Welcome Home, Farewell fggjp.blogspot.com

Hello, humble fool. My dear, hapless, humble fool.

This is the last post for fggjp.blogspot.com. It’s been a good time. It’s been tough, it’s been easy, I’ve poured hours and hours into it. I cut a lot of corners that I wish I had not cut. Corners don’t heal very well…you regret cutting them sometimes.

I’ve made some really good posts…I’ve made a lot of boring posts. Sorry about those. Hopefully I can resist the urge to post here anymore.

I barely remember when I first started…a long time ago. I couldn’t write very well then; and I haven’t improved much. I have gained a bit (just a tad, actually) more judgment related to my maturing slightly. I’m still a jerk, though. The maturity means less idiotic posts…but I’ll still look back on them in a few months, or best-case, a few years, and think I’m an idiot. But I’ll live with it.


So, I hereby say farewell to fggjp.blogspot.com. I’ll leave it up so that you, my humble fool, can read over my prior writings. A lot of posts that you can endlessly peruse…it’ll take awhile to transfer them to my new blog, fggjp.com.


Welcome home. I’ve decided to move to WordPress and host my blog on my own server. Or, rather, my own purchased server space. Theretountoforheretothere, all new posts will appear AT MY NEW URL, FGGJP.COM. That’s my hope, at least- I could fall off the wagon.

I began this transitional trek on 02/20/2009 at around 9 AM. I ran into some trouble; I did a lot of weird things; and I spent about 8 hours working on the layout/theme. That’s not much considering how long time it took me to do fggjp.blogspot.com’s- and that one just managed to work. This one rocks. Not really. It’ll do. MY MOM MADE THE HEADER! GO MOM! THANKS!

At this point, you should be reading this post at my (direct link to post) new blog.

Go there now, fool. Go on. To the full extent of my knowledge, it’s safe.


I’ll meet you on the other side.

Trials and Transfers, Part 1: Onto You Going There

The following occurred yesterday.

I'm trying to do a backup of my laptop because my 500 GB MyBook Essential Edition External Hard Drive is out of commission; so in effect, I currently have no backup. I'll go in fast format:

7:30 AM. Got working on repairing the MyBook.
10:30 AM. I finish trying to fix the MyBook. I took it apart (quite an interesting and quite-obvious-it-was-taken-apart process) and attempted many other fixes. The problem may be the housing, so I need to put the drive itself into a desktop, but our desktop doesn't have the correct connector. I shelved the project.
11:30 AM. After taking a break, I go to get the 30 GB hard drive which Mr. dataDyne gave me. What a lifesaving, serendipitous thing this is! I declared inwardly. That man's a saint, I thought.

Come to find out, he didn't give me the power cord for it. Which is fine because 1) they're so common that we actually have two, except that both are in use by the wireless Internet system, and 2) it's actually a dandy 60-GB hard drive, not a 30. SUCKER! AHA HA HAH HA!

11:40 AM. I install the 60-GB drive into my old 80-GB drive's external housing. It works like a charm. In the process, I found our jeweler's screwdriver things. I lost my USB mouse connector. I found my USB mouse connector (thanks, mom!).
11:45 AM. I decide to try to set up a wireless connection between my mom's job's Vista and my XP. It works but I don't know how to configure it. I give up and go to the 60-GB hard drive idea.

Problem, I have 80-100 GB worth of material. (The drive is only 60 GB. Keep up, humble fool.) Therefore, I determine to store a backup consisting of two parts on my mom's laptop. Thus I need The Beachhead and The Lodgement- two separate folders that can quickly be dropped into a new computer if the need arises. Now, I call this a backup. It's quite brutish, and not as refined as the whole "backup everything including operating system" idea. But since I'm working with a 60-GB and not a roomy 500-GB, I got to make dues. Due.

1:56 PM. I finish Beachhead Party, consisting of Desktop, Masters, and the My Documents folder (which only has My Music and My Pictures along with 20 text/.pdf documents). Roughly 45 GB. I'll see if it transfers onto the 60-GB drive and transfer it there in three parts.
3:30 PM. Transfer of Beachhead to 60-GB drive complete.
3:35 PM. Beginning transfer of Beachhead to mom's laptop.
Somewhere around 4:50 PM. Transfer of Beachhead Party to mom's laptop complete.
4:58 PM. I discover that there are 25 GB of games on my laptop; and 50 GB of files; thus there are roughly 60 GB missing.
5:10 PM. I discover that the WinXP operating system does not take up 60 GB of space. I am confounded and cannot locate the missing files.
5:15 PM. I realize that Beachhead party is taking up an additional unneeded 50 GB of space because it's copied and still on my desktop, therefore I'm missing only 10 GB. WinXP supposedly takes about 2. I seek the remaining 8 GB. (The recovery partition is 12 GB on its own partition.) Temp files are currently taking 2 GB. The rest I don't care about, or at least I don't think I do.
5:20 PM. I make sure that my History folder is backed up. I still wonder if there's a standalone history operating program.
5:25 PM. I declare the backup completed.

And that's how I backup a laptop.

Echo Says, "No More Hymns"

DA, DA DA-DA DA DA DAH-DAH-DAH! DAH, DAH-DAH-DAH-DADA DAH, DAH, DAH! DAH, DA-DA-DA-DA-DA DAH DAH DAH at CAL--VA--RY!


Echo says it's time to stop hymning for the day. I'm seeing that guitar become grungier and grungier, and not in the usual grungy way. It's hard to explain.

