So Much For Xbox

Not much to say today. No fancy writing styles either. Maybe five words per sentence. It's going to prove difficult. Got 5 books from library. It was an amazing sight. The public library here rocks. Here are the books checked-out:

• Best American Essays of Century
• The Best Creative Nonfiction 1
• The Best Creative Nonfiction 2
• Freakonomics: Rogue Economist Explores Sides
• 19 Tales Inspired by Poe

Of course names slightly changed. Three weeks to read them. Wish me luck; comments welcome.

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Likely Story, Zatarra

There was once this man. He told a lot of stories. He was called Zatarra. Not because of the stories he would tell, but because it was just a good name for one who tells a lot of stories.

And tell stories he did. One time he told me that his frog-lady teacher bit his arm. Yeah right, I would say. But then he would pull out his cellular telephone and, faster than a Knight of Nee shuns the words the Knights of Nee cannot hear, would call a buddy via his cellular network just to prove that he wasn't making things up. What ever you say, friend of Zatarra.

But this doesn't change anything. I make things up too. For example, I told Zatarra the day we met that I was a tattoo-wearing, first class A-hat. He believed me, too. I highly doubt that Zatarra's opinion of me has changed much. He knows I don't wear a tattoo, but for the imaginary teardrop I have tattooed under my right eye-ball. This is because of Zatarra's warped illusion of me in skinny jeans, cutting myself like emo kids are wont to do.

Another example of how I make things up is the preceding paragraph in its entirety. I don't have an under-eyeball, teardrop tattoo. And I don't cut myself. Dream on, Zatarra.

This is getting quite strange. But I do things like this to aggravate those around me. Most people just scan this blog anyway, looking for something interesting yet leaving unsatisfied. Like Zatarra. He scans this blog.

Well just for him and for people that scan blogs looking mindlessly for something interesting: SOMETHING INTERESTING. I'm not making this up: this something interesting is Zatarra. Do mind the photos, beloved: they were all taken under low-light conditions and in no way reflect Nemo's, Kristin's, or my own photography skills. They do, however, reflect my photo-editing skills. So if you have a problem, or a suggestion, or, and please bless, a compliment, leave it in the comments section. Alas, before you complain too much, you try to edit blurry, shaky, low-light condition photos. That's what I thought. I also want to see you try to use 3 :'s appropriately in the same paragraph. Enjoy.

Here is Zatarra and myself on a roller coaster. Some of the data is missing. Enhance!

Here is Zatarra and myself in negative form. If on a god-sent computer, please press control + option + command (open apple) + 8 and you will see how we really appear, plus learn a cool trick that you can do at parties to impress your friends, if you have any.

Here is Zatarra eating a jar of maraschino cherries. Oh how he hates them. Photos per Kristin Brown.

Here is a great B&W of Zatarra. I thought he'd appreciate this one.

Here are a few that Zatarra has been requesting for a million years. At least. Zatarra was nice enough to go to an All Hallow's Eve bash with me last year hosted by a girl I crushed on for about 6 years. Although Zatarra would be utterly disappointed in me disclosing this information, I say it doesn't matter now that I'm on the other side of the country. Zatarra was a Ghillie-suit master. I was Sean Connery from Celebrity Jeopardy, but for the steps in my hair.

Here is Zatarra with Nemo (middle) and Nuts (right) in Yellowstone. Try saying that 100 times slowly. I had you do that to waste a moment of your time.

If you want your own copy of these photos, click here.

Codeword: zatarra.

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This Day

I'm having a hard time with the beginning of this post. That probably means that I'll have a hard time ending this post as well. So here's the deal. I'll throw out some seemingly random thoughts in a seemingly random order and you get to decipher it. It will be like your very own (or mine) choose your own adventure blog. How 'bout it? You game? I don't care if you are or not.

