As of this writing, 27 people are dead in Connecticut. 20 elementary aged children, and 7 adults from the reports. And all day long I've been trying to reconcile with myself how such a thing comes to pass, and for what possible reason.
Unfortunately the circus will now begin.
The media frenzy of reactions, declarations, brokenhearted pleas from those who've lost people they love. For weeks now, details will trickle out about the killer... His friends and family... his situation... the hows and whys of this. And we will devour it... through the Internet, television, and radio. We will watch and listen and read day and night.
And in a month, it will be over, and forgotten. Until it happens again. And during the media frenzy for the next event, it will be mentioned again as a comparison. As in the number of victims for the next mass murder will be compared to the number of victims from this one.
Left wingers will call for more gun control. Right wingers will call for more guns. One side or the other will offer the usual "bad parenting" excuse. Someone will say that we no longer teach family values in this country, and that if the shooter just had a little more Jesus in his life, everything would have been okay. The arguments will persist. Nothing will change.
I am not a parent. A part of me thinks I'd probably be pretty good at it. Another part of me isn't so sure. But I know that if I had a child this evening I would probably be researching home schooling options. Because, sadly, this could happen anywhere to anyone. But we cant be afraid can we? Because then the murderer wins, or the terrorist wins, or Satan wins. Some evil bastard wins if you are affected by this, got it? But we are affected.
Go about your lives they say. Nothing to see here. The president says "Take meaningful action to prevent this." Exactly what meaningful action is there to take? A bunch of school children were stabbed in China a few days ago. It might be kind of tough to regulate guns, and sharp objects too. And if we take away sharp objects, well blunt objects work too.
The sad fact of the matter is that the people who decide to do these things have given up on life. And there are not always warning signs. There are not always meaningful actions to be taken against those who are simply broken inside. They aren't afraid of punishment, or negative consequences because they've already decided they are not getting out of this alive. And they are happy about that. They will inflict one final, unfathomable, unhealable wound. And then with a pull of the trigger and a flash... they go away. Scott free. Blameless. Because what can you do to the dead?
It's actions like this that make us want to believe in Hell. I wish I could believe in such a thing. I wish I could tell myself with absolute certainty that this particular killer was at this very moment having his eyeballs slowly pierced by needles while his genitals were devoured by rats. I'd like to believe he was being torn apart piece by piece, and reassembled only to be torn apart again for eternity. I want to think those kids and teachers are in a better place where life isn't so iffy and dangerous. But I don't really think any of that is happening. I think the murderer is just gone. I think the children are gone. I hope its not true. I hope that I am wrong. But for certain the only thing that remains here is the memory of what he has done. He lives on only as a monument to whatever failure created him... be it parenting, doctors, "the system"... whatever. We'll all read about it in a few days and decide who to blame. And then we'll go about our lives.
The children who survived this will be scarred for life. Perhaps some of them witnessed first hand the murders. Not an easy thing for a kindergarten student. Tough thing for Big Bird to explain. They'll bury it somehow, and hopefully go on to healthy prosperous lives. But it is always going to be there.
I don't know where I'm going with any of this. I just felt the need to spew nonsense I suppose. Basically what I'm trying to say is that there are a lot of broken, hopeless people on this planet. And no law can stop them. No mental evaluation can predict the breaking of a mind. We're all rolling the dice when we leave our homes on the chances of meeting one of these lost souls, and hopefully we manage to survive the occasion. In the meantime I hope that we can all enjoy whatever time we have left.
May the broken ones be intelligent enough to seek help, or at the very least, remove themselves from the population before any more damage is done. Thanks for reading. O.A.D.S. will resume it's regularly scheduled ramblings about silly things upon our next writing.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
The Cafe
I open my eyes.
I do not know where I am. It seems to be some kind of cafe. There are customers and staff meandering about. People laughing, and conversing. The bustle of dishes colliding and servers taking orders.
Someone is calling my name.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey! Glad you could make it!"
Dorge Kas sits at a table in the corner, beside a large window. He is waving his arms and beckoning me to the table. I walk over and sit down.
"Hey, did you have any trouble finding the place?" he says.
"I'm... Where am I? How did I even get here?"
He Laughs. "Rough night pal?"
"I guess so... What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you, whats it look like? I thought we should discuss a few things. It's such a nice day out!"
It is indeed a nice day. Through the window I see a calm street with a few passing cars. The sun is shining and the warmth of it through the glass is comforting. It seems to be Spring, which is confusing for some reason.
"Lets get something to drink" He says. "Miss!"
A woman glides to the table. When she arrives I realize she looks exactly like Cate Blanchett... except that she is dressed as a waitress. She has pointy elvish ears. Dorge does not seem to notice this as he orders us two beers.
"Dorge, you know I don't drink."
"Trust me, you'll want to drink today." he says with a grin.
Cate Blanchett glides away and then returns with the drinks.
"Is there some kind of Tolkien fair in town or something? Why does she have elf ears? And why are they serving beer at this cafe?"
"What're you talking about?" He looks at me as if I have sprouted another head. "Whatever, anyway, the reason I asked you here... Was that I wanted to tell you that you were right."
"Excuse me...?"
"You were right!" He exclaims. "About so many things! For instance... Venom... He really shouldn't be ten times the size of a normal human. He should be large sure, cause he's a big guy right? But not frickin building sized you know? I don't know what I was thinking."
As his words begin to sink in... I suddenly find myself considering the beer, but push the thought aside.
"Well that's... I mean I'm glad we agree but... are you feeling alright?"
"Hah! I'm great!" he nearly yells "Never better! Hey, would you like some gum?"
He pulls a package of gum from his pocket and offers the open end to me. My 5th grade teacher walks by and waves.
"No thanks I'm fine... Was that Mrs. Dav...Wait a minute... You hate gum. You despise the very thought of it."
"Nonsense!" he yells while stuffing four sticks of gum into his mouth. "I fucking love gum... what're you crazy?"
Dorge proceeds to stand up and sing the anthem from an old gum commercial. "GIVE YOUR BREATH LONG LASTING FRESHNEEEEEEEEEEESS... WITH BIG RED!!!"
No one seems to notice his outburst. He sits down laughing maniacally. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.
rrrriiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggggggggg...
"Dorge, this is a nice place and all, but I think I'm going to head out... I'm not feeling so great."
"And Watchmen!" he ignores me "I reread your "Watching the Watchmen" post the other day, and I thought what the hell, I'll give it another shot... and you know what? You were right! The movie is EXACTLY like the book! Except that the ending to the movie is SO MUCH BETTER. HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED IT!?!"
He begins to take on a crazed, semi-violent look in his eyes. I look around the room for innocent bystanders, fearing that this is one of those moments just before someone snaps.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!!!!
"Did you hear that?" I say.
"You hungry?" He absently asks, apparently not hearing the weird bell sound.
"Not really." I respond
"Excellent. Miss!" He yells "We'll have two slices of pie please."
Cate Blanchett returns, this time in a long white gown. She is glowing faintly. She places upon the table two slices of some unidentifiable pie, bows, and glides away.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!!!!
"God is that in my ears or what?"
"Look..." Dorge says while slicing up the pie. "You and I haven't always seen eye to eye right? So these recent revelations... they've made me think back and consider some of our other disagreements. So I thought we could look back and maybe set the record straight."
He puts down his fork and reaches into a backpack, pulling out a volume of pages that couldn't have possibly fit inside the pack. It's cover is dusty and etched with strange runes.
"This is the Tome of Disagreements. A record of all our battles. I used to keep it just so I could look back and laugh at how wrong you are. But now..."
As he places his hand upon the cover a sickly green glow begins to spread from the book.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!!!!
"Perhaps we can find some common ground and..."
He stops mid sentence.
I look around the room. Suddenly the cafe is empty save for the two of us. The sounds of life have faded, and outside the window it is pitch black. Dorge's eyes have also become black. He grins at me like the devil.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" he says.
Suddenly I'm swimming in blackness. After what seems an eternity my eyes adjust, and I realize that I am in my bedroom. My phone beeps at me. I have one missed call from Dorge Kas, and a voicemail.
"Hey, it's Dorge, its aboooout 3:15 AM, and I just reread your "Watching the Watchmen" post. I just wanted to make sure you know that you're still a fool for enjoying that swill. It's sad, and I pity your offspring. Sleep tight."
I do not know where I am. It seems to be some kind of cafe. There are customers and staff meandering about. People laughing, and conversing. The bustle of dishes colliding and servers taking orders.
Someone is calling my name.
"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeey! Glad you could make it!"
Dorge Kas sits at a table in the corner, beside a large window. He is waving his arms and beckoning me to the table. I walk over and sit down.
"Hey, did you have any trouble finding the place?" he says.
"I'm... Where am I? How did I even get here?"
He Laughs. "Rough night pal?"
"I guess so... What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you, whats it look like? I thought we should discuss a few things. It's such a nice day out!"
It is indeed a nice day. Through the window I see a calm street with a few passing cars. The sun is shining and the warmth of it through the glass is comforting. It seems to be Spring, which is confusing for some reason.
"Lets get something to drink" He says. "Miss!"
A woman glides to the table. When she arrives I realize she looks exactly like Cate Blanchett... except that she is dressed as a waitress. She has pointy elvish ears. Dorge does not seem to notice this as he orders us two beers.
"Dorge, you know I don't drink."
"Trust me, you'll want to drink today." he says with a grin.
Cate Blanchett glides away and then returns with the drinks.
"Is there some kind of Tolkien fair in town or something? Why does she have elf ears? And why are they serving beer at this cafe?"
"What're you talking about?" He looks at me as if I have sprouted another head. "Whatever, anyway, the reason I asked you here... Was that I wanted to tell you that you were right."
"Excuse me...?"
"You were right!" He exclaims. "About so many things! For instance... Venom... He really shouldn't be ten times the size of a normal human. He should be large sure, cause he's a big guy right? But not frickin building sized you know? I don't know what I was thinking."
As his words begin to sink in... I suddenly find myself considering the beer, but push the thought aside.
"Well that's... I mean I'm glad we agree but... are you feeling alright?"
"Hah! I'm great!" he nearly yells "Never better! Hey, would you like some gum?"
He pulls a package of gum from his pocket and offers the open end to me. My 5th grade teacher walks by and waves.
"No thanks I'm fine... Was that Mrs. Dav...Wait a minute... You hate gum. You despise the very thought of it."
"Nonsense!" he yells while stuffing four sticks of gum into his mouth. "I fucking love gum... what're you crazy?"
