that it shouldn’t take me forty-five minutes to cook crunchy, clumpy mac-n-cheese.

But all of this changed a week ago (cue bobby shmurda please) when I bought a camera. A real camera. As in, one that you can change the lenses on and fancy stuff. I consider it my first ever adult purchase, and I almost pissed myself buying it. I called my mom twice because I was so scared to spend this much money on one thing.

“Mom, should I buy it? I want it, but it’s so expensive. I’m already poor.”

“I don’t care, you can make your own decisions, it’s your money.”

“Yeah but no I can’t so tell me what to do.”

This continued for five minutes until she hung up. I feel kind of bad for her, because if I was only half stupid she could blame that on my father’s contribution to my gene pool, but I am most definitely full retard. There’s no way to be politically correct about this, it’s a fact. Besides, I’m pretty sure that label is similar to black people using racial slurs when they talk, so I’m allowed to say that.

Anyways, I have made my first adult purchase and bought a camera. It’s way too complicated for my below average I.Q. of roughly sixty, but that’s okay, because a fancy camera has auto-mode for a reason.

I just gave every photographer an aneurysm with that sentence. I’ll have to add that to my non-existent list of things I’m good at.

 

How not to build stuff.

So I recently decided to attempt building a DIY backyard snowboard park. There’s so much wrong with the fact that I even tried this, so that’s why it was an “attempt”.

First problem: I can’t build shit.

You know those people who are like “Oh yeah, just built a new coffee table, four chairs, a rocking chair, and three cabins last weekend, it was fun.”? I am not even close to any of those people. Or that one friend (wouldn’t know what a friend is but I’m saying friend for your sake here so you can relate) that has all this cool stuff is and made it all themselves? Yeah, again, I’m nowhere near that.

The most building I do is when I’m building a sandwich. I have to count that, because I literally cannot do anything considered handyman.

Second problem: I don’t know what a gym is.

So when you ask me to carry that twig to the campfire, it’s not going to happen. Not even because I’m too lazy (although I am) it’s because I have a personal policy refusing to lift anything that weighs more than twenty pounds. I’m very strict about this, because I need to practice discipline. So don’t blame me when I don’t help you move in to your new house. It goes against my policy.

Third problem: I brought the some goons to “help”.

“Hey boys, grab that pipe!”

Two broken toes and one inguinal hernia later, and we’ve managed to drag the pipe fifteen meters across the yard. Sometimes sacrifices need to be made, and I think we got a good deal in this case.

I’m pretty sure Frankenstein was considered a monster, not even a creation, so I’m confident enough to call this shambles of a snowboard drop in a monster instead of a creation.

But hey. It gets the job done. If you survive the unbalanced ladder climb to the platform, manage to strap into your board without falling off the narrow planks that lack any support or walls, then you get to slide down a very unsteady ramp. So far there’s been no fatalities, but this is the first stage of testing. Just wait until we duct tape a higher platform on top of this bad boy.

On a totally unrelated note, I read books more than I talk to humans, so read The Art of Hearing Heartbeats and we can talk about how sad our lives are in comparison.

I got a new fancy camera, so check out the pictures I’ve been taking!