Halloween in the restaurant biz Pt5

To the left is Tim. Tim came as a cow, but we aren't allowed to wear masks at work, so he instead became some sort of human-cow hybrid that I think they're going to use on the next multi-flavored skittles commercial. And, to the right of course, is Cloud piercing a few of Chad's vital organs. He went to the hospital, but was proclaimed dead en route. Sorry Chad; you were the awesomest. More pictures of me as Cloud are at the bottom of this series of pics.

On a brief side note, can we get the occasional English speaking blog going on here? I was surfing blogs while doing all these pic uploads, and between spanish and japanese (or some other asian I can't read), I had to hit "next blog" a whole helluva lot of times. Blogger should do something to categorize by languages or something.

Halloween in the restaurant biz pt4

This is Candi. I could date Candi. I think I could date Candi. I'd try if the opportunity made itself available, let's put it that way. (She's hot and awesome and we have a blast at work, but I wonder if she could handle me in large doses... (No pun intended).) The left picture was taken when she wasn't ready, because she WAS ready, but then someone told her to do something and she moved and the picture took. But I think it had potential to be great except that you can see the duct tape she used to whole up the fishnets.

Halloween in the restaurant biz Pt3

Sandra looked great in her cowgirl outfit; the picture really doesn't do it justice. She had a little toy suction-cup gun, and her hair was in pigtails, and she by far gets my vote for best female-costume because it wasn't store-bought; she actually pieced it together herself, and I always value originality over cookie-cutter hotness. Jamie, though, nailed cookie-cutter hotness. The picture doesn't do her justice either, because as Elvira, she looked friggin' fanTAStic. Have you noticed a trend amongst my coworkers? They're all hot!!!

Halloween in the restaurant biz Pt2

I put ambz and megs up here together for two reasons. Firstly, they're both hot. But, more importantly, both of their costumes were kind of... Mr. Potatoish? Amber had order some ho-y gangsters outfit off the internet and paid for overnight shipping, and it didnt' come, so she put on horns, fishnets, a short denim skirt, and went as... um... I don't know; a slutty-looking waitress in hell? Megan was supposed to be a fire-fighter, but the hat she'd borrowed from another coworker didn't fit, and I don't suppose the outfit would've been quite as womanly if she'd worn fire fighter pants. So instead she wore short denim shorts and... um... a tail. A demon's tail. Do they have fire-fighters in hell?

Halloween in the restaurant biz

It seemed only fitting to put Melisa and Thomas up here together, since they're cousins. Melisa dressed as a pregnant girl who doesn't like her picture being taken (hint: she's really pregnant and really doesn't like having her picture taken), and Thomas came disguised as a black man (hint: He's really... oh, do I have to spell it out for you?).

More Cloud

I think the picture on the right is my favorite. I think it's partially because he (rather, I) have a "Oh, there are five dragons coming? Let me just get my sword" look on his face, and partially because my tummy is tucked away from view.

Will the real Cloud Strife please stand up?

It was late and I was tired...

Skyline

Ya know, I just popped in 2F2F. I didn't want to watch the whole thing; I didn't even want to watch the first race. I just wanted to see the Skyline GTR ripping through traffic to Ludacris' "Act a fool" song. God damn, but that's a sexy car! It's the newer model (not the newest, which will be the first to come to the United States in '07ish), but even the older ones are sexy, and almost as fast. It is to japanese cars what the vette or the viper are to ours; probably even comparable to ford's GT. Just... GOD, it's DELICIOUS!!! I want to get that car and chew it up! That, or, you know, race it...

Also February's birthstone...

Of course it was cut&pasted; who knows that much about amethyst? The important thing is that the answerer knew to look up "amethyst" in the first place...

Hell Spawn

GRRRRR!!!!! I'm an hell-spawned koala demon!

(Oh noes! It's evil and bloody!)

Raaaargh!!!! I'm coming for you!!!!

(It's gonna feast on our brain-meats!)

I'm gonna feast on your- hey! I was gonna say that!

(Oh noes again! We stole it's line, and now it's really angry!)

GROWL AND SNARL!!!! I'm gonna EAT YOU!!!





PS: I'm fairly positive that the "Oh noes" are ripped off of comic or two from nuklearpower.com

Check it out so he doesn't sue me!

"Premonitions? Premonitions... These visions you see...?"

"They're of pain, suffering... death..."

"Yourself, or someone you know?"

"Someone."

"Close to you?"

"Yes."

"Careful you must be when sensing the future, Anakin. The fear of loss is a path to the dark side."

"I won't let these visions come true Master Yoda."

"Death is a natural part of life. Rejoice for those who have joined the Force. More them do not; miss them do not. Attachment leads to jealousy; the shadow of greed, that is."

"What must I do?"

"Train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose."

Quest

I joined a gym today for the first time in a few years. Practicing Tai Chi is nice, and it's certainly been effective, but with the classes only being held at specific times, and the weather getting colder, and no room in the house being big enough to practice, I'm rather restricted to when and how long I can practice. Which defeats one of the main reasons that I signed-up for it in the first place, which is to give me something to do in my spare time during the days. So I joined a gym so I can exercise whenever I like (more or less), and I can build more muscle tone than I would through tai chi alone. Plus, as a bonus, I'm allowed to use their group workout room if there's no class in there, so it gives me someplace to practice tai chi too! Sweet deal, huh?

Eternal Student

Okay, just a quick point of note for any of you beginning martial arts students out there. When you think you've learned something? You really haven't. See, I thought I'd learned the entire open-hand form of tai chi, right? But, at class today, my instructor had me start going through the sections again, and "tweaked" my motions. It was almost like re-learning the first two sections. So, yeah, it truly is a life-long process. Just fyi.

Costume Update

It's almost done! I'd say 98%. All that's left is to get my hair dyed (Thursday), air out my boots (currently happening; for some reason, they smell like rotted ass) and get new boot laces (tomorrow, maybe). I opted for dyed hair vs a wig because I don't think a wig will ever look like it should, and maybe my hair won't either, but it'll at least look more natural. If the costume's hair can't look very closely like Cloud's hair, I'd rather it be real hair that looks different than fake hair that looks different, you know? In any event, I can't wait to get a picture up here side by side with the one I have of Cloud, to show off my artistry. That's why I make my own costumes, I think; It's a craft and it takes time and effort to make it turn out right. Those store-bought costumes are such a fuckin' waste of time; they never look any good (unless it's a pre-packaged "St. Pauli Girl" costume on some bombshell blonde, but if that's the case, it's the blonde that looks good rather than the costume).

