Okay, on a much better note, just spoke to one of my oldest friends on the phone, and he's coming through Dallas next weekend. At last, someone else who gets excited about random astronomical phenomena!
Seriously, this guy is one of the coolest people I know. He is an excellent writer, and has a quirky sense of humor. As an example, check out this short article. I would have paid good money to be there, my friend.
About the only negative thing about him that comes to mind is that he is a vegan. And, come on, that's not even negative, it's just dismaying to my omnivorous instincts.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Nothing but trouble
Disclaimer: The following blog should probably not be read by anyone. I mean, it's entirely whiny and moronic. Here, I'll give you a link to something that will make you happier than reading this: Rubber bands. Innocuous tools of war.
What, still here? Your loss, I tried to warn you.
----------------
Talking never got me anywhere except into trouble. Perhaps an extreme statement, but it certainly feels like the truth when I consider the holes I’ve dug for myself secondary to thoughtless conversations throughout my life. Perhaps being a deaf/mute would have been better for the people around me.
Perhaps my singing is some kind of saving grace. While not exceptional, and perhaps because of that, it seems to make people happy. I don’t know.
At any rate, I digress. This is an exercise in exploring a crucial failure in my character. To my credit, I am eager to perform tasks and favors for my friends, but come on. A paid go-fer can do the same thing, and probably better. I have a complete inability to address things that count without making every issue come back to me (i.e. “It’s my fault”). Sure, even if it’s true, who the hell cares?
Why is it my fault, then? That’s the clincher. Did I not pay attention? Did I say something stupid when I knew better? Did I ignore obvious signs of distress? Did I fail to listen? Why the hell can’t I get to the point where I can actually prevent the “fault” from occurring? I just sit there like a sack of beans with that sad face that says “Boohoo, I suck.” Take, for example, the opening of this rant. “Boohoo, I suck.” Who gives a shit?
How do you gain true empathy? I do a reasonably good job at work, right? I talk to people about life and death on a daily basis without coming off as a heartless bitch, mainly because I’m not a heartless bitch, and I am able to gain trust and confidence from families.
Maybe that’s it. I can be convincing for a few days or hours, but it’s not real. Which means that I'm a hyprocrite. Great. Just what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Random Link: May you live in interesting times.
What, still here? Your loss, I tried to warn you.
----------------
Talking never got me anywhere except into trouble. Perhaps an extreme statement, but it certainly feels like the truth when I consider the holes I’ve dug for myself secondary to thoughtless conversations throughout my life. Perhaps being a deaf/mute would have been better for the people around me.
Perhaps my singing is some kind of saving grace. While not exceptional, and perhaps because of that, it seems to make people happy. I don’t know.
At any rate, I digress. This is an exercise in exploring a crucial failure in my character. To my credit, I am eager to perform tasks and favors for my friends, but come on. A paid go-fer can do the same thing, and probably better. I have a complete inability to address things that count without making every issue come back to me (i.e. “It’s my fault”). Sure, even if it’s true, who the hell cares?
Why is it my fault, then? That’s the clincher. Did I not pay attention? Did I say something stupid when I knew better? Did I ignore obvious signs of distress? Did I fail to listen? Why the hell can’t I get to the point where I can actually prevent the “fault” from occurring? I just sit there like a sack of beans with that sad face that says “Boohoo, I suck.” Take, for example, the opening of this rant. “Boohoo, I suck.” Who gives a shit?
How do you gain true empathy? I do a reasonably good job at work, right? I talk to people about life and death on a daily basis without coming off as a heartless bitch, mainly because I’m not a heartless bitch, and I am able to gain trust and confidence from families.
Maybe that’s it. I can be convincing for a few days or hours, but it’s not real. Which means that I'm a hyprocrite. Great. Just what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Random Link: May you live in interesting times.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Caffeinated visions
I feel strange. I can feel my heart beating in my chest and blood coursing through my hands. My field of vision is pulsing. I feel very alone, and edgy. I think I've had too much caffeine.
