Birthday #19, 2008!

Well, well, well. I am now 19. I don't feel much different than when I was 18, but now I'm one year closer to my goal. My goal is to live to 20. My previous goal was to live to be 15 (or 16, can't remember right now), and I made it. Then I set the goal to live to 20. After I turn 20, I am not sure what will happen. As Einstein was fond of saying, time will tell.


Sorry. That was the preamble. Or something.

Anyway, here's what I got. Because, come on, birthdays are all about the presents, let's admit it. I'll go in order of wonder. Oh, and if you like, read the relating post, The Birthday List 2008.

• A 250 GB Western Digital Scorpio Blue 5400 RPM 2.5" EIDE Hard Drive (if you don't understand that, it's the disk that is inside my laptop and spins and contains data)
• A double-cell battery for my laptop (which is a HP Pavilion dv5215us; previously my battery life was 10 minutes on the darkest screen running WordPad, now it's 2-3 hours on the 3rd brightest screen setting running an external hard drive and full operational load)
• Three books (I will not mention which ones because...well, come on. But, thanks, Debbie!)
• Another DMT Aligner knife sharpener (new and abrasive stones = sharp knives)
• A stainless steel pen which I have taken to calling "Hollow Point" because it's sharp
• Some freeze-dried ice cream. Freeze-dried ice cream is just like normal ice cream, except it's actually good.
  

And I think that's it. I already installed the hard drive, and as I said the battery is fantastic; I have not started on any of the books, and I used the pen tonight for the first time. It can cause a bit of cramping, but I've got an NDS with Metroid Prime: Hunters so I can handle it. The ice cream is uh, dry...plus it's weird if you powder it.
I have not made use of the DMT Aligner yet, but I hope to sharpen a knife to throat-cutting sharpness, yet I need to do some experiments to discover just how sharp throat-cuttingly sharp is. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone. Or at least I don't plan on it. Uh, 'make my day'?

For the party, we had pizza and two cakes. One was a dark cake (chocolate), one was a light cake (strawberry and cream), following the MP2: Echoes/LoZ:ALttP/LoZ:TP/etc. plot of light and dark. They were both "log style" cakes, that is, normal cakes rolled up with itamz in them. Freaky, huh? Actually, the dark cake was more my dad making the cake of his dreams and less of it being my birthday cake. But I still appreciate it.

The jerk.




Now, there's a second part to this birthday's story. I kind of stayed up for the entire 24 hours and blogged throughout the day. You should already know this, but you're a dolt, so I'll explain it again. I'll use the posts I made to do so.


The night before, October 5th: Good Night.
I explain that I'll be up for entire 24 hours of October 6th. It's posted at 4:26 PM but I didn't get to sleep until 9:00-9:15 PM. I know, I know, I'm a jerk.

Yawn. 2:30 AM.
I'm up and about...doing things. I got up at 11:43 PM after getting 2.5 hours of sleep. I cleaned the kitchen floor and listened to Coast to Coast AM. Much ablah about nothing.

9:15 AM. The heat is on.
I started going a little bit mad. Mr. dataDyne declares me mad. I think that I need to be a little bit mad to have these delusions of grandeur that make me Kev.

12:40 PM. CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of Kev's Birthday.
CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of my birthday. The title says it all. The Dow also groundrocketed. My birthday is fun.

1 PM. Glenn Beck hates on California.
Need I say more? It just kept getting better, life was good. Happy birthday, Kev.

1:06 PM. Eleven Hours to Go.
The cake was being made. Dad'd been plotting it for hours. I was confined to my room.

2:34 PM. Metroid prepped. Cake being made. Three hours to go.
I comment that I can't go to the room with the bath in it. I took a break from Metroid Prime 2: Echoes so that I could spend some time on it after the party. I was pretty dull at this point, but still very awake. I needed my cellphone to contact the outside world. I forget where it was. Dad was still working on the cake.

4:50 PM. A "lull in the action."
My dad had apparently finished the cake. My mom already made the light cake on Sunday. Dad admits that he made the cake pretty much for himself. Thanks Dad. Thanks a lot.

8:30 PM. It is (almost) finished.
I declare that I forsee attaining my goal of staying up the entire 24 hours. And I comment that it was a rush. Truly, this is what I will remember this birthday for, as well as the theme of this year, which is rebirth. Somewhere after the party I continued in MP2 and got the Screw Attack, thus attaining my birthday quota for MP2: Echoes progression.

