The History of "Nerd"

There is some debate over the origin of the word nerd, some say it was first recorded by Dr. Seuss, however scientific and literary evidence to the contrary has recently come to light. According to the American Heritage Dictionary the word "nerd, undefined but illustrated, first appeared in 1950 in Dr. Seuss's If I Ran the Zoo: 'And then, just to show them, I'll sail to Ka-Troo And Bring Back an It-Kutch a Preep and a Proo A Nerkle a Nerd and a Seersucker, too!'" citing Dr. Seuss as the origin of the word.
Long before Dr Seuss, in the Elizabethan court, there was Wiley Shockespair –a knock off of the much better known William Shakespeare- who wrote such works as MacNugget, Julius Ceaser Salad, and OJello. Where Shakespeare wrote "Turn Hellhound, Turn" in Macbeth, Shockespair wrote "Come back here, you nerd!" proving that the word "nerd" was in existence long before 1950. Although Shockespair's use of the word "nerd" suggests an insult definition is not explicitly provided. However there are records of the word nerd go back even farther.
The assassination of Julius Caesar may have been a tragedy but Caesar had the last laugh. According to the diary kept by Brutus, Caesar's final words were not "et tu Brute?" as suggested by many but rather "Brute, vos es a nerd," roughly translating to "Brutus, you are a nerd," Caesar died laughing. Apparently the insult made Brutus cry, according to his diary.
Even before the Romans or the Egyptians there were the cavemen. Upon examining several cave paintings in Montana, archaeologists came to the conclusion that a prominent character in all of the paintings appeared to be a secluded and sickly male who managed to stay alive only through protection. He was apparently protected because of his invaluable ability to fix and create things. Unfortunately he created a Mastodon Whistle designed to call mastodons; when he tried it out he was trampled to death. Evidently his last utterance was a noise to the effect of "NEEEEEARD." This concept corroborates a fossilized caveman who was apparently crushed to death. The fossilized skeleton was found with what appears to be an animal skin pocket protector.
Evidently the word "nerd" dates back beyond memory and history so one can assume that nerds have played a notable enough role in history to be remembered for millions of years. Those people strong enough to claim the moniker of nerd for themselves should stand up and be proud of their vast heritage. *
*note: This entire article is fictional and made up; but then, most of history is. You know George Washington never cut down a cherry tree!

The Hollow Men

Possibly the most profound poem I've ever read. Thus I'm sharing it with you all.

The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot

Mistah Kurtz—he dead.
A penny for the Old Guy

I
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.
II
Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
In death’s dream kingdom
These do not appear:
There, the eyes are
Sunlight on a broken column
There, is a tree swinging
And voices are
In the wind’s singing
More distant and more solemn
Than a fading star.
Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer—
Not that final meeting
In the twilight kingdom
III
This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.
Is it like this
In death’s other kingdom
Waking alone
At the hour when we are
Trembling with tenderness
Lips that would kiss
Form prayers to broken stone.
IV
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
In this last of meeting places
We grope together
And avoid speech
Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
Sightless, unless
The eyes reappear
As the perpetual star
Multifoliate rose
Of death’s twilight kingdom
The hope only
Of empty men.
V
Here we go round the prickly pear
Prickly pear prickly pear
Here we go round the prickly pear
At five o’clock in the morning.
Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
Between the conception
And the creation
Between the emotion
And the response
Falls the Shadow
Life is very long
Between the desire
And the spasm
Between the potency
And the existence
Between the essence
And the descent
Falls the Shadow
For Thine is the Kingdom
For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.

Placebo songs that could change your life.

they're all a bit of the softer side of placebo, sad, maybe even depressing but all of them are amazing on some level. if you don't know who placebo is, learn.

1. Sleeping With Ghosts - Sleeping With Ghosts


2. Passive Aggressive – Black Market Music


3. Follow The Cops Back Home - Meds


4. Peeping Tom – Black Market Music [bonus tracks]


5. Running Up That Hill – Sleeping With Ghosts [two disc edition] disc two


6. Protect Me From What I Want –Sleeping With Ghosts


7. My Sweet Prince – Without You I'm Nothing


8. Ask for Answers – Without You I'm Nothing


9. The Crawl – Without You I'm Nothing


10. Blue American – Black Market Music


11. Narcoleptic –Black Market Music [bonus tracks]


12. I'll Be Yours –Black Market Music [bonus Tracks]
    

Currently listening : Sleeping With Ghosts By Placebo Release date: By 18 November, 2003

Things even I can't understand: 1st and 2nd grade

Some days I feel it is an insult to women who were violated and raped that I would claim that word for myself. There are times I cannot find words to express the powerlessness that still haunts me.
When I was 7 and 8 I was in a multi age classroom. I had the same teacher for two years. This teacher did not believe that I was trying hard enough, that I was honest, sweet, and sincere. She believed I was lazy, useless, and manipulative: in turn she convinced me that I was those things. There was introduced, a simple white kitchen timer that would ding when the time was up to make me finish my work on time. She would set it for whatever amount of time was allotted for me to finish my task, and I would race to beat the timer. For two years I raced to beat the timer, and each time I didn’t she would stand me up in front of the class and tell me what a failure I was, that I wasn’t trying hard enough, and that I was just lazy, and then she would tell me to stop crying because she was doing it for my own good.
She convinced me that I did something wrong, that it was my fault, and day in and day out this happened for two years until it was so engrained in me that I believed her, and no one has been able to convince me otherwise.
Other times when I didn’t finish my work she would keep me from going out to play at recess, or I wouldn’t get to eat lunch, instead I would sit at the desks near the front office and work, she ate lunch in the lounge and I worked and then went back to class, no food for me. Every Friday was cupcake day, I missed those: I wouldn’t be allowed to go to lunch or recess so I never got to buy a cupcake. I loved the ones that had spots of color in them and the vanilla frosting with the rainbow chips.
Once when my mom bought me some “Gemstone Crayons” and I took them to class she brought me up in front of the class and accused me of stealing them from another girl who had them, and then wouldn’t believe me until the girl could produce her box of crayons. She never apologized.
Half of the abuse was her memory, her convincing me that she was right and it was my fault. Once she had achieved that her torture of me continued every time something went wrong and I blamed myself.
I’ve spent all of my life since then trying to prove that I can do something right, that I’m not a failure, I’ve spent my life trying to beat a timer that doesn’t exist. Inside of me there are little 7 and 8 year old me’s that are terrified of falling short and being told how bad they are. The powerlessness of the situation has terrified me my whole life.

That phone call was about me flashing back to being told how bad I am, and what’s wrong with me and being able to do nothing but stand there and take it. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t escape from all of the memories of times it was ‘my fault.’

This abuse by my teacher has been a thread that has run throughout my entire life, it is the underlying theme of everything I’ve ever done or worked to achieve. I finally saw my life for the first time; saw the weight I’ve carried and the pain I’ve put myself through. I can’t explain why it matters, or how much it matters. I cannot explain what happened enough to make you understand what it did to me. All I know is I’m mad. For the first time in my entire life I’m mad, and I’m mad at someone who isn’t me. I’m scared of what’s going to happen now, because all of a sudden I don’t care about much of anything the memories of what has happened came in a flood and I feel as though it happened in the past, it is happening right now, and it will continue to happen. I am devastated that no one protected me, no one bothered to try to understand what this did to me. I am tired of so many things in my life going wrong.
I want a fair chance; I want to run the race without the ball and chain.