Dorge proceeds to stand up and sing the anthem from an old gum commercial. "GIVE YOUR BREATH LONG LASTING FRESHNEEEEEEEEEEESS... WITH BIG RED!!!"
No one seems to notice his outburst. He sits down laughing maniacally. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.
rrrriiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnggggggggggg...
"Dorge, this is a nice place and all, but I think I'm going to head out... I'm not feeling so great."
"And Watchmen!" he ignores me "I reread your "Watching the Watchmen" post the other day, and I thought what the hell, I'll give it another shot... and you know what? You were right! The movie is EXACTLY like the book! Except that the ending to the movie is SO MUCH BETTER. HOW COULD I HAVE MISSED IT!?!"
He begins to take on a crazed, semi-violent look in his eyes. I look around the room for innocent bystanders, fearing that this is one of those moments just before someone snaps.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!!!!
"Did you hear that?" I say.
"You hungry?" He absently asks, apparently not hearing the weird bell sound.
"Not really." I respond
"Excellent. Miss!" He yells "We'll have two slices of pie please."
Cate Blanchett returns, this time in a long white gown. She is glowing faintly. She places upon the table two slices of some unidentifiable pie, bows, and glides away.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!!!!
"God is that in my ears or what?"
"Look..." Dorge says while slicing up the pie. "You and I haven't always seen eye to eye right? So these recent revelations... they've made me think back and consider some of our other disagreements. So I thought we could look back and maybe set the record straight."
He puts down his fork and reaches into a backpack, pulling out a volume of pages that couldn't have possibly fit inside the pack. It's cover is dusty and etched with strange runes.
"This is the Tome of Disagreements. A record of all our battles. I used to keep it just so I could look back and laugh at how wrong you are. But now..."
As he places his hand upon the cover a sickly green glow begins to spread from the book.
RIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGG!!!!
"Perhaps we can find some common ground and..."
He stops mid sentence.
I look around the room. Suddenly the cafe is empty save for the two of us. The sounds of life have faded, and outside the window it is pitch black. Dorge's eyes have also become black. He grins at me like the devil.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" he says.
Suddenly I'm swimming in blackness. After what seems an eternity my eyes adjust, and I realize that I am in my bedroom. My phone beeps at me. I have one missed call from Dorge Kas, and a voicemail.
"Hey, it's Dorge, its aboooout 3:15 AM, and I just reread your "Watching the Watchmen" post. I just wanted to make sure you know that you're still a fool for enjoying that swill. It's sad, and I pity your offspring. Sleep tight."
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Uncle Jim
Ever have those random, seemingly meaningless memories that just stick with you forever? I have a few. A particular sunny day I spent lying around in my parents front yard playing with Thundercats action figures. The first day I rented Legend of Zelda. Sleepovers at a friend's house spent building blanket / box forts. That time when I put my arms through the hand holes of a Kroger bag and jumped off my front porch like it was a parachute...
I'll open this with one such memory.
It may not have been the first time I heard it... But the first time I REMEMBER hearing the song "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult, I was riding in a vehicle with my Uncle Jim. I was probably about 12. We were pulling his boat behind, and heading for a lake in North Carolina where he lived. My parents were following behind in their vehicle. We were spending a holiday weekend at his home. Windows were down. Music was loud. And even then I couldn't help thinking "Man, the guitar solo really ruins the mood of this song..."
Jim was my father's older (and only) brother of 6 siblings. He was an eternal bachelor who never married and never had any kids of his own. When I was very young he moved away to North Carolina but he came home often, and I like to think we were fairly close. He always treated me as if I were much older than I was in our discussions, and I recall that he always came up with the most interesting Christmas gifts. things that you wouldn't imagine a young child enjoying, but I however, always found great joy in them. One particular year he brought me a gold pocket watch... the windup kind. I still have it.
Uncle Jim passed away when I was 17. A victim of cancer after a battle of several years with many ups and downs. He was only a little over 10 years older than I am today.
When he was diagnosed, I was still too naive I suppose, to really understand yet what that meant, or what kind of a battle it really was. I remember my dad sat me down to have a serious talk about it. I asked if it was bad, and at the time it was not. He was expected to make a grand recovery. Which he did several times.
Jim's reaction to the news was to be utterly and completely unaffected. He went to his treatments, took care of his health, and did what he was supposed to do. "Cancer? Pftt... No big deal." was his general demeanor. I remember he even bought a new car. Some sporty little thing. And throughout the years and the troubles he went through, when I was around at least, he never showed any sign of cracking. And before you knew it, his cancer was gone, and everything was fantastic.
I wont go into the lengthy details of his battle... because that is not the point of this.
The last time I saw my Uncle Jim alive, he was in a hospital bed in Charleston. His health had deteriorated to the point that he felt he should move back to West Virginia, and he had been hospitalized for a particularly rough patch. I am ashamed, and eternally regretful to admit that I did not visit him as much as I should have. The sad truth is that it disturbed me to do so. As I grew older, the word "Cancer" became a terror to me. A scourge of nightmares where someone tells me I am dying from the inside out. The very thought of it unnerved me. And it terrified me to see my uncle as he had become.
This is something I will never forgive myself for.
But that last time that I saw him, we had a nice talk, as we always did. He never acted like a dying man. Just uncle Jim, hanging out with his nephew. I remember that he said something inspirational to me. I'm sad to say that even though I can still remember the sound of his voice (I always wondered if something like that fades over the years after you lose someone) I unfortunately cannot remember exactly how he put it. But the gist of it was "Don't ever let anything keep you from enjoying your life."
He did not say this to me as if he were a dying man making a request. There was no hand clasping, and no dramatic music. No tears. No burst of emotion. He said it to me as if I were saying to you "Hey, you might wanna tie your shoe before you walk up those stairs." I said that I would not.
He also gave me his guitar pick. (My uncle was also an amateur guitarist like myself).
The significance of the pick is something that honestly, I did not consider until quite a bit later. Why would a dying man in a hospital bed have a guitar pick? In my mind, it was as if he randomly produced it from the depths of his pocket as I so often do. But I realize now, that he had it because he meant to give it to me.
The pick was a bit thin (I typically play a medium because I have a terrible habit of strumming way too heavy handed) and so instead of using it (and immediately destroying it by doing so...), I decided to just keep it, as I keep so many other things.
About a week after this meeting, my father called me at my grandparents, and informed me that he had passed on. I had purchased a Tom Petty album that very day called "Echo" which contains a song called "Room at the Top".
It's funny how music finds a way to be potent and relevant at a particular moment in time.
As for my uncle's request to appreciate life as it is, and not for what you think it should be, it took several years for that lesson to sink in. Everyone has their ups and downs I suppose. Even Uncle Jim. But it did eventually settle in my mind that no matter what stupid little dramas are going on in life, most of it really isn't worth getting all that upset about. And so I do not. I'm not sure that I've ever been "depressed" so to speak. But at this point in my life I cant say I would know or remember what it would feel like. Nor do I have any interest in ever knowing. I wouldn't exactly say that I'm elated when I open my eyes in the morning. There are always things that could be better. But at least I have that chance to do something about it, when so many do not.
Anyway, I'm not a believer in any particular religion or faith, and while the afterlife is a pretty notion, I cant say that I'm exactly convinced. But just because I do not believe, I suppose that doesn't mean I cant hope that I am wrong. And so in honor of my father's brother, who never let anything get him down, I dedicate this meager little Internet post to my Uncle Jim wherever he may be, and whatever he may be doing. Hopefully it involves something cool.
Like ninjas.
Ninjas are cool.
I'll open this with one such memory.
It may not have been the first time I heard it... But the first time I REMEMBER hearing the song "(Don't Fear) The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult, I was riding in a vehicle with my Uncle Jim. I was probably about 12. We were pulling his boat behind, and heading for a lake in North Carolina where he lived. My parents were following behind in their vehicle. We were spending a holiday weekend at his home. Windows were down. Music was loud. And even then I couldn't help thinking "Man, the guitar solo really ruins the mood of this song..."
Jim was my father's older (and only) brother of 6 siblings. He was an eternal bachelor who never married and never had any kids of his own. When I was very young he moved away to North Carolina but he came home often, and I like to think we were fairly close. He always treated me as if I were much older than I was in our discussions, and I recall that he always came up with the most interesting Christmas gifts. things that you wouldn't imagine a young child enjoying, but I however, always found great joy in them. One particular year he brought me a gold pocket watch... the windup kind. I still have it.
Uncle Jim passed away when I was 17. A victim of cancer after a battle of several years with many ups and downs. He was only a little over 10 years older than I am today.
When he was diagnosed, I was still too naive I suppose, to really understand yet what that meant, or what kind of a battle it really was. I remember my dad sat me down to have a serious talk about it. I asked if it was bad, and at the time it was not. He was expected to make a grand recovery. Which he did several times.
Jim's reaction to the news was to be utterly and completely unaffected. He went to his treatments, took care of his health, and did what he was supposed to do. "Cancer? Pftt... No big deal." was his general demeanor. I remember he even bought a new car. Some sporty little thing. And throughout the years and the troubles he went through, when I was around at least, he never showed any sign of cracking. And before you knew it, his cancer was gone, and everything was fantastic.
I wont go into the lengthy details of his battle... because that is not the point of this.
The last time I saw my Uncle Jim alive, he was in a hospital bed in Charleston. His health had deteriorated to the point that he felt he should move back to West Virginia, and he had been hospitalized for a particularly rough patch. I am ashamed, and eternally regretful to admit that I did not visit him as much as I should have. The sad truth is that it disturbed me to do so. As I grew older, the word "Cancer" became a terror to me. A scourge of nightmares where someone tells me I am dying from the inside out. The very thought of it unnerved me. And it terrified me to see my uncle as he had become.
This is something I will never forgive myself for.
But that last time that I saw him, we had a nice talk, as we always did. He never acted like a dying man. Just uncle Jim, hanging out with his nephew. I remember that he said something inspirational to me. I'm sad to say that even though I can still remember the sound of his voice (I always wondered if something like that fades over the years after you lose someone) I unfortunately cannot remember exactly how he put it. But the gist of it was "Don't ever let anything keep you from enjoying your life."
He did not say this to me as if he were a dying man making a request. There was no hand clasping, and no dramatic music. No tears. No burst of emotion. He said it to me as if I were saying to you "Hey, you might wanna tie your shoe before you walk up those stairs." I said that I would not.
He also gave me his guitar pick. (My uncle was also an amateur guitarist like myself).
