Hugs, Not Drugs

What it do baby boo? 'Tis Sir Marcus again here, providing yet another glimpse into the bucket of neurosis that is my brain; I do it because I care, people. Even HM would have to admit that I've been pretty diligent about these updates in the past few months, so if you see or speak to her soon, tell her yes, to answer the age-old question, I do want a cookie. While waiting on that, let's get right into this week's topic: drugs.

So as I was outside in Speaker's Circle people-watching between classes today, some guy comes up to me and gives me a flier from some group he's in -- the "Students for Sensible Drug Policy." I'm all for what they're trying to do. We can all acknowledge that our country's drug policies are less than perfect. The flier he handed me implores students to vote yes on Prop. 19 (California-based ballot for the legalization of marijuana). Though marijuana isn't for me, I've gone on record for conceding that legalizing it would do more good than harm, so it only makes sense that it becomes legalized. It's far less harmful than nicotene and alcohol, yet cigarettes and booze are both legal? That logic is unbelievably weak; no one's buying it and we shouldn't be selling it.

Here's the kicker, blogosphanatics: it's no secret that I'm straight-edge. That means that I don't drink, don't smoke, and generally don't take prescripted medications. That's just my choice - some of it has to do with my family's history of substance abuse, but it's mostly because I just don't personally find it that appealing. I'm certainly no C.M. Punk - I don't have an issue with those that do these things in moderation. It's your life and I say do whatever floats your boat, but keep in mind that said boat will most likely be sunk by the HUGEmongous crack rock that you're storing. You've been warned.

Speaking of crack... It still kills.

Back to the original premise of this post, the flier then proceeded to give "3 reasons that YOU should fight for sensible drug policies."This is where it falls apart for me. The first reason states "Your education is in danger," and then goes on to talk about how many students have had to drop out of school or find alternate means of paying for school because they had drug convictions and were denied financial aid. At the risk of sounding callous, I call tough titties on that one. Again, no one's saying that all of our drug laws are perfect, but at the same time, the law is pretty black and white about what's legal and not. It has always astounded me how people can willfully take part in an illegal activity -- that means ecstasy and meth as well, for those of you who are reading this from rehab -- but then act surprised or even angry when they are chastised for it. If part of the allure to breaking rules is that feeling of danger and the thrill of getting away with it, then part of that should also be the full resignation to the possibilities of getting caught and the subsequent consequences. You can't have your caked up crack rocks and eat them too.

Yes, even I will say that I think weed should be legal, but for the time being, it's not legal, and because of that, you are and absolutely should be subject to the full letter of the law; it's that simple. The flier also goes on to say that their 2nd reason is that the War on Drugs is a multi-billion dollar exercise in money wasting, but it doesn't suggest any solutions to this problem. Legalizing marijuana isn't going to mean that the drug industry WON'T cost money to maintain, and while it isn't legal, obviously we can't just stop spending on it cold-turkey, lest we risk freelance drug-dealing and usage running amok. So tell me, how would NOT spending money in the War on Drugs help? Don't worry, I'll wait...

Finally, there is reason #3 -- most drug-related violence is based on the prohibition of them as opposed to the abuse of them, consequently causing police to spend their time chasing the wrong criminals -- which also brings the weak sauce. That implies that cops are completely ignoring criminals for crimes not related to drugs. Rapists, arsonists, and those that murder just for the hell of it are no less important than drug dealers or those that murder over drugs, and this flier shouldn't try to reduce that issue  -- or any of these issues, for that matter -- to something so black and white; something so trivial. It's ridiculous to even begin to suggest that the time spent on drug-related crimes -- something that rightfully is very important -- is what has really been preventing cops from catching a serial rapist. Don't bring that weak shit into my house.

I will admit that I appreciate their enthusiasm though. Obviously the War on Drugs is much bigger than what I've mentioned here, but you guys get the gist. I believe they're sending the right message and plugging the right product, but their packaging is a little off. They need to come stronger than that because you can't sell me bullshit -- I know the prices. 

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....... Yall stay classy out there and take care now. 

Self-fulfilling prophecy, FTSwindle

I smell what he's cooking

Oh blogosphere... Sometimes you have to laugh to keep yourself from crying.

