I've now got a recliner in my room. That will open up some possibilities; I have a sitting problem with my legs, thus it's more comfortable to sit on a recliner than the edge of my bed. Recliners sometimes recline a bit too much. It's hard to tell, but the pitch may be so that it hurts either my neck or back. Perhaps that is fixable, perhaps it is not. So far, I noticed that this recliner- as opposed to "my" recliner in the living room- has better padding on the armrests, and the armrests are also lower. That's good.
Anyway, onto the point of the post.
As you'll recall, I got fed up with our vacuum. It's a Bissell, a Walmart special, and I forget why, but I got really bitter toward it. I think it went through a period where it developed clog after clog after clog and I went crazy and put it in the doghouse. (Come to find out, that doesn't make inanimate objects see the error of their ways. Truly, punishing inanimate objects is difficult, and it could be argued that you are the one who decides if it is suffering or not- thus it is not suffering- as it can't actually suffer personally, sentiently. Mr. dataDyne would probably have some proverb on punishing inanimate objects.)
The new vacuum failed on a plethora of levels. Hold on, let me make sure that's the right word. OK, it is. I don't know if I've ever used it before, and before I use any word, even if I know it, I always make sure. It's a failsafe, and it's saved me many times, believe me. You don't have any idea how badly you can jumble the word "narcissist."
Basically, I'm too tall to use the vacuum. And it has a really weird feel- some would say "cute," others, like me, would say "cheap." It's actually in a strait between cute and cheap. It was a little lighter, but it was at least five times as hard to push. If I was shorter, it would have been easier- but still harder than the Bissell model we have.
Additionally, the extension hose does not stretch, so the accessories were all but useless. Overall, it's a mishmash of cool elements, and horrendously idiotic ideas. The emptying method was neat, but encourages neverreplacethefilteritis. It's like having indoor plumbing; if you never see- and smell- where all the waste goes, you never have your septic tank emptied. Until you do see and smell it. Then it's too late.
So, after going through weeks of having my mom vacuum for me, I decided to enact a little one-anothering. Kindly affectioned. Tenderhearted. Forgiving one another as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you. (Romans 12:10 and Eph. 4:32- not exact quotes at all.) I decided to put what's behind us behind us, and be pals with the vacuum cleaner. I named him Charlie. We're getting along great; he sucks all the dust and cat vomit off of my floor, and I push him so he can do it.
My room is currently still considered a Blue Zone.
In other news, I think I will begin playing the NOD campaign of Command and Conquer 3: Tiberium Wars again. I actually almost completed it, but after that woman was executed, I pretty much couldn't take anymore awesome. I'm trying not to sound like a freakish, callused goremonger, but that was probably the coolest execution I ever saw. It was...elegantly non-graphic. That's a good description.
Oh, also, Samus Aran. Now I can give this the Samus/Metroid tag.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Guitar Update #1: Naming, and Guitar Pain
Howdy, folks. Welcome to "Guitar update #1." I won't discuss much about playing yet, because I don't know anything. Except that...
Somehow, my fingers simultaneously feel as if they've been cut, burned, and poked against a hard surface repeatedly (the first 1/4" of tissue feels numb and sore- how they can feel numb and sore at the same time, I may never know). So just imagine having the tips of your fingers slammed in a door, burned, and cut, and that's more or less what it's like to play the guitar before you develop the calluses.
You eventually develop sufficient calluses, and after that, you don't have to deal with the potentially horrific, confusing pain. Kile II mentioned it tonight. "Oh yeah, you'll wish you were dead before you perfect the F Minus doublechord." I think he was just talking big, but I don't care if he was just talking big, an F Minus doublechord sounds scary, real or not.
So far, I've learned to tune it with the electric tuner. That's big stuff for me. That electric tuner is intimidating. I've learned that...a lot of things about guitars are intimidating.
Don Feldick mentioned today that I need to get a pick up or up pick, which amplifies the sound. That might be interesting...maybe I can turn an acoustic guitar into an electric guitar! I'd be known as "The First Fool to kill himself plugging in his Acoustic Guitar...Note To All: THE CORD GOES INTO A SPECIFICALLY DESIGNED PICK UP OR UP PICK, NOT TWISTED ONTO THE STRINGS."
I'm pondering what to name it. Here are my top names (no order):
HAL (Super Smash Bros. fame)
Charlotte (Charlotte's Web fame)
Samus (Metroid fame)
Retro (Retro Studios of Metroid fame)
FLUDD (Super Mario Sunshine fame)
Echo (Metroid Prime 2: Echoes name)
First, I thought of Charlotte. It is a "sand burst" design, and it looks "rustic." For some reason, Charlotte's Web makes me think of "rustic."
Then, I thought of HAL. I always liked the dog mascot of HAL Laboratory, Inc.
Then I thought of Samus, but I think I want to wait to name my first $5,000 guitar Samus. Damn, that's a good name.
Then I thought of Retro, after Retro Studios, which developed the Metroid Prime trilogy.
Then I thought of FLUDD, from Super Mario Sunshine. (Ctrl+F and find for "FLUDD" if you're looking at the link.)
Then I thought of Echo, after Metroid Prime: Echoes, my favorite Metroid game, and easily in my top 5 nostalgic games. (May I never lose interest in it.) Nice, short name. Has some basis in reality- you know, sound wave type stuff. While it is tempting to name the guitar Samus- the more I think about it, the better that name is for a guitar- I'm going to wait until I can play well, then purchase a good guitar and name it Samus.
Plus, Echo is not a very personable name, so hopefully I won't get too attached. I don't know how I'll get rid of this guitar when the time comes to upgrade in a few years...but I think I may burn it. Six final broken strings later...it will be gone.
So, M.P. Echo it is. My dad tried to play an A Major chord today; his fingers are way too big. I wonder if people have finger reduction surgery to be able to play the guitar. I bet they do.
Somehow, my fingers simultaneously feel as if they've been cut, burned, and poked against a hard surface repeatedly (the first 1/4" of tissue feels numb and sore- how they can feel numb and sore at the same time, I may never know). So just imagine having the tips of your fingers slammed in a door, burned, and cut, and that's more or less what it's like to play the guitar before you develop the calluses.
You eventually develop sufficient calluses, and after that, you don't have to deal with the potentially horrific, confusing pain. Kile II mentioned it tonight. "Oh yeah, you'll wish you were dead before you perfect the F Minus doublechord." I think he was just talking big, but I don't care if he was just talking big, an F Minus doublechord sounds scary, real or not.
So far, I've learned to tune it with the electric tuner. That's big stuff for me. That electric tuner is intimidating. I've learned that...a lot of things about guitars are intimidating.
Don Feldick mentioned today that I need to get a pick up or up pick, which amplifies the sound. That might be interesting...maybe I can turn an acoustic guitar into an electric guitar! I'd be known as "The First Fool to kill himself plugging in his Acoustic Guitar...Note To All: THE CORD GOES INTO A SPECIFICALLY DESIGNED PICK UP OR UP PICK, NOT TWISTED ONTO THE STRINGS."
I'm pondering what to name it. Here are my top names (no order):
HAL (Super Smash Bros. fame)
Charlotte (Charlotte's Web fame)
Samus (Metroid fame)
Retro (Retro Studios of Metroid fame)
FLUDD (Super Mario Sunshine fame)
Echo (Metroid Prime 2: Echoes name)
First, I thought of Charlotte. It is a "sand burst" design, and it looks "rustic." For some reason, Charlotte's Web makes me think of "rustic."
Then, I thought of HAL. I always liked the dog mascot of HAL Laboratory, Inc.
Then I thought of Samus, but I think I want to wait to name my first $5,000 guitar Samus. Damn, that's a good name.
Then I thought of Retro, after Retro Studios, which developed the Metroid Prime trilogy.
Then I thought of FLUDD, from Super Mario Sunshine. (Ctrl+F and find for "FLUDD" if you're looking at the link.)
Then I thought of Echo, after Metroid Prime: Echoes, my favorite Metroid game, and easily in my top 5 nostalgic games. (May I never lose interest in it.) Nice, short name. Has some basis in reality- you know, sound wave type stuff. While it is tempting to name the guitar Samus- the more I think about it, the better that name is for a guitar- I'm going to wait until I can play well, then purchase a good guitar and name it Samus.
Plus, Echo is not a very personable name, so hopefully I won't get too attached. I don't know how I'll get rid of this guitar when the time comes to upgrade in a few years...but I think I may burn it. Six final broken strings later...it will be gone.
So, M.P. Echo it is. My dad tried to play an A Major chord today; his fingers are way too big. I wonder if people have finger reduction surgery to be able to play the guitar. I bet they do.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Two Week Notice
Recently, my dad gave his two-week notice to leave his place of employment. Originally, he was only to work there for two or three months, and he and his boss have discussed his quitting before, so it's not like they were looking forward to having him as a long-term employee, nor were they shocked. If anything, they were pleasantly surprised he stayed as long as he did.
His boss said that he can still make bids on jobs that need to be done around there, and they'll still call him if something special needs doing (such as a toilet not flushing- our pastor and Kile II can tell you, my dad fixes toilets like a champ!), so it's not a total loss for either side. However, my mom is distressed by it. She hates unsteady sources of income; my dad wants to start his own business, and that's basically the definition of "unsteady income!" But that's his lifelong dream, and I'm sure it will work out one way or another.
Starting your own business is a grueling, horrific, potentially disastrous, scary, unbelievably hard trudge-fest where all you do is slave and toil and work and worry. Needless to say, that appeals to my dad very much. "Where do I sign!" he says with much glee. I may never understand that man.
We need to work on our customer service and advertising (what advertising?), as well as accepting that there are certain parts of jobs that will require us to call electricians or plumbers. As it is now, we're operating under the "Handyman's Clause." That means that you can do pretty much anything if the total job is under $1,000. It's dangerous, though. (See linked article.)
My mom figured out that if we skimp so hard that we're eating beans, we can get by with $550 a month on top of her income. That's doable. My dad can typically make upwards of $700 in a two-day weekend, so as long as the work lasts, we should be fine, and especially if he works a 3 or 4 day week (or even 5-day!). I think the idea is to slave and work and almost kill yourself when there's a lot of work, because next week, there may not be any work. It's called "rolling with the miserable sun," I guess. Did I mention that I damned an entire country to Hell the other day? I had to take it back, because whew, that was a bit too much for me.
He's hoping to very soon acquire a license of sorts that allows him to do work of up to $25,000. (There's another class that allows for $50,000, I think, and I'm sure there are others.) Since he is a felon/ex-felon, he has to complete a felon test. They fingerprint you, beat you with a cat-o-nine tails, stab you a few times with needles to test your reflexes (hammers only work on joints), and then hang you upside-down blindfolded and have spiders crawl on you, and you have to guess which one is the biggest. I don't know where they dream these tests up, but they sure are weird.
Once he has that, he will be restricted from doing electrical/plumbering (that's not a word)/other specialty work. I'm not sure what he will be able to do at that point. Then, he goes and takes "electrical" tests, and that is added to his license to make a super license that allows for electrical. He then will do the same with plumberating (that's not a word) and air conditioneering (that's not a word), and anything else he wants to. Then we can make the "real" money.
More good in all of this is that my mom will be able to get home about two hours sooner, and may even go back to a 3-day workweek. That'd make me happier than a hatter! Additionally, my dad will be able to stop missing church, and probably be able to attend the Bible studies and perhaps the Q&A's. I don't think he'll be able to make this Q&A, which should be an "ice cream social."
I asked Lisa dataDyne, and she says that she hasn't heard anything more of it. She did manage to propagandize for Pastor's dad, though. One plants the seed, the other waters. I now recall that Pastor Justice had mentioned the ice cream social while coming home from California- wish I had remembered and mentioned that to her. I don't think it'll be a potluck-type event, but simply someone purchasing several gallons of ice cream- probably Pastor Justice. We'll need sprinkly things too, though! I personally am very partial to rainbow sprinkles. They make me about as happy as Samus Aran does.
Best of all, Dad's finally starting to admit that he needs to learn to use the computer. The poor guy, he's called an idiot if he doesn't want to learn it, and he's laughed at if he says he does. A real "damned if you do, humiliated if you don't." (That isn't really true. Hi Don! Glad to see you're blogging again! Am I keeping up the peer pressure sufficiently?) Anyway, time to go. I wanted to keep this much shorter, but I failed, alright? I admit it. I failed. Shoot me now, Short Blog Post gods, for I have failed in my offering to you.
His boss said that he can still make bids on jobs that need to be done around there, and they'll still call him if something special needs doing (such as a toilet not flushing- our pastor and Kile II can tell you, my dad fixes toilets like a champ!), so it's not a total loss for either side. However, my mom is distressed by it. She hates unsteady sources of income; my dad wants to start his own business, and that's basically the definition of "unsteady income!" But that's his lifelong dream, and I'm sure it will work out one way or another.
Starting your own business is a grueling, horrific, potentially disastrous, scary, unbelievably hard trudge-fest where all you do is slave and toil and work and worry. Needless to say, that appeals to my dad very much. "Where do I sign!" he says with much glee. I may never understand that man.
We need to work on our customer service and advertising (what advertising?), as well as accepting that there are certain parts of jobs that will require us to call electricians or plumbers. As it is now, we're operating under the "Handyman's Clause." That means that you can do pretty much anything if the total job is under $1,000. It's dangerous, though. (See linked article.)
My mom figured out that if we skimp so hard that we're eating beans, we can get by with $550 a month on top of her income. That's doable. My dad can typically make upwards of $700 in a two-day weekend, so as long as the work lasts, we should be fine, and especially if he works a 3 or 4 day week (or even 5-day!). I think the idea is to slave and work and almost kill yourself when there's a lot of work, because next week, there may not be any work. It's called "rolling with the miserable sun," I guess. Did I mention that I damned an entire country to Hell the other day? I had to take it back, because whew, that was a bit too much for me.
He's hoping to very soon acquire a license of sorts that allows him to do work of up to $25,000. (There's another class that allows for $50,000, I think, and I'm sure there are others.) Since he is a felon/ex-felon, he has to complete a felon test. They fingerprint you, beat you with a cat-o-nine tails, stab you a few times with needles to test your reflexes (hammers only work on joints), and then hang you upside-down blindfolded and have spiders crawl on you, and you have to guess which one is the biggest. I don't know where they dream these tests up, but they sure are weird.
Once he has that, he will be restricted from doing electrical/plumbering (that's not a word)/other specialty work. I'm not sure what he will be able to do at that point. Then, he goes and takes "electrical" tests, and that is added to his license to make a super license that allows for electrical. He then will do the same with plumberating (that's not a word) and air conditioneering (that's not a word), and anything else he wants to. Then we can make the "real" money.
More good in all of this is that my mom will be able to get home about two hours sooner, and may even go back to a 3-day workweek. That'd make me happier than a hatter! Additionally, my dad will be able to stop missing church, and probably be able to attend the Bible studies and perhaps the Q&A's. I don't think he'll be able to make this Q&A, which should be an "ice cream social."
I asked Lisa dataDyne, and she says that she hasn't heard anything more of it. She did manage to propagandize for Pastor's dad, though. One plants the seed, the other waters. I now recall that Pastor Justice had mentioned the ice cream social while coming home from California- wish I had remembered and mentioned that to her. I don't think it'll be a potluck-type event, but simply someone purchasing several gallons of ice cream- probably Pastor Justice. We'll need sprinkly things too, though! I personally am very partial to rainbow sprinkles. They make me about as happy as Samus Aran does.
Best of all, Dad's finally starting to admit that he needs to learn to use the computer. The poor guy, he's called an idiot if he doesn't want to learn it, and he's laughed at if he says he does. A real "damned if you do, humiliated if you don't." (That isn't really true. Hi Don! Glad to see you're blogging again! Am I keeping up the peer pressure sufficiently?) Anyway, time to go. I wanted to keep this much shorter, but I failed, alright? I admit it. I failed. Shoot me now, Short Blog Post gods, for I have failed in my offering to you.