12:00 AM. Goodnight, Birthday
And to round off the day, after a drawn-out ceremony of saying goodnight to everything around me (as The Waltons), I ironically find that I have a minor case of amnesia. I mean insomnia. I was asleep by 1:30 AM at the latest.




And that's pretty much it. I think. Oh, wait, I need to say "so in ending."

So in ending, it was a good birthday. I haven't had that much fun in...a long time. At least that much fun that I can feel good about; I typically look back on fun times of this caliber with either sorrow or disgust. It leads me to despise people sometimes, but those vermin deserve it.

So if you can manage to do it, defitinitely stay up for the entire 24 hours of your birthday. 8 extra hours in the day = pwnage. Just give yourself a few extra hours of sleep the day after and there's a chance that you might get sick so take some vitamin C or whatever. I had a birthday date with my granny for today, but I had to cancel because I was on the verge of some sickness. If I hadn't of canceled... I could be the living dead right now.


Living, yet not alive...ooOOoOOOooo...

12:00 AM. Goodnight, Birthday

(Goodnight, Echo.)

(Goodnight, TV.)

(Goodnight, Wii.)

(Goodnight, MP2: Echoes game disc.)

(Goodnight, Tiger cat.)

(Goodnight, lamp.)

(Goodnight, dear Nintendo DS.)

(Goodnight, dear laptop.)


Goodnight, birthday.







...oh, darn. Now I have insomnia.

How ironic.

8:30 PM. It is (almost) finished.

I expect I will last the night, thus successfully staying awake for the entire 24 hours of October 6th, my birthday. No coffee.

The party went fine; I only invited three people. No, not me, myself, and I. I invited my mom, dad, and brother. The cakes were...umm...interesting. Definitely not something I'd try to sell to depressing clowns, but that might just be me. You know the kind that have really droopy clown makeup? Yeah, those. I had a ton of fun staying up the entire day...what a rush.

First, there was the cleaning of the kitchen. Then there was the checking of the email. And then the milking of the goats...and here I am, almost through the day! Go Kev! Genesis 11:6!


Wait...wait...that's bad. I take it back.

4:50 PM. A "lull in the action."

If you know me well, you've heard the phrase "a lull in the action." Thus why I put the "lull in the action" in the title in quotation marks. It means "If you're on the clock, get a broom and start sweeping." And if you're not on the clock, it means "Do something special." But it's hard to do special things in small amounts of time. So usually it means "Start plotting the next time of action."


The cakes are supposedly finished, but I am not sure. I think that my dad may have made some mutant cake. Like, it's in there gaining sentience right now. Eep-o.


Kev:
"Hey Pa, you didn't make a stupid mutant cake or anything, right?"
Pa:
"What does that mean? ... I didn't make anything stupid, if that's what you're asking. All I know is that I made a cake that I'd love, and if I'd love it then it's gotta be good. No peppermint, cinnamon, lemon, sugar. Straight chocolate cake."
Kev:
"But Pa...I wanted an angel food cake."
Pa (laughing hysterically):
"I don't cake what you wanted! AHahahah! You got an angel food cake with nothing but chocolate in it! No jelly!"
Kev:
"...oh."

2:34 PM. Metroid prepped. Cake being made. Three hours to go.

Only roughly three hours to go until party time, depending on how fast those morons wonderful parents of mine get the preparations completed. I wish I could be doing that right now myself, but well, I'm locked in my room. I've got a window, though. I'm just so grateful for that. Really. No not really, I'm being sarcastic, those sparkling waters I am duty bound to drink are not helping the whole can't-go-to-the-room-with-the-bath-in-it situation. I'm glad I have a litter box in my room. And I'm even gladder that I'm joking.


Anyway, after much toiling, I've made it as far as I need to go Metroid Prime 2: Echoes. Well, almost as far. I'm ending soon so that I will have a few hours left for the rest of the day. I'm still pretty awake. Don't forget me when you set to sailing...(since someone might be inclined to think that that's a song, it isn't. It's there for the sole purpose of making someone, somewhere, think that.)

Since I can't go into the rest of the house, can't trust myself to be creative in any way, and since my information absorption ability is hindered by the whole two-and-a-half-hours-of-sleep thing, my only options for entertainment are a) video games b) mindless books and c) hymning.

