Now that I'm in Belbury. . .on Valentine's Day Eve. . .sans Jane. . .I do hope the end comes soon.
I had an extraordinarily vivid dream last night about the future of America. I was riding in a van full of bloggers, people's blogs I read, and we were somewhere in the mid-west. . .a flat place, like North Dakota or Kansas, and tornadoes were literally forming before our very eyes. There was a new one created every minute. . .with winds far exceeding the natural. And two thoughts crossed my mind,
1-this is very interesting, and
2-are you getting this on camera (to a girl in the back of the bus holding a camera)
Sometimes in Life, one must stir people up, or act a little crazy, to attain a desired goal. This is one reason why Moses went to Pharaoh.
Sometimes God will stir up people to get you out of a bad situation. The key is maintaining your sanity (and tongue) until the proper time.
Easier for some than others. It's the people with lotsa patience that speak softly and carry big sticks that one must watch.
Another dream I had. In a room filled with evil spirits and fallen men, they perceived me as a black panther. I was thirsty and couldn't speak, so I growled at them. The men got frightened and the evil spirits left.
Some people, very very few people, are like wild animals. . .like cheetahs. You think you can tame them, and honestly believe that they are tame if one keeps them in a cage with plenty food and water. And try to make them fat and sleepy.
Inevitably, somebody with little sense starts messing with the. . .tame. . .cheetah. Then, for no apparent reason, the cheetah turns on the foolish man and smacks his head a good one. And no human, especially a stupid one, stands a chance fighting a full-grown cheetah. It's simple see. You are fighting the cheetah on his terms, not yours.
Some people would be wise not to mess with things that they have no business messing with. Patience is a virtue, but usually has a finite limit.
13 February 2008
12 February 2008
Patient Moses
If one were to ask Mr. Jason Michael Parrish how work is going he would reply by saying,
"God. . .is. . .inciting. . .Pharaoh. . .against. . .Moses."
And that's all I'm going to say about that.
So everybody else on the planet. Did your day go well today?
(I should really not grit my teeth so much. It's hard on the enamel)
"God. . .is. . .inciting. . .Pharaoh. . .against. . .Moses."
And that's all I'm going to say about that.
So everybody else on the planet. Did your day go well today?
(I should really not grit my teeth so much. It's hard on the enamel)
08 February 2008
06 February 2008
An untitled post
AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
(stress. . .you know)
(stress. . .you know)
04 February 2008
Hobbit mom
Apparently my mom is a hobbit. . .
They say you shrink as you age. . .hmmmmmm
I should call home more often.
They say you shrink as you age. . .hmmmmmm
I should call home more often.
Today
New job
New York Giants win
No longer on night shift
New table in my bedroom
Spaghetti and two cans of RockStar for breakfast
No lunch
An afternoon snack on pepperjack cheese
A fixed washer/dryer
A hungry Betta
Looking for a Jetta
Spaghetti and spinach with horseradish sauce for dinner
And one updated blog entry
Current thought: Today is the first day of the rest of my life.
New York Giants win
No longer on night shift
New table in my bedroom
Spaghetti and two cans of RockStar for breakfast
No lunch
An afternoon snack on pepperjack cheese
A fixed washer/dryer
A hungry Betta
Looking for a Jetta
Spaghetti and spinach with horseradish sauce for dinner
And one updated blog entry
Current thought: Today is the first day of the rest of my life.
03 February 2008
Rivendell?
When J.R.R. Tolkien was 19-years-old, he spent some time trekking through Switzerland. One web site I found had a drawing of Rivendell by the author compared to this valley in Switzerland and thought Tolkien got his idea for the Elven home here. I modified the picture and posted it here. You be the judge.
31 January 2008
Stupidification
Diligent people rule the planet.
Lazy people are the slaves.
Educated people are always busy learning and chatting.
The less intelligent are the servants.
The brain, you know, is a muscle. And as all muscles, need exercise lest it atrophy causing stupidity. This is one reason why most people at 25-years of age get stupid. . .and think the same basic thoughts over and over. . .they cease reading, writing, and thinking. . .and watch tv.
Stupidity is, in a strange sense, a gift from God. When people reject God, they reject logic and creativity, causing the brain to become warped. So, the rejectors inevitably undergo stupidification, which, like Alzheimers, helps them forget reality and leave a numb and dumb life.
Perfect love casts out all fear. So doesn't too much alcohol, though not in the same way.
The older I get, the more I view other people as pets. Hopefully, this isn't just me. But some people, God help them, don't make much sense when they talk. It is like listening to a golden retriever barking at a squirrel.
I'm also starting to believe that 99% of the people don't know 99% of what they're talking about, 99% of the time.
And so one stares at the little human people, like a herd of cattle or sheep, and listens to them bay at the moon, passing cars, and stuff food down their mouths. . .continually. . .lest they get discomfortable (is this a word?) . . .and eat grass, and sometimes smoke it, and watch other cows on reality tv. . .to see what real live other people do. Why??? If religion is supposed to be the opiate of the masses, tv must be fast food for the masses.
Lazy people are the slaves.
Educated people are always busy learning and chatting.
The less intelligent are the servants.
The brain, you know, is a muscle. And as all muscles, need exercise lest it atrophy causing stupidity. This is one reason why most people at 25-years of age get stupid. . .and think the same basic thoughts over and over. . .they cease reading, writing, and thinking. . .and watch tv.
Stupidity is, in a strange sense, a gift from God. When people reject God, they reject logic and creativity, causing the brain to become warped. So, the rejectors inevitably undergo stupidification, which, like Alzheimers, helps them forget reality and leave a numb and dumb life.
Perfect love casts out all fear. So doesn't too much alcohol, though not in the same way.
The older I get, the more I view other people as pets. Hopefully, this isn't just me. But some people, God help them, don't make much sense when they talk. It is like listening to a golden retriever barking at a squirrel.
I'm also starting to believe that 99% of the people don't know 99% of what they're talking about, 99% of the time.
And so one stares at the little human people, like a herd of cattle or sheep, and listens to them bay at the moon, passing cars, and stuff food down their mouths. . .continually. . .lest they get discomfortable (is this a word?) . . .and eat grass, and sometimes smoke it, and watch other cows on reality tv. . .to see what real live other people do. Why??? If religion is supposed to be the opiate of the masses, tv must be fast food for the masses.
25 January 2008
The Ugliest Shirt in the World. . .
. . .and I own it.
Everytime I wear this shirt, which is rarely, somebody always mocks me. . .my family heritage. . .my distant ancestors. . .and so I have decided to sell it to the highest bidder at the amazingly low price of $500. . .not that it's even remotely worth it, but hey, why not try.
I finished 2nd in this race if I recall.
19 January 2008
Snollygosterisms
My parents beat me growing up because they thought I was a pretentious boaster. They never actually called me a 'pretentious boaster,' rather a snollygoster. I had no idea what this word meant so I asked my Sunday school teacher, Old Mrs. Snodgrass. She seemed to be under the impression that I was a drinker because I would sit in the back with the bad kids and repeat the words . . .snollygoster, snollygoster, snollygoster . . .over and over again until she mumbled something about catching roaches of the liver. She also called me the fatigue-inest boy she'd h'ever met in her life.
Old Mrs. Snodgrass's first name was Chloe. I didn't know this, and thought it strange to be called Slow. I'm not saying she was slow, but if the Devil got sick, she's the one you would send for the doctor.
Slow Snodgrass waxed eloquent about Noah, Moses, and the Garden of Eden. She had her own notions about scripture and many of her interpretations, while not perfectly accurate, were quite sincere. Chloe hated reptiles and snakes in particular. According to her, the Devil was a "large serpent seeking whom it may bite." She also said, "snakes are natured that way, and that's why a snake is a damned snake."
Sometime later, I found a black snake in our strawberry patch and told my parents, "There's a damned snake in the berries." But being a pretentious boaster they beat me within an inch of my life and threatened to wash out my mouth with soap, which I thought unusual since I always brushed my teeth twice a day and never had cavities.
I think my parents taught me to speak wrong. Hiding from yet another potential beating, I hid in the dirty clothes hamper and distinctly recall mom saying, "You come on up out from down in under there, or I'll tan your hide shore enough and just see if I don't!"
That's when I took up reading.
Old Mrs. Snodgrass's first name was Chloe. I didn't know this, and thought it strange to be called Slow. I'm not saying she was slow, but if the Devil got sick, she's the one you would send for the doctor.
Slow Snodgrass waxed eloquent about Noah, Moses, and the Garden of Eden. She had her own notions about scripture and many of her interpretations, while not perfectly accurate, were quite sincere. Chloe hated reptiles and snakes in particular. According to her, the Devil was a "large serpent seeking whom it may bite." She also said, "snakes are natured that way, and that's why a snake is a damned snake."
Sometime later, I found a black snake in our strawberry patch and told my parents, "There's a damned snake in the berries." But being a pretentious boaster they beat me within an inch of my life and threatened to wash out my mouth with soap, which I thought unusual since I always brushed my teeth twice a day and never had cavities.
I think my parents taught me to speak wrong. Hiding from yet another potential beating, I hid in the dirty clothes hamper and distinctly recall mom saying, "You come on up out from down in under there, or I'll tan your hide shore enough and just see if I don't!"
That's when I took up reading.
17 January 2008
The Honking Mazda
I do not know when the honking started.
I know it was after my landlord left and probably after Dr. Bill left. Dr. Bill, btw, is not a physician, nor does he have a Ph.D in any field. Dr. Bill fixes appliances and drives a white cargo van. Today, the Dr. and the landlord came by to repair the dryer which runs continuously until the clothes undergo spontaneous combustion.
But that's another story.
It must have been close to 6 PM when I stepped outside and noticed my truck flashing the neighborhood. When something you own flashes the neighbors it is not a good day unless you win the lottery.
I did not win today's lottery.
The Little Silver Mazda that Could was flashing it's lights and honking for all it's worth. Keep in mind that Virginia Beach, USA is not a sparsely populated area. . .think lots of condos, apartments, and Marriots packed with tourists and artsy people. People who come for peace and quiet to contemplate the mysteries of nature.
There is nothing mysterious about a honking Mazda.
I noticed that all the neighbors lights were out and shades drawn. So, I can only hope none of them were home. Yet something tells me otherwise.
I know it was after my landlord left and probably after Dr. Bill left. Dr. Bill, btw, is not a physician, nor does he have a Ph.D in any field. Dr. Bill fixes appliances and drives a white cargo van. Today, the Dr. and the landlord came by to repair the dryer which runs continuously until the clothes undergo spontaneous combustion.
But that's another story.
It must have been close to 6 PM when I stepped outside and noticed my truck flashing the neighborhood. When something you own flashes the neighbors it is not a good day unless you win the lottery.
I did not win today's lottery.
The Little Silver Mazda that Could was flashing it's lights and honking for all it's worth. Keep in mind that Virginia Beach, USA is not a sparsely populated area. . .think lots of condos, apartments, and Marriots packed with tourists and artsy people. People who come for peace and quiet to contemplate the mysteries of nature.
There is nothing mysterious about a honking Mazda.
I noticed that all the neighbors lights were out and shades drawn. So, I can only hope none of them were home. Yet something tells me otherwise.
14 January 2008
13 January 2008
Dating and cars
Looking for new car. Not that I particularly need one, but when one drives nearly 80 miles a day to work and back in a pick-up truck somehow a Prius seems like a good idea.
What am I looking for? Anything but a minivan. I hate minivans. Driving a minivan is like dating a big-boned Baptist girl with lots of inner beauty, who doesn't wear make-up, and suffers from gout. I went out with a girl like this once because I thought God was punishing me. I'm not saying 'Grace' was ugly, but if it wasn't for the tide, nobody would take her out.
We went to a place called 'Cheap Bobs.' Part gas station, part convenience store, part restaurant, and part moose lodge (more on the mooses later) . . .or is it meeses? The convenience part resembled a 1980's era Soviet grocery store; a box of Corn Flakes, some matches, those little spoons with flags on them, a stack of dusty Spam. . .and all watched over by a dog of dubious lineage named 'Scrap Iron' in the corner.
We ordered the seven course meal little knowing it consisted of a six-pack and a hot dog. One with no ketchup, mustard, or chili sauce. As I relished this non-nonrelished hunk of dead animal flesh, Cheap Bob walked in and grinned. Bob is so cheap he breathes through his nose to keep his dentures from wearing out and so fat that if he had to haul. . .um. . .grass, he'd need to take two trips.
Grace drank the beer, all six of them, while I mumbled a quick prayer over the dog.
"Bless this meat, darn the skin, while I cover my nose, and cram it in."
I have never considered myself an overly-religious man, but sometimes it is better to be safe than sorry.
We made small talk for a time, but our cultural differences made deep intimate conversation an impossibility. Soon, we found ourselves in a war of words, only I didn't get to use any of mine. Fortunately, the effects of the overeager drinker took hold and Grace excused herself to the facilities.
And that's when I made my great escape.
What am I looking for? Anything but a minivan. I hate minivans. Driving a minivan is like dating a big-boned Baptist girl with lots of inner beauty, who doesn't wear make-up, and suffers from gout. I went out with a girl like this once because I thought God was punishing me. I'm not saying 'Grace' was ugly, but if it wasn't for the tide, nobody would take her out.
We went to a place called 'Cheap Bobs.' Part gas station, part convenience store, part restaurant, and part moose lodge (more on the mooses later) . . .or is it meeses? The convenience part resembled a 1980's era Soviet grocery store; a box of Corn Flakes, some matches, those little spoons with flags on them, a stack of dusty Spam. . .and all watched over by a dog of dubious lineage named 'Scrap Iron' in the corner.
We ordered the seven course meal little knowing it consisted of a six-pack and a hot dog. One with no ketchup, mustard, or chili sauce. As I relished this non-nonrelished hunk of dead animal flesh, Cheap Bob walked in and grinned. Bob is so cheap he breathes through his nose to keep his dentures from wearing out and so fat that if he had to haul. . .um. . .grass, he'd need to take two trips.
Grace drank the beer, all six of them, while I mumbled a quick prayer over the dog.
"Bless this meat, darn the skin, while I cover my nose, and cram it in."
I have never considered myself an overly-religious man, but sometimes it is better to be safe than sorry.
We made small talk for a time, but our cultural differences made deep intimate conversation an impossibility. Soon, we found ourselves in a war of words, only I didn't get to use any of mine. Fortunately, the effects of the overeager drinker took hold and Grace excused herself to the facilities.
And that's when I made my great escape.
11 January 2008
10 January 2008
Proverbia
There are 3 things that amaze me, 4 I cannot understand.
People who use food stamps to buy Twinkies and beer at 7-11, Life during the Ice Age without good coffee, the reasons for voting for Hillary Clinton, and why people play the lottery.