Monday, February 25, 2008
Repairing a Porch
Today I will show you how to repair a porch. Last year- back when my mom finally acquired a Nintendo Wii- I repaired the same spot, but didn't do as thorough a job as I should have. That was on December 22nd, and my dad was still in jail at that point. Now I am reaping the fruit of my not fixing it thoroughly by having to repair it once more.
We begin by examining the spot that needs fixing.
See the large section of wood that's lighter colored? That's the piece that's becoming week. (Weak- we'll get that in editing.) It's cheap wood, and it's thinner than the rest of the porch, so you can understand the problem. Not to mention that it's on the most used part of the porch.
Now, I removed all the fastenings. Several screws, and a nail. I had to look for a hammer; failing, I used the miniature kiddy claw hammer we keep in the kitchen. It only has one claw. The other claw broke off in the process of trying to remove the single nail- this was one of the times I'm very grateful that I wore pants, as because of their protection I'm thankfully still capable of having children. So I had to spend another 10 minutes looking before I found a medium sized hammer that worked.
Take that, youcad nail. See how it looks underneath?
Note that it needs more cross braces. That's one of the most stressed portions of the entire porch, and it has little support. I know this because, well, it's the ONLY portion of the porch we've had to replace. Now we have to replace it a second time. Precious and either Tessa or Penny are in the picture; probably Tessa.
Next, we need a saw so that we can both cut the supports and the new plywood section.
No...that's too old.
AGH, that's WAY too old!
Ah! Just right! Ever used a table saw? I wish I could say "It's really quite simple" but I don't know either. Because I'm unrelentingly smart, I'll figure it out on my own. Oh...and before you think this is all easy fun and games...it's been over an hour so far. It's not easy, fun and games when you have to hunt down every tool you need, most of them not working very well. Pastor says that the only way out of this life is a .45 to the temple...don't have that particular caliber.
OK, here the braces are in. See how I positioned them? That's called a "Y-axis inward end support." So far, it's been another hour- almost exactly another hour, in fact. (It isn't really called a Y-axis inward end support, but why not?)
Now to the pile of wood for the plywood. The pile of wood was supported by two metal sawhorses, and one of them got mercilessly owned during removal of the plywood. I got very angry and frustrated during removal. There were 4 2x12x12's, and 3 1x4x10's, and 3 sheets of 5/8x4'x8' plywood. Then there were two picnic tables on top- yes, picnic tables- and two milk-crate-sized boxes of tools. Then two tarps covering it all.
It was the whole "Maybe I can remove this without removing it all one by one" attitude that owned me. I was very mad. I haven't cursed like that in months! And months! In the course of my cursing, I rethought some of the meanings of the words I was using. Those things are downright vulgar, especially when strung together in just the right way. No wonder I don't like them.
Anyway, here's the plywood cut. I believe it's called "ripped." Because you "rip" a sheet of plywood. I don't know why it isn't called "cutting." It's the 21st century, dudes...we have cool new words to use. Like "cut."
There it is. It's not a very straight cut...I don't think table saws are designed to cut ...er, rip plywood. It's sort of a wavy cut. If I had the circular saw, everything would be fine and dandy, and the Muffin Man would have dropped by with a basket of lemon fluff and orange creme muffins. But my dad has the circular saw at his job. Thanks a lot, Dad. You prevented a visit from the Muffin Man! ...and now I want to make a lemon meringue pie!
Here it is, finally in place. Isn't it pretty? I think it is. I simply screwed it down every so often along the sides. That worked out well. It took 2 hours and 53 minutes to get to this point (not counting break/phone time.) Seems very durable, but there's one problem...
Now the screen door is hard to open and shut. Thus, it needs to have its hangers adjusted; shouldn't be too hard. Also, part of the problem is that our screen door has nail heads sticking out on the bottom- don't look at me, I'm smart enough to use screws- and those nail heads rake across the wood until they've sufficiently cut themselves a groove to move in. That's where the term "Groovemovin" came from, you know. You know, from the song?...no? Come on, everyone knows the chorus to that song! It's as popular as the chorus to "Pear Trees Don't Bloom In August"! ...you know that one, right? About how partridges are left without a pear tree to hang in dur...oh forget it, you uncultured nail.
I was screwing and unscrewing on my merry way to having the screen door adjusted just perfectly, when something happened that I didn't expect.
The bit broke.
Oh, the humanity! Oh, the drama! Oh, the pain! Oh, the nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea! HEY PEPTO-BISMAL!...aw man, that completely ruined the whole "disastrous occurrence" effect I was going for. Anyhoo, time to find a new bit, right? E+Z divided by Z, right?
Once more, not that simple. By 1:50 PM I had given up completely. With no more bits to be found- my dad has them all except the ones which are too big or too small- my toiling was found to be in futility. In total, I spent 3 hours fixing the porch today. We'll see how effective my laboring was next year around this time.
Now, I am off to have a bowl of gumbo. Gumbo makes everything better. Including the fact that I should be milking right now, and dinner is nowhere near being started.
We begin by examining the spot that needs fixing.
See the large section of wood that's lighter colored? That's the piece that's becoming week. (Weak- we'll get that in editing.) It's cheap wood, and it's thinner than the rest of the porch, so you can understand the problem. Not to mention that it's on the most used part of the porch.Now, I removed all the fastenings. Several screws, and a nail. I had to look for a hammer; failing, I used the miniature kiddy claw hammer we keep in the kitchen. It only has one claw. The other claw broke off in the process of trying to remove the single nail- this was one of the times I'm very grateful that I wore pants, as because of their protection I'm thankfully still capable of having children. So I had to spend another 10 minutes looking before I found a medium sized hammer that worked.
Take that, you
Note that it needs more cross braces. That's one of the most stressed portions of the entire porch, and it has little support. I know this because, well, it's the ONLY portion of the porch we've had to replace. Now we have to replace it a second time. Precious and either Tessa or Penny are in the picture; probably Tessa.Next, we need a saw so that we can both cut the supports and the new plywood section.
No...that's too old.
AGH, that's WAY too old!
Ah! Just right! Ever used a table saw? I wish I could say "It's really quite simple" but I don't know either. Because I'm unrelentingly smart, I'll figure it out on my own. Oh...and before you think this is all easy fun and games...it's been over an hour so far. It's not easy, fun and games when you have to hunt down every tool you need, most of them not working very well. Pastor says that the only way out of this life is a .45 to the temple...don't have that particular caliber.
OK, here the braces are in. See how I positioned them? That's called a "Y-axis inward end support." So far, it's been another hour- almost exactly another hour, in fact. (It isn't really called a Y-axis inward end support, but why not?)Now to the pile of wood for the plywood. The pile of wood was supported by two metal sawhorses, and one of them got mercilessly owned during removal of the plywood. I got very angry and frustrated during removal. There were 4 2x12x12's, and 3 1x4x10's, and 3 sheets of 5/8x4'x8' plywood. Then there were two picnic tables on top- yes, picnic tables- and two milk-crate-sized boxes of tools. Then two tarps covering it all.
It was the whole "Maybe I can remove this without removing it all one by one" attitude that owned me. I was very mad. I haven't cursed like that in months! And months! In the course of my cursing, I rethought some of the meanings of the words I was using. Those things are downright vulgar, especially when strung together in just the right way. No wonder I don't like them.
Anyway, here's the plywood cut. I believe it's called "ripped." Because you "rip" a sheet of plywood. I don't know why it isn't called "cutting." It's the 21st century, dudes...we have cool new words to use. Like "cut."
There it is. It's not a very straight cut...I don't think table saws are designed to cut ...er, rip plywood. It's sort of a wavy cut. If I had the circular saw, everything would be fine and dandy, and the Muffin Man would have dropped by with a basket of lemon fluff and orange creme muffins. But my dad has the circular saw at his job. Thanks a lot, Dad. You prevented a visit from the Muffin Man! ...and now I want to make a lemon meringue pie!
Here it is, finally in place. Isn't it pretty? I think it is. I simply screwed it down every so often along the sides. That worked out well. It took 2 hours and 53 minutes to get to this point (not counting break/phone time.) Seems very durable, but there's one problem...Now the screen door is hard to open and shut. Thus, it needs to have its hangers adjusted; shouldn't be too hard. Also, part of the problem is that our screen door has nail heads sticking out on the bottom- don't look at me, I'm smart enough to use screws- and those nail heads rake across the wood until they've sufficiently cut themselves a groove to move in. That's where the term "Groovemovin" came from, you know. You know, from the song?...no? Come on, everyone knows the chorus to that song! It's as popular as the chorus to "Pear Trees Don't Bloom In August"! ...you know that one, right? About how partridges are left without a pear tree to hang in dur...oh forget it, you uncultured nail.
I was screwing and unscrewing on my merry way to having the screen door adjusted just perfectly, when something happened that I didn't expect.
The bit broke.
Oh, the humanity! Oh, the drama! Oh, the pain! Oh, the nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea! HEY PEPTO-BISMAL!...aw man, that completely ruined the whole "disastrous occurrence" effect I was going for. Anyhoo, time to find a new bit, right? E+Z divided by Z, right?
Once more, not that simple. By 1:50 PM I had given up completely. With no more bits to be found- my dad has them all except the ones which are too big or too small- my toiling was found to be in futility. In total, I spent 3 hours fixing the porch today. We'll see how effective my laboring was next year around this time.
Now, I am off to have a bowl of gumbo. Gumbo makes everything better. Including the fact that I should be milking right now, and dinner is nowhere near being started.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Zone cleared: Status: Blue
Yes, my room is finally cleaned. It took a valiant struggle, but the Tiberium (garbage/junk) has been removed for now. I swarmed on it with a large array of sonic resonance armaments (my hands and a vacuum), hindered only slightly by terrorist activity (the cats being annoyances). There are still small deposits of Tiberium left (the vacuum can't pick up a lot of things), but those should we wiped out within a day or at least kept to a minimum.
I have yet to set up full-scale harmonic resonance generators (i.e., a garbage can), but I'm in the process of transporting the sonic crystals (I need to buy a garbage can). I'll be submitting regular reports to command (posting weekly updates via my blog on Saturdays, assisted by Google Calender not leaving me alone if I don't).
Most of these reports will be very short.
I'll probably end up getting that guitar tomorrow. Nothing can go wrong!
I have yet to set up full-scale harmonic resonance generators (i.e., a garbage can), but I'm in the process of transporting the sonic crystals (I need to buy a garbage can). I'll be submitting regular reports to command (posting weekly updates via my blog on Saturdays, assisted by Google Calender not leaving me alone if I don't).
Most of these reports will be very short.
I'll probably end up getting that guitar tomorrow. Nothing can go wrong!
Friday, February 22, 2008
Church This Week: Q3 of February 2008
Well, I'm still all in a teetotaler ...tee...tizzy, over the events of the weekend. I think it was mostly the 6 straight hours of brainwashing I received on the way back. "Hey, Kev, let's start us a choir. You and Bruce Bruckner figure it out. Also, let's start a youth group. You and Mick will be the firstfruits."
I'll need to talk to Bruce Bruckner to make it official, but I think we'll call ourselves the "Bruce Brothers." The Google Calender application is awesome cool; though I'm still not too sure what to think of it, nor what to think of Mark Nickosian (one of our resident cool guys). I like him, but he seems like he might be the ax murdering type...but maybe I'm not the best judge of characters sometimes.
Speaking of resident cool guys, Don Feldick was in church Wednesday night! Woohoo! We were so glad to see him; he missed church for two Bible studies and three Sundays. He has a new Bible, and it's a bit bigger than mine. He said he was worried that we might have thought he converted to Islam or something. If he hadn't shown up that night, I was going to go visit him. I owe him a DVD of the Bible studies he missed. I have that scheduled into Google Calender.
Kile II and Mr. Pinkerton were also there. I missed Kile II for some reason. Mr. Pinkerton was kind of quiet, as was the Hitman. I love our little group there. I told them I turned into Wild Man over the weekend due to my fierce surbibal instincts kicking in. Get it? Survival, surbible? Laugh, man! Bible humor!
Regardless, it was sure quiet. With the Fletchingbirds gone to Florida, where the wood is apparently in season (I know, I didn't know wood went in season, either), I can now go to church without my manhood being challenged. YES! GG!
I am in contact with two saints in California. One, Dan Corn, runs the website. The other, Mark Marker, uh, is a techie. He sent me two emails from his PHONE! I wish I could do that; I need a keyboard in my phone within the next 3 months.
He said that he would be at a keyboard over the weekend, and his thumbs were hurting. Funny thing; my laptop was out of commission. The AC cord broke right at the solder point where it connects into the laptop. Fun, huh?
Thus, I am going to email him back tomorrow, when it will be more convenient for both of us (my hands were hurting due to my mom's keyboard). I should have the AC adapter fixed by then. He seems interesting. I am also waiting on an email back from Jehoshaphat, who is advising me on guitar buying. I think I pretty much know what I want. The rest will bemy pure, unmatched thirst and unrelenting quest for glory and honor just practicing hard to learn to play it with a spirit of humbleness. I'm a server. Let each esteem other better than themselves, as Paul says. (Philippians 2:3.)
Also, I think I got the karaoke version of the song me and Pastor will be singing. I may need to edit it some. Mr. Bruckner can't help us, because he is the sanctified singer. Me and Pastor will sing the heathen laughtrack songs. I'm planning to be a Sanctified Singer within the next 20 years. I figure if I scream really loud, it will "terraform" my throat to be able to sing differently. I love that word. Terraform. Terraforming.
Anyway, it's getting time to go. Oh, and my room is almost clean. I desolated it. I would use the word "pillaged," but that's a bit extreme. It just needs to be cavuumed, and vacuumed, and then have garbage cans placed in it.
I may have a few new readers. The Hitman demanded my email and blog URL, so I gave it to him and forgot the 'a'. Great work, Kev. Hi guys, if you're reading!
I'll need to talk to Bruce Bruckner to make it official, but I think we'll call ourselves the "Bruce Brothers." The Google Calender application is awesome cool; though I'm still not too sure what to think of it, nor what to think of Mark Nickosian (one of our resident cool guys). I like him, but he seems like he might be the ax murdering type...but maybe I'm not the best judge of characters sometimes.
Speaking of resident cool guys, Don Feldick was in church Wednesday night! Woohoo! We were so glad to see him; he missed church for two Bible studies and three Sundays. He has a new Bible, and it's a bit bigger than mine. He said he was worried that we might have thought he converted to Islam or something. If he hadn't shown up that night, I was going to go visit him. I owe him a DVD of the Bible studies he missed. I have that scheduled into Google Calender.
Kile II and Mr. Pinkerton were also there. I missed Kile II for some reason. Mr. Pinkerton was kind of quiet, as was the Hitman. I love our little group there. I told them I turned into Wild Man over the weekend due to my fierce surbibal instincts kicking in. Get it? Survival, surbible? Laugh, man! Bible humor!
Regardless, it was sure quiet. With the Fletchingbirds gone to Florida, where the wood is apparently in season (I know, I didn't know wood went in season, either), I can now go to church without my manhood being challenged. YES! GG!
I am in contact with two saints in California. One, Dan Corn, runs the website. The other, Mark Marker, uh, is a techie. He sent me two emails from his PHONE! I wish I could do that; I need a keyboard in my phone within the next 3 months.
He said that he would be at a keyboard over the weekend, and his thumbs were hurting. Funny thing; my laptop was out of commission. The AC cord broke right at the solder point where it connects into the laptop. Fun, huh?