Actually, mindless books are not an option. I don't have any of those. Video games are a given; I'm probably going to put a little time in on Chex Quest. What? You don't remember Chex Quest? Wow...well, it's a Doom clone. But it's got a guy in it called Chex Man or whatever. He looks like a human wearing a huge square Chex Cereal...piece, as armor. Um, actually, I think that's what he is. And that also he looks like it. Because for the reason that he is it. OK, I'm starting the next line before this gets out of hand. I'll put two spaces betwixt these to contain the leaven.


Speaking of leaven, like I said in a prior post...my dad's slaving away over a hot oven baking a cake. I said, "Wait, Dad, just follow the directions. You'll ruin it otherwise."

"DIRECTIONS, FILLEHSPECTALATIONS! I'll figure this out! I'm a man!"

Now we know where I get it. And where my brother gets it.


...and he just brought in some of the filling for me to try. That's real privy, there. So I guess we'll 'see' how this 'pans' out. Get it? Baking humor, you wouldn't understand. Where's my cellphone?

1:06 PM. Eleven Hours to Go.

Alright, I made it this far, but I'm now officially banned from the kitchen (especially the kitchen) and living area. If I need to go to the bathroom, I "have a perfectly good window." Thanks, Dad. He's baking a cake. It's a surprise. He told me all about it.

Usually, when making a cake, it is to be done privily; or at least you shouldn't ask the person details about the cake. At least when it's THEIR BIRTHDAY CAKE. No, no, I don't need to be surprised. Tell me all about it in detail. Why don't you let me decorate it, too. No, you fool, I was being sarcastic.



I'm a little tired but pretty wired. I guess.

No coffee yet, no sugar yet, no um, drugs yet. Just pure, unconditional relentlessness. (Try to figure that one out via remoter context. Hint: It doesn't make sense.)

And for the record I do not do drugs and never have. Thus the "um." You...pervert.

12:40 PM. CBN calls for 30 days of prayer in honor of Kev's Birthday.

Well, we all saw this coming.





Quoth the email:

I am asking all of you who love the Lord to pray with CBN in a special 30 Day Call To Prayer, October 6th through November 4th.

Also, the Dow dropped a record 800 points to below 10,000 for the first time in four years. I love my birthday...interesting things always happen.


Typically not good for others, though.

Good Night

Alright, time to go to sleep. I'm going to stay up for the entire 24 hours of my birthday. Why? Uh, because, there's so much to do on my birthday, duh. I've got to...um...do stuff. Yeah. A lot of stuff.

And...move things. And other manly stuff like that.


So um, I'm going to go.

Alright?


Alright. You hang up first.

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.

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.

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.

"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.

"What is a Tesla Coil?"

I forget how it came up.


Really, I do. Point is, I had to explain what a tesla coil is. A tesla coil is kind of like a Christmas tree. It's in the um, Pineus Lightningshootus family. Here, observe.





Case closed.


Oh...and have a merry, nightmare-filled Christmas. Heh heh heh.

Quick thoughts on Fireworks

Happy 4th! I'll leave the patriotic stuff to my mom until Sunday.

Now onto my thoughts on fireworks.



Pretty
Wait, men don't use "pretty"
Well, Samus says they should - 'difficult theories' are annoying but pretty will do
OK, point
Two points, she has a last name, too
I'm right
Of course I am
Yes, very pretty
But they should not be red and green. Those are holiday colors- I mean- you know what I mean, Christmas colors
Christmas, pflaw
What is Pflaw
P'f-ff-law, from the Latin "uhh lol yah", like pfft, as in "yeah right" in a sarcastic manner but you know what I mean
OK
Back to Samus Aran
Yes, visors make seeing things clearer - I forget what the Dark Visor does
We should get visors, too
But we need a helmet, and not one that's half as tall as we are like that spandex-clad cardboard-chested weirdo whose name I currently forget
Agreed, I remember her name, and her freaky cardboard chest, but let us not think on such things, and beside, from whence can we create this sure-to-be-priceless artifact?
We can't, we need to engage in...genetic anthropomorphism...and mutate birds, then introduce them to Indians, and they will make us suit or at least a helmet then die running after Mother Nature
But I am not Samus Aran, why would they make me one
...us.
Right, right, I meant us!
Anyways...yes...that technology is beyond for the moment. For now we must focus on the finding of the Fountain of Youth, for to be living until then
I gots an idea - and it doesn't involve Jack LaLanne
Are you thinking what I'm thinking?
If you're thinking about 1 Thessalonians 4:17*, yes
Oh, I was thinking about juicing our way to youthfulness
I don't think we'll be getting any birds humanized soon enough
Agreed, we will continue this work in heaven
And angels are already basically anthropomorphic birds- we will ask them to make us a battlesuit, and then look through the visor
OK then, final conclusion: Fireworks: Creepy and pretty, but more creepy and uncomfortable than pretty
And ultimate plan: Trick angels into making us a powersuit for to gain a visor. This will be carried out in heaven as soon as we find some angels foolish enough to follow our directi--
-



