Torrifica

It was snowing and very foggy.

2010-02-08T08:20:00.002-06:00

We had a metric shit ton of bad weather. The whole town was out of their gourd, panicking. It's amusing to me, being from a place where a foot or two of snow at a time is nothing special. I dunno. I always liked the cold and the snow.

There were also people that decided to go out in the stuff, wearing everything from a t-shirt and shorts to full snow gear, as though they were living in Alaska, three layers of clothes and all that. Look, if it's not snowing and it's just cold now, all you need is long clothes and a heavy coat. Flip-flops aren't a good choice mate. I don't even care if you're wearing a Cowboys hat.

ALSO, DOGS

2009-12-03T09:31:00.000-06:00

HE'S GOT A GOOD REASON FOR TAKING THE EASY WAY OUT.

It's So Simple

2009-12-03T09:29:00.001-06:00

I was spending a lot of time with my family recently. I went on Thanksgiving break, miserable as usual. I don't like breaks that much. I'm either done with it or I'm not, it's not like a job or career. I want finish it and take my break, however long that is. Anyway, I went home for the time that we give thanks for stuff.

I guess I should be thankful for a lot of things. I should be thankful for knowing so many interesting people, being friends to many of them. I should be thankful I've had it so easy all my life; it's all just been one kickass ride with minimal responsibility on my part. I mean, I've had a few things that I could cry about, some stuff that made it a little hard. But whatever burden that stuff had on my soul is gone, if it ever existed. I should be thankful that people take it easy on me. That they're careful not to hurt my feelings. That they want to avoid awkward social situations. I've got nothing to say about that.

I have a lot of things. I should be thankful for that. I should be thankful for my possessions that keep me amused, that distract me from feelings I can't get rid of. I should be thankful for familial love. Hahah. That one is amusing. I know some in my family who would just as easily throw me under the bus to save their own skin. Though, for every one of them, there is another polar opposite. So I am thankful for that.

Still, I felt unhappy. And I felt that being unhappy somehow entitled be to not be grateful for anything. I believe a part of that; that nothing is really worthwhile if your miserable.

We went to some pitifully shitty light display that is held at "the park" in town. There were a bunch of little scenes depicted.

My bros and my sister ran about, falling down a few times and complaining about how awful it all was and that I didn't want to be there. My mum's response was "Be fucking festive so we can take a goddamn picture!" My dear mum.

I, meanwhile, was completely unconcerned with silly conventions like composition and took pictures catch-as-catch-can. They didn't turn out so well. Some ended up so bad that they looked vaguely artistic.

Some of the displays, though were unintentionally entertaining.

Anyway, it was a good time; everyone was miserable. While there, though, I stumbled upon a display with "JOY" in giant red letters. I looked at it for a while, then I looked past it off into space, like when one is deep in thought. I thought about it a lot, standing there. Obviously, there wasn't much intended meaning behind it; this is a podunk town with simple people living in it. "JOY" just meant exactly that.

I thought about it more than I feel comfortable saying, (about ten minutes, I stood there looking like an idiot). But then I realized that the message shouldn't be complicated. To try and glean any more of a meaning from it would be useless. "JOY" just meant joy. It's a simple message. It's probably one of the few intangible concepts you can boil down to three letters. Eventually, what I got out of it was that I should just think simply. Some things just work. Some things just don't work. Just be happy, regardless. And, more importantly, make other people happy, too. There are a lot of people that have a lot less than me and are perfectly happy, sharing good times and noodle salad with one another. I also know people that have a lot more than me and aren't nearly as happy as they could (or should) be.

My awful emotions that I hate letting out so much didn't seem to matter anymore. I've got myself. That's all I need. A lot of people have the problems of existential crises or worrying about whether there is an afterlife or not. Is there a God? What do I mean? What is my significance? Well, I don't have those troubles. I don't think about those things. They don't bother me. As far as physical possessions go, I enjoy my things. I could go without them, though.

There was a fire alarm the other night and I slapped on my shoes, threw my phone in my pocket, and walked out with my laptop under my arm. Outside, I thought, "This entire building could explode and I will not be upset about anything." My dorm contains most of my earthly possessions. In reality, I could've gone without the phone and laptop, too.

The summation is this: I've got a lot to be thankful for. I've got a lot to be happy about. I have a lot to be proud of. So just be happy, why don't ya? I just feel good now.

And it's strange how such a simple realization like that can make you feel so much better. All the stress about school, relationships, money... they all just evaporated. The best part was that I'm sleeping properly again. Although, I am having a lot of bad dreams that wake me up at exactly the same time every morning. I won't over analyze, though. That's what usually caused me to feel so bad in the first place. And for a single caveat, that's not a bad one.

Do me a favor; tell the people that mean the most to you "Joy." Tell 'em to pass it on. It's a simple message, but it says a lot. There's nothing you've gotta worry about anymore, child. It's gonna be alright.

Dylan Gets Saved!

2009-11-19T04:20:00.000-06:00

When I was twelve, I was "saved" by a guy named Kendrick. He had to have been about forty, but he hung out and played tennis with teens all the time. I dunno.

Anyway, I went with my friend to his church because there was volleyball and I was a godless heathen and didn't care. At this point, I'd like to mention that I will never let my kid's friends take him or her to their church for any reason whatsoever. Nothing good ever came of it and you just left feeling hella awkward.

So I went with my friend because I mainly just wanted to hang out. I showed some other guys how to do hypnosis, but they left and I got left alone when my friend played volleyball. This cat Kendrick comes up and sits next to me. Not too close for me to be uncomfortable, though. That was coming up. He asks me if something was wrong. When I'm not doing something, I look sullen because that's just the way I am. I tell him that I'm just bored. He asks me why I didn't play volleyball. So I told him I thought it was boring. This elicited an "Ahhhhh, okay" from him.

After a few minutes of incredibly uncomfortable silence, he asks me if I got saved. I asked him, "From what?" He gave the typical adult chuckle of amusement at how dumb a kid is and asked if I had accepted Jesus.

Still not knowing what that meant, I reverted to the strategy I still use today; pretend like you know something and give short ambiguous answers. I told him that I hadn't yet. He asked me if I wanted him to help, or something like that. It doesn't matter how it came to be; the fact was that thirty seconds later, he was speaking mumbo-jumbo and rubbing my chest.

After a bit of that incredibly awkward shit, he told me to let out the word of God, to let Him speak through me.

I told him, "No thanks; I'll do it later."

He said alright, smiled, then tussled my fucking hair before returning to play volleyball.

Years later I learned that he was a complete homo. I shoulda known; pastel shorts kinda went out of style on middle-aged men.

Man Enjoys Fine Art

2009-11-04T18:26:00.006-06:00

ME: "I was talking to a friend about how I wanted a gigantic painting of two girls scissoring one another. Haute couture."
HER: "Dylan, you crack me the fuck up."
ME: "You exaggerate; I'm a twat."
ANOTHER BROAD: "Oh my god. XD I need to tell one of the art teachers this. Or maybe not. Maybe I like being able to attend school here.. XP"

Goddamn, I'm awesome. I'M PLEASED YOU APPRECIATE GOOD WINE.

I Have No Outline, and I Must Scream

2009-11-04T17:49:00.010-06:00

Right now I'm fidgeting in one of the many chairs in the auditorium devoted to the Intro to Film & Video Study. I am overwhelmed by my complete and utter inability to sit still in my chair. I've got both my legs bouncing up and down, shaking my poor laptop around and threatening to toss it onto the floor. My fingers, when not tapping against the keys, are tapping one another ceaselessly.

The reason for my jittery self is because this is probably the single worst grade I have at the moment, if only for the fact that I can't take it seriously. Yeah, I missed three of five papers, but I recognize that and know that it's my fault completely. But I cannot help the fact that this class takes a subject that I hold very near and dear to my heart and rips every shred of mysticism out of it.

The films themselves are good, and the analyses of them are also very insightful. But I don't believe that writing a paper about them will further my knowledge. So far, my experience with college, (admittedly temporally limited), has exactly reflected what I have always known; that one does not do secondary education to learn something, they do it to become certified. I could learn anything I could ever possibly want to by accessing the internet or reading even a semi-factual book. As I look around me, many other people are on their laptops, some of which are viewing that gormless fuckhead Jeff Dunham's puppet shenanigans on Youtube. Nobody's serious about this.