Thus, I am going to email him back tomorrow, when it will be more convenient for both of us (my hands were hurting due to my mom's keyboard). I should have the AC adapter fixed by then. He seems interesting. I am also waiting on an email back from Jehoshaphat, who is advising me on guitar buying. I think I pretty much know what I want. The rest will be
Also, I think I got the karaoke version of the song me and Pastor will be singing. I may need to edit it some. Mr. Bruckner can't help us, because he is the sanctified singer. Me and Pastor will sing the heathen laughtrack songs. I'm planning to be a Sanctified Singer within the next 20 years. I figure if I scream really loud, it will "terraform" my throat to be able to sing differently. I love that word. Terraform. Terraforming.
Anyway, it's getting time to go. Oh, and my room is almost clean. I desolated it. I would use the word "pillaged," but that's a bit extreme. It just needs to be cavuumed, and vacuumed, and then have garbage cans placed in it.
I may have a few new readers. The Hitman demanded my email and blog URL, so I gave it to him and forgot the 'a'. Great work, Kev. Hi guys, if you're reading!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Assassinating Junk
As you may know, my parents have problems with hoarding junk. As they say, one man's junk is another man's treasure, but you know it works the opposite way? It's their choice, and I can't change their minds about it. I can only do so much, then I have to take a lesson from God, and give them up to uncleanness.
I've learned that, barring them giving it up on their own, we're not getting rid of the treasure. Thus, I have to learn to live with it. I am a human. Humans? We're very adaptable. Just look at Samus Aran. She's extremely adaptable. She is the embodiment of adaptability. And morph-ball prowess. And genocidally speaking, she's very good. And she wears red/orange really, really well. Did you know she did to red/orange what Princess Zelda did to pink? She also wears blue well.
I am going to transform my room into a sanctuary, a blue zone if you will. In Command and Conquer, the planet is broken into three zones of livability:
So I'm going to get out my sonic emitter (Command and Conquer humor, you wouldn't understand) and get to work. First things first, I am going to check out Google Calender. Mark Nickosian, one of our resident cool guys, mentioned that he uses a "scheduling program from Google." Apparently, you can set it to pop up and alert you to things.
So I cleared off the entire top shelf of my closet. Then I emptied out 4 of 6 drawers from my dresser. Everything on the top shelf, as well as in the drawers, was compiled into a large box that takes up 1/5th of my closet shelf space, and a box that's going into the Yellow Zone. If I don't care enough about something to shelter it lovingly (not grudgingly) in my room, I send it to be examined by my parents before I throw it out. Then it's out of my hair.
The rest, I put into stasis. I archive it; stasis is a cooler word. That's the box I mentioned that takes up 1/5th of my closet space.
I realized something.
If I find anymore useless knick knacks and either archive them or else throw them out (there are verses running through my head; "accusing or else excusing"), I'll soon have no more stuff. So I have a decision to make. I stand on theporcupine precipice of having a cluttered or a clear room. Do I get scared and back away, or push on with an unrelenting, dire campaign of destruction?
I think you know the answer. In other news, I am pretty sure I'm sleepwalking. Isn't that wiggy?
I've learned that, barring them giving it up on their own, we're not getting rid of the treasure. Thus, I have to learn to live with it. I am a human. Humans? We're very adaptable. Just look at Samus Aran. She's extremely adaptable. She is the embodiment of adaptability. And morph-ball prowess. And genocidally speaking, she's very good. And she wears red/orange really, really well. Did you know she did to red/orange what Princess Zelda did to pink? She also wears blue well.
I am going to transform my room into a sanctuary, a blue zone if you will. In Command and Conquer, the planet is broken into three zones of livability:
- Red zones (which are inhospitable)
- Yellow zones (which are livable but hellish) and
- Blue zones (which are clean and safe)
So I'm going to get out my sonic emitter (Command and Conquer humor, you wouldn't understand) and get to work. First things first, I am going to check out Google Calender. Mark Nickosian, one of our resident cool guys, mentioned that he uses a "scheduling program from Google." Apparently, you can set it to pop up and alert you to things.
So I cleared off the entire top shelf of my closet. Then I emptied out 4 of 6 drawers from my dresser. Everything on the top shelf, as well as in the drawers, was compiled into a large box that takes up 1/5th of my closet shelf space, and a box that's going into the Yellow Zone. If I don't care enough about something to shelter it lovingly (not grudgingly) in my room, I send it to be examined by my parents before I throw it out. Then it's out of my hair.
The rest, I put into stasis. I archive it; stasis is a cooler word. That's the box I mentioned that takes up 1/5th of my closet space.
I realized something.
If I find anymore useless knick knacks and either archive them or else throw them out (there are verses running through my head; "accusing or else excusing"), I'll soon have no more stuff. So I have a decision to make. I stand on the
I think you know the answer. In other news, I am pretty sure I'm sleepwalking. Isn't that wiggy?
Back to Basics
Well, my schedule is filling up slightly. I'm- gasp- involved in ministry work! Can you believe it? Kev, the highly trained procrastinator, the crowd-avoider, the teleprompter-hating candidate for split-personalities is involved in ministry work!
I'm going to go back to a 4-plus-post-a-week schedule. Blogging full-time takes so much of my alloted computer time that I'm barely having enough time to enjoy other's blogs or websites, and I also need to take the time to focus on the transition from Sacrilegious Sunday to Sanctified Sunday. Plus, the guys are always telling me to close down the blog, so I will meet them halfway and cut down on my blogging. That will be 16 posts a month. More than manageable.
I also need to practice my singing. Solo, I sound like a wet dog that got ran over by a cat with its tail on fire (seriously), but I imagine I'd sound OK in a group of 4 or 5. Especially if I didn't sing, but just stood there looking efficient. I look efficient very well. God forbid, I might be able to be taught to sing, but I doubt it. I talked to Kile II about it today; he said that "I [Kile II] sound[s] like a dying cat that's being strangled by a fireman." Fair enough. Since everyone has more-or-less abandoned ship, me and Pastor are going to do duets. Wait...that's not nearly manly enough.
We're going to do "Manliets." That's better. Man-lee-ette- WAIT, the "lee" is too girly. Manmanets. Man-mahnets. That's better. Manmanets.
To better perform these feats of pure unrelenting manhood- not girly duets, or feminine-sounding manliets, but manmanets- I will need to learn to play the guitar. GEEtar. My mom seems to believe in me wholeheartedly. "Guitars are a girl magnet! I'll have grandchildren in no time!" she exclaims. "Yeah, but Mom, I'm not getting married until I'm ready to, and that will be years and years."
"Not if you get to playing that guitar! I'll have so many grandchildren, I'll have to start raising them en-mass like goats!"
"Uhh, yeah. About that...anyway...I'll be heading to the guitar store today."
"The guitar store?! Today?! Wow! That means I could be as little as 9 months from a grandchild or five!"
"Uhm, yeah...I'm pretty nervous, though-"
"Come on, now! You practically went to California alone! You can handle a guitar store! You're a saint of God, now act like you're not going to Hell! GET OUT THERE, AND BRING ME HOME SOME GRANDCHIL...ER...A GRAND GUITAR FOR YOU!!!"
My mom has good pep talks when her receiving grandchildren is involved. I think I learned a thing or two over the weekend. When combined with Bits Kibble's sermon on Romans 1:11- it's on Pastor Crude Justice's website- I learned three things. As he says, we are soldiers. We are in a battle. This is important to understand, as soldiers have much different training than civilians.
Pastor Vertigo- the main speaker last weekend- reminds me very much of a soldier. He is an ex-marine, and he looks the part. At least 6'5", around 260 pounds, and he carries a 15" Bowie knife with him "at all times." His signature greeting is to hold it to your throat and ask if you want to die. When you say "No, sir!" he says "ALRIGHT, just let me know if you want to die in the future," and gives you a card.
This guy is scary. He's the kind of guy who punches through a glass window, and the one left bleeding is the glass. When he goes riding in the wilderness, if the horse gets tired it simply rides him. One time, he took a drink from a lake, and his reflection ran from him. He chased it down and told it not to try anything funny again. He also did this with his shadow numerous times. It is unclear if he can harm either beyond somehow grasping them to keep them from running.
When there's an emergency or hostage situation, the police call him. When the boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he prays to his lonely "wall god" that he didn't scare any of Pastor Vertigo's kids during the night, and then checks his closet and under his bed for "The Vertigan." The Godfather calls him for advice half of the time.
When he preaches, the congregation trembles not from "preaching power," but from his tendency to make entire rows wet their pants from fear. He throws his bowie knife like a boomerang in front of them, and the real scary part is when it comes back behind their heads; defying the laws of physics is not as scary as defying him.
When he used to smoke, he gave the cigarettes "Vertigo breath," and they had to pop mints to keep from smelling like him. It didn't work as well as they'd hope. When he drinked, the whiskey would pass out before he did. He would crush beer cans on his eyes, not his forehead. Thieves break into his house, and end up getting robbed themselves at "fistpoint."
His children were born with beards and well-developed biceps. This is a scary man. When he goes to the zoo, the predatory species observe him cautiously; the others run. At football games, he is often recruited to fill in for one of the motors that opens the roof of the stadium; typically, they just shut down all the others to save electricity and he pushes it open himself.
One time, he got a flat tire, and he changed it with one hand. While it was going 65 MPH. When he raises his eyebrows, he exerts as much pressure as a full grown man does doing pushups. Once, he knocked a guy cold with a "piercing stare." Three others nearby experienced heart palpitations.
When he would develop cavities, he dug them out with his tongue then chewed steel to fill them. This is a powerful man. His pulpit is made of brick because he stabbed, shattered, and burned the wooden one during a particularly enjoyed sermon.
He chews wood instead of gum (and he can blow a "wood bubble"); he picked this up from his days as a lumberjack in which he would "chop" the trees down with his teeth. He never got accurate enough to make 2x4s, but he did make several rough canes. Yes, he does whittle with his teeth.
He's so much of a man, that all of his children were boys, and one of them may be a new sex that is somehow beyond man, but scientists will not be sure until he fully grows into adulthood, which they expect to be within one year. He is currently two years old.
As you can see, Pastor Vertigo is the kind of guy you avoid, but God forbid if he does find out you avoided him. It's best to not avoid him, but to just not be around him. Call in sick, feign a suicide attempt, whatever you have to do. Hide behind his wife, but don't let him know you hid behind her. Don't shake his hand, because then he's got you. But don't not shake his hand, because then he'll get you. This was the most nerve wracking part of the California trip.
Anyway, I swung by the local Music Planet. They said, "Dude, you need a dreadnought. Classical guitars are for SPANISH PEOPLE!" (I think they're called dreadnoughts, at least.)
Now, I am not a Spanish person, so I have no business in owning a classical guitar. He said that they are classical because you don't play them with a pick. According to Jehoshaphat, my mom's friend who used to work with her, classical guitars are the best to get because they sound a lot better. But the Music Planet guys say the exact opposite. I'm not saying that they couldn't have purposely played the classical quieter, but it sure did sound quiet. I don't see a reason for them doing that.
We'll see how this pans out. Update sometime soonish. I'm still wondering if "pan" is a play on "dish."
Actually, I think I should force questions like that out of my head...ah well...I'll expound on this more later. For now, I am hyper for some reason. I had a burrito for dinner, and a claw machine owned me. To be smart, you DO NOT waste your time on a machine if most of thetoys game is hard to get at, but I figured I'd give it a try anyway. I probably could have gotten one if I'd tried five more times.
I'm going to go back to a 4-plus-post-a-week schedule. Blogging full-time takes so much of my alloted computer time that I'm barely having enough time to enjoy other's blogs or websites, and I also need to take the time to focus on the transition from Sacrilegious Sunday to Sanctified Sunday. Plus, the guys are always telling me to close down the blog, so I will meet them halfway and cut down on my blogging. That will be 16 posts a month. More than manageable.
I also need to practice my singing. Solo, I sound like a wet dog that got ran over by a cat with its tail on fire (seriously), but I imagine I'd sound OK in a group of 4 or 5. Especially if I didn't sing, but just stood there looking efficient. I look efficient very well. God forbid, I might be able to be taught to sing, but I doubt it. I talked to Kile II about it today; he said that "I [Kile II] sound[s] like a dying cat that's being strangled by a fireman." Fair enough. Since everyone has more-or-less abandoned ship, me and Pastor are going to do duets. Wait...that's not nearly manly enough.
We're going to do "Manliets." That's better. Man-lee-ette- WAIT, the "lee" is too girly. Manmanets. Man-mahnets. That's better. Manmanets.
To better perform these feats of pure unrelenting manhood- not girly duets, or feminine-sounding manliets, but manmanets- I will need to learn to play the guitar. GEEtar. My mom seems to believe in me wholeheartedly. "Guitars are a girl magnet! I'll have grandchildren in no time!" she exclaims. "Yeah, but Mom, I'm not getting married until I'm ready to, and that will be years and years."
"Not if you get to playing that guitar! I'll have so many grandchildren, I'll have to start raising them en-mass like goats!"
"Uhh, yeah. About that...anyway...I'll be heading to the guitar store today."
"The guitar store?! Today?! Wow! That means I could be as little as 9 months from a grandchild or five!"
"Uhm, yeah...I'm pretty nervous, though-"
"Come on, now! You practically went to California alone! You can handle a guitar store! You're a saint of God, now act like you're not going to Hell! GET OUT THERE, AND BRING ME HOME SOME GRANDCHIL...ER...A GRAND GUITAR FOR YOU!!!"
My mom has good pep talks when her receiving grandchildren is involved. I think I learned a thing or two over the weekend. When combined with Bits Kibble's sermon on Romans 1:11- it's on Pastor Crude Justice's website- I learned three things. As he says, we are soldiers. We are in a battle. This is important to understand, as soldiers have much different training than civilians.
Pastor Vertigo- the main speaker last weekend- reminds me very much of a soldier. He is an ex-marine, and he looks the part. At least 6'5", around 260 pounds, and he carries a 15" Bowie knife with him "at all times." His signature greeting is to hold it to your throat and ask if you want to die. When you say "No, sir!" he says "ALRIGHT, just let me know if you want to die in the future," and gives you a card.
This guy is scary. He's the kind of guy who punches through a glass window, and the one left bleeding is the glass. When he goes riding in the wilderness, if the horse gets tired it simply rides him. One time, he took a drink from a lake, and his reflection ran from him. He chased it down and told it not to try anything funny again. He also did this with his shadow numerous times. It is unclear if he can harm either beyond somehow grasping them to keep them from running.
When there's an emergency or hostage situation, the police call him. When the boogeyman goes to sleep at night, he prays to his lonely "wall god" that he didn't scare any of Pastor Vertigo's kids during the night, and then checks his closet and under his bed for "The Vertigan." The Godfather calls him for advice half of the time.
When he preaches, the congregation trembles not from "preaching power," but from his tendency to make entire rows wet their pants from fear. He throws his bowie knife like a boomerang in front of them, and the real scary part is when it comes back behind their heads; defying the laws of physics is not as scary as defying him.
When he used to smoke, he gave the cigarettes "Vertigo breath," and they had to pop mints to keep from smelling like him. It didn't work as well as they'd hope. When he drinked, the whiskey would pass out before he did. He would crush beer cans on his eyes, not his forehead. Thieves break into his house, and end up getting robbed themselves at "fistpoint."
His children were born with beards and well-developed biceps. This is a scary man. When he goes to the zoo, the predatory species observe him cautiously; the others run. At football games, he is often recruited to fill in for one of the motors that opens the roof of the stadium; typically, they just shut down all the others to save electricity and he pushes it open himself.
One time, he got a flat tire, and he changed it with one hand. While it was going 65 MPH. When he raises his eyebrows, he exerts as much pressure as a full grown man does doing pushups. Once, he knocked a guy cold with a "piercing stare." Three others nearby experienced heart palpitations.
