So, I like anime.
You know, those Japanese cartoons that can be pretty cool, pretty weird? I used to be nearly obsessed with it. Granted, I never dressed up as my favorite character (admittedly, I considered it...), but I did once carve a pumpkin with the face of this cool little demon-cat from a show I liked. Bless those children who said, "Hey, it's Kirara!" They got extra candy.
On my computer, I have a lot of anime songs. About 3.7 gb worth, if you'd like to know. Some of it is exceptionally good, stuff that you can appreciate even if you hate cartoons. Others... well, even I recognize it's crap, but I can't bear to get rid of it. Let's not even talk about the mountains of CD-Rs I've filled with free anime off the web.
At my geekiest, I was part of a fansub group with the title of Editor/Timer. Basically, fansub groups get digital rips of the latest shows from Japan, whip up subtitles and distribute them for free online. Yes, the legality is questionable at best, but I was pretty damn good. Our translater was fast and loose with her grammar and spelling, and it was up to me to render it into a readable state and make sure the text popped up at the right time. Those were good times, back in medical school when I'm pretty sure I should have been learning something about the Kreb Cycle or anatomy, and instead was a covert Internet pirate who was also really good at foosball.
I am a hack pianist. My mother appreciates me, but it's a good thing I never strove to be a musician professionally. Pretty sure I'd be working a street corner somewhere by this point to make ends meet.
Let me unite these seemingly unrelated topics. I transcribed a few songs from shows that I liked into piano sheet music a few years ago, released them to the web, and walked away. Imagine my surprise when, while randomly searching youtube, I ran into this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZfPm1cBgde8 and http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0Qsn652Xuc
Two versions, both using my sheet music as a starting point. I believe that makes me immortal in the online sense, as surely it's only a matter of time before this picks up into a viral video phenomenon. The first one is nice enough to credit me in her description, too. I feel famous, and I didn't even have to kill anyone important.
Random Link: I think there's enough up there for everyone.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Survival skills in action
There was a time in my life where the idea of walking off into the woods and living off the fat of the land was what I plotted every night. My library has an eclectic assortment of books, and there's a fair segment that deal with survival skills that were collected during that particular era. Theoretically, I could be dropped off in an isolated forest with only the clothes on my back and walk away not only unscathed, but with some killer new duds and an arsenal of primitive weaponry. Awesome.
In reality, I can barely start a fire with a full can of lighter fluid, bone dry wood and a lighter. I've never actually killed and then eaten my prey, although I have shot those little bastard English sparrows with a BB gun. I'm a fair shot with a bow and arrow, but somehow I have my doubts that I could produce a laminated recurve bow with a full set of professionally fletched aluminum arrows in the back woods with sheer tenacity.
Now, I am good at making the "rodent in distress" call. I proved this a few days ago in my parking garage, and the tale is as follows:
Walking out of my car and toward the elevators of my building, a small scurrying figure caught my eye. I silently slid behind a nearby concrete support and watched. There. A young rat, exploring the wheels of a 1999 Infinity G35, oblivious to the possible dangers lurking a scant 8 feet away. As it turned it's attention to its whiskers, I stealthily approached, using cars for cover until I was within 5 feet. Carefully, I moistened the back of my hand and pushed my lips to it and, essentially, kissed it noisily, allowing air to flow through my front teeth. Perfect.
The object of my pursuit leapt into the air, sheer terror in its beady eyes. Frantic, it tried to find it's distressed compatriot, at which point I stepped away from the SUV where I had been concealed. This being too much for the murine to deal with, it dashed away.
Now, had this been a survival situation, I would have totally had rat stew. It wouldn't have stood a chance against my superior intellect and skills, highlighting my rightful place as a superpredator/omnivore. Owned.
Random Link: You rock, math/science teachers.
In reality, I can barely start a fire with a full can of lighter fluid, bone dry wood and a lighter. I've never actually killed and then eaten my prey, although I have shot those little bastard English sparrows with a BB gun. I'm a fair shot with a bow and arrow, but somehow I have my doubts that I could produce a laminated recurve bow with a full set of professionally fletched aluminum arrows in the back woods with sheer tenacity.