In regards to my actual paper and assignment, (which is a precursor to the formal paper), I found out that the paper itself is only worth twenty points. Out of a thousand. Gah. Why can't people be consistent? If you have five assignments for the entire semester, their approximate worth should be that of the Ark of the Covenant, Nazi blood and all.

Fuck it all, I'm doin' it. Life's loaded with inane bullshit and I just gotta deal with it.

I don't know quite yet what I want to be when I grow up, but I'll be damned if I end up hamstringing myself.

Don't Get Too Big For Your Breeches

2009-10-25T20:25:00.000-05:00

But, really, Peeping Tom is good. I always liked experimental music that... you know... still sounded like music. And Peeping Tom is exactly that.

Who Says You Can't Get a Job In This Climate?

2009-10-23T03:41:00.002-05:00

I got a call a few days ago and I was asked if I wanted a job during the winter doing... stuff. Don't quite know what it is yet. I suppose that should probably be at the top of the list of things one should ask about before they agree to take a job, but I didn't care; the gyro I was eating at the time was distracting me.

All in all, it wouldn't be something I couldn't do.

Mainly because I can do anything and everything. All at once. While riding two unicycles.

Beat that, INSERT TOPICAL REFERENCE HERE!

HEY! YOU THERE!

2009-10-23T03:26:00.002-05:00

HEY. I SEE YOU THERE. WITH YOUR FOOTPADS. YEAAAAH.

Watch it, Mac.

rainy days like these

2009-09-30T04:51:00.000-05:00

Y'know, it is frequent for me on rainy days like these to wonder how your lips must taste; how sweet they must be; how, no matter what, they cut me to the quick. You've got me waiting, longing, wondering forever about those lips, babe.

Things are never supposed to be easy

2009-09-30T04:31:00.003-05:00

I've been here at school for five weeks already and it's been an incredibly unique experience, and, in many ways, something I was not unprepared for. I was never the one to weep into my pillow softly at night and wish I was back home with my family. In fact, I don't really miss a whole lot about life back home, save the ease of it and the girl I had to leave in order to be here.

Still, life's an utter bitch here. Being close to failing and, in some cases, actually failing multiple classes is a sobering experience. I knew that it would be hard for me here, considering that study habits are not something that come easy to me. I also figured out that you shouldn't pick classes half-heartedly. If you can barely maintain any interest in the field that you are supposedly going to go into, you can never hope to achieve anything more than a passing grade. I know now that I never want to pursue a career in the sciences. School is hard. And I know that freshman year is going to be the hardest for anybody. Realizing that, it's relatively easy for me to overcome this QUICK; ESCAPE! feeling that my mind is giving me. I know that it would not be prudent for me to back out, even though repercussions are merely monetary. I must stick with this study, even if it only for this year.

In economics, there is the concept of the opportunity cost; the cost of the next best, yet forgone alternative. I could've stayed back home, gotten a shitty job that exploited me, and bitched about my life while living day-to-day like all of my friends. But I didn't want that. Add to that fact that I have a girl I love; a girl for whom I would do anything and whom makes even the most insurmountable tasks easy. She makes my hard life easy. And I made a promise to her, that I would do well. She makes me want to be a better person, and so I shall.

I don't know what will happen in four years. I'll probably be like every other college graduate: working at McDonald's and looking for a job relating to their career choice, even though the economy is in the can. I might just go get some IT certification, since I seem pretty adept at that stuff. It is an extremely hot market and will only continue to grow throughout the next few decades, I'd wager. Whatever I do, I'll be surviving. I could back out now, but I won't. I've made promises, to others and myself, and while I don't think a degree makes someone more intelligent, knowledgeable, or a better person, it's still a trial. And an interesting experiment.

And I'll tell you what; I'll continue to go as long as I don't have to pay for it. Huzzah.

Namaste, babes and gents.

It was a happy Fourth, indeed.

2009-07-05T22:26:00.000-05:00

Good friends and good drink make all the world.

David Byrne, Fatboy Slim, and Dizzee Rascal?

2009-07-03T00:11:00.002-05:00

Can this get any better? I don't suppose it can.

I don't know how to feel.

2009-07-02T23:10:00.003-05:00

Over the past couple of months, I've had this gnarly feeling building up in my chest and it's reached down into the pit of my stomach. I've stopped eating as much. I've slept far less. Certain things I was obsessed with have started to matter less, which is a good thing as far as video games and movies are concerned. I don't feel like I need as much as I did.

It's because I have feelings so intense for a certain individual that I feel little else. They're all I want, all I need. I've expressed this feeling several times, ever since I first starting talking to them. They've...acknowledged. That's all I can say for now.

They've struck me with a love the likes of which I've never known before, which is saying something, because anyone who knows me will tell you that I'm not an open guy with my true feelings. But this is a person whom I can feel I can tell anything and have them not judge me. It's a person whom I would trust with anything I say and any part of me. I hope that they'd trust me, too. I don't feel like anything I say can weird them out. It's the best feeling I've ever had, to be honest. In a world of critical people, to find someone so wonderful... is wonderful!

I love every part of them. EVERY FUCKING PART. (And don't think otherwise if you happen to read this.) They're beauty is unparalleled and I find myself not thinking of anyone else anymore in that way. I love the certain roughness to them. They're completely unlike anyone I've ever met. I love the way they walk, the way they talk, and I find myself staying up until all hours of the night thinking of new ways to make them smile. They mean everything to me, even if I may not mean everything to them. I cannot tell.

Everyday, the feelings I have get stronger and stronger. I wouldn't rather be with anybody else, any time of day. Just to see them, hear them, talk to them, makes me happy. Everything just feels right when I'm around them. They know this already, but I'll say it again: The greatest thing I can imagine is not the simple act of sleeping with them, but waking on a morning lying in bed next to them and watching them stretch their arms as they wake up, sun trickling in through the windows and sliding across their hair. It's the most beautiful sight that I can possibly imagine.

I'd do anything for them, tragically. Tragically, because I'd also... leave forever if they wanted me to. I'd never speak to them again, if that was what they wanted. I don't even want to imagine that, though. I'd give anything for them to be happy.

I don't want to dwell too much on this; they're not the mushy gushy type and they've known my feelings for them ever since we started talking. I suppose this will have no audience, as my blog usually does. Not that I care. It's my echo chamber for my frustrations, then. I'll keep yelling into it until I can feel like a regular human being, whatever that is. I feel like I am going to die. But it's the best feeling death ever, I imagine. I am content to dream of them, and if we may only be friends, or something higher than friends, or just something wavering in the middle, I'll take it. But I'll never stop loving them. That is my word, and I keep my words until I die.

Namaste. May your nights be easier than mine.

I got a new camera.

2009-07-02T22:59:00.001-05:00

Guess what one of its special features is?

she's not mine

2009-06-03T00:57:00.000-05:00

But she's so close. I don't know if she knows just how much she means to me. How I cannot go a minute without thinking about her. How every minute I spend thinking about her makes a girl-shaped hole rip ever wider in my heart. How I think she's the most beautiful girl in the entire world and any flaws she thinks she may have are inconsequential at their worst and serve only to further accentuate her beauty at their best.

But she's not mine.

How I wish my finger tips would melt with hers, then move down her arms, down her sides, to her lovely legs, leaving contrails of tingly sensation in their wake. How her scent brings up within me the memories or everything good. How the mere sight of her instills within me an unparalleled elation, for truly I have never loved any girl as I do her. How my hands would ache, not being able to run themselves over the small of her back.

But she's not mine.

How the way her hair looks when she doesn't straighten it after taking a shower is one of the most beautiful sights I know of, and would surely be the last thing I imagine before I die. How her crystalline eyes belie a soul deeper than anyone before her's. How I love her punches so. And her lips? Oh, how I love her lips. Too shiny. In fact, too good to be true. They're what is good in the world. She is what's good in the world.

But she's not mine.