Also, I finished the open-hand form of tai chi, which is fairly awesome. The short sword form is supposed to be next on the list of things to learn, but I want to ask my instructor if he'll teach me broad sword first, so I can practice with the real buster sword I have. I figure that'll serve two purposes. Firstly, it'll build muscletone in my arms, 'cause that sword's a friggin monster and it'll take a great deal of effort to try to move it with any semblance of control. But also, it'd be pretty cool to not only own a beastly sword like that, but to know how to use it as well.

Fucking weather...

ALL FUCKING WEEK IT'S BEEN COLD AND SHITTY! THE ONE DAY THAT I WOULD ACTUALLY BE ALLOWED TO NOT GO TO WORK DUE TO SHITTY WEATHER, IT'S FUCKING SUNNY WITHOUT A CLOUD IN THE SKY!!!!! I FUCKING HATE THE FUCKING WEATHER! FUCKER!

"Don't it always seem to go,

that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone."

Or, at least, until you think it's gone. As horrible as it must be to think you've lost someone you care about, it must be equally as wonderful of a feeling to realize that you were mistaken. I'm sure both sides of that coin involve a high level of disbelief too. It's just funny what we take for granted as people; things we enjoy that we don't really appreciate; people we care about that we never bother to tell.

Me? Well, I recently thought that I'd lost a friend, and I'm sad to say that I didn't truly appreciate them as a friend until I thought they were gone. (They're not, btw.) But how many people am I like that with? How many others play a role in my life, and I'm oblivious to it. Or worse, I try to change that role to what I think it should be? I wonder how many women friends I've missed out on over the years, either because I told them there was interest and it spooked them (not unlike certain horses I know), or because I wasn't able to just accept the friendship. One of my best friends for, oh, going on 8 years now is a woman that I held a mammoth crush on for about 3-4 of those years. Most women, hell, most people I know are neither that patient nor that tolerant. I'm grateful that April was, because I really couldn't've asked for a better friend. I have a couple friends like her; lol... most of them are dudes though, they weren't forged from the same fires of romantic interest that she was.

Anyway, this is kind of an apology to this recent friend of mine; not so much for expressing an interest (because I truly did try to keep that to a minimum), but for being arrogant enough to harbor the hope of something more without truly appreciating what I already had. I'm glad to call you my friend, and should you need anything, including advice on guys (there's not much to say; we're simple creatures), you have only to ask. I've quoted it before (even on here), and I'll quote it again (probably on here as well): "True friendship is when you can come to me in 15 years, having not seen me for 10 years, and need a place to stay, and know that you have a place to stay." Friendships like these are rare indeed in this world, and I'm thankful for those that I have. I'll leave with a quote from Calvin and Hobbes:

Calvin: "I wish I had more friends, but people are such jerks. If you can just get most people to ignore you and leave you alone, you're doing good. If you can find even one person you really like, you're lucky. And if that person can also stand you, you're really lucky."

Hobbes: "What if you find someone you can talk to while you eat apples on a bright fall morning?"

Calvin: "Well, yeah... I suppose there's no point in getting greedy, is there?"

Horoscope

Scorpio
October 24 - November 21

You know that people change when they have children. That said, your transformation will be particularly remarkable when you discover you have two dozen of them, all with special needs.




I love the Onion...

Sally Forth

I just want to say that Sally's ending comment here is probably the most random, funny comment I've seen since the days of The Far Side. And it's a shout-out to all of you randomly funny friends of mine. Holla!

addendum to 'work'

I left out a possible "good day" in my earlier post. Good days include not only fuck-off shifts with fun coworkers and ass-hammering shifts with good money. They are both trumped by the following:

FUCK OFF SHIFTS WITH GOOD MONEY!

I don't know how this works, but when it does, Chrissy happy. (By that, I mean a cutesy version of 'Chris,' not my ex-boss.)

Fall

Know what I like the most about fall? It's not the leaves changing, though they look amazing. It's not that my birthday draws nigh. It's not even that when the wind kicks-up just right that it makes my duster blow in the breeze like I'm on my way to a high-noon showdown. My most favoritest thing about the fall is when it's cold at night and I can finally use more coverings for sleep than a meager sheet, and I get into bed with a quilt and a blanket, and pull them around me in an orgasm of warmth and softness. That's by far the best feeling in the world.

"I'm not as good as I once was...

...but I'm as good once as I ever was..."

Never thought I'd quote a country song, but it's stuck in my head. And I kinda like the feeling to the song too; I can see myself being that way when I get older. You know, being aware of my limits, but still being able to give it my all for one big push if the situation calls for it (whatever said situation may be; in the song, I think it ranges from 2 chicks at once, to backing a buddy up in a bar fight, to something else).

Why do I study tai chi? My initial response to that question is something along the lines of "to bring my body and will in line with my mind and spirit, and to strengthen them all." But there is a more basic, more primal desire too; I want to learn how to fight. Not because I want to, but because I want to be able to if I ever need to, be it to protect someone else or myself. (No, I've never been beat up; picked on? yes. Beat up? no.) And it's not a specific problem in my neck of the woods, but the fact is that I don't know precisely where my future will take me, and I want to be able to take care of myself if need be.

But it's funny, because tai chi itself fulfills my initial response better, I think, than my primal one. I always, always leave that class in a good mood. Today is a perfect example; I'd had a rough weekend, culminating today. Things kinda didn't go as I wanted them to, especially concerning my costume. And then I couldn't find a replacement turtleneck for the one I'd ostensibly ruined during my experimenting. And I was kinda down, but I had class from 1-2, and I forced myself to go, and it really is quite the liberating experience. By the end of the session, my spirits were up, a smile was back on my face, and I was able to continue my turtleneck hunt with renewed vigor. I can't explain exactly what causes that, but it has never once failed to be true; I have always noticed during the walk from my school to my car that my mood has vastly improved over what it was when I walked the opposite direction an hour earlier. I don't know if it's the breathing exercises, or the need to learn being fulfilled, or the physical exertion, or the concentrating on something outside of my life; but whatever it is, it's wonderful. I can understand why so many practitioners make a point to start every day with it. If I could bring myself to do that, maybe I wouldn't have rough weekends...