The significance of the pick is something that honestly, I did not consider until quite a bit later. Why would a dying man in a hospital bed have a guitar pick? In my mind, it was as if he randomly produced it from the depths of his pocket as I so often do. But I realize now, that he had it because he meant to give it to me.
The pick was a bit thin (I typically play a medium because I have a terrible habit of strumming way too heavy handed) and so instead of using it (and immediately destroying it by doing so...), I decided to just keep it, as I keep so many other things.
About a week after this meeting, my father called me at my grandparents, and informed me that he had passed on. I had purchased a Tom Petty album that very day called "Echo" which contains a song called "Room at the Top".
It's funny how music finds a way to be potent and relevant at a particular moment in time.
As for my uncle's request to appreciate life as it is, and not for what you think it should be, it took several years for that lesson to sink in. Everyone has their ups and downs I suppose. Even Uncle Jim. But it did eventually settle in my mind that no matter what stupid little dramas are going on in life, most of it really isn't worth getting all that upset about. And so I do not. I'm not sure that I've ever been "depressed" so to speak. But at this point in my life I cant say I would know or remember what it would feel like. Nor do I have any interest in ever knowing. I wouldn't exactly say that I'm elated when I open my eyes in the morning. There are always things that could be better. But at least I have that chance to do something about it, when so many do not.
Anyway, I'm not a believer in any particular religion or faith, and while the afterlife is a pretty notion, I cant say that I'm exactly convinced. But just because I do not believe, I suppose that doesn't mean I cant hope that I am wrong. And so in honor of my father's brother, who never let anything get him down, I dedicate this meager little Internet post to my Uncle Jim wherever he may be, and whatever he may be doing. Hopefully it involves something cool.
Like ninjas.
Ninjas are cool.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Vengeance, Thy Name is Penney.
Since I'm suffering from a complete lack of originality today, I thought I would take inspiration from Weapon Mod's recent post "Dad" and share a tale of parental antics of my own.
This tale begins a long time ago in my early teens or perhaps even before, I cant recall exactly. This story is true, and none of the names have been changed to protect the innocent (or guilty).
When I was a young child I was fascinated with the show MacGyver. I just really liked the idea that someone would be so resourceful, and smart, yet centered and pacifist enough that the bastard never just picked up a gun and shot somebody. Instead, he would rig an elaborate trap using twine, duct tape, three screw drivers, a heavy toolbox and some toothpaste, which would, through a series of pulleys and levers drop the heavy toolbox on the bad guy's head when he came through a door.
The man also had an incredible mullet.
I joined the boy scouts so I could become helpful and resourceful, and I was always looking for an opportunity to rig up something ridiculous to save the day (They didn't really come up very often...).
Anyway, for any of you who watched the show, you will know of course that MacGyver's most important tool was his trusty Swiss Army Knife. It had everything he needed to save the damsel in distress, take out all the bad guys, and fix his old car to ride off into the sunset afterward. And so began my obsession with pocket knives.
I collected them for several years. My grandfather purchased a leather bound case for my birthday one year which I deposited them in. My favorite were the knives with function... The Swiss Army knives (of which I still always carry), and the Swiss Army knock-offs that the Boy Scouts made as well. I was never particularly interested in the single blade, locking variety because well... They weren't very resourceful were they? MacGyver would never carry such a thing.
But I ended up with a few of them anyway.
One day, while visiting my uncle, he showed me a knife that he had acquired somehow, and wanted to know if I would like to have it. This knife was a single blade locking type, but it was huge, at least 5 inches when folded and double that with the blade extended. I'm not really sure what you would use a knife like that for other than murdering something. But it was a knife, and I liked them, so he gave it to me. I placed it into my collection and gave it little further thought.
We will now fast forward several years. I am a teenager in high school.
One fall evening my friend David was visiting. My parents had gone out and we were just sitting downstairs hanging out.
Suddenly there were headlights outside. My parents had returned.
Why this idea suddenly came to me I cannot tell you to this day. But the truth is, when I saw those headlights, the first thing that came to mind was "Lets hide! It'll be hilarious!". David agreed.
And so we quickly scrambled for whatever hiding place we might manage.
Into the spare bedroom we went. I hid behind an exercise machine of some sort, and I directed David to hide in the closet. "She never uses that closet." I said.
So my parents enter and we sit quietly, proud of our stealth.
Immediately my mother enters the room.
I plainly see that she has intentions of hanging her coat in the closet which I directed David to hide in.
I could have warned her... I could have broken cover and spared him the violence that was coming. But somehow it didn't seem right. I mean, it's every man for himself on these types of stealth missions and my cover was not yet blown. So I watched it unfold.
She opened the door, and there was a large shadowy man standing in her closet. She yelled, and punched him furiously while he screamed "Penney, its me! its meeeee!"
I laughed and laughed. My mother swore vengeance.
"Whatever, Mom..."
Months later during that winter, I was home alone at night. My Dad was at work, and my mother had gone out Christmas shopping. I was upstairs in my room playing some Playstation game or another, probably Final Fantasy 7, given the time period.
I should probably describe my bedroom for the sake of clarity. At my parents house, my bedroom was essentially an attic. There were two separate rooms, a larger one with the staircase leading downstairs, and a smaller one where my bed, computer, TV, etc. were. I basically had the entire upstairs to myself, and I was situated in the smaller room playing my games.
The door to my room always had a peculiar property where when someone opened the outside door, a draft would sort of pull the door in and you could hear it bang slightly in the door frame. Nothing loud or anything, just a subtle "click" and you'd know "Hey, someone is home."
So I'm sitting upstairs playing my game and I hear the pop of my door.
"Mom's home." I think to myself, and continue my gaming.
Several minutes later I decided it was time for a drink. So I head downstairs.
Everything is as it was left, living room and kitchen lights are on, and I could not hear my mother anywhere.
"Mom?" I say. There is no answer.
I decide that the cat must have leaned up against my door or something to cause it to make that noise, and that my mother is in fact not home yet. I grab my drink, return to my room, and shut the door behind me.
Several minutes later, I hear movement downstairs, and decide that my mother has in fact, finally arrived. I walk downstairs to see if she needs help carrying anything... only to find that again... nobody is there. The front door is shut and locked, and there is nobody outside.
Curious, but not yet freaked out, I decided that I'm hearing things and once again return to my room, shutting the door behind me.
Back at my gaming station a few minutes later, suddenly I hear my door slowly swing open.
"Mom?" I say.
No answer.
I walked to my staircase and peered down. There is nothing out of the ordinary. I walked downstairs and again examined the kitchen / living room area for signs of entry. Nothing.
"I must not have pulled the door all the way closed" I decide. I firmly close the door, and return to my room... Wary.
Several minutes pass, and then I hear my door open once again. Blatantly this time. No slow creaking noise, and no convincing myself that it opened by itself.
"Mom...?"
Nothing.
I walked to my staircase to peer downstairs. The door was wide open. All the lights are off.
I am going to die.
My mind flicked through every horror movie ever, and yet I still did not learn from the mistakes of the ill fated teenagers who were about to die in horrible ways. There was a phone available to me upstairs, but I didn't even consider the possibility of calling 911.
No. What I did instead, was look around my room for a weapon.
And there it was. My uncle's gift from many years before. 10 inches of sharpened, lock bladed murder. My fear would not hold me back. I would not bow to this Michael Myers wannabe stalking my home. I would kill him and rid the world of his evil.
And so I locked the blade into "death dealing" position, and cautiously inched down my stairway. Every step was a creaking nightmare as I got closer and closer to the obvious bottleneck of the stairway where the killer would either strike me from the living room on the left, or the kitchen on the right. I hoped for the kitchen because I would have a clear shot to defend myself from there, the door would be in my way to the left.
As I reached the bottom my body tensed for attack but nothing came, so I stepped out into the hallway and then I hear it...
"BOO!!!" says my mother from the kitchen... as if she were the ghost from a Scooby Doo cartoon instead of someone who just reenacted every slasher movie ever.
"MOM!!! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!!!"
She laughs and laughs.
And now every time I see that knife that my uncle gave me so many years ago... I think "There's the knife I almost stabbed my own mother with..."
And the moral of the story is... Don't fuck with my mother. She is scary, and evil.
This tale begins a long time ago in my early teens or perhaps even before, I cant recall exactly. This story is true, and none of the names have been changed to protect the innocent (or guilty).
When I was a young child I was fascinated with the show MacGyver. I just really liked the idea that someone would be so resourceful, and smart, yet centered and pacifist enough that the bastard never just picked up a gun and shot somebody. Instead, he would rig an elaborate trap using twine, duct tape, three screw drivers, a heavy toolbox and some toothpaste, which would, through a series of pulleys and levers drop the heavy toolbox on the bad guy's head when he came through a door.
The man also had an incredible mullet.
I joined the boy scouts so I could become helpful and resourceful, and I was always looking for an opportunity to rig up something ridiculous to save the day (They didn't really come up very often...).
Anyway, for any of you who watched the show, you will know of course that MacGyver's most important tool was his trusty Swiss Army Knife. It had everything he needed to save the damsel in distress, take out all the bad guys, and fix his old car to ride off into the sunset afterward. And so began my obsession with pocket knives.
I collected them for several years. My grandfather purchased a leather bound case for my birthday one year which I deposited them in. My favorite were the knives with function... The Swiss Army knives (of which I still always carry), and the Swiss Army knock-offs that the Boy Scouts made as well. I was never particularly interested in the single blade, locking variety because well... They weren't very resourceful were they? MacGyver would never carry such a thing.
But I ended up with a few of them anyway.
One day, while visiting my uncle, he showed me a knife that he had acquired somehow, and wanted to know if I would like to have it. This knife was a single blade locking type, but it was huge, at least 5 inches when folded and double that with the blade extended. I'm not really sure what you would use a knife like that for other than murdering something. But it was a knife, and I liked them, so he gave it to me. I placed it into my collection and gave it little further thought.
 |
| My Uncle's Gift |
We will now fast forward several years. I am a teenager in high school.
One fall evening my friend David was visiting. My parents had gone out and we were just sitting downstairs hanging out.
Suddenly there were headlights outside. My parents had returned.
Why this idea suddenly came to me I cannot tell you to this day. But the truth is, when I saw those headlights, the first thing that came to mind was "Lets hide! It'll be hilarious!". David agreed.
And so we quickly scrambled for whatever hiding place we might manage.
Into the spare bedroom we went. I hid behind an exercise machine of some sort, and I directed David to hide in the closet. "She never uses that closet." I said.
So my parents enter and we sit quietly, proud of our stealth.
Immediately my mother enters the room.
I plainly see that she has intentions of hanging her coat in the closet which I directed David to hide in.