Even though she is as a beacon of light to me, the pinnacle of human beauty and fascination to me. Even though it would not matter to me whatever indiscretions she may have commited. Even if she was somehow made not as she is now, in an accident that rendered her somehow less aesthetically pleasing, it would not matter
to me. Fifty years from now, I can still see myself looking back on her as one of the best parts of my life, and how I would have given anything for her. I would feel the deepest regret, even if I had done all I could.

But she's not mine.

and I used to be okay with that. To a certain extent, I still am. But it pains me. And yet, the only thing I want is for her to attain every happiness possible, and I could only hope I would die trying to spare her some minute discomfort, such as a splinter or rash. Because, for her, she's entirely worth it.

Babe, you're worth remembering.

It's a Bikini World Out There, Kid

2009-05-27T00:14:00.002-05:00

You gotta grab it by its straps.

Summer's far too good to be spent inside.

Pass the Kibbe Nayeh, Mr. Nimeh.

2009-05-04T20:45:00.002-05:00

You know the people I'm talking about. If you care enough to listen to what I have to say, you're probably not one of them. But if you are, fuck off and stop reading it. I don't want you tainting my page with your gormless stares.

The folk who I'm talking about are the poor empty souls who graduate high school and never leave their respective hometowns. I was coming back home from school m'self and I saw a character whom graduated high school two years ago hanging around just outside of the place. Did he not have anything better to do with his day(s)? People like that are just hollow sponges of a personality. They can't make new friends at all, apparently.

What's worse are those characters that come back to school with regularity. You know them, too. They're constantly in the "cool" teacher's room, just goddamn hanging about. Of course, they're currently off because Basic starts up this summer and that's the only other thing that they'd be able to do, besides mooch off of family.

I can take a certain amount of satisfaction in it all, though, because these are the same characters that were the popular kids in their class. I find it all hilarious. And you'll never see me exchanging emails or hanging out or saying "Hi" every few weeks. No, I'm fuckin' out of there like a shot from a gun and twice as fast. I'm never looking back to this shithole of a town, given the option. Sure, I have friends, but with the luxury of Facebook and Myspace, no one ever has to be out of contact with one another again. I'll keep tabs on the people worth keeping tabs on. If you're not one of them, sucks to be you, because I probably never liked you anyway.

Namaste.

P.S.: I had this really intense craving for a beef tongue sandwich today. Tongue, sauerkraut, mustard, marbled rye. Mmmmmm.

The quickest way to this man's heart is with ethnic food, hence the title of this very post. It's a Lebanese raw-meat, ("Nayeh" translates to "raw"), dish my friend Andy introduced me to.

green oh my green

2009-05-04T14:56:00.001-05:00

How green are you today
My fair lady
Whom was so tired
That she couldn't
Cut the grass and that had
Feelings of envy for her fellow
Women?

Must you be so droll
As to expect me to make
Your day well when you
Are yet so pale and sickly?

How dare you think you're so
Helpless. Dearie dear, you are
As a blight to the firs,
It is any wonder why I
Keep you at all.

The Purpose of Stop-Motion Has Been Revealed To Me

2009-05-03T22:50:00.002-05:00

Further reiterating my notion that everything good has already been done before.

That's Interesting

2009-05-01T15:07:00.002-05:00

I forgot there was an original Gone in Sixty Seconds until I saw this video:

I dig it all.

#1: Letter to A Drowning Victim

2009-04-30T00:34:00.001-05:00

I tried my damnedest to save
You but it was not enough
I must've got scared
It you were far too cold

All we should have known
That the overpass was too treacherous
But it would not matter
You would have gone

Wish I might that you were
Better but I have no hope
For the hope was gone
The last time it happened

I took my hands
Across your chest
Forced your breath
All for naught

I always thought blue pallour
Would be an attractive quality
Like almost translucent milky
Skin, but it's sick

I grab my hat, my phone
Fumble the keys
Emergency on the way
Emergency left and gone

I cry every night now
Out of sheer pain, the
Cessations of your breathing killing
Me; I won't forget you

Just A Little

2009-04-28T10:28:00.002-05:00

I got accepted. I'm going for a masters in Disappearing Sciences. I'm tired of caring anymore. Good things may happen to people who try, but good things seem to only happen to me when I don't try. I've learned that through a recent pattern of "trying" and it's gotten me nowhere but Neverwhere Land. People are sadly predictable and formulaic. Be yourself and you won't get what you want, that is, unless you were just clouded into wanting something and fooled yourself into believing as such. I hope that's what happened to me.

I'm trying to raise $750 at the moment. Let's hope I can.

Anyway, I don't mean to sound too depressing, thus:

Hopefully that brought people out of a funk I had put them in.

Namaste.

The Retirement Of Mel Levinson (pt.1)

2009-04-23T10:01:00.003-05:00

Ryan was ordering a tall coffee from a very famous green store when he received a call from his necessary evil; Lawyer Tom. Thomas wasn't really his personal lawyer, he was Ryan's family's, but the group rate they got was too good to resist. Ryan winced at the thought of talking to the greasy bastard.

Ryan hit the green button on his cell after taking a couple sips from his coffee.

"Hello?"

The voice five-hundred miles away lit up.

"JACOBI! Babe! You're a hard guy to get a hold of."

"Blame that on yourself. I've learned not to answer my phone anymore."

He had been receiving harrassing calls for the past three years.

"Yeah, well it's for your own good. You gotta watch what you say, pal."

Ryan was annoyed at the mere thought of small talk with this cat. He was swirling around his coffee as he sat cross-legged at the table by the window, Chicago wildlife passing by with their designer bags, miniature poodles, and vacant stares. Ryan said nothing back and several uncomfortable moments passed.

"Errrr... Listen, Mel. I have some bad news."

His father? They hadn't talked in years. Ryan didn't care. His father didn't either. They were on good terms.

"What's the news, Tom?" He braced himself. Not really.

"Well, your old friend Mel passed on recently. I'm... sorry."

A decade's worth of lost memories found themselves wedged between everything else in Ryan's head at the mention of the name Mel. Mel, the grown-up friend. Mel, the first boss. Mel, the guy who would let you into Rated-R movies. Mel, the-

"Ry-boy, you there?"

"Huh?"

Jacobi stopped spinning his now-cold coffee. He was lost, forgot where he was. Now, he felt like he was one of the many, with non-distinct features bleeding into the crowd. And, at the end, he was falling out.

"Cancer of the lung variety. Hell of a way to go... Jacobi? He mentioned you in his will."

Ryan snapped back to reality. What could Mel have left him? Last he heard, Mel was just barely making ends meet between child support and alcoholism.

"You're gonna have to come back to New Haven. He left you an envelope with specific instuctions yadda yadda yadda. You know the drill. Get your ass back here, man. We all miss you. Even your dad."

Ryan knew it was a lie, but he couldn't figure out Tom's motivation for lying. Perhaps it was the lawyer gene.

"Yeah, well I doubt that." Another few uncomfortable moments, eventually followed by a sigh.

"Lemee get some things squared away, take some vacation time. I'll hop the next plane I'm able."

"Super. I'll tell your folks." The l(iar)awyer practically beamed his feigned excitement over the phone.

"Before I go, Tom, could you tell me when the funeral will be?"

"Errr... As far as I know, champ, there's no service involved."

"I'm only coming if he gets a proper funeral, Tom, so make it happen."

"Alright, I'll get some people together, see what I can do."

"Goodbye, Tom."

Ryan hit the button and ended the call. His coffee was long since cold, not that he would have been able to drink it, anyway. The cup fell fast into the can and hit the bottom with a dull thud. He was already out the door and on the phone making a call.

---

Sixteen blocks away, a phone rang in the office of the lead editor to the Chicago Daily, a paper far eclipsed by the Tribune in terms of success and whose stories were often marred in sensationalism and retractions.

Not to say that it wasn't successful. It was.

Editor-in-chief Marcus LeRoy had worked there for more than three decadess. His tenure could be measured in the coffee rings scattered around his desk alone. He was a holdover from another era, when women were receptionists and the men had packages of Lucky Strikes rolled up into their sleeves. Rumor has it that he was a big shot at a big paper asking hard questions to hard people. Same rumor says that he asked the wrong question... to the wrong counselman's wife. Things didn't get ugly, but a certain individual was sent far away.