This sucks. So, let's move on to something else. This blog will be written in pseudo-stream of consciousness mode, so forgive random leaps as they manifest themselves.
I used to write a lot more than I do now, both for work and play. At my best, words just flow, and I'm barely aware where they're coming from. At those times, I feel more like an instrument being wielded by somebody else, and it's effortless.
I like words, particularly unloved, rarely used words. Not necessarily obscure, mind you, but some of them sound archaic when used in most modern day conversations. Marvelous, for example. I try to use it a few times a month.
Growing up, it was hard to get me away from any book that I started. Intense battles occasionally occured because of this... well, more like my brothers would hide them to make me mad, and I would cry until they either gave it up willingly, or got smacked by my parents and returned it by force. My youngest brother and I would come to physical blows on occasion, in which case we'd both be smacked and we would retire to our rooms to sulk and lick our wounds, planning revenge. This would usually last about 5 minutes, and then he would offer me dibs on his GI Joes and return my book, and peace would reign.
That's all.
This sucks. So, let's move on to something else. This blog will be written in pseudo-stream of consciousness mode, so forgive random leaps as they manifest themselves.
I used to write a lot more than I do now, both for work and play. At my best, words just flow, and I'm barely aware where they're coming from. At those times, I feel more like an instrument being wielded by somebody else, and it's effortless.
I like words, particularly unloved, rarely used words. Not necessarily obscure, mind you, but some of them sound archaic when used in most modern day conversations. Marvelous, for example. I try to use it a few times a month.
Growing up, it was hard to get me away from any book that I started. Intense battles occasionally occured because of this... well, more like my brothers would hide them to make me mad, and I would cry until they either gave it up willingly, or got smacked by my parents and returned it by force. My youngest brother and I would come to physical blows on occasion, in which case we'd both be smacked and we would retire to our rooms to sulk and lick our wounds, planning revenge. This would usually last about 5 minutes, and then he would offer me dibs on his GI Joes and return my book, and peace would reign.
That's all.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Oreos, ice cream, and a date with destiny
Every so often, I forget who I am. Not in a senile demented way, no, but in the navel gazing, "Who am I?" kind of way. To be fair, I'm kind of flighty. Most of the time, my thought processes don't go very deep, more like, "There are serious problems that need to be addressed and... hey, is that a painted bunting?! Quick, I need binoculars!" Food distracts me, too. This makes it hard for me to be really introspective most of the time, although not impossible. So, I decided that I was going to come up with one really, indisputably true statement about myself today. I spent a lot of time thinking. And I found a truth that no one who knows me can deny.
I really like milkshakes.
I didn't say it was going to be earth shattering, did I? Seriously, I have some other defining traits that I don't think anyone can argue with, but I figure I'll start with this.
Milkshakes are wonderful, like a cold, sweet time warp to a time when my brother Mel and I would pull out vanilla ice cream, Hershey's chocolate syrup, spill milk everywhere (those gallon things are heavy) and combine it all in our blender. An absolute delight.
In more recent years, I have tried different flavors, combinations, and even added alcohol to certain concoctions. Currently, my favorite blend is from a place called Twisted Root here in Dallas. They make their ice cream fresh everyday, and they make a killer cookies and cream shake... drooling just thinking about it, truthfully.
So, reader, if you want to drag me out somewhere, a milkshake is effective bait. Karaoke works really well, too. That's another true statement about me: I really like singing, be it at a karaoke bar, in the shower, at work, while driving, etc. Soon, I'll be a bit more serious, just can't seem to manage anything of the sort at the moment.
I really like milkshakes.
I didn't say it was going to be earth shattering, did I? Seriously, I have some other defining traits that I don't think anyone can argue with, but I figure I'll start with this.