Self-fulfilling prophecies are when things come to fruition because people indirectly cause it to happen, whether it be via their own neurotic tendencies or by someone else's subconscious actions. For example, Spencer Pratt believes he's a famous celebrity. Does he have any discernible talent? Not that I've seen. Is he an unbearable douchelord that most of us wish would just go away? Undoubtedly. But guess what? Those of us that hate him yet talk about how much he sucks (hello, ME!) are helping his celebrity grow because there's really no such thing as bad pub when you're famous for no reason to begin with. SELF-FULFILLING PROPHECY.  

Nice flesh-colored beard, dick. 

Why do I bring this concept up, you ask? Well, I have a self-fulfilling prophecy of my own that reared its ugly head this afternoon. My belief is that Murphy's Law - whatever can go wrong will do so - was originally created with my love life in mind. The only thing that was more surprising than The Old Lady sending me the "we need to talk" text this afternoon (we all know what that means) instead of coming over to hang out like we planned is the fact that we even got to the relationship stage to begin with. I say that not out of a lack of confidence in myself - far from it, I know I'm a catch - but out of an increasing paranoia that anytime I try to get involved with someone, it will somehow find a way to unravel. But then again, maybe it is me, as one can only run into the same coincidence SO many times before he has to find the common denominator of his problems. The more I say I'm not superstitious, the more I find myself being superstitious about things, and I've trained myself to not become too comfortable talking about relationships and potential ones because I actually believe it will jinx them. I wish I were kidding about that.

As a self-proclaimed romantic, I'm just not wired like most guys. It takes so much effort and so many things falling the right way for me to even get into the ballpark that most guys reach so effortlessly that when these things inevitably fall part, it's unbelievably disheartening. I'm not into "chasing tail" or adding notches to my proverbial belt - anyone who knows me can tell you that. Call it a lack of game or whatever you wanna call it, but there's no point in trying to be something you're not, and like Kanye said, everything I'm not makes me everything I am. Don't get me wrong - I'm not saying I'm better than those guys because I'm certainly not above the friends with benefits type of thing in the right situation. But 9 times out of 10, when it comes to dating, I'm much more of a slowly get-to-know-you kinda guy, preferring to go about it the less pressure-filled, easygoing way of talking to someone personally as opposed to approaching a girl in public at a bar and trying to manufacture a connection out of thin air. As far as I'm concerned, slow and steady wins the race because life is a marathon, not a sprint (ironic because I was a sprinter in high school track: I HATED any distance-related events).

It stands to reason that the one relationship I've had as an adult that would have lasted as long as I wanted was the one that I couldn't ever fully get invested in. I'm not so delusional that I think I'm the only one to experience this, but that doesn't make me feel any better and I can only complain about my own lot in life. Tonight is one of those rants that my boys back home would refer to as "homotional," but writing is the only real immediate catharsis I have ever known. Dammit, I'm one of the good guys, am I not? I just don't understand how the good guys are the ones who tend to strike out more when we're trying to do it the right way with the right intentions when Tucker Max is out there serial fornicating and not even apologizing for having nothing more going for him than being a literal and a figurative dick. It's like being broke and seeing those pro athletes that make millions upon millions of dollars and then end up broke when they retire; How in 5 hells does Antoine Walker blow $100 million in a career? Why should he be rich instead of someone who can take care of their money? What kind of world are we living in?

I blame Adam and Eve for taking a bite out of that fruit when God told them not to. Everything was perfectly peachy until they got too curious and here we are thousands of years later living in a messed up world.

Serpent: GOTCHA, BITCH!

Ha, that serpent was a rascal. Like I said, sometimes you have to laugh to keep yourself from crying. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....

Yall take care now.

Another Weekend Update

Bonjour Blogosphere! Sir Marcus again here bringing you the latest musings from my world. Good ol' HM, bless her heart, not so subtly reminded me last night that the infrequency with which I blog is not acceptable to her. I can only assume that she's speaking for the general blogosphanatic populace, so yall owe her some gratitude, as here I am. Ready to take a ride? As with most rides, that question was rhetorical, as we're taking off right now, regardless of your preparation levels.

- As of last night, your boy is officially no longer single. Take a moment to digest that statement, as it constitutes fairly significant progress on my part.

Me and my new flame - I call her Old Lady - have been talking for about 2 weeks now and I must say, I am thrilled to death about it. In our short time seeing one another, we've just clicked from the very beginning and I feel good about where this is going. She's a great gal - very considerate and open-minded, and most importantly, she gets me and my sense of humor. I happen to think that my sense of humor is my biggest asset, so it's a HUGE plus when a girl gets me comically; that's more than half the battle, as far as I'm concerned. The rest of the battle is the girl being a fan of chocolate, so I think I'm good there - for now, at least. I haven't decided whether I'll be black tomorrow or not.

