That's it!

Yeah! I'm having a trouble: I'm restless, but not in the typical way of being restless. But I think I figured it out: my computer's messy!

Surely this is the cause. Let me example you:


In my Blog photos folder, (which is also the Blog videos folder), I have 178 items; 19 are folders for organizing the photos, 159 are photos. That means there are 159 unsorted photos.

This happened because I had a May Blog Pictures folder from 2007, but then it was May of 2008 and I wasn't smart enough to add a "2007" to the previous May, so I made May Blog Pictures 2, but I got so confused that sometimes I'd put new pictures into the archival folder. I know that's a silly way to become unorganized, but I sure did it.

I actually almost sorted them in this post, but I didn't. There were too many for me to worry about at the time and I'd probably never use them again anyway. So I suppose I'll sort my blog pictures over the next few days...


Also, my desktop is a train wreck, but that's a more conventional problem.

I must sort the desktop items into folders on the desktop...and if I have any trouble (i.e. not knowing where a file goes), I create a folder that will ease that certain trouble. In the end, I should have about 10 folder categories that will fit any file. Then I can slowly move those folders to locations other than the desktop...or, more likely, create a "Hub" folder to...uh, hub all of these folders.


I still have 3.4 GB left on my hard drive; I estimate that there are 5-6 GB of pictures- recent pictures- that I don't have, and at least 2 GB of elder pictures that I don't have. (All I know is that my mom has about 40 backup CDs from the dark days, so there must be at least 2 GB.) The lack of hard drive space could certainly be driving me mad, as well. And then,-

-

Vote the Arm Cannon #1

OK, Samus Aran is up for voting at Gamefaqs.com. But only for today. So go vote if you haven't already.

No registration required. Vote the Arm Cannon and make your country- and your God- proud. Link: http://www.gamefaqs.com/

Remember, there is always a poll on Gamefaqs.com. So tomorrow there will be different options.

What I mean by this is that if you are viewing this poll at a later date than today, it could be "Will You Buy a Wii60, WiiPS3, or PS360?" and you will not be able to find Samus Aran as an option and I don't want you wasting your time. So this is like, time sensitive, so don't be stupid, alright?

Alright.

Happy Birthday, Dad

Yeah, uh, I think I just ...like...the post is already done because the title says it all.

So...uhh...


I made steak (with caramelized onions), french fries, Brussels sprouts, and since it's my dad's favorite, biscuits and gravy. The biscuits and gravy was a little too much. Gaudy, you know.


Yet my dad was having a GREAT birthday. He explained to us that he's lived his entire life struggling to survive for this day. He "kicked his way out of his mom" and "changed his own diapers on occasion." Then my mom said, "That's when you were five, right?" He said, "SHUT UP! I've survived my whole life, living, struggling to exist until this day! The first good birthday of my life!"


Then we ate, then I got the cake. When we sang happy birthday, I played it on my guitar. That was nice. Then we ate some cake, then I got the presents. My dad opened his cards.

By 'opened,' I mean he followed family tradition and ripped them open and held the card upside-down for the money/checks to fall out. If you ever get me a card, tape the money in it, or else I won't read the card. I keep the birthday candles burning so I can burn the cards that don't have cash in them as I open them. (That may or may not be true; feeling lucky?)
Actually, it used to be that you could "candle" the cards like you would a chicken egg to see which ones had cash in 'em, but they got wise to me and started making the cards thicker. Jerks.

Anyway, I was ever the clever and put a piece of paper in my card that said "Sorry, no cash." He picked it up greedily..."WHAT?! NO CASH?" His day was officially turning bad.

Then the presents arrived. I mean, I brought them. They're not...magical presents. That'd be c-...uhh, where was I. Oh yeah, he picked up the big present. "Oh maybe I should start with this PILLOW!" he spat. It was a pillow; can't disguise a pillow well.

