I have to give a massive shout out to Sharpie for the phone call tonight. Z and I went over to his place and kicked it for a couple of hours. Zack was surprisingly well-behaved for the duration, considering he was in a strange house with only a couple of his matchbox cars to play with.
I haven't seen Sharpie for two years. We had a massive falling out over this nasty stank assed-- well never mind that.
The point being, that I miss Sharpie and we need to chill a little more often.
-namaste, bro.
30 May 2008
29 May 2008
Dave Mustaine Is The Coolest Cat
Read this story.
It's a feel-good story about a heavy metal icon whose always played second fiddle to a retard. Of course, that has nothing whatsoever to do with this story.
It's a feel-good story about a heavy metal icon whose always played second fiddle to a retard. Of course, that has nothing whatsoever to do with this story.
28 May 2008
Peacocks
As I was taking my lap around the track at the gym tonight, I happened to glance down at the 'free weights' area on the first floor and was shocked (well, not really) to see the saddest collection of goobers I had ever seen.
Most of the guys down there were working away and minding their own business, but there were a few that seemed to be sitting on the bench doing nothing. You've seen them. They sit there with a dumbbell in their hand and their elbow resting on their knee, forcing their arm to maintain that 'flexed' look. They sit there and look at themselves in the mirror, making repeated glances around to make sure they are being watched.
One guy, when he noticed no one gave a shit, started huffing away while he was lifting the weight and managed to catch the attention of a few guys. Then he proceeded to stop (after lifting the dumbbell only four times) and proceeded to maintain his pose for the other guys.
This is the kind of behavior I would expect from a peacock, if he had an arm to hold the dumbbell and enough of a brain to comprehend the truth about his phallus inferius.
Hasn't humanity evolved past this archaic caveman instinct? We've put people in space, defeated polio, and overcame the Ice Capades, and we still have idiot men strutting around demonstrating their prowess for the whole world to see? This is humanity at it's finest.
That was sarcasm.
Lot's of it.
Most of the guys down there were working away and minding their own business, but there were a few that seemed to be sitting on the bench doing nothing. You've seen them. They sit there with a dumbbell in their hand and their elbow resting on their knee, forcing their arm to maintain that 'flexed' look. They sit there and look at themselves in the mirror, making repeated glances around to make sure they are being watched.
One guy, when he noticed no one gave a shit, started huffing away while he was lifting the weight and managed to catch the attention of a few guys. Then he proceeded to stop (after lifting the dumbbell only four times) and proceeded to maintain his pose for the other guys.
This is the kind of behavior I would expect from a peacock, if he had an arm to hold the dumbbell and enough of a brain to comprehend the truth about his phallus inferius.
Hasn't humanity evolved past this archaic caveman instinct? We've put people in space, defeated polio, and overcame the Ice Capades, and we still have idiot men strutting around demonstrating their prowess for the whole world to see? This is humanity at it's finest.
That was sarcasm.
Lot's of it.
{no title}
If by a “liberal” they mean someone who looks ahead and not behind, someone who welcomes new ideas without rigid reactions, someone who cares about the welfare of the people — their health, their housing, their schools, their jobs, their civil rights and their civil liberties — someone who believes we can break through the stalemate and suspicions that grip us in our policies abroad, if that is what they mean by a “liberal,” then I’m proud to say I’m a “liberal.”
– President John F. Kennedy
– President John F. Kennedy
In Dreams
I had two very bizarre dreams last nights. One was good (really good, actually) and one was bad (really, really bad). When I say the bad dream was bad, it was nothing like The Me At The Podium or The Fisher King Dream, but it was unsettling to say the least.
In the good dream, I ended up dropping of some insignificant box or parcel or something to Knoxville (not Johnny, this is another code name) and she was having a bit of a get together. She asked me to stay, which I did, primarily because Z was with me, and he and Pokey are such good friends. Needless to say, they took off together to play, and left me there with Knoxville. She showed me around her place and introduced me to her friends, some of which I have met a couple of times. Next thing I know we were making out. And when I say making out, I mean making out, but it's not a euphemism for something more (Big Daddy, take note here). Then I find out that she's was hosting this party in someone else's house. We all had to get out in a rush because the owners of the house were on their way home.
And then we left. It was really bizarre.
The second dream, on the other hand, was a bit more morose.
Big Daddy was watching Z for me. I got this call (I don't know from whom) and was told they had been in a accident. After the obligatory vomiting, I raced (no pun intended, you'll find out why in a second) to the scene of the crash to find my Dad laying on the grass. He wasn't hurt, he was resting. There was a crowd of people around them and their car was totaled and Zack was sitting in the grass crying and calling for me. I ran up behind him and gave him a big hug, and everything was cool.
Until I watched the security camera footage (I don't know why there was any) of the accident. And this is where things get weird. Apparently, in the dream of course, Big Daddy thought it would be a good idea to take Zack to the race track. Which is fine, except they were in the race. Big Daddy was driving the race car, and Z, even though it isn't logistically possible, was standing up in the passenger seat and hanging out the sunroof. And, of course, coming into the final turn, the car rolled.
I had a friend in High School (Bill Gierke) who was killed in just this way. He was actually hanging out the passenger window, chasing the cheerleading squad after they had toilet-papered his house. But it's all the same. The cheerleader's were getting death threats for killing Bill and some of them either dropped out, or transferred to another school, or who knows. Maybe someone made good on those threats.
Anyway, after watching the security tape of Z and Big Daddy's accident, it became clear to me that this was all just a big, completely messed up dream. So I turned to Big Daddy and asked him why the hell did he pull me out of the dream with Knoxville, to make me watch this horrid travesty?
Dreams are very weird. I'm not really one of those people that believes that there are clear-cut messages in dreams. For instance, I don't believe that being chased by a Tiger in my dream means that I am afraid of the Stock Market crashing. Or being lost in the forest is a manifestation of my fear of being alone. It's all a bunch of hobokum.
Take note here, Big Daddy. I don't actually think that you would do something like this. Let's get that straight right now. Zack has never been harmed while under your care. The incident with Gay's truck and Z's eye notwithstanding. And that was actually Z's fault.