This represents progress because those of you who really know me can vouch for the comedy of errors that my love life has been seemingly since I hit puberty. Shortly after we became facebook official - the true barometer of any relationship's legitimacy in 2010 - there was quite an outpouring of support and reactions from some of my friends. Perhaps these people were legitimately happy for me in a relieved sort of way or maybe their reactions were just a release of previously-subdued pity, as if I had been the one-legged guy struggling to compete on American Gladiators. I'm not sure which one it is, placing me in the conundrum of not knowing whether to express gratitude or curse these friends of mine, but for the time being, a great big fucking thank you will have to suffice.

TV's most inspirationally-depressing hour ever.

- Last night was the 2010 MTV Video Music Awards, and those of you who remember my running "color" commentary on last year's train wreck (WFW pt. 2), will be sad to hear that this year's edition did not provide as many noteworthy moments.

Taking over the hosting duties this year was Chelsea Handler, who unfortunately will probably need to leave this gig off of any future hosting resumes. Most of us - with maybe the exception of this wholesome angel - generally find Handler to very funny or likable in some way, but the minute I heard she was hosting, I thought the decision was questionable, at best. The reason I say that is that those of us familiar with her work  - whether on TV or in her books - knows that her material is best served for mature audiences, a group that is probably not consisting of the trendy music-lapping, Jersey Shore watching teenage clientele who still watch MTV regularly. Handler's monologue mostly fell flat or went right over the audience's heads, something she probably didn't even realize. She had a throwaway line in the monologue about her being high because she decided not to drink that night that she probably included for humor purposes, but she most likely was high because the fact that her jokes weren't landing never appeared to even register to her. She seemed to be having a ball up there regardless of crowd reaction, which is good for her, but did not make for the most compelling television ever. 

As for the show itself, there wasn't much else to speak of. Of the apparent 6 awards that they probably handed out last night, I'd say Lady Gaga or Justin Bieber won 5 of them. Taylor Swift proved that her forgiveness can be earned but only after waiting AN ENTIRE YEAR, when she can bring it up at the same awards show with her song about Kanye West, "Still An Innocent." The night ended with Kanye performing publicly for like the 2nd time since last year's gaffe and giving his best apologetic effort to date, basically taking shots at himself and providing me and my cronies back home our group's new anthem in "Runaway." 

Besides that, nothing significant really happened. There certainly was no black guy trying to get away with a time-honored social faux pa that would have racial implications; Oh wait....

Blackface: this CAN'T go wrong! 

- NFL season is upon us. Just being able to say that after months and months of anticipation means that many fans across the country needed a change of pants shortly after the Saints/Vikings game kicked off this past Thursday night. My Dolphins are off to a 1-0 start, giving them a half-game lead over the hated Jets for all 6 AFC playoff spots. SO WHAT if the Jets don't play til tonight? The point is that they're in our rear-view mirrors at the moment, and shame on you all for making me say it.

-  I just finished reading The CollegeHumor Guide to College, an incredibly funny take on the various experiences and aspects that are common to college. Granted - not everything in here will apply to every single college student - but I tell you all, this book is HILARIOUS. It's a bit long for a book that reads like a handbook - around 350 pages - but you will not regret reading it. I'll even let you come over to my house and read it if you're my girlfriend. Be forewarned however - this is not for the young, the naive or the Amish; there is talk of sex, drugs, alcohol and electricity in this book.

Next up on the reading list: A.J. Jacobs' The Year of Living Biblically, in which the author actually attempts to live a year following the Bible as literally as possible; should be quite the ride. Stay tuned for further developments.

On that note, I think it's time to wrap her on up. It's been a joy catching up with you all, I hope you've enjoyed it as much. Until next time, holla at a playa when you see him in he streets, trick! No but for serious, yall stay classy and take care out there; this is Sir Marcus T. Williams, signing off....

Summer Series Part 6: Summer's Over

How's it hanging, blogosphere? Sir Marcus again here, bringing you the final installment of the summer blog series, in lieu of us now being in the second week of fall semester.