Th phone rang a final time as LeRoy looked at it. It's not customary for an editor-in-chief to not answer his phone, but it's hard to answer when you're a philanderer philandering during lunch break.

He- and she -let it go to message.

---

Fifteen blocks away, Ryan was smacking the phone shut and taking his seat on the middle-most
car of the L-Train. He didn't leave a message. Didn't like to. If Mark didn't want to speak to him right now, he'd show up for a face-to-face. He was a bastard and Ryan knew that. But the Daily was the only place that he could get a job. No one else could take him. Not that he could blame the other papers. He knew they didn't want controversy in a time of economic distress.

The train rattled his brain, jostled around his soul. He kept thinking of Mel, and of all the lost time. He needed a break. Time to talk to Terry.

---

Terry was the resident of the second floor of the C Street Laundromat, twenty minutes outside of Chicago in a depressingly small town called Freeport. Twenty years ago, his left hand was mangled in a car accident, ending his career as a guitarist. To compensate, he took up painting for the art-fickle and heroin. He was a candidate for an experimental surgery, for his schizophrenia, but was passed over after he came down with a hellacious bout of pneumonia. Naturally, this only exacerbated his problems and, as of last Tuesday, was trying to come up with new and exciting ways to kill himself and get attention.

Ryan trudged up the dirty stairs and pounded his fist upon the once-painted door.
At once, a gangly, paint-covered man opened the door, looking much like Jesus of Nazareth if Jesus had trackmarks and soft teeth. And smelled like a dead guy.

"I've been waiting," the dead man mumbled.

"Come off it, you cryptic fuck."

"Come into my dungeon. I have such sights for you to see." He waved Jacobi in.

rather no other

2009-03-18T02:20:00.005-05:00

Elaborate spit-fire girl bellowing themes of love.

How I wonder how she works, wish to pick her apart. A slap at the back of my head like the snap of a floral print sundress. WAHCHOW. And I have to hang on to her like a quick-spinnin' marry-go-round just to keep safe.

I wonder sometimes what would happen if I let go, but... my safety depends on it. She is my life-line to the world in a way that no man or beast could. She is my saccharine angel, a deliciously sweet falsehood. A tease in some ways, a reality in others. I wrap my paisley-tangled arms around her. My fingers trip over themselves in her mass of hair, wandering. Their business there is of no consequence to me; my central preoccupation being the deep wells of her eyes.

My sight wanders to my Casio Love-Life. Moments crash, bleed into other moments. Minds twist. And, like the tsunami, love crashes against my beach and recedes back into the abyss, leaving only lingering memories of the manufactured carnage in its wake. She's still there, but never again.

I damn my forehead against the stainless style face of my refrigerator and crush my eyes together as hard as I possibly can. She leaves me nothing but the knowledge to hang on tighter. I don't want to lose that snap again.

Owwww

2009-03-16T20:35:00.002-05:00

I'm sorry, I was just hit in the face with a load of awesome.

This is Audiobytes For Autobots, a hip-cat who tossed up albums "2.0" and "Prime Cuts". He doesn't have nearly as cohesive a structure as a lot of other mashup artists, but he tosses together tracks in a manner not even John Oswald can touch.

I was feeling like a huge ass today, but when I saw the music video above, I was overcome with such elation that my mind was goddamn blown. I have never seen something so amazing. As such, I highly recommend everything this guy puts out and will be waiting on bated breath for his next release.

You can catch up on his site: http://audiobytes.net/

A bit minimalist, but whatever man. SHUT UP AND SITUATE THOSE CANS ON YOUR EARS, BABES.

Namaste.

IT'S CHOWDER?

2009-03-09T10:15:00.004-05:00

Academic Decathlon

2009-03-09T10:10:00.003-05:00

I dunno if I've mentioned this before, but I am on the Academic Decathlon team for my high school. It's an inner city school, filled with the dregs of humanity, but I wouldn't be the person I am today without every one of them. Anyway, I'm on the team. Have been since last year.

I was able to get a lot of medals and we got third place in the state last year. Yay.

This year, however, was a wholly different story. It was mainly due to the fact that I got nary a medal. We still got second place, though. Strangely enough, I actually tried to win this year and felt confident that I would do well! It's irritating, but I go with it. It's just another way to benchmark something unquantifiable; intelligence.

Oh well. Just goes to show what you get when you try. The looser you are, the better things will happen to you. Realize that, whatever you do, it's cosmically unimportant, and you will do well.

Philosophizor out.

Namaste.

Hard Day Monday

2009-03-09T09:58:00.004-05:00

Five choice tunes from me to you to help you fend off them bad day blues.

Namaste.

STREET FIGHTER IV VIDEO APP

2009-02-12T18:19:00.001-06:00

The Beginnings of A Tale

2009-02-03T09:50:00.005-06:00

His yellowed fingers take hold of the pen, shaking slightly. His hands hurt, but the task was non-negotiable. He had to tell his story. The other hand hit the "Record" button. Cassette wheels began spinning.

"Listen folks-" Cough. Hack.

He stopped it. Rewind.

"It is very late for me, folks. I'm very short on time and my days are numbered." Checking his watch.

"I'm afraid many aren't proud of me any more. I've lost my way, now. The one other man I do know who would care about who I am is MIA. I don't know where he is, only that he is not dead. Or maybe he is? If he can die, I didn't know it. Regardless, at no other time in my life did I feel so compelled to do something. I must do something. The time is now."

One can hear the pen bearing down on the pad, being manhandled by the nicotine-stained hand. Another violent cough. Blood. A droplet fell on the page and he contemplated throwing the thing away, but finally decided to keep it, the crimson stain serving as its own macabre punctuation mark.

His pen hand rubbed his face, thumb and index massaging the sinuses. Eventually, it ran up to his hair which was overgrown and wiry, Nick Nolte mugshot-like.

"Before I start, I'd like to say that I am not proud of what I have done, but I did it all according to what seemed like the best decisions at the time. I minimized loss. At least I hope I did. Or maybe I just didn't give a shit about other people. I regret nothing, except for the things I never had the guts to do. I've not done much good in my life, but maybe this story will prove a little of me is still human."

He stopped the tape and pulled a small sepia photograph from the right-hand drawer of the desk, the second one from the top. It showed a young man and woman locked arm-in-arm walking and a wild-looking man staring off into the void behind the camera. He looked at it a bit, sighing.

The button clicks once more.

"This is the mostly true story slash will & testament of Max Wainwright, aged 254."

Damn You

2009-01-29T01:47:00.003-06:00

Why do you have to be here every night? Why am I that important to you, 2 A.M. Lady? I can't do it. I'm lost. And you sure as Hell don't guide me anywhere. So what the fuck do you want me to do? You're not elaborating. I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO START. The only thing I can do to sate you is follow the groove in the way. Walk where everyone else has been. Do what they've done. I CAN'T MOVE IT FORWARD. I'm not that guy. What's my fucking purpose, bitch? Why won't you let me sleep these nights?

I can see you. You sit there right behind me. Watching, and prodding. Nudging.

But I can't do it, you see? No matter how numb you make my hands, no matter how many chills you send up my spine. Why, 3 A.M. Lady?

Just give it up, babe. I'm a lost cause. Go to another cat for something good. It ain't gonna leave my pen.

SO JUST GO ALREADY, 4 A.M. LADY. I DON'T WANT TO FEEL YOU ANYMORE. LET ME LIVE MY LIFE OF BANALITY, MY PASSIVE LIFE. I JUST WANT TO WATCH.

I've got the will to drive myself sleepless.

2009-01-19T13:31:00.007-06:00

Insomnia isn't something I've suffered from. My inhibited sleep comes from my own determination. I simply want to do everything at every hour of the day. I can't stop. And I pay for it every time.

My daylight moments are waking staccato dreamscapes, interspersed with a litany of surrealistic terrors. The whole experience elicits a feeling of freefalling through eternity. The world takes on an aquatic, strangled appearance. People make garbled noises, sounds delayed to my reception. But what they say is completely inconsequential in the long run. I can't hear them, anyway.

Most of my thoughts turn inward, focusing on my dreams. Some long-time dreams, mostly women. Particulate thoughts colliding about with one another, no girl being better nor worse than another. All being unique in their respective ways; I cannot love one more. Therefore, I chose none and live in forced, and bitter, hermitude.