In fact, apart from said eye incident, all of Z's serious injuries have occurred while under his Mother's care.
Interesting...
In the good dream, I ended up dropping of some insignificant box or parcel or something to Knoxville (not Johnny, this is another code name) and she was having a bit of a get together. She asked me to stay, which I did, primarily because Z was with me, and he and Pokey are such good friends. Needless to say, they took off together to play, and left me there with Knoxville. She showed me around her place and introduced me to her friends, some of which I have met a couple of times. Next thing I know we were making out. And when I say making out, I mean making out, but it's not a euphemism for something more (Big Daddy, take note here). Then I find out that she's was hosting this party in someone else's house. We all had to get out in a rush because the owners of the house were on their way home.
And then we left. It was really bizarre.
The second dream, on the other hand, was a bit more morose.
Big Daddy was watching Z for me. I got this call (I don't know from whom) and was told they had been in a accident. After the obligatory vomiting, I raced (no pun intended, you'll find out why in a second) to the scene of the crash to find my Dad laying on the grass. He wasn't hurt, he was resting. There was a crowd of people around them and their car was totaled and Zack was sitting in the grass crying and calling for me. I ran up behind him and gave him a big hug, and everything was cool.
Until I watched the security camera footage (I don't know why there was any) of the accident. And this is where things get weird. Apparently, in the dream of course, Big Daddy thought it would be a good idea to take Zack to the race track. Which is fine, except they were in the race. Big Daddy was driving the race car, and Z, even though it isn't logistically possible, was standing up in the passenger seat and hanging out the sunroof. And, of course, coming into the final turn, the car rolled.
I had a friend in High School (Bill Gierke) who was killed in just this way. He was actually hanging out the passenger window, chasing the cheerleading squad after they had toilet-papered his house. But it's all the same. The cheerleader's were getting death threats for killing Bill and some of them either dropped out, or transferred to another school, or who knows. Maybe someone made good on those threats.
Anyway, after watching the security tape of Z and Big Daddy's accident, it became clear to me that this was all just a big, completely messed up dream. So I turned to Big Daddy and asked him why the hell did he pull me out of the dream with Knoxville, to make me watch this horrid travesty?
Dreams are very weird. I'm not really one of those people that believes that there are clear-cut messages in dreams. For instance, I don't believe that being chased by a Tiger in my dream means that I am afraid of the Stock Market crashing. Or being lost in the forest is a manifestation of my fear of being alone. It's all a bunch of hobokum.
Take note here, Big Daddy. I don't actually think that you would do something like this. Let's get that straight right now. Zack has never been harmed while under your care. The incident with Gay's truck and Z's eye notwithstanding. And that was actually Z's fault.
In fact, apart from said eye incident, all of Z's serious injuries have occurred while under his Mother's care.
Interesting...
Beware The Retards Up In Redmond
Here's an interesting video. It's a demo of the new multi-touch features being worked into the next version of Microsoft Windows simply code named Windows 7 (that's not even creative). iPhone users will immediately recognize pretty much all of this interactivity, having been using it for, what, a year and a half. And owners of the MacBook Air will recognize them as well, having been using the next level in the multi-touch interactivity for, what, the last year?
Of course, this first reared it's very sexy head on the MacBook Pro when they introduced the first, albeit limited, incarnation of the multi-touch concept, with the advent of the trackpad, which pretty much made the mousepad on laptops obsolete and clumsy. The PC world is still trying to play catch up on the that one.
What's sad about this is that when (actually if) Microsuck introduces this functionality into PC's most of the computing world will hail them (once again) as absolute, infallible genuises. Which is OK, if you ask me. I'd prefer Apple to stay the smallish computer company they are today.
At least Steve Ballmer gave props to Apple this time. Read it here.
I just wish that kid would have hit him with that egg.
Of course, this first reared it's very sexy head on the MacBook Pro when they introduced the first, albeit limited, incarnation of the multi-touch concept, with the advent of the trackpad, which pretty much made the mousepad on laptops obsolete and clumsy. The PC world is still trying to play catch up on the that one.
What's sad about this is that when (actually if) Microsuck introduces this functionality into PC's most of the computing world will hail them (once again) as absolute, infallible genuises. Which is OK, if you ask me. I'd prefer Apple to stay the smallish computer company they are today.
At least Steve Ballmer gave props to Apple this time. Read it here.
I just wish that kid would have hit him with that egg.
27 May 2008
A Rose By Any Other Name
Would Alice in Chains have been as successful and influential if they had kept the band name Diamond Lie?
26 May 2008
23 May 2008
Now Bruce's Stock Is Rising
Bruce's stock has always been pretty high in my book. Not only is he, quite possibly, the greatest classical vocalist in the whole of the heavy metal (I hate that term) spectrum, but he is also true to his own creative integrity. And you have to respect that.
I have nothing but the greatest amount of respect for Bruce Dickinson. Dig this video of him calling out some pot-smoking loser at the Iron Maiden show somewhere in the bowels of Texas this week.
WARNING- vulgarities abound.
I have nothing but the greatest amount of respect for Bruce Dickinson. Dig this video of him calling out some pot-smoking loser at the Iron Maiden show somewhere in the bowels of Texas this week.
WARNING- vulgarities abound.
22 May 2008
Things I Hate #1
You know what I hate probably more than anything else on my (rather short) list of things that I hate? People with bad breath that you can smell from across the room. If I walk into a room and smell that rancid, necrotic horror emanating from someone's gaping maw, it makes me want to vomit. In fact, it almost brings me to tears trying to hold the vomit down.
How can it be that I can get slapped in the face with someone's breath from 20 feet away, yet their nose is a mere 3/4 of an inch from the source, and they seem to not notice?
Is this an anomaly of nature? Is it one of those things your brain does to help itself cope? Like sending a person into shock to avoid reeling in pain? I know the human mind (well, most of them at least) is an immensely complex organ that is not fully understood by even our top scientists (if they would study things that really mattered, instead of cow farts, perhaps they would have unravelled it's mysteries), but is the mind so complex that it can turn off the sensory receptors in the nose, yet not intelligent enough to tell the person to go floss?