I know what you're thinking and you're right: The updates to my page here are pretty fuckin sweet. Bear with me, as the whole thing is still a work in progress. For those 3 or 4 of you out there still fondly reminiscing the days of Myspace/Blackplanet/Xanga/Bebo, we'll just say my page is still "under construction."

If you weren't thinking about the page, then you were probably thinking that it's been far too long since you heard from me here, and I will also agree with that. As was brought to my attention by my former partner in crime - we'll call her Honey Munchkins, or HM for short - I don't keep up with this thing as much as I should. Always the one to try to keep me in line, HM raised a valid point and helped me see that the true victims of my procrastination are you, the blogosphanatics for which I do this. She actually didn't say that last part in so many words, but the two of us have an innate telepathic synergy that allowed me to infer that on my own. So for that, I apologize and will try to make a better effort.

With the obligatory half-assed apology now taken care of, let's get you all updated on the happy haps of the world as I've seen it since we last spoke.

- This is officially my 9th semester of college at the University of Missouri, placing me in what is commonly referred to as the "super-senior" year, or my "victory lap," if you will. While there are things about college that aren't as glamorous - I'm talking to YOU, any and all math-related courses - I have thoroughly enjoyed my tenure here at the 'Zou. Were the decision left up to me, I would probably stay here forever, just skating by on making friends and celebrating the enjoyable parts of college, a la my man Van Wilder, but my mother doesn't quite see it that way. Parents just don't understand.

- This week concludes my 3rd consecutive stint as a temporary textbook stocker at the bookstore, and this time was even better than the previous two, chock full of more hijinks and shenanigans than your average Animaniacs cartoon. (If you got that reference, then you're my kinda person, but if you didn't, then shame on you for not growing up watching cartoons in the 90's; your ignorance is astounding).

Anyways, aside from a few less-than-reputable characters, I made some good friends with the guys and gals that slaved around the store with me everyday. I even tried my hand at starting my first ever workplace romance, and though that - much like many attempted ones before it - predictably failed not long thereafter for reasons perhaps out of my control (think George Costanza), if given another shot, I don't think I would go about it any differently. In my defense, this girl - the ol' Ball & Chain, as we've so affectionately dubbed her in our circle - has dimples that can not, will not, SHALL NOT be ignored; don't even bother. I certainly never had a shot. Though the only logical explanation to the failed courtship is that she clearly has abysmal taste in men - this much awesomeness must be off-putting - she's a great gal and I consider myself lucky to know her, regardless of the extent of our friendship going forward. Okay, now give me a moment to wash the feeling of sappiness from that last line off of me....

Aside from the ol' Ball & Chain, my social life has been infused with some much-needed testosterone.  This is not intended as any slight to Gossip Girl and Bo Peep, but I don't think they truly realize that being the male tour guide in the college meat market for two attractive young ladies like them made it that much tougher for someone as introverted as myself to meet new girls when I was either busy helping them fend off creepers or quietly brooding to the side as guy after guy approached them, regardless of whether I was there or not. When doing this on a week-to-week basis, I'm sure that me being attached to them so often has resulted in my sexuality being quietly questioned multiple times, so a change of pace was sorely needed. I mean, let's face it - when guys go out together, it's more or less a team effort so more often than not, there's a wingman to rely on. That same dynamic might apply with girls too, but when the group is a mixture of the two, then all bets are off. So basically, if you're a guy going out with girls, whether they wanna admit it or not, once they're approached by a potential suitor, their accompanying guy friend is on his own; this is the situation I most often found myself in this summer, and as fun as it sounds, I find it hard to get myself up for this week after week.

So anyways, me and the fellas from the store have gotten pretty tight - namely me and my boys Chuck Goldenrod (CG) and Baby Deer (BD). Between the 3 of us, we've managed to form quite the team of cutups, whether it be belting out our delightful group melody of "Afternoon Delight" on a whim, delegating some of our own work assignments on the lesser temps (namely B&C and her cohorts), constantly quoting "Anchorman," "The Hangover," and "Stepbrothers," or making "Formal Fridays" a mighty force to be reckoned with, the three of us clicked pretty much immediately. In fact, we've long harbored a theory that our supervisor has been slowly and systematically devising ways of breaking down our tripod so as to consolidate power to himself and the permanent staff. So much for team morale, right? Haters gonna hate, I guess. But even though our time as coworkers draws to a close, I'm sure that me and my bromosexuals will continue to kick up shit together all year, because we refuse to let the man hold us down.