'Playing the Lottery' is basically a tax on people who are bad at maths. Much as lung cancer is a tax on smokers. I've never smoked a day in my life. Almost got sent to a juvenile detention center for (accidentally) starting a forest fire, but never have I smoked.
I asked God for more time in my Life. What I really meant was asking for less distractions since the only way to have more time is to accelerate my biological body to the speed of light. Cause' everybody knows time slows down as one approaches c. . .right? I need more time to do what I was designed to do on this planet which is dinosaur cloning, novel-writing, and discovering why women are get so emotional around spiders and weddings. People need less distractions in Life. I imagine if Leonardo da Vinci wasn't forced by the Pope to do what he did under penalty of something like death, St. Peter's Basilica would be an unobtrusive brick building looking like it was designed by Volvo and the Sistine Chapel would resemble the Sunday comics.
So just remember,
I'm pulling for ya, we're all in this together, and if women don't find ya handsome, they should at least find you handy.
Till tomorrow,
and keep your stick on the ice.
People who use food stamps to buy Twinkies and beer at 7-11, Life during the Ice Age without good coffee, the reasons for voting for Hillary Clinton, and why people play the lottery.
'Playing the Lottery' is basically a tax on people who are bad at maths. Much as lung cancer is a tax on smokers. I've never smoked a day in my life. Almost got sent to a juvenile detention center for (accidentally) starting a forest fire, but never have I smoked.
I asked God for more time in my Life. What I really meant was asking for less distractions since the only way to have more time is to accelerate my biological body to the speed of light. Cause' everybody knows time slows down as one approaches c. . .right? I need more time to do what I was designed to do on this planet which is dinosaur cloning, novel-writing, and discovering why women are get so emotional around spiders and weddings. People need less distractions in Life. I imagine if Leonardo da Vinci wasn't forced by the Pope to do what he did under penalty of something like death, St. Peter's Basilica would be an unobtrusive brick building looking like it was designed by Volvo and the Sistine Chapel would resemble the Sunday comics.
So just remember,
I'm pulling for ya, we're all in this together, and if women don't find ya handsome, they should at least find you handy.
Till tomorrow,
and keep your stick on the ice.
08 January 2008
Day 8, 1:46 PM
Dear Emperor,
The Sapiens seem to have a type of religion devoted to sports. Every Sunday, they travel to these large open-aired structures and chant, and wave, and yell, and scream at the (priests?) running about the center of these buildings. Many, I have noticed, decorate themselves in body paint and wave signs.
There also seems to be a duel class society, much as the Fair-i-sees and the Sad-you-sees of the Shepherd people from the oral histories. They seem to have an uncanny obsession with food as well. Perhaps this can be attributed to some disease, as most do not seem malnourished, rather overfed.
In the middle of the service, the choir comes out and plays two songs. The female Sapiens actually watch the singers. The male Sapiens do not. I did not have time to follow them, but I saw where they enter these smallish rooms with grumpy faces and leave looking relaxed, if not a bit sheepish. Then they buy more food. The one male Sapien I asked about the little rooms told me they go there to worship a little porcelain god. This makes sense, as they apparently have a pantheon of deities.
More later.
A Stranger in a Strange Land
The Sapiens seem to have a type of religion devoted to sports. Every Sunday, they travel to these large open-aired structures and chant, and wave, and yell, and scream at the (priests?) running about the center of these buildings. Many, I have noticed, decorate themselves in body paint and wave signs.
There also seems to be a duel class society, much as the Fair-i-sees and the Sad-you-sees of the Shepherd people from the oral histories. They seem to have an uncanny obsession with food as well. Perhaps this can be attributed to some disease, as most do not seem malnourished, rather overfed.
In the middle of the service, the choir comes out and plays two songs. The female Sapiens actually watch the singers. The male Sapiens do not. I did not have time to follow them, but I saw where they enter these smallish rooms with grumpy faces and leave looking relaxed, if not a bit sheepish. Then they buy more food. The one male Sapien I asked about the little rooms told me they go there to worship a little porcelain god. This makes sense, as they apparently have a pantheon of deities.
More later.
A Stranger in a Strange Land
02 January 2008
Day 2, America
1:44 AM, America, Day 2
Greetings O' Thou Great and Portly One,
I saw no fireworks tonight, rather something else you might be interested in. The sapiens have built a large blue building, which, apparently, is open 24 hours a day. It is some type of market where one can purchase Chinese products and mathoms. I don't why they had sapiens on the other side of the blue planet to build things for them, nor do I understand why there were so many wandering the isles at such a late hour. But they all seemed intently interested to be there at such a late hour as evidenced by their much frantic talking into their portable metal boxes.
(I should note that the little boxes had voices speaking to them, much as parrots.)
I overheard one conversation of a (much portly) woman. I could discern nothing of importance being discussed.
Another thing of note at the indoor marketplace. A very large mean-looking gentlemen with handcuffs and some type of utility belt kept staring at everyone. He did not seem interested in purchasing anything. He did seem somewhat interested in a female sapien with an ill-fitting white dress that did not seem designed for cold weather. As a matter of fact, the female had quite a bit of skin showing. She also had painted her face in an odd manner.
The mean-looking gentlemen also had an uncanny interest in an older man with a white three piece suit and fancy gold cane. He wasn't buying anything either, but he looked important.
One may also purchase mathoms of interest outside the store. Only the sellers can give you no receipt. One greasy-looking character offered me some grass. I told him him I was renting, nor did I have a lawnmower. After a confused look, he said,
"No, Myman. I'm talking marijuana."
This sounded like bad grammar. . .or Spanish, so I told him,
"Por lo siento Senior, para no hablo espanol." Just as I was taught. Then the fellow ran away.
More reports later.
Sincerely,
A Stranger in a Strange Land.
Greetings O' Thou Great and Portly One,
I saw no fireworks tonight, rather something else you might be interested in. The sapiens have built a large blue building, which, apparently, is open 24 hours a day. It is some type of market where one can purchase Chinese products and mathoms. I don't why they had sapiens on the other side of the blue planet to build things for them, nor do I understand why there were so many wandering the isles at such a late hour. But they all seemed intently interested to be there at such a late hour as evidenced by their much frantic talking into their portable metal boxes.
(I should note that the little boxes had voices speaking to them, much as parrots.)
I overheard one conversation of a (much portly) woman. I could discern nothing of importance being discussed.
Another thing of note at the indoor marketplace. A very large mean-looking gentlemen with handcuffs and some type of utility belt kept staring at everyone. He did not seem interested in purchasing anything. He did seem somewhat interested in a female sapien with an ill-fitting white dress that did not seem designed for cold weather. As a matter of fact, the female had quite a bit of skin showing. She also had painted her face in an odd manner.
The mean-looking gentlemen also had an uncanny interest in an older man with a white three piece suit and fancy gold cane. He wasn't buying anything either, but he looked important.
One may also purchase mathoms of interest outside the store. Only the sellers can give you no receipt. One greasy-looking character offered me some grass. I told him him I was renting, nor did I have a lawnmower. After a confused look, he said,
"No, Myman. I'm talking marijuana."
This sounded like bad grammar. . .or Spanish, so I told him,
"Por lo siento Senior, para no hablo espanol." Just as I was taught. Then the fellow ran away.
More reports later.
Sincerely,
A Stranger in a Strange Land.
01 January 2008
Stranger in a Strange Land-Day 1
01 Jan 2008, 2:57 PM, America
Dear Emperor,
Today is my official 1st day here on the blue planet. Last night was extraodinary. As I drove home last night, I heard many small explosions and noticed an unusual number of people wandering around in various states of inebriation. The reports you sent me indicated Monday nights were fairly quiet, so I'm not exactly sure if the humans were celebrating something important or simply confused. Also, this morning a large number of people were seen running up and down the sidewalks in a great deal of pain. Again, I have no idea why.
Sincerely,
A Stranger in a Strange Land
Dear Emperor,
Today is my official 1st day here on the blue planet. Last night was extraodinary. As I drove home last night, I heard many small explosions and noticed an unusual number of people wandering around in various states of inebriation. The reports you sent me indicated Monday nights were fairly quiet, so I'm not exactly sure if the humans were celebrating something important or simply confused. Also, this morning a large number of people were seen running up and down the sidewalks in a great deal of pain. Again, I have no idea why.
Sincerely,
A Stranger in a Strange Land
28 December 2007
The new laptop
My mom got a new laptop, (what I'm using now), which compared to mine, is like a supercomputer. I discovered a program on it that allows one to make movies.
Like this short thing I put together.
Like this short thing I put together.
25 December 2007
22 December 2007
The Neuter Scooter
I got caught in traffic beside a large truck with paintings of multi-colored cats and dogs the other day. The truck was called 'The Neuter Scooter.' Probably the brain child of some depraved veterinarian.
The animals were smiling and laughing, and having a good ole time being unable to reproduce after their own kind, then again, this might have been what the furry creatures looked like before the vet showed up.
I like vets. It might even be said I have a bit of a crush on one un-named female vet with blond hair who lives in a neighboring state, but I'll not go into details lest she read this post.
Working eighty hours a week is not conducive to good blog updating. Nor is it conducive to non-blog dating. I have a hunch it's not even good for blog-dating, dating blogs, or debating something that rhymes with og. . .frogs, logs, dogs, clogs???
But I can assure you Jason will be writing more in the future.
The animals were smiling and laughing, and having a good ole time being unable to reproduce after their own kind, then again, this might have been what the furry creatures looked like before the vet showed up.
I like vets. It might even be said I have a bit of a crush on one un-named female vet with blond hair who lives in a neighboring state, but I'll not go into details lest she read this post.
Working eighty hours a week is not conducive to good blog updating. Nor is it conducive to non-blog dating. I have a hunch it's not even good for blog-dating, dating blogs, or debating something that rhymes with og. . .frogs, logs, dogs, clogs???
But I can assure you Jason will be writing more in the future.
19 December 2007
Oui Ski
It's all in how you look at it.
If you're from Kentucky, you drink it or need spelling practice.
If you're from France, you head for the Alps.
Earlier today, my sister was robbed at gunpoint and told to celebrate the season for giving by emptying her cash register.
Alas, some people do not celebrate Christmas. Thursday, a short, squat, hump-backed little fellow with long pointy beard, little hair, and beady eyes. . .one may have been a marble-I'm not certain. . .came to fix one of our office computers. The little dwarf-like creature said he did not celebrate Christmas, instead, he and his wiccan wife celebrate Yule, which occurs on December 21st.
"We're pagans," he said
I truly felt sorry for the guy. Imagine being married to a witch who doesn't celebrate Christmas, but Yule. . .reminds me of mule.
Because I felt the need to do so, I changed the subject and said,
"I know a man."
"You do?"
"What man?"
"The man with the power?"
"What power"
"The power of hoodoo."
"Hoodoo?"
"I do."
"You do?"
"I do. . .know a man. . .with the power of hoodoo."
"Hoodoo?"
"I do."
"You do?"
"I do."
"You know a man with the power of Hoodoo?
"I really do."
It was a really long conversation and this is just a paraphrase. Or rather, many phrases. My favorite phrase comes from the book of Proverbs. The one that says,
"Arise from your bed of sloth o' thou sluggard, and consider the ways of the ant."
I mentioned this to an un-named co-worker who does not know the meaning of the word 'diligence,' yet considers himself or herself to be a paragon of virtue.
I wish I had a camera then.
And no, the little pagan never could fix the computer.
If you're from Kentucky, you drink it or need spelling practice.
If you're from France, you head for the Alps.
Earlier today, my sister was robbed at gunpoint and told to celebrate the season for giving by emptying her cash register.
Alas, some people do not celebrate Christmas. Thursday, a short, squat, hump-backed little fellow with long pointy beard, little hair, and beady eyes. . .one may have been a marble-I'm not certain. . .came to fix one of our office computers. The little dwarf-like creature said he did not celebrate Christmas, instead, he and his wiccan wife celebrate Yule, which occurs on December 21st.
"We're pagans," he said
I truly felt sorry for the guy. Imagine being married to a witch who doesn't celebrate Christmas, but Yule. . .reminds me of mule.
Because I felt the need to do so, I changed the subject and said,
"I know a man."
"You do?"
"What man?"
"The man with the power?"
"What power"
"The power of hoodoo."
"Hoodoo?"
"I do."
"You do?"
"I do. . .know a man. . .with the power of hoodoo."
"Hoodoo?"
"I do."
"You do?"
"I do."
"You know a man with the power of Hoodoo?
"I really do."
It was a really long conversation and this is just a paraphrase. Or rather, many phrases. My favorite phrase comes from the book of Proverbs. The one that says,
"Arise from your bed of sloth o' thou sluggard, and consider the ways of the ant."
I mentioned this to an un-named co-worker who does not know the meaning of the word 'diligence,' yet considers himself or herself to be a paragon of virtue.
I wish I had a camera then.
And no, the little pagan never could fix the computer.
12 December 2007
Waxing Crescent
This is what the moon is doing now-waxing crescentlike. Which reminds me, I should wax my car. Do people wax cresecently if they stand out in the sun too long, or is this a phenomenon strictly limited to heavenly orbs? I should like to know. The current writer's strike is a good thing. Most of what has been written was not worth writing, or hearing, or seeing, so perhaps all these striking writers can practice writing-or at least read something worth reading. Something like The Watchers, by Dean Koontz-what I'm reading now. A most bizaar book involving a super-intelligent golden retriever and a mutant baboon, also with great intelligence. Intelligence is the mark of an high society, a smart society, a cultured society. When asked what he thought of Western Society, Ghandi said, "I think it's a great idea. Somebody should start one." I went to CostCo this morning in a western society-one on the east coast. I saw a woman there who was skinnier than Ghandi. . .anorexic embodied and personified. Most freaky seeing a human that skinny.
06 December 2007
Blogging on 4 hours sleep. . .
can be rather difficult, especially as the current time is 3:17 AM EST.
But press on I shall in the hopes that something coherent will come from these purple hands of mine. Yes, they really are purple. I'm wearing purple nitrile gloves and typing from a chemistry lab. The store only sold purple gloves in my size, so I really had no choice, except white. And who wears white gloves anymore?
But press on I shall in the hopes that something coherent will come from these purple hands of mine. Yes, they really are purple. I'm wearing purple nitrile gloves and typing from a chemistry lab. The store only sold purple gloves in my size, so I really had no choice, except white. And who wears white gloves anymore?
04 December 2007
Dumbness and Stupidiousity
Let the records show I an completely insane and drug-free, Your Honor.
I'm not complaining about Society, merely observing. But has anybody else noticed how incredibly stupid most people have become over the past decade?
Anybody?