• I went to the corn field again today. Wait! I have a picture! (Too lazy to upload it now)
• My brain didn't want to process anything, let alone the information thrown at it from light reflecting into my eyes off of any solid object.
• As Shane always says, I'd rather [] have a live cat sewn into my abdomen than [get up and live today]. I modified that quote.
• And now I'm much happier and happily and actively engaging in CML.
• I walked into the office building and was disgusted. Two carved-out-of-hedge animals were staring at me with a look that says this day is going to be hell.
• It was muddy, but this time I went prepared. I was equipped with rubber snow boots, skinny jeans, flannel and an old hoodie 10X my size that says Utah State. I can't believe I used to fit into this thing!
• Ate leftover Leon's Amazing eSpaghettis for lunch, very pleased with myself and my master-chef-ness.
• My interpretation of the animals' glare was confirmed as I walked in to the main section of the building and observed disgustedly that the place had been decorated. Ribbons on the fire alarms. Little red globes hanging from the ceiling. Ribbons strewn carelessly everywhere I walked. Red. Green. White. Trees. Reindeer. Santa. Wait, Santa? Reindeer? Nope, just my imagination. But there was Christmas musicks playing. What's wrong with this world? Furthermore (and yes, I use "furthermore" in my inner-monologue) what's wrong with my spelling? Musicks?
• I woke up.
• I still got mud on my jeans. And I was still cold. And I got to bring home an ear of corn that was overlooked by the 9' header.
• I thought I was going to be late, but as I went to make a sandwich, I realized I had leftover Leon's Amazing eSpaghettis. I also love that that word is not recognized as spelled incorrectly, but musicks is.
• Something Shane said on fb made me laugh. He directed me inadvertently here from whence I came upon here, typed in the special code you can only know if you remember it from childhood, and watched with joy, laughing deeply inwardly and loudly outwardly. Then I went here. That blog is always cheerful and today's post, along with the clever title, made my day and gave me a strange desire to start my annual Christmas-Musicks-Listening (CML). Thanks, author who I don't even know. :)

There. I think I compiled all the bits and pieces. If not, ask me. If we're good enough friends, I'll fill in any missing detail(s). As for me, I'm going to make some caramel apple cider, my own recipe. It'll warm your soul. That's a promise. Unless you are allergic to apples or caramel or cream or all three. Or if you're a soulless zombie.

Comments welcome.

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You Know Much That Is Hidden, O Tim.

Wow, it's late. This is what happens when I get bored: I made a video. And videos take a long time to make. Because you have to piece it all together. This was all because I was reciting lines to Monty Python and the Holy Grail because I found the entire script on the great and spacious interweb. I stumbled upon the script accidentally (but with purpose!) as I was just looking for a few lines. I was thus looking for a few lines from the movie because I was recording a conversation between 2 new zealanders and a frenchman (no, I will not post that - simply because I just don't trust you) in GarageBand. This was sparked when I was recording Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby by the Islands and after each track, I made a few comments which sounded like a conversation between 3 people. I think I was recording that song because I was sitting there bored and really wanted to demand someone not to call me Whitney and refer to them as Bobby. This made me think of Seth and the time that I played this song on the guitar and he sang and some time before that I played it on the piano and he sang. Given that the rhythm is seemingly and factually tricky, it's clearly hard to play and sing it at the same time. Sometimes I manage; for those other times, I record various tracks in GarageBand and WOW this is getting way too long, boring, dull, and I'm shoore you don't want to read anymore. So here's the video, impatient.

Peace.

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Unprecedented Happiness

I often suppose that people perceive me as Spike Spiegel of Cowboy Bebop. I walk around with a stiff-as-a-board yet chill, carefree and aimless walk, my hands in my pocket, generating a sense of grandeur with every step, feeling very suave and heroic. There is this air about me that screams necessity: the kind of thick, almost chewable air that surrounds and envelopes big and powerful heroes such as Karl Malone or Troy McClure. During fight scenes, hip bebop jazz is gracefully played in the background as if sung by choirs of angels, creating the ambience you would expect if Miles Davis himself were to enter the room. Yes, we are exactly alike in every way. One might even mistake me for him and him for me, were it not for my glasses and his being a character of some cult anime programme.