I could have warned her... I could have broken cover and spared him the violence that was coming. But somehow it didn't seem right. I mean, it's every man for himself on these types of stealth missions and my cover was not yet blown. So I watched it unfold.
She opened the door, and there was a large shadowy man standing in her closet. She yelled, and punched him furiously while he screamed "Penney, its me! its meeeee!"
I laughed and laughed. My mother swore vengeance.
"Whatever, Mom..."
Months later during that winter, I was home alone at night. My Dad was at work, and my mother had gone out Christmas shopping. I was upstairs in my room playing some Playstation game or another, probably Final Fantasy 7, given the time period.
I should probably describe my bedroom for the sake of clarity. At my parents house, my bedroom was essentially an attic. There were two separate rooms, a larger one with the staircase leading downstairs, and a smaller one where my bed, computer, TV, etc. were. I basically had the entire upstairs to myself, and I was situated in the smaller room playing my games.
The door to my room always had a peculiar property where when someone opened the outside door, a draft would sort of pull the door in and you could hear it bang slightly in the door frame. Nothing loud or anything, just a subtle "click" and you'd know "Hey, someone is home."
So I'm sitting upstairs playing my game and I hear the pop of my door.
"Mom's home." I think to myself, and continue my gaming.
Several minutes later I decided it was time for a drink. So I head downstairs.
Everything is as it was left, living room and kitchen lights are on, and I could not hear my mother anywhere.
"Mom?" I say. There is no answer.
I decide that the cat must have leaned up against my door or something to cause it to make that noise, and that my mother is in fact not home yet. I grab my drink, return to my room, and shut the door behind me.
Several minutes later, I hear movement downstairs, and decide that my mother has in fact, finally arrived. I walk downstairs to see if she needs help carrying anything... only to find that again... nobody is there. The front door is shut and locked, and there is nobody outside.
Curious, but not yet freaked out, I decided that I'm hearing things and once again return to my room, shutting the door behind me.
Back at my gaming station a few minutes later, suddenly I hear my door slowly swing open.
"Mom?" I say.
No answer.
I walked to my staircase and peered down. There is nothing out of the ordinary. I walked downstairs and again examined the kitchen / living room area for signs of entry. Nothing.
"I must not have pulled the door all the way closed" I decide. I firmly close the door, and return to my room... Wary.
Several minutes pass, and then I hear my door open once again. Blatantly this time. No slow creaking noise, and no convincing myself that it opened by itself.
"Mom...?"
Nothing.
I walked to my staircase to peer downstairs. The door was wide open. All the lights are off.
I am going to die.
My mind flicked through every horror movie ever, and yet I still did not learn from the mistakes of the ill fated teenagers who were about to die in horrible ways. There was a phone available to me upstairs, but I didn't even consider the possibility of calling 911.
No. What I did instead, was look around my room for a weapon.
And there it was. My uncle's gift from many years before. 10 inches of sharpened, lock bladed murder. My fear would not hold me back. I would not bow to this Michael Myers wannabe stalking my home. I would kill him and rid the world of his evil.
And so I locked the blade into "death dealing" position, and cautiously inched down my stairway. Every step was a creaking nightmare as I got closer and closer to the obvious bottleneck of the stairway where the killer would either strike me from the living room on the left, or the kitchen on the right. I hoped for the kitchen because I would have a clear shot to defend myself from there, the door would be in my way to the left.
As I reached the bottom my body tensed for attack but nothing came, so I stepped out into the hallway and then I hear it...
"BOO!!!" says my mother from the kitchen... as if she were the ghost from a Scooby Doo cartoon instead of someone who just reenacted every slasher movie ever.
"MOM!!! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU!!!"
She laughs and laughs.
And now every time I see that knife that my uncle gave me so many years ago... I think "There's the knife I almost stabbed my own mother with..."
And the moral of the story is... Don't fuck with my mother. She is scary, and evil.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Making a Few Cuts...
Well, here we are again for another rant... And with the recent climate of layoffs and unemployment in the country I've decided that today I am going to pretend that I am Earth's HR department, and "lay off" some unneeded parts of the human race.
So lets get started shall we?
First up... People who greet others with "Are you getting any?". Well actually, I guess it really comes out more like "Ya gettin'any?"
What an odd greeting. It's strange to me how just saying something a certain way makes it not quite as off key. It's like you're walking up to someone and yelling "HAVE YOU RECEIVED INTERCOURSE RECENTLY, SIR?". Try breaking the ice with that one at the next party. Hell, I just yelled it to myself in the car and even I want to slap me.
It's also a little rude to those of us who have not received "any" for quite some time. I mean geez, be considerate here! And granted, I'm aware that folks are under no circumstances supposed to answer with anything other than "Of course! 30 times, just last night!". After all, it's very unmanly to openly admit that you're about as interesting to the opposite sex as a jump rope to a quadriplegic, and this greeting is (I'm guessing) a strictly male relation. But have a heart folks... Some of us just aren't as god damn irresistible as you!
It is also sort of an open ended question I've noticed. Any answer is supposed to end with "... are you?" which allows the asker to elaborate on his most recent sexual escapades. I always just answer with a flat, toneless, "No." It sort of diffuses the situation, or I guess it may also give off the impression of a sexually frustrated serial killer? Nah, certainly not with my top notch people skills.
So anyway, "gettin' any" folks... please clean out your desks on your way out.
Next up... People who constantly brag about how fast they drive, and how their police friends get them out of speeding tickets.
Come on... we all have "that guy" at the office... I sincerely hope you're not "that guy", because if you are... I've got some bad news.
Does anyone honestly give two fucks about these folks, and their NASCAR adventures on our highways? I know I certainly don't. And I care even less about how Bobby down at the precinct can talk to the judge, and get your ticket thrown out every time. I don't care about your daring escapes. I don't care if you got caught doing 88 in a 40, with 1.21 gigawatts of electricity coursing through the bowels of your DeLorean.
Why don't you just hold me down on the floor and scream in my face "I HAVE CONNECTIONS! I AM IMPORTANT! I LIVE ON THE EDGE! LOOK AT ME! ENVY ME!!!" What I really hope is that Bobby down at the precinct gets caught smuggling drugs out of the evidence room, your ticket clears the system, and you lose your license.
Fast driving braggarts... please turn in your keys to security.
NEXT UP!
The "That's what she said" crowd.
Jesus fucking bastard whore Christ. I wish I had a rubber mallet up my sleeve for every time someone throws this out there. I'm not sure I can really elaborate further on this one. Just quit it, okay?
"That's what she said" people... Don't expect a callback. Ever.
Next!
Name droppers.
Ever have that person at work who is supposed to get something done, but they don't know how to do it themselves (because they are an ignorant, useless waste of genetic material)... so they come up to you with this shit: "Hey, (insert 'important' person's name here) wants me to have you do this." and you're expected to just jump right on that shit.
Now, I've had this bite me in the ass a few times, but I always just say "okay." and immediately put that person as far back on the back burner as I possibly can. Rarely is it ever actually that important, and if you ignore it long enough, usually the person will convince someone else to do their work for them, or in certain rare cases, they'll do it themselves.
Another route you can take on this: Make up some bullshit question about the work, and take it to the person who supposedly assigned it, and be like "Hey, Captain MouthBreather asked me to do this, and I'm not sure about this part here." all the while implying with your tone of voice "I'm not sure about this part here (BECAUSE IT IS NOT MY FUCKING JOB!)". A good portion of the time you'll have the pleasure of "Well why the hell is he having you do it?". Do your own fucking job bastards.
So, Name Droppers, We'll give you a call if any positions open up in the sewage cleaning department.
Next up...
These people who forward chain letter emails about how Obama is a Muslim, or bullshit military crap, or about how Microsoft will pay me 987592873958 dollars for every person on my contact list I forward this on to. And lets not forget that "Only 63.5893% of you will forward this on..." shit, trying to shame me into thinking it is my moral duty to pass on this drivel. Please do us all a favor, and forward yourself off of my Internet.
Chain letter enablers, don't email us, we'll email you, and if you don't send it back to us within 1 hour, then Jesus died for absolutely nothing.
Well... some tough calls have been made today. But with the uncertainty of today's market, difficult decisions had to be made. Things may get worse before they get better, and more cuts may have to be made in the future (So don't get too comfortable "Always complaining about the movie" guy), but for now we feel that we've made the best decisions possible to ensure sustainability into the next quarter.
So lets all put our best foot forward and make the best of this brave new world!
P.S. You may be asking yourselves what I intend to do with the unfortunate folks who had to go?
Well... As you may know, I am a huge advocate of space exploration, and those first few trips to Mars are going to be dangerous as hell... Just saying.
So lets get started shall we?
First up... People who greet others with "Are you getting any?". Well actually, I guess it really comes out more like "Ya gettin'any?"
What an odd greeting. It's strange to me how just saying something a certain way makes it not quite as off key. It's like you're walking up to someone and yelling "HAVE YOU RECEIVED INTERCOURSE RECENTLY, SIR?". Try breaking the ice with that one at the next party. Hell, I just yelled it to myself in the car and even I want to slap me.
It's also a little rude to those of us who have not received "any" for quite some time. I mean geez, be considerate here! And granted, I'm aware that folks are under no circumstances supposed to answer with anything other than "Of course! 30 times, just last night!". After all, it's very unmanly to openly admit that you're about as interesting to the opposite sex as a jump rope to a quadriplegic, and this greeting is (I'm guessing) a strictly male relation. But have a heart folks... Some of us just aren't as god damn irresistible as you!
It is also sort of an open ended question I've noticed. Any answer is supposed to end with "... are you?" which allows the asker to elaborate on his most recent sexual escapades. I always just answer with a flat, toneless, "No." It sort of diffuses the situation, or I guess it may also give off the impression of a sexually frustrated serial killer? Nah, certainly not with my top notch people skills.
So anyway, "gettin' any" folks... please clean out your desks on your way out.
Next up... People who constantly brag about how fast they drive, and how their police friends get them out of speeding tickets.
Come on... we all have "that guy" at the office... I sincerely hope you're not "that guy", because if you are... I've got some bad news.
Does anyone honestly give two fucks about these folks, and their NASCAR adventures on our highways? I know I certainly don't. And I care even less about how Bobby down at the precinct can talk to the judge, and get your ticket thrown out every time. I don't care about your daring escapes. I don't care if you got caught doing 88 in a 40, with 1.21 gigawatts of electricity coursing through the bowels of your DeLorean.