When he would develop cavities, he dug them out with his tongue then chewed steel to fill them. This is a powerful man. His pulpit is made of brick because he stabbed, shattered, and burned the wooden one during a particularly enjoyed sermon.
He chews wood instead of gum (and he can blow a "wood bubble"); he picked this up from his days as a lumberjack in which he would "chop" the trees down with his teeth. He never got accurate enough to make 2x4s, but he did make several rough canes. Yes, he does whittle with his teeth.
He's so much of a man, that all of his children were boys, and one of them may be a new sex that is somehow beyond man, but scientists will not be sure until he fully grows into adulthood, which they expect to be within one year. He is currently two years old.
As you can see, Pastor Vertigo is the kind of guy you avoid, but God forbid if he does find out you avoided him. It's best to not avoid him, but to just not be around him. Call in sick, feign a suicide attempt, whatever you have to do. Hide behind his wife, but don't let him know you hid behind her. Don't shake his hand, because then he's got you. But don't not shake his hand, because then he'll get you. This was the most nerve wracking part of the California trip.
Anyway, I swung by the local Music Planet. They said, "Dude, you need a dreadnought. Classical guitars are for SPANISH PEOPLE!" (I think they're called dreadnoughts, at least.)
Now, I am not a Spanish person, so I have no business in owning a classical guitar. He said that they are classical because you don't play them with a pick. According to Jehoshaphat, my mom's friend who used to work with her, classical guitars are the best to get because they sound a lot better. But the Music Planet guys say the exact opposite. I'm not saying that they couldn't have purposely played the classical quieter, but it sure did sound quiet. I don't see a reason for them doing that.
We'll see how this pans out. Update sometime soonish. I'm still wondering if "pan" is a play on "dish."
Actually, I think I should force questions like that out of my head...ah well...I'll expound on this more later. For now, I am hyper for some reason. I had a burrito for dinner, and a claw machine owned me. To be smart, you DO NOT waste your time on a machine if most of the
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The NES is not my friend.
Do you play video games? No? Yes? On and off? A little? You've heard of them? Once?
I play video games. I quite enjoy them. Some can get exhaustingly long, that's true. Specifically RTS games, and, to a laughing extent, MMORPGs. Those can be so long that you'll beat yourself over the head with a typewriter. Those are HEAVY things. Have you ever lifted a typewriter? Lift it over your head then move your arms directly to your side very fast, and that will pretty much break any habit you may have formed. It's like defragmenting your hard drive, but it's your brain. (Speaking of which, I'm about to defrag my computer which I've had for almost two years and have not defragged once. Aren't I dumb?)
I'm in the process of redoing my room. Currently, I am packing every spare piece of junk together into boxes, to be "archived" in my closet. In the end, I want to get new carpet in there, and repaint it. The carpet will cost around $150, and the paint will be something expensive as well. I probably won't paint it for a long, long time. But I love that carpet that's 1/4" thick...we had it at our old, old house when I was 5, and I've always loved it. My brother has some. It's stain-resistant! I probably won't get it in there for a few months, but first things first is to make room. Speaking of which...uhh...my room smells like muskmelon (or "cantaloupe"). That is eerie.
So, I run across my old NES. Yes, I played all of two games on this beaut. Super Mario Bros. 3, and the Super Mario Bros. that was packaged with Duck Hunt. Once, on someone else's system, I played Contra. I think. Wait. No. It was a game by...well, there were dogs, OK? The girl kept unplugging the system on me. Seriously, girls cannot play video games. They just unplug it routinely and ruin your fun. It's OK, though. They're in training to become WIVES! Oh, no I didn't! LOLLROFLDOLFTAX PLEASE
That reminds me of Pastor's dilemma. You see, he is married.
That's his dilemma. OH, NO I DIDN'T! Man, I'm on a roll. Anyway, he said that sometimes he is so intent on what he's focusing on, he doesn't hear people around him. That explains the multiple times I've broken 2x4's over his head to try to get his attention. Or maybe I was dreaming that just like that dream I thought I had about Samus Aran but can't see to remember. Ahh. Samus Aran. She makes me happy. I think I had the dream, but I forget if I did. I seem to think that I did, but I don't remember what it was about or even if I did. I've had one dream of Samus Aran before, and, well, let's not discuss those matters. (See the very last section of text, under the last of the pictures. It's one of my blog posts.)
Anyway, I came across my old NES, and it's time to throw it out. I have the connectors...the AC adapter, the ...uhh...oldschool A/V adapter...and the paddle. But it's done. Finished. Kaput (did you know that "kaput" means "incapacitated or destroyed"? Wow). Wii's Virtual Console has all the NES games I could ever want, and my real NES only has one or two or five I don't ever, ever play, despite the fact that I think it still works.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, I can't get that song "Great is Thy Faithfulness" out of my head! I somehow think that listening to it again will help ease my suffering, but it only makes it worse. Make it stop! Make it stop! OH, NO, I JUST RESET IT TO THE BEGINNING! AHHH!
OH NO, I DID IT AGAIN
I AM POWERLESS AGAINST ITS ONSLAUGHT
CURSE THE DAY I WAS BORN
I play video games. I quite enjoy them. Some can get exhaustingly long, that's true. Specifically RTS games, and, to a laughing extent, MMORPGs. Those can be so long that you'll beat yourself over the head with a typewriter. Those are HEAVY things. Have you ever lifted a typewriter? Lift it over your head then move your arms directly to your side very fast, and that will pretty much break any habit you may have formed. It's like defragmenting your hard drive, but it's your brain. (Speaking of which, I'm about to defrag my computer which I've had for almost two years and have not defragged once. Aren't I dumb?)
I'm in the process of redoing my room. Currently, I am packing every spare piece of junk together into boxes, to be "archived" in my closet. In the end, I want to get new carpet in there, and repaint it. The carpet will cost around $150, and the paint will be something expensive as well. I probably won't paint it for a long, long time. But I love that carpet that's 1/4" thick...we had it at our old, old house when I was 5, and I've always loved it. My brother has some. It's stain-resistant! I probably won't get it in there for a few months, but first things first is to make room. Speaking of which...uhh...my room smells like muskmelon (or "cantaloupe"). That is eerie.
So, I run across my old NES. Yes, I played all of two games on this beaut. Super Mario Bros. 3, and the Super Mario Bros. that was packaged with Duck Hunt. Once, on someone else's system, I played Contra. I think. Wait. No. It was a game by...well, there were dogs, OK? The girl kept unplugging the system on me. Seriously, girls cannot play video games. They just unplug it routinely and ruin your fun. It's OK, though. They're in training to become WIVES! Oh, no I didn't! LOLLROFLDOLFTAX PLEASE
That reminds me of Pastor's dilemma. You see, he is married.
That's his dilemma. OH, NO I DIDN'T! Man, I'm on a roll. Anyway, he said that sometimes he is so intent on what he's focusing on, he doesn't hear people around him. That explains the multiple times I've broken 2x4's over his head to try to get his attention. Or maybe I was dreaming that just like that dream I thought I had about Samus Aran but can't see to remember. Ahh. Samus Aran. She makes me happy. I think I had the dream, but I forget if I did. I seem to think that I did, but I don't remember what it was about or even if I did. I've had one dream of Samus Aran before, and, well, let's not discuss those matters. (See the very last section of text, under the last of the pictures. It's one of my blog posts.)
Anyway, I came across my old NES, and it's time to throw it out. I have the connectors...the AC adapter, the ...uhh...oldschool A/V adapter...and the paddle. But it's done. Finished. Kaput (did you know that "kaput" means "incapacitated or destroyed"? Wow). Wii's Virtual Console has all the NES games I could ever want, and my real NES only has one or two or five I don't ever, ever play, despite the fact that I think it still works.
Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, I can't get that song "Great is Thy Faithfulness" out of my head! I somehow think that listening to it again will help ease my suffering, but it only makes it worse. Make it stop! Make it stop! OH, NO, I JUST RESET IT TO THE BEGINNING! AHHH!
OH NO, I DID IT AGAIN
I AM POWERLESS AGAINST ITS ONSLAUGHT
CURSE THE DAY I WAS BORN
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Cold, wet, and dying
thats a post for my dream that im planning on havingthe alamr clock lock lght alaralar, clock light will not turn off vs0 9 i am going to e going to slepe lol one too mrnhy mrm many ms
woo please God don't let me be late tomorrow
my knee SNAPPED really loud lol it was bng pow oop ther go my kneecap dod lol so i was liek ok lol fin w me so yeh snappo el kneeo \N ELMOSTA CALLOPSED ONTI FLOOOOOR
"ooow my knee go pooow 4me carry me plz" "no way kevlol u on own" "k i wak then"
there is a vamproach on myy leg bitngi me
o wai lol it is my hand i my han is miting my biting my leg woe
gobyebyrspaklingwater
woo please God don't let me be late tomorrow
my knee SNAPPED really loud lol it was bng pow oop ther go my kneecap dod lol so i was liek ok lol fin w me so yeh snappo el kneeo \N ELMOSTA CALLOPSED ONTI FLOOOOOR
"ooow my knee go pooow 4me carry me plz" "no way kevlol u on own" "k i wak then"
there is a vamproach on myy leg bitngi me
o wai lol it is my hand i my han is miting my biting my leg woe
gobyebyrspaklingwater
Uhh, so yeah...
My time spent today:
9-10 hours driving (being driven, actually)
3.5 hours in church
3 hours preparing to leave this morning
1 hour eating
I started at 15...what...15 makes no sense. I am so tired. I wasn't going to go to dinner with the guys, but I've never gotten anything good out of avoiding fellowship with the saints. I got a better attitude about life in exchange for the loss of 40 minutes sleep.
I began getting ready in earnest by...
...oh...
This is dreadful. My mind simply cannot answer my request...
Disconcerting. I have to be up in...a few hours. I think someone is trying to open my door...however...I fail to care...oh no...propane...
9-10 hours driving (being driven, actually)
3.5 hours in church
3 hours preparing to leave this morning
1 hour eating
I started at 15...what...15 makes no sense. I am so tired. I wasn't going to go to dinner with the guys, but I've never gotten anything good out of avoiding fellowship with the saints. I got a better attitude about life in exchange for the loss of 40 minutes sleep.
I began getting ready in earnest by...
...oh...
This is dreadful. My mind simply cannot answer my request...
Disconcerting. I have to be up in...a few hours. I think someone is trying to open my door...however...I fail to care...oh no...propane...
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Preparing for my trip to California #2: The Knee Knows
This is the day I prepare. Fun time merriment. I'll probably post the checklist I'll make tomorrow.
My knee isn't doing any better. It's number, but more wobbly. It's exactly like trying to walk on a leg that's fallen asleep. It keeps buckling and locking backwards and threatening to go sideways. It's still as stiff as a Jew's neck. (Jimmy Pinkerton will get that one.) As for my schedule, it's probably a bit ahead; the swelling is starting to spread up my leg a little bit, and it's beginning to have that shiny look about it and get really hard. I forecast pain and trouble sleeping by tonight, and noticeable bruising by tomorrow morning. I may cause everyone to miss the Sunday morning messages, what with driving me to the emergency room to get...ugh...lanced. I'll try to delay it as long as possible or drive myself, or just bring a scalpel.
At church last night- Wednesday the 13th of February, some jokepot (jokepot, crackpot, get it?) spilled coffee everywhere all over the carpet. There were at least 5 blotches- big blotches, the size of a deck of cards each...hmm...the house just shook again.
This is disturbing...I will report back.
OK, let's just say...it's best to ignore the shaking of the house. Being torn apart by a raging hell-beast is not fun.
Anyway, I'm going to bring some Kev's Mom Approved cleaning supplies next Wednesday and see if I can't get those stains up completely. I only managed to make them slightly less noticeable; good point is, you can't tell someone spilled coffee 5 times anymore.
I reported that Don Feldick is out sick. He almost caught pneumonia, and he's experiencing a bout with pyromaniacle tendencies (they both begin with 'p' and end with a vowel), so he thought it best to avoid the church building. Poor guy. We're all going through a sickness and injury period as we subconsciously try to avoid this conference and church in-general. Thanks to my messengering mediator, I can hopefully bear whatever I throw at myself.
Pastor Justice had me confirm that I would be going to California. "You still haven't given u-...ah...decided not to go, huh, Kev?" he asked. "Nope! I'm going to represent the church!" I said with stars in my eyes. "Well...have you...y'know...called to make sure you still have a room? I mean, anyone could have heard that your dad wasn't going and called and canceled...then you'd just have to not go. I mean...I could have even done that, you know...it's very plausible."
I bizarrely proceeded to defend that room as mine, and no one else can stay in there. "If someone needs to stay somewhere, there's assuredly a dumpster out back," I said. "Well...yeah, if anyone needs a bed, we'll find you one," Pastor Justice said. "...yeah, they throw those out all the time," I said.
I then took a tour of the Pastor's minivan. That thing's mad. It's the weirdest car I have ever seen. It's some sort of fusion of old, beaten-down 1930 Ford and a 2008 Expedition. I took him to the Pathfinder to see the back seats there so that he could get an idea of what I can bear as far as leg space goes. Poor guy heard me wrong...he thought I said "Let's take the pathfinder." On the short walk over there, I can only imagine what he was thinking. This fool, this fool, this fool, this fool, I'm not taking their car. How I do tell him this gently, how do I tell him this gently...
Here is a chart detailing how far I can bend my leg. Days 1-3 were fine, days 3-6 were a little worse, and day 7 practically makes me bedridden. I would class this in the "not fun" category.
Nevertheless, I'm going to make it to that conference even if I just have to lay in bed screaming for three days straight. "My God! What's the hideous moaning?!" they'll ask. Off to make the list.
My knee isn't doing any better. It's number, but more wobbly. It's exactly like trying to walk on a leg that's fallen asleep. It keeps buckling and locking backwards and threatening to go sideways. It's still as stiff as a Jew's neck. (Jimmy Pinkerton will get that one.) As for my schedule, it's probably a bit ahead; the swelling is starting to spread up my leg a little bit, and it's beginning to have that shiny look about it and get really hard. I forecast pain and trouble sleeping by tonight, and noticeable bruising by tomorrow morning. I may cause everyone to miss the Sunday morning messages, what with driving me to the emergency room to get...ugh...lanced. I'll try to delay it as long as possible or drive myself, or just bring a scalpel.
At church last night- Wednesday the 13th of February, some jokepot (jokepot, crackpot, get it?) spilled coffee everywhere all over the carpet. There were at least 5 blotches- big blotches, the size of a deck of cards each...hmm...the house just shook again.
This is disturbing...I will report back.
OK, let's just say...it's best to ignore the shaking of the house. Being torn apart by a raging hell-beast is not fun.
Anyway, I'm going to bring some Kev's Mom Approved cleaning supplies next Wednesday and see if I can't get those stains up completely. I only managed to make them slightly less noticeable; good point is, you can't tell someone spilled coffee 5 times anymore.
I reported that Don Feldick is out sick. He almost caught pneumonia, and he's experiencing a bout with pyromaniacle tendencies (they both begin with 'p' and end with a vowel), so he thought it best to avoid the church building. Poor guy. We're all going through a sickness and injury period as we subconsciously try to avoid this conference and church in-general. Thanks to my messengering mediator, I can hopefully bear whatever I throw at myself.
Pastor Justice had me confirm that I would be going to California. "You still haven't given u-...ah...decided not to go, huh, Kev?" he asked. "Nope! I'm going to represent the church!" I said with stars in my eyes. "Well...have you...y'know...called to make sure you still have a room? I mean, anyone could have heard that your dad wasn't going and called and canceled...then you'd just have to not go. I mean...I could have even done that, you know...it's very plausible."
