OK, I've heard of some unusual treatments for ailments. I've heard of the old "let someone run over your head with a car" "miracle cure." I've also heard of the "shave off your beard and glue it to your scalp" miracle hair growth cure.
I've heard of the "take in the sights, it'll make you feel better!" cure. Apparently, many mistake this encouragement to get out and get some fresh air as encouragement to spend time on the computer, as verbally, there's no difference between "sights" and "sites."
Then there's the old standby "I don't know, just leave it alone and hope it goes away" cure. And the "Poke at it and see if it moves, and if it does, knife it good!" cure. Then there's the...well, here is the link.
Eww.
Once more.
All together, now.
Eww.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
How to dress a Wound
Original post, or introductory post. Whichever you want to call it.
NOTE: this post will have graphic pictures of blood on a wound (it isn't that bad), and later the cleaned flap of skin. The picture of the wound held open will not be display but linked to. The dried blood on the wound will be the most graphic.
This is how I dress wounds. I only do this if I want the wound to heal expediently, or if it's a serious wound. In this case, I only did it because I felt like it.
OK, first things first, let us examine our enemy. Err, our uh, patient. Chyo Wazz Y'up once said that the path to enlightenment is not to kill, but to maim and then render aid.
Now, I've heard the TV slogan "Dirty mouth? Clean it up, with new Orbit-", but I would advise against applying that (or, spiritualizing that) as "Dirty wound? Clean it up, with new Orbit-". Peppermint is NOT something that you clean wounds with. It's something that you chew to piss you off, apparently.
I do not know what the little popcorn-looking thing is. Ain't that wound a beaut? OK, so I went to the bathroom and got the water to such a temperature that I could not feel it on my foot (it'll hurt badly enough without it being too hot or cold), then got a cup full of it and slowly poured it over the wound to loosen some of the dried-on blood. I then wiped at it several times, and discovered that if I wipe INSIDE THE WOUND ITSELF it hurts less than if I wipe around it. Go figure.
OK, see the cleaned wound, below.
Graphic picture (would held open) #1
Graphic picture (would held open) #2
Right, now that it's cleaned, what do we do? Put a bandage on it? No! We disinfect. So let's look for a disinfectant. First, I considered this:
But thought against it. Whew. You think I'm really THAT stupid to put soy sauce in a wound?! LOL, you moron! That'd probably hurt like the burning fire pits of hell! I'd never do that!
So, I used one of me and my dad's favorite disinfectants. See picture, below.
Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Apparently, lemon juice stops bleeding and cauterizes the wound (google "Lemon juice stops bleeding"). I am unsure how accurate that is, but I do know that it stops a wound from hurting (seriously, you'll forget you even have a wound once you hit it with the juice; at least I did) and speeds along healing by 2-3 times. It really is our favorite. My dad busted his chin open with a pair of pliers a few months ago (or longer, I forget, but I did get a picture!), and I made him put lemon juice in it. Aren't I the good son. Speaking of which, me and my mom need to organize our pictures. If she could get them all to me, I could do it. By month is good enough, I think.
Now, squeeze it into your favorite shot glass. Or only shot glass because your deadbeat family doesn't know how much you love shot glasses even though you've been telling them for years. You think I'd use an Oregon shot glass if I had a choice? Pffsst. If I had a choice, you know I'd want a Samus Aran shot glass. Or at least one painted...orange...and...gray...with the green shoulder-pad lines...and a cannon dividing the glass on one side...oh, when I'm in glory, I'm asking Jesus to make me one of those. The thought brings a tear to my eye!
OK, now that you've got your lemon juice, guess why it's in a shot glass.
That's right. So that you can invert it quickly and hold it over the wound, effectively submersing the wound in lemon juice, and mix it around. A soda cap is also good for this, but you can't tell how good it's swishing around. Once more, I'm not a doctor. You take this advice on your own foolishness.
So, go ahead and do that. What I did was inverted it over the wound and shook my foot to make sure it got to every part of the wound. I held it there for three seconds (+/- 1 second), at which point the VOP (volcano of pain) got to the point that I had to evacuate the island, if you know what I mean.
Now, curse whatever you curse when something like this happens. You could curse Satan, but it's not Satan's fault lemons burn...but I MIGHT AS WELL BLAME IT ON HIM! DAMN YOU, SATAN! CURSE YOU TO THE ABYSS, TO THE PITS OF DESPAIR WITH YOU, YOU RAGGEDY GAGGER!
If you're still angry, go ahead and curse whatever caused you to be in the predicament, even if that means calling them and yelling "AHRAAAH!". Do not progress beyond bestial screams of agony, despair and anger, however, or you may offend them. Simply hang up, then enjoy and revel in their confusion when they call back several times. Ah. Life is good. But in my case, I got to curse mine enemy to his misshapen FACE.
DAMN YOU POPOE!
OK, that part is over. Lemon juice. It'll cause you to stumble backward, curse, grunt like an ape, and act like a wild dog for a few minutes, but boy does it work!
This is the biggest/deepest wound I've used lemon juice on yet. It hurt very badly, but it is completely worth it. I did not know if it would hurt very badly or not, luckily...not too bad. Below is the completely cleaned, disinfected wound. Note the lemon pulp on my foot. Once, I got lemon in my eye, and it didn't hurt so much. What's wrong with my eyes that causes them to be more immune to lemon juice than to water? Anyway, picture below.
...OK, so you could use peroxide if you want to, but I prefer lemon juice. I still advise the inverting-and-swishing method to get the peroxide in the wound (it's dandy!), but I can't recommend holding it there too long, as I do not know the health implications of "soaking" a wound in peroxide.
OK, now to bandage it up. I put a 2"x3" bandaid first, secured that with a 1 1/4"x3.5" bandaid, then on top of those a 2.5"x3.5". It should look like the below picture. If it doesn't, rush out and buy bandaids that are the exact same as the ones I used.
Next, wrap it in one of those elastic bandages. I've heard them called "Ace Bandages" before but I reckon that's incorrect (note: I only put this because it's on my foot, and the bandaids don't like to stick; otherwise I don't wrap it).
OK, so wrap it...and wrap it...and wrap it, until your toes turn purple and/or blue.
Perfect! That's how you know it's wrapped properly. Try not to get it too tight, or your toes will fall off. There's Popoe. Curse his bones!
Then just keep wrapping until it looks like this...
And then ponder why cowboy boots have the point directly in the middle of the shoe.
And that's how I dress a wound. The last step is to affect a sympathy-garnering limp. Yes, yes. In fact, the limp elicits so much sympathy, my brother even asked me what was wrong. Hehehe. Now I am off to make dinner; baked spiral ham, scalloped potatoes au gratin, steamed beets, and biscuits. My mom loves beets, I love all of it (I'm real easy to cook for; just no overly-crunchy onions and I prefer my meat trimmed of fat and bone), my brother likes all of it, and my dad LOVES biscuits (you turn a meal into an amazing meal for him when you make biscuits). I'm going to try Alton Brown's Southern Biscuits.
Since this post was made a day and a half later, here is the picture of it ...a day and a half later. It looks pretty darn messy, but it is holding together really well. Picture: GRAPHIC/GROSS.
NOTE: this post will have graphic pictures of blood on a wound (it isn't that bad), and later the cleaned flap of skin. The picture of the wound held open will not be display but linked to. The dried blood on the wound will be the most graphic.
This is how I dress wounds. I only do this if I want the wound to heal expediently, or if it's a serious wound. In this case, I only did it because I felt like it.
OK, first things first, let us examine our enemy. Err, our uh, patient. Chyo Wazz Y'up once said that the path to enlightenment is not to kill, but to maim and then render aid.
Now, I've heard the TV slogan "Dirty mouth? Clean it up, with new Orbit-", but I would advise against applying that (or, spiritualizing that) as "Dirty wound? Clean it up, with new Orbit-". Peppermint is NOT something that you clean wounds with. It's something that you chew to piss you off, apparently.
I do not know what the little popcorn-looking thing is. Ain't that wound a beaut? OK, so I went to the bathroom and got the water to such a temperature that I could not feel it on my foot (it'll hurt badly enough without it being too hot or cold), then got a cup full of it and slowly poured it over the wound to loosen some of the dried-on blood. I then wiped at it several times, and discovered that if I wipe INSIDE THE WOUND ITSELF it hurts less than if I wipe around it. Go figure.
OK, see the cleaned wound, below.
Graphic picture (would held open) #1
Graphic picture (would held open) #2
Right, now that it's cleaned, what do we do? Put a bandage on it? No! We disinfect. So let's look for a disinfectant. First, I considered this:
But thought against it. Whew. You think I'm really THAT stupid to put soy sauce in a wound?! LOL, you moron! That'd probably hurt like the burning fire pits of hell! I'd never do that!
So, I used one of me and my dad's favorite disinfectants. See picture, below.
Oh yeah, that's what I'm talking about. Apparently, lemon juice stops bleeding and cauterizes the wound (google "Lemon juice stops bleeding"). I am unsure how accurate that is, but I do know that it stops a wound from hurting (seriously, you'll forget you even have a wound once you hit it with the juice; at least I did) and speeds along healing by 2-3 times. It really is our favorite. My dad busted his chin open with a pair of pliers a few months ago (or longer, I forget, but I did get a picture!), and I made him put lemon juice in it. Aren't I the good son. Speaking of which, me and my mom need to organize our pictures. If she could get them all to me, I could do it. By month is good enough, I think.Now, squeeze it into your favorite shot glass. Or only shot glass because your deadbeat family doesn't know how much you love shot glasses even though you've been telling them for years. You think I'd use an Oregon shot glass if I had a choice? Pffsst. If I had a choice, you know I'd want a Samus Aran shot glass. Or at least one painted...orange...and...gray...with the green shoulder-pad lines...and a cannon dividing the glass on one side...oh, when I'm in glory, I'm asking Jesus to make me one of those. The thought brings a tear to my eye!
OK, now that you've got your lemon juice, guess why it's in a shot glass.That's right. So that you can invert it quickly and hold it over the wound, effectively submersing the wound in lemon juice, and mix it around. A soda cap is also good for this, but you can't tell how good it's swishing around. Once more, I'm not a doctor. You take this advice on your own foolishness.
So, go ahead and do that. What I did was inverted it over the wound and shook my foot to make sure it got to every part of the wound. I held it there for three seconds (+/- 1 second), at which point the VOP (volcano of pain) got to the point that I had to evacuate the island, if you know what I mean.
Now, curse whatever you curse when something like this happens. You could curse Satan, but it's not Satan's fault lemons burn...but I MIGHT AS WELL BLAME IT ON HIM! DAMN YOU, SATAN! CURSE YOU TO THE ABYSS, TO THE PITS OF DESPAIR WITH YOU, YOU RAGGEDY GAGGER!
If you're still angry, go ahead and curse whatever caused you to be in the predicament, even if that means calling them and yelling "AHRAAAH!". Do not progress beyond bestial screams of agony, despair and anger, however, or you may offend them. Simply hang up, then enjoy and revel in their confusion when they call back several times. Ah. Life is good. But in my case, I got to curse mine enemy to his misshapen FACE.
DAMN YOU POPOE!OK, that part is over. Lemon juice. It'll cause you to stumble backward, curse, grunt like an ape, and act like a wild dog for a few minutes, but boy does it work!
This is the biggest/deepest wound I've used lemon juice on yet. It hurt very badly, but it is completely worth it. I did not know if it would hurt very badly or not, luckily...not too bad. Below is the completely cleaned, disinfected wound. Note the lemon pulp on my foot. Once, I got lemon in my eye, and it didn't hurt so much. What's wrong with my eyes that causes them to be more immune to lemon juice than to water? Anyway, picture below.
...OK, so you could use peroxide if you want to, but I prefer lemon juice. I still advise the inverting-and-swishing method to get the peroxide in the wound (it's dandy!), but I can't recommend holding it there too long, as I do not know the health implications of "soaking" a wound in peroxide.
OK, now to bandage it up. I put a 2"x3" bandaid first, secured that with a 1 1/4"x3.5" bandaid, then on top of those a 2.5"x3.5". It should look like the below picture. If it doesn't, rush out and buy bandaids that are the exact same as the ones I used.
Next, wrap it in one of those elastic bandages. I've heard them called "Ace Bandages" before but I reckon that's incorrect (note: I only put this because it's on my foot, and the bandaids don't like to stick; otherwise I don't wrap it).
OK, so wrap it...and wrap it...and wrap it, until your toes turn purple and/or blue.
Perfect! That's how you know it's wrapped properly. Try not to get it too tight, or your toes will fall off. There's Popoe. Curse his bones!Then just keep wrapping until it looks like this...
And then ponder why cowboy boots have the point directly in the middle of the shoe.
And that's how I dress a wound. The last step is to affect a sympathy-garnering limp. Yes, yes. In fact, the limp elicits so much sympathy, my brother even asked me what was wrong. Hehehe. Now I am off to make dinner; baked spiral ham, scalloped potatoes au gratin, steamed beets, and biscuits. My mom loves beets, I love all of it (I'm real easy to cook for; just no overly-crunchy onions and I prefer my meat trimmed of fat and bone), my brother likes all of it, and my dad LOVES biscuits (you turn a meal into an amazing meal for him when you make biscuits). I'm going to try Alton Brown's Southern Biscuits.
Since this post was made a day and a half later, here is the picture of it ...a day and a half later. It looks pretty darn messy, but it is holding together really well. Picture: GRAPHIC/GROSS.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Television on its way
Did I finally take the mad flying leap off of the cliff of LCD TV ownership? Would I do that without consulting myself first? What do I mean by "Television on its way?" What else could I mean? Have I gotten that book on grammar yet?
First things first, I would not do that (order an LCD TV) without consulting myself first. Actually, if I convinced myself to spend $600 on a TV, I would rather spend my money on a DSLR camera, then I could mess with the settings until I could get pictures of a normal TV. I know my Mom's old camera could do it half of the time, and so can mine. I like the memories of photographing those dinosoids in Turok 2 more than I liked the game. A lot more. Remember how I was *SO* grateful I remembered to turn the flash off because I thought the enemy would see me?
Did I mention I love my camera? It's a...uhh....uhm...I am unable to locate my post about my new camera. You know, the Nikon Coolpix S10? No? Oh, fiddlesticks! I forgot to blog about it!? No way! No!
Well, I got it months ago. It was a sort of present of some kind, I suppose, as my Mom payed for half of it and I payed for the other half. It's technically a family camera, but I am the only one who takes pictures. Like this one of a helicopter passing over our house. And I mean right over. Like, 100-15o feet above and within 50 feet of being directly over.
Actually, let me edit this picture a bit. It's blurry.
Before:
After:
Ahh, modern technology.
It is a Nikon Coolpix S10. It's a P/S that has a swivel-head design. See a picture of the swivel head in the last photo here, where my Mom actually blogged about it. Gah, how could I not blog about my camera? It's hard to believe I've had it for three months now.
While I feel extremely robbed (for some reason) by a non-traditional design, the non-traditional design leads to great things. For example, if I wanted to take the below picture of some items I have hallowed, I would have had to get on a step ladder. But my camera allows me to swivel the lens so I was able to hold it directly above the items, yet still see the LCD viewfinder. OK, so I could just take blind pictures from above without seeing the viewfinder, but it'd take lots of longsuffering. There are all sorts of other uses, as well. If I wanted to photograph my eye, I could look through the viewfinder while I did it. I can even look through the LCD viewfinder to see what's on top of high shelves, something ordinary cameras could only do through taking pictures then reviewing the pictures.