The Sword on the Shirt

So I spent a few hours tonight gluing/sewing magnets into my turtle neck to form my sword's "sheath" for halloween. It's a great sword too; sturdy, well-crafted, and too fucking heavy!!! I'm so bitter that the magnet idea didn't work out. I mean, part of me didn't really expect it to, but I guess I was hoping; I was using pretty powerful magnets, and there were six different points of connection, so I guess I figured that'd be enough. But no, no it wasn't. Forget mounting the sword to my back; I laid my shirt out on the floor and laid the sword on top of it, making sure all six magnets were connecting, picked up the shirt, and the sword fell off. Which is just as well, I suppose, because the magnets in the shirt kept getting tangled up in each other as well, which would've made life difficult. So it's back to the drawing board. I'm open to suggestions.

On the flip side, I've again realized that I handle stress and disappointment much like the stereotypical woman. Magnet power not enough to sustain a too-heavy sword? Hey, that's nothing six chocolate chip cookies won't fix! (Not true. The cookies didn't do a damn thing to help me. All they did was get crumbs everywhere. I punished them by eating them. They were delicious.)

Anyway, yeah, I need to think of something else to do with this sword. I can't bloody well carry it around while I'm working, but it's too big for any swort of typical sheath to work. (A coworker commented that I could use it as a serving tray; that's how big it is.) Don't worry about me. I'll think of something. I always do.

work

I have two kinds of good days. The first is where we aren't busy at all, and I just fuck-off all day at work. Those aren't the most profitable days, but they are fun, particularly with the right coworkers. The other kind is when I'm so busy I don't know my ass from a hole in the ground, but at the end of the night I walk with almost as much as I made in a week at the bank. That was the past two nights (which was awesome, considering the weather we'd had up to yesterday). I went into work yesterday thinking I wouldn't make jack, and I wound up having a fabulous two days. I'm exhausted, but there's milk and honey in the fridge, kna-mean?

Lol

Okay, what is it about religion that I can always rely on it to leave me things to write about. Today? Another one of my mom's daily inspirational quote things: "We'd get more out of a sermon if we learned the trick of listening like a Christian rather than like a critic."

What does that mean, exactly? Are we supposed to just blindly believe what is said? Although listening like a critic might convey connotations of listening with an effort to cut something down, I take it as more objective listening; I think it's listening not just for flaws, but to find things that aren't flaws as well. After all, if the sermon actually has the potential to teach something, what harm is there in trying to find errors? If we find them, then we shouldn't've been following the sermon in the first place. If we don't, then it makes the sermon all the more stronger. Right?

Lacking

I feel as though my blog posts have been lacking recently; I'm not entirely sure why. It's not as though my life has suddenly gotten more mundane then it was. And it's not that I don't like to write. I don't know. Lol, maybe in cutting out some of the trouble-causing aspects of my life, I've left myself with fewer things to write about.

Ah, I got something. A lady friend of mine (apparently) recently attended the wedding of a couple that was friends with both her and her ex-boyfriend. (She went to school with the bride; her ex was friends with the groom.) Apparently, said ex laid into her at the wedding, over what I'm not entirely sure, but I believe over her already having another boyfriend (this came down to me third-hand). And then after the wedding, the groom sent her an email thanking her for coming, and then attacking her asking how she could do this to them?

Excuse me? What? How could she do what to them?!? She didn't even take her boyfriend to the wedding! What kind of friends attack you for moving on from a relationship? That makes my blood boil, particularly since I never really cared for anyone within that group (I hated her ex).

What is wrong with people? I don't get it; I'm glad that my ex's found someone else; it means they're less likely to try to rekindle anything with me. Maybe that was this guy's problem; the day after he broke up with her, he tried to get back with her and she wouldn't have it. Maybe he's bitter about that, and jealous that there's someone else in his old shoes to prevent him from getting her back. I don't know; he was a douche anyway. lol; "Roderick" is what we called him in my circle of friends. Good times, those were.

... Well, that didn't take up anywhere near the writing I thought it would. I don't think I rant and complain quite like I used to. It still happens, mind you, just not as much. Maybe I'm just starting to realize that people are people, and that we all have our neurosises that govern how we act. We all have things we fear, we all have feelings that can be hurt. We all have things that make us angry, or sad, or happy. We all do things that we're compelled to do, that maybe we don't want to do. And we all have things that we'd like to do, that maybe we feel like we can't, or we shouldn't, or that we aren't supposed to. Maybe the contradiction comes from society, or from our own insecurities. Maybe the conflict lies within us, stemming from not knowing what is best. The more I encounter people though, the less angry I feel, and the more I start to pity them. We're a sad, sad breed; so obsessed with being loved and accepted, but not willing to give that first.

I was talking with someone the other day about whether people had fundamentally changed or not. We both, more or less, agreed that throughout time, people really haven't changed. Methods of destruction have gotten more powerful, tools have gotten more useful, and maybe specialized knowledge of certain fields has evolved; but the average everyman? He's the same as he was 10,000 years ago. We're still confused children, lost in the dark, and petrified of the fire that grants us light.

Missed me

Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me
If you kiss me, mister, I might tell my sister
If I tell her, mister, she might tell my mother
And my mother, mister, she might tell my father
And my father, mister, he won't be too happy
And he'll have his lawyer come up from the city
And arrest you, mister, so I wouldn't miss me
If you get me, mister, see?

Missed me, missed me, now you've gotta kiss me
If you kiss me, mister, you must think I'm pretty
If you think so, mister, you must want to fuck me
If you fuck me, mister, it must mean you love me
If you love me, mister, you would never leave me
It's as simple as can be.

Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me
If you miss me, mister, why do you keep leaving?
If you trick me, mister, I will make you suffer
And I'll get you, mister, put you in the slammer
And forget you, mister, then I think you'll miss me
Won't you miss me? WON'T YOU MISS ME?!?

Missed me, missed me, now you've gotta kiss me
If you kiss me, mister, take responsibility
I'm fragile, mister, just like any girl would be
And so misunderstood. (So treat me delicately...)

Missed me, missed me, now you've gone and done it
Hope you're happy, in the county penitentiary
It serves you right, for kissing little girls
But I'll visit, if you miss me.
Say you miss me! (How's the food they feed you?)
Do you miss me? (Will you kiss me through the window?)
Do you miss me, miss me? Will they ever let you go?
I miss my mister so.