I think the average national I.Q. in this country must be about . . .87. And I'm being generous. If you are a 47-year-old man and make $7.50/hour digging ditches, and you have a college degree in chemistry, somewhere along the line you've made a wrong career choice.
If you eat Big Macs everyday for lunch and wonder why you're sick all the time, not to mention being clinically obese, and try to give me 'health advice,' please do not take it personally if I take what you say with a grain of salt.
Somebody is messing with the water supply. Perhaps it's all that sucralose in the drinks we consume. Could be people have rejected God and now live in a constant state of repression, where what they're repressing is common sense and logic.
A hundred years ago, the literacy rate in the US of A was near 100%. Today, if you find somebody who can spell 'receive' correctly, consider yourself fortunate.
(No Mikey, the Himalayas are NOT in Oregon. I've told you that before. Sheesh.)
I'm not complaining about Society, merely observing. But has anybody else noticed how incredibly stupid most people have become over the past decade?
Anybody?
I think the average national I.Q. in this country must be about . . .87. And I'm being generous. If you are a 47-year-old man and make $7.50/hour digging ditches, and you have a college degree in chemistry, somewhere along the line you've made a wrong career choice.
If you eat Big Macs everyday for lunch and wonder why you're sick all the time, not to mention being clinically obese, and try to give me 'health advice,' please do not take it personally if I take what you say with a grain of salt.
Somebody is messing with the water supply. Perhaps it's all that sucralose in the drinks we consume. Could be people have rejected God and now live in a constant state of repression, where what they're repressing is common sense and logic.
A hundred years ago, the literacy rate in the US of A was near 100%. Today, if you find somebody who can spell 'receive' correctly, consider yourself fortunate.
(No Mikey, the Himalayas are NOT in Oregon. I've told you that before. Sheesh.)
03 December 2007
Sacks and Ashes
Attention world:
Jason will not be blogging today. He has a migraine and is still in mourning over WVU's loss to Pitt. Currently, he can be found sleeping in sackcloth and ashes and weeping uncontrollably. If you still wish to contact His Royal Highness, call or e-mail and send him gifts of food. He prefers Papa Johns over Dominoes and anything Chinese that does not resemble large chunks of phlegm in chicken broth.
Thank you for your support.
Me
Jason will not be blogging today. He has a migraine and is still in mourning over WVU's loss to Pitt. Currently, he can be found sleeping in sackcloth and ashes and weeping uncontrollably. If you still wish to contact His Royal Highness, call or e-mail and send him gifts of food. He prefers Papa Johns over Dominoes and anything Chinese that does not resemble large chunks of phlegm in chicken broth.
Thank you for your support.
Me
02 December 2007
The Mourning After
Last night was one of sadness for WVU fans.
(I cannot believe Pitt won.)
The only thing we had to do was beat that Pittsburgh team with the ugly uniforms to go to the national championship.
(I simply cannot believe Pitt won.)
I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but I think that Pittsburgh team might have snuck in a few Pittsburgh Steelers into their defense.
(That game didn't really happen last night.)
13-9 was the final score, ESPN tells me. It was like 60,000 guys had just broken up with their supermodel girlfriends. . .simultaneously.
(I'll just close my eyes, and wake up. . .)
According to my previous post, 13% of adult conversation involves cursing.
(Pitt won? Surely you jest.)
I just discovered a new curse word. It has 4 letters.
It starts with a P, and ends in a T. . .I'll let somebody else finish this one.
(I cannot believe Pitt won.)
The only thing we had to do was beat that Pittsburgh team with the ugly uniforms to go to the national championship.
(I simply cannot believe Pitt won.)
I'm not one for conspiracy theories, but I think that Pittsburgh team might have snuck in a few Pittsburgh Steelers into their defense.
(That game didn't really happen last night.)
13-9 was the final score, ESPN tells me. It was like 60,000 guys had just broken up with their supermodel girlfriends. . .simultaneously.
(I'll just close my eyes, and wake up. . .)
According to my previous post, 13% of adult conversation involves cursing.
(Pitt won? Surely you jest.)
I just discovered a new curse word. It has 4 letters.
It starts with a P, and ends in a T. . .I'll let somebody else finish this one.
30 November 2007
&*^$3@k)8!!!
13% of adult conversation involves cussing.
Among college students, the rate is 8.1%.
Part of the reason is that college students talk much more than non-college-attending adults. I cannot remember the last time I cussed, even in my mind. Like Swedish, it's simply not a part of my vocabulary. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I get irritated with somebody just thinking about them and mumble something like,
"You low-down-worthless-good-for-nothing-motherless-pusillanimous-piece-of-vacillating-slug-dung..."
Or something similar.
I don't usually use the word dung in everyday speech-mostly crap-as I feel this covers a greater spectrum of the fecal family continuum. Other words come to mind such as spate, feces, guano, bio-waste, and . . .what's that popular one?
It begins with an s, and ends in a t.
It comes out of you, and comes out of me.
It's pretty darn smelly, we all agree on that.
Scientific people refer to it as. . .
Scat!
That's it. What I'm thinking about, (as I'm sure you are too O' Gentle Reader). Scat, followed by an exclamation point, is unique in having the two-fold purpose of being descriptive and scaring angry dogs, used car salesmen, Jehovah Witnesses, and thirsty hobos at 7-11, away.
I like scat-not the smell, of course.
Scat is also remarkable in that, spelled backwards, can be pronounced as taxes.
Most interesting.
Among college students, the rate is 8.1%.
Part of the reason is that college students talk much more than non-college-attending adults. I cannot remember the last time I cussed, even in my mind. Like Swedish, it's simply not a part of my vocabulary. Sometimes, when I'm alone, I get irritated with somebody just thinking about them and mumble something like,
"You low-down-worthless-good-for-nothing-motherless-pusillanimous-piece-of-vacillating-slug-dung..."
Or something similar.
I don't usually use the word dung in everyday speech-mostly crap-as I feel this covers a greater spectrum of the fecal family continuum. Other words come to mind such as spate, feces, guano, bio-waste, and . . .what's that popular one?
It begins with an s, and ends in a t.
It comes out of you, and comes out of me.
It's pretty darn smelly, we all agree on that.
Scientific people refer to it as. . .
Scat!
That's it. What I'm thinking about, (as I'm sure you are too O' Gentle Reader). Scat, followed by an exclamation point, is unique in having the two-fold purpose of being descriptive and scaring angry dogs, used car salesmen, Jehovah Witnesses, and thirsty hobos at 7-11, away.
I like scat-not the smell, of course.
Scat is also remarkable in that, spelled backwards, can be pronounced as taxes.
Most interesting.
27 November 2007
Just because you have a good intention, does not mean you have a good idea
For example:
This afternoon I put some sealant on my camper.
Alone.
Bad idea this sealing camper alone.
Especially as I was sitting underneath it inside the bed of my truck.
Fortunately, I was able to escape from this self-imposed trap and call somebody to help finish this little project.
26 November 2007
Busyness
"And what have you been up to lately, Mr. Puddleglum?" I asked myself recently.
"Working 60+ hours a week, you know, being busy."
Work 16 hours-a-day for weeks and you find yourself not even thinking, just reacting. Reacting like an animal on the plains of Africa. Working is part of man's nature, rather, to produce something is man's nature. But if you're just working ridiculous numbers of hours to make money, well, that's not good. When man works many many hours, it is best if he does what he was made to do. A farmer should work farming if that's what he was designed to do. If Farmer John decides to market Amway to rich Chicago socialites because he can make more dinero, he's made a bad decision. I've made a few bad decisions in my life, nothing really terribly bad, . . .still, any bad choice is a bad choice. Spending too many years in college is a bad choice. . .a waste of precious time. Time is valuable, and worth more than money. There is a time and season for all things.
I cooked a turkey on Thanksgiving day and now, much of it's remains are in an enchilada mixture sitting pretty and orange on my stove. I'm not sure why I said that, but felt like it needed saying.
What else? Hmmm. . .West Virginia University should be playing in the NCAA national championship, and they should. I'm not saying that because I went there for 8 years and grew up near Morgantown, nor am I saying that because the head coach went to my high school, and I'm certainly not saying that because my last girlfriend moved to Missouri. I think they really are the best football team in the country.
This week-end I watched a good bit of TV. Watching was a bit of a shock to my system as I've not done the TV watching thing for nearly a decade. I was surprised by the coarseness, language, vulgarity, and poor writing/grammar of the programs. It seemed nearly every show was obsessed with image and sexuality was always present. The camerawork was much better than I remember from the 90s. But the special effects were a bit annoying.
"Working 60+ hours a week, you know, being busy."
Work 16 hours-a-day for weeks and you find yourself not even thinking, just reacting. Reacting like an animal on the plains of Africa. Working is part of man's nature, rather, to produce something is man's nature. But if you're just working ridiculous numbers of hours to make money, well, that's not good. When man works many many hours, it is best if he does what he was made to do. A farmer should work farming if that's what he was designed to do. If Farmer John decides to market Amway to rich Chicago socialites because he can make more dinero, he's made a bad decision. I've made a few bad decisions in my life, nothing really terribly bad, . . .still, any bad choice is a bad choice. Spending too many years in college is a bad choice. . .a waste of precious time. Time is valuable, and worth more than money. There is a time and season for all things.
I cooked a turkey on Thanksgiving day and now, much of it's remains are in an enchilada mixture sitting pretty and orange on my stove. I'm not sure why I said that, but felt like it needed saying.
What else? Hmmm. . .West Virginia University should be playing in the NCAA national championship, and they should. I'm not saying that because I went there for 8 years and grew up near Morgantown, nor am I saying that because the head coach went to my high school, and I'm certainly not saying that because my last girlfriend moved to Missouri. I think they really are the best football team in the country.
This week-end I watched a good bit of TV. Watching was a bit of a shock to my system as I've not done the TV watching thing for nearly a decade. I was surprised by the coarseness, language, vulgarity, and poor writing/grammar of the programs. It seemed nearly every show was obsessed with image and sexuality was always present. The camerawork was much better than I remember from the 90s. But the special effects were a bit annoying.
18 November 2007
The big-boned Baptist girl with lots of inner beauty and a thyroid problem
I met her in the doorway of her parent's house. . .the blind date that is. I don't know how many blind dates I've been on, but somebody should give me a seeing-eye dog.
"Hi! This is Betsy. She's what we call special. "
I spent the night under the impression Miss Betsy was from Eastern Europe. A unibrow, larger-than-normal brow ridges, a thick accent, and a constant desire to mutter led me to believe Eastern Romania, perhaps the bad section of Bucharest. Later, she told me she was from New jersey and English was her native tongue. I acted shocked, but acting was never one of my strong points. Betsy didn't seem to notice as she did most of the bragging talking, especially about her new bifocals. Interesting glasses these bifocals. They were made by the same company that developed the Hubble Space telescope. As the night wore on swiftly passed by, it became evident that this wonderful woman had led a remarkable life the past 40? 30? 20 or so years. She had met famous actresses and world leaders, traveled to exotic locations, helped discover the Titanic. . .just fascinating. Only she kept blinking alot and when pressed for details she became fuzzy with a difficulty for remembering exact dates. At midnight, I implored God Almighty mused on whether or not she would turn into a beautiful frog. (I would have said toad, but everybody knows. . .toads are male, frogs-female.) As this would be a step up in the beauty scale. Don't get me wrong, but on a scale from 1-10, Betsy gets the negative square root of 2.
Memo to self: e-mail that Richard Branson's daughter
I should say the night was not a total loss, as it makes a pretty good blog entry.
(OK. So, maybe the above short never actually took place-but it could have.)
09 November 2007
Night(s) of the Comet
I was wondering what that really bright thing in the sky was. It wasn't Jupiter.
Demise of de Mad
The following is an un-edited version of how my mind operates when writing at speed on a blog post. It's not grammatically correct, and even makes little sense at times. It also contains incomplete sentences and ideas to insert later.
One of the 1st signs of an over-analytical mind going mad is excessive talking to oneself. They consider themselves (bad grammar-I know) so wise, that nobody else can fathom their wisdom. They ramble on and on, muttering incoherent nonsense, counting mysteriously. I have also observed that they frequently are obsessive-compulsive over mundane tasks, i.e., they like to count things, straighten out cabinets, read CNN.com 20 times a day, or never walk on the black tiles at work. They're frequently jumpy and become nervous twitchers, who can't seem to look you square in the face without blurring their vision or averting their eyes when you look at them.
But talk, they must, for this is man's nature-to communicate (even with one's self.)
Over time, they become less articulate and mumble a lot. They obsess over trivial details and are prone to obsessive-compulsive behavior. . .like repeating the same basic thought, over, and over, and over. Excessive hand-washing comes to mind. It's not unusual to see them work at dull, repetitive tasks, far below their natural abilities, to allow their mind to wander and daydream. Over-eating causes them to concentrate on their body and forsake their spirit man-which is to give up their humanity. Now, they are ruled by their flesh-not unlike an animal.
Later in Life, they become so lost, they cannot think clearly. The flesh is so dominant-all decisions are based on these base desires-all thoughts. . .cannot control the flesh. . .want more and more. . .always more. . .like Gollum.
Always seeking, never finding.
Always hearing, never listening.
Always studying, never learning.
Always thirsty, never drinking.
The cravings of the flesh increase so that NOT knowing Right from Wrong becomes a dominant function, and is replaced by a system of Preferences bases on societal norms.
They become unkempt.
These preferences (says the fallen society) is explained or rationalized as Normal Operating Procedures for a human. Since the majority of the mob thinks and does like this-it must be so. What is now Normal, is the old Abnormal. The Abnormal is now the Normal, and any 'deviants' are considered mean and unrealistic. Gone and forgotten is the true nature of man,the true man, though sometimes stories of the past arise. Perhaps as a myth or a legend with the characters having superhuman-like abilities.
Preferences, as societal norms, can harden into law-like entities, but are by their nature, subject to change. . .elastic and subject to revision-they're elastic. This is one of the signs. For a true law does not change. It is valid for all cultures and for all eras. So, you really can say humans are evolving. Evolving, and it is a fact. I think that one can tell another all the facts, but still be lying.
How?
Giving all the facts of a situation does not necessarily equate with giving a true perception of Reality. And still, some laws can be superseded by other laws. Spiritual laws trump Natural laws, but in a fallen creature, the fallen creature must obey the lesser laws-even if it is against their wills. C.S. Lewis said if one neglects the Law of Prudence while walking on an icy sidewalk, one must obey the Law of Gravitation.
The one thing I always do, no matter how fast I write, is I ALWAYS correct my spelling. I will put a thought on hold and actually go to a dictionary if need be. But that is rare.