Alas I walk around and these fools step up to mess with me. Cue the jazz. Cue the first punch, which explains the blood on my hands. Actually it's ink. Red ink. From the pen that so obnoxiously leaked on me today as I was anxiously engaged in jotting a few hypnotic notes on corn yield, ad nauseam. The aroma surrounding my desk is that of tannic acid-filled beans roasted to (some would say) perfection, ground up and steeped in boiling hot water the temperature liquid magma attains before commencing it's path of destruction, conquering all and everything in its path, liquidating even the Earth, showing no compassion for life, death, or the inanimate.

"Don't forget your coffee. I don't like the smell." I say as the cup holding the abrasive fluid sits on the surface of my desk, a lone stranger like the single cactus that has curiously sprouted out of the ground in the center of the moon. Don't be ridiculous: the moon doesn't have the atmosphere to support life, let alone a simple cactus with illusions of acceptance yet accepted by none.

This is the kind of day that makes you smile. Nothing can bring you down. Let the pen leak its blood-like substance only yearning in vain to be the essence of life that its self-proclaimed, distant cousin takes for granted every second of every day. Let the aroma of a badly brewed cup of liquid sin fill the four by six space you call your office where you sit on a chair stabilized by 5 wheels and waste oxygen until the faceless hands touch four and you are sent away like the silver medalist at the Olympic games. Let Mt. Dew be against the law and your car break down twice 2 days after completing your five-year loan and criminals break into your place and take your Xbox 360, Wii, and PS2 and your mom tell you that you were really bred in a test tube in some nameless lab somewhere in the middle of the red light district of Shenyang, China and your camera drop to the ground, destroying all of your memories from the last 3 years and facebook charge its users with each new notification and ostinato in music be outlawed and aliens come down and annihilate our entire species and Microsoft come out with an operating system that actually works, is innovative and not utterly useless, increasing sells and revenue such that Apple is forced to back down and thus issue a mandatory recall of all of its products across the globe for one gigantic and final end to all good things known to man.

You can't be touched. You smile. A genuine smile. Something that hasn't been seen since Y = Xβ + ε was first published by Gauss in some seemingly-ancient and obsolete manuscript. Or at least it feels like that long.

The jazz plays on.

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An Ode To Inanimate Objects

I shouldn't say too much. But it was a good day. Lots of reasons why, namely:

• Church was great. I actually focused for 3 whole hours!
• Except maybe not completely during Sunday School.
• Mostly because I was discussing who the singles were in the ward. All 3 of us.
• This took longer than 15 seconds. Good times.
• Had my entire set of the Scriptures highlighted in fluorescent pink, which makes it surprisingly difficult to read.
• Was asked to teach the lesson in Elder's Quorum next Sunday.
• Had to ward off some zombies. I won't post the picture here because Jalface doesn't like it.
• Wore my new purple flannel shirt I got for ten bucks yesterday at the Penney's.
• Watched Dennis the Menace with Walter Matthau.
• Laughed a lot.
• Most of all, I smiled.

Purple Flannel + Orange Socks + Bright Blue Skinny Jeans = One Cool Dude

Peace.

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The Warrior vs. the Arachnid

Have you ever killed a living creature with the pointy end of a sword? I'm not talking about on a video game. I don't mean in your feeble dreams in which you slay dragons. Have you ever actually slain a foul, incredibly gruesome beast with a sword, such as el cid, driving it through all layers of life until there are none left to gasp for air? Well I have.