(I was unable to upload the Hallowed Items picture due to blogger technical difficulty).
The one problem? There's no normal, non-LCD viewfinder. I guess that's a problem. I wear glasses, so I can't (or rather, it's hard to) use those for me, thus it works out. It's a 10x optical zoom, which is very neat. Then, add digital zoom, and I can take pictures like the one below. Very, extremely far from amazing, but I like it considering I know nothing about moonophotography.
That isn't a real word/term.
How did I get talking about my camera? Oh, right. DSLR. Anyways, I ordered a new satellite box (receiver), thus the "television" on its way. Yes. The dreaded time-sucker satellite will soon be restored to power. I'm going to attempt to watch nothing but Star Trek: Voyager, Christian programs (Les Feldick, Christian Movies mainly), and Walker: Texas Ranger. Those are honestly the only programs I care about. Perhaps one or two I may have forgotten ("I am human, after all, after the fall, so I forget" is one of my catchphrases I never get to use).
I also ordered a copy of Chuck Norris' book Against All Odds. It's probably got a fist hidden in it which at some point pelts you good. We'll see.
First things first, I would not do that (order an LCD TV) without consulting myself first. Actually, if I convinced myself to spend $600 on a TV, I would rather spend my money on a DSLR camera, then I could mess with the settings until I could get pictures of a normal TV. I know my Mom's old camera could do it half of the time, and so can mine. I like the memories of photographing those dinosoids in Turok 2 more than I liked the game. A lot more. Remember how I was *SO* grateful I remembered to turn the flash off because I thought the enemy would see me?
Did I mention I love my camera? It's a...uhh....uhm...I am unable to locate my post about my new camera. You know, the Nikon Coolpix S10? No? Oh, fiddlesticks! I forgot to blog about it!? No way! No!
Well, I got it months ago. It was a sort of present of some kind, I suppose, as my Mom payed for half of it and I payed for the other half. It's technically a family camera, but I am the only one who takes pictures. Like this one of a helicopter passing over our house. And I mean right over. Like, 100-15o feet above and within 50 feet of being directly over.
Actually, let me edit this picture a bit. It's blurry.
Before:
After:
Ahh, modern technology.It is a Nikon Coolpix S10. It's a P/S that has a swivel-head design. See a picture of the swivel head in the last photo here, where my Mom actually blogged about it. Gah, how could I not blog about my camera? It's hard to believe I've had it for three months now.
While I feel extremely robbed (for some reason) by a non-traditional design, the non-traditional design leads to great things. For example, if I wanted to take the below picture of some items I have hallowed, I would have had to get on a step ladder. But my camera allows me to swivel the lens so I was able to hold it directly above the items, yet still see the LCD viewfinder. OK, so I could just take blind pictures from above without seeing the viewfinder, but it'd take lots of longsuffering. There are all sorts of other uses, as well. If I wanted to photograph my eye, I could look through the viewfinder while I did it. I can even look through the LCD viewfinder to see what's on top of high shelves, something ordinary cameras could only do through taking pictures then reviewing the pictures.
(I was unable to upload the Hallowed Items picture due to blogger technical difficulty).
The one problem? There's no normal, non-LCD viewfinder. I guess that's a problem. I wear glasses, so I can't (or rather, it's hard to) use those for me, thus it works out. It's a 10x optical zoom, which is very neat. Then, add digital zoom, and I can take pictures like the one below. Very, extremely far from amazing, but I like it considering I know nothing about moonophotography.
That isn't a real word/term.
How did I get talking about my camera? Oh, right. DSLR. Anyways, I ordered a new satellite box (receiver), thus the "television" on its way. Yes. The dreaded time-sucker satellite will soon be restored to power. I'm going to attempt to watch nothing but Star Trek: Voyager, Christian programs (Les Feldick, Christian Movies mainly), and Walker: Texas Ranger. Those are honestly the only programs I care about. Perhaps one or two I may have forgotten ("I am human, after all, after the fall, so I forget" is one of my catchphrases I never get to use).
I also ordered a copy of Chuck Norris' book Against All Odds. It's probably got a fist hidden in it which at some point pelts you good. We'll see.
I don't feel like posting.
No, not at all. My teeth hurt, the top of my mouth hurts, and I blame this Orbit sugarfree gum. Everything was fine until I chewed a few pieces. Worse, I want to drink some water, but my mouth is now so sensitive due to the mint I can't drink my water. Every time I do, my mouth hurts for about 25 seconds. Curse this gum! Curses, welcome the Curse Them tag! For cursing both individually and corporately. CURSES!
On top of that, I have a headache. I had one last night, too, as I discovered whilst I was editing some pictures from Bess' recent wedding (and laughing really hard; I was putting captions in the pictures). Ah, here I go. I'm blogging. My Mom ordered some video editing software (it was marked down from $75+ to $25 on sale), and I'm waiting for it to arrive so I can make this wedding movie. I also got an external hard drive from my mom's job, as the miniDV tapes are (up to) 11 gigabytes each. Yikes. Unless I got rid of the 40 GB operating system backup for my computer (that'd be hard as it won't let me burn the recovery discs for some reason!), I need the external HD.
Q&A is this week, and I am not entirely sure what I will ask. I'm certain of one thing, however: I do not want to ask a question I don't know the answer to. Sure, I could ask "how tall was the average human during the tower of Babel", but come on, I really don't care. I think I'm going to ask about the one another's of Paul (I'll try to listen to the audio files, that way I'll know the material ahead of time). Example, in Romans 12, verse 10:
As for tonight, I think I'm going to mention Ask the Pastor (it's a TV show where a panel of pastors answer viewer questions; the panels change often). Someone sent a letter saying "Oh my oh me help me please, my wife left me for someone on the internet and now I don't know what to do!"
They began, of course, by sharing in a warm fit of laughter ("The internet just has too much power LOL!"), then suddenly became very solemn (as if they were laughing at someone who has a heart-wrenching situation occurring or something! Imagine that!). They couldn't hold back their glee, it seemed. They continued to have laughing bouts throughout answering the question.
What jerks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to let Little Jihad off of the porch. He's been very depressed lately...he wouldn't even leave the porch and he wouldn't go inside the house. I didn't call him or anything, he just wanted to lay there so I let him. His ears are permanently in a frowning position.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to con something up for dinner. Uhh, crud, what to make. I know. Chinese fried rice, OH WAIT MY BROTHER ATE ALL THE HAM. Oh well!
On top of that, I have a headache. I had one last night, too, as I discovered whilst I was editing some pictures from Bess' recent wedding (and laughing really hard; I was putting captions in the pictures). Ah, here I go. I'm blogging. My Mom ordered some video editing software (it was marked down from $75+ to $25 on sale), and I'm waiting for it to arrive so I can make this wedding movie. I also got an external hard drive from my mom's job, as the miniDV tapes are (up to) 11 gigabytes each. Yikes. Unless I got rid of the 40 GB operating system backup for my computer (that'd be hard as it won't let me burn the recovery discs for some reason!), I need the external HD.
Q&A is this week, and I am not entirely sure what I will ask. I'm certain of one thing, however: I do not want to ask a question I don't know the answer to. Sure, I could ask "how tall was the average human during the tower of Babel", but come on, I really don't care. I think I'm going to ask about the one another's of Paul (I'll try to listen to the audio files, that way I'll know the material ahead of time). Example, in Romans 12, verse 10:
Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another;(italics mine, and I'm not sure if this is the true old KJV or the newer KJV). There are something around 25 of these verses in Paul's epistles, if memory serves. Don't stab each other, don't backbite each other, don't do this, don't do that, do this, do do that, on and on. I'll tell ya, that Paul can ramble something fierce!
As for tonight, I think I'm going to mention Ask the Pastor (it's a TV show where a panel of pastors answer viewer questions; the panels change often). Someone sent a letter saying "Oh my oh me help me please, my wife left me for someone on the internet and now I don't know what to do!"
They began, of course, by sharing in a warm fit of laughter ("The internet just has too much power LOL!"), then suddenly became very solemn (as if they were laughing at someone who has a heart-wrenching situation occurring or something! Imagine that!). They couldn't hold back their glee, it seemed. They continued to have laughing bouts throughout answering the question.
What jerks.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to let Little Jihad off of the porch. He's been very depressed lately...he wouldn't even leave the porch and he wouldn't go inside the house. I didn't call him or anything, he just wanted to lay there so I let him. His ears are permanently in a frowning position.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to con something up for dinner. Uhh, crud, what to make. I know. Chinese fried rice, OH WAIT MY BROTHER ATE ALL THE HAM. Oh well!
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Steel VS. Foot
Woo, boy, today is cold. The power went out and woke me and my brother (he may have already been up). The reason it's cold is because I tend to open the doors and let the cold air into the house until it is 64 degrees when I get up early. I have a severe problem getting up early when I have no reason to; I find it extraordinarily easy when I actually have a reason to, however, so I guess it's alright.
I decided to take some photographs of the gang of dogs that runs around here. Between this gang of dogs and the coyotes our dogs have plenty of barking to do. There's...five, I think. All black. I think. One has a bull-dog look, the others look generic.
In the picture is the last one leaving; you can see it across the street. Those two dogs in the photo are Penny (visible) and Tessa.
Here they are a little closer. I like the picture. All five of our dogs are in it.
Penny, visible again, and Tessa, with her head cut off, again. Lol. After that, I decided to go back in, because I didn't even have flip flops on, and it was cold. However, I decided to stop and take a picture of Popoe longing for the outdoors first.
Aww, how cute. Next thing I know, THIS happens:
Ooh. Ouch. I happened to have my camera with me, so I photographed the wound (I call it a rip) less than 20 seconds old. It's pretty deep. Deeper than the skin layer, I know that (OK, I think that, because my foot is half hanging off and I had to sew it back on it was so horrible). It's a few inches in front of my ankle, right foot, right side of right foot.
You can see the drops of blood forming, which I can only assume were caused by the breaking of veins.
Now the question is, what happened?
Well, Popoe ran out the door as soon as I opened it. He's never done that before. I assume that me standing there let him get his courage up. Regardless, I gave chase.
Then I came to a few possible offenders which could have ripped such a hole in my skin and flesh. Either the angle iron steel bedframe, or the corner of the wooden wire holder, or the dog's dog food sink, or an unknown object. I, personally, think it was the old sink that we feed the dogs in. I accidentally clipped it. The edge of the sink is dull and rounded, so I can only surmise the flesh was ripped, or "scooped" out.
Yeck. Here's Popoe being wrangled in. He thought he was a tom cat all of a sudden. Hair was standing up, he gave no heed to no one, not even the five dogs (who didn't freak out or anything; they did very good considering they've only met him once).
You might wonder how I got so close to him to take pictures while he was in Tom Cat Mode.
The answer is simple. I was holding him by his tail. Hahahaha, what a vulnerable appendage that is. I love how he looks back angrily. He tries and tries to "get" me, but each time he tries, his own butt raises away from him and he has to stop his attack to regain balance.
Here is the picture of it a few minutes later inside the house.
It now burns, and my foot feels "shocked" and in pain.
Now, I wait for the comments. "Oh Kev, put a gallon of water on the stove and put your foot in it then slowly heat it and wait for it to BOIL." "Oh Kev, vinegar sprayed into that wound at high pressure will help- get the pressure washer!"
"Oh Kev, you'll have to cauterize that. It's simple. All you do is..."
I decided to take some photographs of the gang of dogs that runs around here. Between this gang of dogs and the coyotes our dogs have plenty of barking to do. There's...five, I think. All black. I think. One has a bull-dog look, the others look generic.
In the picture is the last one leaving; you can see it across the street. Those two dogs in the photo are Penny (visible) and Tessa.
Here they are a little closer. I like the picture. All five of our dogs are in it.
Penny, visible again, and Tessa, with her head cut off, again. Lol. After that, I decided to go back in, because I didn't even have flip flops on, and it was cold. However, I decided to stop and take a picture of Popoe longing for the outdoors first.
Aww, how cute. Next thing I know, THIS happens:
Ooh. Ouch. I happened to have my camera with me, so I photographed the wound (I call it a rip) less than 20 seconds old. It's pretty deep. Deeper than the skin layer, I know that (OK, I think that, because my foot is half hanging off and I had to sew it back on it was so horrible). It's a few inches in front of my ankle, right foot, right side of right foot.You can see the drops of blood forming, which I can only assume were caused by the breaking of veins.
Now the question is, what happened?
Well, Popoe ran out the door as soon as I opened it. He's never done that before. I assume that me standing there let him get his courage up. Regardless, I gave chase.
Then I came to a few possible offenders which could have ripped such a hole in my skin and flesh. Either the angle iron steel bedframe, or the corner of the wooden wire holder, or the dog's dog food sink, or an unknown object. I, personally, think it was the old sink that we feed the dogs in. I accidentally clipped it. The edge of the sink is dull and rounded, so I can only surmise the flesh was ripped, or "scooped" out.
Yeck. Here's Popoe being wrangled in. He thought he was a tom cat all of a sudden. Hair was standing up, he gave no heed to no one, not even the five dogs (who didn't freak out or anything; they did very good considering they've only met him once).
You might wonder how I got so close to him to take pictures while he was in Tom Cat Mode.
The answer is simple. I was holding him by his tail. Hahahaha, what a vulnerable appendage that is. I love how he looks back angrily. He tries and tries to "get" me, but each time he tries, his own butt raises away from him and he has to stop his attack to regain balance.
Here is the picture of it a few minutes later inside the house.
It now burns, and my foot feels "shocked" and in pain.Now, I wait for the comments. "Oh Kev, put a gallon of water on the stove and put your foot in it then slowly heat it and wait for it to BOIL." "Oh Kev, vinegar sprayed into that wound at high pressure will help- get the pressure washer!"
"Oh Kev, you'll have to cauterize that. It's simple. All you do is..."
Monday, November 26, 2007
Church: The sickness is spreading. I can see it.
Everybody welcome the "Damn Them" tag, for when someone frustrates/angers me, or does something darn stupid. Applies corporately and singularly.
You know how you can't see the wind, but you can see the effects of the wind? A leaf moves, is it Satan, or is it the wind? 9 out of 10 times, it's the wind. Lord, I am tired.
I can now see disease spreading. What do I mean?
I've never gone to social functions or mass weekly/daily gatherings. Never attended school, never attended the PTA meetings (really, if I didn't go to school, why would I go to the PTA meetings?), never went to football games, never went to soccer games. Never went to Ohio State. Never studied for the priesthood. Never visited with the neighbor kids.
I've been to parties, sure. Well, OK, the plural "parties" is a bit extravagant. But there was this one really rockin' party I went to. It was actually a charity ball. And actually I didn't go as a guest, I went to volunteer as a waiter. And...well, calling it a party is a bit extreme.
Uhh, regardless, I've never been able to observe a large body of people as I have been able to the last few months I've been going to Church. It's neat! I can see them milling about, sometimes they act certain ways, other times other ways, sometimes they're happier, and this last cold/flu/sickness that has been going around has- to my astonishment- actually spread to someone other than me and my immediate surrounding family!
Amazing!
