Meet Cenzie

Humourless, bitter ramblings of an unimportant person.

[thecenzie]

Newer, Shinier, Better!

I've started a new page that will be updated more frequently! You can now find me at    

http://markowsmutterings.blogspot.com/

Old stuff and new stuff too! 

[thecenzie]

It’s about time people recognize that “bossy” is synonymous with "confident," much like how there’s no difference between being “assertive” and “a bitch.” I don't know about you, but I insist all my leaders possess a set of gonads incapable of dealing with mildly derogatory terms.

thecenzie

[thecenzie]

Romance

Many of your friends and neighbours may believe romance still exists. They are wrong. In reality, they will live alone in this cold dark world, an insignificant speck in the passing of time on an insignificant speck of a planet in this galaxy, which is itself an inexplicably small and insignificant speck in our universe, which may or may not be an insignificant speck in someone else’s universe. No, romance is most certainly dead.

            Whether you are attracted to members of the opposite sex, or nobody at all, true affection has vanished with the Dodo; an organism that once thrived yet was wiped out by male insensitivity. Rom-Coms and chick ficks are merely a desperate attempt to revive the rituals of old, yet instead cause sadness in their followers as they raise their expectations unreasonably. No, romance is most certainly dead.

            In this day and age, marriage and relationships are purely a matter of convenience. Two goats and a cow here, a 67” flatscreen there, modern dowries are representative of a business acquisition. Love? An extraneous, non-existent “add-on” which is merely a fleeting emotion of well wishers and dreamers. No, romance is most certainly dead.

            Don’t raise your hopes. Don’t expect to ever find any sort of lasting emotion in any relationship. Never open your heart to anybody. Don’t even make friends; they will eventually leave you after they suck your soul empty and dump your flaccid body in a gutter somewhere in East Asia. If possible, live under a rock. Don’t leave your house. Avoid any and all inter-human interactions. Leave your family before they leave you. Harden your emotions. Don’t care for anything or anybody. Why? Romance and all other fleeting emotions are purely figments of your imagination.

In closing, be like Rambo in the third movie; he becomes weak in the fourth and succumbs to his foolish emotional inclinations. Be Cruella DeVille; make coats out of puppies and manipulate other people. Be a Carebear hopped up on bath salts and eat other people after teaching them the values of sharing.  Learn to emulate Dr. Lecter and makes suits out of other people. Be Oscar the Grouch; live in a dark, confining environment and push away any and all people who attempt to show you a flicker of kindness or generosity. Be Thomas Durant; take over a struggling railroad after another leading figure knocks up some teenager. Be Nigella Lawson and learn to cook like an angel for the hell of it, not because you hate people, but because you should learn to cook like an angel. Be the lovechild of Jack the Ripper, Bill Clinton and Ghandi; stop eating, deny having sexual intercourse with your intern, and lead local law enforcement agencies on a shockingly realistic murder mystery. Be a cold, heartless, son of a bitch (not your lovely birth mother, who I’m sure is a wonderful person) who doesn’t give a shit about anybody else.

And THAT, dear readers, is the only way you will ever live life without failed romance. 

[thecenzie]

Mastering the Grocery Store

Let’s be honest, who wants to deal with a massive building containing prepackaged food products? You have to walk from isle to isle, trying hopelessly to find your food item of choice- what are you, an animal? Even worse is that you’re probably charged with keeping your figure in tip-top shape. How on earth is this possible when your feeble mind is bombarded by nothing but foods that aren’t appropriate for a dainty thing like yourself? Fear not! You are soon to be an expert lifer! Here are my top rules for any excursion to a grocery store.

  Choosing a grocery store. This can be one of the most challenging tasks, as you are no doubt within a 5-10 minute drive of at least 4 options. The more self-righteous, the better. I’m talking about any overpriced non-chain hipster health-food store, Whole Foods, Trader Joes, Earthfare, or Harvest Foods. If these are more than a 15 minute drive away, you may have options like Harris Teeter, or The Fresh Market, lesser but still overpriced alternatives. Under no circumstances should you ever darken a door of a SuperTarget, Walmart, Food Lion, Lowes Foods, BiLo, Piggly Wiggly, Kroger, or any other 3rd rate excuse of a “grocery store.” Although the signs say “Groceries,” the brands say “Cheap Bastards Shop Here.”

Parking. Park as close to the store as possible, even if it means using a handicapped spot. Half those people don’t even need them anyway, and it would probably do them good to get some exercise, right? If no close spots are available, park on the sidewalk in front of the entrance for your utmost convenience. If someone has beat you to this handy strategy, simply prowl the lot aggressively until an appropriate spot empties. Remember: Super Shoppers Should Snag Superior Spaces!