Well, that went somewhat off-track, and I think by the end I was going to stage a rebellion against God. Now I see why Satan did it...but those are my thoughts, carried about by...me and myself, I think, on fireworks. Which we went to see today. I'll post about that when the dust settles. OK? OK. Oh, and here's that verse:

*-1Th 4:17 KJV Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air: and so shall we ever be with the Lord.


= "Fountain of Youth!" If you are not saved- and I don't mean "I live a good life and do good works" saved- and therefore not partaker of the "fountain of youth," then I strongly advise you to read this article, The Gospel of the Grace of God, from Berean Bible Church in Florida.

It poses this question, but I am paraphrasing: How does anyone make it to heaven? It is something I wish someone had explained to me years ago. It's not our works...it doesn't matter how good we are...and it's not the admonition to "ask Jesus into your heart," nor any prayer, or religious system, that saves you. Those have no power to save. It is only of faith on the Cross-work (that He died, was buried, and most importantly, was resurrected) of Christ. Nothing else is sufficient.

Years ago, I was convinced that I couldn't save myself by works, and that it was only Christ who could save me, but I had such a perverted/superstitious understanding (I did not believe that he died once for all; I believed that I had to continually ask for forgiveness, and that I would only be forgiven if I asked in a certain manner, and I didn't know anything beside what prophecy preachers said), it is likely I was on my way to Hell...but I was up-to-date on when the latest nuclear strike/invasion of Russia was to occur on Israel.


Thank God I'm saved by His blood, for sure.

Mixed Company

I was listening to a pastor preaching the other day (for several hours...ugh, drone, drone) and he was talking about...well, let's not say what he was talking about. He said, "...and all the rest, were associated with people getting their clothes off, and there's not really but one reason you take your clothes off, folks, [when] in mixed company."


I've always thought "mixed company" meant people you don't like, or people who can't be trusted- backbiters, hatemongers, rumor mills. I looked it up...it doesn't only apply to males and wives, but males and females in-general. That's where I got the skewed definition from: thinking it applied only to wives.





Happy Father's Day. Today, my dad found a lid to add to his Paint Can Lid collection. Happy Father's Day, pops.

When City Folk Visit the Country

Yesterday, I told the(sic) Hitman that some city folk came out to visit. He asked, "Do you guys think I'm a city folk?" I said, "I don't know, not really," or something to that effect. Later in the night, my dad asked me, "They think we're hicks, don't they?" I said, "Just tonight, the Hitman asked if we thought they were city folk. They don't think we're hicks." (As a sidenote, apparently Frenchy French made contact a few days ago, and through a thorough questioning process of the contacted, I determined that they're neither divorced or dead.)


Anyways, a couple of city folk came out to our house. Like, a couple. Not as in two, but as in, an "adv. itam," a "boxolofoos," a "pair of mismatched socks," a "sideways box of cracker crumbs." You know what I mean?


She, let's call her "...uhh, I don't...I don't know what we'll call her. Um...let's see...


"Yulette." Let's call her Yulette...then shorten it to Yuley. There. You've witnessed the process of me nicknaming others. Yuley happens to work with one of my parents, and just happens to have experience drawing blood from the defenseless elderly in old folks homes. We needed to do blood draws on like 15 of our goats to test for a disease.


The weird thing is, they brought their clothes. Their dirty clothes. These they would wash and dry as payment for their laboring. They do not have washers or dryers, we have several. We do not know how to draw blood, they have several. We made the trade and it worked out just fine. For the most part. I guess they travel around, hanging out with different people, using their washers and dryers.