One of the 1st signs of an over-analytical mind going mad is excessive talking to oneself. They consider themselves (bad grammar-I know) so wise, that nobody else can fathom their wisdom. They ramble on and on, muttering incoherent nonsense, counting mysteriously. I have also observed that they frequently are obsessive-compulsive over mundane tasks, i.e., they like to count things, straighten out cabinets, read CNN.com 20 times a day, or never walk on the black tiles at work. They're frequently jumpy and become nervous twitchers, who can't seem to look you square in the face without blurring their vision or averting their eyes when you look at them.
But talk, they must, for this is man's nature-to communicate (even with one's self.)
Over time, they become less articulate and mumble a lot. They obsess over trivial details and are prone to obsessive-compulsive behavior. . .like repeating the same basic thought, over, and over, and over. Excessive hand-washing comes to mind. It's not unusual to see them work at dull, repetitive tasks, far below their natural abilities, to allow their mind to wander and daydream. Over-eating causes them to concentrate on their body and forsake their spirit man-which is to give up their humanity. Now, they are ruled by their flesh-not unlike an animal.
Later in Life, they become so lost, they cannot think clearly. The flesh is so dominant-all decisions are based on these base desires-all thoughts. . .cannot control the flesh. . .want more and more. . .always more. . .like Gollum.
Always seeking, never finding.
Always hearing, never listening.
Always studying, never learning.
Always thirsty, never drinking.
The cravings of the flesh increase so that NOT knowing Right from Wrong becomes a dominant function, and is replaced by a system of Preferences bases on societal norms.
They become unkempt.
These preferences (says the fallen society) is explained or rationalized as Normal Operating Procedures for a human. Since the majority of the mob thinks and does like this-it must be so. What is now Normal, is the old Abnormal. The Abnormal is now the Normal, and any 'deviants' are considered mean and unrealistic. Gone and forgotten is the true nature of man,the true man, though sometimes stories of the past arise. Perhaps as a myth or a legend with the characters having superhuman-like abilities.
Preferences, as societal norms, can harden into law-like entities, but are by their nature, subject to change. . .elastic and subject to revision-they're elastic. This is one of the signs. For a true law does not change. It is valid for all cultures and for all eras. So, you really can say humans are evolving. Evolving, and it is a fact. I think that one can tell another all the facts, but still be lying.
How?
Giving all the facts of a situation does not necessarily equate with giving a true perception of Reality. And still, some laws can be superseded by other laws. Spiritual laws trump Natural laws, but in a fallen creature, the fallen creature must obey the lesser laws-even if it is against their wills. C.S. Lewis said if one neglects the Law of Prudence while walking on an icy sidewalk, one must obey the Law of Gravitation.
The one thing I always do, no matter how fast I write, is I ALWAYS correct my spelling. I will put a thought on hold and actually go to a dictionary if need be. But that is rare.
07 November 2007
Southern Fried Arsenic
06 November 2007
Nada
If anybody reading this blog is more tired than I am right now, I do not believe you.
That is all.
Time to rest.
And sleep.
That is all.
Time to rest.
And sleep.
30 October 2007
Dragon Skin
I have become a dragon.
I picture you, O' Gentle Reader, sitting on your chair thinking, "Hate it when that happens."
The rough, dry, crusty, scaly skin drives me mad, but it protects me. It's not really me. Deep down inside the beast is a man. Like the grain of sand in an oyster, the deposits formed slowly year by year until the man was fully encapsulated in reptile skin.
The cave.
I am a nocturnal creature, one who lurks at night when all else sleeps. Living on my bed of gold, my hoard. making more money than I used to. . .but rarely sleeping. I don't consider it much money. . .but more than others.
Do others notice the dragon?
An aside: Do you ever get the feeling that you-the real you-is much bigger than your physical body? Lets say you're laying in bed and you get the feeling you're actually 2-3 feet beyond the confines of your flesh. . .as if you're bordering on an out-of-body experience, but not quite there. I have never had an out-of-body experience, nor do I want to.
The dragoning process started years ago. I think in my mid-20's.
Another aside: I have been thinking recently about why I write so much. Hopefully, it's entertaining. If somebody ever has opportunity, they can have a psychologist analyze me. I'm sure he would have a heyday. Not that I'd agree with his diagnosis. . .but it would be fun reading.
In college, I spent more and more time studying and less and less time with my friends. It was not unusual for me to get up at 5 AM and study 16 hours straight. Usually, I'd take a break and run a few miles to maintain fitness. I became obsessive compulsive about knowledge. I had to know everything about everything. I studied biology. . .Life. During this time, much as I hate to admit, I grew more arrogant. Knowledge breeds arrogance when God is not involved. The metamorphosis from man to beast had begun.
With each passing semester, I accumulated more and more dragonish thoughts. . .more knowledge. Soon, it took more than biology to satisfy my desire. I read like a mad man. Everything from philosophy, to Creationism/Darwinism, psychology, health, literature, apologetics, ancient history, to you-name-it. Well, not quite everything. I never (and never will) read or looked at pornography. That is something I would never do. (I might be somewhat crazy, but I'm not stupid.)
I refused to watch television and saw my friends only about once a week. My skin grew rough and a rudimentary tail started forming.
I grew increasingly condescending with D, C, J, and the others. When we did hang out, it was generally them chatting and me listening. When asked my opinion, I would start lecturing and purposely use long words they didn't understand. I grew impatient and increasingly irritated by their peevish inability to see the obvious. I spent more time in my cave and retreated in my mind to solitude. I embraced the quietness. I got lonely.
My good friends were excellent and warned me. I recall one particular incident when T came over and wanted to chat. Wanting to study (who knows what. . .microbiology), I answered his questions and basically shooed him away. Dragons are dangerous creatures who excel at wit and are keen for knowledge. They live in caves far from others and sleep on beds of gold. They're selfish, but rationalize it by saying things such as, "that's OK. We're not like others. Ours is a high and lonely destiny."
To make matters worse, I began to lose my ability to listen to people. More opportunity for solitude. Reptiles don't listen well, but their vision is keen. When one sense becomes dull, the others (sight, taste, touch) compensate and adapt. I'm much more intuitive now. My dragon wings sprouted. I soared. I flew to Asia and spent a month in the Land of Dragons. My wings were longer.
In time, the dragoning process became complete. The rough, dry scales, (what is another name for dragon skin?) . . .knowledge. Knowledge is power. Few dare approach a powerful dragon.
But something is happening to me right now. I won't always be a dragon. A man with pink fleshy skin who likes people and enjoys company. What is happening is that the dragon skin is coming off. It's not off yet, it's coming. I feel it moving, heaving. Already my human skin has detached from the reptile and now I am encased in this great mass of dragoness.
I picture you, O' Gentle Reader, sitting on your chair thinking, "Hate it when that happens."
The rough, dry, crusty, scaly skin drives me mad, but it protects me. It's not really me. Deep down inside the beast is a man. Like the grain of sand in an oyster, the deposits formed slowly year by year until the man was fully encapsulated in reptile skin.
The cave.
I am a nocturnal creature, one who lurks at night when all else sleeps. Living on my bed of gold, my hoard. making more money than I used to. . .but rarely sleeping. I don't consider it much money. . .but more than others.
Do others notice the dragon?
An aside: Do you ever get the feeling that you-the real you-is much bigger than your physical body? Lets say you're laying in bed and you get the feeling you're actually 2-3 feet beyond the confines of your flesh. . .as if you're bordering on an out-of-body experience, but not quite there. I have never had an out-of-body experience, nor do I want to.
The dragoning process started years ago. I think in my mid-20's.
Another aside: I have been thinking recently about why I write so much. Hopefully, it's entertaining. If somebody ever has opportunity, they can have a psychologist analyze me. I'm sure he would have a heyday. Not that I'd agree with his diagnosis. . .but it would be fun reading.
In college, I spent more and more time studying and less and less time with my friends. It was not unusual for me to get up at 5 AM and study 16 hours straight. Usually, I'd take a break and run a few miles to maintain fitness. I became obsessive compulsive about knowledge. I had to know everything about everything. I studied biology. . .Life. During this time, much as I hate to admit, I grew more arrogant. Knowledge breeds arrogance when God is not involved. The metamorphosis from man to beast had begun.
With each passing semester, I accumulated more and more dragonish thoughts. . .more knowledge. Soon, it took more than biology to satisfy my desire. I read like a mad man. Everything from philosophy, to Creationism/Darwinism, psychology, health, literature, apologetics, ancient history, to you-name-it. Well, not quite everything. I never (and never will) read or looked at pornography. That is something I would never do. (I might be somewhat crazy, but I'm not stupid.)
I refused to watch television and saw my friends only about once a week. My skin grew rough and a rudimentary tail started forming.
I grew increasingly condescending with D, C, J, and the others. When we did hang out, it was generally them chatting and me listening. When asked my opinion, I would start lecturing and purposely use long words they didn't understand. I grew impatient and increasingly irritated by their peevish inability to see the obvious. I spent more time in my cave and retreated in my mind to solitude. I embraced the quietness. I got lonely.
My good friends were excellent and warned me. I recall one particular incident when T came over and wanted to chat. Wanting to study (who knows what. . .microbiology), I answered his questions and basically shooed him away. Dragons are dangerous creatures who excel at wit and are keen for knowledge. They live in caves far from others and sleep on beds of gold. They're selfish, but rationalize it by saying things such as, "that's OK. We're not like others. Ours is a high and lonely destiny."
To make matters worse, I began to lose my ability to listen to people. More opportunity for solitude. Reptiles don't listen well, but their vision is keen. When one sense becomes dull, the others (sight, taste, touch) compensate and adapt. I'm much more intuitive now. My dragon wings sprouted. I soared. I flew to Asia and spent a month in the Land of Dragons. My wings were longer.
In time, the dragoning process became complete. The rough, dry scales, (what is another name for dragon skin?) . . .knowledge. Knowledge is power. Few dare approach a powerful dragon.
But something is happening to me right now. I won't always be a dragon. A man with pink fleshy skin who likes people and enjoys company. What is happening is that the dragon skin is coming off. It's not off yet, it's coming. I feel it moving, heaving. Already my human skin has detached from the reptile and now I am encased in this great mass of dragoness.
misc.stuff.randomly.generated
3:54 AM
The very current time.
I am awake.
"Why?" I ask myself. "Because it is my job."
3:55 AM
Still awake. Typing. Looking at what I just typed. Want to sleep. Cannot stand to misspel words. Too impatient to use spellchecker at the end of post. Must delete entire word and spell it right. Can always see a mispelt word. Irritation. Tiredness. Thirstiness. I drank over 30 ounces of water in the past 5 hours and still dreadfully thirsty. Must be the salt from the spaghetti eaten earlier. Always must add chili powder to the can of spaghetti sauce. For who can eat it otherwise. Some do.
4:04 AM
Cold. It is cold in Virginia Beach now. In the 50s. Fahrenheit. Cold and dark. Cold and dark and dank. Wonder if the fellow at 7-11 got a new battery for his rusty van? I tried to help him. Honest. Tried to jump start his car. Nothing. Told him he needed a new battery. Did this knowledge move him? Who knows? He ran out of gas at 7-11 and told me so. Said it wasn't the first time it happened. The van had no tread on the tires. The guy wandered off to McDonalds and came back. Why did he go to McDonalds? Did he have a friend there? Do not know. Do know the guy wasn't the brightest light bulb.
4:11 AM
Cold. Still cold. Vaguely. . .anticipated something. Close to time to leave. Elvis will leave the building soon. I see a black chair. A dirty old thing that fallen humans have spent much time in. It reaks of evilness. Reminds me of slime. Dark things. And toads. There is something about the black chair that reminds me of a toad. An unclean reptilian thing. Not inherently good. A fallen creature. It should be burned. And the ashes buried in the Earth.
4:16 AM
Nose is cold. Not as cold as it was earlier. Warmer than 5 minutes ago. Thirstier. I ate ice cream this afternoon. Reeses Pieces ice cream with chocalate fudge, and in an edible waffle bowl. Heated it up in the microwave to make it easier to eat. After the spaghetti. And the hamburger and rice and italian dressing. Got the Italian dressing yesterday at Farm Fresh. Like Italian dressing. Not fat-free Italian dressing. That's bad. Bad taste and bad as in unhealthy bad. Detest fat-free food. Sucralose. Bad. Kills puppies. And maybe old people. Seniors should not eat sucralose. Bad. Unhealthy. Typing that last word just reminded me of salty peanuts. Mysteriousness. Such a long word with a limited meaning. God is such a short word for the infinite. As is the word 'sea.'
4:21 AM
I posted on this blog today. Somehow I feel like an astronaut in 2001: A Space Oddyssey. Like Dave Bowman. INTJ. Like the Keirsey temperament sorter. Puddleglum is an INTJ. Jason is an INTJ. 1% of the population is an INTJ. C.S. Lewis was an INTJ. Katherine Hepburne was too.
The very current time.
I am awake.
"Why?" I ask myself. "Because it is my job."
3:55 AM
Still awake. Typing. Looking at what I just typed. Want to sleep. Cannot stand to misspel words. Too impatient to use spellchecker at the end of post. Must delete entire word and spell it right. Can always see a mispelt word. Irritation. Tiredness. Thirstiness. I drank over 30 ounces of water in the past 5 hours and still dreadfully thirsty. Must be the salt from the spaghetti eaten earlier. Always must add chili powder to the can of spaghetti sauce. For who can eat it otherwise. Some do.
4:04 AM
Cold. It is cold in Virginia Beach now. In the 50s. Fahrenheit. Cold and dark. Cold and dark and dank. Wonder if the fellow at 7-11 got a new battery for his rusty van? I tried to help him. Honest. Tried to jump start his car. Nothing. Told him he needed a new battery. Did this knowledge move him? Who knows? He ran out of gas at 7-11 and told me so. Said it wasn't the first time it happened. The van had no tread on the tires. The guy wandered off to McDonalds and came back. Why did he go to McDonalds? Did he have a friend there? Do not know. Do know the guy wasn't the brightest light bulb.
4:11 AM
Cold. Still cold. Vaguely. . .anticipated something. Close to time to leave. Elvis will leave the building soon. I see a black chair. A dirty old thing that fallen humans have spent much time in. It reaks of evilness. Reminds me of slime. Dark things. And toads. There is something about the black chair that reminds me of a toad. An unclean reptilian thing. Not inherently good. A fallen creature. It should be burned. And the ashes buried in the Earth.
4:16 AM
Nose is cold. Not as cold as it was earlier. Warmer than 5 minutes ago. Thirstier. I ate ice cream this afternoon. Reeses Pieces ice cream with chocalate fudge, and in an edible waffle bowl. Heated it up in the microwave to make it easier to eat. After the spaghetti. And the hamburger and rice and italian dressing. Got the Italian dressing yesterday at Farm Fresh. Like Italian dressing. Not fat-free Italian dressing. That's bad. Bad taste and bad as in unhealthy bad. Detest fat-free food. Sucralose. Bad. Kills puppies. And maybe old people. Seniors should not eat sucralose. Bad. Unhealthy. Typing that last word just reminded me of salty peanuts. Mysteriousness. Such a long word with a limited meaning. God is such a short word for the infinite. As is the word 'sea.'