Now, I am good at making the "rodent in distress" call. I proved this a few days ago in my parking garage, and the tale is as follows:
Walking out of my car and toward the elevators of my building, a small scurrying figure caught my eye. I silently slid behind a nearby concrete support and watched. There. A young rat, exploring the wheels of a 1999 Infinity G35, oblivious to the possible dangers lurking a scant 8 feet away. As it turned it's attention to its whiskers, I stealthily approached, using cars for cover until I was within 5 feet. Carefully, I moistened the back of my hand and pushed my lips to it and, essentially, kissed it noisily, allowing air to flow through my front teeth. Perfect.
The object of my pursuit leapt into the air, sheer terror in its beady eyes. Frantic, it tried to find it's distressed compatriot, at which point I stepped away from the SUV where I had been concealed. This being too much for the murine to deal with, it dashed away.
Now, had this been a survival situation, I would have totally had rat stew. It wouldn't have stood a chance against my superior intellect and skills, highlighting my rightful place as a superpredator/omnivore. Owned.
Random Link: You rock, math/science teachers.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
My plumbing is everyone's concern
There are certain items that cause consternation and embarassment by the simple act of their purchase. Condoms, for example. Even if you're an ultrasound technician and have an excellent reason to be buying the 100 count value pack, it will ignite unwanted commentary or stares from your fellow shopgoers. Hemorrhoid creme - I understand it works wonders on bags under your eyes, but be assured that, regardless, the sales clerk will be watching your derriere as you walk away and wonder.
There are others, of course. My tale revolves around a relatively innocuous item, the common household plunger.
I came home and discovered that my toilet lacked it's characteristic "oomph." Normally, this would be handled with minimum fuss by a phone call to the front office, but it is Memorial Day weekend. I'm sure someone would answer a distress call, but it seemed like overkill to ruin someone's Sunday, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.
5 minutes later, and I'm searching the CVS pharmacy downstairs for a plunger. Ah, there it was, the standard wooden handle/plain rubber savior of drains. I tested several, looking for one with the correct balance required for the upcoming task. As I made my choice, I heard the first comment: "Ooh, having problems?" A swift backwards glance showed a gentleman with a tube of toothpaste, shaking his head knowingly. I nodded, smiled, and began to make my way to the counter. 2nd comment from 2nd casual observer: "Need some help with your plumbing?" A pleasant decline of proffered services from myself. Almost to the counter, 3rd comment, 3rd guy: "Gave it more than it could handle, huh?" At this point, I began to feel heat rising to my cheeks, and I told a ridiculous partial lie "My brother's visiting, happens everytime." The first part is completely false, although he does cause problems in the bathroom on a regular basis. Yes, the pressure was getting to me.
Finally, the counter. I hand over my purchase, and the sales clerk raises his eyebrows at it. I swiftly swipe my card and wait for him to hand it back to me. He returns it, stating "Afraid I don't have a bag big enough for a plunger." Snickering from behind me. I grab it, and run.
Next time, I'm looking on Amazon.com.
Random link of the day: Nerd Type Quiz, my result below.
There are others, of course. My tale revolves around a relatively innocuous item, the common household plunger.
I came home and discovered that my toilet lacked it's characteristic "oomph." Normally, this would be handled with minimum fuss by a phone call to the front office, but it is Memorial Day weekend. I'm sure someone would answer a distress call, but it seemed like overkill to ruin someone's Sunday, and I decided to take matters into my own hands.
5 minutes later, and I'm searching the CVS pharmacy downstairs for a plunger. Ah, there it was, the standard wooden handle/plain rubber savior of drains. I tested several, looking for one with the correct balance required for the upcoming task. As I made my choice, I heard the first comment: "Ooh, having problems?" A swift backwards glance showed a gentleman with a tube of toothpaste, shaking his head knowingly. I nodded, smiled, and began to make my way to the counter. 2nd comment from 2nd casual observer: "Need some help with your plumbing?" A pleasant decline of proffered services from myself. Almost to the counter, 3rd comment, 3rd guy: "Gave it more than it could handle, huh?" At this point, I began to feel heat rising to my cheeks, and I told a ridiculous partial lie "My brother's visiting, happens everytime." The first part is completely false, although he does cause problems in the bathroom on a regular basis. Yes, the pressure was getting to me.
Finally, the counter. I hand over my purchase, and the sales clerk raises his eyebrows at it. I swiftly swipe my card and wait for him to hand it back to me. He returns it, stating "Afraid I don't have a bag big enough for a plunger." Snickering from behind me. I grab it, and run.
Next time, I'm looking on Amazon.com.