Because that's what causes it. Among a few other things. Flossing is such a simple thing to do, yet so many people can't seem to accomplish it. When I floss, I am nauseated by the necrosis that I yank from the crevices between my teeth. I can't imagine carrying that crap around all the time.
The whole phenomenon of non-flossing just boggles my mind. In fact, I'm about to vomit just thinking about it.
So that's enough. Plus I have to poop.
UPDATE- While pooping I came to the realization that how much I hate something can actually be measured thus:
f(x)=(V to the power of Q)/N
where:
N is the baseline measurement of gastrointestinal stability- generally 1 for males aged 14 and above, .68 for females aged 12 and above, .93 for males aged under 14, and .37 for females aged under 12.
V is the vomitory index value, which is a unique value for various nauseating and vomit-inducing elements. For example, steamed carrots are disgusting but edible, so their vomitory index value would be rather low, perhaps 15 or 16. Ipecac, on the other hand, is guaranteed to induce vomiting since it stimulates the vomiting center of the brain, and thus it would carry a vomitory index value of 100. Vomitory Index Value reference chart forthcoming.
Q is the nausea quotient, which is a measurement of the strength of the individual elements effects on the subject, based on a scale of 1-5.
Based on the above formula then,
F(x)=(94.5 to the power 4)/1
F(x)=(79749365.0625)/1
F(x)=79,749,365
That means that the measurement of my hatred for "bad breath that can be smelt from across the room" is equal to almost 80 million nauseation units.
Now if I only knew what the hell that meant...
How can it be that I can get slapped in the face with someone's breath from 20 feet away, yet their nose is a mere 3/4 of an inch from the source, and they seem to not notice?
Is this an anomaly of nature? Is it one of those things your brain does to help itself cope? Like sending a person into shock to avoid reeling in pain? I know the human mind (well, most of them at least) is an immensely complex organ that is not fully understood by even our top scientists (if they would study things that really mattered, instead of cow farts, perhaps they would have unravelled it's mysteries), but is the mind so complex that it can turn off the sensory receptors in the nose, yet not intelligent enough to tell the person to go floss?
Because that's what causes it. Among a few other things. Flossing is such a simple thing to do, yet so many people can't seem to accomplish it. When I floss, I am nauseated by the necrosis that I yank from the crevices between my teeth. I can't imagine carrying that crap around all the time.
The whole phenomenon of non-flossing just boggles my mind. In fact, I'm about to vomit just thinking about it.
So that's enough. Plus I have to poop.
UPDATE- While pooping I came to the realization that how much I hate something can actually be measured thus:
f(x)=(V to the power of Q)/N
where:
N is the baseline measurement of gastrointestinal stability- generally 1 for males aged 14 and above, .68 for females aged 12 and above, .93 for males aged under 14, and .37 for females aged under 12.
V is the vomitory index value, which is a unique value for various nauseating and vomit-inducing elements. For example, steamed carrots are disgusting but edible, so their vomitory index value would be rather low, perhaps 15 or 16. Ipecac, on the other hand, is guaranteed to induce vomiting since it stimulates the vomiting center of the brain, and thus it would carry a vomitory index value of 100. Vomitory Index Value reference chart forthcoming.
Q is the nausea quotient, which is a measurement of the strength of the individual elements effects on the subject, based on a scale of 1-5.
Based on the above formula then,
F(x)=(94.5 to the power 4)/1
F(x)=(79749365.0625)/1
F(x)=79,749,365
That means that the measurement of my hatred for "bad breath that can be smelt from across the room" is equal to almost 80 million nauseation units.
Now if I only knew what the hell that meant...
21 May 2008
Michelle Meldrum, R.I.P.
I happened to check the news over at Blabbermouth.net and saw that Michelle Meldrum died yesterday. What a shock. I saw Meldrum a few years ago when they opened for Black Label Society, and I thought they were really good. I bought their debut CD, but never got their second disc, since it didn't really receive a proper domestic release. They were working on their third album.
This is insanely sad. Her son is only three. What a shame.
No drugs. So don't even say it. Cerebral hemorrhage.
Read the story here.
UPDATE- After a secondary report that stated Micelle was still in a coma and had not been declared dead, Blabbermouth is now reporting that she did, in fact, pass away last night at 6 pm. A cystic growth at the base of her brain had restricted oxygen flow, rendering her brain dead. She was 39. This makes me very sad.
This is insanely sad. Her son is only three. What a shame.
No drugs. So don't even say it. Cerebral hemorrhage.
Read the story here.
UPDATE- After a secondary report that stated Micelle was still in a coma and had not been declared dead, Blabbermouth is now reporting that she did, in fact, pass away last night at 6 pm. A cystic growth at the base of her brain had restricted oxygen flow, rendering her brain dead. She was 39. This makes me very sad.
20 May 2008
The Wonderfulness of Monty Python
As I wrap up another enjoyable phase of Monty Python-watching, I want to mention what I believe to be, possibly, the funniest line in all of cinematic history. Monty Python made great movies. I'm afraid to call them films, since Captain Chaos insists there is a difference. But you'll have to ask him what it is, because I never got it.
Anyway, here goes:
"Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government."
There it is, in all it's wacky glory.
You know what? This whole scene is just pure brilliance. Just watch it, but pay attention to everything after the 2 minute mark.
Michael Palin is a genius. He has a knack for outrageous political satire.
If someone sees Gay, explain to him why this is funny. Men pretending to be women is apparently to much for his brain to handle.
Anyway, here goes:
"Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government."
There it is, in all it's wacky glory.
You know what? This whole scene is just pure brilliance. Just watch it, but pay attention to everything after the 2 minute mark.
Michael Palin is a genius. He has a knack for outrageous political satire.
If someone sees Gay, explain to him why this is funny. Men pretending to be women is apparently to much for his brain to handle.
Methos & Ethereos (Notes From The Road)
So an interesting thing happened to me the other day. I went with Gay to Whole Foods because he wanted to pick up some sausages. He ended up getting these 'insanely-great' lamb sausages. Very low fat. Which, I think might disqualify them from the sausage category. Someone check on that.