Then my thoughts direct themselves to the future. What career path shall I take? What will happen to my teeth if I stop brushing? Where did the music go?

Common perplexities to everyone, yet they are of the most dire concern to me. All options of all these thoughts run over in seconds, the human brain clocking in at about 70hz. Yet, we dwell on such things constantly.

My thoughts and experiences are not as clear with lack of sleep. But they are of an extraordinary vividity unattainable with a typical forty winks. This is why I am the way I am. Especially about the ladies.

Namaste.

I'm... intrigued.

2008-12-29T18:36:00.002-06:00

Linux, to me, looked like it catered more to the enthusiast. The tinkerer. This perception is probably why not a lot of devs cater to the Linux crowd, at least, not the major ones. Epic and id have usually been good about source-codes and such, and, with the Linux release of Prey, things have usually been pretty steady on the FPS front. But really kickass non-FPS games seem few and far between.

2D Boy games seems a bit different. Their game, World of Goo, was already released on the PC and Mac platforms, albeit with a bit of a problem.

http://gedece.blogspot.com/2008/11/call-to-gnulinux-community.html

I can't say whether I'll buy it or not. This kinda fucks me up a bit since I already use Steam under Wine. But I'll give the demo a go, at least.

I'm A Deadbeat

2008-12-29T13:55:00.009-06:00

People constantly question me and my disinterest in obtaining my driver's license. Everyone wants me to have the damn thing. I suppose I'll have to get it eventually, so it's not a question of "if", but "when". I haven't gotten it yet for a variety of reasons.

The first and probably biggest reason would have to be my apathy. I just don't give a shit, frankly. I don't have any reason to drive, so I'm not going to. It doesn't bother me that much. I take that back. It doesn't bother me at all. Usually, there's a ride available to me wherever I want to go. If there isn't, I walk. A couple weeks ago, my ride never showed up. So I made the seven mile walk back. I felt pangs of bitterness and spite within me, but I didn't give a damn. Because I knew what I was doing. People shouldn't have to worry about me walking, because I tend to handle myself rather well. Oh well. About a two hours later, I was home. Starving as I was, I made a pizza. A meat-lovers, which should say something about how hungry I was, because I'm not a fan of the meat-lovers. Enough bitching and moaning about pizza. A knock at the door, and I'm holding the knife I was cutting the pizza with in a death-grip.

"Who is it?"

"Police."

Shit.

I threw the knife across the room and opened the door. Part of me already knew why they were there, but I went through the motions and said, "How may I help ya officers?" They asked if I was ****n *****d. I said I was. They said that I was missing, which was news to me because I didn't know I was lost. Perhaps it is always surprising to my mother that I make it home without getting raped in twenty different ways and left lying in a ditch. Needless to say, we sorted it all out in a matter of minutes and the officers were nice enough to contact my family since we didn't have a phone (we've since rectified that.) As it turns out, my mother had sent a rather incompetant fellow to get me. After getting explicit instructions, he went the wrong way entirely and they had been looking for me for hours. Whatever.

The second reason why I don't drive is because other people scare me shitless. Things are funny because they're so true and that's why people laugh when George Carlin talked about not fucking with the ghost car. How do people like that keep their license? Ugh. Bastards having five conversations on their cell phones and gnawing on their McMuffins, cutting across eight lanes of traffic makes my hair stand on end. Hell, whenever someone hits the brakes inordinately hard, my fucking heart seizes up. Goddamnit. I'm afraid that I'll over-react in situations like this, and I've already demonstrated it by figitting about ceaselessly. I know the rules, like avoid Lincolns and Mercurys like the fucking plague, but I still am terrified.

Lastly, I just can't afford it, to be honest. It's not the car itself. I have more than a few family members willing to give me an automobile, which I'm incredibly thankful for. I can't afford the gas or the insurance. Really. During the entire winter season, I only worked fifteen hours. That's because I work at a golf course AND I am a student. School cuts into it. I can't work after school because the Sun thinks it's being funny when it sets at five in the afternoon. So the car would be languishing in disuse for three months while I would bumble about in boredom and poverty.

I don't want to drive because it's just another goddamn nuisance. It's not a statement on the environment. It's that I'm lazy and completely irresponsible.

The Guitar Face

2008-12-26T10:55:00.002-06:00

The Smoking Invalid

2008-10-07T10:21:00.002-05:00

will be the title of my book, I have decided, (much against my own advice.) The original title was going to be "The Only Rainbows I Like Are Green and Black" but that's too goddamn artsy for a book title. Besides, I think that it'll be a better story title. For those not in the know, it'll be a book of short stories. My own. Perhaps others. I've got know idea. Probably just mine; I like to control too much. But that also makes me a perfectionist, making being my own editor fairly easy. The book's not going to be cosmetically fancy, probably with a blank cover, but there will be illustrations within relating to the stories. I'd like to thank the artists that have helped me out already and I look forward to more kicking ass in bringing my stories to vivid colour.

Also, the book will be printed, but I'll try and see if I can shoehorn it into a .pdf. At the very least, it'll be released as a zipped txt with the associated imagery. FOR FREE! So those of you I don't happen to know in internet-land are more than happy to enjoy it. It'll also be Copylefted, with the stipulation that the original work may be altered in any way shape or form, for whatever reason, be it commercial or your own perverted amusement, as long as you give credit to No.1: your's truly.

So that's all the news I have for now, that and my computer's LCD is cracked in a bazillion different places, so my rough drafts and ideas are being held hostage on a head-less beast. I'll find a way around that, however. Methinks I can hook up an external monitor to it without too much effort, but only time will tell. Fortunately, most of the ideas are still in my head, me having not written most of them down.

And Grislygus, the piece I recently commissioned you for is pivotal and I can't stress that enough. That's not to say that the other artists, (Sacks & Co.), are worthless. It's just that your art-style would fit the bill perfectly.

Namaste.

Lemme hit you with some knowledge.

2008-08-10T19:07:00.004-05:00

HI-O!

A little while ago, I decided to come up with some of the only advice you might ever need. While far from complete, it should provoke in you a need to inform other people about your mistakes and failures as a human being.

Don't fuck the children.

To be completely honest, it's just too easy. Generally it's not worth it, either. I don't have the fetish, so I'm free.

No suicide.

Life's throwing you curve balls because it doesn't want you to win. Beat every kick life gives you and work your ass off. Persevere, and you'll have nothing to regret. Besides, your ass'll be dead soon enough. If you really have a hard-on for the ethereal plane, pray for a mad gunman or something. I was watching the news the other day and a man started sawing off another dude's head on a bus while Other Dude was sleeping. Apparently, he didn't have a reason. That other dude could be YOU!

Give cheaters the answers.

It'll be all the sweeter when they're found out to be as inept as they truly are. Bonus points if you make up shit. I was never that creative, sadly.

If it's one thing, it's a lot of things.

This is a personal favourite. I think everybody's had days where every fucking thing goes shithouse crazy. You'll come to notice that if one thing seems to go wrong, a whole wealth of goddamn things will. Most of the time, these things are completely unrelated and drive you up a wall. Thankfully, you can take solace in the fact that such things are likely to happen again tomorrow. Aahhhhh, the gift of foresight.

Never presume someone will be able to do something for you.

This is an especially big one for me. It was instilled within me by my mother. Never ever expect that someone will be willing or able to help you. It is incredibly rude of you to expect something from somebody without any regard to their lives or plans.

No inane bullshit.

I went to the Schlitterbahn waterpark recently (about nine rides and all of them are a pile of ass and a two hour wait.) As we were waiting in line for some generic waterslide, visible was a giant fake glass of Coca-Cola. It's a thinly veiled advertisement in the guise of a "soda straw" slide. Anyway, fucking huge glass of Coke sitting right in front of us. There was a guy and what I suppose was his girl with him. He would eventually remark of giant Coke, "Boy, that sure makes you thirsty, huh? chortle chortle"

HAH-FUCKING-HAH.

I wish I could think of such things.