Shopping Carts: Under no circumstances should you use a shopping cart; they are cholera cases just waiting to happen, and you never know what dirty freak touched them last. Instead, show your prowess at balancing large quantities of groceries in your outstretched arms. If absolutely necessary, make several trips, but understand every successful lifer is able to accomplish a month’s worth of shopping for a family of 4.5 in a single effort.

Navigating. Now that you have found your appropriate store, you probably know the isles are much narrower than most other stores due to the fact that they’re too cheap to sell their overpriced wares in a larger space. Take advantage of the limited space you have! Remember, other shoppers are not as important as you are. Slowly stroll down the middle of each isle, carefully looking at every shelf to ensure you are buying the most unnecessarily expensive and outlandish product available to you.

Checking Out. You have successfully completed your comprehensive navigation of the store, and have accumulated all the groceries you and your family could never possibly consume in the time period you have intended them to. Congratulations! There may be long lines, but remember: you are the most important shopper! Always go to the “express” lane regardless of your item count. If there is a line, make a weak excuse about how your child is in the ER and you need to get to him as soon as you can. Suckers will fall for that every time, and if they’re a sucker, they don’t deserve to waste your time by lining up in front of you.

[stand-up-gifs]

[thecenzie]

On Body Mass

There is absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind as to the utmost importance is obtaining the perfect figure. It is a well-known fact that all men prefer a size 00 woman devoid of any curves, and it is our duty as women to comply to this universal preference.

One of the easiest ways to obtain a perfect figure is to work out. Pilates, yoga, and step-aerobics classes are some socially acceptable forms of group exercise with which you can show the world how fit you are while parading your perfect ass around in tight, flattering pants. The use of thongs with these pants is particularly important, as a Visible Panty Line (VPL) is a major faux pas.

Jogging is another popular form of exercise, but only if you are below a size four. If not, nobody wants to see your flab flabbing around like jello as you somehow manage to overcome the friction between your thighs with the substantial size of your saggy ass muscles. Once you hit size six, the friction between a woman’s thighs can generate enough heat to cook a hot dog in the middle of Saskatchewan during the dead of winter. Jogging should be done during peak hours in the most crowded area of town so as to attract the most attention to your physical perfection. As you know, this skin-deep attractiveness means you are devoid of any major character flaws, and your life will be next to perfect if you are successful in maintaining this figure.

Under no circumstances should you ever touch a free weight. Free weights will ruin a slim, trim figure, and will cause you to be mistaken for the love child of Arnold Schwarzenegger and an Oompa Loompa. Don’t let countless diet books, TV infomercials, medical advise, peer-reviewed studies, personal experience and workout videos fool you; weights are a one-way ticket to jacked-dom. Might as well break out that protein shake and throw away all your tampons because mother nature will dry up those ovaries of yours as soon as you step off your elliptical at the gym.

One of the most flattering descriptions one can receive is the title of “gym bunny.” A Gym Bunny never leaves her cardio machines, wears yoga pants year-round despite never having attended any sort of flexibility-oriented group exercise, and always curls her hair and throws some mascara on before hitting the treadmill on a mild spring day.  Although the temptation may exist to wear something other than black cotton-lycra blend trousers, gym bunnies will ignore that desire with the same willpower they use to deny themselves of carbohydrates, fats, and any food with a pleasing taste.  These fine examples of humanity appear to be commonplace, but in reality consist of only around 60% of all female gym-goers. As a competent lifer, you should ensure your place in that  60%! 

[thecenzie]

The Impatient Man's Guide to Fishing: Part Four

Running your rig ashore after you incorrectly baited the wrong gauge line is merely your own folly; failure occurs as you cast blame onto witchcraft, ill spirits, your dead second cousin Jimmy or any other disconnected entity of your choosing. Recognition of your stupidity enables improved methodology, and eases the once hemorrhaging label of “failure.” Perhaps your catch of the day was actually a loss of 20 minnows, perhaps your boat and an oyster bar became warmly acquainted, or perhaps a carelessly forgotten net sealed the fryer-free fate of a particularly meaty catch: no matter.

  Fishing is therefore not about what you manage to drag from Poseidon’s depths: successful outings are defined by who pulls.  

  You see, humans have the delightful ability to screw up. We are marvelously imperfect, frequently careless, and occasionally downright stupid. Yet, regardless of large quantities of lost minnows, $300 worth of damage to a boat, or a lighter belly come sunset, we are not doomed to failure, not even if we repeat these follies. Failure and success are both purely a matter of perspective, a mindset we have complete control over. Neither god above nor demon below can manipulate our hand in this matter, for even relenting itself to a divine being would require an active choice on its owner’s behalf.