Today, the foulest spider I've ever seen in real life -- more deadly than the crimson recluse, fouler (which seems to be the word of the day) than mayonnaise on a peanut butter and banana sandwich (or any sandwich...or anything...), with big, nasty fangs drooling venom at only the sight of my big toe in her 50 eyes -- chased after me today. Fortunately for me, I'm at least 3 times bigger than she, and the blunt force of my foot crashing down is enough to make even cinder blocks shudder. So I stomped. Damn. Missed. But she ran. And she was fast. I finally caught up to her, cowered in one of the four corners of my bedroom. Found you, spawn of SATAN! Alas there was no way my stomping could reach her there. Whipped off my belt and started swinging the buckle at her, but in vain. Then it came came into my head faster than it takes to watch the duration of a 30 second bunny cartoon: I have a sword! I have FOUR swords!

Ran into the office and picked up the el cid I carried on my back all the way from Spain - for this very occasion, I'm sure. Arriving back at the corner, I could sense her fear. Doom was imminent. Resistance, futile. I stabbed. I could hear the frail squeaks coming from her now mangled face. Stabbed again. And again. I listened with a sinister joy as she drew her final, fatal breath. It was over.

And yet, as I cleaned up the mess with a tissue, I was somehow still afraid of the foul creature. I imagined her crawling up my right arm, reaching my bicep, and sinking her vicious teeth through my flesh, through my muscle, through my bone, and poisoning me with her venom into my very soul (which was inconveniently placed under my right bicep). With that thought, I hustled and bustled to the bathroom and flushed her down straight away, watching as she swirled around and around, reassuring myself and the rest of the world, that she would never harm another living soul. Not now. Not ever.

Thank you.

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Lotus Notes Ver 1.1.1

Some people were never meant for greatness. Take, for example, the developers over at Microsoft.

And speaking of software that has some strange quirks about it, my email client for work is called Lotus Notes, which is akin to Outlook or Apple Mail, the former without even the potential for the greatness aforementioned, the latter being perfect, or at least for this fan boy and his paragraph-sized run-on sentences, and LN being somewhere in between, has some strange quirks about it.

The neat thing, however, of LN is a handy, somewhat seemingly worthless feature called a personal journal. I've still yet to discover it's true reason for existence, but I've taken advantage of it to clear my head of the somewhat seemingly worthless thoughts and information that is stored in my skull in order to focus on the tasks assigned to me. I think I'll share what I've written so far.

10.19.09 - Apparitions and Telekinesis

This is my personal journal. I'm not sure exactly what I'm supposed to write here. Maybe I can discuss the difference between apparating and animorphism.

But then again, maybe not.

10.21.09 - Un Burro; Dos Burritos

It turns out that today I became the resident Mexican Chef. How does it feel to achieve such an achievement? I'll be honest: it feels good. Real good.

10.22.09 - Tom Servo

Today my computer froze 5 minutes after I turned it on. Leave it to Microsoft to suck.

10.23.09 - Hippity Hop

I was here a little early today. So I sat in my car and let the song finish. Then I casually walked in, still arriving 2 minutes early. Can I get a little "Huzzah!"

10.26.09 - What It Is

Wow. What a weekend. What a spectacular weekend. And what a fantastic cherry yogurt.

10.27.09 - Confunding Happenstance

Crustum Plantancius, more commonly known as banana bread, is not symbiotic by nature, although it is conceived as such by a wide number of members of the Plantandum tribe found in the northern regions of South America. Thought by many to be ground zero of true symbiosis, this tribe's home territory is rich with banana trees and copper, making it as valuable as a rug burn after a long day at work.

10.28.09 Insipid Ideas

Last night I took some cool pictures. It was pretty fun. Maybe I'll do that more often.

10.28.09 - Potato Center

I walked past a sign today that said Parkade Center and thought it said Potato Center. This kick-started my imagination. I started thinking of a store called The Potato Center. Not a restaurant. The Potato Center is a store that sells arts and crafts and lamps all made from potatoes, for potatoes or by potatoes. There would also be a food center in the Potato Center. A restaurant. I bet they serve deli sandwiches.

Now that that's out of the way, go do something productive.

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