I bizarrely proceeded to defend that room as mine, and no one else can stay in there. "If someone needs to stay somewhere, there's assuredly a dumpster out back," I said. "Well...yeah, if anyone needs a bed, we'll find you one," Pastor Justice said. "...yeah, they throw those out all the time," I said.
I then took a tour of the Pastor's minivan. That thing's mad. It's the weirdest car I have ever seen. It's some sort of fusion of old, beaten-down 1930 Ford and a 2008 Expedition. I took him to the Pathfinder to see the back seats there so that he could get an idea of what I can bear as far as leg space goes. Poor guy heard me wrong...he thought I said "Let's take the pathfinder." On the short walk over there, I can only imagine what he was thinking. This fool, this fool, this fool, this fool, I'm not taking their car. How I do tell him this gently, how do I tell him this gently...
Here is a chart detailing how far I can bend my leg. Days 1-3 were fine, days 3-6 were a little worse, and day 7 practically makes me bedridden. I would class this in the "not fun" category.
Nevertheless, I'm going to make it to that conference even if I just have to lay in bed screaming for three days straight. "My God! What's the hideous moaning?!" they'll ask. Off to make the list.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Water Day: Far 2 ez...except for the knee.
Today I got water. Since I am leaving on Friday for California, I need to pack on Thursday. If you can't figure that out, I need Thursday free of water getting. So I got water today. Problem, solution. I'm a solver.The only problem is...my left knee joint is swollen. I think it was spinning like a hatter on Wii Sports baseball (it's fun that way!), but I also think that laying tile last weekend contributed to it. I can only bend my leg so far before my knee starts threatening to pop out of socket.
So, I only got two loads of water. Getting in and out of the truck was too much for my knee, what with it threatening to crack into pieces every five minutes. Just about the only thing I got was a picture or ten of LJ. He was laying in the only area of the yard that is free from garbage. I typically get lots of pictures...my parents will have to get the other two loads of water tomorrow or the next day.
As you may know, to bowl, you need to slide across the floor. This is hard to do when 50% of your support structure- one leg- could possibly break apart at any second. The pins need to be knocked down, sure enough...but...not with me. Not that I could slide that far; it'd mostly be my thrashing and gnashing and flipping about and violently, wildly attacking anyone who came near to help me that would get me to the point where I could knock the pins down myself. Then the machine would try to grab me, I'd start screaming like a girl because the evil machine is trying to kill me, and finally animal control would show up and shoot me with tranquilizers, and oh, it'd be a mess.
OH GREAT, look at this article! That's what my knee will look like in a few days! Assuming I have that condition, and assuming that it will take only a few days.
This is just fabulous. The last thing I need while in California is to visit one of their hospitals. "It's all these stupid Americans coming over here from Arizona with swollen knees needed to be amputated!" some official will say. Scapegoating at its finest. "No, it isn't my fault!" I'll plead. "SHUT UP, YOU! YOU'RE THE VICTIM! Now, act victimized and look sad for the camera!"
When I'm in a potentially tragic position, I tend to make a schedule of events so that I don't get surprised. Here's how I have it planned.
Friday morning: severe discomfort, trouble getting into car; will have to ride in car with more leg room. Frequent requests to stop at a hospital; denied by Pastor Raw Justice. "If you die in my car, I'm fine with that...but if we're one second late, God forbid!"
Friday evening: will have trouble walking due to being cramped up entire day; will realize that I don't need half of the stuff I brought along as I struggle to lug it "up" the elevator.
Friday night: will not be able to sleep properly.
Saturday morning: will be a wreck for the services. Invited to play tennis, baseball, go bowling, and kick box, I'll have no choice but to refuse. The chess court, checkers room, video game lounge, leg suspension and knee ice-pack arena, and staring contest hall will all be conveniently closed (LORD, JUST LET ME HAVE THE LEG SUSPENSION AND ICE-PACK ARENA!)
Saturday evening: will have to miss services; won't be able to bend leg properly. When attempting to bend leg down, leg will move up. Perplexed, I'll try to move leg up; unexpectedly, foot will shoot up and hit me in the face; I will be terrified of moving it again.
Saturday night: will only be able to sleep with two pillows tied around my leg.
Sunday morning: will make it to services, but miss two of the sermons; afterward, after struggling into the car, they'll be forced to take me to the emergency room.
Sunday evening: doctors prep me for leg amputation. I read Job chapter 3.
Sunday night: doctors either amputate my left leg, or the Hitman takes me to the Lord.
Very grim outcome, isn't it? And all for a Bible conference.
A thousand ill-conceived curses.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Preparing for my Trip to California: Post #1
So I am now going by myself, as the lone Flag Representative of the Quixotic USay. Too many things have to be done around here and abroad, and my dad can't get Monday off. The way I look at it, it'll just be one long, extended, 4-day-long Wednesday night. I wish I had a good hat to wear. I don't wear hats well. They tend to wear me. I'll bring my "I'm sad" hat, which is probably the second hat I've ever liked in my entire life.
I'm planning to travel with the Pastor Raw Justice and at least one other (Mick Lock), but I'll probably be sent to travel with the Bruckners, so that Mrs. Lock can travel with her son. Old people are usually fun to ride with. All you have to do is be very, very quiet, only speak when spoken to, and they get all impressed and stuff. They can even forget about you, if they like. But usually, they start treating you like the perfect grandchild they never had: "Hey, Kev, want to stop and pick up an ice cream cone?" "Oh, sure, granddy!"
It may sound like a sweet gig, but not when it comes to actual food. "And one happy meal for my grandson here!"
I've finally figured out the teenage angst: it isn't teenage angst at all, it's stress! I'm now free! Yes! Liberated from the crushing jaws of the teenage angst. Stress is easily handled- depression that isn't actually depression is not. It's like trying to pull a tooth by giving someone a haircut. You may have heard of the Kev Conscious...ah...I'll explain it later.
I was getting fed up with all the theories. "Maybe you don't think you'll ever meet anyone. Maybe you'll come back from California with grandchildren!...triplets!" my mom breathlessly suggests.
"Maybe you hate Pastor Raw." "Maybe...why would I hate Pastor?" "Because he first hated you?!?! LOL, I JOHN 4:19 BABY!" my dad laughs. Great one, pops. Just great.
I'll need clothes to last 3 days, my camera camcorder laptop and their respective chargers, 4 1-hour miniDV tapes, 2 SD cards (one 1 GB, one 2 GB), on and on and on. I'd also like to bring some powdered paper towels...just add water, and poof! Paper towel!
And some socks. Whew. I figure I'll need 40 pairs of socks to get me through the weekend. And I'll need to bring two pairs of shoes.
Speaking of which, it's laundry time. I have so few clean clothes, --- That's a bad joke...I'm going to cross it out in editing.
Then I need to do a load of dishes and start dinner. We're having steak...pounded flat and covered in breading! My favorite kind of steak! I'll be having a side of black-eyed peas. I bake them in the toaster oven just until they lose their nutty flavor. They're all dry and stuff, it's great.
OK, one load of laundry done. On the second load, I realized that IT WAS SET TO MINI, and it was supposed to be set to extra-awesome ultra double-sized steel-chain-wash-mode! GREAT! No wonder that first load of laundry smelled like a pile of dead, rotting corpses when I transferred them to the dryer!...oh well, if I don't tell anyone, no one will know, just like that time that cat poop found its way into the wash. They wouldn't of know if I hadn't of told them.
Milking is done. I milked those goats so quickly, two of them now have what could be called hemorrhoids on their udders. I have to process the milk, still.
OK, the milk is processed. I got most of the clothing washed for this weekend, except for the socks. I need to get my DS all together, and Dad advised me to take a plastic bag to bag up all of my filthy, smelly clothing. Uh, yeah...my clothing doesn't tend to get filthy and smelly after I've worn it for one day to a glorified Bible study. Speaking of Bible study, if Don Feldick doesn't come to Bible study tomorrow, I'm going to be saddened. Heaviness of heart, all that.
I contacted Pastor Raw Justice to let him know it would only be me. He said something along the lines of "Oh...are you sure you don't want to just stay home too Kevin, maybe your mom could go instead of both of you, or yeah, the better option is thatnone of you go you guys get a lot of things done that you want to do. Like covering hay or milking pigs or building maternity wards or whatever."
There's not that much to do, not too much that I can't go and represent the church! Yes, they'll be like, "Wow, Pastor...what a dead group you have here, I wouldn't want to be handcuffed to any of them when they died," then they'd see me and go, "Wow! Quality over quantity! That boy's anointed, make way!" They'd push down old ladies and randomly stop and momentarily choke people on their way to me.
"Oh, yes, I taught him everything he knows," Pastor would say. "Well boy-howdy, every single day of your life hasn't been a miserable waste, after all!" his dad would chime in. "This boy is the future! We must build him a megachurch!"
I would react with typical humility...I don't have a proud bone in my body! Anyway, I've still got to make a more detailed list of what I need (my mom pledged to help with this), read up on California some (there have to be some good eateries on the "strip." I really don't know if it's called "the strip," from what I know, 95% of land in California is "on the strip." I need to find out weapons laws especially. I think a Bible is considered a weapon of some sort.)
I'm planning to travel with the Pastor Raw Justice and at least one other (Mick Lock), but I'll probably be sent to travel with the Bruckners, so that Mrs. Lock can travel with her son. Old people are usually fun to ride with. All you have to do is be very, very quiet, only speak when spoken to, and they get all impressed and stuff. They can even forget about you, if they like. But usually, they start treating you like the perfect grandchild they never had: "Hey, Kev, want to stop and pick up an ice cream cone?" "Oh, sure, granddy!"
It may sound like a sweet gig, but not when it comes to actual food. "And one happy meal for my grandson here!"
I've finally figured out the teenage angst: it isn't teenage angst at all, it's stress! I'm now free! Yes! Liberated from the crushing jaws of the teenage angst. Stress is easily handled- depression that isn't actually depression is not. It's like trying to pull a tooth by giving someone a haircut. You may have heard of the Kev Conscious...ah...I'll explain it later.
I was getting fed up with all the theories. "Maybe you don't think you'll ever meet anyone. Maybe you'll come back from California with grandchildren!...triplets!" my mom breathlessly suggests.
"Maybe you hate Pastor Raw." "Maybe...why would I hate Pastor?" "Because he first hated you?!?! LOL, I JOHN 4:19 BABY!" my dad laughs. Great one, pops. Just great.
I'll need clothes to last 3 days, my camera camcorder laptop and their respective chargers, 4 1-hour miniDV tapes, 2 SD cards (one 1 GB, one 2 GB), on and on and on. I'd also like to bring some powdered paper towels...just add water, and poof! Paper towel!
And some socks. Whew. I figure I'll need 40 pairs of socks to get me through the weekend. And I'll need to bring two pairs of shoes.
Speaking of which, it's laundry time. I have so few clean clothes, --- That's a bad joke...I'm going to cross it out in editing.
Then I need to do a load of dishes and start dinner. We're having steak...pounded flat and covered in breading! My favorite kind of steak! I'll be having a side of black-eyed peas. I bake them in the toaster oven just until they lose their nutty flavor. They're all dry and stuff, it's great.
OK, one load of laundry done. On the second load, I realized that IT WAS SET TO MINI, and it was supposed to be set to extra-awesome ultra double-sized steel-chain-wash-mode! GREAT! No wonder that first load of laundry smelled like a pile of dead, rotting corpses when I transferred them to the dryer!...oh well, if I don't tell anyone, no one will know, just like that time that cat poop found its way into the wash. They wouldn't of know if I hadn't of told them.
Milking is done. I milked those goats so quickly, two of them now have what could be called hemorrhoids on their udders. I have to process the milk, still.
OK, the milk is processed. I got most of the clothing washed for this weekend, except for the socks. I need to get my DS all together, and Dad advised me to take a plastic bag to bag up all of my filthy, smelly clothing. Uh, yeah...my clothing doesn't tend to get filthy and smelly after I've worn it for one day to a glorified Bible study. Speaking of Bible study, if Don Feldick doesn't come to Bible study tomorrow, I'm going to be saddened. Heaviness of heart, all that.
I contacted Pastor Raw Justice to let him know it would only be me. He said something along the lines of "Oh...are you sure you don't want to just stay home too Kevin, maybe your mom could go instead of both of you, or yeah, the better option is that
There's not that much to do, not too much that I can't go and represent the church! Yes, they'll be like, "Wow, Pastor...what a dead group you have here, I wouldn't want to be handcuffed to any of them when they died," then they'd see me and go, "Wow! Quality over quantity! That boy's anointed, make way!" They'd push down old ladies and randomly stop and momentarily choke people on their way to me.
"Oh, yes, I taught him everything he knows," Pastor would say. "Well boy-howdy, every single day of your life hasn't been a miserable waste, after all!" his dad would chime in. "This boy is the future! We must build him a megachurch!"
I would react with typical humility...I don't have a proud bone in my body! Anyway, I've still got to make a more detailed list of what I need (my mom pledged to help with this), read up on California some (there have to be some good eateries on the "strip." I really don't know if it's called "the strip," from what I know, 95% of land in California is "on the strip." I need to find out weapons laws especially. I think a Bible is considered a weapon of some sort.)
Monday, February 11, 2008
Dog Doppleganger
Every so often, you will take a picture only to later find out there was a demon dog or a doppleganger in it. Here is my mom's dog, Little Jihad. We named him that when we didn't think we were keeping him. My dad named him that.
I know it looks unremarkable at first- if you followed the link, here it is again- these things usually do.
I've found that, if you outline something, it makes it easier for people to see. Here is the same picture with the doppleganger outlined:
Text says, "Yo man, woof dog...yippity yap, bow wow, doppleganging,wow."
What's more, if I use introreveroverosotonic sonic imagining software- currently a secret military project which software was leaked, which focuses on bringing 2D images into 3D view, great for topographical maps- THIS is revealed!
None other than a fierce, ravening werewolf! God help us all.
And in the middle of the day! /faint
I know it looks unremarkable at first- if you followed the link, here it is again- these things usually do.
I've found that, if you outline something, it makes it easier for people to see. Here is the same picture with the doppleganger outlined:
Text says, "Yo man, woof dog...yippity yap, bow wow, doppleganging,wow."What's more, if I use introreveroverosotonic sonic imagining software- currently a secret military project which software was leaked, which focuses on bringing 2D images into 3D view, great for topographical maps- THIS is revealed!
None other than a fierce, ravening werewolf! God help us all.And in the middle of the day! /faint
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Uhm, yeah, so today's post is like, uhm...
...not done. I've been trying to make up my Sunday posts ahead of time, that way I can fulfill the commandment of "Sunday is the Lord's day all day long."
I'll just rattle on and on, how about it? Sounds good. Notice that today is not a Sacrilegious Sunday. Today is just a Normrilegious Sunday.
So today, as every Sunday, we went to church. First, my dad almost didn't go, then I almost didn't go. His "almost didn't go" meant that he probably wasn't going to go. My "almost didn't go" meant that I was in no state to go to church, but wouldn't have considered actually not going. The unrelenting assault of the teenage angst is really doing a number on me, but I think it's partly me getting all of my depression and drama out before we go to California.
I have to do some sewing before we leave. I have to put a leather patch on my favorite pants because my kubotan is rubbing on them, and they're almost raw right about my right pocket over my thigh. I might also take the bright orange tag off of them that says "I'm a gangster baby lol!" It's bright orange (didn't I already say that?) and makes me look like a hipster. Ugh. Good for Wednesday Bible study, not good for THREE WHOLE DAYS OF APPEARING HOLY AND SANCTIFIED TO REPRESENT OUR CHURCH HONORABLY. Very detrimental to that effort.)