  Therefore, despair not dear reader. Fear not for your paltry hauls and sunburnt neck, your feces-covered boat or broken lines. I implore you to evaluate your intentions and second-guess your self-applied determinations while you rethink your motives for bobbing at sea for hours at a time. In certain pursuits, acceptance of your inferiority and powerlessness is the only pathway to success and fulfillment. That is not to say you should drop your line without bait, but acknowledge many well-endowed hooks have been passed by before, and you may be no exception to this rule. So do not anguish over Lucifer’s greedy nature or Apollo’s relentless course, for neither neighbour nor friend nor puppeteer in the sky may define your excursion worthy or otherwise lest you deny yourself the right to simply go out and fish. 

  So, dear readers, I urge you to rethink your intentions and second-guess your self-applied determinations while you rethink your motives. In certain pursuits, acceptance of your inferiority and powerlessness is the only pathway to success and fulfillment. That is not to say you should drop your line without bait, but acknowledge many well-endowed hooks have been passed by before, and you may be no exception to this rule. Therefore, should you desire to have more control over your destiny, I suggest you try your hand at less worthy pursuits. 

[thecenzie]

The Impatient Man's Guide to Fishing: Part Three

The act of fishing, however, is potentially less abhorrent than its goal-oriented cousin.

  By this point, you who are unfamiliar with the vices of this pastime will certainly be confused. Who but a potentially unstable and confused author would contradict the last page of her own assertions? Thus, the difference between setting out with “an intention to fish” as compared to going out “to fish” becomes important.

  Intending to fish requires an active desire to be successful in ones endeavors, regardless of opportunity.  Those who intend to fish are doomed to afternoons of sunburnt necks, shit-covered boats and malaria vaccines. Fruitless hours on an uncomfortable seat are met with frustration and disappointment, while the odd opportunities Lucifer grants result in self-righteous mutters of “about time.” Setting out with this attitude guarantees failure, as returning home with even a healthy catch does not justify time not spent reeling in keepers.

  Inversely, going fishing implies a more relaxed approach with an acknowledgement of the beast’s cunning nature. Departing land with a hope of returning successfully, despite the expectation that you will not, allows the afternoon to be spent in a more fruitful manner. “Going fishing” is essentially a culturally-acceptable excuse to float the day away, pondering life and the hereafter while you avoid pressing on-land responsibilities for a few hours, and approaching the hobby any other way is a betrayal of its core charm.  Certainly, advantage is taken of Lucifer’s offerings, but your business with the devil is not the main purpose of your afternoon.  

  For this reason, it may be difficult to understand how success and failure may be equally agreeable results of a day spent at sea. Setting out to catch “the big one” on a daily basis is foolish for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which is expecting every endeavour, fishing or otherwise, to be profitable. So despair not, dear reader, when your neighbour enjoys the blessings bestowed by lady luck, for all your broken, snagged, and poorly cast lines have made your outing that day no less fruitful than his. Success is doubtlessly out of our control, as we have not yet mastered these beasts of Lucifer’s chosen destiny, but your fate is not. Let not Homer’s illustrious descriptions of Olympian intervention fool you, nor whimsical ideals of an omniscient puppeteer manipulating you across the stage of time; to lethargically hand off this core of your being is to forfeit the unique experience humanity offers. Thus, failure becomes an issue secondary to your reaction to it. 

[thecenzie]

The Impatient Man's Guide to Fishing: Part Two

 Fish, as it turns out, are an ingenious phylum. Forget everything you believe about human superiority of the food chain, intelligence as a means of survival, and superior wit and finesse over our lesser brothers of the animal kingdom. Lucifer himself had a hand in the creation of aquatic life; there can be no other explanation for why ones soul frequently seems a fair trade for such an aesthetically displeasing slab of scale and slime. Objectively beautiful fish are rarely mounted affix a wall; instead, we find beauty in their large, but quite plain counterparts.  Mere satisfaction in the effort required to drag such a heathen monster aground merits a trip to a taxidermist, but little else.

  While some may argue that a successful outing requires skill on the fisherman’s behalf, their assertions are incorrect, for all the iridescent lures and wrist-flicking in the world are useless should a passing fish politely decline your baited offer. Indeed, most other cruel exercises of superiority require some degree of mastery over our beast of choice: a shooter his gun or an archer his bow. A hunter unskilled in the ways of his weapon will be unsuccessful regardless of the chance available to him, as incompetence outweighs opportunity in every hunting situation. Attracting deer is, of course, not always within a hunter’s realm of control, yet adequate time in a cramped blind within eyesight of a prime location will generally produce a few chances by which a competent predator may unload on his unsuspecting prey. This is in direct opposition to fishing, where skill is merely enabled by opportunity, and even an unwary opportunist may be successful in his endeavors.