I ended up having an epiphany while we were there. I started thinking that I should shop there. Then I can eat chicken and beef (and even buffalo) and not feel guilty about the vile living conditions they are forced to endure in their short and sweet sacrifice to the awesomeness of Americana (that was loaded with sarcasm, but I'm not sure it came through in the text). So Whole Foods is my new grocery store. I was actually impressed to see the smorgasbord of seafood offerings. I'm not much of a seafood eater. Unless it's raw. And their ahi & salmon steaks looked so good I wanted to beat the butcher down and eat them right there. I guess it's a good thing the shoyu was no where to be found.
Also, I went back to Dr. Peterson for my quarterly checkup. Back in December, he challenged me to shed a few pounds and start working out. With my teaching schedule as hectic as it tends to be, it was rough getting into the swing of it, but Dr. Peterson was quite pleased with my latest checkup. Here's the results:
- My RNR index is up to .83, which itself is up from .67 back in December. So that is a remarkable improvement.
- My blood panel showed that my triglycerides are well on their way to being within normal, healthy levels. A few years ago, they were up over 700. My doctor at the time, said I should have been dead. Or close to dead, with a level like that. They are now under 300. I have a little work to do, but I've come along way. So someone congratulate me.
- I have dropped my weight down to 187 lbs. That is down from 227 lbs, back in December. I have also added 4.5 inches in mass (that means muscle) to my chest and 2 inches and 2.25 inches to my left and right arms, respectively. I'm not entirely sure how the right arm got more of a workout than the left. I have my suspicions, but I will not discuss them in this forum.
Dr. Peterson said I have made remarkable strides on my road to good health. He said I should start swimming, but I'm not really sure I want to do that. He has been right about everything he told me to do so far, so I should seriously consider it.
I have to admit, I was very skeptical about Dr. Peterson. He seemed very unreal. A friend of mine from El Duce (a very good friend of mine, actually) referred me to him. Lord Windesmere (that's his code name) says he has been under Dr. Peterson's guidance for a few years, though it is mostly maintenance work, now.
And speaking of Lord Windesmere, I want to send a massive shout out to him for coming to work at El Duce. It had become a very droll place. Not only do Windesmere and I share a very similar sense of humor, but it seems both our ex's were cut from the same nasty-ass mold. Plus he likes fart jokes.
Ok, this is starting to sound gay, so lets move on.
As we near hump-time for the year, I want to take a moment and reflect on my list of goals for the year, and my progress on said goals. Of the seven items on my list, not one of them has been accomplished, yet. But five of them are damn near close. Which is far better than the previous two lists, which combined, only had three items crossed off. In fact, many of the items on this years list started off on the list for 2006. And they just stayed there.
Anyway, that's enough of my waffle. I have to hit the gym at 6 am, so it's high time for bed.
-namaste.
ps- I can't wait for the new Cynic album. And the stalker is still reading my blog. I find that interesting. But not in a good way. Persistence won't pay off this time.
I ended up having an epiphany while we were there. I started thinking that I should shop there. Then I can eat chicken and beef (and even buffalo) and not feel guilty about the vile living conditions they are forced to endure in their short and sweet sacrifice to the awesomeness of Americana (that was loaded with sarcasm, but I'm not sure it came through in the text). So Whole Foods is my new grocery store. I was actually impressed to see the smorgasbord of seafood offerings. I'm not much of a seafood eater. Unless it's raw. And their ahi & salmon steaks looked so good I wanted to beat the butcher down and eat them right there. I guess it's a good thing the shoyu was no where to be found.
Also, I went back to Dr. Peterson for my quarterly checkup. Back in December, he challenged me to shed a few pounds and start working out. With my teaching schedule as hectic as it tends to be, it was rough getting into the swing of it, but Dr. Peterson was quite pleased with my latest checkup. Here's the results:
- My RNR index is up to .83, which itself is up from .67 back in December. So that is a remarkable improvement.
- My blood panel showed that my triglycerides are well on their way to being within normal, healthy levels. A few years ago, they were up over 700. My doctor at the time, said I should have been dead. Or close to dead, with a level like that. They are now under 300. I have a little work to do, but I've come along way. So someone congratulate me.
- I have dropped my weight down to 187 lbs. That is down from 227 lbs, back in December. I have also added 4.5 inches in mass (that means muscle) to my chest and 2 inches and 2.25 inches to my left and right arms, respectively. I'm not entirely sure how the right arm got more of a workout than the left. I have my suspicions, but I will not discuss them in this forum.
Dr. Peterson said I have made remarkable strides on my road to good health. He said I should start swimming, but I'm not really sure I want to do that. He has been right about everything he told me to do so far, so I should seriously consider it.
I have to admit, I was very skeptical about Dr. Peterson. He seemed very unreal. A friend of mine from El Duce (a very good friend of mine, actually) referred me to him. Lord Windesmere (that's his code name) says he has been under Dr. Peterson's guidance for a few years, though it is mostly maintenance work, now.
And speaking of Lord Windesmere, I want to send a massive shout out to him for coming to work at El Duce. It had become a very droll place. Not only do Windesmere and I share a very similar sense of humor, but it seems both our ex's were cut from the same nasty-ass mold. Plus he likes fart jokes.
Ok, this is starting to sound gay, so lets move on.
As we near hump-time for the year, I want to take a moment and reflect on my list of goals for the year, and my progress on said goals. Of the seven items on my list, not one of them has been accomplished, yet. But five of them are damn near close. Which is far better than the previous two lists, which combined, only had three items crossed off. In fact, many of the items on this years list started off on the list for 2006. And they just stayed there.
Anyway, that's enough of my waffle. I have to hit the gym at 6 am, so it's high time for bed.
-namaste.
ps- I can't wait for the new Cynic album. And the stalker is still reading my blog. I find that interesting. But not in a good way. Persistence won't pay off this time.
Headaches & Nightmares
So I've been laying awake in bed for the past hour. I woke up from one of those terrible nightmares, again (check here, here, and here). I had a lovely migraine, and was forced to listen to the sound of the woman upstairs having sex. Which was very inconsiderate of her, since she's not willing to share.