Random link of the day: Nerd Type Quiz, my result below.
| What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Literature Nerd Does sitting by a nice cozy fire, with a cup of hot tea/chocolate, and a book you can read for hours even when your eyes grow red and dry and you look sort of scary sitting there with your insomniac appearance? Then you fit this category perfectly! You love the power of the written word and it's eloquence; and you may like to read/write poetry or novels. You contribute to the smart people of today's society, however you can probably be overly-critical of works. | |
| Science/Math Nerd | |
| Gamer/Computer Nerd | |
| Anime Nerd | |
| Social Nerd | |
| Musician | |
| Drama Nerd | |
| Artistic Nerd | |
| What Be Your Nerd Type? | |
Saturday, May 26, 2007
Evolution of a reckless driver
On a near weekly basis, commentary is offered to me regarding the manner in which I drive. Usually, this commentary runs along the lines of "You are insane." This is unfair. Yes, unsecured passengers can occasionally be found careening from one side of the car to the other on sharp turns. Yes, the speedometer is rarely measuring less than 70 mph. Yes, other cars eat my dust at stoplights. But let's be reasonable! I don't weave through traffic, I don't drive faster than I can see, and I keep my eyes on the road. Most of the time.
When I first started driving, my general feeling was that I was being given a license to kill and I refused to drive anywhere that might involve me having to deal with other cars, stoplights, and pedestrians. In other words, my parents and brothers drove me most places for a very long time. It wasn't until I turned 17 that I reluctantly began to undergo my father's precision driving training in earnest - after all, it's very uncool (and unfair) to have your mom drive you to college to early morning classes. I logged somewhere in the realm of 300 miles in the parking lot at the clinic where he worked in a Ford Ranger. Thrilling.
At the end of that training, I emerged a highly paranoid driver who rarely went closer than 2 miles below the posted speed limit. Accelerating from a stop felt like the car was stuck in hot tar. A stoplight ahead? Better slow down starting from 1/2 a mile away. Yes, I was a "Granny Driver." I never listened to the radio, for fear that it would distract me from the task of driving. Friends could look at my car, but not ride in it. I took pride in the excellent mileage I produced by my smooth starts and stops.
Then, medical school... I began to commute from Arlington to Fort Worth every single day. Driving 55 mph while everyone else was whizzing by at a comfortable 70 mph caused envy. My foot began to grow heavier. I was driving 65 mph. I was breaking the law, and it felt good. But things didn't stop there. I met D. Lang, a lanky fellow who I will need to delineate sometime. D. Lang made fun of my driving. He enjoyed sharp turns for the fun of it. I began to see the possibilities of what I could achieve in my car, and I have been traveling that road since. Thank God.
When I first started driving, my general feeling was that I was being given a license to kill and I refused to drive anywhere that might involve me having to deal with other cars, stoplights, and pedestrians. In other words, my parents and brothers drove me most places for a very long time. It wasn't until I turned 17 that I reluctantly began to undergo my father's precision driving training in earnest - after all, it's very uncool (and unfair) to have your mom drive you to college to early morning classes. I logged somewhere in the realm of 300 miles in the parking lot at the clinic where he worked in a Ford Ranger. Thrilling.
At the end of that training, I emerged a highly paranoid driver who rarely went closer than 2 miles below the posted speed limit. Accelerating from a stop felt like the car was stuck in hot tar. A stoplight ahead? Better slow down starting from 1/2 a mile away. Yes, I was a "Granny Driver." I never listened to the radio, for fear that it would distract me from the task of driving. Friends could look at my car, but not ride in it. I took pride in the excellent mileage I produced by my smooth starts and stops.
Then, medical school... I began to commute from Arlington to Fort Worth every single day. Driving 55 mph while everyone else was whizzing by at a comfortable 70 mph caused envy. My foot began to grow heavier. I was driving 65 mph. I was breaking the law, and it felt good. But things didn't stop there. I met D. Lang, a lanky fellow who I will need to delineate sometime. D. Lang made fun of my driving. He enjoyed sharp turns for the fun of it. I began to see the possibilities of what I could achieve in my car, and I have been traveling that road since. Thank God.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Return to the Internet
It's been a long time since my last visible incursion into the vast realm of the Internet. Already self consciousness is seeping in and I wonder what, exactly, I'm trying to prove. However, seeing that quiet introspection hasn't really done too many wonders for me, I'll resort to thoughtless rambling and ignore everything else.
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