These are the lyrics to the powerfully dark song by the Dresden Dolls. I can't represent the song very well here, but it's so incredibly well done. With Amanda pounding out a haunting tune on the piano, and Brian accenting the more potent notes with the drums, its enough to send chills down your spine. Especially if you're a guy, and especially if you've ever mistaken a teenager for someone older. But yeah, good tunes. Download the song here: http://www.dresdendolls.com/downloads_n_lyrics/index.htm

Carfights and Catmax

Stop. Reverse that. Okay.

Today was, let's say, interesting. The least of the interesting things happened to me at my tai chi class today. My instructor was showing me a new part of the form, and he says "Then you turn like this, and you keep your hand up here, and you swing your leg out and up and around and kick your hand." And I said "Oh, I do, do I?" That got a laugh out of him. Seriously, I'm not sure if I'm insanely rigid, or if he's insanely flexible. But he's kicking his hand out in front of his head, and I'm swinging at some ghost's kneecaps or something. (I got my kick up around waist level, but his was crazy high. Guess it pays to do this for a while.)

Then I got my car cleaned at a detail shop to have it look vaguely respectable when I took it to carmax, and I got some food at wendy's while I was waiting. There was a mom and three mid-teen girls eating there as well. (Not sure if they were all sisters.) But it struck me on a subconscious level that they were all really quiet. (I noticed it, but I wasn't aware of it until the following events happened.) Anyhoo, they left, and maybe two minutes later the mom comes back in and asks one of the employees if they have anything to clean a window with, because her daughter had just thrown her soda against the restaurant's window. Employee says he'll take care of it, mom leaves, and I think about how odd it is to throw your soda against the window. I'm odd, and it seems odd to me. It doesn't seem a particularly "wee! This is fun!" thing to do, so I thought maybe one of the girls had a handicap and I just didn't notice. (I try to avoid looking at teenagers, because they rarely look like teenagers and I feel creepy.) Well, maybe five minutes after that, I here the employee say that there's a fight in the parking lot. I look outside, and mom and girl 3 are trying to break up a royal brawl between girls 1 & 2. These two are really going at it, swinging left and right, grabbing at hair, pushing, etc. I considered going out to try to help end it, but wasn't as though either girl's life was really on the line, so I opted against interfering. (What's the phrase? "No good deed goes unpunished.") Anyway, mom finally gets them back in the car (although clearly not settled because I can still see girl 1 yelling at mom) and they drive away. What in the hell happened in that restaurant to provoke that? They were fighting as though one had just told the other that she'd slept with her boyfriend or something. It was nuts. I think at least one of the two of them needs to be medicated.

Then I went down to carmax, in the (apparently vain) effort to get out of my car. The car they had was really nice. It was a '97 Accord (check) for $8000 (check) with 114,000 miles (checkable) four-door (check) manual transmission (check.) It drove, shifted, revved, started, accelerated, felt, smelled, air-conditioned and pretty much everything just fine. (Brakes could use some adjusting, and the body looked like someone tried, poorly, to touch up some scratches. But it is a '97.) Unfortunately, they only offered $14,000 for my car. I owe just under $20,000. I have some money saved up, but not that much. So my only other real option is to put mine in the paper (and show potential buyers carmax's rather flattering appraisal) and try to get more out of it for them. So we'll see how that goes.

And then I came home to eat and type on here. Yay! And now I'm off to fill my parents in on the whole carmax event. So adieu to all of you! (Hey, I rhymed!)

The search

Hi. Um, I was at a dance the other night, and I met this great chick. And, well, it was really weird, 'cause at midnight she heard the clock ring and she suddenly bolted. I followed her out the door, but the only thing left of her was this hook-arm. Now, I search my country far and wide for the girl who's elbow joint fits into this prosthetic appendage. Any help would be appreciated. Thanks.

-The Prince

Tardy Turtle

Um... hiiii... Dis, dis is a blog post, and, um... you reading dis. And, um, I'm a turtle!

Here is a minor tribute to Tardy the Turtle from the one-season-long totally-underappreciated show Greg the Bunny. These are some of his wonderful one-liners:

Awww.... I'm not 'upposed to eat da legos...

I ate my sammich! Now, I'm 'upposed to get pudding! ... I hid my sammich...

No one's 'upposed to touch where my bathing suit covers...

Chocolate ice cream goes in da freezer.

I'm scared.
Tardy, you have a coconut.
Okay; I feel better now!

HI! I'm not 'upposed to do dis! Uh-oh...

I am singing, the quiet song, the qui-ET SONG, THE QUIET SONG! I AM SINGING, THE QUI-ET SONG, AND-

Supposed homework

To call something ‘Existentialist Phenomenology’ is almost something of a misnomer. The two, although similar in concept, are ultimately very different ways of thinking. Any mode of thought that I could refer to as existentialist phenomenology would more simply be described simply as existentialism.
Edmund Husserl was more or less the father of Phenomenology. The term ‘phenomenology’ is a throw-back to Descartes (?) distinction between phenomena (objective things) and noumena (the real things behind the perceived things). Phenomenology describes a way of thinking that claims there are no “real” things behind that world we experience; it is a “return to the things themselves.” There is nothing more to a chair than what we experience of the chair, and we are foolish to think that there otherwise.
Martin Heidegger would probably have shunned the title, but he was in fact an existentialist. He was Husserl’s apprentice, and Husserl expected him to continue the line of thought on which he was working and eventually take his position at the university where he taught. Heidegger however (much to Husserl’s surprise and disappointment), took phenomenology on a completely different path that wound up being more existentialist than phenomenological.
Existentialism is almost a phenomenology of people; It’s the assertion that there is no specific reason for existence; only the reasons we create for ourselves. There is no divine plan that we should follow; no moral law that should dictate our every move. We are 100% free to do that which we want to do. (There are religious existentialists who basically amp-up the concept of free will to compensate for the existence of God.) The meaning to it all is that there is no meaning.
Existentialism is both a depressing and liberating concept. To truly believe that there is no ultimate motive behind human existence, one must accept that we are no different from any other animal on this planet; no more special than a deer or a dog or a dolphin. On the reverse side, once we realize this, we are able to move freely through our lives, doing that which we please, because there isn’t any other set path that we’re supposed to follow.
For Heidegger, death is what gives meaning to our lives, as well as being the only thing that is truly our own. No one else can die our death for us. But the fact that we’re going to die, that we have a finite amount of time in which to live, means that our choices then become important; they become defining characteristics of who we are. Were we immortal, we could ultimately choose to do anything and everything. The fact that we aren’t means that in choosing something, we choose to not do something else, and what we choose reflects upon who we are. To be a truly authentic individual, to live one’s own life rather than the life of the ‘they,’ one must make every choice with the mindfulness that we’re going to die and the awareness that this choice won’t come around again.
This is why the thoughts or advice of my friends carries only so much weight. It is not their life that I am living. It is not their deaths that limit me.