The husband's name is Norry. He's a tech guy. They actually thought everything was OK- no cries of "OH NO, KILLER AMERICAN PIT BULL TERRIER!"...then it was time to draw the blood. Yuley was shaking very badly. Like, half an inch of shake. I'm not quite sure how she managed to successfully draw the blood. I guess if you jab enough, hard enough, and fast enough, you can get most of what you need if your need is blood. After that, everything was fine. Several hours passed- we had to do that many goats- and it was my turn to learn to draw blood.

Some goats didn't freak out and it was over quick; others were harder, and decided it was best to push as hard as they could on the restraining bars, thus lengthening the process and causing (themselves) pain...think of it as trying very hard to stand up in your car, chronically crushing your head against the roof as hard as you can. Eventually your neck muscles lose strength, then your head flops sideways, and inexplicably you're still crushing your sideways turned head and neck against the ceiling. The car swerves and swerves.


And I just happened to have one of the hard ones. My mom got a lesson shortly before me, and I think she got a hard one, too. I missed the vein (on the hard ones, it's hit-and-miss), but got a quarter-draw of air. I took the needle out then released the air. Yuley said, "OH man, I'm so glad you didn't let that air go in the goat. If it got into its bloodstream, it would have died." The conversation made its way over to an air bubble causing massive heart attack. I asked, "So, you could dispatch a goat by injecting it with air?"

She's one of those people that concentrates really, really hard on responding, while doing something else. "Well, it would be a...lengthy death," she said. I said, "So, do you think it would be better to shoot the goat, and kind of miss, and it's only kind of dead, and have to shoot it again, or to let it die of a heart attack?" "N-...OhhWHat?" she said, with horror. "Well, it would probably be stunned from the first shot..." she reasoned, recovering from what seemed to be a near breakdown. Norry is great moral support. "JAB, JAB, JAB THAT GOAT, JAB IT HARD THEN GLOAT GLOAT GLOAT! DRAW DRAW! DRAW DRAW! DRAAAW!" he cheered.




Poor city folk, can't barely handle shocking "I shot it and it was still alive, but its face had blood dripping all over it, and it was still moving, and its eyes were soulless and cold!" stories. Pssh.

If you've never had to shoot a turkey in the head five to seven times, then empty its blood into a wheel barrow, see the coagulating blood, then a mere several days (on Thanksgiving) later eat that fifty-five-pound turkey you shot five to seven times, you've never experienced a botched slaughter. Especially when it tastes horrible. Worst Thanksgiving ever...

:(

Hours and hours and hours of Sailor Moon

Well, as you may know, I ordered the entire first season of Sailor Moon for my brother's birthday. His birthday was on uh, Friday. Yeah.


He was eh, so-so about them, because there were 10, and they were all wrapped individually. He thought he got 10 movies, but it was all Sailor Moon, LOL. He got sick of opening the gifts. My dad made a show of saying "Here's another" and "Only three more!" Hilarious.

Before that time, I had watched the first few to see how the sellers were. I don't...exactly trust people, OK, especially and uh, OK, and shut up, please, OK.


I have never said "Oh my God" so much during a theme song. My flesh burned. My skin crawled. Embarrassment ebbed. The world turned to ice. I think it was the first time in my life I have blushed. My eyes were bloodshot afterward, I'm sure of it.

I cringe looking back. It was sort of like that time that I almost needed my mom to hold my hand for the moral support to not try to gnaw my own arm off while Metroid Prime 3: Corruption loaded for the first time.

What's wrong with me?




Anyways... once I got through the first theme song, I started remembering why I like Sailor Moon so much. She/it's very endearing. It was my favorite cartoon at a point, if memory serves. It was the one ray of golden light in my troubled, troubled, carefree world.

First, she's the ONLY, and I repeat ONLY, entity that I have ever seen pull off pigtails. Pigtails, they bother me. I think it was one-too-many kids stories as a kid. Second, she's psychotic, and you know how me...uhh, and Kane, like psychotic blonds.

Then there's the completely moronic, so-bad-it's-good,-but-oh-man,-come-on,-that's-just-lame...-but-still-good-somehow fight scenes. MERCURY BUBBLES! is my favorite. LOL. Then there's the theme song. It's perfection! In fact, my brother is singing off-key and failing to form coherent words to it right now. Oh, and then there's the point where Sailor Moon tries to teach us kids a lesson. Kids, don't play with too many knives.