I'm getting much better at wrapping presents. I can't get too good, though, or else it'll be one of those "Wow, only a gay man would be able to wrap presents that goodly...hmm..." things, and I don't like those. So I have to inject a little thorn in the flesh and use Christmas wrapping paper on his birthday present. Aren't I just so humble.


So then he proceeded to open his non-pillow presents; the first was four socks.

The second was four more socks.

The third was two socks.

The fourth was two more socks.

The fifth was one sock.

The sixth was one more sock.

The seventh was one more sock.

The eighth was one more sock.


My poor dad. It frustrated him to no end, but it serves him right; remember in this post when he delighted in giving my brother the 10 individually-wrapped Sailor Moon tapes? That's what I call karma, baby.

Karma courtesy Kev.

Righteous Lie

Is there such a thing as a righteous lie? Where the truth would be so damaging that it justifies- or rather requires- a lie to prevent that damage? And if so, how many more of these "righteous" lies await down the road?

Would such a lie even be necessary, or would silence suffice? Can silence speak the necessary volumes? It's been said that the truth is a strong remedy, but it cures the pain. But what if that truth did not cure the pain, instead causing desolation and even more sorrow? What happens when it turns from a single "righteous" lie to a common modus operandi?

Would it be better to live with the desolated consequences of truth or to bear the consequences of living a "righteous" lie in the inane belief that corruption will not result?


And what of destroying others to a hopefully positive end? That is, tough "love" carried to the extreme, crushing their heart, mind or hopes to, once again, hopefully, effect a positive end result? Then is there such a thing as righteous destruction?


Do the two go hand-in-hand?

Time to make the Taffy

Remember when I first mentioned making taffy in passing in this post? That was actually one of the first times I'd ever made taffy. And I haven't made much since. I'm by far no pro. That sounds grammatically choppy, but I'll go with it.


Regardless. For some reason, I decided it was time to make some again. Maybe it's because tomorrow is the first day of Fall (according to the ever-authoritative Spiderman 3 calender my mom uses), or maybe it's because in two days it's time again for my Metroid Prime 2: Echoes birthday run. Yeah, that's definitely it. It's the...it's the brooding instincts.


OK, get your liquid glycerin. This stuff is...sigh...yes, it's the bomb. There, I said it, I hope you're just giggling yourself into a coma.

Now get your vodka. I mean vanilla. I totally meant vanilla.


Yeah...do I use the new stuff...or the old stuff? How many batches were made? I forget. But I'll use the old stuff. I guess it's so old that it didn't need a year designation. Which means it's really old...and I call this Vanillae Taffy. Vanilla just won't describe it. It's almost poisonous. I don't give this to humans, only to animals that I want to die. Oh...I might need to qualify that for legal reasons. Ahahahaha, I'm joking.

There. Boy, I'm feeling dry tonight.


Now add your water, corn syrup, sugar (I got the specialized C&H out), and salt.

One of my worst recurring waking nightmares- I hope that describes them sufficiently- is to accidentally set the thermometer to Celsius and boil it until it's, um, dead. So, cook it until it's done. Then pour it onto a pan to cool a bit before stretching.

There. It's cool enough. I suggest wearing gloves for a few reasons. That I don't need to go into. Let's just go with one reason: They totally keep your hands from burning too badly. Not that they'll help. But I don't want to go into the other reasons. Not this close to Midnight, at least. Now get to stretching.


Hey! We're done! That was quick.


Muahahaha...now is our time, Taffy Army...yes, follow me, your beloved, fearless general-leader...heh heh heh heh heh heh.





Nobody tell them.

What To Do When Protein Isn't Enough

I may have to apologize for this post. My mind is out of it. I can't think straight. I can't operate sufficiently. I am unable to determine whether or not material is inappropriate or grammatically correct with any amount of certainty. I think I have been poisoned.



So, have you ever been a woman? And you're like, "Oh, my bones. My children have taken all of my calcium whilst they were greedily developing in my womb. I am going to die. Uh-huuuuuurg, blegh. I am dead now."?