So now I am waiting for my narcs to kick in, so I can go back to sleep for what will end up being a half hour nap.
Which sucks.
So now I am waiting for my narcs to kick in, so I can go back to sleep for what will end up being a half hour nap.
Which sucks.
18 May 2008
And Now For Something Completely Messed Up
Today was a landmark day for Z and I. As it would be for any father and son who happened to share the experience we shared today.
Zack and I watched Monty Python's And Now For Something Completely Different today. Zack thought it was hilarious. He even laughed at the parts that I didn't understand. I had always thought it was due to the fact that I didn't fully understand British humor, but, alas, I am just too old.
Yes it was a great day for us. A milestone, if you will.
Next week, I'm thinking about introducing him to Porky's and Stripes.
Cause that won't screw him up.
16 May 2008
Well, This Is Retarded
I've never considered myself to be the hugest of Metallica fans. I saw this video over at Blabbermouth, and had to see it to believe it.
While there's no doubt they have talent, it just seems silly to me. It's almost like they watched Beavis and Butthead too much. You remember, don't you? When they used to 'sing' along to the guitar solos.
Don't got me wrong, I thought it was enjoyable. If only in a deranged Barnum & Bailey kind of way.
While there's no doubt they have talent, it just seems silly to me. It's almost like they watched Beavis and Butthead too much. You remember, don't you? When they used to 'sing' along to the guitar solos.
Don't got me wrong, I thought it was enjoyable. If only in a deranged Barnum & Bailey kind of way.
15 May 2008
If My Mac Was A Woman...
I have finally gotten my web gallery up. It's been on my list of things to to for about two years. Go check it out right here. I plan on adding a metric tonne of stuff, so check it out.
For those of you who are interested, I have (kind of as a test) included the pics I took at Dad's wedding. They aren't downloadable, but I can fix that if anyone wants.
Let me know what you think. And for those not savvy enough, I did this all on my Mac. Drag and drop.
Damn, I love Apple.
For those of you who are interested, I have (kind of as a test) included the pics I took at Dad's wedding. They aren't downloadable, but I can fix that if anyone wants.
Let me know what you think. And for those not savvy enough, I did this all on my Mac. Drag and drop.
Damn, I love Apple.
14 May 2008
13 May 2008
The Legend of the Return of the Great Blue Rapture
Two years ago, did you get that? Two years ago, I went out with this hot chick. We went out to dinner on the other side of the world from where I live. We had some nachos and wings and other super-good-for-you finger foods. I spilled root beer down the front of me. Needless to say, I was pretty mortified. I mean, there went any chance of making out with her (or so I thought).
After we sat forever and chit-chatted over cold nachos and chicken bones, the high school drop out who managed the joint asked that we relocate to the tables outside. I looked at my watch and saw it was three in the morning. Where the hell did the time go?
Instead of sitting outside, we walked back to her place. That's where my car was, and I needed it to get home. When we got there, she wanted to show me this awesome documentary she saw the week before. We ended up watching the whole thing. A whopping two hours, if I remember. At that point, it was too late to go home and go to sleep. I had to be to work at eight. And there was no leeway with that. I had to be on set, shooting for my soon-to-be-award-winning show at 8:15. So we did what any mature, grown up would want to do in that same situation.
We watched The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. And it was great.
So what is my point?
When I left her house at seven in the morning (there was no funny business, seriously), I forgot to take my shirt* with me.
So who cares?
The problem is that she was going to Paris for a month the following day, and I never heard from her again. Actually, truth be told, I never called her back, which is really weak on my part. A few weeks ago, she showed up in my DVD authoring class. I was surprised to say the least. Tonight, when she showed up for the final, she handed me a bag, and said, "Here's that thing I borrowed."
I opened the bag and saw the shirt* I had forgotten at her house, two years before.
And I thought to myself, "What a great thing. To be lost for so long, and to be returned in such an abrupt and surprising manner."
And then I thought, "I must share this lovely tale with the whole world."
And then I thought, "I can't do that. No one will believe me when I say there was no funny business. Surely there will be those among you that offer me a high five or a 'hell yeah' for the endeavor, but just as surely there are those among you who will think I am a liar."
It's unfortunate, to be sure, but it is surely the reality of the situation.
In the end, let me offer you this-
I didn't do anything that night I wouldn't have gladly told my Mother about. Wait, that doesn't really say much.
If you don't believe me then piss off. I'm just glad I got my shirt* back.
*- Please note that my normal style of dress generally includes jeans, a T-shirt, and a button up shirt over my T-shirt. Said style of dress also includes shoes, socks and underwear. Underwear optional.
After we sat forever and chit-chatted over cold nachos and chicken bones, the high school drop out who managed the joint asked that we relocate to the tables outside. I looked at my watch and saw it was three in the morning. Where the hell did the time go?
Instead of sitting outside, we walked back to her place. That's where my car was, and I needed it to get home. When we got there, she wanted to show me this awesome documentary she saw the week before. We ended up watching the whole thing. A whopping two hours, if I remember. At that point, it was too late to go home and go to sleep. I had to be to work at eight. And there was no leeway with that. I had to be on set, shooting for my soon-to-be-award-winning show at 8:15. So we did what any mature, grown up would want to do in that same situation.
We watched The Good, The Bad and The Ugly. And it was great.
So what is my point?
When I left her house at seven in the morning (there was no funny business, seriously), I forgot to take my shirt* with me.
So who cares?
The problem is that she was going to Paris for a month the following day, and I never heard from her again. Actually, truth be told, I never called her back, which is really weak on my part. A few weeks ago, she showed up in my DVD authoring class. I was surprised to say the least. Tonight, when she showed up for the final, she handed me a bag, and said, "Here's that thing I borrowed."
I opened the bag and saw the shirt* I had forgotten at her house, two years before.
And I thought to myself, "What a great thing. To be lost for so long, and to be returned in such an abrupt and surprising manner."
And then I thought, "I must share this lovely tale with the whole world."