Several people were sick this Sunday. In fact, Pastor's whole family was out sick! Not only that, but so was- supposedly- Hitman's whole family. People were coughing (some were coughing real loud! Notice how I use exclamation marks? Because I'm TIRED!), sneezing, and someone actually vomited all over the bathroom mirror. I think so, at least. Maybe there was no one in there.
I remind myself of Seven of Nine. Really. When I watch Star Trek: Voyager, I see my life mirrored. Minus the Borg implants. I actually watch Voyager every chance I get just so I can learn the extraordinarily basic life lessons! Let's check the list:
Well, actually, that's about it. I summed that up neatly. Very neatly, in the way of a man. But what stringent rules and regulations. And I have to learn about them after the fact. So, I tell someone "Boy howdy, these peppermint wheel tarts are HORRIFIC! Strawberry and PEPPERMINT?! HAHAH AH, DON'T QUIT YOUR DAY JOB EMERIL!" and throw the cookie over my shoulder onto the floor as I walk out of the room. THEN I find out that's a no-no. Darnit. So then I have to apologize. But how do you apologize for telling someone their cookies taste like Liquid Death?
"Uhh, I was...uhh...lying...yes that's it..." is usually how my apologies begin. "Doomed from the start" ring a bell?
My parents only make things worse. "Kev, does it seem like the Pastor is impatient with you?"
"No, why?"
"Oh, no reason."
"WHY?"
"Nothing. Just forget I said anything."
"But...but no!"
Or how other people hate me.
"You saw how they all pointed to you like you were a FREAK."
"What, Dad? Who are you talking about?"
"They did! From what you told me, they all thought you were an IDIOT when they suggested you."
"They DID?!"
"Oh...I don't know. Forget I said anything."
"NO!"
Curses.
"Do you think they think you're stupid?"
"No, why?"
"I don't know. They act like they do."
"WHA?"
"Forget I said anything."
"NO!"
Ooh, that man...but uh, I'm slowly learning, and that's what counts. Driving? That was easy to learn, 3 days or so and I was ready to go. Riding a bike? I crashed one time because I didn't know how to break (a lesson my parents took to the bank and applied to my driving learning course: braking first). Learning how to sucessfully interact with others? A long, harrowing process.
I hear some people go to their grave not learning how to interact with others properly.
You know how you can't see the wind, but you can see the effects of the wind? A leaf moves, is it Satan, or is it the wind? 9 out of 10 times, it's the wind. Lord, I am tired.
I can now see disease spreading. What do I mean?
I've never gone to social functions or mass weekly/daily gatherings. Never attended school, never attended the PTA meetings (really, if I didn't go to school, why would I go to the PTA meetings?), never went to football games, never went to soccer games. Never went to Ohio State. Never studied for the priesthood. Never visited with the neighbor kids.
I've been to parties, sure. Well, OK, the plural "parties" is a bit extravagant. But there was this one really rockin' party I went to. It was actually a charity ball. And actually I didn't go as a guest, I went to volunteer as a waiter. And...well, calling it a party is a bit extreme.
Uhh, regardless, I've never been able to observe a large body of people as I have been able to the last few months I've been going to Church. It's neat! I can see them milling about, sometimes they act certain ways, other times other ways, sometimes they're happier, and this last cold/flu/sickness that has been going around has- to my astonishment- actually spread to someone other than me and my immediate surrounding family!
Amazing!
Several people were sick this Sunday. In fact, Pastor's whole family was out sick! Not only that, but so was- supposedly- Hitman's whole family. People were coughing (some were coughing real loud! Notice how I use exclamation marks? Because I'm TIRED!), sneezing, and someone actually vomited all over the bathroom mirror. I think so, at least. Maybe there was no one in there.
I remind myself of Seven of Nine. Really. When I watch Star Trek: Voyager, I see my life mirrored. Minus the Borg implants. I actually watch Voyager every chance I get just so I can learn the extraordinarily basic life lessons! Let's check the list:
- I have to learn procedures and I am too dumb to figure it out on my own. Like, you can't insult someone's family, or you can't make a random accusatory charge that someone is gay, on and on.
- I tend not to recognize insults/possible insults, attacks on my character, and subtle feelings of resentment and/or "shortness." Naive is a good word to describe me.
Well, actually, that's about it. I summed that up neatly. Very neatly, in the way of a man. But what stringent rules and regulations. And I have to learn about them after the fact. So, I tell someone "Boy howdy, these peppermint wheel tarts are HORRIFIC! Strawberry and PEPPERMINT?! HAHAH AH, DON'T QUIT YOUR DAY JOB EMERIL!" and throw the cookie over my shoulder onto the floor as I walk out of the room. THEN I find out that's a no-no. Darnit. So then I have to apologize. But how do you apologize for telling someone their cookies taste like Liquid Death?
"Uhh, I was...uhh...lying...yes that's it..." is usually how my apologies begin. "Doomed from the start" ring a bell?
My parents only make things worse. "Kev, does it seem like the Pastor is impatient with you?"
"No, why?"
"Oh, no reason."
"WHY?"
"Nothing. Just forget I said anything."
"But...but no!"
Or how other people hate me.
"You saw how they all pointed to you like you were a FREAK."
"What, Dad? Who are you talking about?"
"They did! From what you told me, they all thought you were an IDIOT when they suggested you."
"They DID?!"
"Oh...I don't know. Forget I said anything."
"NO!"
Curses.
"Do you think they think you're stupid?"
"No, why?"
"I don't know. They act like they do."
"WHA?"
"Forget I said anything."
"NO!"
Ooh, that man...but uh, I'm slowly learning, and that's what counts. Driving? That was easy to learn, 3 days or so and I was ready to go. Riding a bike? I crashed one time because I didn't know how to break (a lesson my parents took to the bank and applied to my driving learning course: braking first). Learning how to sucessfully interact with others? A long, harrowing process.
I hear some people go to their grave not learning how to interact with others properly.
Christmas season. The "most wonderful time of the year."
Sadly, with the Thanksgiving season evaporating like a small drop of water in Hell's bucket of despair, Christmas is "officially" in season. The winds of sorrow and the glazed sea of soulless eyes will soon converge on stores for one sole purpose: gifts. Merry making gifts. They'll mull about with fearsome greed.
I heard a story from K-Love a year ago. I guess the "Crossdressing Elmo" was the hottest gift (it came with a set of clothes that could be turned inside-out; one side would be a feminine outfit whilst the other would be more masculine). A lady from K-Love was trying to find one, and she got one reserved for her, and when she went to the store, the checkout lady had to tell her that the shipment didn't make it. The checkout lady either almost cried or did because everyone else she promised a Crossdressing Elmo to got very mad (and this K-Love lady didn't, and she was expecting her to). I think it was Crossdressing Elmo, at least.
I know everyone always says this, so I might as well jump on the bandwagon: hasn't Christmas been in season? I noticed Walmart put up Christmas decorations 5-7 weeks ago. I was getting some Meow Mix for the Damned Cats, and there they were. "Ho ho ho ho!" one Santa looked as if he were saying. Another seemed to say, "Ha ha ha ha, your momma wears army boots!"
I've never seen such a freak of a Santa. Ooh, that box made me angry. The first time someone told me my momma wore army boots was an old (as in my old, not old old) dentist. "Oh, don't you ever brush," he said during one of our first visits. "No wonder we couldn't detect any cavities!" he declared. "Ugh, splack!" he noised, coughing. He looked like he was gonna vomit or something. I guess he had some type of food poisoning. "OK, nurse...get me the scalpel...I'm going to have to surgically remove the plaque.
"All my years in the business, and this is the worst," he quipped. "OK, take him to the x-ray arena and let's try to loosen some of that with an elongated exposure," he said, out of breath. Once we got there, he started getting annoyed. "Damnable lawyers," he said as he pored over paperwork. "OK, kid. You tell anyone we shot you with an elongated x-ray exposure, and I'll tell everyone your momma wears army boots. Got it?"
I was 10 or 11 if memory serves. I nodded, wide-eyed, as they lowered me into the pit. I heard the silo-like door seal shut. Remember how technology was back then? Excerpt from this post:
Speaking of concrete enclosures, Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner are moving to a new locale this week, and they are fans of the Red Sox. So I want to get them something. I'm thinking of making them a lamp with a Christmas stocking as the base. You know, a red sock. Also, it'll be a Christmas decoration. I am still undecided. Perhaps I will get them a...
Uhh...a pair of underwear. They're an...I am not quite sure how to put this...slightly elderly couple (but they don't let that put a damper on their spirits!), and they get cold faster than a group of young, smart, eager-to-learn Bible students just lining up to be taught!
OK...actually, I am the only one there under 40. Drat.
Actually...I don't know how old the Hitman is. He may be 39. I know he went through something around 10 years of training ("deacon" training"), so he's at least 10. He reminds me of Fulgore. You don't really know how old he is, but you can guess.
I don't despise Christmas. I simply do not regard it as the "reason for the season" (we don't even celebrate it). The reason for the season is the weather! Yes! Darn. Now I'm craving Riesens. Do they have ads like that? The "Riesen" for the season could be a minty Riesen with white chocolate coating. But, noo, Kev is an idiot.
It's hard to believe that some people actually hate winter. As much as I despise Arizona summers, I would not ever want to hate winter. You can find out why we don't celebrate Christmas with a simple Google search of "pagan christmas." It's not that we think it's evil; we don't find it necessary (and it's stressful!). Also, the celebration should not be his birth, but his resurrection. That's where the power lies.
I Corinthians 15:17-18:
Not to be confused, this is Paul speaking to those who say that there is no resurrection of the dead (he's working through their logic; if there's no resurrection, as they claim, then they cannot have the remission of sins...you know, just like we can't justify taking the "promise" and "blessing" part of Israel's program without the "wandering through the desert like camels" and "cursing" part). Verse 12, same chapter, provides the context:
(Italics mine).
So, remember: a text...
("The body of a printed work as distinct from headings and illustrative matter on a page or from front and back matter in a book.")
...without a context...
("The part of a text or statement that surrounds a particular word or passage and determines its meaning.")
...is a pretext (An effort or strategy intended to conceal something.). That's one of those cute catchphrases people use. It's true. That's why CNN says "We put the world...in Clintext. UH, context! Crud!" (drumroll)
I heard a story from K-Love a year ago. I guess the "Crossdressing Elmo" was the hottest gift (it came with a set of clothes that could be turned inside-out; one side would be a feminine outfit whilst the other would be more masculine). A lady from K-Love was trying to find one, and she got one reserved for her, and when she went to the store, the checkout lady had to tell her that the shipment didn't make it. The checkout lady either almost cried or did because everyone else she promised a Crossdressing Elmo to got very mad (and this K-Love lady didn't, and she was expecting her to). I think it was Crossdressing Elmo, at least.
I know everyone always says this, so I might as well jump on the bandwagon: hasn't Christmas been in season? I noticed Walmart put up Christmas decorations 5-7 weeks ago. I was getting some Meow Mix for the Damned Cats, and there they were. "Ho ho ho ho!" one Santa looked as if he were saying. Another seemed to say, "Ha ha ha ha, your momma wears army boots!"
I've never seen such a freak of a Santa. Ooh, that box made me angry. The first time someone told me my momma wore army boots was an old (as in my old, not old old) dentist. "Oh, don't you ever brush," he said during one of our first visits. "No wonder we couldn't detect any cavities!" he declared. "Ugh, splack!" he noised, coughing. He looked like he was gonna vomit or something. I guess he had some type of food poisoning. "OK, nurse...get me the scalpel...I'm going to have to surgically remove the plaque.
"All my years in the business, and this is the worst," he quipped. "OK, take him to the x-ray arena and let's try to loosen some of that with an elongated exposure," he said, out of breath. Once we got there, he started getting annoyed. "Damnable lawyers," he said as he pored over paperwork. "OK, kid. You tell anyone we shot you with an elongated x-ray exposure, and I'll tell everyone your momma wears army boots. Got it?"
I was 10 or 11 if memory serves. I nodded, wide-eyed, as they lowered me into the pit. I heard the silo-like door seal shut. Remember how technology was back then? Excerpt from this post:
Everything went fine, that is...until the dentist came in to take a final look. Wow, it's amazing how much their XRay technology has improved. It used to be...you'd have to wear a 400 pound lead "apron," and so you wouldn't die while it was on you, they first hooked you up to an iron lung. THEN, they sealed you in a concrete chamber 50 feet underground so you wouldn't "radiate up" the atmosphere. Like it was YOUR fault!
Speaking of concrete enclosures, Mr. and Mrs. Bruckner are moving to a new locale this week, and they are fans of the Red Sox. So I want to get them something. I'm thinking of making them a lamp with a Christmas stocking as the base. You know, a red sock. Also, it'll be a Christmas decoration. I am still undecided. Perhaps I will get them a...
Uhh...a pair of underwear. They're an...I am not quite sure how to put this...slightly elderly couple (but they don't let that put a damper on their spirits!), and they get cold faster than a group of young, smart, eager-to-learn Bible students just lining up to be taught!
OK...actually, I am the only one there under 40. Drat.
Actually...I don't know how old the Hitman is. He may be 39. I know he went through something around 10 years of training ("deacon" training"), so he's at least 10. He reminds me of Fulgore. You don't really know how old he is, but you can guess.
I don't despise Christmas. I simply do not regard it as the "reason for the season" (we don't even celebrate it). The reason for the season is the weather! Yes! Darn. Now I'm craving Riesens. Do they have ads like that? The "Riesen" for the season could be a minty Riesen with white chocolate coating. But, noo, Kev is an idiot.
It's hard to believe that some people actually hate winter. As much as I despise Arizona summers, I would not ever want to hate winter. You can find out why we don't celebrate Christmas with a simple Google search of "pagan christmas." It's not that we think it's evil; we don't find it necessary (and it's stressful!). Also, the celebration should not be his birth, but his resurrection. That's where the power lies.
I Corinthians 15:17-18:
17 And if Christ be not raised, your faith is vain; ye are yet in your sins. 18 Then they also which are fallen asleep in Christ are perished.
Not to be confused, this is Paul speaking to those who say that there is no resurrection of the dead (he's working through their logic; if there's no resurrection, as they claim, then they cannot have the remission of sins...you know, just like we can't justify taking the "promise" and "blessing" part of Israel's program without the "wandering through the desert like camels" and "cursing" part). Verse 12, same chapter, provides the context:
12 Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, how say some among you that there is no resurrection of the dead?
So, remember: a text...
("The body of a printed work as distinct from headings and illustrative matter on a page or from front and back matter in a book.")
...without a context...
("The part of a text or statement that surrounds a particular word or passage and determines its meaning.")
...is a pretext (An effort or strategy intended to conceal something.). That's one of those cute catchphrases people use. It's true. That's why CNN says "We put the world...in Clintext. UH, context! Crud!" (drumroll)
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Claw Machines. Kev likes them.
I like claw machines.
There, I said it.
Typed it, at least. There, I just said it. Verbally. You wouldn't of been able to hear me. See, I've always liked them. 50 cents a play, you get 2-5 toys per $5, along with the fun and the "Wow, you got this from a claw machine?!" to which you reply, "YEP! Cost me 50 cents!"
For some reason, they feel impressed by this. Great birthday gift. Perhaps it is that if you actually pay for a toy they feel...like you're a stalker. Otherwise, it's like, "Hey here's this neat stuffed, cheap toy- I just happened to win it and thought of you and here you go!"