Well, I have a solution. Here's your normal Breakfast of Champions:

Eww. Sorry, nobody actually eats their eggs like that. That's just sick.

There we go. Much better! I don't know what kind of person eats their eggs whole without blending them. A weird person, that's who. But still...what do you do when protein isn't enough? Such as an woman who produces offspring which devour her precious nutrient reserves during gestation, leaving her calcium-deprived bones crumbling? What do they do?

Well, you know that these are chock-full of calcium, right?


Yeah! But the problem is, they're so hard to eat like this. But think about it: the egg contents are hard to eat whole, too! So of course it follows that the shells are the same! I can't believe I'm like, the first person to figure this out! OK...

First, get your eggs in your blender. Then blend them!


Mmm-mm. Don't be surprised if half the house wakes up because of what I assume to be the wonderful smell of calcium-enriched Breakfast of Champions! Although it doesn't really have a smell. So I don't know, maybe it's just some cosmic allure that wakes them up when I make calcium-enriched BoC, some instinct that tells them: Woo! A perfect breakfast awaits!

Now, scrape all the calcium into your glass, like so...

And add a straw!


To all the midwives and calcium deprived out there, you're welcome.


Tune in next week when I reveal the secret of calcium-rich omelettes. You won't believe it.

Tuxedo Mask is soooo dreamy

OH WAIT, WHAT AM I SAYING?!?! I HAVE TO GO!

The Birthday List 2008

I don't really need to post this, but seeing how slyly letting my main gift buyers know what I want for my birthday is a big part of my original intent for WENDs, I really should. This is really just a formality, and if you really have an itch and want to get me something (and can't think of anything), contact my mom and she will assign you an item to get me. Really. But feel free to just send me a card with $5 in it. I love $5. Without further ado, we're off.


Ahem, me-me-me-me-me-me-me-meeeee!


OH, whoa is me. SIGH. My laptop is getting old. SIGH. I've lived for two years on an 80 GB hard drive. It sure would be nice to have a bigger hard drive. It's totally an ATA and I need at least 250 GB because I have grown to detest spacial limitations. And I totally know that spacial doesn't mean that kind of space. Totally.

Oh, and the battery is so worn down and old, I am lucky if I get 15 minutes from a full charge. WHOA IS ME. I MEAN WOE. I sure do wish I had a new battery, I'm about to run amuck, but it would only be a 10-15 minute amucking, because I don't have much battery life.

Completely unrelated, but did you know that it's been two years since I got that fabulous knife sharpener? Totally. And the stones are starting to wear down. It's so sad trying to sharpen knives with flat stones that it makes my ears spin. And that's weird.

You know how much I love books? No? Oh, I guess I don't really love books. But I don't dislike 'em, especially ones on murder. I mean brainwashing. I mean I better stop digging the hole deeper.

Oh, darn, another pen just died or had died or something SIGH. How I wish I had a pen which could last forever unto eternity. Like that one pen I used to have.


I think that's about it. And you all know how much I love knicks and knacks, too. But that's beside the point. I have to go!

Hmm!: PomPOM Revived

I was thinking...since I get little joy out of life right now (cause I'm in a videogame-deprived, zombielike stupor), maybe I should make some food. Remember PomPOM?

Well, I sure didn't remember PomPOM- I had the same idea I had last year, then after the fact realized that PomPOM was for my birthday (and the following wedding).

But I can't really make enough food to last for the entire two weeks of my birthday run because the lack of slaving over a hot stove for hours would drive me to madness...I'll only get to play MP2 for an hour or so a day, you know. That's an increase from the half hour a day I spent on TTYD, but eh, none of you know these acronyms, so I'll cut to the chase.

(Plus my parents don't enjoy buying three weeks worth of food in one week. It drives them mad. And it makes them rave. Mad ravers are bad people to deal with.)