- Football season is finally here. While we're still in the preseason for the NFL, Opening Day is only like 2 weeks away and I'm sure I speak for us all when I say it's about fucking time. Though I've grown to appreciate baseball more than I used to, there really is no substitute for some good ol' pigskin. Something about seeing big, strong, buff men in tight.............. helmets run around and be a little violent speaks to sports fans in a very superficial and aesthetic way. Football is a release for the inherent violent testosterone that most of us men need and for those of us who can't do it ourselves anymore, watching it allows us to live vicariously through those that can, even if we sometimes allow our thoughts and feelings to hinge a little too much onto what is really just a game. The summer months, for all of their brevity, sometimes seem too long when they don't give us sports fans something to occupy our time. And no offense other little-to-no contact sports, but golf and baseball just don't cut it for me. So come September, I'll be all too happy to welcome the mighty Dolphins of Miami back into my life, and if there is a football god, he'll allow those insufferably arrogant NY Jets to crash and burn this season. Let the church say amen.

This seems like as good a stopping place as any. I've enjoyed catching up with you knuckleheads, so let's not wait so long before we do this again, mmmmmmmmkay? Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off..... Ya'll take care now.

Summer Series (part 5): Don't be a Groupie, Keep it Movin'

How's it hanging, blogosphere? Sir Marcus here again... New blogpost time!

- This summer has flown by faster than any summer I can recall. I think that's because normally I spend my summer back home in Richmond lamenting the fact that I'm not in CoMo boozing it up with my fellow college students. And by boozing it up, I mean babysitting them as they get drunk and I quietly sit in the corners of random bars and house parties, weirding everyone out with my sobriety; Talk about a Debbie Downer.


Bo Peep: Now apart of the gang
But that's what this summer has mostly been about: hanging out at bars and such, with the occasional class being laced in every week. Gossip Girl and I have become part of a triumverate with our friend Bo Peep. We go waaaaaay back with Bo Peep to the days of 3rd floor of North Hall, which seems like an eternity ago. Back then, we didn't really hang out with Bo Peep quite as much (thanks to another of our acquaintances who tried to hoard her most of the year), but around the end of this school year, we happened to run into her at our favorite Wednesday night watering hole, and the rest - as they say - is history. Week in and week out this summer, the 3 of us - with the occasional assistance of her always-hilarious, never-boring bff ET - have made it our business to weed CoMo of its bar scene sleeziness, one gelled-up, collar-popped douchelord at a time. Any of you who have ever been out in any college town know that the bar scene tends to be over-saturated with them, so your army can never be too strong. Welcome to the gang and to the cloudy stream-of-consciousness that is SirMarcusRantsAndRaves, Bo Peep.

- In non-sequitor news, I - along with just about everyone else, I'm assuming - just moved. As in this morning. My roommate's girlfriend - hereby known as #2 - and her family assisted me in getting my shit outta Gateway before the ridiculously asinine checkout time of 10 a.m. That's 10 a.m. on a fucking saturday morning in the dead of summer, I might add. However, after managing to easily defeat the checkout time at Gateway, we then proceeded to try to move all of her stuff out of her old apartment and into her new one - right next door to ours - by 12. This task proved FAR more difficult, as #2 owned most of the stuff at her old apartment, most of which hadn't really been packed yet. And even once it was, all of her other stuff paled in comparison to what came to be the crescendo of our moving experience - trying to get her piano down the structurally-weak wooden steps of her previous residence and into the bed of her brother's truck. The good news is that we just barely beat the clock at her old apartment. The bad news is that between that piano and the TV that Gossip Girl just gave me, I've worked up quite the sweat moving things recently, and we all know being sweaty just ain't sexy. Given, the TV was harder to move up the stairs at Gateway when I first got it, but it still sucked today too. Put these moving experiences together with the fact that this week was my 1st week back textbook temp-ing at the bookstore, and I dare say that a brotha hasn't worked this hard over the course of 1 week since slave days.

Haha jk, slavery wasn't THAT hard.

The crux of the matter here is that moving is, without fail, always one of the least pleasant activities that one can put themselves through. Obviously I'm not breaking any new ground here by announcing my hatred for moving, but that doesn't make my statements any less valid. Has anyone ever had even an OKAY time moving? Don't be silly, of course not. Obviously moving is a necessary evil, but still, there's gotta be a better way. Dear Lord, I can't wait until the technology is developed that allows us to blink and have whatever we're thinking happen because moving is gonna jump right to the top of my list there.