Here's what I really mean: Don't make conversation. Why the fuck would you want to force discourse with someone? If the conversation is there, the opportunity to contribute will present itself to you. Don't hurt the people around you with your retarded babble. I've come to understand the ladies enjoy stupid statements such as the one above. I haven't the faintest idea why. Perhaps I'm destined to be alone because I refuse to change myself for someone else. I wouldn't want anyone like that anyway.

If I had to act like that, I'd rather kill myself.

Use your cool.

I've said this before, but if you want something, distinguish yourself. Do what you know. At first glance, this would appear to conflict with my "there is no such thing as individuality or being special" philosophy, but the goal here is to do what you like to do better than someone else, i.e use your cool. This can apply to any goal. A job opening, finding a girl, winning at stuff. If, at the end of the day, you find yourself unable to compete with another, it's time to cut your losses and give up. I'm sorry. Get better, you unskilled twat.

Don't try too hard.

Goes hand-in-hand with No douche-chill statements. Not only does it make you look bad, it makes everyone that knows you look bad as well. Ex: "I don't think I'll ever be the same way since Jessica tried to stab me that one time. Making love will never be as fulfilling." ..... "Who invited that guy?" Albeit, if you are not that guy, it puts you in the Good Cop position in the Good Cop/Bad Cop scenario , which can sometimes work to your advantage.

Don't eat glue.

Self-explanitory. You're not in kindergarten anymore, Walt.

Introspection is necessary.

Occasionally, I like to envision myself being drawn out of my body and pulled above me, so it can put me in a position of objectivity, a different perspective. If I see myself heading in a direction I dislike, I right myself. Admit when you fuck up, if only to yourself. Also, going back and reviewing situations can give you insight into what other people were doing that you didn't pick up on at the time.

For instance, I was in a car accident a couple months ago. Multiple cars, damage irreparable to one of them. It wasn't incredibly dangerous in retrospect, (thank you, Fiberglass God), but it could've been incredibly worse. It was all friends, one car behind one another. Some bastard was delivering a box full of rice and decided to stop abruptly in the middle of the road in order to decide where to go. One car smashed into another. There was another car behind us, thankfully not too close. We leapt of the car, as you should do in the middle of traffic. I got fluid in my McDonald's milkshake. I was pissed and full of adrenaline, so I threw it at a building. The car behind us stopped. It also belonged to a friend. Out popped him and another friend, a girl, to she what was up. I saw she was crying. She was so worried that we could've been hurt. I knew I had to be the guy to reassure everyone that everything was alright. I played it off all macho-like: "YEAH, we're fine. No problem." I was talking too fast and I couldn't sit still.

If I could change that day, I would've held her and not stopped until they had to pry us apart. I would've done anything but what I actually did to make her feel bettter. But I still missed the boat. Hindsight may be 20/20, but it sure doesn't help me now.

Know what you have to do and live with your decisions. You did what you that was best in that given situation, so don't live kicking yourself over it. Just know differently for next time.

Give your children real names.

And it comes full circle back to kids. Clifford is not a real name. Bertram is not a real name. Cody is not a real name. Dakota is not a real name. Eli is not a real name. Adrian is a stupid name. For more information, review George Carlin's schtick on names. I was cursed with Dylan, but not the terrible Dillon. BLECH. Yeah, Welsh isn't good to me either but there's still only one real way to spell it. Also, it's a fact that you will dislike someone with the same name as you, but usually only if it's spelled the same way.

This appears to be all the advice I have for the time being. I'm sure I'll come up with newer ways to tell you how to live your life, you miserable, lost fucks. My parting advice is simple; it's more of a command than anything else. Be inelegant.

Namaste, babes.

Man, oh Man. I'm Feeling Unwell.

2008-07-18T21:45:00.005-05:00

Friends of mine know I have perodic bursts of inactivity and depression. This is when my facade of happiness with myself and my sarcasm fall in on themselves, revealing a deep, seething hatred for the world. Why does it have to be so goddamn boring? Why must I play the Game? Why must I be that way? Why shouldn't it just be the music that matters? Well, there comes a time when one must face said music. it's a cruel ruse. It's a momentary escape. Movies are escapes. Books. Stories. They're all alike. They fashion whimsical tales of adventure with easily visible villains, where the bad guy loses while good guy gets the girl and saves the day. Recently, it's been more of the anti-hero than a genuine one.

I saw the Dark Knight today. It wa a good movie. But for me, that's what movies are. I see through them. They are just movies. Their message of how justice is blind and somehow people rely on others to do what they find unsavoury for the "greater good" is pathetically boring. Brooding individuals may take solace in that, but I'm not one of those kinds of brooders. The message of the Joker being alone in his mindset were only partially right. While no singular person is the harbinger of chaos, it's the little things that add up.

The business man that cuts off the mother of five on the highway, causing her to slam on the brakes, smashing the rear of her car into the front of the one behind her. The mailman that drops an envelope containing a paycheck or love letter and forgets about it because "it wasn't important." The neighbor that shoots your dog. The cousin in rehab after years of smack and theft from family members. It isn't just one man. It's the darkness in ourselves. Everything we do has an adverse effect on everybody else. Don't let someone else hurt you. If you don't want true evil to win, you can't let it get to you. If a store has tom close early, it was for a reason. And even if it wasn't, what would it matter? What can one do?

And I'm not just talking about morality, either. Story in general. Lives are boring and generally lifeless. There's no more room for adventure in the world. There's none left, either, so good thing. There is nothing left unexplored by humanity. We have infested every nook and cranny of this globe. What about man vs. man? Good vs. Evil. An intersting point. I've already said how there's no real villain in the world. But why shouldn't bad win? It's easier to be, certainly. But there isn't a bad guy to fight. If you can apply a face to bad, you can do the same to good and you've got yourself a movie. You never can, though. Life isn't that intersting. No one ever is either. The only excepton I can think of was Hitler, but he's been gone a while now. Inspiring as he is, people are hardly up to a similar task. So we watch. We read. We live vicariously through characters while reading or watching T.V. We know nothing else.

But I have the distinct sense of hope. Something odd is about to happen. Something extraordinary that will buck the trends. Normal things like oil crises or religious wars will stop as something will rear it's head, be it good or bad. Change is coming, foundation shaking change that will warp the way we interpret information and see life and all of its idiotic nuances. I wait for this day. Until then, I will continue my cycle of depression/kickassery and hopefully write something that means something, anything, one day.

Morphine

2008-07-10T12:14:00.000-05:00

Somedaaayyyyy, they'll be a cure for pain.

Advice

2008-07-09T15:50:00.009-05:00

Do what you love.

Make it cool.

Use your cool.

Make it good.

Namaste.

Belated News: Girl Talk's New Album is Out!

2008-07-03T00:31:00.006-05:00

Granted, I'm a bit late, but the few reading this may not be aware of Girl Talk, much less his new album, "Feed the Animals." Mashups are nothing new, but they are unknown to many. My personal first experience with a mashup was more of a cut-up type; Sunday Bloody Sunday by rx. That was just the beginning. Years later, I've seen more artists and came to Girl Talk, probably the only mashup artist to sell albums on a larger scale with the most recognition. Illegal Art sells several albums from mashup artists to mad-samplers to copyright-tramplers. Not that that's bad in the least. They sell Girl Talk's albums and they feature his newest work, but this time's a bit different.

They've decided to pull a Nine Inch Nails move and made it a pay-what-you-wish album, to include free. I opted for free because I didn't have a Paypal account on hand. That doesn't mean I don't want to donate. Just not at the moment. I don't see the site going down in the forseeable future. Anywho, feel free to download the album from this link. It comes highly recommended from people like me and Jesus.

Yes, that Jesus.

So you are compelled to, unless you wish to disappoint Jesus. I don't think you'd like that.

VIDEO: GIRL TALK - OVERTIME

VIDEO: GIRL TALK - NO PAUSE

I'm partial to the opening track, "Play your Part (pt. 1)," but the No Pause track is pretty good as well.

Seriously, this whole album is fucking kickass and I command you to download it. Also, if this gets you into mashups, check out Mashup Town. Lotta great artists on there like DJ Schmolli, The Illuminoids, Morgoth, Clive-$ter, DJ Lobsterdust, Audiodile, and plenty other purveyors of bastard pop.

Namaste.

EDIT: Finally getting the hang of HTML.