Thus, I will strike a compromise. I'll clean the meat we have and prepare the vegetables/side dishes we have ingredients for and make some stews, but I won't go overboard. And I'll let you know how it goes. See you then, humble fools! I mean, see you then on this same topic. ...you know what I means.

Drat: Another Dream Crushed

You know I love Italian ice, right? It's wondrous. There are only a few things in this world I love more than Italian ice, amongst them the KJV, the Aran paladin, guitars, video games...and a few more things, then Italian ice is right there at like, #33.

Italian ice is everything I love about slushees without all the stuff I hate about slushees, such as...

• Oversweetness
• Ability to melt into a puddle of syrup faster than a speeding bullet (syrup does not freeze, so what do you expect when you try to make it into a frozen product?)
  
• Inconsistency of the product
  
• Lack of decent flavors. (It's funny; for the widespread popularity of slushees, you'd think they would develop flavors that tasted good, but I guess that isn't their priority- their priority must be annoying me.)

...uh, well, second thought, I guess Italian ice is more like everything slushees should be in theory but aren't. So they really have nothing in common except that they're both cold. But yeah, Italian ice. It's wonderful. Yet for some reason- maybe it's just the world's policy of hating on me- it's not very popular, and thus hard to find. Luckily I've found a supplier.

But I've been thinking...why can't I make and supply this stuff? There's obviously a market, but there's a lack of someone really standing out as the Dreyers or Blue Bunny or eerily similar to Dreyers Breyers (or is it the other way around)...so I was defrosting the freezer today...


And WOOHOO! My Italian Ice business is off to a grand start. I'll call it, "Kevlevleo's Choice" and the flavors will be Actually Tastes Like Lemon Lemon, Wow This Doesn't Taste Horrendously Bad Cherry, and Ooh Who Knew Blue Raspberry Didn't Taste Horrible Blue Raspberry. Then I'll release What The Hell This Isn't Terrible Watermelon. I'll be rich and famous...except...

Well...

Index finger:


Middle Finger next to index finger:


And I also jabbed my Big Toe on Right Foot. It was all bloody, too. So, like, when I injure myself three times in one day such as the above, I get a little careful. And ...when I have ice in the freezer and I cut a the my (sic) finger, I put the finger in the ice to stop the bleeding. And this is what happens.


So ends Kevlevleo's Italian Ice. It goes down in a swirling, health inspector-fueled blaze reminiscent of glory. Fare thee well, What The Hell This Isn't Terrible Watermelon. I miss you forever.


(The dream that was crushed was my Kevlevleo's Italian Ice dream. In case I didn't make that clear.)

The Darkest Hour of Temptation Comes Before the Dawn

It began when I awoke. My first thoughts stirred and danced and forlicked (kind of like frolicking, but higher jumping), but out of nowhere hope and hopelessness collided and engaged; this hateful match was very disturbing to my half-asleep brain. Normally hope and hopelessness don't go at it, but they were really, really, foully angered at each other today.

The Kev Conscious didn't seem to care and let it go on for quite a while. This is typical if, say, secure and anxious are going at it, but not when hope and hopelessness are fighting. Because if hopelessness wins- and I mean really wins- ...game over. So it's a little important that they not play war with each other.

I'm happy to report that The Kev Conscious quenched the brawl. I don't think that hope was exactly on the losing end, yet it's nice that The Kev Conscious wasn't defective. But then the fruit of hope and hopelessness's raging began to manifest.


You know that the Dawn is near. September 23rd...that is when I can begin my Metroid Prime 2: Echoes birthday run. It's been two long years...unbelievable. All I can say is that I'm either wrong about that, or I have some astounding patience. Regardless, it is now that I begin purification.


I must abstain from gaming for personal entertainment from now until I begin Metroid Prime 2: Echoes. I must cleanse myself of that which may detract, and I must extirpate my fears. It's so far gotten off to a bad start, what with hope and hopelessness clashing this morning...