So anyways, my brother has been watching Sailor Moon for the past five hours. No end in sight.


Happy birthday, brother.

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.

Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins

Say that ten times twice. Punkin Choclate Chimuffins.


OK, first, the recipe can be found here, at Recipezaar: Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins. I made them before, and mentioned it in this post: Kev and Cupcakes. (The Wicked Cupcakes there are the bomber, as the kids say! Really, don't let the peanut butter fool you, I don't like peanut butter but they're awesome!)


The recipe is in the above link. Here is it again if you're too lazy to scroll up or move your mouse or your eyes up to see it. All you need- aside from the basics such as baking powder/soda, sugar and eggs, stuff you should already have- is pumpkin and chocolate chips. They're very easy to make, as well- wet ingredients, dry ingredients, mix, then add chocolate chips.

In fact, they're easier than pie. I hate making pie. It makes me sick. The flour, and the rolling, and the filling- then you have to bake prayer and wishes into it. Ugh, ugh, ugh. Muffins and cookies I like, except for cookies you have to cut out. Those grate my ginger, as I don't have many cookie cutters. Phooey. I always look stupid because I make the same shape 50 times.

Anyway, here's how I do it. First, the ingredients:


(Yes, those are potatoes in the background...I know it should be pictured with gourds or lettuce or something. Keyword: should)

Baking soda, baking powder, cinnamon, brown sugar (WE HAD ONLY 2 CUPS OF WHITE SUGAR, A THOUSAND ILL-CONCEIVED CURSES!) and granulated sugar, 2 cans of pumpkin (16 ounce each), 8 eggs, some salt, a bunch of chocolate chips, homemade vanilla (but keep it away from us closet drunks, now), flour (in the ziptop bag), and oil. Coconut oil. That's the 1-gallon tub you see.

...what? Doesn't everyone buy their coconut oil in 1-gallon tubs?


First things first, melt the coconut oil. I doubled the recipe, so I melted 2 1/2 cups. It's liquid in the summertime, just so you know. The toaster oven works good for this, if you like. While that's melting, get out your Unofficial Samus Aran Measuring Spoons! Yes! Pictured below. Then, measure the spices and salt and stuff into the flour.


Need I remind you that dry ingredients tumble and mix really well in ziptop bags? It's awesome, and works especially well when you have to add ingredients in parts. It also works well to pipe the batter out of after the dry ingredients have been added. Yes, I am spoiled. Notice I am not using my normal camera? Well, it's been put on vacation for a tiny amount of time, because it recently took some pictures of banded goat testicles (warning: picture is of a kid goat with banded testicles!), and well, items handled after handling goat testicles aren't the most sanitary thing to have in the kitchen. I'll like, boil it in tar later, or something. Mix all the wet ingredients together, as per the recipe.


Notice all the eggs? Well, there are a lot of them, because I'm making a whole lot of muffins.

Then add the dry- and mix- and add your bunch of chocolate chips. Mini chocolate chips do work well, but bigger ones also work. I use 33% regular, 66% small, and 1% prayer. See pictures, below.

First, your 33% regular, and your 66% mini (remember, this is just what I do; I am a sucker for texture differences)...


Then add your 1% of prayer. Prayer measures differently than chocolate chips; typically, a prayer for guidance on how much prayer to pray into it is enough prayer, so I went ahead and prayed it twice because I doubled the recipe.


I had to do a one-handed prayer, because my mom's camera can't fit in my mouth. That ended up with half as much prayer, so I had to pray over how much prayer to pray into the batter four times. Like measuring 9 teaspoons instead of 3 tablespoons. Wait a minute...is that sacrilegious? Someone needs to alert me to things like that.

Actually, that's about it. Then you mix it all together and pour into your favorite muffin tins. And before you know it, they're done!


Now, what to do with your army of muffins?

Why not feed them to the local yokels at your local assembly?

Sounds like a great idea! Church, here I come! (The last time we brought food was on Snacks Sunday). Pastor is going to be so proud, he'll say, "Wow, Kev, that's a lot of muffins. Stop bringing so much stuff, OK, we don't need that much unless it's donuts."

"OK, Pastor...I'll bring some homemade donuts next time!"

"...Kev...you missed the point."