Moody

The philosopher Heidegger theorized that the primary way that we experience the world isn't through our vision, or our hearing, or any other sense perception. We experience the world around us first and foremost through our mood. That makes sense to me; think about. When you're bored, what is it that bores you? The things you do are boring. The people you're around you are boring. Everything in your life at that point is boring. And it isn't that these things aren't fun, or that the people aren't interesting; it's that your bored mood makes you perceive them as boring. The world is conditioned by the mood we're in.

It seems to be the case from my experience tonight as well. My mood switched from a respectably good mood to a cranky-nothing's-cheering-me-up mood, and I can't explain it in the least. Two things combined set me off, and neither of which were really that big a deal. 1) A table wanted to move because people were going in and out the door and they were cold. The way they went about asking was kind of whiny, but I understand their desire to move. 2) My apple cobblers took longer than they should've to come up, and no one told me when they did. Again, neither of those things should've been that big a deal, but they just flipped a switch and I got pissy. And I stayed pissy for probably an hour or so before I finally came back up out of it, but while I was angry and bitter, everything only served to irritate me further.

I think part of the reason that I was bitter is because I knew I had no reason to be. I knew that little things had sent me over the edge, and I was mad at myself for letting it happen. My original title of this post was going to be "What stresses you out?" because work is truly the only thing that gets me fired up at all. Traffic used to, and I guess it sometimes still does, but since I've toned down my rambunctious driving habits, it's not as big of a deal. So, work stresses me out; am I alone in this? Is there anyone out there that actually enjoys their job? I'd like to think that it is possible to do so, but past experience has taught me that it's easy for me to think that something would be fun or easy because I don't understand all the aspects of it. For example, until recently I was dead-set on being a philosophy/religion professor. The idea isn't out of the question, but I've started to consider that there might be other things I'm better suited for. Time will tell on that. But, as much as I think I'd like to be a professor, I have to admit that there's a lot about the profession I don't know, a lot of nuiances that I might not realize, that could still make the job stress me out. Maybe all of my coworkers would be nuts, or I'd be overwhelmed with the amount of papers to grade, or I'd have a hard-case for a dean, or whatever. I'm not using these as excuses to not teach; I'm just wondering if there is such a thing as a perfect job. Any guesses?

Philosopher's Drinking Song

Iiiiiiiiimmanuel Kant
was a real piss-ant
who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger
was a boozy begger
who could think you under the table.
David Hume
could out-consume
Wilhelm Freidrick Hegel.
And Wittgenstein
was a beery swine
who was just as sloshed as Slagle

There's nothing Nietzsche
couldn't teach ya
'bout the raising of the wrist...
Socrates himself was permanently piiiiiiiiissed...

John Steward Mill
of his own free will
after half a pint of shanty was particularly ill.
Plato, they say
could put it away
half a crate of wiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle
was a bugger for the bottle;
Hobbes was fond of his dram.
And Rene Descartes
was a drunken fart
"I drink therefore I am."

Yes Socrates himself is particularly missed...
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed!

Spooning

No, I don't mean the oft-cherished curling up with someone you love. I had an experience at work tonight. Work was weird tonight, in any and every sense of the word. But this one was new by me; took the cake; made me shake my head and laugh all at the same time.

We kinda got popped tonight, which was strange given the weather. (Normally rain kills our business.) Anyhoo, I was busy, but not "running around crazy" busy. I was doing something with a table on the top tier, and saw a customer of mine from the bottom tier grab spoons off of another table. First, some background on this chick. She was cute, but my immediate first impression of her was "I'm cute, so that entitles me to be an out-going, controlling pain in the ass." She wasn't rude; polite enough, to be honest with you. But there was a demeanor about her that said "this is how my dinner's going to run tonight." And then she'd look at her boyfriend and seemed to add "Isn't it honey?" But anyway, her taking of the spoons perplexed me, because they didn't have coffee, nor did they look at desert yet. So I wasn't sure what had prompted the need for the extra spoons.

I found out about two minutes later. When I stopped by to check on them, she was busy hanging spoons on her face. (Granted, she polished off probably a half a bottle of wine by this piont, but she was off to begin with.) She had one hanging off her nose, one off her chin, one off her left cheek, and she was working on getting another off her right cheek. I know I must've looked at her cross-eyed, because although her ID could've been fake (it was Jersey; they're easy to duplicate), I was fairly positive that she was older than 8. The boyfriend just says "She's talented, isn't she?" My response was "Are you still working on your dinner ma'am?" "Yes, thank you." And I just nodded and walked off. What else was I suppose to have done? I can understand screwing around with silverware; honestly, I don't have an issue with that. (I still would've looked at her cross-eyed though.) But do you have to take clean silverware off of another table to get his fix? But, when I thought back on it, I did have to laugh, 'cause it was just plain silly. And silly stuff is funny.

Wonderful Quote

"Security is mostly a superstition. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." -Helen Keller

Two nerds crossing

I had a guy pull up next to me at a redlight tonight. (He was the passenger; his girlfriend was drvining). "HEY! Your license plate?"

I smile. "Yeah, it's for Vash the Stampede." (Sometimes other nerds ask me that; they think their nerdiness is so rare that they figure VASH TS must stand for something else.

"That's AWESOME!" (They get the green arrow, and start to pull away.) "You are the DUDE!"

As I watched them make their turn, I thought to myself "You are the 'dude'?" Never, in my entire life, as anyone told me I was 'the dude.' Now, let me give you a little nerd background, for those not in the know. Nerds are excited to meet each other. Not that we're all looking for other nerdy friends to be buddies with or anything like that. But I think years of being made to feel abnormal and outcast manifest themselves with an initial excitement. I know nothing about this guy; for all I know, we could hate each other outside of the fact that we're both nerds. Maybe he's racist, or a homophobe, or a psychotic religious freak, or all three! I don't know. But for that brief instant of paths crossing, two nerds get excited at encountering someone else like themselves. We're reassured that we're not alone in the world.

This guy, however, was sooooo excited, that he couldn't even think straight. He couldn't even form a sensible sentence; I can guarantee you that he didn't really mean to say "You're the DUDE!" He had to have been driving away thinking "the dude?"