Why don't you just hold me down on the floor and scream in my face "I HAVE CONNECTIONS! I AM IMPORTANT! I LIVE ON THE EDGE! LOOK AT ME! ENVY ME!!!" What I really hope is that Bobby down at the precinct gets caught smuggling drugs out of the evidence room, your ticket clears the system, and you lose your license.
Fast driving braggarts... please turn in your keys to security.
NEXT UP!
The "That's what she said" crowd.
Jesus fucking bastard whore Christ. I wish I had a rubber mallet up my sleeve for every time someone throws this out there. I'm not sure I can really elaborate further on this one. Just quit it, okay?
"That's what she said" people... Don't expect a callback. Ever.
Next!
Name droppers.
Ever have that person at work who is supposed to get something done, but they don't know how to do it themselves (because they are an ignorant, useless waste of genetic material)... so they come up to you with this shit: "Hey, (insert 'important' person's name here) wants me to have you do this." and you're expected to just jump right on that shit.
Now, I've had this bite me in the ass a few times, but I always just say "okay." and immediately put that person as far back on the back burner as I possibly can. Rarely is it ever actually that important, and if you ignore it long enough, usually the person will convince someone else to do their work for them, or in certain rare cases, they'll do it themselves.
Another route you can take on this: Make up some bullshit question about the work, and take it to the person who supposedly assigned it, and be like "Hey, Captain MouthBreather asked me to do this, and I'm not sure about this part here." all the while implying with your tone of voice "I'm not sure about this part here (BECAUSE IT IS NOT MY FUCKING JOB!)". A good portion of the time you'll have the pleasure of "Well why the hell is he having you do it?". Do your own fucking job bastards.
So, Name Droppers, We'll give you a call if any positions open up in the sewage cleaning department.
Next up...
These people who forward chain letter emails about how Obama is a Muslim, or bullshit military crap, or about how Microsoft will pay me 987592873958 dollars for every person on my contact list I forward this on to. And lets not forget that "Only 63.5893% of you will forward this on..." shit, trying to shame me into thinking it is my moral duty to pass on this drivel. Please do us all a favor, and forward yourself off of my Internet.
Chain letter enablers, don't email us, we'll email you, and if you don't send it back to us within 1 hour, then Jesus died for absolutely nothing.
Well... some tough calls have been made today. But with the uncertainty of today's market, difficult decisions had to be made. Things may get worse before they get better, and more cuts may have to be made in the future (So don't get too comfortable "Always complaining about the movie" guy), but for now we feel that we've made the best decisions possible to ensure sustainability into the next quarter.
So lets all put our best foot forward and make the best of this brave new world!
P.S. You may be asking yourselves what I intend to do with the unfortunate folks who had to go?
Well... As you may know, I am a huge advocate of space exploration, and those first few trips to Mars are going to be dangerous as hell... Just saying.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Another day, Another Dollar
The office was cold even though it was in the mid 70's outside. It is always cold in this building.
My boss has called me in for a 7:00 AM meeting. Which is bullshit because I know he never arrives before 8:30 himself.
I arrive at 7:45. The coffee begins to brew.
He arrives at 8:36. Calls me into his office.
His hair is unkempt and graying. The same can be said for the homeless beard he currently wears. He holds a double sized coffee mug that says "YES, I NEED THIS MUCH COFFEE." He sits down.
"Ads..." he says, almost as if he were speaking the name of the man who killed his wife, unborn child, puppy, and best friend. "They've put up ads."
"I don't understand sir..."
"Weapon Mods son." He sips his coffee. "Those bastards have put up ads, can ya believe it?"
I could not.
"I thought old Kas had a little more integrity than that hahah." He lights a cigar. This is a 'No Smoking' building "Or at least I thought that HE thought he had more integrity than that!"
He laughs. It turns into a cough. This lasts a while. I sit quietly.
"We need to bury them..." He finally manages. "We need to bury them now. It's time. I need your best son, I need all you've got. Now you've been in my employ for what... 3 years now? All I ever see you doing is sitting on your ass, playing Legend of Zelda, and napping. Now I'm an easy man to work for, but enough is enough. I need SOMETHING from you here."
I sit quietly.
"Well haven't you got anything to say boy?!"
"Sir..." I say in the closest manner to 'respect' that I can muster. "I've tried to post several things lately... But you always fight me on them. Like that time I wanted to do the piece on political ideals and how all sides are wrong and all choices are bad... You told me it was too preachy and it might give readers the idea that we actually give a shit here..."
He rubs the stubble on his face. "This ain't Slacker Conservative boy. I refuse to involve myself in these popularity contests we call democracy. We are not a political publication. Period."
"Very well sir... Its just that it is so easy to make fun of them, and you were pushing for views... I thought you would like that idea. Moving on then... It was suggested to me recently that maybe we should do some movie reviews..."
"God dammit boy...!" he slams his hand upon the desktop, pens scatter, the giant coffee mug inches toward the edge. I say nothing. "I don't give half a shit what you think about a god damned movie. You got that? If I want to know what a film is like, I'll watch the god damned thing. I don't need some pretentious little prick telling me how much better the book was, understand?"
He takes a long draw of the cigar. I tap my fingers upon my knees.
"Okaaaaaay... Well I had a lot of good response from the 'Little Barber Shop of Horrors' post."
Coffee drink. "Don't give a damn about your neurotic childhood either kid."
"Well... I thought about posting about my dog once."
"Are you fucking kidding me with this?"
I was not. I chuckle lightly as if I had been.
"What would you like me to post sir?"
"I pay you to post boy. So post. Come up with SOMETHING. I have faith in ya. Just bury that hack Dorge Kas, and I'll give you a 10% raise, an extra week vacation, and all the god damn diet berry tea you can drink. Got it? Now get outta here. Go do something."
I'll probably be fired for making this a post. This is JL... Signing off.
My boss has called me in for a 7:00 AM meeting. Which is bullshit because I know he never arrives before 8:30 himself.
I arrive at 7:45. The coffee begins to brew.
He arrives at 8:36. Calls me into his office.
His hair is unkempt and graying. The same can be said for the homeless beard he currently wears. He holds a double sized coffee mug that says "YES, I NEED THIS MUCH COFFEE." He sits down.
"Ads..." he says, almost as if he were speaking the name of the man who killed his wife, unborn child, puppy, and best friend. "They've put up ads."
"I don't understand sir..."
"Weapon Mods son." He sips his coffee. "Those bastards have put up ads, can ya believe it?"
I could not.
"I thought old Kas had a little more integrity than that hahah." He lights a cigar. This is a 'No Smoking' building "Or at least I thought that HE thought he had more integrity than that!"
He laughs. It turns into a cough. This lasts a while. I sit quietly.
"We need to bury them..." He finally manages. "We need to bury them now. It's time. I need your best son, I need all you've got. Now you've been in my employ for what... 3 years now? All I ever see you doing is sitting on your ass, playing Legend of Zelda, and napping. Now I'm an easy man to work for, but enough is enough. I need SOMETHING from you here."
I sit quietly.
"Well haven't you got anything to say boy?!"
"Sir..." I say in the closest manner to 'respect' that I can muster. "I've tried to post several things lately... But you always fight me on them. Like that time I wanted to do the piece on political ideals and how all sides are wrong and all choices are bad... You told me it was too preachy and it might give readers the idea that we actually give a shit here..."
He rubs the stubble on his face. "This ain't Slacker Conservative boy. I refuse to involve myself in these popularity contests we call democracy. We are not a political publication. Period."
"Very well sir... Its just that it is so easy to make fun of them, and you were pushing for views... I thought you would like that idea. Moving on then... It was suggested to me recently that maybe we should do some movie reviews..."
"God dammit boy...!" he slams his hand upon the desktop, pens scatter, the giant coffee mug inches toward the edge. I say nothing. "I don't give half a shit what you think about a god damned movie. You got that? If I want to know what a film is like, I'll watch the god damned thing. I don't need some pretentious little prick telling me how much better the book was, understand?"
He takes a long draw of the cigar. I tap my fingers upon my knees.
"Okaaaaaay... Well I had a lot of good response from the 'Little Barber Shop of Horrors' post."
Coffee drink. "Don't give a damn about your neurotic childhood either kid."
"Well... I thought about posting about my dog once."
"Are you fucking kidding me with this?"
I was not. I chuckle lightly as if I had been.
"What would you like me to post sir?"
"I pay you to post boy. So post. Come up with SOMETHING. I have faith in ya. Just bury that hack Dorge Kas, and I'll give you a 10% raise, an extra week vacation, and all the god damn diet berry tea you can drink. Got it? Now get outta here. Go do something."
I'll probably be fired for making this a post. This is JL... Signing off.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Just a Quick Note...
Dear incessant whiners, crybabies, activists, lobbyists, loyalists, snobs, hipsters, republicans, democrats, independents, patriots, religious "authorities", atheists, minorities, majorities, racists, feminists, sexists, straights, gays, bisexuals (okay, that was a joke... the bisexuals never complain.), reality TV "stars", athletes, hair stylists, vegans, meat eaters, humanitarians, PETA, cab drivers, plumbers, and interior designers,
Shut up. I don't care.
This "post" is brought to you by the fact that I haven't posted in months, and this seems to sum up the whole of my thought process anyway. Thank you, and goodnight.
Shut up. I don't care.
This "post" is brought to you by the fact that I haven't posted in months, and this seems to sum up the whole of my thought process anyway. Thank you, and goodnight.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Little Barber Shop of Horrors
Dear readers, do any of you remember the very first thing in this world that you hated with all your might? The thing that... the very thought of it made you cringe with horror and try to find an escape? I remember mine...
I hate having my hair cut.
It inspires a special anxiety in me that I'm not really sure I can describe here. I discovered this at a very young age... well before school. It is something that has plagued my thoughts since I realized that I even had thoughts of my own.
It all started when I was a young boy...
My grandfather (who most of my life, and still to this day, has kept his hair trimmed almost to his skull in a military type haircut) would take me to this old man barber in a town called Smithers. This man was called "O'Brien". He had a little shop on the front street of town with the little spinning red and white "I cut hair!" thing, and his shop was where all the old men would hang out and discuss old man things.
This is where my anxiety begins.
The first problem was straight awkwardness and discomfort. I was never sure what to do with myself as a child while these men discussed things that I didn't understand. Politics and the like. So I would tend to feel like my hands and feet had no rightful place. I sat there thinking so hard on what would be the most "casual" position for me to sit. What would make me the least conspicuous? How can I not be noticed?
But the problem with that... which is a lesson I've learned over and over and over my entire life... is that trying not to be noticed is the surest way to attract attention.