Milkshakes are wonderful, like a cold, sweet time warp to a time when my brother Mel and I would pull out vanilla ice cream, Hershey's chocolate syrup, spill milk everywhere (those gallon things are heavy) and combine it all in our blender. An absolute delight.
In more recent years, I have tried different flavors, combinations, and even added alcohol to certain concoctions. Currently, my favorite blend is from a place called Twisted Root here in Dallas. They make their ice cream fresh everyday, and they make a killer cookies and cream shake... drooling just thinking about it, truthfully.
So, reader, if you want to drag me out somewhere, a milkshake is effective bait. Karaoke works really well, too. That's another true statement about me: I really like singing, be it at a karaoke bar, in the shower, at work, while driving, etc. Soon, I'll be a bit more serious, just can't seem to manage anything of the sort at the moment.
American Gods and Suicide
Ok. I don't plan on making mild intoxication a prerequisite for my blogging, and to be fair, I've only had a couple of Harps tonight. When I got home I stared at my bottle of rum for a bit, but I'm not willing to drink that shit straight. Hmmm. The first couple of lines don't make a lot of sense, but I'll let them play.
In the last couple of weeks I picked up a couple of books from Half Price, namely American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho. Now, Gaiman I have had some passing familiarity with since I was 15 and one of my friends from TAMS loaned me a copy of Death: The High Cost of Living. I've been on a nodding in passing basis with the guy (figuratively speaking) at best since then. I'll admit, I was looking for Stardust, to no avail, but I dimly recollected that the book that was available was reputed to be interesting at the very least. So, I read.
I'll say it first, I wish I had sat down and plowed through it in one sitting. As it was, I spent a few days snatching a chapter here and there while at work, home, and play. It brought to mind a time when I was younger and always carried a purse (not of high fashion, as I recall I had a smiley face purse I was fond of for months) for the sole purpose of having a place to stow a couple of books. It's interesting, the concept being that the world is full of gods that have lost their power and importance over the course of years. Several comments are made that America is not a fertile ground for most gods, and they end up becoming taxi drivers, con artists, ladies of the night, etc. I think I will reread it in the near future when I have easy access to Google for a good portion of the time, as there were several references that tickled areas of memory without producing a solid answer of who some of the characters were or what they initially stood for. I think it would make the book even more memorable. Putting it bluntly, I enjoyed it. I spent a great deal of time wondering what the hell was going to happen, and eventually the story widened and an "Aha!" moment struck. I look forward to getting my greedy mitts on some of his other tales.
As for Veronika... So far, so good. The most crazed person in the asylum seems to be the doctor, perhaps not too surprising considering that the author spent a good portion of 3 years in such a locale at the pressing of his family. I wonder how the tale will unfold.
I'll admit, this is a far cry from what I actually wanted to write about. Sometimes, though, it's better to think before you type. Or not. Maybe it's better to be a little crazy.
Random Link: I'm hoping for fireballs of the non-lethal variety to see.
In the last couple of weeks I picked up a couple of books from Half Price, namely American Gods by Neil Gaiman and Veronika Decides to Die by Paulo Coelho. Now, Gaiman I have had some passing familiarity with since I was 15 and one of my friends from TAMS loaned me a copy of Death: The High Cost of Living. I've been on a nodding in passing basis with the guy (figuratively speaking) at best since then. I'll admit, I was looking for Stardust, to no avail, but I dimly recollected that the book that was available was reputed to be interesting at the very least. So, I read.
I'll say it first, I wish I had sat down and plowed through it in one sitting. As it was, I spent a few days snatching a chapter here and there while at work, home, and play. It brought to mind a time when I was younger and always carried a purse (not of high fashion, as I recall I had a smiley face purse I was fond of for months) for the sole purpose of having a place to stow a couple of books. It's interesting, the concept being that the world is full of gods that have lost their power and importance over the course of years. Several comments are made that America is not a fertile ground for most gods, and they end up becoming taxi drivers, con artists, ladies of the night, etc. I think I will reread it in the near future when I have easy access to Google for a good portion of the time, as there were several references that tickled areas of memory without producing a solid answer of who some of the characters were or what they initially stood for. I think it would make the book even more memorable. Putting it bluntly, I enjoyed it. I spent a great deal of time wondering what the hell was going to happen, and eventually the story widened and an "Aha!" moment struck. I look forward to getting my greedy mitts on some of his other tales.