I find myself restless. Restlessness is the fruit of a clash of those Titans of Kev's Mind. And restlessness is not a good thing to have when you're abstaining from gaming. It leads to temptation. But I'll be OK. I'll soldier on. I'll be strong. I'll stop being dramatic.

And I'll celebrate on that bright shore.

Just Waiting for to Kill Me

So I was minding my own business a while back, trudging my way through my miserable existence on this here planet Earth, and I came upon THIS monstrosity, eagerly awaiting my arrival for to quench my life!!!


Thank goodness for 911. He was here before I knew it!


Officer Marv. Still putting in the good word.

"Time to make the Flags"

A week ago, we got an order from a client requesting some flags. I made them a few days ago. I didn't put two and two together, but it was nearing 9/11, which is probably why they requested them. Thus I figure this should be my post for 9/11. They're simple to make; ready?

First things first, get your flag material, which is sold in yards. Then you cut the flags out of it. Then you go find yourself a 2x4...


Like this one! It's an 8-footer...can you see the black dot on my ring finger? Mr. dataDyne, my ally in the guitar faith, asked me about that yesterday. I said, "Well, each week, I put a black dot on the finger that has the toughest guitar callous. That makes the others want to do better, just like gold stars for little kids."

He said, "You really are quite mad." I said, "Oh, yeah? Well, since I started doing it, my pinkie is developing a callous. Can't argue with results."

Anyways, then you cut it into what could be called flag poles.

Yay. Ignore the dead dog (it isn't really dead) in the background, there, and get yourself a stapler.

And lots of staples. Then start stapling the flags (these are not full sized flags, if you can't tell) to the poles. It should look like this:


Hey, look at that...we're done. The poles are 18 inches tall, so that should give you an idea of how big the flags are. The next step is to stack them 5 high and 8 across, and bind them with wire. Then you wrap them in plastic wrap, and they're ready to be sold.


See, that was easy. Now go forth and make flags, humble fools. Go forth and make flags.

Two Birthdays!

Yesterday, as I was pondering the extremities of life (oh, how they toil and whip about), my parents started talking about chickens. They went on and on and on. Then my ear sent the signal to my brain, which sent the signal to me, that they had changed to the subtopic of killing chickens.

Now, a discussion about chickens is very uninteresting. But a discussion about killing chickens? Let me be a fly on that delightful wall!


I cut in. "Say...how would you kill 'em?"

"Well, Kev, do you think-" YES I CAN...sorry, in my haste I forgot the quotations. "YES I CAN SURELY STRANGLE THEM, JUST LINE 'EM UP AND SET 'EM TO DIE!" My eyes were wild and dancing with what surely could have figuratively been called flames. They looked at each other.

"Actually, Kev...I think we need to have a talk about this," Mom said. "I know, I totally know," I began. "For my part, I want to say that this whole 'small farm' thing, I thought it was stupid for the longest time, but now, strangling those animals...I don't know, I just feel, connected to the land, or something."

"Kev...uh...do you think that, um, maybe yo-"

"YES, I CAN TOTALLY STRANGLE A CHICKEN TONIGHT, JUST LEMME KNOW WHICH ONE HECK, I'll just go start strangling, and you can tell me when I've strangled the right one!" I practically screamed, wringing my hands and sitting on the edge of my seat.

After a pause: "Kev, don't strangle any chickens tonight," Dad said. "We aren't prepared to clean them, and it's too late. We can do it this weekend." My heart dropped, but it didn't hit the bottom. "Can't I just strangle one and, um, sacrifice it or something?" "NO, Kev. No." My heart continued its free-fall and hit the spike pit.


"Well, if we're going to play the waiting game, why don't we just wait until my birthday? That'd be the best present, ever!"


They looked at each other. My mom spoke. "Kev, on second thought, maybe we should just cut their heads off."