So I would sit there. Enduring their small talk, and the occasional piece of conversation would be directed toward me, until finally the other patrons who were there before us would leave, and it would be my turn to go under the blade.
The actual cutting with the scissors never bothered me. Though I do recall he accidentally cut my ear once... just a bit... nothing serious. This did not scare my young child mind one bit. But let me tell you what did folks.
That damn buzzing thing they use on the back of your neck.
To this day I have no fucking idea what the thing is actually called. As a child I simply called it "the buzzer". It haunted my dreams. Like some lurking evil Satan machine that had come to devour the back of my head. I had to be physically calmed while it was active.
I HATED that fucking buzzer. And it hated me. And so this went on through my very early years.
Eventually I grew out of my paralyzing fear of the buzzer, In fact I got to the point where the actual hair cutting action didn't bother me at all. Once I get into that chair everything is fine. But in its place the awkwardness and fear grew rampant. The terror of sitting in the waiting area with four or five strangers... Everyone flipping through magazines they don't care about, and all the while I'm wondering "WHAT DO I DO WITH MY HANDS!!?!?!? DEAR GOD WHERE SHOULD MY FEET BE!?!?!"
This feeling finally caused me to attempt to renounce hair cutting all together.
I had always wanted to grow my hair long... And this was no fashion statement. During my teenage years people probably saw me and thought "Oh, this guy plays guitar, and he has long hair. This is typical and it is obviously because he is a "rocker"". No. It had nothing to do with the amount of rocking that I was doing, ladies and gentlemen. It was just pure, good old fashioned social anxiety and fear.
See, my plan was that if my hair was long, sure it would just keep getting longer, but I could just keep tying it back and ignore it. When it would finally get to the point that it was ridiculously long I would break down and go into the place and be like "clean this up, shoulder length please." Problem solved right? Do I give a fuck if people say "oh look at you with your girly long hair!"?
Fuck no I don't.
So during my early teens, I begged my parents to let me grow my hair long. They always said "No. you need to get your hair cut." But they didn't really always have time to take me. So I would never press the issue. And so my hair would grow unkempt for long periods of time with nothing to keep it in check. It would become long in the front and even longer in the back. It looked like a mullet that forgot it was supposed to be short on top. But I just kept ignoring it. Sure I looked like a circus freak... but at least I didn't have to sit in that room... Waiting with those people.
And so my parents would have to put it off and put it off. I would start planning haircuts ahead of time. I would feign sickness on my mom's day off, because I knew that if I didn't act too sick, she may take me to get my hair cut at an odd hour during the day when it was likely that nobody would be there waiting.
And so this went on for years.
The only way I saw to escape this cycle was to have someone cut my hair to where it was all growing out one length, let it grow, and just start tying it back. My hair always grew ridiculously fast, but once it gets out to the "long" stage it seems to slow to a more manageable stage.
So around the time I was sixteen or so and had my own car and a bit of my own money... I braved the scissors... one... last... time... (for a little while anyway.)
So I finally let it grow long. And my parents scowled for a while and then completely ceased to give a shit. And grow long it did. For almost 10 years I kept it that way. Getting a haircut maybe twice a year.
It was glorious.
But somewhere along the line... with no real catalyst to the decision, I unwisely decided to cut it short.
"I need a change." I thought.
Phsshhh change. And for what? What possible purpose would this serve. None my dear readers. None.
But I did it anyway... I cut it short. And the beast of my rapid growth hair was awakened. So I had to start thinking about haircuts every few months. I discovered that the fear never really went away. It has just been dormant.
Now when my hair gets to that point of really badly needing cut... I have to think about it for a few days beforehand... kind of work myself up to it. Then for a few days after that, I find myself literally stalking the barber. I drive by the shop and casually glance inside to see how many people are waiting and try to decide if I can deal with being in there with them.
Eventually after a couple days of this freakish ritual, I will finally decide to go in. Usually I will be noticed, and picked up relatively soon. The hair will be cut and all the anxiety will fade for another few months.
But recently I had a disturbing experience that has further set me back. I talked myself into entering the den of the beast... I sat down in the waiting area with nobody else waiting. "This is perfect" I thought "They'll pick me up fast and I wont even have to be here long."
I thought I had it all figured out.
Unfortunately, I was wrong. For some reason I was completely ignored. Everyone there simply went about their business like there wasn't even a customer sitting there. I thought "well he must be busy with cleanup or something." so I waited, and waited... and waited.
Nothing. It had finally happened. I had become too inconspicuous.
When it got to the point that I decided they were never going to acknowledge me even if I sat there until our parent star entered it's red giant phase, I discovered that I had a new problem. "How do I leave here without instantly calling uncomfortable attention to myself?" There was a loud bell on the door that would announce my exit just as surely as it announced my arrival.
I could see the whole terrible scene play out in my head... I stand up to leave and suddenly it would be like that moment in the old cartoons where Bugs Bunny is tip toeing through the sleeping pack of ravenous dogs and suddenly they are all wide eyed and staring at him. I would be assaulted with a flood of unwanted apologies and sympathy.
"Oh man I'm sorry! Didn't see you there! You ready to come on back? I'm really sorry!"
and I would have to say "Oh no, its okay.", "No problem", "Really its no big deal..." 30 times. They might give me a pity discount that I would gladly pay just to have been completely unacknowledged.
So at this point I made a decision... I had been playing with my phone idly while I sat there just to look like I was doing something other than sitting there trying to figure out what to do with my arms and legs (I had checked all of my empty email boxes at least 6 times by this point.) So I took a page from an old friend and rustled up a fake phone call. I didn't have the fancy app to make my phone ring for real... but I would just let the onlookers think it had been on silent.
"Hello?" I said "Oh not much, what are you up to?"
As I said this I stood up and walked out the door with its loud bell ringing behind me. They may have noticed me but wouldn't dare assault me while I was on the phone with someone. They probably thought I was just going outside for some privacy on the call.
As soon as I had exited the building I burned a path to my Jeep and pulled out of there.
Meanwhile, my hair still grows. It festers.
It waits.
I hate having my hair cut.
It inspires a special anxiety in me that I'm not really sure I can describe here. I discovered this at a very young age... well before school. It is something that has plagued my thoughts since I realized that I even had thoughts of my own.
It all started when I was a young boy...
My grandfather (who most of my life, and still to this day, has kept his hair trimmed almost to his skull in a military type haircut) would take me to this old man barber in a town called Smithers. This man was called "O'Brien". He had a little shop on the front street of town with the little spinning red and white "I cut hair!" thing, and his shop was where all the old men would hang out and discuss old man things.
This is where my anxiety begins.
The first problem was straight awkwardness and discomfort. I was never sure what to do with myself as a child while these men discussed things that I didn't understand. Politics and the like. So I would tend to feel like my hands and feet had no rightful place. I sat there thinking so hard on what would be the most "casual" position for me to sit. What would make me the least conspicuous? How can I not be noticed?
But the problem with that... which is a lesson I've learned over and over and over my entire life... is that trying not to be noticed is the surest way to attract attention.
So I would sit there. Enduring their small talk, and the occasional piece of conversation would be directed toward me, until finally the other patrons who were there before us would leave, and it would be my turn to go under the blade.
The actual cutting with the scissors never bothered me. Though I do recall he accidentally cut my ear once... just a bit... nothing serious. This did not scare my young child mind one bit. But let me tell you what did folks.
That damn buzzing thing they use on the back of your neck.
To this day I have no fucking idea what the thing is actually called. As a child I simply called it "the buzzer". It haunted my dreams. Like some lurking evil Satan machine that had come to devour the back of my head. I had to be physically calmed while it was active.
I HATED that fucking buzzer. And it hated me. And so this went on through my very early years.
Eventually I grew out of my paralyzing fear of the buzzer, In fact I got to the point where the actual hair cutting action didn't bother me at all. Once I get into that chair everything is fine. But in its place the awkwardness and fear grew rampant. The terror of sitting in the waiting area with four or five strangers... Everyone flipping through magazines they don't care about, and all the while I'm wondering "WHAT DO I DO WITH MY HANDS!!?!?!? DEAR GOD WHERE SHOULD MY FEET BE!?!?!"
This feeling finally caused me to attempt to renounce hair cutting all together.
I had always wanted to grow my hair long... And this was no fashion statement. During my teenage years people probably saw me and thought "Oh, this guy plays guitar, and he has long hair. This is typical and it is obviously because he is a "rocker"". No. It had nothing to do with the amount of rocking that I was doing, ladies and gentlemen. It was just pure, good old fashioned social anxiety and fear.
See, my plan was that if my hair was long, sure it would just keep getting longer, but I could just keep tying it back and ignore it. When it would finally get to the point that it was ridiculously long I would break down and go into the place and be like "clean this up, shoulder length please." Problem solved right? Do I give a fuck if people say "oh look at you with your girly long hair!"?
Fuck no I don't.
So during my early teens, I begged my parents to let me grow my hair long. They always said "No. you need to get your hair cut." But they didn't really always have time to take me. So I would never press the issue. And so my hair would grow unkempt for long periods of time with nothing to keep it in check. It would become long in the front and even longer in the back. It looked like a mullet that forgot it was supposed to be short on top. But I just kept ignoring it. Sure I looked like a circus freak... but at least I didn't have to sit in that room... Waiting with those people.
And so my parents would have to put it off and put it off. I would start planning haircuts ahead of time. I would feign sickness on my mom's day off, because I knew that if I didn't act too sick, she may take me to get my hair cut at an odd hour during the day when it was likely that nobody would be there waiting.
And so this went on for years.
The only way I saw to escape this cycle was to have someone cut my hair to where it was all growing out one length, let it grow, and just start tying it back. My hair always grew ridiculously fast, but once it gets out to the "long" stage it seems to slow to a more manageable stage.
So around the time I was sixteen or so and had my own car and a bit of my own money... I braved the scissors... one... last... time... (for a little while anyway.)
So I finally let it grow long. And my parents scowled for a while and then completely ceased to give a shit. And grow long it did. For almost 10 years I kept it that way. Getting a haircut maybe twice a year.
It was glorious.
But somewhere along the line... with no real catalyst to the decision, I unwisely decided to cut it short.
"I need a change." I thought.
Phsshhh change. And for what? What possible purpose would this serve. None my dear readers. None.
But I did it anyway... I cut it short. And the beast of my rapid growth hair was awakened. So I had to start thinking about haircuts every few months. I discovered that the fear never really went away. It has just been dormant.