It had been at least 5 years since I played a claw machine, and at least 8 years since I played to win (that means playing 10-20 times in a row, which guarantees lots of winnings). I've only played once or twice on a "bucket" styled claw machine (they have cheap fake jewelry and stuff and typically have them sitting in small, shiny rocks). That was at a bowling alley.
The reason I say "It had been" is that the most recent time I've played a claw machine was October 19th. It was at a Denny's.
For some reason, as I knelt down- then reached down- to put the coins in the coin acceptor less than two feet off the ground, I felt...sort of...like I am far too tall to be playing claw machines. But there were no children around, so I went for it. I always feel bad feeding coin after coin after coin into the machine while some poor kid watches. And they always watch. Amazedly. Then their parents come up. And look at you. Like you're...stupid, or something.
So, kids = parents = Kev getting looked at like he's a freak. Thus I avoid kids. From now on, I'm going to carry several dollars in quarters around with me, and if I happen to find a claw machine with a clear coast, I'm going to win big! I'll chronicle and photograph my prizes! It'll be great!
I just love winning those darned things. I have been on the lookout for 3+ weeks, and it appears no stores on my regular route have claw machines. Well, you know, I can't very well play a claw machine that's in the most-trafficked area of the store. I'll have to visit that one Denny's again sometime.
I'll make up bizarre reasons to go to that Denny's. "Uhh, Mom, I uh...have to go to the bathroom! Yeah! And that Denny's has a good bathroom! Let's go! We can both go to the bathroom. You know how you always, always have to go to the bathroom! In fact, you won't know if I'm really in the bathroom or playing the claw machine, so off you go!"
And she does always have to go to the bathroom, too, so it won't be a lie!
There, I said it.
Typed it, at least. There, I just said it. Verbally. You wouldn't of been able to hear me. See, I've always liked them. 50 cents a play, you get 2-5 toys per $5, along with the fun and the "Wow, you got this from a claw machine?!" to which you reply, "YEP! Cost me 50 cents!"
For some reason, they feel impressed by this. Great birthday gift. Perhaps it is that if you actually pay for a toy they feel...like you're a stalker. Otherwise, it's like, "Hey here's this neat stuffed, cheap toy- I just happened to win it and thought of you and here you go!"
It had been at least 5 years since I played a claw machine, and at least 8 years since I played to win (that means playing 10-20 times in a row, which guarantees lots of winnings). I've only played once or twice on a "bucket" styled claw machine (they have cheap fake jewelry and stuff and typically have them sitting in small, shiny rocks). That was at a bowling alley.
The reason I say "It had been" is that the most recent time I've played a claw machine was October 19th. It was at a Denny's.
For some reason, as I knelt down- then reached down- to put the coins in the coin acceptor less than two feet off the ground, I felt...sort of...like I am far too tall to be playing claw machines. But there were no children around, so I went for it. I always feel bad feeding coin after coin after coin into the machine while some poor kid watches. And they always watch. Amazedly. Then their parents come up. And look at you. Like you're...stupid, or something.
So, kids = parents = Kev getting looked at like he's a freak. Thus I avoid kids. From now on, I'm going to carry several dollars in quarters around with me, and if I happen to find a claw machine with a clear coast, I'm going to win big! I'll chronicle and photograph my prizes! It'll be great!
I just love winning those darned things. I have been on the lookout for 3+ weeks, and it appears no stores on my regular route have claw machines. Well, you know, I can't very well play a claw machine that's in the most-trafficked area of the store. I'll have to visit that one Denny's again sometime.
I'll make up bizarre reasons to go to that Denny's. "Uhh, Mom, I uh...have to go to the bathroom! Yeah! And that Denny's has a good bathroom! Let's go! We can both go to the bathroom. You know how you always, always have to go to the bathroom! In fact, you won't know if I'm really in the bathroom or playing the claw machine, so off you go!"
And she does always have to go to the bathroom, too, so it won't be a lie!
The Pokemon Lizard
A month or two ago I photographed this rather cool looking lizard which is sort of like a smooth dinosaur or reptilian swimmer.
The first thing I thought was "Hey, this thing looks something like Palkia."
Or Godzilla.
The first thing I thought was "Hey, this thing looks something like Palkia."
Or Godzilla.
Friday, November 23, 2007
People Give the Weirdest Wedding Gifts
My parents' wedding was a month or so ago at this point. I cannot fathom how radically my views have changed since then. I thought marriage was a fun thing, with women in white, white dresses and carrying flowers and everyone functioning perfectly for one person: the bright, shining Bride, who is above all and through all in her presence. A wedding wonderland.
But no, it's awkward, horrifically embarrassing for anyone who's inept at semi-formality (case-in-point, my dad), and somehow they are as stressful as something can be before breaking the sound barrier.
The strangest thing about our wedding (I call it "our" wedding) was this one gift. What's the weirdest gift you ever received? A friendship bracelet? A personalized clock? A visit from a dying friend in a hospital ("It really means a lot to me that you were dying and left the hospital to visit me!")? A lesson in shaving from your dad? A lesson in ...makeup application from your mom? "The talk?"
How about a chamberpot set? No? Never got one of those?
Never?
Are you sure?
Check again.
Remember real hard.
No?
If you can believe it, some local yokel (my affectionate nickname for idiot; local is not necessarily an operative word in the sentence meaning) gave us a chamberpot set. I couldn't believe it. What were they thinking? Who gives someone a chamberpot set? For their wedding? How is a chamberpot set an aid to a happily-ever-after?
I opt not to disclose the gift-givers' name. You can thank me profusely at a point in the future.
Here is a picture. The plastic rings and sheets around it was the packaging.
Now, I measured the cups, and they hold precisely 8.8 ounces. They weigh around 8.4 ounces.
I suppose you place the main chamberpot, the "master pot," in a central location in your home, then bring each of the individual chamberpots- "stylishly," I suppose, made to look as unto glass-type canisters- to the master pot and ...empty their contents.
I have heard of "antique" designs, such as cobblestone paths and wee lit'l "Victorian" cabinet handles, and I've heard of "antique" techniques of doing things, such as using a brick oven or (supposedly) heating your home with wishes (a widely-practiced form of faith-worship by the pagan Indian Wannano-tdie tribe which died out not surprisingly), but I've never heard of such an antique, classical idea as using chamberpots.
I simply refuse to use them! It's, frankly, very unhygienic, and to judge a book by its cover, I think it would be VERY uncomfortable. Additionally, if you have one in each room, there's an extremely low chance of someone actually going to a sink to wash their hands.
So, I'll be throwing them out or I may bury them wrathfully. On top of everything else, they gave us 6, but we only need 4. What? Is one for the kitchen and one for the car?
Jerks.
But no, it's awkward, horrifically embarrassing for anyone who's inept at semi-formality (case-in-point, my dad), and somehow they are as stressful as something can be before breaking the sound barrier.
The strangest thing about our wedding (I call it "our" wedding) was this one gift. What's the weirdest gift you ever received? A friendship bracelet? A personalized clock? A visit from a dying friend in a hospital ("It really means a lot to me that you were dying and left the hospital to visit me!")? A lesson in shaving from your dad? A lesson in ...makeup application from your mom? "The talk?"
How about a chamberpot set? No? Never got one of those?
Never?
Are you sure?
Check again.
Remember real hard.
No?
If you can believe it, some local yokel (my affectionate nickname for idiot; local is not necessarily an operative word in the sentence meaning) gave us a chamberpot set. I couldn't believe it. What were they thinking? Who gives someone a chamberpot set? For their wedding? How is a chamberpot set an aid to a happily-ever-after?
I opt not to disclose the gift-givers' name. You can thank me profusely at a point in the future.
Here is a picture. The plastic rings and sheets around it was the packaging.
Now, I measured the cups, and they hold precisely 8.8 ounces. They weigh around 8.4 ounces.
I suppose you place the main chamberpot, the "master pot," in a central location in your home, then bring each of the individual chamberpots- "stylishly," I suppose, made to look as unto glass-type canisters- to the master pot and ...empty their contents.
I have heard of "antique" designs, such as cobblestone paths and wee lit'l "Victorian" cabinet handles, and I've heard of "antique" techniques of doing things, such as using a brick oven or (supposedly) heating your home with wishes (a widely-practiced form of faith-worship by the pagan Indian Wannano-tdie tribe which died out not surprisingly), but I've never heard of such an antique, classical idea as using chamberpots.
I simply refuse to use them! It's, frankly, very unhygienic, and to judge a book by its cover, I think it would be VERY uncomfortable. Additionally, if you have one in each room, there's an extremely low chance of someone actually going to a sink to wash their hands.
So, I'll be throwing them out or I may bury them wrathfully. On top of everything else, they gave us 6, but we only need 4. What? Is one for the kitchen and one for the car?
Jerks.
On Hold: The Razor.
Well, since I have extra time, I am not quite sure what to do. Today, I called Walmart to find out if they had a certain electric shaver, the Philips Norelco 7140XL. Our old shaver broke, yet still today I saw my Dad using it. What broke, you ask? One of the covers came off of one of the blades (it's a 3-head model). He's shaving with the two while avoiding the other rapidly spinning, demonic, sharp head that would give him something akin to what happens to a raw chicken leg placed in a garbage disposal, but in the face.
I wanted to ensure it could not be bought from Walmart, and I also didn't want to trouble my dear, dear parents with searching about aimlessly for it. I gathered my honor, and all my courage, and put away my pride, and I called.
"Hello this is Walmart happy holidays, what can I do for you?"
"Uhm, yes, I am looking for a representative in personal care?"
Keep in mind that my voice sounds especially deep and I have trouble pronouncing some words as my sinuses are clogged.
"What the HELL do you mean, personal care?" the lady sounds outraged.
"Uh, like, personal grooming care," I began (I meant to say "like electric razors") to say, but she interrupted.
"Eww! What do you mean?!"
"LISTEN YOU LOUSY JERK," I began. I had to deal with this. "PERSONAL" DOES NOT ALWAYS MEAN SEXUAL ORGANS! AND GO TO HELL! AND WHILE YOU'RE THERE, MAYBE YOU CAN FIND A GUTTER TO NOT DRAG YOUR MIND THROUGH, YOU PERVERTED CARCASS OF FLESH AND BONES!"
"...OK then, let me transfer you."
I decided to change up my strategy. "Yes, I need someone to do an inventory check in house wares for an electric razor." "OK, please hold."
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"Hi! My name's Kev! Oh, boy! I totally trusted that other lady!" "OK?"
"I need to know if you can do an inventory check for an electric razor." "Uhh, sir...this is the toy department."
I sunk into my chair as small squiggly cartoon lines depicting frustration arose from my head. She transferred me to somewhere. I couldn't believe it, within a minute someone answered!
"HI my name's Kev hi hi don't hang up PLEASE hi how are you!" "Iam(sic)...OK. What are you on hold for?" "I need an inventory check on a razor!" "An inventory check?" "YEEAH!" at this point, my tongue is hanging out of my mouth, I'm on the edge of my seat, and my eyes are bugging out with pure anticipation!
"An inventory check on food?" she confirmed. Still looking straight ahead, my eyes shriveled back into their sockets and with my tongue still hanging out, my open-mouthed grin turned to a malformed, open-mouthed frown as my eyebrows met my nose.
"No...razor. Shaving," I announced pitifully. No one would hear me. "OK let me transfer you."
It took several minutes for the frown to undo itself. I stared at the clock. Slow-motion set in. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Flea.
What?
Tick. Tick. Tick...
That's better.
And thus with 4 songs 14 minutes pass. I then hung up. I had been on the phone with my Mom (I love my little pay-as-you-go phone and no one can take our love away!), and she checked, and they did not have the razor in stock. Instead, they had the model down from it. I asked her to just get that. I slumped into my chair and thought bad thoughts. I also asked her to get some white chocolate chips, some chocolate chips, and some red and green candy canes, so I couldn't of thought too bad of thoughts, but I thought as bad as I could. I focused on how I spent 68 minutes and 20 seconds causing Walmart a higher phone bill. Then I added some self-pity by realizing I hadn't done a thing while on hold except jot down song titles.
I sat slumped festering in my self-pity, disappointment and wrath. I considered calling off buying the lower model razor. While probably the same razor, I don't know why it's $20 cheaper. Some reason, obviously. And razors last for years, and I don't want to regret this in a year or two.
Then, my Dad called. Whilst wandering aimlessly throughout the store, they came upon a GIANT DISPLAY PILE of the razor I had wanted originally. My Mom was furious. She went right over to customer service to complain. My Dad narrated it to me:
"OK, she's in line. OK, she's talking to the lady. She's being very animated. Alright, she's smiling now, I had better get off the phone before she sees me talking!" (click).
I was then happy. I learned two valuable lessons from the process: always look for display piles when items are out of stock, and never stay on hold for more than 65 minutes.
My parents are now home.
I wanted to ensure it could not be bought from Walmart, and I also didn't want to trouble my dear, dear parents with searching about aimlessly for it. I gathered my honor, and all my courage, and put away my pride, and I called.
"Hello this is Walmart happy holidays, what can I do for you?"
"Uhm, yes, I am looking for a representative in personal care?"
Keep in mind that my voice sounds especially deep and I have trouble pronouncing some words as my sinuses are clogged.
"What the HELL do you mean, personal care?" the lady sounds outraged.
"Uh, like, personal grooming care," I began (I meant to say "like electric razors") to say, but she interrupted.
"Eww! What do you mean?!"
"LISTEN YOU LOUSY JERK," I began. I had to deal with this. "PERSONAL" DOES NOT ALWAYS MEAN SEXUAL ORGANS! AND GO TO HELL! AND WHILE YOU'RE THERE, MAYBE YOU CAN FIND A GUTTER TO NOT DRAG YOUR MIND THROUGH, YOU PERVERTED CARCASS OF FLESH AND BONES!"
"...OK then, let me transfer you."
- I am waiting now. First song that comes on is Away in a Manger.
- The second is "Sleigh Ride."
- The third is The First Noel, or something along those lines (it had "noel noel" in it)
- I couldn't identify any phrases in the fourth song.
- I couldn't identify any phrases in the fifth song.
- The sixth song is "O Holy Night."
- The seventh song is "What Christmas means to Me."
- The eighth song is Jinglebell Rock.
- I couldn't identify the ninth song, except for the words "toda," "Elohim," and "Yeshua" (all Jewish words) in close proximity to each other. It was Jewish singing, and at the end I identified the phrase "rock of ages." Despite my efforts I could not identify the song.
- The tenth song is Sleep in Heavenly Peace.
- The eleventh song is "The Coolest Pair" by Clint Black.
I decided to change up my strategy. "Yes, I need someone to do an inventory check in house wares for an electric razor." "OK, please hold."
- I couldn't identify any phrases in the twelfth song.
- Sleigh Ride was on again as the thirteenth song.
- Santa's on His Way/Christmas Time is Here is the fourteenth song.
- The fifteenth song was "I've Got My Love to Keep Me Warm," but NOT THE VERSION BY BILLIE HOLIDAY. Ugh. NO. NO. NO. NO. It was a guy. NOT A WOMAN SINGING LIKE A GUY WHO HAD A HORRIBLE VOICE AND NO GRASP OF MELODY.
"Hello, how may I help you?"