Did You Know?

2008-06-15T22:07:00.003-05:00

Chevy Chase inherited a toilet fortune!
Marlon Brando collected prosthetic hands before he died and would strike aides with them out of anger!
Sylvester Stallone is ambidextrous and writes shorts stories about crime!
Albert Einstein, famed scientist and part-time Amway salesman, had twelve wives!
Nicholas Cage briefly held a Best Actor award in Malaysia before it was found that he was not actually Malaysian, but Swiss!
Stephen Hawking sponsors a basketball camp for paraplegic youngsters!
I had webbed toes as a lad!
All-The-Way May really would go all the way.
Gene Kelly beat Billy Blanks in a footrace across water!
Stevie Nicks makes wicked punch!

What holds memories for you?

2008-06-07T22:29:00.004-05:00

Is it weird that the song Baker Street makes me think of driving down the street of an abandoned town at 3 in the morning while it's raining? It's a very powerful song for me, because, when on extremely long family trips and at the end of one of these thirteen hour drives, Baker Street would always be on the radio as we pulled off at our exit and into town. I was usually the only one awake in the car, aside from my mum. I felt alone, though.

What's a song for you that brings back similar memories, that evokes strong emotion?

Geekery Moment: Via Nano Processor

2008-06-05T21:29:00.005-05:00

For those more technically adept in our audience, you may be interested to know about a new processor. Yes, I know many of you may have already glossed over this and moved on to some other blog or looked at Mighty Mike's political mumbo-jumbo, but I will persist if only for my own intellectual masturbation.

Those that know what mini-itx motherboards are, know that they have their uses. Niche uses, to say the least. Many of the CarPCs utilize mini-itx motherboards in their designs. They are very small. However, more often than not, they are underpowered. To put this in perspective, your fancy dual-core monstrosity heatmiser is a Ferarri and a mini-itx based machine is a toaster. They're on completely different levels.

However, that is about to change with Via's release of their Nano processor. Like I said, geeky. But I wouldn't be true to myself if I didn't say "I can't possibly contain my excitement for this thing." Well, I can't possibly contain my excitement for this thing. I am raving mad, jumping up-and-down ecstatic about this. Why? Take a look for yourself.

I don't know of many computers that can run Crysis at any setting. Mine certainly can't. Apparently, that's what makes Crysis the go to for benchmarking a high-end system. It is that game. You know, when people are shopping around for a computer and the gamers say, "can it play xxxxxx game?" Well, Crysis is it. So I wait for this little wonder. But not on bated breath. I have much more prudent things to spend my money on. It is, however, a useful extravagance, yes? Anyway, you can find more elaborate details at Via's own page. They're expected to ship in the fourth quarter this year.

Namaste.

DEMS make me laugh.

2008-06-04T09:02:00.013-05:00

Let's get some things straight first.....

1. My name is Michael Brown, it's nice to meet you.

2. When I say DEMS or Democrats, I mean the ones in office i.e. senators, presidents, etc.

3. I'm not a republican or democrat, parties make me feel obligated to a party instead of myself.

4. Uh, America rules.

5. I do not agree with everything in this video at Eyeblast

One of the wives in my dad's unit sent this around and I found it funny(especially Cone's comments). I'm not sure about the legitimacy about this video but hey, its fun, and it may change someone's mind; depending on if they believe in indoctrination.

New Ideas

2008-05-20T11:32:00.001-05:00

I write a bit and I've been thinking about starting a "Bad Things Happen to Good People" series. I'm already started on the first story and, boy, it's a doozy. Look forward to reading it later on. I think I'll be done with it 'round tomorrow.

Namaste.

Pulseman

2008-05-19T11:45:00.002-05:00

Megaman's a punk. >:(

Combining the speed of Sonic with the platforming and combat of Megaman, Pulseman breaks typical gaming molds thanks in part to Game Freak, creators of Pokemon. The art style is incredibly similar to the Pokemon games, especially in the character design. However, the gameplay is in it's own class and that is what makes Pulseman my favorite retro game to this day. It's on the MegaDrive.

Oingo Boingo

2008-05-16T17:55:00.000-05:00

There's very little I have to say in regards to Oingo Boingo, aside from the fact that Danny Elfman is always brilliant and constantly scary.

When I lived in North Carolina, my mum found a copy of the Skeletons in the Closet: Greatest Hits of Oingo Boingo compilation and introduced me to Little Girls. Ceaselessly. In the time between then and now, I've gotten to know more of their discography and decided that Violent Love, On the Outside, and Elevator Man are my favorite songs, though they are most famous, (I suppose), for the song Weird Science. So check 'em out if you haven't already. A world of irreverent punk/ska/darkness awaits.

Vampire Weekend

2008-05-16T15:07:00.000-05:00

Lately, there've been a few bands strikingly different to me that I can't help but love their sound. It was this way with MGMT about a month ago with me and, as a music lover, I am constantly on the lookout for another sound to listen to ceaselessly. As I was playing some Call of Duty 4 and listening to Opie and Anthony on XM Radio, I heard one of the spots for Esquire Magazine. On it, I heard a wonderful song playing in the background, which turned out to be (I believe) Cape Cod Kwassa Kwassa.

Their sound reminds me a bit of Cake with some folky bits thrown in and an excellent set of vocals for good measure. Indie in the truest sense of the word, no doubt.

So, if you're into that whole sound, by all means, check 'em out.

The Something Store

2008-05-15T12:01:00.001-05:00

Ever looking for something to waste your money on, but don't have the time to hove your fat ass down to Big Lots or some other large store full of cheap shit?

Well wander no more as the Something Store will surely have the right trinket for you!

~The Something Store~

With this magical offer, you can give them money, and they send you... something. Sounds a bit janky, no? Well, they have hundreds of satisfied and unsatisfied customers. The schtick is that you send $10 and they send something completely at random. It may be a duct tape wallet. Or it may be a Fossil watch. USB missle launchers also appear to be pretty popular. You'll never know until you get it.

Personally, I dunno if I'll do it. It seems like something exciting to do if ever you have some excess cash lying around. But if you have $10 just waiting to burn, then you might as well go for it all with $100, know what I'm saying.

So go ahead, buy from 'em. Looks fun!

Pic unrelated but totally phat.

Pockets and Shit

2008-05-15T11:11:00.000-05:00

Yes, it's true. Even I use them. And whodathunkit? A rich celebrity blogger like myself, using his pockets. "Why do I bring this up?", you may ask. "Surely, rational individuals use pockets!" Well, you'd be right in that assumption. Rational individuals do use their pockets. Irrational individuals do not. They fill it with null, which is, coincidentally, the same material that 50% of their brain is made of, with the other 50% being Fruity Pebbles or some other gay breakfast cereal.

Why would anyone not use their pockets? Are they a fashion statement like babies? I see these idiot meatbags walking around school in their cargo pants, five-hundred pockets and not one of them being used. Yet their messenger bag is filled to the brim with all manner of stupidity to include some sort of notebook, gel pens, a copy of the Holy Bible, and a laptop (more often than not an Apple product of some sort.) Three of these things would fit excellently inside any of the pockets, but they need a damn bag for it all. There was a long time ago when pockets were functional, even necessary. Now, they are like the pancreas of one's apparel, utterly useless until there happens to be a problem with it. In that eventuality, one will need to operate, lest you lose change to that pocket forever.

MUHAHAHAHAHAHA. I'm wacky, aren't I?

At any given moment, most if not all of my pockets are filled to the brim with all manner of delightful things like pencils ,(OOOOOH), and money, (AAAAAAH.) Sometimes, I may be able to squeeze in the abnormally large paperback like The Adventures of Huck Finn or The Stand. So I duly keep my belongings in the pocket. Some pants, though, aren't made to have pockets. Like the ones I'm wearing at this very moment. The material is very slick, and, as such, my wallet slipped out of it and onto the bus where some individual picked it up, likely with the intention of returning it, but must've been mugged. I forgive them.

So, you neu-hippies can go to Hell for all I care or the equivalent: your local Hollister/American Eagle.

THAT'LL TEACH 'EM.