I also need a haircut at some point. Mrs. Bruckner got a haircut sometime during the last week. I need a haircut so that my hair doesn't look uncut. Simple enough, right?
Oogh. There goes the teenage angst. The sermon was very interesting today. I wrote a lot of stuff down; I was still pretty depressed, though. I sent Manny, the Hitman's wife, an email requesting that she define the teenage angst for me. She sent an article (THANK GOD, SHE HAS GOOD GRAMMAR), which I'll mention when I make my "teenage angst" post.
Apparently, we've decided that we're not traveling with our Pastor to California. While being couped up with three other filthy men in a minivan is not my idea of a fun-filled weekend getaway, it's sort of edifying. At least in the "longsuffering" and "Thou shalt not kill" sense. It'd be an experience. Plus, Pastor wants to see how I'd do if forced to sit next to another teenager.
Or...OK, after an argument (I've learned to call these "arguments"; if I ever call them "fights," my mom grabs a frying pan, and my dad balls his fists, and they yell "YOU WANT US TO SHOW YOU A FIGHT?!") we've decided that we're going with our Pastor. Goody! As long as he's OK with it. If it turns out that there's an extra two people who need to go, we can be drafted to also take our car and take them with us. We're helpers.
I'll be bringing the camcorder. I need to make a list of things to bring...let's see...I'll publish that once it's complete, actually.
Now I'm going to end this post very quickl
[end]
I'll just rattle on and on, how about it? Sounds good. Notice that today is not a Sacrilegious Sunday. Today is just a Normrilegious Sunday.
So today, as every Sunday, we went to church. First, my dad almost didn't go, then I almost didn't go. His "almost didn't go" meant that he probably wasn't going to go. My "almost didn't go" meant that I was in no state to go to church, but wouldn't have considered actually not going. The unrelenting assault of the teenage angst is really doing a number on me, but I think it's partly me getting all of my depression and drama out before we go to California.
I have to do some sewing before we leave. I have to put a leather patch on my favorite pants because my kubotan is rubbing on them, and they're almost raw right about my right pocket over my thigh. I might also take the bright orange tag off of them that says "I'm a gangster baby lol!" It's bright orange (didn't I already say that?) and makes me look like a hipster. Ugh. Good for Wednesday Bible study, not good for THREE WHOLE DAYS OF APPEARING HOLY AND SANCTIFIED TO REPRESENT OUR CHURCH HONORABLY. Very detrimental to that effort.)
I also need a haircut at some point. Mrs. Bruckner got a haircut sometime during the last week. I need a haircut so that my hair doesn't look uncut. Simple enough, right?
Oogh. There goes the teenage angst. The sermon was very interesting today. I wrote a lot of stuff down; I was still pretty depressed, though. I sent Manny, the Hitman's wife, an email requesting that she define the teenage angst for me. She sent an article (THANK GOD, SHE HAS GOOD GRAMMAR), which I'll mention when I make my "teenage angst" post.
Apparently, we've decided that we're not traveling with our Pastor to California. While being couped up with three other filthy men in a minivan is not my idea of a fun-filled weekend getaway, it's sort of edifying. At least in the "longsuffering" and "Thou shalt not kill" sense. It'd be an experience. Plus, Pastor wants to see how I'd do if forced to sit next to another teenager.
Or...OK, after an argument (I've learned to call these "arguments"; if I ever call them "fights," my mom grabs a frying pan, and my dad balls his fists, and they yell "YOU WANT US TO SHOW YOU A FIGHT?!") we've decided that we're going with our Pastor. Goody! As long as he's OK with it. If it turns out that there's an extra two people who need to go, we can be drafted to also take our car and take them with us. We're helpers.
I'll be bringing the camcorder. I need to make a list of things to bring...let's see...I'll publish that once it's complete, actually.
Now I'm going to end this post very quickl
[end]
Saturday, February 09, 2008
McCainiac
Well, I had a dream today. It was simply eerie. (Audio link is above lyrics, after recounting of my dream.)
John McCain had drowned. (HaD. In my dream. I don't want him dead, of course...I don't like him, but that doesn't mean I'd ever want him to be killed.)
The video footage was graphic; they drug him out, and he was waterlogged and still partway alive. His brain was dead, but somehow he was moving and trying to talk. Great last moments, dude.
You know those people who host "Weekend Update" on Saturday Night Live? ...well, I just trudged through the Saturday Night Live site for 10 minutes, but I couldn't find them. Now let me find them in half a minute on Wikipedia.
Lol, I love it when I'm right. It was Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Jimmy Fallon. Once I found Tina Fey- the only name I remembered- I found the other two easily. They're the ones who hosted the Weekend Update, but not all at the same time.
In the dream, one of the women was named Mindy. They reported on McCain's death- they were serious reporters- then they for some reason came to my house! I was apparently a rabid fan, and I wanted to ask Mindy if Midna was a nickname for Mindy. I always ask people if their names are derivatives of other names, like they're experts on their own name or something. Y'know, that was the first brainstorm I've ever had while dreaming. I hadn't thought of Mindy and Midna being alike.
I guess they were investigating McCain's death. They were being very conspiratorial. They would talk amongst themselves and such. Then, Jimmy Fallon showed up. The next part is very foggy...it probably just skipped to the next scene; them trying to frame me for McCain's drowning.
They were leaving, so I was saying goodbye to them. Their car was in our car's place, and also was our car. Then, Fallon handed me a handful of vials, two that were dripping with liquid, almost like syrup. It reminded me of how corn syrup "sticks" to you as if it were a layer of oil.
At that point, I got the idea- somehow- that these were extracted bodily fluids from McCain or [some other method of proving whoever had the vials committed the crime], the newscasters were the ones who drowned him, and they were now trying to frame me. Smartly, I set the vials on the top of their car, so they couldn't leave. I started banging on the side of the house to get my mom out there to keep an eye on them, then I ran inside and got the camera to video tape them with the vials. I then woke up.
My question is, where does this come from? I haven't watched Saturday Night Live for months and months, and I haven't handled corn syrup for about a month. Yesterday, I was examining the side of the house, though not in the area I was banging on. And I have had increased mental thought on my camcorder lately, as I'll be bringing it with me to California.
That's about it for the "logically, this should be in my dream" part. After that begins the "Where on earth did I come up with that?" part.
I then woke up with the McCainiac song stuck in my head. That's the most comforting song since the Zelda Rap.
Aha. It took some digging, but I finally found it. Link via J.D. Hayworth's audio section: McCainiac. I'm not a fan of J.D. Hayworth- he talks far too slowly- but I tuned in and managed to catch the tune.
Lyrics:
Just a seventy-year-old from Arizona
And I'm making my last big run
Pushing through New Hampshire on the straight-talk express
With my old pal Joe Lieberman
Changing stories faster than I can change shoes
On amnesty I will say this:
It is not amnesty, because I say so
It is simply illegal bliss
You must join up with me
Cause I really know what's best
I deserve the presidency!
Ambition beats within my breast
I'm McCainiac, McCainiac in this campaign
You better vote for me or you will feel some pain
I'm the McCainiac, McCainiac it's true
And you'll vote for me just like I tell you to
[AUDIO SOUNDBITES FROM MCCAIN]
I always do the right thing, and it always turns out alright. And I know what the right thing is.
I'm worried about our nation's security, and if you or anyone else has a better way of securing our borders, people are here illegally, I'd love to hear it.
[RETURN TO SONG]
Sure I oppose Bush's tax cuts quick as a wink
And I want to close club Gitmo
But you know I really don't care what you think
After all, I am a hero
Cause the fact is I am destiny's man
Even the newspaper[sic] know that it's true!
And you'd better listen to me right now,
Cause I want to tell you what I will do
I'm McCainiac, McCainiac in 2008
You will vote for me because I'm absolutely great
I'm McCainiac, McCainiac it's true
You will do just what I tell you now to do
McCainiac, McCainiac it's true
You will do just what I want you to go do
John McCain had drowned. (HaD. In my dream. I don't want him dead, of course...I don't like him, but that doesn't mean I'd ever want him to be killed.)
The video footage was graphic; they drug him out, and he was waterlogged and still partway alive. His brain was dead, but somehow he was moving and trying to talk. Great last moments, dude.
You know those people who host "Weekend Update" on Saturday Night Live? ...well, I just trudged through the Saturday Night Live site for 10 minutes, but I couldn't find them. Now let me find them in half a minute on Wikipedia.
Lol, I love it when I'm right. It was Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Jimmy Fallon. Once I found Tina Fey- the only name I remembered- I found the other two easily. They're the ones who hosted the Weekend Update, but not all at the same time.
In the dream, one of the women was named Mindy. They reported on McCain's death- they were serious reporters- then they for some reason came to my house! I was apparently a rabid fan, and I wanted to ask Mindy if Midna was a nickname for Mindy. I always ask people if their names are derivatives of other names, like they're experts on their own name or something. Y'know, that was the first brainstorm I've ever had while dreaming. I hadn't thought of Mindy and Midna being alike.
I guess they were investigating McCain's death. They were being very conspiratorial. They would talk amongst themselves and such. Then, Jimmy Fallon showed up. The next part is very foggy...it probably just skipped to the next scene; them trying to frame me for McCain's drowning.
They were leaving, so I was saying goodbye to them. Their car was in our car's place, and also was our car. Then, Fallon handed me a handful of vials, two that were dripping with liquid, almost like syrup. It reminded me of how corn syrup "sticks" to you as if it were a layer of oil.
At that point, I got the idea- somehow- that these were extracted bodily fluids from McCain or [some other method of proving whoever had the vials committed the crime], the newscasters were the ones who drowned him, and they were now trying to frame me. Smartly, I set the vials on the top of their car, so they couldn't leave. I started banging on the side of the house to get my mom out there to keep an eye on them, then I ran inside and got the camera to video tape them with the vials. I then woke up.
My question is, where does this come from? I haven't watched Saturday Night Live for months and months, and I haven't handled corn syrup for about a month. Yesterday, I was examining the side of the house, though not in the area I was banging on. And I have had increased mental thought on my camcorder lately, as I'll be bringing it with me to California.
That's about it for the "logically, this should be in my dream" part. After that begins the "Where on earth did I come up with that?" part.
I then woke up with the McCainiac song stuck in my head. That's the most comforting song since the Zelda Rap.
Aha. It took some digging, but I finally found it. Link via J.D. Hayworth's audio section: McCainiac. I'm not a fan of J.D. Hayworth- he talks far too slowly- but I tuned in and managed to catch the tune.
Lyrics:
Just a seventy-year-old from Arizona
And I'm making my last big run
Pushing through New Hampshire on the straight-talk express
With my old pal Joe Lieberman
Changing stories faster than I can change shoes
On amnesty I will say this:
It is not amnesty, because I say so
It is simply illegal bliss
You must join up with me
Cause I really know what's best
I deserve the presidency!
Ambition beats within my breast
I'm McCainiac, McCainiac in this campaign
You better vote for me or you will feel some pain
I'm the McCainiac, McCainiac it's true
And you'll vote for me just like I tell you to
[AUDIO SOUNDBITES FROM MCCAIN]
I always do the right thing, and it always turns out alright. And I know what the right thing is.
I'm worried about our nation's security, and if you or anyone else has a better way of securing our borders, people are here illegally, I'd love to hear it.
[RETURN TO SONG]
Sure I oppose Bush's tax cuts quick as a wink
And I want to close club Gitmo
But you know I really don't care what you think
After all, I am a hero
Cause the fact is I am destiny's man
Even the newspaper[sic] know that it's true!
And you'd better listen to me right now,
Cause I want to tell you what I will do
I'm McCainiac, McCainiac in 2008
You will vote for me because I'm absolutely great
I'm McCainiac, McCainiac it's true
You will do just what I tell you now to do
McCainiac, McCainiac it's true
You will do just what I want you to go do
Friday, February 08, 2008
Shoes, Blowguns, and Throwing the Kittens Outside
I'm feeling chatty. Last night, I ended up losing track of time, and I was up until 2 AM. "Huh. That was weird," I thought as I looked at the clock.
Hold on. I've got to go put Lionel into bondage. The kittens are so miserable lately, they can't be stood if they're in the same room, and they can't be stood if they're in different rooms. Thus, I'll actually give him liberty and throw him outside. Hold on.
That's much better. I'll be standing fast in this liberty for sure. Lionel landed pretty well, but Popoe landed on his face and tumbled head-over-tail in a pile of glass. I don't even know how that was possible! There's no glass out there...I'll have to look into this matter later.
Anyway, I lost track of time, and 2 AM dropped on me like a ton of coffee beans. I set my alarm for 8:09 AM, after Romans 8:9. As you may know, my real alarm was given away to uncleanness through the lusts of its own heart, to vile affections, and to a reprobate mind. So, I use my Nintendo DS's built-in alarm clock. It works fine, but not when you need several alarm settings or if you want to wake to Craig's Top Ten Cat Songs on CATALK 95.7. NDS does not play radio.
But the NDS alarm is pretty good. The kittens being hit by cars as I speak is pretty good. SCREEEEECH. (Cat moaning.)"Oh, my God! It's still alive!" Ahh...sweet melody to my ears. Oh, and the shoes shipped. In fact, they're out for delivery. I guess Zappos.com really does ship overnight for free.
02/08/2008 8:09 A.M. OUT FOR DELIVERY
Notice anything special about that? Think, humble fool! Think! 8:09 AM was what I set my alarm for. Aren't I smart? No? Rabid coincidence again?...oh. Right.
Next, I switch topics to blowguns. This is part primer on blowguns, part personal records, and part me going through my ritual of ordering stuff online, so give me leniency on length. You don't even have to read it unless you're curious about an awesome birthday gift. It's not legal in California or Massachusetts.
As you know (There is a Still in the Air from March 23, 2007), I have a 36" 2-piece blowgun. It's .40 caliber. They make great gifts; trust me, the novelty value is through the roof...but in a good way. Just buy a 100-pack of darts along with the blowgun. It should be noted, they make great gifts in the same bloody way that BB guns do, so gift as if you were gifting a BB gun (unless you only buy plastic/blunt darts, in which case it's good for very young kids). They range in price from $10 to $35, from 2 feet to 6 feet. Some retailers sell .50 and .62 caliber.
(Real hunting blowguns are homemade with 1/2" polyvinyl chloride, and 36" is much too short for a real blowgun, and a real blowgun wouldn't be in two pieces. Go find a blowgun assembling site if you want to hunt big game- like dogs- with one. What's wrong with you, hunting dog?)
I ran out of ammo a long while ago, thus, now I'm going to order some blowgun ammunomonition. That's how I ofttimes say "ammunition." I shop with J & L Self Defense Products. I cannot attest to their sanity, nor to their goodstanding; that is, I do not endorse them as I am cautious of potentially-psychotic companies. I just know that they're nowhere near as psychotic as most blowgun- or "self-defense"- sites. They also offer a drastically superior selection, but only for .40 caliber; they do not carry .50 cal or .62.
(So you know, darts are to blowguns what "bolts" are to crossbows.)
So, I'm getting 10 broad head darts...$2.00---*
10 stinger darts...$2.00
25 target darts...$3.50---*
25 spear head darts...$4.00---*
25 plastic stun darts...$3.00
25 magnum stun darts...$4.00
24 cap darts via the cap starter kit...$6.00---**
2 packs of 72 caps for the cap darts...$3.00
1 Sidewinder 1-piece, 36" blowgun...$9.99---***
Great. If you're a traveling gypsy, you'll calculate the total at $37.50, not including shipping. That's a lot of money, considering it's MY money. I could instantly drop the sum to $27.50 if I didn't get the blowgun...but I am extremely curious of how they would ship a 3' pipe. Doesn't that make you curious? It makes me curious. It also intrigues me in that it is practically a self-made blog post.