"Hi! My name's Kev! Oh, boy! I totally trusted that other lady!" "OK?"
"I need to know if you can do an inventory check for an electric razor." "Uhh, sir...this is the toy department."
I sunk into my chair as small squiggly cartoon lines depicting frustration arose from my head. She transferred me to somewhere. I couldn't believe it, within a minute someone answered!
"HI my name's Kev hi hi don't hang up PLEASE hi how are you!" "Iam(sic)...OK. What are you on hold for?" "I need an inventory check on a razor!" "An inventory check?" "YEEAH!" at this point, my tongue is hanging out of my mouth, I'm on the edge of my seat, and my eyes are bugging out with pure anticipation!
"An inventory check on food?" she confirmed. Still looking straight ahead, my eyes shriveled back into their sockets and with my tongue still hanging out, my open-mouthed grin turned to a malformed, open-mouthed frown as my eyebrows met my nose.
"No...razor. Shaving," I announced pitifully. No one would hear me. "OK let me transfer you."
It took several minutes for the frown to undo itself. I stared at the clock. Slow-motion set in. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Flea.
What?
Tick. Tick. Tick...
That's better.
- The sixteenth song was O Holy Night again.
- The seventeenth song was I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas.
- The eighteenth song was What Christmas means to Me again.
- The nineteenth song was Walking in a Winter Wonderland.
And thus with 4 songs 14 minutes pass. I then hung up. I had been on the phone with my Mom (I love my little pay-as-you-go phone and no one can take our love away!), and she checked, and they did not have the razor in stock. Instead, they had the model down from it. I asked her to just get that. I slumped into my chair and thought bad thoughts. I also asked her to get some white chocolate chips, some chocolate chips, and some red and green candy canes, so I couldn't of thought too bad of thoughts, but I thought as bad as I could. I focused on how I spent 68 minutes and 20 seconds causing Walmart a higher phone bill. Then I added some self-pity by realizing I hadn't done a thing while on hold except jot down song titles.
I sat slumped festering in my self-pity, disappointment and wrath. I considered calling off buying the lower model razor. While probably the same razor, I don't know why it's $20 cheaper. Some reason, obviously. And razors last for years, and I don't want to regret this in a year or two.
Then, my Dad called. Whilst wandering aimlessly throughout the store, they came upon a GIANT DISPLAY PILE of the razor I had wanted originally. My Mom was furious. She went right over to customer service to complain. My Dad narrated it to me:
"OK, she's in line. OK, she's talking to the lady. She's being very animated. Alright, she's smiling now, I had better get off the phone before she sees me talking!" (click).
I was then happy. I learned two valuable lessons from the process: always look for display piles when items are out of stock, and never stay on hold for more than 65 minutes.
My parents are now home.
Non-rotten turkey, come here and let me give you a big hug. With my teeth.
Oh, boy. I am glad, that is for sure. THIS is what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving: THE TURKEY WAS NOT ROTTEN. NOT THIS TIME. IT ACTUALLY WAS NOT ROTTEN.
YES! JOY! HAPPINESS! You know what? I CAN ACTUALLY HAVE LEFTOVERS! AMAZEMENT EBBS FROM MY BRAIN THROUGH MY SINUS CAVITIES AND EAR CANALS! I am a simple person, and most of the time simple things make me happy. Something simple can make me just as happy as something complex. Rotten turkeys? Those make me sad. Turkey that ACTUALLY TASTES GOOD ENOUGH TO WANT TO EAT?! YES, IT MAKES ME HAPPY!
It seems I can't remember the last time a turkey actually tasted good! The dark, harrowing clouds of turkey-rottenness have ceded ground (or, metaphorically speaking, air) to rays of golden turkey-goodness! Hah! Satan, your reign of horrible turkey has come to an end! From now on, TURKEY IS A STAPLE IN OUR HOUSEHOLD, AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU CAN ROT IN THE EVERLASTING PITS OF DESPAIR! OH WAIT, YOU ALREADY WILL BE!
You might ask what all the caps are about. I am happy. That's what they're about! Turkey! Turkey! Turkey! Once more, turkey! Actual, non-rotten, non-spoiled, good-tasting turkey! No foul raw rotting fowl taste! GOOD TASTING TURKEY! Amazing! Such brilliance!
Not tough!
Not dried out!
Not raw!
Not rotten!
Not rotting!
Not that globe-trotting whore!
Damn that globe-trotting whore!
BUT ACTUAL, NOT ROTTEN, GOOD TASTING, DESIRABLE TURKEY FOR LEFTOVERING!
Now I can see why people seek to do things with the "leftover turkey!" It was a foolish statement before; it amounted to someone saying "My dog had an accident in the house, I might as well make the best of it; honey, get me some ah...eggs and stuff, we're making a quiche."
Oh, gobble gobble glory!
YES! JOY! HAPPINESS! You know what? I CAN ACTUALLY HAVE LEFTOVERS! AMAZEMENT EBBS FROM MY BRAIN THROUGH MY SINUS CAVITIES AND EAR CANALS! I am a simple person, and most of the time simple things make me happy. Something simple can make me just as happy as something complex. Rotten turkeys? Those make me sad. Turkey that ACTUALLY TASTES GOOD ENOUGH TO WANT TO EAT?! YES, IT MAKES ME HAPPY!
It seems I can't remember the last time a turkey actually tasted good! The dark, harrowing clouds of turkey-rottenness have ceded ground (or, metaphorically speaking, air) to rays of golden turkey-goodness! Hah! Satan, your reign of horrible turkey has come to an end! From now on, TURKEY IS A STAPLE IN OUR HOUSEHOLD, AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, YOU CAN ROT IN THE EVERLASTING PITS OF DESPAIR! OH WAIT, YOU ALREADY WILL BE!
You might ask what all the caps are about. I am happy. That's what they're about! Turkey! Turkey! Turkey! Once more, turkey! Actual, non-rotten, non-spoiled, good-tasting turkey! No foul raw rotting fowl taste! GOOD TASTING TURKEY! Amazing! Such brilliance!
Not tough!
Not dried out!
Not raw!
Not rotten!
Not rotting!
Not that globe-trotting whore!
Damn that globe-trotting whore!
BUT ACTUAL, NOT ROTTEN, GOOD TASTING, DESIRABLE TURKEY FOR LEFTOVERING!
Now I can see why people seek to do things with the "leftover turkey!" It was a foolish statement before; it amounted to someone saying "My dog had an accident in the house, I might as well make the best of it; honey, get me some ah...eggs and stuff, we're making a quiche."
Oh, gobble gobble glory!
"What do we do?!": Free Time. An alien concept.
Everyone please give a warm hand of applause to the new "Articles" tag, who will adorn every post from now forward which links to articles on all subjects, including blog posts (excluding my own) but excluding mass news articles (they will continue to be posted under the "News" tag).
"Moooom..." I began, a note of alarmed dawning in my voice. "Yes, son whom I love?" she inquired. "What do we do?" I asked. "About what?" she queried. "Well, we don't have two days of horrific wedding work to attend to...and we're not all hopelessly sick and dying...and Dad's not trying to kill himself working...what else will we do with our time if not try to drive ourselves bonkers with wedding preparations and in effect trying to kill ourselves?"
"I don't know. Normal people things, like sleep for long long durations," she replied.
I don't know, either. So, I set out to ...y'know, do normal people things. First, me and my Mom played a game of Upwords. That game SUCKS. Man! Seriously, someone get a surgeon and CUT THAT GAME'S BALLS OFF!
...sorry, I'm thinking of Popoe, the cat who needs a surgeon or a girlfriend.
After that (it was 11:45 or so), I decided to read this article about legalistic behavior in the church, titled From Liberty to Legalism. It took me one hour and 20-25 minutes to read. No wonder I was gnawing my arm by the time it was over. Now, I am not sure about their doctrine (and even less sure about their spelling!), but they seem to have it right. The most likely case is that several different sources put content on their website, so that's why they confuse me. Or maybe they're just confusing.
Confusing and grammatically errored. Though I am sure I make grammatical errors all my own. Recently, I dropped into some hard, green cash. I had not been paid my "allowance" for 6 weeks. I'd rather not say how much it is, but it's enough to invest in something. Uh, you know, something...small. Like books for learnin' book learning from. Learning. Tss, burn.
So, I'm going to order a book on grammar. Speaking of grammar...there's a spelling error in Metroid Prime 3. It's bothering me. I might write Nintendo over it. Maybe they'll send me an updated disc for free. Or maybe they don't know about it! You'll be a star! All will adore you, and rightfully so!
Now, you know those idiotic "Guide to (blank)'s?" Like the idiot's guide? Yes, well, apparently there's one called the "Painless" guide. Example: Painless Grammar. I know, I know what you're thinking. "Any attempt to learn anything is a sure sign that you are unlearned and idiotic. Best not admit it and stay stupid- you'll look smart. I am your pride speaking. You're awesome." After all, the front of the book is a cartoon cat portraying a shocked, frightened individual. Most likely a stupid, shocked, frightened individual.
However, the reviews speak contrariwise. One person intoned that their child read it, and that if their idiotic child could read it, "then any moron could get it, including you, Kev." These reviews...they creep me out sometimes. He or she then went on to read it and gleaned some knowledge. I mean, I already have pretty good grammar, right? Better than 98% of those on the Internets, right? Yes, you are amazing. Above a prodigy.
Besides, they had me once I saw page 6, pictured and highlighted at right (you'll need to enlarge).
Also, Painless Writing looks good. If you can't tell, I'm going to improve my blogging skills. Why? I don't know. I'm told I'm good at writing from several impartial sources, like my mom. I might as well milk it for all it's worth. What is it...just because you're gifted doesn't mean that you can rely on that gift, or something? I forget. Too gifted to remember. Damn, I'm great! Yes...yes you are.
Next up is the Rough Guide to Blogging 1 (1?). Perhaps I am a sucker for reviews...or perhaps you are simply astoundingly brilliant! Right! Go me! Also, in the same vein, I ordered No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog. But they should...everyone cares and loves you, Kev. This is your pride speaking. Heh heh heh.
Have I ever told you about my system of buying things off of the line, like Amazon or Half.com or eBay? Well actually, I avoid eBay all together. I despise eBay. I can't see its worth. Anyway, my mom recently told me that she had not known of the "free shipping" system, or as I have so boastfully titled it, the "near buy" system, until she gleaned it from me. Gleaned is the word of the day. I saw it in Metroid Prime 3 so it's good as gold to me!
What you do is compare locations. Simple. One is shipping from NY, but the other is shipping from UT or CA. You're in Arizona. Do you suppose that item from NY will reach you as fast as the item in UT or CA? No, probably not. Since typically there are many choices of the same item in the same condition, for roughly the same price, you shop around until you find the closest location.
Sometimes it's worth it to pay an extra $1-2 on the item price itself (usually not worth it on Half.com). So you can see how aptly named it is. Near buy, as in nearby, as you order it nearby. Also note that if you're really in a vat of vinegar and pickling spices you could attempt the ol' expedited shipping+near buy.
Now, everyone tell me that I'm great for taking the initiative to nurture my brain, and say something about how you're going to order one of the books you found interesting, and that you'd like to know how they work out for me. You can do it! Trust in yourself!
PS: it is now 3:59 AM. Do you suppose I am up with the sun or down with the moon?
"Moooom..." I began, a note of alarmed dawning in my voice. "Yes, son whom I love?" she inquired. "What do we do?" I asked. "About what?" she queried. "Well, we don't have two days of horrific wedding work to attend to...and we're not all hopelessly sick and dying...and Dad's not trying to kill himself working...what else will we do with our time if not try to drive ourselves bonkers with wedding preparations and in effect trying to kill ourselves?"
"I don't know. Normal people things, like sleep for long long durations," she replied.
I don't know, either. So, I set out to ...y'know, do normal people things. First, me and my Mom played a game of Upwords. That game SUCKS. Man! Seriously, someone get a surgeon and CUT THAT GAME'S BALLS OFF!
...sorry, I'm thinking of Popoe, the cat who needs a surgeon or a girlfriend.
After that (it was 11:45 or so), I decided to read this article about legalistic behavior in the church, titled From Liberty to Legalism. It took me one hour and 20-25 minutes to read. No wonder I was gnawing my arm by the time it was over. Now, I am not sure about their doctrine (and even less sure about their spelling!), but they seem to have it right. The most likely case is that several different sources put content on their website, so that's why they confuse me. Or maybe they're just confusing.
Confusing and grammatically errored. Though I am sure I make grammatical errors all my own. Recently, I dropped into some hard, green cash. I had not been paid my "allowance" for 6 weeks. I'd rather not say how much it is, but it's enough to invest in something. Uh, you know, something...small. Like books for learnin' book learning from. Learning. Tss, burn.
So, I'm going to order a book on grammar. Speaking of grammar...there's a spelling error in Metroid Prime 3. It's bothering me. I might write Nintendo over it. Maybe they'll send me an updated disc for free. Or maybe they don't know about it! You'll be a star! All will adore you, and rightfully so!
Now, you know those idiotic "Guide to (blank)'s?" Like the idiot's guide? Yes, well, apparently there's one called the "Painless" guide. Example: Painless Grammar. I know, I know what you're thinking. "Any attempt to learn anything is a sure sign that you are unlearned and idiotic. Best not admit it and stay stupid- you'll look smart. I am your pride speaking. You're awesome." After all, the front of the book is a cartoon cat portraying a shocked, frightened individual. Most likely a stupid, shocked, frightened individual.
However, the reviews speak contrariwise. One person intoned that their child read it, and that if their idiotic child could read it, "then any moron could get it, including you, Kev." These reviews...they creep me out sometimes. He or she then went on to read it and gleaned some knowledge. I mean, I already have pretty good grammar, right? Better than 98% of those on the Internets, right? Yes, you are amazing. Above a prodigy.Besides, they had me once I saw page 6, pictured and highlighted at right (you'll need to enlarge).
Also, Painless Writing looks good. If you can't tell, I'm going to improve my blogging skills. Why? I don't know. I'm told I'm good at writing from several impartial sources, like my mom. I might as well milk it for all it's worth. What is it...just because you're gifted doesn't mean that you can rely on that gift, or something? I forget. Too gifted to remember. Damn, I'm great! Yes...yes you are.
Next up is the Rough Guide to Blogging 1 (1?). Perhaps I am a sucker for reviews...or perhaps you are simply astoundingly brilliant! Right! Go me! Also, in the same vein, I ordered No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog. But they should...everyone cares and loves you, Kev. This is your pride speaking. Heh heh heh.
Have I ever told you about my system of buying things off of the line, like Amazon or Half.com or eBay? Well actually, I avoid eBay all together. I despise eBay. I can't see its worth. Anyway, my mom recently told me that she had not known of the "free shipping" system, or as I have so boastfully titled it, the "near buy" system, until she gleaned it from me. Gleaned is the word of the day. I saw it in Metroid Prime 3 so it's good as gold to me!
What you do is compare locations. Simple. One is shipping from NY, but the other is shipping from UT or CA. You're in Arizona. Do you suppose that item from NY will reach you as fast as the item in UT or CA? No, probably not. Since typically there are many choices of the same item in the same condition, for roughly the same price, you shop around until you find the closest location.