And then I thought, "I can't do that. No one will believe me when I say there was no funny business. Surely there will be those among you that offer me a high five or a 'hell yeah' for the endeavor, but just as surely there are those among you who will think I am a liar."
It's unfortunate, to be sure, but it is surely the reality of the situation.
In the end, let me offer you this-
I didn't do anything that night I wouldn't have gladly told my Mother about. Wait, that doesn't really say much.
If you don't believe me then piss off. I'm just glad I got my shirt* back.
*- Please note that my normal style of dress generally includes jeans, a T-shirt, and a button up shirt over my T-shirt. Said style of dress also includes shoes, socks and underwear. Underwear optional.
Madonna's Stock Has Risen
But only marginally.
After this video loads, skip ahead to the six minute mark. Dig the riff she plays, right before she starts humping her horrifyingly pink amps.
Ten goofy goober dollars to the first person who can name that riff. And that includes the song, not just the artist.
I'll give you a hint. It might have been more appropriate if she was playing in Dallas at the time.
After this video loads, skip ahead to the six minute mark. Dig the riff she plays, right before she starts humping her horrifyingly pink amps.
Ten goofy goober dollars to the first person who can name that riff. And that includes the song, not just the artist.
I'll give you a hint. It might have been more appropriate if she was playing in Dallas at the time.
11 May 2008
Haggis, part 3
Have you ever pulled a muscle in your lower back trying to pass a haggis? It's not something you can readily admit to when you ask the doctor for muscle relaxers.
"Hey, Doc. I need some muscle relaxers for my back."
"How'd you injure your back?"
"Trying to poop."
"No seriously."
I would be afraid to initiate the dialogue. I would probably be more prone to deal with the pain, than try to finagle the meds out of the doctor.
Because of this, I couldn't sleep at all last night. I tossed and turned, and every time I did so, I awoke in writhing pain. Eventually, I fell asleep, but then I was up a 2. Then again at 6.
It was horrifying. Thankfully, my back feels a lot better tonight.
But now I have jalapeño hole. Could these two things be related?
"Hey, Doc. I need some muscle relaxers for my back."
"How'd you injure your back?"
"Trying to poop."
"No seriously."
I would be afraid to initiate the dialogue. I would probably be more prone to deal with the pain, than try to finagle the meds out of the doctor.
Because of this, I couldn't sleep at all last night. I tossed and turned, and every time I did so, I awoke in writhing pain. Eventually, I fell asleep, but then I was up a 2. Then again at 6.
It was horrifying. Thankfully, my back feels a lot better tonight.
But now I have jalapeño hole. Could these two things be related?
10 May 2008
Eulogies
Speaking of eulogies, I have to admit something. The night before Mom's funeral, I watched this video on YouTube. It gave me a great deal of inspiration. Believe it or not, I don't know that I would have had the strength to do it if it wasn't for John Cleese.
In order to fully understand, I have included the famous Parrot Sketch as well. Those who were at Mom's funeral will understand.
Everyone should log this little tidbit away for future reference: When I have gone to meet the head of light entertainment in the sky, I want a funeral like Graham Chapman had. The greatest demonstration of love and respect for the deceased, is to laugh at their expense.
Please, don't forget that.
In order to fully understand, I have included the famous Parrot Sketch as well. Those who were at Mom's funeral will understand.
Everyone should log this little tidbit away for future reference: When I have gone to meet the head of light entertainment in the sky, I want a funeral like Graham Chapman had. The greatest demonstration of love and respect for the deceased, is to laugh at their expense.
Please, don't forget that.
On Mother's Day
So I'm not all that excited about Mother's Day, anymore. Since Mom died, Mother's Day has been more like a black cloud looming on my horizon. So that sucks.
Apart from that, I don't get to celebrate it at all. Meaning that I don't get to wake up ass-early and slave away in the kitchen with the intention of delivering a sordid, overcooked excuse for breakfast in bed. Of course, I doubt that I could really screw up breakfast at all. I've always spent more time in the kitchen than any woman that's been in my life. So breakfast in bed would be simple.
But that's something I don't have the opportunity to experience. The pseudo-misogynistic side of my brain is thankful for that, because I tend to lean towards the philosophy that women are more trouble than they're worth. At least that is my experience.
The rest of my brain stews over the fact that I still long for that ideal family environment. You know the one. The house. The kids. The dog. The naked wife. Mowing the lawn on Saturday. Pool parties and BBQ's. All my goals in life were supposed to lead me to that. But we all know how that turned out.
So now I am left with this-
I am unflinchingly loyal to my own identity. I refuse to change to appease someone else. This, of course, is a philosophy I adopted after experiencing things the hard way. Kind of like the reformed crack addict who throws his pipe off a bridge after he wakes up in bed next to a horridly fat man with a back full of pimples, following a pretty rough bender.
That's who I am. Except I've never put a pipe to my lips. But all the same, I refuse to change myself so that some low IQ genetic throw-away will think I am the shiznit. The problem that creates is that most women are attracted to douchebags; a group of poop-losers that I unequivocally don't belong to.
And therein lies my problem. In insisting on being myself, I manage to drive away most people. But I don't care. I still have Zack and that's all that matters. Unless of course, his Mother, at some point, follows thru with her threats to take him away from me.
But I digress...
Mother's Day depresses me. For all the above noted reasons. But in light of this wonderful occasion, I present my annual posting of a video I made for school. There's some bugs in it, so deal with them.
And to all the Mother's who happen to read this, have a happy one.
Apart from that, I don't get to celebrate it at all. Meaning that I don't get to wake up ass-early and slave away in the kitchen with the intention of delivering a sordid, overcooked excuse for breakfast in bed. Of course, I doubt that I could really screw up breakfast at all. I've always spent more time in the kitchen than any woman that's been in my life. So breakfast in bed would be simple.
But that's something I don't have the opportunity to experience. The pseudo-misogynistic side of my brain is thankful for that, because I tend to lean towards the philosophy that women are more trouble than they're worth. At least that is my experience.