4:21 AM
I posted on this blog today. Somehow I feel like an astronaut in 2001: A Space Oddyssey. Like Dave Bowman. INTJ. Like the Keirsey temperament sorter. Puddleglum is an INTJ. Jason is an INTJ. 1% of the population is an INTJ. C.S. Lewis was an INTJ. Katherine Hepburne was too.
25 October 2007
23 October 2007
Suffering
Suffering, I think, is one of the signs that an afterlife exists.
It it possible to be completely satisfied on Earth? I think not. This tells me we we're made for another place and time. We're like embryos, biding our time until we can become fully human.
It would be a strange world if humans got hunger pangs, but no food existed.
Tuesday morning. 330 AM. Current time. Have not slept-really slept-since Saturday night. Have taken some extended naps and worked nearly 30 hours so far this week. Amazingly-not very tired. Caffeine and chai tea, you know. Not really tired, more like a full body malaise. The mind is not tired. It's on auto-pilot. Cannot stop thinking-fast. Not eaten much either. Just want to stare out the window at the moon. Still at work. Always at work. Saturday. Something strange. Watched TV for 45 minutes.
Description of the table beside me: black ebony surface. @50 glass bottles of pulverized coal that can fit through a 60-mesh screen, a bottle of Benzoic Acid for calibrating bombs, compressed air can, one metal spatula, an ancient radio that Tertullian might have used, 2 pens, one pencil, half a book holder, dust, 3 notebooks explaining the intricacies of bomb calorimeters (interesting reading, btw), two more notebooks containing the scribblings of some co-workers (they might be alchemists), some biotech magazines, a calendar with train pictures. I should mention that inside the table, one can find a dozen or more packs of condiments and probably a plastic knife. . .and a pez dispenser (a silver kermit-like creature that boxes).
It it possible to be completely satisfied on Earth? I think not. This tells me we we're made for another place and time. We're like embryos, biding our time until we can become fully human.
It would be a strange world if humans got hunger pangs, but no food existed.
Tuesday morning. 330 AM. Current time. Have not slept-really slept-since Saturday night. Have taken some extended naps and worked nearly 30 hours so far this week. Amazingly-not very tired. Caffeine and chai tea, you know. Not really tired, more like a full body malaise. The mind is not tired. It's on auto-pilot. Cannot stop thinking-fast. Not eaten much either. Just want to stare out the window at the moon. Still at work. Always at work. Saturday. Something strange. Watched TV for 45 minutes.
Description of the table beside me: black ebony surface. @50 glass bottles of pulverized coal that can fit through a 60-mesh screen, a bottle of Benzoic Acid for calibrating bombs, compressed air can, one metal spatula, an ancient radio that Tertullian might have used, 2 pens, one pencil, half a book holder, dust, 3 notebooks explaining the intricacies of bomb calorimeters (interesting reading, btw), two more notebooks containing the scribblings of some co-workers (they might be alchemists), some biotech magazines, a calendar with train pictures. I should mention that inside the table, one can find a dozen or more packs of condiments and probably a plastic knife. . .and a pez dispenser (a silver kermit-like creature that boxes).
19 October 2007
History
It seemed the world was divided into good and bad people. The good ones slept better... while the bad ones seemed to enjoy the waking hours much more.
--Woody Allen
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
A little later he created man in his image and placed him in what is now present-day Iraq.
The man fell asleep naming all the animals, so God made another person and gave it curves.
Now, men sleep a whole lot less and hardly talk at all.
--Woody Allen
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.
A little later he created man in his image and placed him in what is now present-day Iraq.
The man fell asleep naming all the animals, so God made another person and gave it curves.
Now, men sleep a whole lot less and hardly talk at all.
16 October 2007
Twins
Do what you've been designed to do.
I met a man who, for the past 25 years, has been under the impression he is a horse.
But in the meantime, it's a good idea to work your day job with diligence until you can do what you been created to do full time.
Only he's not Mr. Ed, of course. He's not even a horse at all, though sometimes he gets hoarse.
For if you don't work your day job with diligence, and do just whatever is necessary, co-workers will despise your laziness.
He likes to talk alot-too much, in fact, and spends much of his work time on the phone-pretending he's a horse. . .or a yak.
His name is Woody Cedar-not his real name. We call him Cedar because he smells funny. I don't think he knows that.
Yep, 25 years, and still, he wonders why people don't recognize his horsey equine nature.
People who practice what they're designed to do, do not have to tell people what their gifts are. It will be self-evident over time.
I told him perhaps he's not really a horse, maybe just a jockey or even a horse trainer. Alas, he got mad and neighed at me.
Naysayers come and naysayers go. So, better hold on to your dream and not tell everybody what it is.
Woody Cedar wants a raise.
There is a good reason why the Master gave the lazy servant only one talent. He knew what the lazy creature was worth. . .knew his abilities and inclinations. Though the Master was called Cruel, he certainly wasn't stupid-and he was rich.
Do you think Woody Cedar is a horse? He is obsessed with Quaker Oats and sugar.
Apple trees produce apples, pear trees produce pears, and strawberry plants produce strawberries.
Confused???
I met a man who, for the past 25 years, has been under the impression he is a horse.
But in the meantime, it's a good idea to work your day job with diligence until you can do what you been created to do full time.
Only he's not Mr. Ed, of course. He's not even a horse at all, though sometimes he gets hoarse.
For if you don't work your day job with diligence, and do just whatever is necessary, co-workers will despise your laziness.
He likes to talk alot-too much, in fact, and spends much of his work time on the phone-pretending he's a horse. . .or a yak.
His name is Woody Cedar-not his real name. We call him Cedar because he smells funny. I don't think he knows that.
Yep, 25 years, and still, he wonders why people don't recognize his horsey equine nature.
People who practice what they're designed to do, do not have to tell people what their gifts are. It will be self-evident over time.
I told him perhaps he's not really a horse, maybe just a jockey or even a horse trainer. Alas, he got mad and neighed at me.
Naysayers come and naysayers go. So, better hold on to your dream and not tell everybody what it is.
Woody Cedar wants a raise.
There is a good reason why the Master gave the lazy servant only one talent. He knew what the lazy creature was worth. . .knew his abilities and inclinations. Though the Master was called Cruel, he certainly wasn't stupid-and he was rich.
Do you think Woody Cedar is a horse? He is obsessed with Quaker Oats and sugar.
Apple trees produce apples, pear trees produce pears, and strawberry plants produce strawberries.
Confused???
08 October 2007
Madness
Madness is most definitely the end result of an over analytical mind subject to extended periods of solitary. NASA, or some private space company, on a mission to Mars would be wise to keep the astronauts busy with extremely complex tasks to forestall this insanity. Like it or not, an atheist should never be sent to the red planet. A married couple would be best as two men or two women would kill one another.
Looking for evidence?
Who do you argue with the most growing up? Most likely your siblings, as they're the ones you spend the most time with. I know from personal experience that what is a slight irritation with a co-worker can, and does, eventually lead to thoughts that best not be published online as. . .certain things can be taken the wrong way by those looking for. . .perhaps I should stop here.
The spaceship must must contain an area where one can go and be alone for as long as necessary. . .for peace, and quiet, and solitude. A place to be alone with one's thoughts and. . .let's see. . .a soundproof room would be fantastic. (A soundproof room would be great right now). The ship also mustn't contain weapons as it is almost inevitable one will be tempted to use them to, say. . .to smack the co-Mars-traveler over the head to stop his. . .singing?. . .hand-clapping?. . .(great! now he's pointing at the wall and heckling!). . .and , um, dancing. Did I mention I'm writing this (wrote this) blog entry late at night at work in the same room. . .with others. Yeah, stress. Now..I'm feeling it. Yep. Apparently, Jason does have a breaking point. . .and has emotions, and can under extreme duress be. . .forced to. . .I think now I should make myself busy. . .Thank God I can clock out soon. I would hate to post my next blog entry from prison.
Looking for evidence?
Who do you argue with the most growing up? Most likely your siblings, as they're the ones you spend the most time with. I know from personal experience that what is a slight irritation with a co-worker can, and does, eventually lead to thoughts that best not be published online as. . .certain things can be taken the wrong way by those looking for. . .perhaps I should stop here.
The spaceship must must contain an area where one can go and be alone for as long as necessary. . .for peace, and quiet, and solitude. A place to be alone with one's thoughts and. . .let's see. . .a soundproof room would be fantastic. (A soundproof room would be great right now). The ship also mustn't contain weapons as it is almost inevitable one will be tempted to use them to, say. . .to smack the co-Mars-traveler over the head to stop his. . .singing?. . .hand-clapping?. . .(great! now he's pointing at the wall and heckling!). . .and , um, dancing. Did I mention I'm writing this (wrote this) blog entry late at night at work in the same room. . .with others. Yeah, stress. Now..I'm feeling it. Yep. Apparently, Jason does have a breaking point. . .and has emotions, and can under extreme duress be. . .forced to. . .I think now I should make myself busy. . .Thank God I can clock out soon. I would hate to post my next blog entry from prison.
07 October 2007
Life at 33
Another thing I have found in Life @ 33,is the more analytical one's mind, the harder it is to make decisions based on what your spirit says. If one is a Christian, one should endeavor to make all important decisions based on your spirit, which is really using your intuition as it (should be) in sync with the Holy Spirit.
I suppose if one is not a Christian, one must rely on the mind, to a certain extent, but even then, all Life decisions would be a hit-or-miss affair at best, or lead to madness at worst. For when a predominately analytical person goes through Life, inevitably they go mad. It's the logical endpoint of the sum of all their decisions.
Why?
Because leading an existence with your spirit out of phase (to use a physics term) with the Holy Spirit can only be meaningless, as only Order can come from God.
Order is part of the intrinsic nature of God. To act out on one's own. . .to not be on the Spirit's wavelength. . .leads to inevitable chaos.
Once a writer wrote an epic novel, such a good novel the characters seemed real, though Reality was much more than the created people fathomed. . .or could fathom. The characters even had something called Free-Will, a two-edged sword. They could go through the story doing what the writer intended, or go off on their own way based on their perception of reality using all the facts of life they knew. Though some of the more noble characters knew all the known facts, they didn't know all the facts for not all the facts were known and remained hidden-for it amused the writer to do so.
Once, one of their seers, a son of a king and well-learned in all the known facts, forsook all and lived in the desert for 40 years. Then, the author wrote himself into the story and told the seer to return to the city. Though he did not want to do so, he complied. The seer happened to be the most humble man on the Earth. . .but perhaps the reader already knows this story.
The more analytical, or logical, one becomes without the Holy Spirit, the more Creativity declines. This is the nature of the universe. The ancient Egyptians could tell you that the bigger, the better, does not necessarily lead to the good life. Hieroglyphics and the Chinese system of writing (the one used before the Pinyan system that was based on characters) are examples of the bigger, and the better, and comprehensive systems leading FROM creativity.
At a future time, decisions will be made on intuition. . .on one's spirit. Humanity will function as one organism, like a colony of bees, or cardiac muscle, or. . .what else? A body.
I have had enough apocalyptic dreams over the past few years to know a little more than most. Time forbids me now, but I think that in the future, we will have the ability to convert our bodies (mass) into energy (E), and move at ridiculously fast velocities through the universe.
We already know Energy and mass are incontrovertible. . .E = mC2 with c being the speed of light. Does this not make sense? I think it makes more sense than the inside of what a certain candy bar wrapper reads. . .substantialicious. . .the weight of something when you weigh it with your tongue. . .
If one has a body of pure energy, one can do some remarkable feats.
Travel through walls
Walk on water
Move from one planet to another without the constraints of flesh and populate new planets
Sounds like weird science fiction. . .or perhaps Jason's been spending far too much time alone.
I've not really watched TV in 7 years. . .scary.
I suppose if one is not a Christian, one must rely on the mind, to a certain extent, but even then, all Life decisions would be a hit-or-miss affair at best, or lead to madness at worst. For when a predominately analytical person goes through Life, inevitably they go mad. It's the logical endpoint of the sum of all their decisions.
Why?
Because leading an existence with your spirit out of phase (to use a physics term) with the Holy Spirit can only be meaningless, as only Order can come from God.
Order is part of the intrinsic nature of God. To act out on one's own. . .to not be on the Spirit's wavelength. . .leads to inevitable chaos.
Once a writer wrote an epic novel, such a good novel the characters seemed real, though Reality was much more than the created people fathomed. . .or could fathom. The characters even had something called Free-Will, a two-edged sword. They could go through the story doing what the writer intended, or go off on their own way based on their perception of reality using all the facts of life they knew. Though some of the more noble characters knew all the known facts, they didn't know all the facts for not all the facts were known and remained hidden-for it amused the writer to do so.
Once, one of their seers, a son of a king and well-learned in all the known facts, forsook all and lived in the desert for 40 years. Then, the author wrote himself into the story and told the seer to return to the city. Though he did not want to do so, he complied. The seer happened to be the most humble man on the Earth. . .but perhaps the reader already knows this story.
The more analytical, or logical, one becomes without the Holy Spirit, the more Creativity declines. This is the nature of the universe. The ancient Egyptians could tell you that the bigger, the better, does not necessarily lead to the good life. Hieroglyphics and the Chinese system of writing (the one used before the Pinyan system that was based on characters) are examples of the bigger, and the better, and comprehensive systems leading FROM creativity.
At a future time, decisions will be made on intuition. . .on one's spirit. Humanity will function as one organism, like a colony of bees, or cardiac muscle, or. . .what else? A body.
I have had enough apocalyptic dreams over the past few years to know a little more than most. Time forbids me now, but I think that in the future, we will have the ability to convert our bodies (mass) into energy (E), and move at ridiculously fast velocities through the universe.
We already know Energy and mass are incontrovertible. . .E = mC2 with c being the speed of light. Does this not make sense? I think it makes more sense than the inside of what a certain candy bar wrapper reads. . .substantialicious. . .the weight of something when you weigh it with your tongue. . .
If one has a body of pure energy, one can do some remarkable feats.
Travel through walls
Walk on water
Move from one planet to another without the constraints of flesh and populate new planets
Sounds like weird science fiction. . .or perhaps Jason's been spending far too much time alone.
I've not really watched TV in 7 years. . .scary.
05 October 2007
Movin'
Moving, moving, moving. That's what I'm doing.
Something interesting. I advertised a combination washer/dryer on Craigslist two days ago. Out of the 400,000 people who live here (in Virginia Beach alone), the woman I'm selling it to is my sister's boyfriend's roommate's mom. She knows the guy quite well.