Sometimes it's worth it to pay an extra $1-2 on the item price itself (usually not worth it on Half.com). So you can see how aptly named it is. Near buy, as in nearby, as you order it nearby. Also note that if you're really in a vat of vinegar and pickling spices you could attempt the ol' expedited shipping+near buy.
Now, everyone tell me that I'm great for taking the initiative to nurture my brain, and say something about how you're going to order one of the books you found interesting, and that you'd like to know how they work out for me. You can do it! Trust in yourself!
PS: it is now 3:59 AM. Do you suppose I am up with the sun or down with the moon?
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Pecan pie, my sweet -- Thanksgiving post #7
It is Thanksgiving! Rejoice, brethren! Accolades delivered on high to the Most High! Give thanks, stuff like that. Do good unto all men, yadda yada.
Today, I made two pecan pies. Recipe here (this is the first time I got to follow a recipe from my blog; I need recipe scribing classes, apparently; I did edit it a bit just now). Hahah! One is for my family, and the other is for me. Since they stay so long in the fridge- and taste so awesome chilled- I'll have pecan pie for weeks. My family doesn't really care for pecan pies. They're jerks.
One thing I do with pecan pies is cut slices (at random) in the crust before I add the filling. It lets the filling seep out and then caramelize. Below is a picture of how it looks. It becomes all chewy and good and adds a huge world of texture. Thanks to the Pyrex pie pan for...letting us see through it.
Note that the puddle of filling in the bottom was most likely caused by the very thin pie crust and NOT because I cut into it to cause the filling to crystallize. I fused together 3 pie crust rounds to form the shell; sometimes, I get a craving for "poptarts," but the ones you buy taste ...well, terrible, so I made up a batch of pie dough, rolled it into rounds, made myself a few "poptarts," then froze the rest of the dough (Alton Brown provided the inspiration with his recipe for "poptarts"). I fill them with apricot preserves or strawberries boiled with sugar or whatever.
Since it was so thin it (most likely) bubbled up and created a pocket of air during the blind-baking, which filled with filling. Also note that since it was old (at least 3 months) and frozen, it didn't seal properly. I would not make slices that big for the caramel crystallizing...stuff. It just didn't seal. So don't make ugly 3-inch slices in the crust. Please. Use a light touch and don't make the cuts too wide. 1/2 to 1 inch.
...well, that was exhaustive. Aside from make the pies, I cleaned the kitchen (including the oven! That thing was DIRTY! I've never cleaned a fireplace, but IT WAS LIKE CLEANING A FIREPLACE!), went shopping with my Mommy for Thanksgiving stuff (we went by a Fry's I know of that is typically abandoned, and I was right; despite it being the night before the big T, there were few people there).
Then we went home. We also visited a Waffle House and sampled their food. They have...well, their waffles need to be thicker, more golden, and crispier. They're very good in that they're airy, but they're not crispy enough. And the color is bad. Sorry, waffle house. Don't feel sad. You've still got good hamburgers. Or, patty melts, I think.
Happy Thanksgiving! As for me, I am going to go die for 10 hours. My Brother just let out a demonic growl from his room. Great. This should...I should get out of here.
Today, I made two pecan pies. Recipe here (this is the first time I got to follow a recipe from my blog; I need recipe scribing classes, apparently; I did edit it a bit just now). Hahah! One is for my family, and the other is for me. Since they stay so long in the fridge- and taste so awesome chilled- I'll have pecan pie for weeks. My family doesn't really care for pecan pies. They're jerks.
One thing I do with pecan pies is cut slices (at random) in the crust before I add the filling. It lets the filling seep out and then caramelize. Below is a picture of how it looks. It becomes all chewy and good and adds a huge world of texture. Thanks to the Pyrex pie pan for...letting us see through it.
Note that the puddle of filling in the bottom was most likely caused by the very thin pie crust and NOT because I cut into it to cause the filling to crystallize. I fused together 3 pie crust rounds to form the shell; sometimes, I get a craving for "poptarts," but the ones you buy taste ...well, terrible, so I made up a batch of pie dough, rolled it into rounds, made myself a few "poptarts," then froze the rest of the dough (Alton Brown provided the inspiration with his recipe for "poptarts"). I fill them with apricot preserves or strawberries boiled with sugar or whatever.
Since it was so thin it (most likely) bubbled up and created a pocket of air during the blind-baking, which filled with filling. Also note that since it was old (at least 3 months) and frozen, it didn't seal properly. I would not make slices that big for the caramel crystallizing...stuff. It just didn't seal. So don't make ugly 3-inch slices in the crust. Please. Use a light touch and don't make the cuts too wide. 1/2 to 1 inch.
...well, that was exhaustive. Aside from make the pies, I cleaned the kitchen (including the oven! That thing was DIRTY! I've never cleaned a fireplace, but IT WAS LIKE CLEANING A FIREPLACE!), went shopping with my Mommy for Thanksgiving stuff (we went by a Fry's I know of that is typically abandoned, and I was right; despite it being the night before the big T, there were few people there).
Then we went home. We also visited a Waffle House and sampled their food. They have...well, their waffles need to be thicker, more golden, and crispier. They're very good in that they're airy, but they're not crispy enough. And the color is bad. Sorry, waffle house. Don't feel sad. You've still got good hamburgers. Or, patty melts, I think.
Happy Thanksgiving! As for me, I am going to go die for 10 hours. My Brother just let out a demonic growl from his room. Great. This should...I should get out of here.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
The Test Turkey -- Thanksgiving post #6
My Dad, several days ago, saw an article in the paper discussing grill-roasted turkey. It's like fried turkey in the realm of ...y'know, moist type of turkey. I guess. My Mom asked me to make a test turkey cooked in this fashion a few days ago. Luckily, my Mom's job gave us a turkey. They are so kind. It is only a year and a half old. It is only a year and a half old. It's only a year and a half old. Year and a half old.
Year and a half old.
It is a 12-pounder, so it's perfect for these instructions (I suggest not trying to spice the meat under the skin- it's too weird!). It cooked it very well. The breast meat got to 165 as the leg meat got to 185; make sure to test each breast and each leg, as the heat may not be centered. Apparently, probe thermometers and grills do not go together. Don't do it.
Only problem is...the turkey smelled funny. The last time I remembered smelling that smell- old, old turkey- was when we slaughtered our own. Eeew. That meat was so terrible. I told you about it, right? It weighed like 40 pounds? A 1-gallon ziptop bag- completely stuffed full with nothing but white meat- went to waste? Yeah. It was too horrible to eat. Even my parents- ever the optimists- admitted it was, well, horrible. It took them over a year of licking their wounds to acknowledge it, though.
So...it turns out that I can't be sure how well the grill method worked out. With a rotting bird, I can't be sure if the utter lack of broth, horrible texture, and bad taste are due to the rotting bird or the method of cooking. I assume it is the rotting bird, so I cannot therefore comment on how well the grill method works. Did you know it takes like 3 minutes a pound to cook a turkey in oil?
According to a show on right now- American Eats, on the History Channel, DirecTV channel 269, episode "Holiday Foods"- my Dad was right that it isn't that sly chemical in turkey that makes you tired after eating Thanksgiving dinner. I thought he was right. Apparently, according to their little blurb, it is carbohydrate overload. What my Dad thought. I'll have to tell him tomorrow. Here is a link to an article I didn't have time to read but assume explains it anyways.
Below is a picture of the turkey, after finishing roasting. It took more or less the amount of time described, but I had to flip it one more time (the left side was done, the right side was not). I only had to cook it for a few minutes on this side.
I guess I, currently, rather dislike these paranoid different methods of cooking turkey. Maybe some day I will grow out of it, but I long for the days of Mom's good-old-fashioned "plastic bag" turkeys. Oh, those were the days, back before I had anything to do with Thanksgiving. Except eating at the table.
I do so hope that Mommy will pick up some type of turkey roasting rack, because we do not have anything to hold the turkey above the liquid which will gather in the pan below it and Thanksgiving will be effectively ruined without it. I need to bake four pies tomorrow, as well as clean out the oven, as well as everything else that has to be done in the world. I am feeling better, however...more energy, and my tonsils/back of mouth is no longer sore. I will probably let my Mom bake the pumpkin pies, actually.
1 day to Thanksgiving! I am getting completely sick of making these update posts!
Year and a half old.
It is a 12-pounder, so it's perfect for these instructions (I suggest not trying to spice the meat under the skin- it's too weird!). It cooked it very well. The breast meat got to 165 as the leg meat got to 185; make sure to test each breast and each leg, as the heat may not be centered. Apparently, probe thermometers and grills do not go together. Don't do it.
Only problem is...the turkey smelled funny. The last time I remembered smelling that smell- old, old turkey- was when we slaughtered our own. Eeew. That meat was so terrible. I told you about it, right? It weighed like 40 pounds? A 1-gallon ziptop bag- completely stuffed full with nothing but white meat- went to waste? Yeah. It was too horrible to eat. Even my parents- ever the optimists- admitted it was, well, horrible. It took them over a year of licking their wounds to acknowledge it, though.
So...it turns out that I can't be sure how well the grill method worked out. With a rotting bird, I can't be sure if the utter lack of broth, horrible texture, and bad taste are due to the rotting bird or the method of cooking. I assume it is the rotting bird, so I cannot therefore comment on how well the grill method works. Did you know it takes like 3 minutes a pound to cook a turkey in oil?
According to a show on right now- American Eats, on the History Channel, DirecTV channel 269, episode "Holiday Foods"- my Dad was right that it isn't that sly chemical in turkey that makes you tired after eating Thanksgiving dinner. I thought he was right. Apparently, according to their little blurb, it is carbohydrate overload. What my Dad thought. I'll have to tell him tomorrow. Here is a link to an article I didn't have time to read but assume explains it anyways.
Below is a picture of the turkey, after finishing roasting. It took more or less the amount of time described, but I had to flip it one more time (the left side was done, the right side was not). I only had to cook it for a few minutes on this side.
I guess I, currently, rather dislike these paranoid different methods of cooking turkey. Maybe some day I will grow out of it, but I long for the days of Mom's good-old-fashioned "plastic bag" turkeys. Oh, those were the days, back before I had anything to do with Thanksgiving. Except eating at the table.
I do so hope that Mommy will pick up some type of turkey roasting rack, because we do not have anything to hold the turkey above the liquid which will gather in the pan below it and Thanksgiving will be effectively ruined without it. I need to bake four pies tomorrow, as well as clean out the oven, as well as everything else that has to be done in the world. I am feeling better, however...more energy, and my tonsils/back of mouth is no longer sore. I will probably let my Mom bake the pumpkin pies, actually.
1 day to Thanksgiving! I am getting completely sick of making these update posts!
Logan, the Sky Angel Cowboy
Well, it's one of those things that everyone flips out about. "Oh wow, this kid is so smart, he makes Kev look like an IDIOT!"
Over and over again. First, it was Ellen DeGonzalez (I refuse to check the spelling of his name), the child who should have been shot repeatedly. "Wow, he's so brave, much braver than Kev!" And then that one punk from Home Alone. "Boy, I know that he didn't really do any of that stuff, but he at least acted like he did! And that's FIVE times as good as our boy!"
Or, how about that kid from Power Rangers Turbo, who fulfilled the desires and wishes of every child ever alive? "Wow, he makes our son look STUPID! Why'd we even have a child if it was gonna be a LOSER who we're ASHAMED OF?!" WELL I DON'T KNOW WHY THE HELL DID YOU!?!
...well anyway, enough about me and my parents' quality TV time spent together. More on Logan the Sky Angel Cowboy. He apparently lives on a farm. I first heard this a week ago on KLove. He had to shoot a cow that broke its back and now he's whining about it to a Christian radio station. I don't know what's so hard about what he's saying. Doesn't everybody know that?
No? Oh. Well, then here it is [link]. It's a real tear-jerker. I was sniffling by the time it was over.
As I am sick and my nose is running. Aha-hahaha. For some reason it elicited very little emotion- oh yeah, it's because I'm a guy. Not a wussy girl. Now, I am off to roast a turkey in the grill. Apparently, it's like frying a turkey, but less destructive. I can't wait to see how my family likes it! Plus, I got to wash a load of dishes, do some laundry, and tidy up the house. Then, call my Mom and whine for hours about nothing.
Over and over again. First, it was Ellen DeGonzalez (I refuse to check the spelling of his name), the child who should have been shot repeatedly. "Wow, he's so brave, much braver than Kev!" And then that one punk from Home Alone. "Boy, I know that he didn't really do any of that stuff, but he at least acted like he did! And that's FIVE times as good as our boy!"
Or, how about that kid from Power Rangers Turbo, who fulfilled the desires and wishes of every child ever alive? "Wow, he makes our son look STUPID! Why'd we even have a child if it was gonna be a LOSER who we're ASHAMED OF?!" WELL I DON'T KNOW WHY THE HELL DID YOU!?!
...well anyway, enough about me and my parents' quality TV time spent together. More on Logan the Sky Angel Cowboy. He apparently lives on a farm. I first heard this a week ago on KLove. He had to shoot a cow that broke its back and now he's whining about it to a Christian radio station. I don't know what's so hard about what he's saying. Doesn't everybody know that?
No? Oh. Well, then here it is [link]. It's a real tear-jerker. I was sniffling by the time it was over.
As I am sick and my nose is running. Aha-hahaha. For some reason it elicited very little emotion- oh yeah, it's because I'm a guy. Not a wussy girl. Now, I am off to roast a turkey in the grill. Apparently, it's like frying a turkey, but less destructive. I can't wait to see how my family likes it! Plus, I got to wash a load of dishes, do some laundry, and tidy up the house. Then, call my Mom and whine for hours about nothing.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Dad's Lack of Food Poisoning Knowledge
My Dad- despite the fact that he came down with a case of explosive diarrhea from food poisoning just last week- does not believe that food left out for days can give you food poisoning.
A living example is the food I made him Friday night. He was going to leave Saturday, and stay overnight at a jobsite Saturday night, so I wanted to make him a "delicious icebox lunch."
I made him:
3.5 leftover hamburgers from dinner that night
A half gallon of goat milk
A quart bag of doritos chips
1 dozen boiled eggs
1/4th of the Applesauce cake that I made
The "cheesecake" he made but no one ate (so I figured I'd give it to him), and a small bag of jello to go with it
A very large portion of macaroni salad (he loves macaroni salad like I love potato salad HINT HINT)
2 slices pizza
4 tamales (we made them on Tuesday)
Now, with a spread like that, wouldn't you be self-sufficient for a few days? Just the boiled eggs alone!
But no. He has to go spend $30 on a steak dinner, while we eat AIR! His reason? "I couldn't read any of your non-legible handwriting! In fact, anytime I see your handwriting, I don't even bother reading it, because it is so horrible!"
How often do you see a note in the morning- prominently displayed- and ignore it because it's "strenuous to read"?
I, personally, avoid such folly. He, apparently, does not. When asked why he didn't simply look inside the ice box filled with at least 10 pounds of food stuffs, his response is "because I didn't know what was in it."
That's like not looking in the refrigerator and starving to death because "you don't have a photographic memory and can't be sure no one placed a bomb inside it that will kill you."
To make matters worse, he didn't see fit to refrigerate it.
So he'll be taking food that's been out for 2 days to work to eat for lunch. And it will not be refrigerated there, either.
To make matters worse, tonight my Mom told me "Oh yeah, BTW Kev, I read that letter you left for your Pa."