But my story doesn't end there. No, I encountered him in the supermarket not five minutes later (I was checking out his girlfriend, thought she looked kinda nerdy, then looked to see what kind of guy she was with and it was him.) "It's you! You're the dude! I'm sorry, I have to shake your hand." I'm not making this up. I don't think I could make this up. Teletubbies in the trash? Yeah, that's all me. But this guy was besides himself that there was another nerd so monstrous in proportion that he had something of a nerdy basis officially registered with the government. I shook his hand, and we talked briefly about other nerd things (I hadn't heard of the series "X," but I'd recently seen FFVII Advent Children and we agreed that it was awesome.) And that was it. Just a brief, passing encounter, that probably left both of us in a better mood than when we'd met. Oh, yeah, and he let me french his girlfriend too. ... Okay, not really. Maybe if I'd've had on a red trench coat...

last and least

This is my eye. It's not the best image, because 1) I'm a shitty photographer, 2) our digital camera sucks ass, and 3) I just used an old picture and cut my eyeball out to paste here. (Apparently, the rest of me is to grotesque to post.)

I had taken a picture of the side of my room with my bed (I sleep on wood), but because of lighting difficulties it didn't turn out, and I'm not going back upstairs to take another one. I'll spare you the suspense though. There's a bed, some wall, and a poster from The Crow that says "Believe in angels." Oh yeah, and a window that I sometimes like to hang myself out of so I can talk really loudly at the people walking by.

Now, you may be thinking to yourselves "Mr. The Stampede, Mr. Wannabe Sage... what's with all the pictures lately?" Well, the official press release is that I want to. But, the honest answer to your question is that there's a crazy lady out there with mind-control powers and an eye fetish, and she told me that if I didn't post these things, she'd take control of my dad and have him make another sword like the one he made me and kill me dead with it, and leave my blood lying in small pools around it. I didn't believe her at first, so but she demonstrated her powers by making my dad eat my angus burger from burger king. Folks, this is not a woman you want to screw with. She has a friend at the MVA that'll get her your addresses and everything. Heed my warnings! Beware the 1200 lb woman with the eye patch, the glass eye, the hook arm, the cork leg, the meat cleaver (you think I'm kidding about that?), and the amazing psychic, clairvoyant, and mind control abilities! She can make you d- ... ... I... apologize... for... writing... all... those... nasty... things... I... was... only... kidding... The... woman... of... which... I... was... speaking... is... kind... and... wonderful... and... beautiful... and... rightfully... deserves... to... rule... the... world... I... am... now... going... to... help... my... dad... make... a... sword... with... which... to... kill-I... mean... to... cook... Yes... a... cooking... sword...

And another side

In this one, you see what is to the other side of my door. It's my computer desk, with a little fountain on the top, a zen garden next to it, and a doing-better-than-my-other-plants bamboo plant on the far right. Right in front of the bamboo you can see my phone charging. It was quite dead after a 3+ hour phone conversation that made me down a whole bottle of water shortly after. But that's okay, 'cause it was a good talk. lol... I found out all sorts of things about what I"m going to be in the future. But anyway, this desk houses the laptop that I use from my dad's work for typing things, (be they papers, emails, or the occasional blog posting, that I then transfer to the main computer downstairs for use), and some books that pertain to my major philosophical and religious interests (i.e. existentialism and taoism). Also, on the middle right shelf you can see stacks of cards; those are various Magic cards, a game I play with my brother. (www.magicthegathering.com)

Oh yeah! And above the desk is the garbage mural I made myself; I went and bought all new CDs so I could use untarnished ones for it, built the frame myself, and created a stencil of the "garbage" logo you see there so I could spray-paint it on. I'm most pleased with it.

To the right of that is the closet. Please note, with all the shelves in there, there is no room for me to be playing with myself in my closet. Some of you may be thinking "yeah, so what? Who plays with themselves in their closet?" Well, let me assure you that there are some strange people in this world who see that as a possibility, so I'd just like to dismiss that now. The closet does have the capacity to play CDs, although you can hardly see the radio because I'm a shitty photographer. There's also some shelves for shoes and things, and the bottom is a HUGE box of old Maxim issues that I don't want anymore, but don't really want to throw away either, but I can't find anyone to give them to, and so they sit there until their purpose is one day fulfilled.

Requests and such

Wow, my last post was my 100th post. Funny how time flies. Like a bird, or something. Anyway, I had a few requests for pictures of things (no penises; don't get your collective panties in a bunch), so I'm just gonna do a quick play-by-play of them as seperate posts. Ready? Here we go: (Wow also what a small picture that is)

This is a corner of my room. The door is to the right, just out of view. On the far left we have one of two bookcases. At the top of that bookcase is a large-model lego x-wing, and to its left (that's your right) a smaller regular lego x-wing. Just under them is Stitch, the star of the hilarious comedy "lilo and stitch" (and for those of you who say "co-star," you clearly haven't seen lilo act). The rest of the book case is filled with books, mostly on philosophy or religion, and most of which I haven't read more than two chapters in, because they're wordy and I lose interest. At the bottom of that case you can kinda see the notebooks from my years of philosophy and religion classes.

On the right bookcase, starting from the top again, we have a lego yoda, a small lego blacksmith's hut that I built and designed myself, and I'm very proud of (It was going to be part of a lego town some ages ago, but used all the good peices on the smithy, so that's where I stopped.), and a lego model tie-interceptor. Beneath them, on the left, is a figure of Vash the Stampede (the pacifist, not the horse freak), and next to him are Anakin Skywalker and Obi-wan Kenobi dueling as lava erupts around them. Below them are three star wars cups where I keep loose change (one for quarters, one for pennies, and one for dimes and nickles), and too their right (your left) is a marble chess set my friend Justin brought back for me from Spain. Beneath that are two more stitches (a picture holder and a talking one; I like the little guy, okay?) some drawing stuff, and then more books that also, for the most part, have never come close to being finished.

Right of that is a dresser where you can kind of make out the image of a dying plant, and the thing hanging is a quote of Einstein's: "There are two ways to live your life. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as if everything is a miracle." So that's that picture.

Waiting

Okay folks, I'm going to give you a little insight into the person who's taking your order and bringing you food. But you have to promise not to use this information against us, okay?