- Just found out that a friend of mine from high school is on a women's roller-derby team. This news pleases me immensely. It awes in the awesome. Not so much because I'm tight with this girl, but because on the low-low, I've always loved roller derby. I feel that rollerskating is a criminally underrated and neglected pastime, so I practically climaxed with joy the first time I saw that someone had made it into a contact sport. Much like Slamball, it takes two great aspects of sports that in theory should coexist pretty well and fuses them together to make a hybrid supersport. Much unlike Slamball, it doesn't suck out loud to watch.

- A new season of Jersey Shore started this week. I always thought it would be a cold day in hell before there was something with "Shore" in its name that was worse than Paulie, but then again, my feet have been unusually cold as of late, so there you go. That all being said, J-WOWW can get the Dickens.

- I've spent the past 3 months or so trying to cultivate a nice set of waves in my hair and I'd actually made quite some headway in that regard (did you see what I did there?), but on the other hand, since I don't get my hair cut that often, I currently find myself sporting a mini-afro. I won't lie to you, I've given some thought to growing out a full afro and/or bringing back the cornrows, but my hair grows slower than trees do, so no one I hang out with now would even really get to fully enjoy it. I'll probably get my hair cut sometime this week for "Formal Fridays" (a campaign I've tried to start at the bookstore), so the mini-fro looks to be a short-term thing anyways. Stay tuned for further developments in this case, as I'm quite the flip-flopper with cosmetic things like this.

- Last time, I suggested that you all get up on "Shutterbug" by Big Boi. This time around, I'm throwing it back to the old school and suggesting that "Can You Stand The Rain?" by New Edition finds its way into your musical lexicon. It's a much more mellow song, but a damn good one. You're welcome.

Well blogosphanatics, I think that's as good a point to end on as any. The infrequency with which I've been blogging recently has been bothering me, so I felt I needed to jump back into the game for a minute. If I'm ever gonna reach my goal of being a writer, I'm gonna need to build up a bigger catalog anyways, so hopefully we can get together more often. Don't hold your breath on that one cuz I am - first and foremost - lazy, but know that the desire is there, if not always the execution. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off..... Yall stay classy now.

Summer Series (part 4): Far-Too-Independent Day

What is up blogoteers, how ya livin'? Don't feel the need to audibly answer that, because I wouldn't be able to hear you and was just asking as a formality anyways.

I don't have a specific topic in mind today, but since this blog is as celebratory an Independence Day activity as I'm going to participate in this year, what I do have is a shitload of free time and a mean case of logorrhea, for which I'm sure you all know the only prescription-->

- Speaking of cows, let me tell ya'll what's some bullshit: The USA Today crossword puzzle. Allegedly these things get tougher everyday of the week, so balking at the thought of starting with Monday's presumably too-simple-for-my-advanced-mind puzzle, I decided to dive balls deep into Tuesday's offering; ***FACE PALM***

It is now Sunday night, and instead of giving rocket scientry a shot and getting a Sunday puzzle, I'm stuck in neutral, having only done about 30% of the Tuesday puzzle. Frustrating? Yes. Humbling? Undoubtedly. But as I got stuck between a 4-letter word for "Old Turkish Dignitaries" and a 5-letter synonym for "Imp," I realized something: the USA Today puzzles are CLEARLY another way for THE man to further subjugate the BLACK man. This is why black people don't read the paper.

- It's almost Textbook Temp. time of year again. In roughly two weeks, I'll be back at the every MU student's choice bookstore, taking your orders and subsequently throwing them away shortly thereafter. It's obviously not something I'd want to make a career out of, but while I'm in school, it beats not working at all, especially during these long summer days. Stay tuned for further adventures on that front.

- I've still not managed to see The A-Team or Toy Story 3, two movies that I was determined to see long before they came to theaters. For some reason, people don't really seem to like going to movies as much as I do anymore, and I have no idea why that is. I guess it's because most of us are old enough to go out to bars now and college, I've been told, is mostly about getting drunk, having meaningless sex and other forms of the fun that can be induced by experimenting with other substances and/or people. That doesn't seem to leave much room for good clean fun anymore (anybody remember going rollerskating or bowling?), so it's either alcoholic activity or bust, sometimes; Not driving for myself has definitely proven to be far more crippling this summer than ever before.