Something interesting. I advertised a combination washer/dryer on Craigslist two days ago. Out of the 400,000 people who live here (in Virginia Beach alone), the woman I'm selling it to is my sister's boyfriend's roommate's mom. She knows the guy quite well.
02 October 2007
600 yards
As of yesterday, at 11:00 AM, we now live exactly 600 yards from the Atlantic Ocean.
I think God likes me. The place is a whole lot cheaper as I will be saving $300/month than the current place. I find it remarkable that for the past year, I had planned (in great detail mind you) on moving to Washington State, close to the Pacific. Perhaps one day, I will move there. . .I really want to. I miss mountains.
Unfortunately, I am blogging here at my former place, my sister is still at work, still has all the new house keys, and apparently does not remember where she put them.
And that is OK. Because the Chinese food was good and I found a buyer for this ridiculously heavy washer/dryer/noisemaker I've been trying to get rid of.
I think God likes me. The place is a whole lot cheaper as I will be saving $300/month than the current place. I find it remarkable that for the past year, I had planned (in great detail mind you) on moving to Washington State, close to the Pacific. Perhaps one day, I will move there. . .I really want to. I miss mountains.
Unfortunately, I am blogging here at my former place, my sister is still at work, still has all the new house keys, and apparently does not remember where she put them.
And that is OK. Because the Chinese food was good and I found a buyer for this ridiculously heavy washer/dryer/noisemaker I've been trying to get rid of.
25 September 2007
The Sloth that could. . .but didn't
If you tell a lazy person to do a certain task, don't be surprised if they do not do it.
Though you tell him time and time again, a stupid person will continue on in his stupidity for it is his nature. . .his fallen nature.
Words have no effect on the lazy man. In business, the lazy man should be told to do something twice, and if no change occurs--->fire him. This will lead to less aspirin consumption.
Beating him would work too, but I don't think this is legal.
If left to himself, he will continue on in his stupid ways and lead an unproductive and useless life, irritating others along the way.
One should not associate with the lazy and the stupid for they cannot help you achieve your goals in Life. Besides, they can rub off on you and affect your view of the world by tricking you into thinking mediocre is the proper state of affairs.
Sending a lazy person on an errand is like making a 4-year-old clean your car. . .frustrating. It is better to eliminate the dross, lest it contaminate the gold. For when gold, if dirty, loses it's luster and does not have great value.
If one works, must work, on a consistent basis with a lazy man, the thing to do is not talk in their presence unless necessary. Humoring them works well too. One should do the right and proper thing despite what the lazy creatures do. Perhaps they can change. You certainly cannot change them with words.
If after a time no change happens, then differentiate your work from their work. Somebody with sense might see the difference and reward the better.
Don't be surprised if this angers the lazy man. People without a goal have more time to mope.
Once there was a rich man who hired a lazy man. The lazy man, despite being his incompetence, was never fired. A precedent was established on what and what he would not do. When times changed, the lazy man did not, and became an irritant and a parasite to the company.
Parasites need living bodies to exist. The Healthy can survive on their own.
I must remember this when I have my own business.
Too much aspirin can kill a man.
Though you tell him time and time again, a stupid person will continue on in his stupidity for it is his nature. . .his fallen nature.
Words have no effect on the lazy man. In business, the lazy man should be told to do something twice, and if no change occurs--->fire him. This will lead to less aspirin consumption.
Beating him would work too, but I don't think this is legal.
If left to himself, he will continue on in his stupid ways and lead an unproductive and useless life, irritating others along the way.
One should not associate with the lazy and the stupid for they cannot help you achieve your goals in Life. Besides, they can rub off on you and affect your view of the world by tricking you into thinking mediocre is the proper state of affairs.
Sending a lazy person on an errand is like making a 4-year-old clean your car. . .frustrating. It is better to eliminate the dross, lest it contaminate the gold. For when gold, if dirty, loses it's luster and does not have great value.
If one works, must work, on a consistent basis with a lazy man, the thing to do is not talk in their presence unless necessary. Humoring them works well too. One should do the right and proper thing despite what the lazy creatures do. Perhaps they can change. You certainly cannot change them with words.
If after a time no change happens, then differentiate your work from their work. Somebody with sense might see the difference and reward the better.
Don't be surprised if this angers the lazy man. People without a goal have more time to mope.
Once there was a rich man who hired a lazy man. The lazy man, despite being his incompetence, was never fired. A precedent was established on what and what he would not do. When times changed, the lazy man did not, and became an irritant and a parasite to the company.
Parasites need living bodies to exist. The Healthy can survive on their own.
I must remember this when I have my own business.
Too much aspirin can kill a man.
22 September 2007
Lets Go, Bananas!
For some time now, the alpha-female of the Hill-Airy clan, Lewdspeaker, waxed eloquent.
"No, you don't understand. We are not like other chimps. We have 5 arms, not 4."
"I only see 4 and a tail," said a slightly confused barn owl.
"How would you know. . .why, why, you're a mere bird. What you call a tail is really an arm. Hill-Airy apes have 5 arms. Why, we're the next step in Ape-olution. Our ancestors walked upright and grunted different. Nobody understood one another with all the strange dialects running about. Now. . .we all think alike, speak alike, and talk rite. (Because what really matters is more bananas.)"
Lewdspeaker's latest mission was to raise taxes to pay for bananas from the Northern Barbarians. For reasons no chimp could truly comprehend, it was cheaper to import bananas than growing them on a tropical island. The Hill-Airy apes debated this from sun-up to sun-down with the other beasts during banana growing season and knew their logic to be firm, water-tight, somewhat mysterious, but in perfect accord with the Commonly Reasoned Ape Principles (CRAP).
"Besides," said Lewdspeaker, "To explain it fully would require lots of higher math and statistics. . .the kind only us of the 5-arms can understand."
editors note: I am feeling very ornery today.
"No, you don't understand. We are not like other chimps. We have 5 arms, not 4."
"I only see 4 and a tail," said a slightly confused barn owl.
"How would you know. . .why, why, you're a mere bird. What you call a tail is really an arm. Hill-Airy apes have 5 arms. Why, we're the next step in Ape-olution. Our ancestors walked upright and grunted different. Nobody understood one another with all the strange dialects running about. Now. . .we all think alike, speak alike, and talk rite. (Because what really matters is more bananas.)"
Lewdspeaker's latest mission was to raise taxes to pay for bananas from the Northern Barbarians. For reasons no chimp could truly comprehend, it was cheaper to import bananas than growing them on a tropical island. The Hill-Airy apes debated this from sun-up to sun-down with the other beasts during banana growing season and knew their logic to be firm, water-tight, somewhat mysterious, but in perfect accord with the Commonly Reasoned Ape Principles (CRAP).
"Besides," said Lewdspeaker, "To explain it fully would require lots of higher math and statistics. . .the kind only us of the 5-arms can understand."
editors note: I am feeling very ornery today.
19 September 2007
Turtles
"Good for pets and soup"
(Something I saw earlier and felt like sharing)
September is a quiet month, especially in the evenings. The hot August sun no longer beats down, the wind is calm, the air feels cleaner, the little ones are back in school. You can feel the cool Autumn coming.
And October, with it's pumpkins, Halloween, squash, football games, and cross-country races. September though, is the transition between green leaves and multi-colored leaves. I used to hate September, now it's my favorite month. It's slightly melancholic and makes one feel nostalgic about things past. Every other month I'm consumed with the future. . .the distant future. . .always have been. Both 10 years from now and 10,000.
Have you ever read the complete archives of a perfect stranger's blog? It is enlightening and one feels as if one knows that person. It's like reading the journal of a Confederate soldier, except this person currently exists.
Come to think of it. . .every person ever born is still in existence. Some are experiencing life-as-we-know-it, some are what we call dead. Among the dead, you've got the ones who are experiencing a reality greater than us human people still encased in matter and clamoring to get out. The other dead people are merely existing. . .in torment. A torment not designed for humans to endure, but endure they must. It has to be this way too. I would like to say that I wish the situation were otherwise. Is there still hope for these people? That is a question I don't know the answer to.
But maybe I do and simply refuse to think that thought. Humans know alot more than they think they know. . .you know? We all know more than we let on, but are limited to how much we can think because. . .why? We think with our mind, not to be confused with the brain. (they're separate you know.)
And still. Still the spirit of a man knows much more than his mind. Intuitive types. That's who they are. The prophets, the seers, new mother's have a ridiculous intuition about their newborns that men can only wonder about. It comes from carrying around this person for nine months.
I went to the mid-west, Oklahoma, almost exactly two years ago. Few people there compared to the highly-populated East Coast. You can stand outside and tell that there is a lot less people there and has been alot less people there. I think that one reason why when one goes to a land that used to be populated by many many people, one knows it. Something still lingers there. What. . .I don't know. It could be the spirits of the dead people brooding around the place. Kathmandu is like that. People have been there for at least a thousand years and still when one walks the streets, the very air is thicker than North America. Truth be told, I know more than humans walk those streets.
In the mid-west, one knows that one is far from any large bodies of water. . .like the ocean. I cannot explain why, but it's not because I didn't see any seagulls soaring around Tulsa.
Something else I have seen under the sun. Look at the world. The areas that have worshipped God are prosperous and more technologically advanced than other places. Even the places that used to, but have grown cold, are better off than the non-God-worshipping places. Indonesia is riddled with Poverty. India is riddled with Poverty. The Dark Continent is dark, poor, and poverty-stricken as well.
Iraq and Iran are desolate. Look at Israel. There is a difference. America should take note lest it becomes a continent-sized Mad Max land mass. She really should. The beginnings of the birth pangs have started.
(Something I saw earlier and felt like sharing)
September is a quiet month, especially in the evenings. The hot August sun no longer beats down, the wind is calm, the air feels cleaner, the little ones are back in school. You can feel the cool Autumn coming.
And October, with it's pumpkins, Halloween, squash, football games, and cross-country races. September though, is the transition between green leaves and multi-colored leaves. I used to hate September, now it's my favorite month. It's slightly melancholic and makes one feel nostalgic about things past. Every other month I'm consumed with the future. . .the distant future. . .always have been. Both 10 years from now and 10,000.
Have you ever read the complete archives of a perfect stranger's blog? It is enlightening and one feels as if one knows that person. It's like reading the journal of a Confederate soldier, except this person currently exists.
Come to think of it. . .every person ever born is still in existence. Some are experiencing life-as-we-know-it, some are what we call dead. Among the dead, you've got the ones who are experiencing a reality greater than us human people still encased in matter and clamoring to get out. The other dead people are merely existing. . .in torment. A torment not designed for humans to endure, but endure they must. It has to be this way too. I would like to say that I wish the situation were otherwise. Is there still hope for these people? That is a question I don't know the answer to.
But maybe I do and simply refuse to think that thought. Humans know alot more than they think they know. . .you know? We all know more than we let on, but are limited to how much we can think because. . .why? We think with our mind, not to be confused with the brain. (they're separate you know.)
And still. Still the spirit of a man knows much more than his mind. Intuitive types. That's who they are. The prophets, the seers, new mother's have a ridiculous intuition about their newborns that men can only wonder about. It comes from carrying around this person for nine months.
I went to the mid-west, Oklahoma, almost exactly two years ago. Few people there compared to the highly-populated East Coast. You can stand outside and tell that there is a lot less people there and has been alot less people there. I think that one reason why when one goes to a land that used to be populated by many many people, one knows it. Something still lingers there. What. . .I don't know. It could be the spirits of the dead people brooding around the place. Kathmandu is like that. People have been there for at least a thousand years and still when one walks the streets, the very air is thicker than North America. Truth be told, I know more than humans walk those streets.
In the mid-west, one knows that one is far from any large bodies of water. . .like the ocean. I cannot explain why, but it's not because I didn't see any seagulls soaring around Tulsa.
Something else I have seen under the sun. Look at the world. The areas that have worshipped God are prosperous and more technologically advanced than other places. Even the places that used to, but have grown cold, are better off than the non-God-worshipping places. Indonesia is riddled with Poverty. India is riddled with Poverty. The Dark Continent is dark, poor, and poverty-stricken as well.
Iraq and Iran are desolate. Look at Israel. There is a difference. America should take note lest it becomes a continent-sized Mad Max land mass. She really should. The beginnings of the birth pangs have started.
15 September 2007
Update
It's official.
I updated this blog today. Now my life has a bit more meaning than it did, say, 5" ago.
Have you ever come to a point in your life where everything seems to have come to a screeching halt? You turn around to see what exactly you've been doing for the past 33 years and wonder if you should have taken that turn at Albuquerque.
That is me now. . .as of 5:03 PM. Here, today, in the beginning of the 7th millenium of the planet called Earth.
I updated this blog today. Now my life has a bit more meaning than it did, say, 5" ago.
Have you ever come to a point in your life where everything seems to have come to a screeching halt? You turn around to see what exactly you've been doing for the past 33 years and wonder if you should have taken that turn at Albuquerque.
That is me now. . .as of 5:03 PM. Here, today, in the beginning of the 7th millenium of the planet called Earth.
12 September 2007
Migraine
The good thing about Monday/Tuesday/and part of today's headachefest is I got caught up with much of my sleeping.
09 September 2007
Building a wedding cake
My sister built a wedding cake last Saturday. A very time-consuming process.
06 September 2007
Some pictures I took this past week-end while traveling to the great state of West Virginia.
The lawn mower my great white uncle blew up while trying to jump-start with a pick-up truck. (Don't do this)
Some fungis
Parents front deck
A cabin by a pond
Butterfly on a blue towel
05 September 2007
Last week's Lunar Eclipse
Outside the window, I could see the full moon peering down at me like an old man. As the night grew long, it traveled from the left side of the window to the right. So you can imagine my surprise when at 5AM, I walked outside and noticed half of it missing.
AWOL.
Since I don't use drugs and felt fine physically, I figured it was either a lunar eclipse or the Day of the Lord. I remembered on the DofL, the moon would be turned to blood or at least an ashy-red color, and seeing as how La Luna appeared greyish-purple, I did not worry.
I went to Wal-Mart to not celebrate the end of the world and pick up a few things: Aquafina, Pepto, pop-tarts, 4 small bottles of some energy drink processed in a New Jersey chemical factory, and then noticed the moon completely gone. Nobody else in the parking lot seemed to notice the disappearance of our nearest heavenly orb, which is rather telling about modern American Society.
We need to get out more. By out, I mean outside.
AWOL.
Since I don't use drugs and felt fine physically, I figured it was either a lunar eclipse or the Day of the Lord. I remembered on the DofL, the moon would be turned to blood or at least an ashy-red color, and seeing as how La Luna appeared greyish-purple, I did not worry.