As for Veronika... So far, so good. The most crazed person in the asylum seems to be the doctor, perhaps not too surprising considering that the author spent a good portion of 3 years in such a locale at the pressing of his family. I wonder how the tale will unfold.
I'll admit, this is a far cry from what I actually wanted to write about. Sometimes, though, it's better to think before you type. Or not. Maybe it's better to be a little crazy.
Random Link: I'm hoping for fireballs of the non-lethal variety to see.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Undeserved rewards
It's 3 am, and a Grand Slam Breakfast (to go) from Denny's has just vanished down my gullet. It is merely the culinary punctuation to the end of a completely undeserved respite from reality. Shall I try to elucidate? I'll try, but I'm pretty damn drunk right now - you may not appreciate this, reader, but I'm having extreme difficulties in my keyboarding ability at the moment, requiring many backspaces and deletes that are most uncharacteristic of my usual ability...
Anyhow, I received a text page at about 9 pm-ish? Not sure, can't think straight, but it was from a friend who requested my presence at a get-together tonight. Why the hell not? I replied in the affirmative, and I'm glad for it.
The night was spent consuming beer (no shots, kudos for me! ) and dancing. Granted, I had originally planned to read about multiple myeloma. Do I wish to change anything? No way in hell. Will keep this short, I reek of smoke, and I'm having difficulty keeping the screen in focus. Attempted to do my customary sudoku a few minutes ago, and broke down into uncontrollable snickering. I'm still not sure why I found humor in grids and numbers, but perhaps that's ok.
Anyhow, I received a text page at about 9 pm-ish? Not sure, can't think straight, but it was from a friend who requested my presence at a get-together tonight. Why the hell not? I replied in the affirmative, and I'm glad for it.
The night was spent consuming beer (no shots, kudos for me! ) and dancing. Granted, I had originally planned to read about multiple myeloma. Do I wish to change anything? No way in hell. Will keep this short, I reek of smoke, and I'm having difficulty keeping the screen in focus. Attempted to do my customary sudoku a few minutes ago, and broke down into uncontrollable snickering. I'm still not sure why I found humor in grids and numbers, but perhaps that's ok.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Listen, friends, to my tale of woe
This story, like so many in my life, ends in disappointment.
Saturday, as noted previously, was initiated with a prolonged wait in a line of hopeful singers. I was present within that under-caffeinated throng, and staggered away after many hours with a bracelet guaranteeing me a chance to be an American Idol.
Let me digress for a moment. Does anyone truly idolize a random stranger who happens to sing rather well? Don't get me wrong, some of these people appear to have some talent, and I believe talent deserves some respect when accompanied by hard work and initiative. But worship them? I dunno...
Anyway, Sunday night found me in the company of friends at a fine and festive feast of filling fantastic fare. Delightful. Afterward, we had retired en masse to the home of one of our party to imbibe an excellent bottle of wine, the name of said wine escaping me at the moment. At approximately 10ish, my cell phone rang. Who should it be but my parents, with the most unpleasant news. My niece, who was the primary driver in my participation of this contest (as well as being my one allowed entourage member for the following day), had suffered an eye injury. I'm still fuzzy on the exact mechanism of the injury, but she managed to inflict a minor corneal laceration. I really hate the idea of eye injuries; it makes me feel queasy and freaked out.
Long story short? My participation in American Idol came to an abrupt end. I didn't even get to meet Simon! I was hoping to make it far enough to receive some snarky comment about my voice or persona from the man himself, and I was totally planning to sing All My Little Words by Magnetic Fields. It would have been sweet.