There are times when you, as a customer, will do nothing wrong, but we'll still get bent out of shape. I don't know if it's because we're working, or because we're relating to you as a customer. I don't know. But I'll give you an example. "More Bread." No phrase makes my blood boil as quickly as that request. It doesn't matter how nicely it's worded; I start simmering. And I can't explain it. When I go to Outback, I like their bread (more precisely, I like their honey-butter). And I don't think they give enough of it, so I occasionally ask for more. From an objective, human standpoint, I see nothing wrong with that request. However, when I'm working, and you're my customer, you could be the best customer I've had all night. We'll be laughing and having fun and yadda yadda "Could I have more bread?" And that's it. That's all she wrote. You immediately lose your "best customer of the night" status. And I don't know why. I can not explain it. But that's how it is, and it isn't just me either. I'm just putting it out there so you, as potential customers, can realize that if your server is suddenly not as jovial as they were just a moment ago, it's not necessarily because of something you, or anyone else, has done. We're just moody like that. I'm not saying don't ask for more bread, because I have every intention of continuing to do it when I'm a customer. I'm just using it as an example of how little things might anger us.

Here's another pointer. We like tables that are in good moods. Nothing puzzles us more than waiting on a couple, or a group of people, who're clearly pissed off. Why go out to eat then? Stay home and stew in your own juices; don't make us suffer too. But there are limits to what we can put up with on the job. Good mood means you crack the occasional joke, or are able to laugh at ours. It does not mean trying to make jokes the entire time we're at your table so we can't get a word in edgewise. It doesn't mean prevent us from serving the rest of your party because you insist on being the center of attention. And for God's sake, if the restaurant is busy, be polite and jolly, but don't force us to be at your table longer than necessary. Please be aware that we have other tables we need to take care of, and that your joke about the three blonds in the cab is preventing us from doing just that.

You want to stay on your server's good side? Here's a few quick, basic pointers that (with the exception of inexplicable bread-like nuances) will keep you there:

1) Be polite to us; we're people to. Ask us for whatever you'd like; don't say "I need" or "get me." Your dog fetches things, not us.

2) Pay attention to us. I can't speak for every server, but I did the math one time, and unless you've eaten out for 3 meals a day every day for the past 20-something years, I've waited on more tables than you've eaten out. I know what I'm doing; I know how to make things go smoothest. I'm willing to change my routine if that's what you insist upon, and you might not notice a difference, but it does complicate my life which could have repercussions down the line when you or someone else needs something. Here's a general layout of how I wait tables. I say hi. I ask you what you'd like to drink. Before I leave to get your drinks, I read you the specials. The reason I do drinks first, is because if I do specials first, then drinks, you forget what the specials were while you're thinking about your drinks and I wind up having to reread them all over again. If you want wine with dinner, I know that in the old-school way of thinking, the type of wine you get depends on the dinner. (That doesn't really apply anymore; people should get wine they like, regardless.) If that's the case, then just get a water for now, and tell me that you'll be getting a wine with dinner. No problems. Oh, and please, please pay attention when I'm doing the specials. Nothing is more frustrating than someone reading their menu while I'm doing my thing, and then being hammered with 20 questions by that person later because they weren't listening the first time.

3) Drinks. Be mindful of how much you drink. If I've refilled your drink twice before your appetizers come up, that's too fast. Do you drink that much at home? Of course not. Let's not play "beat the server" okay? And if you do drink a lot, you know you do. Tell us up front, so that we can bring you two glasses, or a pitcher or something. Don't make us run back and forth when you could help minimize it.

4) Don't ask for bread. This is not to be confused with "more bread," which, as infuriating as it is, I fully understand your doing so if that's what you want. But don't ask for bread at the outset. If your meal comes with bread, you'll get it. If you got salads, bread might come a little after the salads, because it takes a few minutes to finish cooking our par-baked bread; much less time than it does to throw lettuce on a plate. And if you got sandwhiches, your bread will be part of the sandwhich. You don't need french bread to go with your hamburger.

I guess that's it for now; I had one of my best friends ask if he could crash the dinner my mom and I are having for her birthday, which means he probably has something on his mind or at least needs some company, so I'm going to go prepare for his arrival. (Light the candles and bury the bodies and whatnot.) Until my next bitch-session...

Metrosexual

So, according to the Today section of my paper (that's the one where all the comics are), "Metro is retro." I didn't read the entire article (didn't care enough) but from the first sentence or two, and the caption under the picture, apparently more men are reverting back from the area of pamperedness to more gruty-masculinity. And I just got my nails done yesterday too, dammit.

That's all I have for now. They can't all be homeruns, okay?

My sword

Here's a picture of my sword. I'm not 100% done yet, because I don't trust the handle to support the weight of the blade through movement. So I've cut out braces to help reinforce the joining of the hilt and the handle. I painted them today, so I'll mount them tomorrow. I put the shoe next to it for size-comparison; keep in mind that I wear size 30 shoes. I need to wait for Shaq to discard two pairs of shoes just so the shoemaker can fashion me a single pair from the remnants.

Forces beyond my control...

...have forced me to post again. I wasn't going to anymore. Seriously. I was done. I mean it. ... Okay, we all know that's not true. I like to spout words too much to actually give this up. But it was under the most grave of circumstances that brought me back after my hiatus (of, um, 11 hours). I, once again, made the mistake of trying to read the two errant comics that appear, not with the rest of the comics, but in the editorial section of our newspaper. I try to avoid reading these comics, because I almost always catch a glimpse of an editorial header that draws me in, but ultimately infuriates me. But today, I ran out of comics before I ran out of breakfast, so I decided to check out the other two comics. Well, I'm clearly insane, because insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results. But, I guess if that's the case, then I've partially cured said insanity, because I'll no longer attempt to read these comics under the fantasy that I won't end up irritated by what I see on the other side of the page. Here's what I encountered today:

"FEMA'S POLICY CHANGE IS BAD GOVERNMENT: The unprecedented change in policy by FEMA to retroactively "reimburse" churches and religious groups for helping hurricane evacuees is bad business, and worse government. There should be no payment or reimbursement where there was no prior contractual agreement. FEMA's plan to reimburse churches and religious charities is financially and constitutionally a river of no return. It will open the floodgates for future reimbursements without government contract or public oversight. Imagine if individual volunteers who pitched in during September's natural disasters were to demand "reimbursement" from the federal government for missed wages, transportation, and other expenses! If a church expects or accepts payment from the taxpayers, then it is no longer charitable. Once again, churches get the credit, while taxpayers get the bill." -Annie Laurie Gaylor co-president of Freedom from Religion Foundation