I went to Wal-Mart to not celebrate the end of the world and pick up a few things: Aquafina, Pepto, pop-tarts, 4 small bottles of some energy drink processed in a New Jersey chemical factory, and then noticed the moon completely gone. Nobody else in the parking lot seemed to notice the disappearance of our nearest heavenly orb, which is rather telling about modern American Society.
We need to get out more. By out, I mean outside.
Black Wednesday
The unthinkable, I think, has just occurred.
When I was 25-years-old, I started writing a book. Most of the updated files were stored on a small, black, flash drive laying here beside me on this white table.
I think the flash left the drive and now body lays here, dormant, comatose, incapacitated, perhaps even dead.
This is not a good thing.
Not at all.
When I was 25-years-old, I started writing a book. Most of the updated files were stored on a small, black, flash drive laying here beside me on this white table.
I think the flash left the drive and now body lays here, dormant, comatose, incapacitated, perhaps even dead.
This is not a good thing.
Not at all.
04 September 2007
A new post
It's 3:31 AM.
I am awake.
I am updating this blog for the first time in a week.
More will come later.
I promise.
And there will be pictures.
I am awake.
I am updating this blog for the first time in a week.
More will come later.
I promise.
And there will be pictures.
27 August 2007
Monday, 27 August 2007 A.D.
Another day in the history of planet earth. What will happen today? Something significant to be sure. Will it go into the history books as a world-changing event? The Butterfly Effect says that the fluttering of a butterfly's wings in Indonesia can cause a hurricane in the Atlantic. Small changes affect everything. . .because everything is connected??? Perhaps. Everything on the planet is linked to everything else. For every effect there is a cause. Everything causes something else to happen, either directly or indirectly. . .which is how prayer must work.
This morning I ate two bologna sandwiches for breakfast and drove to a car dealership to see about a bumper they promised to fix for free as a condition for buying a truck.
I bought the truck to carry my stuff across the North American continent, but apparently that is not going to happen soon. I wish it would happen soon, but I think I know the voice of God, and the last time I moved across country (to Hawai'i) God told me not to do it. I felt the exact same tone of voice this time, only not as sharp and pointed. Now I have a hundred and fifty silver horses that need feeding.
What does one feed 150 horses? Modified corn and old plant remains, of course. What else?
It's going to be nice out today. I think I shall go running.
This morning I ate two bologna sandwiches for breakfast and drove to a car dealership to see about a bumper they promised to fix for free as a condition for buying a truck.
I bought the truck to carry my stuff across the North American continent, but apparently that is not going to happen soon. I wish it would happen soon, but I think I know the voice of God, and the last time I moved across country (to Hawai'i) God told me not to do it. I felt the exact same tone of voice this time, only not as sharp and pointed. Now I have a hundred and fifty silver horses that need feeding.
What does one feed 150 horses? Modified corn and old plant remains, of course. What else?
It's going to be nice out today. I think I shall go running.
24 August 2007
Washington State
I do not think I shall be going here as soon as I had planned. I simply don't feel quite right about this little journey I had planned in great detail. Something about it bothers me and I hate being confused and not knowing all the facts. Too many unknowns.
Some stuff about me:
I find it really difficult to not micromanage. I see other people at work, and when they leave, sometimes (I must admit) I re-do what they did because. . .you know, their results just don't look right.
When I have an opinion, and know I am right, only God himself can make me change my mind. And sometimes, He has to almost speak audibly to do so.
I find it terribly difficult to just help people, especially when others are more willing to step in. I either do not help, or do everything by myself. There is no in-between.
I detest incompetence and laziness with a passion bordering on fanatic. If I think somebody is one of these two things, I have been known to ignore them completely or step on their head.
Misspelled words irritate me to no end.
Some stuff about me:
I find it really difficult to not micromanage. I see other people at work, and when they leave, sometimes (I must admit) I re-do what they did because. . .you know, their results just don't look right.
When I have an opinion, and know I am right, only God himself can make me change my mind. And sometimes, He has to almost speak audibly to do so.
I find it terribly difficult to just help people, especially when others are more willing to step in. I either do not help, or do everything by myself. There is no in-between.
I detest incompetence and laziness with a passion bordering on fanatic. If I think somebody is one of these two things, I have been known to ignore them completely or step on their head.
Misspelled words irritate me to no end.
Memo
Dear You-know-who-you-are,
Do not use my weight bench as an ironing board. The vinyl seat was not designed for very hot temperatures. If you continue to do so, I will roast you over a pile of hot coals.
Thank you.
Me.
Do not use my weight bench as an ironing board. The vinyl seat was not designed for very hot temperatures. If you continue to do so, I will roast you over a pile of hot coals.
Thank you.
Me.
a non-rhyming poem-like word thing
Walking along the shore
Red sand beneath my toes
I shiver
That, my friends, is a Martian haiku
Red sand beneath my toes
I shiver
That, my friends, is a Martian haiku
22 August 2007
Trapped!
Trapped in Belbury.
This is how I feel right now. . .and no Jane either.
Some of you know what I mean.
Everything seems to be going great, until you meet the ghost of Whither.
The spirit of Whither that seems to follow you around and won't leave you alone. Try as hard as you might, you cannot escape. For how can one escape from a wandering spirit?
You simply go through Life on the path that lays before you, doing what you do, and then. . .everything comes crashing down. Or rather, slowly erodes.
Then one ceases being creative, melancholy sits in the seat where happiness used to dwelt, and Whither walks by. . .old man Whither. . .humming his dreadful tune. . .
Always humming.
After a time, everything becomes meaningless, like wind chasing. Nothing really matters, or so it seems. And one thinks that all one has done in Life was for nought.
Is it Depression?
Nope. It's a battle between the mind and the spirit.
This is how I feel right now. . .and no Jane either.
Some of you know what I mean.
Everything seems to be going great, until you meet the ghost of Whither.
The spirit of Whither that seems to follow you around and won't leave you alone. Try as hard as you might, you cannot escape. For how can one escape from a wandering spirit?
You simply go through Life on the path that lays before you, doing what you do, and then. . .everything comes crashing down. Or rather, slowly erodes.
Then one ceases being creative, melancholy sits in the seat where happiness used to dwelt, and Whither walks by. . .old man Whither. . .humming his dreadful tune. . .
Always humming.
After a time, everything becomes meaningless, like wind chasing. Nothing really matters, or so it seems. And one thinks that all one has done in Life was for nought.
Is it Depression?
Nope. It's a battle between the mind and the spirit.
17 August 2007
Elvis is dead
Live with it.
30 years ago, the king of rock and roll died while sitting on the toilet.
No lie.
I was 3-years-old at the time and remember nothing of it.
Actually, he died 30-years-ago today minus two, but who's counting.
30 years ago, the king of rock and roll died while sitting on the toilet.
No lie.
I was 3-years-old at the time and remember nothing of it.
Actually, he died 30-years-ago today minus two, but who's counting.
15 August 2007
Uncle Buck
Uncle Buck
Ever see the movie?
I have an Uncle Buck.
Tis true.
In my biological family, there is a man who is classified as an uncle in relation to me, and his name is Buck. Actually, he's my great-uncle Buck, but I still call him
Uncle Buck
Uncle Buck has long curly red hair and a pointy red beard.
Uncle Buck rides a Harley and smokes a pipe.
Uncle Buck always wears blue jeans.
Uncle Buck lives in the mid-west and can play a banjo.
Uncle Buck does not wear ties-he wears bolos.
Uncle Buck likes to bowl.
Uncle Buck
Ever see the movie?
I have an Uncle Buck.
Tis true.
In my biological family, there is a man who is classified as an uncle in relation to me, and his name is Buck. Actually, he's my great-uncle Buck, but I still call him
Uncle Buck
Uncle Buck has long curly red hair and a pointy red beard.
Uncle Buck rides a Harley and smokes a pipe.
Uncle Buck always wears blue jeans.
Uncle Buck lives in the mid-west and can play a banjo.
Uncle Buck does not wear ties-he wears bolos.
Uncle Buck likes to bowl.
Uncle Buck
A Light Paradigm Shift
Suppose that light, all the light in the universe, all the photons taken together simultaneously as a whole (this might be bad grammar, but hey, it's 3:30 AM), is really a single entity. And that when one measures the position of a photon, one is really measuring one aspect of light, when in reality, light has it's fuller existence in a higher plane of reality than ourselves. That is, light is in it's fuller form, in a higher dimension than us 3-dimensional humans. So when one measures the location of a photon, it is analogous to measuring one side of a crystal, when in fact, the crystal has many sides.
So, when you you perform your measurements using 3-D tools, from our perspective, what you measure is a 3-D aspect of light. This would explain all the mysteriousness of the famous double-slit experiments, and how every photon and electron seems to know the location of every other sub-atomic particle.
It's all the same creature. Make sense?
So, when you you perform your measurements using 3-D tools, from our perspective, what you measure is a 3-D aspect of light. This would explain all the mysteriousness of the famous double-slit experiments, and how every photon and electron seems to know the location of every other sub-atomic particle.
It's all the same creature. Make sense?
10 August 2007
09 August 2007
Farewell my friend
I'm selling my car.
If anyone wants to purchase the one and only turquoise chariot of Mr. Puddle E. Glum, he is willing to make a good price. . .$2,900 in U.S. dollars, or $10,000 Canadian dollars, and I will even consider pesos and Euros. Gold bars would also be nice, as would stock in Berkshire-Hathaway.
I washed it today in 107 degree weather.
It took awhile as the coin exchanger only accepted ones and fives and I had two tens. I went to the dollar store, not exactly dressed for public appearances as I was wearing a wrinkly white tee-shirt and had not shaved.
"But is not this how most dollar store shoppers look?"
Good point, and quite true, nevertheless I hate the unkempt grunge wispy look. Naturally, one cannot waltz into the dollar store without buying something, so I bought a half-gallon of Sunny Delight even though it has been known to change your skin colour from off-white to a semi-jaundice mustard.
I washed the car. It was clean. It was dry. Then it began to sprinkle. . .and thunder. . .and lightning. . .and then the passenger door opened as I was leaving the car wash. . .and then the open passenger door would not shut. . .seriously. . .The Sunny Delight was cursed, I am sure. . .so back to the car wash I go.
To spend the next 20 minutes fiddling with an extremely greasy metal clip that allows one to shut passenger doors. . .on a 107 degree August day on a busy road in the bad section of town with homeless people staring at the sweaty white guy clearly breaking the rules of car washes everywhere in this great land of ours that clearly state,
"No mechanical work of any kind on the car wash premises."
Fortunately, the only other human there was the owner of the car wash giving me sinister looks.
Pics forthcoming.
08 August 2007
100 Degrees Fahrenheit
Current temperature in Chesapeake, VA not including the above 90% humidity.
I am in the pre-packing stages of my trip across the face of the North American continent in one month's time. This is where you pile up all your belongings in stacks to see exactly how many boxes you need to haul them in. I lost count after 40 or so which means some of the stuff will have to stay here, be sold, or given away.
Except the National Geographics. Some of these puppies are 50-years-old, and who throws away NG magazines?
Nobody.
Is it the yellow border? The pictures of naked Botswani tribal women riding zebras? The stories about 16-year-old kids that tour the world alone on their private sailboat? The Polar adventurers? The maps?
Growing up, I decorated most of my bedroom walls with National Geographic maps.
I am in the pre-packing stages of my trip across the face of the North American continent in one month's time. This is where you pile up all your belongings in stacks to see exactly how many boxes you need to haul them in. I lost count after 40 or so which means some of the stuff will have to stay here, be sold, or given away.
Except the National Geographics. Some of these puppies are 50-years-old, and who throws away NG magazines?
Nobody.
Is it the yellow border? The pictures of naked Botswani tribal women riding zebras? The stories about 16-year-old kids that tour the world alone on their private sailboat? The Polar adventurers? The maps?
Growing up, I decorated most of my bedroom walls with National Geographic maps.
07 August 2007
I'll have two cows, cover em' with blankets, and mate em' with pigs
Definition: cheeseburgers
--from a Dean Koontz novel (I think it was Odd Thomas)
Another must read.
Nope. Haven't been blogging much lately. Summer you know. Most of the blogs I read are pretty sparse during the dog days of summer.
And why is this?
More stuff to do.
--from a Dean Koontz novel (I think it was Odd Thomas)
Another must read.
Nope. Haven't been blogging much lately. Summer you know. Most of the blogs I read are pretty sparse during the dog days of summer.
And why is this?
More stuff to do.
02 August 2007
31 July 2007
3:30 A.M.
That is the current time, or rather will be when I finish typing. On my lunch break now. . .what I consider a lunch break. I never eat lunch or any food on my midnight shift job. Merely, lots of water and energy drinks.
And now, a description: Running shoes, dark-green khaki pants, grey tee-shirt, light-blue lab coat (polyester), purple nitrile gloves, and sometimes safety glasses.
You won't find this motif in GQ or Cosmopolitan. You might find it in a biological supply magazine or National Geographic where they interview refugees from Yugoslavia. But it's midnight, in a chemistry lab, and few people know me. (I like the anonymity)
Life is not crazy, but will soon be. I feel it in my bones. The insanity started this morning when I felt the beginning of birth pangs of busyness. For now, I'm spending precisely every 7'35" inserting small nickel-cadmium crucibles into a 950 degree celsius furnace. Funness. I'll say that again. Fun-ness. Like Loch Ness, but without the monster.
And now, a description: Running shoes, dark-green khaki pants, grey tee-shirt, light-blue lab coat (polyester), purple nitrile gloves, and sometimes safety glasses.
You won't find this motif in GQ or Cosmopolitan. You might find it in a biological supply magazine or National Geographic where they interview refugees from Yugoslavia. But it's midnight, in a chemistry lab, and few people know me. (I like the anonymity)
Life is not crazy, but will soon be. I feel it in my bones. The insanity started this morning when I felt the beginning of birth pangs of busyness. For now, I'm spending precisely every 7'35" inserting small nickel-cadmium crucibles into a 950 degree celsius furnace. Funness. I'll say that again. Fun-ness. Like Loch Ness, but without the monster.
30 July 2007
Now
I have not slept in nearly 30 hours. I have a headache. I am starting to see things others don't. I hunger for food and sleep. I am starting to talk alot. . .a whole lot. It's what happens when I go for long stretches of time without sleep. I become talkative. I shall sleep now and read what I have written later. Who knows? It might be coherent.
Goodnight.
Goodnight.