  For this reason, dear readers, I cannot possibly condone ones intent to fish. Only a fool would depart land in hope that a creature begotten of Lucifer himself would commonly grant him an opportunity.

[thecenzie]

The Impatient Man's Guide to Fishing: Part One

Fewer things in life are more satisfying that spending an idyllic afternoon bobbing over the water, letting the sun’s rays bathe across your body while your rod gently tugs against your fingertips, disturbed only by the passing whims of schooling feeder fish or a drifting wisp of seaweed directed by Poseidon’s idle hand. Sweet sea breeze rustles through your hair, filling your lungs with the uniquely pleasant aroma of the marsh as herons wade nearby, undisturbed by your harmonious presence; for once an equal in a world irreversibly scarred by man’s heedless whim. 

That is, unless you actually want a fish.

In no other act does such a disparity exist between “intending” and “doing” as in fishing. Should you actually intend to fish, dear reader, I suggest you prepare yourself for a lifetime of frustration and bitterness. Your outlook on life will change, darken, and sour while the blissful scene above will take on an entirely different shade:

 Six hours after leaving your home port, your blood pressure has now reached a level deemed disadvantageous by the American Heart Association; drifting aimlessly thanks to a submerged crab trap that wildly entangled itself in your outboard, your neck beginning to blister from the sun’s merciless rays.  As sand bars uncover themselves from the depths, an odorous smog best described as a combination of twice-rotten eggs and the shoes of a profusely sweaty hobo rises from the marsh, competing with mosquitos fresh from western Egypt to infiltrate your already sweat-filled pores. Your boat is no less empty than when you set out, bar the ample coating of shit seagulls so generously provided while they shared their limited range of disquietude throughout the afternoon (Indeed, we can be thankful Harper Lee was not well acquainted with seabirds lest she decide Jim Crow to be an agreeable alternative after all). 

Beware then, dear readers: friends and neighbours who attempt to entice you for a date with nature in this manner are, in fact, neither. You are best off to give a man a fish, as teaching him how will merely leave him alone and frustrated as he starves to death.

[thecenzie]

Go To Hell Dook

The people of Duke University may be arrogant, self-entitled brats with a horribly inflated sense of superiority over their state-educated bumpkin neighbours here in Chapel Hill, but they are not stupid; US News and World Report said so!

            No, I’m sure this was just a big misunderstanding. After all, Durham and Chapel Hill traffic are known for their sparse and quick-moving natures. Rubbernecking? Randomly braking along the freeway? Humming along in the left lane at 56 miles per hour in a 65? These are problems known only to those living outside the pristine 11-mile stretch of road that separates the two blues.  Not to mention, the locals have no issue traversing through any inclement weather; be it snow, ice, or a mildly damp 74 degree day in late May, our mastery of automotive pursuits knows no bounds.

            So the possibility that gridlock could occur around 5pm before the biggest college basketball game of the year probably didn’t occur to our Durham neighbours, and who could blame them? It’s perfectly illogical.

And besides, we live in North Carolina: the land of pristine, predictable weather, sensible drivers, and unchanging topography.  Sure, the governor declared a state of emergency yesterday along with every other state on the east coast, but how were we to know the weather could be this bad? It’d be nice to have some sort of “weather predicting machine” that could estimate the trajectory of various temperature, pressure, and moisture pockets, but let’s get real here; next thing you know we’ll be able to wirelessly project cat videos across the world- ha!

Again, it’s quite understandable that Duke officials couldn’t have possibly made a contingency plan on such short notice. Of course, a bus isn’t the most logical choice to stick to until the 12th hour, but what else can you do? Their students probably left all of their four wheel drive vehicles up north when they came down here anyway, so there goes that option (really though, why bring the Land Rover if you could take the convertible?). As for a taxi, well, ever since they standardized Durham to Chapel Hill rates to $25 (one-way!), the $60,000-a-year fees just haven’t been cutting it.

Therefore, residents of Chapel Hill and Tar Heels across the world, I plead with you to ease up on our Durham brothers-in-arms. After all, there’s no way a few tall people in silly dark blue pajama-esque uniforms would possibly cop out on millions of ESPN viewers, thousands of alumni who busted their ass to get here, or the hundreds of students who waited in the snow for over six hours just to avoid playing a team coming off a 5-game winning streak in a stadium filled with 20,000 students in light-blue attire. C’mon guys, it’s 11 whole miles, give ‘em a break. 

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