Mr. Wonderful

2008-05-14T18:17:00.000-05:00

Mr. Wonderful was a man of habit. Because nothing quite says "wonderful" like order. He lived modestly, as most do. He went to work at Chromapage Photoworks where he developed film and meandered about for nine hours; the hours not spent working, reading.

Mr. Wonderful read all sorts of books, books about pirates, food, and wars. Books about vampires, killers, and bakeries. Mr. Wonderful was an avid reader, so much so that the librarians would invite him over to read stories to the young'uns. Mr. Wonderful would do so, and with great enthusiasm! He could make stories seem to come alive! And this is what Mr. Wonderful did every other day.

Monday was Mr. Wonderful's cleaning day. He was always excited the Sunday night of every week. Sometimes, he could barely sleep! Occasionally, there would be pieces of people lying around and his dog, Derwent, would find them.

Sometimes, Derwent would hide them and Mr. Wonderful would have to look for them later!

"Oh, Derwent!" said Mr. Wonderful.

Mr. Wonderful was usually careful to clean, being a man of habit. But sometimes, things got iffy, Like when Mr. Wonderful saw little Timmy Buxton watch him steam-clean the blood out of his drapes.

Timmy didn't know what he was seeing, but Mr. Wonderful was always careful, mind. Mr. Wonderful ran out onto the lawn with an old bat he had kept in the closet. Mr. Wonderful hadn't played baseball in years.

"Good afternoon, Timmy!" yelled Mr. Wonderful.

"Afternoon, Mr. Wonderful!" Timmy yelled back.

Timmy rode a few feet down the sidewalk before he caught a bat with the back of his head. Luckily, his skull absorbed most of the blow and caved inward. As Mr. Wonderful carried Timmy back into the house, a pulpy mess began to pour out of the back of Timmy's head and onto the yard and driveway. Mr. Wonderful's mother once remarked that that biting into someone's head was like sinking one's teeth into a ripe nectarine. Not wanting to dispute her on it, Mr. Wonderful took it as fact. In later years, Mr. Wonderful found this to be true. But that was neither here nor there.

Mr. Wonderful threw Timmy down on the couch and closed the drapes. He picked him back up and tossed him in the tub, breaking any bones left unbroken in Timmy's neck.

Mr. Wonderful wondered. He wondered about which tool was the best. Oh, he ad many; boxes upon boxes upon boxes. Boxes in the garage, in the attic, or in the closet. Everywhere. In the end, though, Mr. Wonderful decided on bolt cutters and a hacksaw, with some smaller tools picking up slack when needed.

Mr. Wonderful saw red as he began to tear into Timmy's flesh, shredding muscle and bone as he moved back and forth with the saw. Then, when Timmy was in sufficient enough pieces to handle, Mr. Wonderful took bolt cutters to the fingers and toes. The sound of a chicken bone snapping could be heard. Or maybe it wasn't a chicken bone.

Regardless, Timmy was really hard to identify by the end of everything. Mr. Wonderful tossed the leftovers in the fridge. Meanwhile, Derwent took off out the front door with a calf!

"No, Derwent!"

Derwent came back, reluctantly, and showed his dismay by scattering arms and legs in the backyard. Timmy was truly a boy apart at this point. Mr. Wonderful decided to take it easy from then on, and buried Timmy in several places. Around town. In the park.

Mr. Wonderful had to be careful.

Comments or questions are always appreciated. My words belong to me, (copyrights and such), however, any interpretations of the same story are more than welcome. Creativity is to not be stifled.

I don't need television.

2008-05-04T01:04:00.000-05:00

At least the cable/satellite programming. I've slowly realized over the past couple of months that, upon subscribing to both DirecTV and XM Radio, I can pretty much do away with DirecTV entirely.

I'm a talk radio guy. It's a dying art. There are the ultra conservative blowhards and generic sportscasters and there are inspirational powerhouses like Opie & Anthony, Ron and Fez, and El Jefe and J-Dubs. There's a voice for everyone. And I can sit there and listen to them all day every day. Provocative radio, not these Morning Zoo wacky shows with sound effects out the ass.

And it's all I need. Granted, I enjoy the various movie channels and the like, but the vast majority of television nowadays is just catering to the lowest common denominator. The only exception I can come up with off of the top of my head is the Chiller channel, and it doesn't count because 90 percent of it is reruns anyway.

There's just nothing good on TV anymore. I'm more of a movie guy anyway.

Intel's Classmate/CTL 2goPC

2008-04-03T17:13:00.000-05:00

Some years ago, there was a push to find a way to make computers easily available to those that would not otherwise have the resources to buy one. It was the plot of "The First $20 Million Is Always the Hardest," (good movie, by the way.) Of course, we're a ways away from holograms. Maybe not in the near future, though.

I digress.

Whether for purely ethical reasons or seeing the need to exploit an untapped market-- that of inexpensive this-is-all-I-need computing-- the chipmaker Intel put out a reference design for the Classmate PC. For the most part, it is designed to compete with Asus' EEE PC and OLPC's XO-1. According to some people's opinions, the XO-1 is floundering. The machine is brilliant, however. It's a classy piece of hardware reminiscent of those old V-Tech toy laptops with the monochromatic LCD display panel the size of a few postage stamps. It's got a handle and is incredibly durable, by all accounts. As a bonus; the third-world countries it's marketed to can use it to bludgeon potential food... Ahem, where was I?

The EEE PC, however is raking in millions, to the point where the EEE can be described as the Wii of computers with 50000x more quantity. It's also got an awesome fan-base that are some of the most helpful people when it comes to the EEE. The problem some people have, which will soon be eliminated, is that the EEE PC only cames with the Xandros distribution of Linux, something not many people are familiar with. Many people are warming up to it, though. Will Linux ever be the OS of choice? I hope not. It gives me that feeling of individuality, that knowledge you have that you feel someone else doesn't, some sort of secret.

Regardless of the operating system of choice, Asus had established itself in the ultra-portable laptop market before the released the EEE. Now they are a powerful name in the low-cost market as well. A version with Windows XP is to be sold later this month in stores and online, which will surely print money, as if it already doesn't.

But where does Intel fit into all this? While OLPC and Asus were making a lot of public noise over their portables, Intel was selling their reference design to several manufacturers in other countries like India and the like. Now, they're into the second generation of Classmate, which you should see in the picture above. CTL is putting it out as the 2goPC. It should be on sale through Amazon, if it isn't already. Supposedly, it's able to withstand the small drops and usual wear and tear a normal bookbag tossed about by a kid would take. That's probably the reason it's being sold to the education markets and the like. Pictures show it with a handle jutting from the back of it, I'm unsure of whether or not it is detachable or not. If it is, woohoo. If it isn't, well I can always cut it off. I don't have a use for it, personally. I've got a few bags I can use with it.

What's bad, though, is that I have a terrible penchant for gadgets. Always on the lookout for the next big thing. Right now, what I've got in my pocket is a Nokia n800 looking for a new home. To be quite honest, I thought it could fill in some of the holes that would normally be filled by a laptop. Really, though, it's just not up to snuff without a physical keyboard. My main mistake was that I thought it could replace a notebook entirely, but in reality it'd be a better companion device.

All this is jibber-jabber, though. So it's either the EEE or the 2goPC for me. I'll figure it out.

Mexican Mysteries!

2008-03-25T21:47:00.000-05:00

You ever wonder what's in a taquito? I mean, I haven't had one in God only knows how long. It was like a Hot Pocket with half the deliciousness, a meaty crepe if you will. These are the kinds of foods you give to ailing people or those without tongues. At least they don't have the misfortune of actually tasting what they eat.

I'd wager that it's filled with ground vermin meat. The kind they find scurrying about near the vats of taquila. Rats with bad teeth, the rats that their rat brethren ostracize because they don't want to smell their breath. But those rats aren't really rat enough to tell the soon-to-be-snack-food ones that they don't want to be around them. It gets all sorts of awkward when they meet up in the walls at Christmas time. There've been lawsuits. You know, that whole rat-on-rat domestic violence thing that blew up in the news recently.

Regardless of the criminalities rattus, they are all the horrible for their meat's overall greasiness. I'll never eat a taquito as long as I live, slathered as it is in various cheese product.

BAH.

Pass me the churro, Paco. I'm feeling another night south of the border.