The rest of my brain stews over the fact that I still long for that ideal family environment. You know the one. The house. The kids. The dog. The naked wife. Mowing the lawn on Saturday. Pool parties and BBQ's. All my goals in life were supposed to lead me to that. But we all know how that turned out.
So now I am left with this-
I am unflinchingly loyal to my own identity. I refuse to change to appease someone else. This, of course, is a philosophy I adopted after experiencing things the hard way. Kind of like the reformed crack addict who throws his pipe off a bridge after he wakes up in bed next to a horridly fat man with a back full of pimples, following a pretty rough bender.
That's who I am. Except I've never put a pipe to my lips. But all the same, I refuse to change myself so that some low IQ genetic throw-away will think I am the shiznit. The problem that creates is that most women are attracted to douchebags; a group of poop-losers that I unequivocally don't belong to.
And therein lies my problem. In insisting on being myself, I manage to drive away most people. But I don't care. I still have Zack and that's all that matters. Unless of course, his Mother, at some point, follows thru with her threats to take him away from me.
But I digress...
Mother's Day depresses me. For all the above noted reasons. But in light of this wonderful occasion, I present my annual posting of a video I made for school. There's some bugs in it, so deal with them.
And to all the Mother's who happen to read this, have a happy one.
09 May 2008
Don't Call It A Comeback
Can someone explain this to me? This is, supposedly, the 'teaser video' for the new Slipknot album. It kind of creeped me out. I know it's shot in Iowa, so don't try telling me the obvious.
Maybe I just don't get it.
Maybe I just don't get it.
08 May 2008
Big Daddy's Secret Stash
So I borrowed Dad's camera today. Captain Chaos took his zoom lens back, so I didn't have any glass that I was comfortable shooting through, so I borrowed the old man's Canon. I took some pictures for my TV show, and when I proceeded to transfer them to my wonderful Mac, I found a whole slew of sweet pics from back in October.
Mooch and the Fam were down here and we made Mom's (authentic) Chicago-Style Deep Dish Pizza. I hadn't even realized that Dad was taking pictures the whole time, but he got some sweet ones. Take a look.
And a note to the Hot Dog Queen- This is how we roll in Chi-Town. And you can help me this summer, if you ask really nice.
Mooch and the Fam were down here and we made Mom's (authentic) Chicago-Style Deep Dish Pizza. I hadn't even realized that Dad was taking pictures the whole time, but he got some sweet ones. Take a look.
And a note to the Hot Dog Queen- This is how we roll in Chi-Town. And you can help me this summer, if you ask really nice.
I let Mooch put the cheese on so she felt like she contributed. She really didn't help that much, though. In the end, she did the right thing by remembering her place and knocking out the dirty dishes all on her own. She made us all so proud.
Here's the results:
The astute among you will have already noticed that the pan this monster resides in is three inches deep. Underneath that blanket of tomato gravy is sixteen pounds of Italian sausage and nine blocks of real mozzarella cheese. Hidden in there as well are twelve onions, fourteen bell peppers and a ton of mushrooms. And it's all topped of with some parmesan, basil and fennel. Then it's baked under the snout of a fire-breathing dragon. The entire endeavor takes about eight hours start to finish.
This thing is so huge you have to eat it with a pitch fork and shovel with a crew of seven midgets acting as spotters. Mind those midgets, though. They have a real funky center of gravity and they can go down easy.
Since making Mom's pie is such a massive undertaking, we tend to save it for special occasions. In the in-between's, I tend to make this dainty little pie, also entirely from scratch. Think of it as a wussified, Nigelized, New York bastardization of Mom's recipe. Nowhere near as deep, but still chock full of the good stuff, though most of the ingredients are kept out of the tomato gravy. That and the lack of depth are the key differences. This pie takes about two hours to create. Five hours if I let the dough rise properly. I usually get too impatient.
So there you have it. A little trip down memory lane for me, and perhaps for some of you. I would be remiss if I didn't clarify something really quick. With the clear exception of time, all the above measurements might be a little off. And Mooch did more than put the cheese on. In fact she didn't even do the dishes. Gay did.
The Cheeseburger Waltz
Who wants to touch my butt,
In the middle of the afternoon?
I have ketchup and mustard and ranch dressing
And pickle spears.
I put on my-flame retardant chemical vest
And don my accoutrements.
And dance
And dance
And dance.
In the middle of the afternoon?
I have ketchup and mustard and ranch dressing
And pickle spears.
I put on my-flame retardant chemical vest
And don my accoutrements.
And dance
And dance
And dance.
06 May 2008
I Love The British
I love the British. Someday, I'm gonna move to England. Then I can talk British, can walk British, and eat British food.
Actually, forget about the food, but I do want to live in England, someday.
Actually, forget about the food, but I do want to live in England, someday.
05 May 2008
Snickership 3
I have totally lost faith in Metallica as a real band. They started experimenting with Load, but they completely went off the deep end with St. Anger. I am retaining a very fragile sliver of hope that their next album (due in September) will actually be good. They have a monster on the bass now. Not that Jason wasn't good. He was real good, but Rob Trujillo is one of the best in the heavy end of the musical spectrum. And I am hoping that he has lit a fire under their respective arses.
Here's some brand new rehearsal footage of some vintage 'Tallica. Pay attention to three things:
1- Watch Rob tear up the bass.
2- Notice how much fun he is having.
3- Kirk's forehead is getting bigger.
Of course, Rob's a millionaire, now. That's a long way from playing clubs and bars with Suicidal Tendencies. I think Rob Trujillo is a lot better than people give him credit for. I just hope joining Metallica doesn't turn out to be a mistake.
Here's some brand new rehearsal footage of some vintage 'Tallica. Pay attention to three things:
1- Watch Rob tear up the bass.
2- Notice how much fun he is having.
3- Kirk's forehead is getting bigger.
Of course, Rob's a millionaire, now. That's a long way from playing clubs and bars with Suicidal Tendencies. I think Rob Trujillo is a lot better than people give him credit for. I just hope joining Metallica doesn't turn out to be a mistake.
04 May 2008
I Hate PETA And I Want Them All To Die
Read this.
Then explain to me how PETA can justify laying such claims against the owners and trainers of Eight Belles.