I expected something along the lines of "We're going to set up an automated whipping machine that beats you senseless each time you make a misshapen 'i,' because boy, your handwriting is horrible! I couldn't even tell what letters you were trying to "spell," let alone which words!"
But no. "I read it, and it's perfectly legible. What I think is that he needs glasses."
"Wow...really, Mom?"
"Yes. Didn't you see him trying to read that bank statement the other day?"
"Uhh... no."
"He...had it upside-down."
"Oh. So it isn't me? It's HIM?! I've been developing a paranoid, delusional phobia about my writing for months and it's HIM?!"
"I guess so."
"Oooh. I hope he DOES get explosive diarrhea again!"
I'll report back the consistency of his bowel movements. He deserves it, I know that. Boy, those boiled eggs look good...he had to ruin them. Or at least I assume they're ruined. My Mom seems to agree, and she knows all about medicine and differentiating between colds and flus. My Dad knows how to differentiate between colds and flues. My right nostril is stuffy.
A living example is the food I made him Friday night. He was going to leave Saturday, and stay overnight at a jobsite Saturday night, so I wanted to make him a "delicious icebox lunch."
I made him:
3.5 leftover hamburgers from dinner that night
A half gallon of goat milk
A quart bag of doritos chips
1 dozen boiled eggs
1/4th of the Applesauce cake that I made
The "cheesecake" he made but no one ate (so I figured I'd give it to him), and a small bag of jello to go with it
A very large portion of macaroni salad (he loves macaroni salad like I love potato salad HINT HINT)
2 slices pizza
4 tamales (we made them on Tuesday)
Now, with a spread like that, wouldn't you be self-sufficient for a few days? Just the boiled eggs alone!
But no. He has to go spend $30 on a steak dinner, while we eat AIR! His reason? "I couldn't read any of your non-legible handwriting! In fact, anytime I see your handwriting, I don't even bother reading it, because it is so horrible!"
How often do you see a note in the morning- prominently displayed- and ignore it because it's "strenuous to read"?
I, personally, avoid such folly. He, apparently, does not. When asked why he didn't simply look inside the ice box filled with at least 10 pounds of food stuffs, his response is "because I didn't know what was in it."
That's like not looking in the refrigerator and starving to death because "you don't have a photographic memory and can't be sure no one placed a bomb inside it that will kill you."
To make matters worse, he didn't see fit to refrigerate it.
So he'll be taking food that's been out for 2 days to work to eat for lunch. And it will not be refrigerated there, either.
To make matters worse, tonight my Mom told me "Oh yeah, BTW Kev, I read that letter you left for your Pa."
I expected something along the lines of "We're going to set up an automated whipping machine that beats you senseless each time you make a misshapen 'i,' because boy, your handwriting is horrible! I couldn't even tell what letters you were trying to "spell," let alone which words!"
But no. "I read it, and it's perfectly legible. What I think is that he needs glasses."
"Wow...really, Mom?"
"Yes. Didn't you see him trying to read that bank statement the other day?"
"Uhh... no."
"He...had it upside-down."
"Oh. So it isn't me? It's HIM?! I've been developing a paranoid, delusional phobia about my writing for months and it's HIM?!"
"I guess so."
"Oooh. I hope he DOES get explosive diarrhea again!"
I'll report back the consistency of his bowel movements. He deserves it, I know that. Boy, those boiled eggs look good...he had to ruin them. Or at least I assume they're ruined. My Mom seems to agree, and she knows all about medicine and differentiating between colds and flus. My Dad knows how to differentiate between colds and flues. My right nostril is stuffy.
22,000 turkeys "make" "ultimate sacrifice" -- Thanksgiving post #5
I despise titles like this. Leave it up to the British press to get so confused (our press is stupid enough, but theirs...wow!). Link to article, "Bird-flu alert in Britain: 22,000 turkeys make ultimate sacrifice". The author uses the term "culling." To cull, culled, culliration, cullified, cullerized, and cull-canceled (although it's almost never used; when you set out to cull something, it's getting culled).
He claims that culling is "the technical way of saying they are being rounded up and killed". In this instance that is true, but the real meaning is getting rid of or separating, either by pushing out the back of a truck on the freeway (killing) or giving to someone who doesn't mind if their animals have idiotis. It does not always indicate slaughter.
Then, somehow, he makes the amazing, reality-blurring connection between turkeys being rounded up, burned alive, then shoveled up, crushed, and having their charred remains thrown away by heavy machinery and them "sacrificing" themselves.
These turkeys did not sacrifice themselves, not in the definition of sacrificing for a cause, and especially not in the definition of sacrificing to protect anything. They were captured then got slaughtered. But he makes them out to be selfless. Noble.
Noble is not a word that describes turkeys.
Not accurately, at least.
"Turkey" is a word that accurately describes turkeys. Chuck Norris mentioned the article in his commentary this week. I suggest watching this (do not watch it if you dislike the troops).
So anyways, my Mom did some more shopping today. The Thanksgiving list reads like this:
Turkey
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Potato rolls
Cranberry sauce
Stuffing (cooked in pan like real stuffing)
Green Beans Amandine
Marshmallow Yam Thing
2 Pumpkin pies
2 Pecan pies (my favorite pie. Lemon Meringue doesn't last as long and it's harder to make)
Possibly, 1 of Sticky-D's World Famous, all you can eat, Chocolate Chunky Poopy Pies
Vegetable ("salad") platter
Salami and olive/pickle platter
Deviled egg platter
So, we need...some chopped walnuts for the stuffing (the ones we have I am unsure of), some green beans (preferably fresh), probably some pecans (whole, at least 2 cups for the pies), and I don't know about the Chocolate Chunky Poopy Pie. See photo, left.
It's your basic chocolate cream pie with gelatin. But you cut a hole in a ziptop bag and...well, you know. You can see the photo. That's why it's called "poopy pie." The best effect is created if you randomize the lengths and drop from at least one foot above the pie. I don't know about others, but I would laugh and laugh if someone served this to me. Rofl. How dare they. The "chunky" part comes in if you decide to add miniature chocolate chips.
Sorry for the picture quality.
We also need green and black olives (hopefully, from an olive bar) and salami for the olive/pickle and salami platter. We need those darn chickens to lay more eggs for the deviled eggs, and we need NON-SWEET relish for them as well.
I can't believe that tomorrow then the next day is all that's left of the Thanksgiving wait! Oh, well...OK, hah, I can believe that, it's just a saying, y'know. Anyway, I have successfully caught a cold or flu or whatever- my Dad caught it at the same time, but he didn't violently vomit last night. My tonsils are feeling especially raw. Or my sinuses close to my tonsils, at least. So, my Dad got food poisoning, my Mom got sick with some kind of cold, then me and my Dad got sick with another kind of cold at the same time. So three different illnesses, and four cases of sickness in the last two weeks. What's wrong with us?
I am beginning to doubt I anymore enjoy being sick. It seems that my immune system has built itself up to the point that if I do get sick, I die. It's never a simple sickness that makes you real weak. Perhaps...I will start taking anti-sickness vitamins. I...I guess. It just seems to betray...
Two days to Thanksgiving!
He claims that culling is "the technical way of saying they are being rounded up and killed". In this instance that is true, but the real meaning is getting rid of or separating, either by pushing out the back of a truck on the freeway (killing) or giving to someone who doesn't mind if their animals have idiotis. It does not always indicate slaughter.
Then, somehow, he makes the amazing, reality-blurring connection between turkeys being rounded up, burned alive, then shoveled up, crushed, and having their charred remains thrown away by heavy machinery and them "sacrificing" themselves.
These turkeys did not sacrifice themselves, not in the definition of sacrificing for a cause, and especially not in the definition of sacrificing to protect anything. They were captured then got slaughtered. But he makes them out to be selfless. Noble.
Noble is not a word that describes turkeys.
Not accurately, at least.
"Turkey" is a word that accurately describes turkeys. Chuck Norris mentioned the article in his commentary this week. I suggest watching this (do not watch it if you dislike the troops).
So anyways, my Mom did some more shopping today. The Thanksgiving list reads like this:
Turkey
Mashed potatoes and gravy
Potato rolls
Cranberry sauce
Stuffing (cooked in pan like real stuffing)
Green Beans Amandine
Marshmallow Yam Thing
2 Pumpkin pies
2 Pecan pies (my favorite pie. Lemon Meringue doesn't last as long and it's harder to make)
Possibly, 1 of Sticky-D's World Famous, all you can eat, Chocolate Chunky Poopy Pies
Vegetable ("salad") platter
Salami and olive/pickle platter
Deviled egg platter
So, we need...some chopped walnuts for the stuffing (the ones we have I am unsure of), some green beans (preferably fresh), probably some pecans (whole, at least 2 cups for the pies), and I don't know about the Chocolate Chunky Poopy Pie. See photo, left.It's your basic chocolate cream pie with gelatin. But you cut a hole in a ziptop bag and...well, you know. You can see the photo. That's why it's called "poopy pie." The best effect is created if you randomize the lengths and drop from at least one foot above the pie. I don't know about others, but I would laugh and laugh if someone served this to me. Rofl. How dare they. The "chunky" part comes in if you decide to add miniature chocolate chips.
Sorry for the picture quality.
We also need green and black olives (hopefully, from an olive bar) and salami for the olive/pickle and salami platter. We need those darn chickens to lay more eggs for the deviled eggs, and we need NON-SWEET relish for them as well.
I can't believe that tomorrow then the next day is all that's left of the Thanksgiving wait! Oh, well...OK, hah, I can believe that, it's just a saying, y'know. Anyway, I have successfully caught a cold or flu or whatever- my Dad caught it at the same time, but he didn't violently vomit last night. My tonsils are feeling especially raw. Or my sinuses close to my tonsils, at least. So, my Dad got food poisoning, my Mom got sick with some kind of cold, then me and my Dad got sick with another kind of cold at the same time. So three different illnesses, and four cases of sickness in the last two weeks. What's wrong with us?
I am beginning to doubt I anymore enjoy being sick. It seems that my immune system has built itself up to the point that if I do get sick, I die. It's never a simple sickness that makes you real weak. Perhaps...I will start taking anti-sickness vitamins. I...I guess. It just seems to betray...
Two days to Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
"Skeptical Cat"
ROFL.
"I don't believe it."
I feel it's only fair I link to DS Fanboy, the blog I got the picture from. I'm sure it's one of those images that circulates, but I found it here first, and I consider myself one to give credit where credit is due to the best of my abilities. There. I said it.
I am a boy scout.
(original article). Now, if everyone did that...we'd know where it came from. But noo.
I need to give my DS some attention sometime. Come on, I spent more time on Pokemon Pearl than I spent on Twilight Princess. I think 70 hours, it was. I've got a Metroid I've yet to add to the Fire (Fusion), and the new Zelda game is out (Zelda touchscreen sounds alien), and there's still the Brain Age games I haven't even considered. And Super Princess Peach and Wario's Woods. And a lot more. There's a turn-based game on it, too, I think.
I still have LOZ: ALTTP to play, but...I dunno. When I tried to play it, I felt a foreboding feeling. What's Four Swords, anyway?
Not that I haven't played LTTP before; I played in on the SNES. I read a FAQ to learn about the chicken dial or whatever it was. I liked FAQs at that point. I forgot who the freak was who played the forest flute. Darn him. I wonder if I ever "caught" him.
Thanksgiving Memories -- Thanksgiving post #4
Have I ever mentioned "the bad house?" Yes? Well, it was a mobile home. An old, old one. A small one, too. One not designed for four people. We lived there for five or six years, and hated every year of it. I hated almost every day, and at one point I was almost suicidal over it. I think so, at least. I was seven or something. It drove a seven-year-old to contemplate suicide.
My Mom recently told me that she hated it so much, she would talk daily to her coworkers about how much she hated it (the neighbor did this, the neighbor is sunbathing again and no matter how much he tries he's still a shockingly-white, muscleless man, the neighbor's car is parked in our driveway, our car was parked in his driveway and he peed his pants when he realized it, on and on). We may sound spoiled, but...I don't know. One reason it was so bad is that we have trouble keeping our house clean. A lot of people do, apparently. According to Pastor, messiness is a sign of brilliance. We can clean the house, but we lets it get messy agains, then cleans it again. So...I guess we's are only brilliant some of the time?
It's almost as if we prefer to not clean daily, but clean weekly. At any rate, it's fine in our current house, but that house was so small that if you went fifteen minutes without cleaning it, the pressure from all the garbage would threaten to launch the roof off of the house. That was mainly due to the horror of the construction. That place was so badly constructed...oh, I could go on.
Nevertheless, it was where I spent the majority of my childhood. Oh, the neighbors. It was a trailer park. It was in one of the worst places in Arizona economically, culturally, and neighborly. I remember "the kids in #6." Bad apples, the lot of them, their entire family, all inbred. That was probably the first time I heard a child being beaten.
Imagine this: your idiot friends aren't smart enough to buy video games (they rent them and...do stuff to them that they wouldn't do if they were their own; demoralize, use, abuse...other things...). You, on the other hand, are. Mostly because your brilliant Mom knows about Half.com, your favorite place to buy video games. Because you had a bad experience at a Game Crazy.
So, they rent a bad game. "Wah wah wallywoo!" they cry. "I know," they say collectively. "Let's bother Kev and see if he'll bring one of his games over! The jerk!"
I don't know, but my Mom must have counseled me against letting people borrow my stuff, because I was one idiotic kid. Looking back, I must have been the most idiotic human I have ever known. It wasn't "cute" idiocy. It was blaring, offensively idiotic, sorrowful idiocy. I would have let them chop my ears off if they'd asked. So I can only assume my Mommy told me not to. Thanks, Mom. Without you, I would have lost everything. I still have those games I would have lost, you know. Cruise'N World for N64. Not sure on spelling...and Goldeneye: 007.
Several times they had us over. Once, it was early afternoon, and they told me and my brother that if their Dad came home we would have to run out the back door (which didn't have stairs). My Brother has down syndrome, and he can't do stuff like that. I said something to the effect of "My good sirs, and madame, let me cordially state that I regret to inform you than I am unable to pursue your offer to have fellowship centering around a video game.
"My brother is disabled in that he has down syndrome and he cannot traverse the nonexistent stairs to escape what would surely become a harrowing scene, as your father entered the household to discover myself and my brother in the vicinity in violation of his desires set forth from before this point in time. Please accept my warmest well-wishes and apologies for me and my brothers' inability to attend your social gathering, which would likely have been very enjoyable for both attending parties."
Another time, I/we were over for some reason (I forget why), and, seemingly randomly, their Dad dragged one of the kids to the back of the home and started beating on him. He was screaming and crying. There were four of them, if I remember. The other three were giggling and/or stifling laughter. I forget if I was laughing or not. It would've been nervous laughter. The first time I remember hearing a child beaten. I...don't remember another time...uh...uhm...My Mom Never Beat Me Not Even Ever Once. SHE MADE ME TYPE THAT.
Why does this apply to Thanksgiving? Well, I spent five-to-six Thanksgiving's there. One time in-particular, I was sick, and I watched some of the Coneheads. That show is gross, if I remember correctly. They have pointy heads! How icky!
That was around the time that that one freak show was just out...3rd rock from the sun or whatnot. I hated that show with a passion. And I still do. And I still don't know why. That show came out in January 1996, so it was most likely 1996. Which was a fantastic year. Honestly, there's SO many things about 1996. It's like how 1999 was a good movie year. Or, so it seems to me.