28 July 2007
3
Number of samples I analyzed at work this morning: 3
Number of kidneys a co-worker has: 3
Number of miniature cinnamon rolls I ate today: 3
Number of bonuses I have received the past 3 years: 3
My age in years: 33
Cleaning some old boxes yesterday put me in a fit of melancholy. True, I have a melancholic personality, but this was an amplified melancholy. The goal was to throw away alot of stuff I really do not need. Things with a possible sentimental value, or rather, things that have the potential to jolt my memory banks when I am an old man living in Orlando sitting on a swing people-watching and alligator avoiding. (I should note that as I type these words, Austin Powers is playing on the TV and I have this annoying habit of looking at the screen which is quite distracting, especially when you're trying to type something for the masses.) So,so,so...perhaps I will write more later.
Number of kidneys a co-worker has: 3
Number of miniature cinnamon rolls I ate today: 3
Number of bonuses I have received the past 3 years: 3
My age in years: 33
Cleaning some old boxes yesterday put me in a fit of melancholy. True, I have a melancholic personality, but this was an amplified melancholy. The goal was to throw away alot of stuff I really do not need. Things with a possible sentimental value, or rather, things that have the potential to jolt my memory banks when I am an old man living in Orlando sitting on a swing people-watching and alligator avoiding. (I should note that as I type these words, Austin Powers is playing on the TV and I have this annoying habit of looking at the screen which is quite distracting, especially when you're trying to type something for the masses.) So,so,so...perhaps I will write more later.
21 July 2007
The 21st day of July, 2007 A.D.
While bathing today, it dawned on me that the lyrics to 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe fit quite nicely with the song 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door.'
Earlier this morning, President Bush gave presidential powers to Dick Cheney for 2 1/2 hours, which might possibly explain that cold spell I felt this morning at work.
I have a headache now from a combination of formaldehyde, turpentine, house paint, lack of sleep, burning sulfur fumes, and no caffeine. I must be in pretty good shape since the pain is only mild. A puppy in my state would have died hours ago.
I am buying a truck.
Seriously.
I have not shaved in 3 days.
I am wearing earth colored clothing.
I just ate fried potatoes and instant gravy.
And, I have been hacking and coughing alot.
And this is because?
It puts me in the truck buying spirit. Unlike, say, dog-fighting, as the Vick family down the road should know.
Soon, I will have narrowed my choices to 3 or 4 models.
And then. . .?
Then, I will lift some weights, cough and grunt, possibly put a toothpick in my mouth (if I can find one, and decide.
In running news: Nothing new under the sun. Jason is still trudging 4-6 miles every few days in his pre-marathon training. Allen Webb broke the American record for the mile two hours ago. Unofficially, he ran 3'46.9"
Earlier this morning, President Bush gave presidential powers to Dick Cheney for 2 1/2 hours, which might possibly explain that cold spell I felt this morning at work.
I have a headache now from a combination of formaldehyde, turpentine, house paint, lack of sleep, burning sulfur fumes, and no caffeine. I must be in pretty good shape since the pain is only mild. A puppy in my state would have died hours ago.
I am buying a truck.
Seriously.
I have not shaved in 3 days.
I am wearing earth colored clothing.
I just ate fried potatoes and instant gravy.
And, I have been hacking and coughing alot.
And this is because?
It puts me in the truck buying spirit. Unlike, say, dog-fighting, as the Vick family down the road should know.
Soon, I will have narrowed my choices to 3 or 4 models.
And then. . .?
Then, I will lift some weights, cough and grunt, possibly put a toothpick in my mouth (if I can find one, and decide.
In running news: Nothing new under the sun. Jason is still trudging 4-6 miles every few days in his pre-marathon training. Allen Webb broke the American record for the mile two hours ago. Unofficially, he ran 3'46.9"
14 July 2007
Once I took a speed-reading course. . .
Some Links
My sister's MySpace space
Don't know who this fellow is but he's cooler than the frozen guacamole in my freezer. The top link is my sister's MySpace space. I should note we have very little in common except last name, although our middle names are somewhat similar.
Don't know who this fellow is but he's cooler than the frozen guacamole in my freezer. The top link is my sister's MySpace space. I should note we have very little in common except last name, although our middle names are somewhat similar.
Bastille Eve Day
So, here I am and there you are on this sunny hot Saturday and you're reading these words looking for something inspiring, profound, humorous, or. . .I think I spelt humerous wrong. . .and believe me o Gentile Reader, unless you're Jewish, I am thinking, not very hard, but nevertheless thinking, about something to write about that will change the course of History and make Life more enjoyable for all literate persons.
13 July 2007
Late Night
It is, right now, a little bit after 3 AM on the East Coast of America and the company next door, an Alcoa plant that makes parts for Volvo, has erected a circus tent. And now, some of the employees are throwing balls at a short fat man who is sitting on a chair suspended over a tub of water. The short fat man is yelling insults at the jeering mob as they attempt to drown him.
This is happening right outside my window.
I had planned on a quiet night of paperwork, perhaps even a little writing, but no, the neighbors are restless.
This is happening right outside my window.
I had planned on a quiet night of paperwork, perhaps even a little writing, but no, the neighbors are restless.
07 July 2007
07-07-07
Don't get me wrong.
I try very hard to get along with a certain un-named co-worker. But I can't help but feel that God is preparing me to oversee an orphanage of little boys who spent their formative years being raised by wolves.
I have a cough. I didn't purchase it at Sears, I did not inherit it, I do not even claim it as my own. Still, I have a cough.
It is now 96 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and Jason has a cough.
I DO have cough drops. Tis true. A bag of lemon-honey cough-suppressing little gems to make me feel better and assuage the itching of my throat. I don't like coughs. I don't like hearing others cough and hack and try to expel phlegm from their esophagus. Their esophagus'. . .esophagii. . .what a strange word.
Congratulations to Alan Webb, native Virginia, who yesterday ran a 3'30" 1500m (a 3'47" equivalent to the mile) in Paris. This is the fastest time run by anyone this year, so far. The Tour de France begins today. An American has won this for the past eight years. Our best option cette annee is George Hincapie, another Texan.
Things I did today: make banana bread, cough, nap, work 4 hours, cough, eat pancakes and coffee, cough, eat cough drops, ponder the meaning of Life, cook spaghetti squash and make spaghetti sauce, deposit money into checking account, mindlessly check alot of web sites on my browser to see what all the other blogging perfect strangers are doing and cough while doing so, read, write. . .and perhaps this is not the most interesting post du jour in a while.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I needed to do that.
(Stress you know)
I try very hard to get along with a certain un-named co-worker. But I can't help but feel that God is preparing me to oversee an orphanage of little boys who spent their formative years being raised by wolves.
I have a cough. I didn't purchase it at Sears, I did not inherit it, I do not even claim it as my own. Still, I have a cough.
It is now 96 degrees Fahrenheit outside, and Jason has a cough.
I DO have cough drops. Tis true. A bag of lemon-honey cough-suppressing little gems to make me feel better and assuage the itching of my throat. I don't like coughs. I don't like hearing others cough and hack and try to expel phlegm from their esophagus. Their esophagus'. . .esophagii. . .what a strange word.
Congratulations to Alan Webb, native Virginia, who yesterday ran a 3'30" 1500m (a 3'47" equivalent to the mile) in Paris. This is the fastest time run by anyone this year, so far. The Tour de France begins today. An American has won this for the past eight years. Our best option cette annee is George Hincapie, another Texan.
Things I did today: make banana bread, cough, nap, work 4 hours, cough, eat pancakes and coffee, cough, eat cough drops, ponder the meaning of Life, cook spaghetti squash and make spaghetti sauce, deposit money into checking account, mindlessly check alot of web sites on my browser to see what all the other blogging perfect strangers are doing and cough while doing so, read, write. . .and perhaps this is not the most interesting post du jour in a while.
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I needed to do that.
(Stress you know)
03 July 2007
Today I. . .
did very little, so far. I ate, slept, drank, bathed, read, drove, breathed air, lifted some weights, surfed, and experienced a most strange dream in which Dr. James Dobson came to my parents house and called me crazy.
But hey, I updated this blog.
But hey, I updated this blog.
02 July 2007
My Application
Qualifications
• BS or MS in biosciences or related field
--I have a bachelor's degree in biology.
• A minimum of 1-3 years experience in a research setting
--got it
• Significant experience working with small animals
--I have spent many a time working with small vermin.
• Experience in cell cultures and cell- based assays highly desirable
--I have never been in a jail cell, so have little direct experience here. Assays? Yes, I think I do have some skill at writing assays.
• Experience with gel electrophoresis and immunoblotting a plus
I read my old college biology textbook. Does that count?
• Ability to work in a dynamic team environment
--My 1st job as a cook in a Mexican restaurant has prepared me quite well for employment in a dynamic team environment. As a matter of fact, it was so dynamic, half the time I didn't even know the people I was working with.
• Ability to work independently in a fast paced environment
--I am a stranger in a strange land. As a grade A introvert in a city, I fit this description to a tee.
• Strong communication, interpersonal, and organizational skills
--I communicate very well except when I have to talk, then my voice gets mysteriously scratchy. I have an amazing ability to organize anything. Finding where I put it is another thing altogether.
• Must demonstrate good computer skills
--I have a blog and spent way too much time reading letsrun.com and cnn.com.
• BS or MS in biosciences or related field
--I have a bachelor's degree in biology.
• A minimum of 1-3 years experience in a research setting
--got it
• Significant experience working with small animals
--I have spent many a time working with small vermin.
• Experience in cell cultures and cell- based assays highly desirable
--I have never been in a jail cell, so have little direct experience here. Assays? Yes, I think I do have some skill at writing assays.
• Experience with gel electrophoresis and immunoblotting a plus
I read my old college biology textbook. Does that count?
• Ability to work in a dynamic team environment
--My 1st job as a cook in a Mexican restaurant has prepared me quite well for employment in a dynamic team environment. As a matter of fact, it was so dynamic, half the time I didn't even know the people I was working with.
• Ability to work independently in a fast paced environment
--I am a stranger in a strange land. As a grade A introvert in a city, I fit this description to a tee.
• Strong communication, interpersonal, and organizational skills
--I communicate very well except when I have to talk, then my voice gets mysteriously scratchy. I have an amazing ability to organize anything. Finding where I put it is another thing altogether.
• Must demonstrate good computer skills
--I have a blog and spent way too much time reading letsrun.com and cnn.com.
Absentia
I should really post something profound later today. Last week was crazy. I like craziness, since Life is an adventure. But once you're in the midst of an adventure, sometimes it doesn't seem that way. It seems like adventures always happen at inopportune moments. Would it be an adventure if it was planned? Of course. You can plan adventures. I do it all the time. Spontaneity is good, as long as it is planned. . .and you've a syllabus. . .and lots of readily available cash.
I am looking to purchase a new vehicle to drive across the continent. Something that will be able to carry alot of stuff and isn't a mini-van. I dislike mini-vans. Mini-vans are like those big-boned girls with lots of inner beauty and gland problems that seem to be attracted to nerdy skinny guys with acne. Any suggestions?
I am fighting a headache now. Monday, you know. And there is a thousand things to do. But the sun is out and the weather is cool. And I just ate a hamburger for breakfast on a large pre-sliced bagel, which is cooler. And drinking iced tea, and typing nonsense as the trash man just drove by because I just feel like typing. . .not fast. . .just sort of slow-like. Slow like a cowboy loping slowly across the plains of West Texas looking for a li'l dogie to rope. Why cowboys rope li'l dogies is beyond me, but that's they're business. It's their job. Like mine is to blow up coal and coke samples to determine caking characteristics and trace mineral content. Part of me always wanted to be a cowboy, I just hated cowboy boots. Can one be a cowboy with hiking boots? I have a really nice pair of Asolo's I wore when hiking on volcanoes in Hawai'i. And yes, this is how you spell Hawai'i. Native Hawai'i people speak with no diphthongs. Every vowel is pronounced. So when somebody tells you to go to Waimanaeia street, take a left at aioeu blvd, and go 3 blocks downs ohia-lehuia-oamanipaoli ave. It takes a while. I just remembered there's a spaghetti squash in my refrigerator that needs cooked soon. And for that I need meat, as I already have the pasta sauce and spices, which means I will be going to Wal-Mart later. Always going to Wal-mart. It's a weekly ritual. And it is 5 minutes away. And open 24 hours. 7 days a week. This Saturday will be 07-07-07, and according to the black guy I worked with last night who looks like a Kenyan tribal chief but is really from Chicago and has a degree in chemistry, it will be a most popular day for weddings. Prolly a good luck thing. My dead grand-mother never believed in luck and always told me so. She also never called deviled eggs. . .deviled eggs. I asked her if I could call them bedeviled eggs and she made me cut a switch from one of the bushes in the backyard. She beat me with that switch. And it stung like I don't know what. My headache is a little bit less now. The tea is starting to perform it's magic but I'm still typing slow. I need coffee creamer.
I am looking to purchase a new vehicle to drive across the continent. Something that will be able to carry alot of stuff and isn't a mini-van. I dislike mini-vans. Mini-vans are like those big-boned girls with lots of inner beauty and gland problems that seem to be attracted to nerdy skinny guys with acne. Any suggestions?
I am fighting a headache now. Monday, you know. And there is a thousand things to do. But the sun is out and the weather is cool. And I just ate a hamburger for breakfast on a large pre-sliced bagel, which is cooler. And drinking iced tea, and typing nonsense as the trash man just drove by because I just feel like typing. . .not fast. . .just sort of slow-like. Slow like a cowboy loping slowly across the plains of West Texas looking for a li'l dogie to rope. Why cowboys rope li'l dogies is beyond me, but that's they're business. It's their job. Like mine is to blow up coal and coke samples to determine caking characteristics and trace mineral content. Part of me always wanted to be a cowboy, I just hated cowboy boots. Can one be a cowboy with hiking boots? I have a really nice pair of Asolo's I wore when hiking on volcanoes in Hawai'i. And yes, this is how you spell Hawai'i. Native Hawai'i people speak with no diphthongs. Every vowel is pronounced. So when somebody tells you to go to Waimanaeia street, take a left at aioeu blvd, and go 3 blocks downs ohia-lehuia-oamanipaoli ave. It takes a while. I just remembered there's a spaghetti squash in my refrigerator that needs cooked soon. And for that I need meat, as I already have the pasta sauce and spices, which means I will be going to Wal-Mart later. Always going to Wal-mart. It's a weekly ritual. And it is 5 minutes away. And open 24 hours. 7 days a week. This Saturday will be 07-07-07, and according to the black guy I worked with last night who looks like a Kenyan tribal chief but is really from Chicago and has a degree in chemistry, it will be a most popular day for weddings. Prolly a good luck thing. My dead grand-mother never believed in luck and always told me so. She also never called deviled eggs. . .deviled eggs. I asked her if I could call them bedeviled eggs and she made me cut a switch from one of the bushes in the backyard. She beat me with that switch. And it stung like I don't know what. My headache is a little bit less now. The tea is starting to perform it's magic but I'm still typing slow. I need coffee creamer.
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