Now don't get me wrong. I don't agree with horse racing in the first place. I think that if breaking a leg or an ankle is an occupational hazard, then the horses shouldn't be racing. Clearly they aren't built, physically, for the strain of the activity. And furthermore, why, with all the advancements in science, technology and medicine, is there not a better way to help the horse, than just putting a bullet in her head.
That's where the bullshit is.
If I were to put my son down when he broke his leg, he surely wouldn't make it to ten. It's bound to happen. Hell, I wouldn't have made it to sixteen.
PETA are a bunch of self-righteous lunatics that need to be put down themselves. Along with the environmentalists who push their hippy propaganda on everyone else.
I can be kind to animals, and be a good steward of the environment, while eating a burger in my car. And it doesn't make me a bad person.
And people who don't eat meat because it's unkind to animals are retards. Eating meat is the natural thing to do. Actually, eating raw meat is the natural thing to do. You don't see a cheetah or a tiger gnawing on a tree trunk do you? Or rubbing a couple of sticks together to get the fire pit going?
"Hurry up with that fire, Charlie, we're hungry!"
"You want to come do this Bill? I don't have thumbs! It's kind of a pain in the ass!"
"But we're hungry."
"Dinner will be ready when it's ready!"
No you don't see that, because if they had to do that to eat, they would have fallen off the evolutionary ladder millions of years ago.
I know there are some things in the cattle and chicken farm industries that need to be fixed, and I admit those things are really messed up, but people could voice their protest by not buying. I hate Wal-Mart, so I refuse to shop there. Ever. It's that simple. I also don't buy milk from cows raised with hormones. I think it's cruel and needs to stop, so I give my money to people who don't do that.
I also buy free-range chicken.
But, seriously, calling for the suspension of a jockey because some shithead on the other side of the country is convinced the horse was injured before the race? Or that she was doubtlessly whipped?
If I was delusional enough to be a member of PETA, this type of ignorant pontificating would be enough for me to cancel my membership.
For now, though, I'm going for sushi. And I'm going to drive there.
-namaste
Then explain to me how PETA can justify laying such claims against the owners and trainers of Eight Belles.
Now don't get me wrong. I don't agree with horse racing in the first place. I think that if breaking a leg or an ankle is an occupational hazard, then the horses shouldn't be racing. Clearly they aren't built, physically, for the strain of the activity. And furthermore, why, with all the advancements in science, technology and medicine, is there not a better way to help the horse, than just putting a bullet in her head.
That's where the bullshit is.
If I were to put my son down when he broke his leg, he surely wouldn't make it to ten. It's bound to happen. Hell, I wouldn't have made it to sixteen.
PETA are a bunch of self-righteous lunatics that need to be put down themselves. Along with the environmentalists who push their hippy propaganda on everyone else.
I can be kind to animals, and be a good steward of the environment, while eating a burger in my car. And it doesn't make me a bad person.
And people who don't eat meat because it's unkind to animals are retards. Eating meat is the natural thing to do. Actually, eating raw meat is the natural thing to do. You don't see a cheetah or a tiger gnawing on a tree trunk do you? Or rubbing a couple of sticks together to get the fire pit going?
"Hurry up with that fire, Charlie, we're hungry!"
"You want to come do this Bill? I don't have thumbs! It's kind of a pain in the ass!"
"But we're hungry."
"Dinner will be ready when it's ready!"
No you don't see that, because if they had to do that to eat, they would have fallen off the evolutionary ladder millions of years ago.
I know there are some things in the cattle and chicken farm industries that need to be fixed, and I admit those things are really messed up, but people could voice their protest by not buying. I hate Wal-Mart, so I refuse to shop there. Ever. It's that simple. I also don't buy milk from cows raised with hormones. I think it's cruel and needs to stop, so I give my money to people who don't do that.
I also buy free-range chicken.
But, seriously, calling for the suspension of a jockey because some shithead on the other side of the country is convinced the horse was injured before the race? Or that she was doubtlessly whipped?
If I was delusional enough to be a member of PETA, this type of ignorant pontificating would be enough for me to cancel my membership.
For now, though, I'm going for sushi. And I'm going to drive there.
-namaste
02 May 2008
Gonzo, part 3
Z might be losing his drums. He has been nothing but mean and rude to me since I brought them home. I don't think he deserves them.
Maybe he can buy them for himself when he gets older.
What a waste of money.
Maybe he can buy them for himself when he gets older.
What a waste of money.
01 May 2008
Here's Something Really Geeky
May 2, 2008 is the tenth anniversary of the death of Voldemort. Not the initial fake death that occurred when young Harry Potter was only a baby. This is the real death that occurred at the end of Deathly Hallows.
I know that because I am a geek.
I know that because I am a geek.
A Few Words From James LaBrie
In a recent interview, James LaBrie (he's the vocalist in Dream Theater) said this regarding their song, Prophets of War, which is a damning indictment of the disaster in Iraq:
"That song is about the frustration with the powers that be for having their ulterior motives create such a horrific, no-win situation. Basically the message there is that we really have to start questioning our politicians — no matter who they are, where they are, and what they're saying — because it is our right. I think people have forgotten that the power is in our hands, and that if there's enough voices behind it, we will see things change rapidly."
With our society sitting on the verge of great change, be it positive growth or recession, LaBrie's words struck me as being very poignant. Very direct and to the point. We can affect great change, if only we would take the initiative.
"That song is about the frustration with the powers that be for having their ulterior motives create such a horrific, no-win situation. Basically the message there is that we really have to start questioning our politicians — no matter who they are, where they are, and what they're saying — because it is our right. I think people have forgotten that the power is in our hands, and that if there's enough voices behind it, we will see things change rapidly."
With our society sitting on the verge of great change, be it positive growth or recession, LaBrie's words struck me as being very poignant. Very direct and to the point. We can affect great change, if only we would take the initiative.
Pickles
Zack is at his Mother's house three days a week, and this week he called me all three days.
Just to see how I was doing.
I think my son might be perfect.
Just to see how I was doing.
I think my son might be perfect.
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