My bed was 5 feet off the ground (to top of mattress) at that point (it had a storage area underneath it as a clubhouse of sorts), and...well, it was 2 feet from the kitchen. So I got to see some of dinner being made...I was sick, so I slipped in and out of consciousness, then I finally got the call.
"Kev, it's time to eat dinner. Wake up, son. We love you."
I dragged myself off of the bed. Sick on Thanksgiving. I forget what I was thankful for. Oh yeah, thankful that GOD DOESN'T INTERVENE, YOU MORONS!
If all goes well, I will be sick on this Thanksgiving, too. My nose is...how shall I say...hurting, right now, and it is three days to go. I need to eat a bunch of sugar and something immune-destroying today and tomorrow so the virus will gain a foothold, then I'll need to not rest too much on Wednesday. But I may just miserably destroy the virus, as my immune system does not enjoy trespassers.
What is immune destroying? Besides AIDS? Like, cereal? That's sugary, and has no nutrient value. OOH, COFFEE! I'll eat it with coffee instead of milk.
Sick bed, here I come! Three days to Thanksgiving!
My Mom recently told me that she hated it so much, she would talk daily to her coworkers about how much she hated it (the neighbor did this, the neighbor is sunbathing again and no matter how much he tries he's still a shockingly-white, muscleless man, the neighbor's car is parked in our driveway, our car was parked in his driveway and he peed his pants when he realized it, on and on). We may sound spoiled, but...I don't know. One reason it was so bad is that we have trouble keeping our house clean. A lot of people do, apparently. According to Pastor, messiness is a sign of brilliance. We can clean the house, but we lets it get messy agains, then cleans it again. So...I guess we's are only brilliant some of the time?
It's almost as if we prefer to not clean daily, but clean weekly. At any rate, it's fine in our current house, but that house was so small that if you went fifteen minutes without cleaning it, the pressure from all the garbage would threaten to launch the roof off of the house. That was mainly due to the horror of the construction. That place was so badly constructed...oh, I could go on.
Nevertheless, it was where I spent the majority of my childhood. Oh, the neighbors. It was a trailer park. It was in one of the worst places in Arizona economically, culturally, and neighborly. I remember "the kids in #6." Bad apples, the lot of them, their entire family, all inbred. That was probably the first time I heard a child being beaten.
Imagine this: your idiot friends aren't smart enough to buy video games (they rent them and...do stuff to them that they wouldn't do if they were their own; demoralize, use, abuse...other things...). You, on the other hand, are. Mostly because your brilliant Mom knows about Half.com, your favorite place to buy video games. Because you had a bad experience at a Game Crazy.
So, they rent a bad game. "Wah wah wallywoo!" they cry. "I know," they say collectively. "Let's bother Kev and see if he'll bring one of his games over! The jerk!"
I don't know, but my Mom must have counseled me against letting people borrow my stuff, because I was one idiotic kid. Looking back, I must have been the most idiotic human I have ever known. It wasn't "cute" idiocy. It was blaring, offensively idiotic, sorrowful idiocy. I would have let them chop my ears off if they'd asked. So I can only assume my Mommy told me not to. Thanks, Mom. Without you, I would have lost everything. I still have those games I would have lost, you know. Cruise'N World for N64. Not sure on spelling...and Goldeneye: 007.
Several times they had us over. Once, it was early afternoon, and they told me and my brother that if their Dad came home we would have to run out the back door (which didn't have stairs). My Brother has down syndrome, and he can't do stuff like that. I said something to the effect of "My good sirs, and madame, let me cordially state that I regret to inform you than I am unable to pursue your offer to have fellowship centering around a video game.
"My brother is disabled in that he has down syndrome and he cannot traverse the nonexistent stairs to escape what would surely become a harrowing scene, as your father entered the household to discover myself and my brother in the vicinity in violation of his desires set forth from before this point in time. Please accept my warmest well-wishes and apologies for me and my brothers' inability to attend your social gathering, which would likely have been very enjoyable for both attending parties."
Another time, I/we were over for some reason (I forget why), and, seemingly randomly, their Dad dragged one of the kids to the back of the home and started beating on him. He was screaming and crying. There were four of them, if I remember. The other three were giggling and/or stifling laughter. I forget if I was laughing or not. It would've been nervous laughter. The first time I remember hearing a child beaten. I...don't remember another time...uh...uhm...My Mom Never Beat Me Not Even Ever Once. SHE MADE ME TYPE THAT.
Why does this apply to Thanksgiving? Well, I spent five-to-six Thanksgiving's there. One time in-particular, I was sick, and I watched some of the Coneheads. That show is gross, if I remember correctly. They have pointy heads! How icky!
That was around the time that that one freak show was just out...3rd rock from the sun or whatnot. I hated that show with a passion. And I still do. And I still don't know why. That show came out in January 1996, so it was most likely 1996. Which was a fantastic year. Honestly, there's SO many things about 1996. It's like how 1999 was a good movie year. Or, so it seems to me.
My bed was 5 feet off the ground (to top of mattress) at that point (it had a storage area underneath it as a clubhouse of sorts), and...well, it was 2 feet from the kitchen. So I got to see some of dinner being made...I was sick, so I slipped in and out of consciousness, then I finally got the call.
"Kev, it's time to eat dinner. Wake up, son. We love you."
I dragged myself off of the bed. Sick on Thanksgiving. I forget what I was thankful for. Oh yeah, thankful that GOD DOESN'T INTERVENE, YOU MORONS!
If all goes well, I will be sick on this Thanksgiving, too. My nose is...how shall I say...hurting, right now, and it is three days to go. I need to eat a bunch of sugar and something immune-destroying today and tomorrow so the virus will gain a foothold, then I'll need to not rest too much on Wednesday. But I may just miserably destroy the virus, as my immune system does not enjoy trespassers.
What is immune destroying? Besides AIDS? Like, cereal? That's sugary, and has no nutrient value. OOH, COFFEE! I'll eat it with coffee instead of milk.
Sick bed, here I come! Three days to Thanksgiving!
Friday, November 16, 2007
Cleaning my Room -- Thanksgiving post #3
It's that time again. Time to clean my room. It isn't too bad. There's just a bunch of sparkling water cans and stuff. The biggest problem is the cat food spilled everywhere. Cats. Also, I'm still oblivious to the method of clothes management. No one has taught me how to handle clothes. I mean, I was 8 or 9 when I first got the idea that I should always wear at least shorts or underwear.
The reason? I'm preparing for Thanksgiving. I need a clean room with which to play Metroid Prime 3: Corruption in on the big day. Yee!
I had to clear out some tapes which were in my way. I threw out Out for Justice, Waterboy, Above the Law, The Day After Tomorrow, Scrooged, Home Alone 2, An American Tail 1 and (presumably) 2, The Matrix Revisited, The Great Outdoors, and Elektra, among some others, such as Top Gun. I am not a movie fan. In any definition of the word. Movies suck.
Then I ran into a problem. I have stuff in my room that I...don't necessarily need, but don't have reason of space constraint to destroy. One of those things is the Left Behind series. I have books 1-11 of the main series (it's got 4 prequels, I think, and one more "mainquel" that I do not have), and some 10-15 books of the "kids" series. The kids series is 40 books long if memory serves.
While I don't dislike the series entirely, I feel no need for it. Only half of the books are in good condition, and it would be difficult to sell them one by one. I now see how my parents feel. Except, I don't have the 40 years of mental conditioning to hoard everything. Poor guys. They've really raised me and my brother well, all things considered. He (my brother) had 95% of his belongings thrown out a year ago and he still doesn't care. My Dad had 10% of his jun-...belongings thrown out several years ago and it caused mental deterioration to the point that he is unable to remember where anything is or if he still has anything.
So, I suppose I'm going to box them up, then send them to Savers.
OK, they're boxed in an oatmeal box and ready for transport. Now, my room is vacuumed and cleaned. Not necessarily in that order. Instead of cleaning my room, from now on I should just blog about cleaning it. Then it'll get cleaned twelve times faster!
I'll be curious to see if I really have been sleeping badly because of my room; my bed hasn't felt this comfortable for a long while. A long, long while. I am so sleepy. Also, I am catching my Mom's flu or cold or fever or what have you (I am not a mom, so I cannot tell what it is). So tired...now my Mom is having a breakdown and needs me to stay up with her for several hours. I really dislike that darn chihuahua. No one likes him. But he's too pathetic to hate...
My Mom did the Thanksgiving shopping- or at least the brunt of it- today. I can't believe Thanksgiving is 5 days away! And it's almost tomorrow, then it'll be 4! She got cranberries (fresh), canned pumpkin (not "pie flavored"), two pie shells (that's OK, we have two more in the freezer; I have to make two pecan pies to accompany the pumpkin pies), one graham cracker crust, one "shortbread" crust, potatoes, canned yams- fresh yams- and marshmallows, and the turkey.
We aren't sure if we need canned yams to use the marshmallows on or not. We don't want anyone to die...so we'll counsel with a recipe book. I really like the idea of baking marshmallows onto, basically, a potato. And a potato, is, basically, an onion. So it's like spreading marshmallow creme between two slices of onion and calling it a sandwich. I dare you to try it.
She also got the ingredients for the "salad." We call it the "salad" side, but it is a vegetable dip plate (salad's way too much to worry about on Thanksgiving, a veggie plate is not!). Cucumbers, carrots, cauliflower, and celery. We also make a "pickled" plate, which has green olives, black olives, and Clausen pickles. Sadly, in recent years, the black olives...have severely deteriorated in taste and texture quality.
Oh, eww. I got a can of Early California black olives the other day- like the best black olive on the market (that is, for a halfway reasonable price; this is for macaroni salad, people)- and they tasted like olives you get off of a tree uncured. Yuck. Missing was the distinct, sweet, sweet taste of sodium hydroxide.
If you didn't know, sodium hydroxide is "codename," let's say, for "lye." Caustic soda is my favorite term. How...sinister.
...just talking about lye makes me want to not sweat and feel all paranoid and such. If you get a flake of that on your skin...it will react with any moisture on you...and burn the hell out of you, and it feels like a sting. Fun stuff to work with. Your mind plays tricks on you and makes you think you got some on you. My Dad doesn't really mind lye all that much; he worked at a chemical plant (what else would he do with his Master's Degree in pouring?), and I guess lye is nothing compared to some chemicals.
One time, he got some stuff on him that was so bad, apparently he is still irritated by it. It's something to do with what it does to skin cells, I think. I'll interrogate him about it later.
Also, apparently, there's a certain chemical that completely eats up the oxygen from a room. I wonder how easy it would be to kill someone with that. I suppose, this year, since the black olives taste like pure horror, perhaps we should spend a little extra and get those ones in the deli. Because the normal black olives are so bad I reckon soon they won't be able to sell them.
So many tags. 5 days to Thanksgiving!
The reason? I'm preparing for Thanksgiving. I need a clean room with which to play Metroid Prime 3: Corruption in on the big day. Yee!
I had to clear out some tapes which were in my way. I threw out Out for Justice, Waterboy, Above the Law, The Day After Tomorrow, Scrooged, Home Alone 2, An American Tail 1 and (presumably) 2, The Matrix Revisited, The Great Outdoors, and Elektra, among some others, such as Top Gun. I am not a movie fan. In any definition of the word. Movies suck.
Then I ran into a problem. I have stuff in my room that I...don't necessarily need, but don't have reason of space constraint to destroy. One of those things is the Left Behind series. I have books 1-11 of the main series (it's got 4 prequels, I think, and one more "mainquel" that I do not have), and some 10-15 books of the "kids" series. The kids series is 40 books long if memory serves.
While I don't dislike the series entirely, I feel no need for it. Only half of the books are in good condition, and it would be difficult to sell them one by one. I now see how my parents feel. Except, I don't have the 40 years of mental conditioning to hoard everything. Poor guys. They've really raised me and my brother well, all things considered. He (my brother) had 95% of his belongings thrown out a year ago and he still doesn't care. My Dad had 10% of his jun-...belongings thrown out several years ago and it caused mental deterioration to the point that he is unable to remember where anything is or if he still has anything.
So, I suppose I'm going to box them up, then send them to Savers.
OK, they're boxed in an oatmeal box and ready for transport. Now, my room is vacuumed and cleaned. Not necessarily in that order. Instead of cleaning my room, from now on I should just blog about cleaning it. Then it'll get cleaned twelve times faster!
I'll be curious to see if I really have been sleeping badly because of my room; my bed hasn't felt this comfortable for a long while. A long, long while. I am so sleepy. Also, I am catching my Mom's flu or cold or fever or what have you (I am not a mom, so I cannot tell what it is). So tired...now my Mom is having a breakdown and needs me to stay up with her for several hours. I really dislike that darn chihuahua. No one likes him. But he's too pathetic to hate...
My Mom did the Thanksgiving shopping- or at least the brunt of it- today. I can't believe Thanksgiving is 5 days away! And it's almost tomorrow, then it'll be 4! She got cranberries (fresh), canned pumpkin (not "pie flavored"), two pie shells (that's OK, we have two more in the freezer; I have to make two pecan pies to accompany the pumpkin pies), one graham cracker crust, one "shortbread" crust, potatoes, canned yams- fresh yams- and marshmallows, and the turkey.
We aren't sure if we need canned yams to use the marshmallows on or not. We don't want anyone to die...so we'll counsel with a recipe book. I really like the idea of baking marshmallows onto, basically, a potato. And a potato, is, basically, an onion. So it's like spreading marshmallow creme between two slices of onion and calling it a sandwich. I dare you to try it.
She also got the ingredients for the "salad." We call it the "salad" side, but it is a vegetable dip plate (salad's way too much to worry about on Thanksgiving, a veggie plate is not!). Cucumbers, carrots, cauliflower, and celery. We also make a "pickled" plate, which has green olives, black olives, and Clausen pickles. Sadly, in recent years, the black olives...have severely deteriorated in taste and texture quality.
Oh, eww. I got a can of Early California black olives the other day- like the best black olive on the market (that is, for a halfway reasonable price; this is for macaroni salad, people)- and they tasted like olives you get off of a tree uncured. Yuck. Missing was the distinct, sweet, sweet taste of sodium hydroxide.
If you didn't know, sodium hydroxide is "codename," let's say, for "lye." Caustic soda is my favorite term. How...sinister.
...just talking about lye makes me want to not sweat and feel all paranoid and such. If you get a flake of that on your skin...it will react with any moisture on you...and burn the hell out of you, and it feels like a sting. Fun stuff to work with. Your mind plays tricks on you and makes you think you got some on you. My Dad doesn't really mind lye all that much; he worked at a chemical plant (what else would he do with his Master's Degree in pouring?), and I guess lye is nothing compared to some chemicals.
One time, he got some stuff on him that was so bad, apparently he is still irritated by it. It's something to do with what it does to skin cells, I think. I'll interrogate him about it later.
Also, apparently, there's a certain chemical that completely eats up the oxygen from a room. I wonder how easy it would be to kill someone with that. I suppose, this year, since the black olives taste like pure horror, perhaps we should spend a little extra and get those ones in the deli. Because the normal black olives are so bad I reckon soon they won't be able to sell them.
So many tags. 5 days to Thanksgiving!
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