- Rumor had it this week that Tiger Woods' estranged ex-wife, Elin NobodyCaresAboutHerLastName was due to receive upwards of $700 million in the divorce proceedings. Over SEVEN HUNDRED MILLION FUCKING DOLLARS. The news spread pretty fast, and even the Obama's had something to say on the matter.

Since then, I think the number has come down to $100 million (still more than enough money to set her, her children, her grandchildren, and even her great grandchildren up for life, but a far more reasonable figure, all things considered). The point here is that I need to know if there is any crime that one person can commit against another that is worth that sort of money. Don't get me wrong, I IN NO WAY condone Tiger acting like a sexual deviant and having affairs with all those women. It's reprehensible behavior for anyone to treat their spouse that way, especially someone who had been previously looked up to as much as Tiger had. And don't get it twisted, blogomaniacs - Tiger Woods is LOADED with cash; that boy got STUPID money. But reparations to the tune of $700 million, NONE of which she brought into that household herself? How long do you think Elin and her lawyers talked about the money figures before they thought it got out of hand? Did someone suggest $800 million before they were rebuked by the rest of the group for just being TOO ridiculous? Just the fact that some of us legitimately entertained the idea of her getting $700+ million has got to be considered a win for them. They probably haven't stopped hugging and high-fiving each other yet.

How can women argue with a straight face that they're marrying for love, and then have a marriage fall apart and they start asking for exorbitant concessions like that after the fact? Obviously every woman who gets divorced can't ask for that much money, but it's all relative. Even with men that are only middle-class workers, there are women divorcing them and asking to take everything from them - the house, the kids, the car, etc. A marriage is an equal union - theoretically, yes - but if it's that simple to get at least half of everything after a divorce (even if the husband is really the only one bringing in all of that money), then what's to stop gold-digging heifers from jumping into loveless marriages just praying for the day that their man slips up enough to get that divorce? And the worst part about it? Our culture is one that is not-so-subtly instigating the whole thing - yes, I'm talking about Basketball Wives - by shoving these succubi down our throats. Shame on you, VH1.

- Speaking of shame, shame on you all who read this and are on twitter and are not following me on there (http://twitter.com/MrWilliams88) or those of you who enjoy reading blogs such as this one and aren't reading up on my partna'dem 5 Deuce 4 Trey (http://ralphrude.blogspot.com/). If you're not doing either of those things, then you're losing.

- Finally, I've declared "Shutterbug" by Big Boi (the normal guy from Outkast) to be the official summer jam of 2010. Even if you don't have any discernible rhythm in your body, you should feel like busting a move when that bass line drops. Get on board or get run over, people - that song goes HARD.

For serious though, happy 4th of July to everyone. This is one of the few times that I would love to be home in VA. I wish I were at some sort of cookout right now with a bunch of friends and family, but alas, I cannot be, and so I'm with ya'll knuckleheads instead. So for those of you who are out at picnics or cookouts celebrating with others, enjoy yourselves and bring me a plate of food. Preferably just the food thing though, a brotha is hungry.

Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off....... Ya'll take care now.

Summer Series (part 3): PHI GRAMMA JAMMA

Salutations, blogosphere! Sir Marcus back here with a topic that I must admit, I've been looking forward to tackling: the prevalent poor grammar of people all around us. It had gotten to the point that I was practically pregnant with the anticipation of my impending bite out of this subject. Well guess what, blogomaniacs? Over the past few weeks or so, my metaphorical water has broken, and that bundle of joy is being delivered to you now with this blog parading as my OBGYN.

Now that you've gotten that arguably far-too-memorable, but absolutely most unforgettable image out of your heads, I want to preface this all by saying that most of you that know me know that I'm an English major, which is conducive to being inherently anal about these sorta things. So be forewarned because while I certainly don't mean to sound pretentious or self-righteous at all, you should realize that I'm a guy who carries a pocket thesaurus, so I obviously notice these mishaps more than your average Joe. This stuff needs to be said by someone, no matter how small the potential audience. I've been guilty of these things as well, so trust me when I say that it hurts me much more when I make these mistakes myself than it does when others make them. Actually, that's not really true at all, but just know that I see it in myself too. If it still comes off as condescending, I don't mean it to sound that way, but then again I'd say you may feel that way because you're feeling super guilty and if that's the case, then maybe a little condescension never hurt anybody, so build a bridge and get over it, Nancy.