OK, I went ahead and put the order through. Total was $55.07. I ordered another knickknack unrelated to blowguns for $5. I did take a survey and make $100 in magazine subscriptions...so I really made $45 today! Great! But I don't like any of the magazines. Oh well. Back to -$55.
Have I mentioned that my cat, Tiger, is chronically constipated? Yeah...more on that later. The shoes are here. Behold their dressy glory, below.
That's Tiger's leg. He is still constipated; furthermore, the kittens are both desperately begging to come back inside, and he's jealous because they're "free." I'll like, take a picture in 6 months, and see if the shoes age like the others. They're a little tight; I guess they do need breaking in. Or maybe they're tied too tight...but I don't want to make another sacrifice to the string gods today.
I'll post again once the blowgun ammo arrives, and I'll go out and shoot at a target I'll paint on the house to see how my grouping is.
Hold on. I've got to go put Lionel into bondage. The kittens are so miserable lately, they can't be stood if they're in the same room, and they can't be stood if they're in different rooms. Thus, I'll actually give him liberty and throw him outside. Hold on.
That's much better. I'll be standing fast in this liberty for sure. Lionel landed pretty well, but Popoe landed on his face and tumbled head-over-tail in a pile of glass. I don't even know how that was possible! There's no glass out there...I'll have to look into this matter later.
Anyway, I lost track of time, and 2 AM dropped on me like a ton of coffee beans. I set my alarm for 8:09 AM, after Romans 8:9. As you may know, my real alarm was given away to uncleanness through the lusts of its own heart, to vile affections, and to a reprobate mind. So, I use my Nintendo DS's built-in alarm clock. It works fine, but not when you need several alarm settings or if you want to wake to Craig's Top Ten Cat Songs on CATALK 95.7. NDS does not play radio.
But the NDS alarm is pretty good. The kittens being hit by cars as I speak is pretty good. SCREEEEECH. (Cat moaning.)"Oh, my God! It's still alive!" Ahh...sweet melody to my ears. Oh, and the shoes shipped. In fact, they're out for delivery. I guess Zappos.com really does ship overnight for free.
02/08/2008 8:09 A.M. OUT FOR DELIVERY
Notice anything special about that? Think, humble fool! Think! 8:09 AM was what I set my alarm for. Aren't I smart? No? Rabid coincidence again?...oh. Right.
Next, I switch topics to blowguns. This is part primer on blowguns, part personal records, and part me going through my ritual of ordering stuff online, so give me leniency on length. You don't even have to read it unless you're curious about an awesome birthday gift. It's not legal in California or Massachusetts.
As you know (There is a Still in the Air from March 23, 2007), I have a 36" 2-piece blowgun. It's .40 caliber. They make great gifts; trust me, the novelty value is through the roof...but in a good way. Just buy a 100-pack of darts along with the blowgun. It should be noted, they make great gifts in the same bloody way that BB guns do, so gift as if you were gifting a BB gun (unless you only buy plastic/blunt darts, in which case it's good for very young kids). They range in price from $10 to $35, from 2 feet to 6 feet. Some retailers sell .50 and .62 caliber.
(Real hunting blowguns are homemade with 1/2" polyvinyl chloride, and 36" is much too short for a real blowgun, and a real blowgun wouldn't be in two pieces. Go find a blowgun assembling site if you want to hunt big game- like dogs- with one. What's wrong with you, hunting dog?)
I ran out of ammo a long while ago, thus, now I'm going to order some blowgun ammunomonition. That's how I ofttimes say "ammunition." I shop with J & L Self Defense Products. I cannot attest to their sanity, nor to their goodstanding; that is, I do not endorse them as I am cautious of potentially-psychotic companies. I just know that they're nowhere near as psychotic as most blowgun- or "self-defense"- sites. They also offer a drastically superior selection, but only for .40 caliber; they do not carry .50 cal or .62.
(So you know, darts are to blowguns what "bolts" are to crossbows.)
So, I'm getting 10 broad head darts...$2.00---*
10 stinger darts...$2.00
25 target darts...$3.50---*
25 spear head darts...$4.00---*
25 plastic stun darts...$3.00
25 magnum stun darts...$4.00
24 cap darts via the cap starter kit...$6.00---**
2 packs of 72 caps for the cap darts...$3.00
1 Sidewinder 1-piece, 36" blowgun...$9.99---***
- *-These three are more or less the same, but they have different tips.
- **-I found a new ballistic; cap darts! You know those little caps that go "POP" when they are hit, the ones used in cap guns? These darts are plastic, and they have those on the end. I'm assured to have some fun with these. Say "goodbye" to peace of mind, kittens!
- ***-I also found a 24" blowgun extender (I'd like to see a bit more length in my blowgun); however, I don't think it's wise to have more than one connection in the blowgun (it bows enough with one). Currently, each half of my blowgun is 18". Thus, with the 24" extension, I would only gain 6 inches. Therefore I conclude that I should spend the extra $5 and get a 1-piece 3-foot blowgun, essentially buying a secondary blowgun. It'll also come with darts and necessary dart holders, so the $5 isn't exactly going to waste.
Great. If you're a traveling gypsy, you'll calculate the total at $37.50, not including shipping. That's a lot of money, considering it's MY money. I could instantly drop the sum to $27.50 if I didn't get the blowgun...but I am extremely curious of how they would ship a 3' pipe. Doesn't that make you curious? It makes me curious. It also intrigues me in that it is practically a self-made blog post.
OK, I went ahead and put the order through. Total was $55.07. I ordered another knickknack unrelated to blowguns for $5. I did take a survey and make $100 in magazine subscriptions...so I really made $45 today! Great! But I don't like any of the magazines. Oh well. Back to -$55.
Have I mentioned that my cat, Tiger, is chronically constipated? Yeah...more on that later. The shoes are here. Behold their dressy glory, below.
That's Tiger's leg. He is still constipated; furthermore, the kittens are both desperately begging to come back inside, and he's jealous because they're "free." I'll like, take a picture in 6 months, and see if the shoes age like the others. They're a little tight; I guess they do need breaking in. Or maybe they're tied too tight...but I don't want to make another sacrifice to the string gods today.I'll post again once the blowgun ammo arrives, and I'll go out and shoot at a target I'll paint on the house to see how my grouping is.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Water Day: I ordered the shoes
Yes, I finally ordered my new shoes. It took a few weeks, but I managed to save up some sort of total, then I ordered them, so that I don't have to wear these shoes which have milk and gasoline all over them when I go to church.
Here's the post I mentioned them in: My Shoes. That post is dated January 07. Today is February 07. I didn't do it on purpose. It must be my exceedingly large brain...or...y'know, just simply that it took 5 Thursdays before I had enough cash to buy them. That's probably it.
In case you didn't know, they are Fitzwell Brice's (link is Zappos.com). They're really nice shoes. Like I said, I don't have to tie them (there's a loop I can loop the tied string around), and as Einstein said, "Brilliant is the man who denies the string gods their daily sacrifice of knot tying."
We'll see if they get here by tomorrow. In their Free Shipping thinger, they claim that, if you order before 1 PM PST on Thursday, they'll arrive the next day, Friday. I ordered them at 10:30 AM PST. Oh, and check out this screenshot.
Aren't I special.
Water day was very uneventful. It seemed like it was over before it had begun.
Uh...let's see...oh, I do have a nagging cut on my right ring finger. Actually, the skin cracked from being so dry. We took 1000 gallons, the Wolf took 500, everyone was happy. Don Feldick informed me that he also went through the teenage angst, and I'm doing pretty good for being in its vulture-like grasp. I only have a few weeks left to practice my virtual bowling before I put
it to the test and try real bowling. (Wow, I went from talking about my skin being dry, to how much water I got, to a reference about the teenage angst, to video games, and then to bowling.)
Last night after Bible study I had a conversation with Mr. Pinkerton. He's French. As Glenn Beck would say, he's a Frenchy-French. He wasn't carrying a white flag, so I assume he isn't completely French. Also, I did not get the urge to punch him in the face repeatedly, so I assume he isn't completely French. Also, he made some jokes and wasn't smoking a cigarette, so I assume he wasn't French. Man, it'd be so hard to be French. But you have to respect the guy; he puts it right on the table. "Hi, I'm Jimmy Pinkerton, I'm a Frenchy-French man."
And...oh, it's time to go. This post probably needs another tag- Friends/Pals, there we go- and now I am off to play a game of Wii Baseball. I can't play right unless I have some bubble gum and a baseball hat to psychotically readjust. We'll see if the shoes get here tomorrow. I can't believe today is Thursday. On one hand, I thought it was Wednesday; on the other, I thought it was Friday. That's never happened before.
Here's the post I mentioned them in: My Shoes. That post is dated January 07. Today is February 07. I didn't do it on purpose. It must be my exceedingly large brain...or...y'know, just simply that it took 5 Thursdays before I had enough cash to buy them. That's probably it.
In case you didn't know, they are Fitzwell Brice's (link is Zappos.com). They're really nice shoes. Like I said, I don't have to tie them (there's a loop I can loop the tied string around), and as Einstein said, "Brilliant is the man who denies the string gods their daily sacrifice of knot tying."
We'll see if they get here by tomorrow. In their Free Shipping thinger, they claim that, if you order before 1 PM PST on Thursday, they'll arrive the next day, Friday. I ordered them at 10:30 AM PST. Oh, and check out this screenshot.
Aren't I special.
Water day was very uneventful. It seemed like it was over before it had begun.
Uh...let's see...oh, I do have a nagging cut on my right ring finger. Actually, the skin cracked from being so dry. We took 1000 gallons, the Wolf took 500, everyone was happy. Don Feldick informed me that he also went through the teenage angst, and I'm doing pretty good for being in its vulture-like grasp. I only have a few weeks left to practice my virtual bowling before I put
it to the test and try real bowling. (Wow, I went from talking about my skin being dry, to how much water I got, to a reference about the teenage angst, to video games, and then to bowling.)
Last night after Bible study I had a conversation with Mr. Pinkerton. He's French. As Glenn Beck would say, he's a Frenchy-French. He wasn't carrying a white flag, so I assume he isn't completely French. Also, I did not get the urge to punch him in the face repeatedly, so I assume he isn't completely French. Also, he made some jokes and wasn't smoking a cigarette, so I assume he wasn't French. Man, it'd be so hard to be French. But you have to respect the guy; he puts it right on the table. "Hi, I'm Jimmy Pinkerton, I'm a Frenchy-French man."
And...oh, it's time to go. This post probably needs another tag- Friends/Pals, there we go- and now I am off to play a game of Wii Baseball. I can't play right unless I have some bubble gum and a baseball hat to psychotically readjust. We'll see if the shoes get here tomorrow. I can't believe today is Thursday. On one hand, I thought it was Wednesday; on the other, I thought it was Friday. That's never happened before.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
My Brother's Birthday Wishes
OK. His birthday is in mid-April; he just told me what he wanted.
A copy of Dragon Ball Z: Budokai Tenkaichi 3...
(It's tradition to buy the new version of Super Smash Brothers for my brother's birthday, so we'll get a copy of Brawl, too. Hopefully the price will be down by then.)
And a DVD box set of Sailor Moon. He likes Sailor Moon a lot. I forget most of it; I would kind of like to watch it again. It appears expensive; here is an Amazon.com list. The going price seems to be around $30 for 6 episodes. That's just great. There's lots of episodes. If we start saving now, we could have the $50,000 needed to purchase every episode ever made in English...what the...what the hell is a-
So that's the wish list. Yes, this is just a cheap, quick blog post...but it's a wishlist nonetheless, and useful nonetheless.
I'm off to milk.
A copy of Dragon Ball Z: Budokai Tenkaichi 3...
(It's tradition to buy the new version of Super Smash Brothers for my brother's birthday, so we'll get a copy of Brawl, too. Hopefully the price will be down by then.)
And a DVD box set of Sailor Moon. He likes Sailor Moon a lot. I forget most of it; I would kind of like to watch it again. It appears expensive; here is an Amazon.com list. The going price seems to be around $30 for 6 episodes. That's just great. There's lots of episodes. If we start saving now, we could have the $50,000 needed to purchase every episode ever made in English...what the...what the hell is a-
So that's the wish list. Yes, this is just a cheap, quick blog post...but it's a wishlist nonetheless, and useful nonetheless.
I'm off to milk.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Bess' Wedding #4: That's Not Bible... Nor Is It Efficient
This is a very long post. I could have made four posts from the content. Lesson should be learned shortly.
So I begin the editing day at roughly 8:30 AM. I set MoviePlus to convert the ultramugontic (i.e., giant) 11 GB .avi file to a more manageable MPEG1 or 2 file. I think I'll have to go with MPEG2, because that's what all the cool kids do. If Mark Nickosian edited DVDs, he'd go with MPEG2.
I figure it'll take half an hour. I need to get some coffee and see if I can't turn myself into a nervous wreck, and I need to do dishes like a mad man, and I need to bag up clothes (that need to be washed.) It is now 9:00 AM, so I'm going to get the coffee and do a load of dishes in the 5 degree water while MoviePlus grinds away converting that .avi.
It's 9:30, and it's still converting. It's halfway through. I guess I was wrong, and it'll take an entire hour. In the mean time, I continue to hone my skills in Wii Bowling/Boxing.
It's 10:20 [and the conversion is done]. Those accursed enemy boxers. POW, POP, SMACK and I'm down. They go on freakish peace rallies one second, then the next they launch a volley at me. My only hope is to just stand still, punch them in their boxing gloves as hard as I can, and hope I can ram their own boxing gloves into their face hard enough to make up for all the hits that they connect on my head. If anything, I should use my head as a shield so that my fists can get through their defenses. I'll try that.
Hey, what's this? The program is once more claiming it will be 4.2 GB in size. If that's true...well...the converted footage itself is 600 MB in MPEG1 format. Therefore, I conclude that the program adjusts the file size and quality depending on movie length. So let me attempt to burn all three and see what size it says it will come out.
OK. I have 22 GB of movie in the timeline. Let me add another 10 GB. Making...exactly 32 GB. 34,403,554,816 bytes, to be exact.
Now I'll convert it on to the external hard drive. It'll take two hours and 40 minutes. In that time I can figure out what to bring on our upcoming trip. Note that me and my dad tend to be REALLY annoying in car rides. He has no idea what he's in store for. We practically turn into 5-year-olds...but with the notable advantage that we have enough arm reach to be able to pull the car into another gear while seated.
Hopefully, we'll be able to go bowling together sometime during the weekend escape from our families. Or me and my dad can just go bowling. I'll likely spend half an hour playing the Claw Machine. Cheap jewelry? Boxes containing untold riches? A 99% chance to win little fake rocks?! Bring it on!
I'm hoping to bring the miniDV camcorder and tape the clawings. At least some of them. Yes, California will be practically razed and ransacked as we blow through playing their claw machines in their bowling alleys.
I haven't been bowling in...at least 7 years. More like 8.5, 1o max. My life is not exactly replete with game nights with the guys; that doesn't happen until I am one of the guys who has to escape his family, and since I am never getting married (I ...dislike weddings), that'll never happen. If I were to go to game nights with the "guys" right now, I'd have to go watch movies and to arcades and eat pop rocks and cracker jacks and whistle Dixie. I swear, the things teenagers find "fun."
Have you ever considered how your mouth doesn't mind cold? Think about it. Invert a soda bottle containing 30-degree water over your eyeball. Pain ensues. Go swimming in 30-degree water, and you'll quickly die (make sure someone is around to drag you out, and two more so that one of those can also jump in, and the other can learn the lesson after the other three have drowned and call 911.) Now pour 30-degree water in your mouth, and it's actually desirable. That's just weird. I understand some people have sensitive teeth, but chances are your tongue doesn't mind it. My brain is fried now.