My God! Was this woman molested by a clergyman or what? What other explanation could there possibly be for such searing, seemingly-unfounded hatred towards "churches and religious charities." She seems upset that churches are actually getting some acknowledgment for what they did during hurricane katrina. Yeah, because that's so unjustified, right? They didn't do a damn thing. I'm so infuriated by this... where does she think church money comes from? Does God just hand it down to the churches and say "Here, go do something good with this. How about that hurricane thing I just made? Go help out with that." Whatever money churches used to help out (either in flat-out financial support, or in the form of the supplies or personnel that they provided) came from their parishoners (or members, or whatever terminology is appropriate.) Why is it such a bad thing for them to get some of that back? Now, I think Mrs. Gaylor's letter would be slightly more understandable if the government had actually acted on time. If that was the case, I'm sure that the amount of aid needed from churches would've been lessened. But churches and those other religious charities bore the brunt of this situation. They didn't do it expecting compensation. They did it because it needed doing. Nevertheless, they deserve a little bit of acknowledgment and reward for what they did.

The more I think about this, the more bothered I become. So, this woman is upset because she might have to pay money for the help that was given during katrina? I already asked where she thought church money came from; where does she think federal money comes from? But, more to the point, why is she so livid that she might actually have to contribute to this aid? Yes, heaven forbid she have done anything to help out. Oh, wait. No, heaven couldn't have forbidden it, because heaven is only a haven for pedophiles and necrophiliacs.

You know, every once in a while, one of these letters infuriates me to the point that I start thinking about writing in a counterpoint. This one is the closest I've gotten, and I might actually go do that. If I do, I'll post it here; maybe I'll post it before I send it. You know, get public opinion. For those of you who don't know me, it'll be less juvenile than what I've already written, but far more biting and potent.

The spammers

I think I'm on to the spammers' plan of attack. They wait, patiently and quietly, until a new post appears. Then they wait a little bit more, until the poster has likely gone away for a period of time, and they POUNCE! Yes, that is what you do, isn't it, spammers. Or, should I say... MR. GATES? Ha-HA! I am on to you, but you're cunning tactics won't be enough to thwart me. Should an anonymous comment, or some other comment attempting to sell me things I don't need (or things I do need, but don't want the internet community to know I need), I will:

NEVER POST AGAIN!!!!!

Your move, Mr. Gates...

The sword in the plank

Every now and again, I really enjoy working with my hands. That's not just a plug to get in good with the ladies, either. The proof? I've said on many a post that I enjoy working on my car, and that I have a real feeling of accomplishment when I'm done. In this case, however, I refer to my Halloween sword, which is coming along nicely. My dad, I think, phrased it best when he said "you get an idea in your head, and you know what you want, and you follow through with it until it's done." And, at least in this case, he's right. It still has some work left to it, but even now it looks fantastic. And from someone with no real tool-training, as it were. Seriously though, I'm hoping to get it finished tomorrow, and if I can get a pic of it up here, I will. I could never make a living using my hands (my degree of retardation is too high), but every once in a while I like making stuff. (Before the sword, it was a plaque for my Garbage CDs, which, incidentally, also turned out awesome.)

On a different note, blogger seems to be down for a lot of maintenance recently. In a perfect world, I imagine that they'd be fixing some of the things that cause me to swear and think unhappy thoughts. In reality, I'm sure it's more along the lines that they're tired of me complaining about their product as I'm using it and just decided to screw with me by preventing me access at random times. ... You win this round, blogger. You win this round...

Awesomeness!

I attended a seminar on Push Hands by Grandmaster Huang today, and it rocked. For those who don't know (which is probably 99.9% of the world), Push Hands is the best explained as Tai Chi sparing. There's no protective gear worn, because it's not that damaging of a competition. I think it reminds me of sumo wrestling, only in the sense that the main goal is to get your opponent off-balance. (Great, because I mentioned sumo wrestling, I can think of at least one person who's going to think I like wearing diapers and hugging half-naked men.) Anyway, you're in constant contact with your opponent, and the point is that as one is pushing, the other is yielding and deflecting the push away, and then as the first is withdrawing their missed-push, the second begins to push in return, and it falls upon the first person to yield and deflect the push away. Brute strength isn't an issue here, as I witnessed by seeing old Grandmaster Huang ('old' being a term of respect in asia) challenge a student at least a foot taller and 50-60 pounds heavier to push him and watch him deftly and seemingly effortlessly deflect all of the younger man's efforts to off-balance him. It's about technique, and knowing when your opponent will be succeptible to certain pushes or pulls. It was great; a bit too much to really understand in just two hours, but great nonetheless. And I offer a quote from Grandmaster Huang for my closing remark: "The more you get beat up, the more you learn."

Things I've learned

I learned something about myself tonight. I don't do symphonies. It' snot that I'm uncultured. I like seeing plays (and in fact intend to try to see them more frequently in the future), and the one opera I saw entertained me as well. And it isn't that I don't like music; I like a wide variety of music, including some classical music. And it isn't even that I don't appreciate and recognize the hard work that goes into composing and producing a symphony. But, it's a sad, simple fact that my attention span won't allow me to put up with 2.5 hours of music with nothing else to do. Not even lyrics to sing along with!

Tonight I went to see the Peabody symphony orchestra. An ex-coworker from honda's son plays piano, exceedingly well. (When he was 12, he played with the BSO, or something along those lines. He also currently attends Curtis, which, I'm told, is on a par with Juilliard.) And he played with the PSO tonight, so I went along to show my support (it was only $18 dollars... or so I thought; it also cost me time out of my life that I can't have back.) He was like a pop tart: cah-raaaaaaazy good! He was; he's very talented, and so were all the people who played their various instruments along with him. But after the first hour or so, I was longing for a gameboy, or a pen and paper, or a friggin' stick of gum. something to do besides listen to music. I was so bored, and it was so not my bag. Ugh...

Anyhoozy, tomorrow the grand master of my tai chi school is coming to my particular school for a seminar, so that'll hopefully be cool. Also, construction of my costume's buster sword should be commencing, so that should also fall under the "cool" category. Incidentally, I'm apparently a short, fat, lying, spooge spewing and cleaning, pony-boy hobbit. So take that home and chew on it; it's delicious. Oh, and the picture (that I'm guessing will have appeared at the top of this post, but I'm not 100% positive because I only recently found out how to post them) is of the guy I'm being for halloween. Note the abnormally large sword; do you think he's compensating for something?