Now when my hair gets to that point of really badly needing cut... I have to think about it for a few days beforehand... kind of work myself up to it. Then for a few days after that, I find myself literally stalking the barber. I drive by the shop and casually glance inside to see how many people are waiting and try to decide if I can deal with being in there with them.
Eventually after a couple days of this freakish ritual, I will finally decide to go in. Usually I will be noticed, and picked up relatively soon. The hair will be cut and all the anxiety will fade for another few months.
But recently I had a disturbing experience that has further set me back. I talked myself into entering the den of the beast... I sat down in the waiting area with nobody else waiting. "This is perfect" I thought "They'll pick me up fast and I wont even have to be here long."
I thought I had it all figured out.
Unfortunately, I was wrong. For some reason I was completely ignored. Everyone there simply went about their business like there wasn't even a customer sitting there. I thought "well he must be busy with cleanup or something." so I waited, and waited... and waited.
Nothing. It had finally happened. I had become too inconspicuous.
When it got to the point that I decided they were never going to acknowledge me even if I sat there until our parent star entered it's red giant phase, I discovered that I had a new problem. "How do I leave here without instantly calling uncomfortable attention to myself?" There was a loud bell on the door that would announce my exit just as surely as it announced my arrival.
I could see the whole terrible scene play out in my head... I stand up to leave and suddenly it would be like that moment in the old cartoons where Bugs Bunny is tip toeing through the sleeping pack of ravenous dogs and suddenly they are all wide eyed and staring at him. I would be assaulted with a flood of unwanted apologies and sympathy.
"Oh man I'm sorry! Didn't see you there! You ready to come on back? I'm really sorry!"
and I would have to say "Oh no, its okay.", "No problem", "Really its no big deal..." 30 times. They might give me a pity discount that I would gladly pay just to have been completely unacknowledged.
So at this point I made a decision... I had been playing with my phone idly while I sat there just to look like I was doing something other than sitting there trying to figure out what to do with my arms and legs (I had checked all of my empty email boxes at least 6 times by this point.) So I took a page from an old friend and rustled up a fake phone call. I didn't have the fancy app to make my phone ring for real... but I would just let the onlookers think it had been on silent.
"Hello?" I said "Oh not much, what are you up to?"
As I said this I stood up and walked out the door with its loud bell ringing behind me. They may have noticed me but wouldn't dare assault me while I was on the phone with someone. They probably thought I was just going outside for some privacy on the call.
As soon as I had exited the building I burned a path to my Jeep and pulled out of there.
Meanwhile, my hair still grows. It festers.
It waits.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Insert Comment Here (Part 2)
Welcome to Monday everyone. Please leave all your expectations for good things at the door.
After causing a minor diplomatic incident between Weapon Mods and Slacker Conservative with my last post, I thought I would calm it down a bit here, and rehash an old post with some new fury.
Reading an article earlier today about Jupiter's gravitational effects upon comets and asteroids, I once again fell victim to my compulsion to read the comments section. There I discovered this gem from "John" in Bend Oregon...
After reading this wild, out there, speculative article I am reinforced with the conclusion that we should stop space exploration and focus on the problems here on earth. Only evolutionists and godless individuals worry about these kind of calamities and, unfortunately for them, take God out of the bigger picture when they should focus on what God's plan is for this Earth.
Truth #1 = God made the Earth and has a purpose for it (Isaiah 45:18)
18 For this is what Jehovah has said, the Creator of the heavens, He the [true] God, the Former of the earth and the Maker of it, He the One who firmly established it, who did not create it simply for nothing, who formed it even to be inhabited: “I am Jehovah, and there is no one else.
Truth #2 = The Earth will last forever. Scientists never include Jehovah God in their calculations...if humans could divert an asteriod, why can't God? (Psalm 104:5) 5 He has founded the earth upon its established places; It will not be made to totter to time indefinite, or forever.
Truth #3 = Righteous humans will inhabit this planet forever.
(Psalm 37:29) 29 The righteous themselves will possess the earth, And they will reside forever upon it.
Truth #4 = The problems on this Earth will very soon be permanently fixed.
(2 Thessalonians 1:6-9) 6 This takes into account that it is righteous on God’s part to repay tribulation to those who make tribulation for YOU, 7 but, to YOU who suffer tribulation, relief along with us at the revelation of the Lord Jesus from heaven with his powerful angels 8 in a flaming fire, as he brings vengeance upon those who do not know God and those who do not obey the good news about our Lord Jesus. 9 These very ones will undergo the judicial punishment of everlasting destruction from before the Lord and from the glory of his strength. . .
God's Kingdom, at the hands of Jesus Christ, will soon remove opposers to his will and purpose for the benefit of righteous people and fix things here on Earth. Let God's Kingdom come (Matthew 6:9,10; 24:14; Revelation 21:1-5) Truth !!.
I'm so glad that John was around to set us all straight about how silly it is to try to track and predict asteroids. Obviously we should just let them go, and if there is an imminent impact risk, Jesus will just show up with a big catcher's glove.
Now, I have no problem with people having religious beliefs. I don't share them myself, but I recognize their purpose, and I don't pretend to know anything for sure about the universe and how it came to be. But folks... These disturbed individuals are out there, wrapping themselves up in an ignorance blanket and condemning all who do not. These are the same people who vote for politicians because they had a photo op at a church with some smiling old people. They are breeding and making more of themselves. I recently overheard a coworker discussing how he had beaten his daughter the night before because she refused to say her prayers.
Sounds like she needs to pray for a more intelligent father.
Live in fear.
On a lighter note. Here's a power glove.
After causing a minor diplomatic incident between Weapon Mods and Slacker Conservative with my last post, I thought I would calm it down a bit here, and rehash an old post with some new fury.
Reading an article earlier today about Jupiter's gravitational effects upon comets and asteroids, I once again fell victim to my compulsion to read the comments section. There I discovered this gem from "John" in Bend Oregon...
After reading this wild, out there, speculative article I am reinforced with the conclusion that we should stop space exploration and focus on the problems here on earth. Only evolutionists and godless individuals worry about these kind of calamities and, unfortunately for them, take God out of the bigger picture when they should focus on what God's plan is for this Earth.
Truth #1 = God made the Earth and has a purpose for it (Isaiah 45:18)
18 For this is what Jehovah has said, the Creator of the heavens, He the [true] God, the Former of the earth and the Maker of it, He the One who firmly established it, who did not create it simply for nothing, who formed it even to be inhabited: “I am Jehovah, and there is no one else.
Truth #2 = The Earth will last forever. Scientists never include Jehovah God in their calculations...if humans could divert an asteriod, why can't God? (Psalm 104:5) 5 He has founded the earth upon its established places; It will not be made to totter to time indefinite, or forever.
Truth #3 = Righteous humans will inhabit this planet forever.
(Psalm 37:29) 29 The righteous themselves will possess the earth, And they will reside forever upon it.
Truth #4 = The problems on this Earth will very soon be permanently fixed.
(2 Thessalonians 1:6-9) 6 This takes into account that it is righteous on God’s part to repay tribulation to those who make tribulation for YOU, 7 but, to YOU who suffer tribulation, relief along with us at the revelation of the Lord Jesus from heaven with his powerful angels 8 in a flaming fire, as he brings vengeance upon those who do not know God and those who do not obey the good news about our Lord Jesus. 9 These very ones will undergo the judicial punishment of everlasting destruction from before the Lord and from the glory of his strength. . .
God's Kingdom, at the hands of Jesus Christ, will soon remove opposers to his will and purpose for the benefit of righteous people and fix things here on Earth. Let God's Kingdom come (Matthew 6:9,10; 24:14; Revelation 21:1-5) Truth !!.
I'm so glad that John was around to set us all straight about how silly it is to try to track and predict asteroids. Obviously we should just let them go, and if there is an imminent impact risk, Jesus will just show up with a big catcher's glove.
Now, I have no problem with people having religious beliefs. I don't share them myself, but I recognize their purpose, and I don't pretend to know anything for sure about the universe and how it came to be. But folks... These disturbed individuals are out there, wrapping themselves up in an ignorance blanket and condemning all who do not. These are the same people who vote for politicians because they had a photo op at a church with some smiling old people. They are breeding and making more of themselves. I recently overheard a coworker discussing how he had beaten his daughter the night before because she refused to say her prayers.
Sounds like she needs to pray for a more intelligent father.
Live in fear.
On a lighter note. Here's a power glove.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Dark Secrets... Almost Forgotten. But Not Quite...
I'm sorry Patrick. The story must be told.
This is the story of how two self professed "gamers" met their most bitter and humiliating defeat at the hands... of a door.
It was the summer of 1999. I was lazily wasting away the day replaying Final Fantasy VII for about the 50th time, when my friend Pat calls.
He is playing The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. A game that I had played and finished myself not 6 months prior.
Patrick has a problem.
"I'm in this ice cavern" he says "I'm at the very end of the map... there is one more room, and a door... but I cant figure out how to get this damn door open."
"Hmmm" I think to myself. "I don't quite remember that... Let me start up my game and walk you through it."
And so I did...
I loaded up my game that was saved just before the final castle. My Link is equipped with every piece of gear and every upgrade available in the game.
This ice cavern... is about to meet it's match!
So I called my trusty steed Epona and traversed the land of Hyrule. Back into the adult Link's version of Zora's Domain which had frozen over. Creating the dreaded cavern that had so far befuddled my friend.
I smugly entered the cave and dispatched all resistance on the way to our goal. My superior gear and past experience would lead me to victory here. I needed nothing and no one.
Finally I arrived at the door in question. Master Sword in hand I surveyed the area... "Hmmm... " I thought "There appears to be no obvious Zelda puzzle door trappings here..."
There was no timed switch...
There was no block puzzle...
There was no target to shoot at to open the door...
"Ahhhhh!!!" I thought... "I have the solution for this my friend..."
It was so obvious. How could he have missed it?
.bmp)
Ladies and gentlemen... I bombed the fuck out of that door.
Nothing.
Not even a scratch.
"Hmmmm... Perhaps... well maybe... I mean... Maybe it's a certain song you have to play on the ocarina?"
I knew I was reaching here already folks... There were none of the usual signs of an ocarina puzzle here... no plate on the floor or walls... I should have known already that I had failed. Failed my friend... Failed my people.
So I started playing songs for the door. All the while Pat is doing the same and trying all the tricks in his bag.
We casts spells at it. We bombed it. We shot arrows at it. We hit it with hammers, swords... Hell I even fired my hookshot at the damn thing. I guess I thought maybe all that "Hey!! Listen!!!" from Navi had been her trying to remind me about the hookshot's battering ram attachment.