It's 11:20 AM now. I had to stop the conversion. The final file will be 14 GB... only halving the size. Thus I need to fool the program into thinking I'll make a DVD, thus setting the cap to 4.4 GB...thus allowing a fair assessment of the final Bride's Cut. The Family Cut will only be an hour long, at the most. If the 3 hours of footage is too low of quality, I'll make a Bride's Cut Bonus Disc containing the rehearsal and after party. Actually, that makes more sense, but I'm trying to procrastinate really hard right now, not efficiently get something done. Anyway, I still have around 245 hours to go. It is now 11:35 and I'm beginning the process which will take 2 hours and 40 minutes again. I canceled the last one.
OK, I just now found out that I can write a disc image...so I won't have to worry about my oft-ejecting DVD tray ...uh, well, ejecting, and ruining the whole process.
It's now 3:06 PM. That's 3 hours, 31 minutes later. It's taken slightly more than 2 hours and 40 minutes. It is almost 70% done. So now I know it'll take 5 hours for the final export.
I'm going to milk. 3:22 PM. Conversion at 75%. My arms are sore.
At this point, you can take a break or come back later or whatever. Or you can just keep reading. Or not read the rest. You have plenty of options.
I am back. It is 4:56 PM. The video says it has 1 hours, 28 minutes to go. Fabulous. Milking takes around 55 minutes. 40 minutes spent outside, 15 minutes inside filtering, cleaning the milking bucket and lid and filter, and removing from frozen alcohol/water solution. Before I got back in, I spotted aroaster rooster in the goat pen!
It is now 5:37 PM, and I am back. I had some business other than washing dishes to attend to. (Attend to, rofl.) Below is the rooster, after I had already made a failed grab at him (you can tell by the feather I am holding).
The jerk. I chased him down; turns out, roosters are much easier to catch than wethers. After, oh, 5 minutes, I had caught him. He tried to jump over a wooden gate, landed on the top, in the process unknowingly conveniently putting him at arm height. Grab. I put him back in the chicken pen.
After, I realized that he had lost some more feathers! Oh, my! I had no idea, whatsoever! How tragic, would that it had not happened!...yeah...it's OK, though; now I can make cat toys. They just love thelongest, choice rooster tail feathers selectively plucked tail feathers randomly shed by the rooster. See picture, below.
Aren't they pretty?
My hard drive is rapidly running out of space. Huh. That's weird. I'm dumping files onto the external hard drive like someone pouring buckets of water out of their boat ... this is bad. I moved 1 GB over, there is now only 159 MB free. So I rapidly find another high-GB file. OK, I found another 1 GB file to move over. There's 50 minutes left according to MoviePlus. It is 5:54 PM, and I'm off on another break.
...OK. I'm back. It's 8:31 PM. The process has failed. Drat. It failed because I wasn't around to rapidly transfer data to the external hard drive, I think. What am I, drunk?
My parents got home. "Hi, Kev," they said. "We brought food; also, we brought a DVD box set containing the entire first season of Walker: Texas Ranger, and the fifth season of 24."
"OK, Mom and Dad. That's great! Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer. What a combo!"
"Yes. By the way...I'll be right back," my mom said. Ten minutes later, she returned with a stray kid in her clutches. If you're up on goat lingo, you'll know that a "kid" is a young goat...well...I wish it were that simple. The family down the road, the Hoontz's (Hoont-ses), locked their kid outside of their house.
Us, being the neighbors that we are, went to the rescue and saved the little tyke, named Doak. I was just chilling out on the side, and before I knew it, an 8-year-old named Doak wanted to play Nintendo Wii! That's just plain unexpected!
He asked which games I had. I said, "I'll go get them." I was on my way out of my room with the games in hand when I realized that Splinter Cell: Double Agent, Call of Duty III, and a lame anime game would probably not be appropriate. I put those back. Yes, anime ranks right up there with throat slashing or endless killing for me. You've heard me speak on how anime VA's are basically prostitutes, right?
Let me digress before I get on my soapbox about how I would never want to meet anyone who voice acts for anime. First, he opted for Ratatouille. Yes, I spelled that right on the first try. It's a shame; the poor kid didn't know what Metroid was.
He then wanted to play Twilight Princess. I told him how long the beginning is, and he wisely chose against it. Then he decided he wanted to play a two-player game. He doesn't know how to play Super Mario World. That's just wiggy. Next he decided he wanted to try DBZ: Budokai Tenkaichi 2 (yes, I spelled that right on the first try) and stuck with that for about 35 minutes. I kept commenting on how he should, instead of trying to hit the other guy's fists with his stomach or face, try using his fists to hit their stomach or face. Or try to hit the other guy's face or stomach with his stomach or face, not continuously try to nail the guy's fists with his face or stomach. Since the other guy was working towards the same goal Doak was- getting Doak hit in the stomach and/or face- it worked out really well. Not for Doak, for the Bot.
He tended to give up halfway through losing a fight. I guess that's wise. If I were throwing my face against someone's fist, I would expect it would hurt less if I stopped violently flinging my face into their punch. Kid's not a fighter. His grandma showed up a bit over an hour after he got here, so he let me take over the fighting. I promptly dealt with the character he was headbutting in the fists.
He wanted to have that glowstick thing I got from the Zoo Lights thinger, and I figured since I am too scared to waste the thingie's batteries by using it, he should have it. Now it's all quiet in the house...and I am tired. But I need to stay up a bit longer.
How about my progress report? It's very glum. It's not only Not Bible (i.e., "not right", as in, "not kosher"), but it is very inefficient. I will just go with plan B: separate "Bonus Disc." Like I said above:
One .avi file converted to MPEG1. Conversion successful; results unsatisfactory.
Three .avi files downsized to under 4.4 GB for burning to DVD; conversion unsuccessful.
Time getting situated: 10 minutes
Time viewing footage for editing: zero minutes worth: zero minutes
Time tending to .avi to MPEG1 conversion process: 35 minutes
Time tending to .avi to DVD-sized, 4.4 GB file conversion process: 45 minutes
Total time spent today: 1 hour, 30 minutes
Total time computer was tied up with converting: 4 hours of raw .avi: roughly 7 hours, 31 minutes; attempt unsuccessful
Total estimated time left: forecast: 244 hours, 55 minutes (two-hundred forty-four hours and fifty-five minutes), i.e., way too much
So I begin the editing day at roughly 8:30 AM. I set MoviePlus to convert the ultramugontic (i.e., giant) 11 GB .avi file to a more manageable MPEG1 or 2 file. I think I'll have to go with MPEG2, because that's what all the cool kids do. If Mark Nickosian edited DVDs, he'd go with MPEG2.
I figure it'll take half an hour. I need to get some coffee and see if I can't turn myself into a nervous wreck, and I need to do dishes like a mad man, and I need to bag up clothes (that need to be washed.) It is now 9:00 AM, so I'm going to get the coffee and do a load of dishes in the 5 degree water while MoviePlus grinds away converting that .avi.
It's 9:30, and it's still converting. It's halfway through. I guess I was wrong, and it'll take an entire hour. In the mean time, I continue to hone my skills in Wii Bowling/Boxing.
It's 10:20 [and the conversion is done]. Those accursed enemy boxers. POW, POP, SMACK and I'm down. They go on freakish peace rallies one second, then the next they launch a volley at me. My only hope is to just stand still, punch them in their boxing gloves as hard as I can, and hope I can ram their own boxing gloves into their face hard enough to make up for all the hits that they connect on my head. If anything, I should use my head as a shield so that my fists can get through their defenses. I'll try that.
Hey, what's this? The program is once more claiming it will be 4.2 GB in size. If that's true...well...the converted footage itself is 600 MB in MPEG1 format. Therefore, I conclude that the program adjusts the file size and quality depending on movie length. So let me attempt to burn all three and see what size it says it will come out.
OK. I have 22 GB of movie in the timeline. Let me add another 10 GB. Making...exactly 32 GB. 34,403,554,816 bytes, to be exact.
Now I'll convert it on to the external hard drive. It'll take two hours and 40 minutes. In that time I can figure out what to bring on our upcoming trip. Note that me and my dad tend to be REALLY annoying in car rides. He has no idea what he's in store for. We practically turn into 5-year-olds...but with the notable advantage that we have enough arm reach to be able to pull the car into another gear while seated.
Hopefully, we'll be able to go bowling together sometime during the weekend escape from our families. Or me and my dad can just go bowling. I'll likely spend half an hour playing the Claw Machine. Cheap jewelry? Boxes containing untold riches? A 99% chance to win little fake rocks?! Bring it on!
I'm hoping to bring the miniDV camcorder and tape the clawings. At least some of them. Yes, California will be practically razed and ransacked as we blow through playing their claw machines in their bowling alleys.
I haven't been bowling in...at least 7 years. More like 8.5, 1o max. My life is not exactly replete with game nights with the guys; that doesn't happen until I am one of the guys who has to escape his family, and since I am never getting married (I ...dislike weddings), that'll never happen. If I were to go to game nights with the "guys" right now, I'd have to go watch movies and to arcades and eat pop rocks and cracker jacks and whistle Dixie. I swear, the things teenagers find "fun."
Have you ever considered how your mouth doesn't mind cold? Think about it. Invert a soda bottle containing 30-degree water over your eyeball. Pain ensues. Go swimming in 30-degree water, and you'll quickly die (make sure someone is around to drag you out, and two more so that one of those can also jump in, and the other can learn the lesson after the other three have drowned and call 911.) Now pour 30-degree water in your mouth, and it's actually desirable. That's just weird. I understand some people have sensitive teeth, but chances are your tongue doesn't mind it. My brain is fried now.
It's 11:20 AM now. I had to stop the conversion. The final file will be 14 GB... only halving the size. Thus I need to fool the program into thinking I'll make a DVD, thus setting the cap to 4.4 GB...thus allowing a fair assessment of the final Bride's Cut. The Family Cut will only be an hour long, at the most. If the 3 hours of footage is too low of quality, I'll make a Bride's Cut Bonus Disc containing the rehearsal and after party. Actually, that makes more sense, but I'm trying to procrastinate really hard right now, not efficiently get something done. Anyway, I still have around 245 hours to go. It is now 11:35 and I'm beginning the process which will take 2 hours and 40 minutes again. I canceled the last one.
OK, I just now found out that I can write a disc image...so I won't have to worry about my oft-ejecting DVD tray ...uh, well, ejecting, and ruining the whole process.
It's now 3:06 PM. That's 3 hours, 31 minutes later. It's taken slightly more than 2 hours and 40 minutes. It is almost 70% done. So now I know it'll take 5 hours for the final export.
I'm going to milk. 3:22 PM. Conversion at 75%. My arms are sore.
At this point, you can take a break or come back later or whatever. Or you can just keep reading. Or not read the rest. You have plenty of options.
I am back. It is 4:56 PM. The video says it has 1 hours, 28 minutes to go. Fabulous. Milking takes around 55 minutes. 40 minutes spent outside, 15 minutes inside filtering, cleaning the milking bucket and lid and filter, and removing from frozen alcohol/water solution. Before I got back in, I spotted a
It is now 5:37 PM, and I am back. I had some business other than washing dishes to attend to. (Attend to, rofl.) Below is the rooster, after I had already made a failed grab at him (you can tell by the feather I am holding).
The jerk. I chased him down; turns out, roosters are much easier to catch than wethers. After, oh, 5 minutes, I had caught him. He tried to jump over a wooden gate, landed on the top, in the process unknowingly conveniently putting him at arm height. Grab. I put him back in the chicken pen.After, I realized that he had lost some more feathers! Oh, my! I had no idea, whatsoever! How tragic, would that it had not happened!...yeah...it's OK, though; now I can make cat toys. They just love the
Aren't they pretty?My hard drive is rapidly running out of space. Huh. That's weird. I'm dumping files onto the external hard drive like someone pouring buckets of water out of their boat ... this is bad. I moved 1 GB over, there is now only 159 MB free. So I rapidly find another high-GB file. OK, I found another 1 GB file to move over. There's 50 minutes left according to MoviePlus. It is 5:54 PM, and I'm off on another break.
...OK. I'm back. It's 8:31 PM. The process has failed. Drat. It failed because I wasn't around to rapidly transfer data to the external hard drive, I think. What am I, drunk?
My parents got home. "Hi, Kev," they said. "We brought food; also, we brought a DVD box set containing the entire first season of Walker: Texas Ranger, and the fifth season of 24."
"OK, Mom and Dad. That's great! Chuck Norris and Jack Bauer. What a combo!"
"Yes. By the way...I'll be right back," my mom said. Ten minutes later, she returned with a stray kid in her clutches. If you're up on goat lingo, you'll know that a "kid" is a young goat...well...I wish it were that simple. The family down the road, the Hoontz's (Hoont-ses), locked their kid outside of their house.
Us, being the neighbors that we are, went to the rescue and saved the little tyke, named Doak. I was just chilling out on the side, and before I knew it, an 8-year-old named Doak wanted to play Nintendo Wii! That's just plain unexpected!
He asked which games I had. I said, "I'll go get them." I was on my way out of my room with the games in hand when I realized that Splinter Cell: Double Agent, Call of Duty III, and a lame anime game would probably not be appropriate. I put those back. Yes, anime ranks right up there with throat slashing or endless killing for me. You've heard me speak on how anime VA's are basically prostitutes, right?
Let me digress before I get on my soapbox about how I would never want to meet anyone who voice acts for anime. First, he opted for Ratatouille. Yes, I spelled that right on the first try. It's a shame; the poor kid didn't know what Metroid was.
He then wanted to play Twilight Princess. I told him how long the beginning is, and he wisely chose against it. Then he decided he wanted to play a two-player game. He doesn't know how to play Super Mario World. That's just wiggy. Next he decided he wanted to try DBZ: Budokai Tenkaichi 2 (yes, I spelled that right on the first try) and stuck with that for about 35 minutes. I kept commenting on how he should, instead of trying to hit the other guy's fists with his stomach or face, try using his fists to hit their stomach or face. Or try to hit the other guy's face or stomach with his stomach or face, not continuously try to nail the guy's fists with his face or stomach. Since the other guy was working towards the same goal Doak was- getting Doak hit in the stomach and/or face- it worked out really well. Not for Doak, for the Bot.
He tended to give up halfway through losing a fight. I guess that's wise. If I were throwing my face against someone's fist, I would expect it would hurt less if I stopped violently flinging my face into their punch. Kid's not a fighter. His grandma showed up a bit over an hour after he got here, so he let me take over the fighting. I promptly dealt with the character he was headbutting in the fists.
He wanted to have that glowstick thing I got from the Zoo Lights thinger, and I figured since I am too scared to waste the thingie's batteries by using it, he should have it. Now it's all quiet in the house...and I am tired. But I need to stay up a bit longer.
How about my progress report? It's very glum. It's not only Not Bible (i.e., "not right", as in, "not kosher"), but it is very inefficient. I will just go with plan B: separate "Bonus Disc." Like I said above:
Actually, that makes more sense, but I'm trying to procrastinate really hard right now, not efficiently get something done.
One .avi file converted to MPEG1. Conversion successful; results unsatisfactory.
Three .avi files downsized to under 4.4 GB for burning to DVD; conversion unsuccessful.
Time getting situated: 10 minutes
Time viewing footage for editing: zero minutes worth: zero minutes
Time tending to .avi to MPEG1 conversion process: 35 minutes
Time tending to .avi to DVD-sized, 4.4 GB file conversion process: 45 minutes
Total time spent today: 1 hour, 30 minutes
Total time computer was tied up with converting: 4 hours of raw .avi: roughly 7 hours, 31 minutes; attempt unsuccessful
Total estimated time left: forecast: 244 hours, 55 minutes (two-hundred forty-four hours and fifty-five minutes), i.e., way too much
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