"Well, ch-yeah," I said, rolling my eyes and using an uncharacteristic 'ch' in front of 'yeah.' "That's the entirety of the idea! But first you have to strangle 'em."

"No, Kev...I mean, without the strangling."


I glared at one then the other. They actually meant it... "Look," I said. "It's a late night, none of us need to be making any rash, generalized, marginalized, over-the-top, dead wrong, disgusting decisions, and I'd say that most of the propagandistic hate-speech you're currently spewing is not at all to be considered a right nor sane addition to this subject! For now, let us leave it that we will strangle some chickens this weekend, and let me say, of sound mind and waxing eloquent, if chickens are not strangled on that fair day, then something else will be!"

I got up and stormed to my room.




How could they be so misunderstanding? How could they try to ruin my life like this? I can't believe it. But thus far they haven't said anything about not strangling chickens this weekend, so I think I made my point. It's gonna be great! The strangling...and the...well, just the strangling is good enough for me! It's gonna be great!

...boy, I just can't wait! It's like my birthday comes early this year!!! Or, like, I have two birthdays, or something! Yeah, that's totally it!



*The preceding may not have occurred.

My Heart Just Melted

Uog.


Ever see something that you didn't necessarily mean to see, and when you saw it, it bowled you over and your heart melted into liquid and poured out of your mouth because you weren't expecting it? Like this:

John 19:34 KJV But one of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water.

Let's "personalize" that:

But Kev was looking through his blog, and saw this post, and he fell over, and his heart melted and poured out through his clenched teeth at the sight of that stunningly wondrous visage.


Oooooooog. "A heart melted still beats."

We got what now?! Again?!

Tap tap tap tap tap.

You'd think that by now they'd use stud finders, but apparently, no. Maybe that's because stud finders are the Weekend Warrior version of Eskimo Ice Cakes. They're useless.

Bzzht. Bzzht. That must be a nice drill. Yep, it's happening again: We got what now?!


I've been just fine with our internet connection, but Mom- like last time- said "Oh, it's so slow, I could just die!" Here are our old download/upload speeds:


Yeah, that's good enough for me. But my mom works at an establishment which has a very fast cable connection, so she's used to much higher speeds. Here's the new results:


Hm. It seems to be 2.5 Mbps with a high of 3.5 Mbps. I'm more impressed by the upload speeds. If there's one thing I hate, it's uploading things. Actually, that's completely untrue.

But...still.

I'm Less of a Jerk Than I Was

For my notes, I just finished a Monster energy drink. It was horrible. It tasted like...like...flat Mountain Dew with some really gross tasting solution mixed in. Weed killer or, something.


So you know how when you save files such as Word or WordPad or OpenOffice files and they save to My Documents? Well, I'm currently working my way through all of the files I've saved there. There aren't many of them, surprisingly. My guess is that I'll have to do a search for text documents and see what I can see because I obviously have some stashed somewhere.

I digress- my point is, I'm rolfing (sic) left and right at the stuff I used to write. Mean, mean, mean stuff. One example was a shopping list I authored. I dunno what happened, but I guess my parents at some point in time got the wrong kind of macaroni noodles, so I wrote "MACARONI NOODLES. ELBOW. MACARONI. ELBOW. ABOVE YOUR FOREARM."

Hilarious, but cruel. Hey, look, here is the description of me a year and a half ago!


Rom 1:30 KJV Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents,
Rom 1:31 KJV Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful:
Rom 1:32 KJV Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.


And I'll say the same thing about myself a year from now...I hate being young.

I've got a brand new pair of Rollerskates

...and I think I'm drunk. Or at least I'm very tired yet all hopped up on an energy drink (Full Throttle Original). It tasted like gummy worms. I swear to you this moment that I will die one of these days from an energy drink.


You'll find me dead. I won't be breathing. Dead, I say. Ohh, you'll be sorry...you'll all be sorry. SORRY LIKE A FOX!!!