I know there are others out there who yearn for better grammatical sense just like I do, and if me saying something makes me that movement's villain, then so be it. I mean, I'm okay with a little slang here and there (I talk quite a bit of it here in these blogs), but there's a difference between ignorance by circumstance and ignorance just for ignorance's sake and it's my job to point that out, so let's do the damn thang.

When I was in high school, one of my English teachers used to issue "Grammar Jams," which were pop quizzes meant to check - that's right, you guessed it - our grammatical skills. Anything from run-on sentences to use of periods/exclamation points to comma splices were fair game, and though most people hated these things, I thought it was a great idea and had a hard time curbing my enthusiasm for these wondrous occasions. I'm not saying I aced them all because Lord knows that I didn't, but the idea was that by the time we're in our teens and young adulthood, we should know the basic grammatical principles around which OUR PRIMARY LANGUAGE is built, a sentiment that I was more than happy to get behind. This is when I really started paying attention to things like this.

Since then, I've not been able to help but notice how terrible some people's speech really is. I brought this up recently (hey Scott and Randy!), but there really is no valid reason for us to not know the difference in usages between to and too, there, their, and they're, or your and you're. Now, I'm a pretty open-minded guy, but one of the few things I simply can not, will not, and SHALL NOT be convinced of is that there is any acceptable reason that an American citizen that has access to English education should not at least know these sorta things. If you say "to" when you mean "too" once every so often, then it's okay because accidents happen. My concern, however, comes from the fact that if grammar Nazis such as myself never pointed out the difference, some people would never know how different those words are and would continue to interchange them so carelessly and erroneously. Same goes for "your" and "you're" and "there," "their," and "they're." It may not be fair for me to hold everyone to the high standards of knowing that you are never supposed to end a sentence in a preposition (at, in, of, to, etc.). But, my growing befuddlement in people always saying "Their is no more water left," "I went too the store," or "Your getting on my nerves" is absolutely within reason for me to emphasize. Oh no, blogoteers, such nonsense just won't do.

To a lesser extent, spelling issues bother me quite a bit as well, but I realize that that is something that everyone just isn't going to be great with, so I'm content to let sleeping dogs lie there. Same goes for people not knowing to say that THEIR day went "WELL" instead of it going "GOOD." The rules of adjectives versus adverbs are far too big an issue for me to try to teach people through just one blogpost, so I won't even bother. But don't - not even for one second - think that I and others don't notice, because we do. And while I admit that having the uncanny, inhuman ability to notice such lapses in speech development would probably be the lamest superpower ever, it doesn't make the problem any more acceptable for you to just ignore. If Americans are going to insist that English be spoken by more people internationally, the least we can do is try to clean it up amongst ourselves. So while yes, I am an admittedly unabashed word nerd, that doesn't mean that those of you who aren't should be negligent of some of the basics in which our language is rooted. It's not cool, and it makes you sound like a fool with your grammatical dignity on the ground.

Another thing: if you know anyone WH0 TALK5 U51NG W0RD5 LYK3 D15 or G1V35 Y0U THA 1NF0 W1FF NUMB3R5 & L3TTER5 or any variation of the chicken scratch lingo that you just tried to read, then it's probably time to reconsider how much you really are "friends" with said person. All of us have seen facebook profiles decorated with these hieroglyphics, so CLEARLY that person isn't interested in speaking English like the rest of us. Don't get me mistaken - that shit was NEVER cool - but it was somewhat acceptable back in middle school; the second we got into high school however, it was time to kill that noise. If that lingo somehow stuck with these people after high school, then 1) the American education system has failed them miserably, and 2) you should award them no friend points, and may God have mercy on their souls. You absolutely need to suggest that they join us in young adulthood by using numbers and words separately as God intended or you should probably not talk to them anymore. Trust me, that would be best for all parties involved. (Actually, I'm realizing mid-rant that I still have facebook friends that talk like this; Well then. This is awkward........................)

Well, that was a mouthful. Don't be confused, my angst for the speech tomfoolery runs much further than what I've mentioned here, but again, one blog simply cannot properly convey how deep that sentiment goes, so we'll cap it here. When it comes down to it, I'm not sure how much of a dent this will make on a large scale, but I'll settle for raised awareness amongst people that know and have access to me. Until next time, this is Sir Marcus T. Williams signing off.........

Yall take care now, and you stay classy out there, blogosphere.