Nothing. The door stood unfazed. Laughing at our pale attempts to breach it.
One of us had the bright idea that perhaps it had to be a certain time of the day. So we walked all the way outside and played the sun song and then all the way back in. Nothing.
Had both of our games somehow glitched on the same door at the same time? How had I passed through this cavern before. I knew that I had... because I remembered that there was a fight against some wolves on the other side. But how? How had I done it...?
Suddenly... There was an awkward silence on the phone.
"James..." said Pat... "Press A."
"Huh?" I replied.
"Walk to the door... and press A."
I walked to the door.
I pressed A.
It opened.
This is the story of how two self professed "gamers" met their most bitter and humiliating defeat at the hands... of a door.
It was the summer of 1999. I was lazily wasting away the day replaying Final Fantasy VII for about the 50th time, when my friend Pat calls.
He is playing The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. A game that I had played and finished myself not 6 months prior.
Patrick has a problem.
"I'm in this ice cavern" he says "I'm at the very end of the map... there is one more room, and a door... but I cant figure out how to get this damn door open."
"Hmmm" I think to myself. "I don't quite remember that... Let me start up my game and walk you through it."
And so I did...
I loaded up my game that was saved just before the final castle. My Link is equipped with every piece of gear and every upgrade available in the game.
This ice cavern... is about to meet it's match!
So I called my trusty steed Epona and traversed the land of Hyrule. Back into the adult Link's version of Zora's Domain which had frozen over. Creating the dreaded cavern that had so far befuddled my friend.
I smugly entered the cave and dispatched all resistance on the way to our goal. My superior gear and past experience would lead me to victory here. I needed nothing and no one.
Finally I arrived at the door in question. Master Sword in hand I surveyed the area... "Hmmm... " I thought "There appears to be no obvious Zelda puzzle door trappings here..."
There was no timed switch...
There was no block puzzle...
There was no target to shoot at to open the door...
"Ahhhhh!!!" I thought... "I have the solution for this my friend..."
It was so obvious. How could he have missed it?
.bmp)
Ladies and gentlemen... I bombed the fuck out of that door.
Nothing.
Not even a scratch.
"Hmmmm... Perhaps... well maybe... I mean... Maybe it's a certain song you have to play on the ocarina?"
I knew I was reaching here already folks... There were none of the usual signs of an ocarina puzzle here... no plate on the floor or walls... I should have known already that I had failed. Failed my friend... Failed my people.
So I started playing songs for the door. All the while Pat is doing the same and trying all the tricks in his bag.
We casts spells at it. We bombed it. We shot arrows at it. We hit it with hammers, swords... Hell I even fired my hookshot at the damn thing. I guess I thought maybe all that "Hey!! Listen!!!" from Navi had been her trying to remind me about the hookshot's battering ram attachment.
Nothing. The door stood unfazed. Laughing at our pale attempts to breach it.
One of us had the bright idea that perhaps it had to be a certain time of the day. So we walked all the way outside and played the sun song and then all the way back in. Nothing.
Had both of our games somehow glitched on the same door at the same time? How had I passed through this cavern before. I knew that I had... because I remembered that there was a fight against some wolves on the other side. But how? How had I done it...?
Suddenly... There was an awkward silence on the phone.
"James..." said Pat... "Press A."
"Huh?" I replied.
"Walk to the door... and press A."
I walked to the door.
I pressed A.
It opened.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Lifting Your Spirits Since 2009
My good friend Dorge Kas told me that I needed to write an uplifting post for today. So in the name of happiness and love I had to get this done.
Happy Valentines Day everyone.
Aeris dies.
Happy Valentines Day everyone.
Aeris dies.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Old Guitarists
"Check out Old Man Lawson rocking out to his old people music... Jeez what is he like 90? What the hell is that noise anyway?"
"I think its called Nine Inch Nails or something... My Grandma listens to that stuff all the time."
"Whatever. If he's going to jump around like that you'd think he'd at least have the decency to find some pants."
It is an inevitable consequence of growing older that one generation tends to lose touch with the next's musical tastes. My parents had no idea what to make of the screeching, squealing angst blaring from my stereo, and my guitar when I was a teenager. That was generally accepted to be normal. Dad would give me hell for listening to "that noise" and I would return fire with your typical flurry of barbs about how soul crushingly sad it is that someone wrote a hit song about a girl who thinks a tractor is sexy.
This is the way of things. And I'm okay with that.
However... Lately I've been worrying that I might lose touch with my own generation's music through the overwhelming power of nostalgia.
Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I'm pretty much obsessed with The Smashing Pumpkins. They have been my favorite band since I was about 16 and had a new "favorite band" every week. Thankfully they were the one that finally stuck.
Over the last 14 years I've purchased pretty much everything they've ever recorded and have seen them in concert 5 times (Hoping to make it 6 this spring).
I really love this band.
I also feel like I've kind of grown up with their music from the point that I discovered them. I picked them up kind of late... Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness had already been out a year when I finally picked up my first Pumpkins album.
That album was Siamese Dream... Which, in my humble opinion, is the best album ever.
It is just "that album" for me. I think everybody has one (I hope so anyway). It's that "If I were stranded on a desert island..." album. I could listen to it at any time of the day, any time of the year, and as many times as you like and still love it. It was so bad that before I finally joined the 21st century and changed over to digital music I had to buy a second copy of the CD because I had worn out the first.
Now don't get the sense that I listen to nothing but the pumpkins all day every day. That isn't true. My music collection contains somewhere in the ballpark of 700 albums by various artists... Now that isnt to say that I'm some sort of musical journeyman. That wouldn't be true either. I just like what I like and don't have much use for anything else.
Anyway, a few other things I can tell you about Siamese Dream is that it always reminds me of spring no matter when I'm listening. I always get a feeling of freshly cut grass and sun rays. It's not always in a happy way really... I mean its not necessarily sad either. Sometimes its just restless, which is pretty much the definition of me. It gives me the feeling that there is all this beauty out there but I have absolutely no idea what to do with it. It's not so much angry as some of the later Pumpkins work became... Reznor had "The Downward Spiral" and SD is more like "The Hopelessly Romantic Melodramatic Spiral."
Something else that this album is though, is young. It feels so very young even though it's nearly 20 years old. The songs scream youthful confusion, and that is something I related to, and still do relate to. I feel like that has created a powerful bond between myself and this album.
But what happens when I become further separated from the source material?
When I'm 50 years old and the path of my life has either been finally set by my own will, or simply decided for me by my inactivity, will this album still be the brilliant gem of my musical existence or will it be a depressing reminder of a time when I had chances and never took them? Will I still be able to listen to it and feel that same calming feeling or will I just be wishing I was 30 years younger and listening to this album? It's a question that I think about a lot. I mean I wont say that it keeps me up at night or anything... But it weighs heavily on my mind.
Sometimes I feel like my inaction defines me much more than my action. Simply because you'd have to dig deep in my history to find any action. I more often just sit around thinking about all the action I might take. That, to me, is what Siamese Dream is about. Sitting around, and thinking about all the things you might do.
There is a line from a much later pumpkins song that goes "What is it you want? What is it you want to change?"
That's a good question.
"I think its called Nine Inch Nails or something... My Grandma listens to that stuff all the time."
"Whatever. If he's going to jump around like that you'd think he'd at least have the decency to find some pants."
It is an inevitable consequence of growing older that one generation tends to lose touch with the next's musical tastes. My parents had no idea what to make of the screeching, squealing angst blaring from my stereo, and my guitar when I was a teenager. That was generally accepted to be normal. Dad would give me hell for listening to "that noise" and I would return fire with your typical flurry of barbs about how soul crushingly sad it is that someone wrote a hit song about a girl who thinks a tractor is sexy.
This is the way of things. And I'm okay with that.
However... Lately I've been worrying that I might lose touch with my own generation's music through the overwhelming power of nostalgia.
Anyone who knows anything about me knows that I'm pretty much obsessed with The Smashing Pumpkins. They have been my favorite band since I was about 16 and had a new "favorite band" every week. Thankfully they were the one that finally stuck.
Over the last 14 years I've purchased pretty much everything they've ever recorded and have seen them in concert 5 times (Hoping to make it 6 this spring).
I really love this band.
I also feel like I've kind of grown up with their music from the point that I discovered them. I picked them up kind of late... Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness had already been out a year when I finally picked up my first Pumpkins album.
That album was Siamese Dream... Which, in my humble opinion, is the best album ever.
I've been asked in the past "What is it about that album for you?"It is just "that album" for me. I think everybody has one (I hope so anyway). It's that "If I were stranded on a desert island..." album. I could listen to it at any time of the day, any time of the year, and as many times as you like and still love it. It was so bad that before I finally joined the 21st century and changed over to digital music I had to buy a second copy of the CD because I had worn out the first.
Now don't get the sense that I listen to nothing but the pumpkins all day every day. That isn't true. My music collection contains somewhere in the ballpark of 700 albums by various artists... Now that isnt to say that I'm some sort of musical journeyman. That wouldn't be true either. I just like what I like and don't have much use for anything else.
Anyway, a few other things I can tell you about Siamese Dream is that it always reminds me of spring no matter when I'm listening. I always get a feeling of freshly cut grass and sun rays. It's not always in a happy way really... I mean its not necessarily sad either. Sometimes its just restless, which is pretty much the definition of me. It gives me the feeling that there is all this beauty out there but I have absolutely no idea what to do with it. It's not so much angry as some of the later Pumpkins work became... Reznor had "The Downward Spiral" and SD is more like "The Hopelessly Romantic Melodramatic Spiral."
Something else that this album is though, is young. It feels so very young even though it's nearly 20 years old. The songs scream youthful confusion, and that is something I related to, and still do relate to. I feel like that has created a powerful bond between myself and this album.
But what happens when I become further separated from the source material?
When I'm 50 years old and the path of my life has either been finally set by my own will, or simply decided for me by my inactivity, will this album still be the brilliant gem of my musical existence or will it be a depressing reminder of a time when I had chances and never took them? Will I still be able to listen to it and feel that same calming feeling or will I just be wishing I was 30 years younger and listening to this album? It's a question that I think about a lot. I mean I wont say that it keeps me up at night or anything... But it weighs heavily on my mind.
Sometimes I feel like my inaction defines me much more than my action. Simply because you'd have to dig deep in my history to find any action. I more often just sit around thinking about all the action I might take. That, to me, is what Siamese Dream is about. Sitting around, and thinking about all the things you might do.
There is a line from a much later pumpkins song that goes "What is it you want? What is it you want to change?"
That's a good question.
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