To make everyone feel better, choose to believe something my friend Alicia commented on. Perhaps this was a celestial intervention, because I'm just so damn good that obviously I was going to advance all the way to #1, resulting in the abandonment of my chosen career and taking away someones chance at greatness. Definitely.
Saturday, as noted previously, was initiated with a prolonged wait in a line of hopeful singers. I was present within that under-caffeinated throng, and staggered away after many hours with a bracelet guaranteeing me a chance to be an American Idol.
Let me digress for a moment. Does anyone truly idolize a random stranger who happens to sing rather well? Don't get me wrong, some of these people appear to have some talent, and I believe talent deserves some respect when accompanied by hard work and initiative. But worship them? I dunno...
Anyway, Sunday night found me in the company of friends at a fine and festive feast of filling fantastic fare. Delightful. Afterward, we had retired en masse to the home of one of our party to imbibe an excellent bottle of wine, the name of said wine escaping me at the moment. At approximately 10ish, my cell phone rang. Who should it be but my parents, with the most unpleasant news. My niece, who was the primary driver in my participation of this contest (as well as being my one allowed entourage member for the following day), had suffered an eye injury. I'm still fuzzy on the exact mechanism of the injury, but she managed to inflict a minor corneal laceration. I really hate the idea of eye injuries; it makes me feel queasy and freaked out.
Long story short? My participation in American Idol came to an abrupt end. I didn't even get to meet Simon! I was hoping to make it far enough to receive some snarky comment about my voice or persona from the man himself, and I was totally planning to sing All My Little Words by Magnetic Fields. It would have been sweet.
To make everyone feel better, choose to believe something my friend Alicia commented on. Perhaps this was a celestial intervention, because I'm just so damn good that obviously I was going to advance all the way to #1, resulting in the abandonment of my chosen career and taking away someones chance at greatness. Definitely.
Monday, August 6, 2007
Napoleonic legal systems
Do you ever feel like no one gives you the benefit of the doubt?
Yeah, me too. Seriously annoying, I gotta say.
Random Link: Peruse the collection, good stuff.
Yeah, me too. Seriously annoying, I gotta say.
Random Link: Peruse the collection, good stuff.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Playing to the crowd
There are a lot of things that I can think of that would cause embarassment. Some I've actually experienced, and some are merely the products of thinking too much about this subject.
- Skinny dipping in a presumed isolated area, and finding out it isn't.
- Laughing so hard that you start to snort in public.
- Finding out 2 hours after dinner that you've had part of it stuck in your teeth.
- Doing a horrible rendition of a famous song in an elevator, only to have it open to a large crowd of people who heard a good portion of it.
- Trying out for American Idol.
Ah, there's so many more. And what am I doing this weekend? That's right, #5.
Let me go back a couple of years, when my niece/goddaughter asked me if I would try out for AI. I laughed and said, "Sure, if they ever come to Dallas."
Damn it.
So, the AI machine is currently here, waiting to chew up thousands of dreams of young fools. And there I am with them at 5 AM on a Saturday, when all I really want is a cup of coffee. The whole experience of registration day felt remarkably like a slaughterhouse, complete with a chute full of vacant eyed hapless creatures awaiting the doom that would befall them. After 3 hours of shuffling, I was outfitted with a paper wristband with strict instructions not to remove it and return by 5 AM on Monday for the actual audition.
So, looking on the bright side, my attending likes American Idol and is giving me Monday off because she thinks this is hilarious. The down side is that my day would probably be a lot shorter at work. Also, I don't know what to sing. I'm debating something far off the beaten path, maybe something by Magnetic Fields, Cat Stevens, Liz Phair, or maybe even Joan Baez. Ultimately it won't make too much difference, as I expect a rapid elimination. I'll let you know how it goes come Monday.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)