Regardless, (and regardless is a word I am beginning to love), I've been hymning a lot in the last two days. The last time I hymned like this was perhaps eight months ago. Then, eight months ago, I spent nearly seven hours creating the original The Probably Inaccurate Compilation of Guitar Hymns. It took a while, that's for sure. And that was just finding the chords; to find the hymns for which to get the chords took five to six more hours.


Half of what I did was unusable.


Anyways, onto my point. Echo says no more hymns for tonight. I know what you're thinking; guitars can't talk, Kev. Is Echo magical?

No, no humble fool, he isn't magical. Let me explain what he said through interpretive picture:



Get it? A string broke! The first string I've had break. Wanna hear the action-filled tale?

No! Because it actually happened while I was tuning. There is no action to tale about. Tale...tell...whatever. It kind of made a muffled/muted "twik" and went limp. Broke right at the tuner, where I was busily tuning it.

That's all there is to the story. I bought an extra pack of strings last time, so I get to replace them tomorrow. Joy.

After that, I'm buying a 10-pack- I'll never want for strings again!

The Fall of the Age of Idols: Repercussions

So there I was. Chillin'. You know me.

And there was Red dataDyne. "Oh look at me I have red hair," she said. I could care less about Barack Obama, but she...well, will probably be reading this. But you all know. Or at least you should. So I was talking to her and some people, and then her brother showed up. And then my mom showed up. "OH WOW try this!" she demanded. "No! No I can't, aagh!" I retorted.

Then I announced that I don't eat dataDyne food. Red looked at me. "What?!" she blurted in horror. I am paraphrasing.

"I says," I said, "I don't eat dataDyne food. I only eat Hitman food."


A few minutes later, here comes Lisa dataDyne. Now, if this was two weeks ago, or three weeks ago, or maybe even a month ago, I would have just laughed in her face. But this was past the Time of All Blonds Losing Credence, and I was once more weak to her demands as if she were not blond.

"Her, try this!" she demanded, offering a piece of candy-like candy coated in chocolate. It seemed like everyone was watching the standoff; I don't blame them. Maybe even a month ago, or three weeks ago, or if this was two weeks ago, it would have been hilarious.


But now, I had no choice. I haltingly accepted the piece of candy and, after mumbling "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall!", took a bite. The rest was a swirling whirlwind of confusion.


What does this mean?

How will this go?

Wasn't I hoping to have some time to consider the implications of this?

What's the next step?

How do I make my decisions?

Do I care?

Do I have to care?

Who has my loyalty?

Who do I hate?

Who do I love?

Why do I exist?


What are the repercussions?



I still haven't quite figured all of that out. It was a short few weeks ago that I realized that the Age of Idols was coming to a close. I didn't know what it meant; I barely wanted to accept it. And I didn't know what it meant when it happened yesterday at the hands of that sanctified cookie-candy-chocolate-thing.

And I still don't know what it means.



But it had to happen, so, good looking out, Mrs. dataDyne. Just, um...if you go after the Age of Anxiety and the Age of Arrogance next, please diminish them equally, because they kind of balance each other, y'know? One without the other and bad things happen to Kev's personality.

Meet the New Bookshelf and the New Bookreading Shelf Lamp

That's a weird post title, right? I'm trying a new thing now. I'm trying to write this as if I know what I'm doing. Cool, right? We'll see, humble fool.

Alright, you know my reading shelf? Man I'm feeling cocky. I think I'm drunk on my own awesomeness. No, I am not, I am wallowing in darkness and festering in a marshy type of gladness. Try understanding that three times fast, humble fool. I don't even get it. Think of it as interpretive blogging.

Ever hear of "alarm" words? Where a certain word alarms you? They say that the sound of a baby crying will alarm you- heart rate increases, etc. The alarm clock will alarm you. Let's all laugh at that last play on words. Anyway, yes, alarm words. Do they influence anyone other than ourselves?

Example, if I were to be alarmed by the word "ambidextrous" (it is quite freaky), would it influence you to not use the word ambidextrous any more for ever? Or would you not care? I guess I formed that question badly. Lemme give it another shot.

Wait, that's not what this post is about. Sorry.


The new book shelf. Right. See, I have a dresser in my closet. And above that dresser is your standard closet top shelf. It has stuff on it. I still won't give up my N64 or SNES (or even Dreamcast or NES, I'm a loser), so I need to store them. They take up space. And I keep getting more books and PC games (which are stored separately than video games due to their scholarly nature). And they keep filling the shelf in my closet up. I have to throw the older ones out to make the new ones fit.

(Just kidding, I actually throw the old ones out because they rarely meet my standards of excellence. And this is usually a continuous process, not simply to make room.)


Thus I got some angle piece things (the name, title or office escapes me), and some screws, and a drill, and a length of shelf. I removed that useless hanging rod that comes standard in closets and a little below it installed my very own Book Shelf. Ah, it's beautiful. I'm trying to find out how to make it less awesome. Can't think of a way. The only way is to make everything else in my room just as awesome. Shouldn't be too hard.


Thus the reading shelf lamp. Yes I know I just used 'thus' in quick succession, and since I recognize that, as if I were sic'ing it, I deem it acceptable. GG. I use a reading shelf for two reasons.

1: When I was 10 or 11 (those years blur for me), I read Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with an improvised Reading Shelf design utilizing alternating hands and a large fluorescent lamp. It is more than 700 pages long and I think I finished it in two days or four days or something. Ask my mom, she'll know.
2: I've never really been able to get comfortable reading a book in any position that using a laptop could be used it. By that jumbled marring of grammar I mean that, if it's a position I can use a laptop in, I want to read that laptop instead. Laptops make the world spin on their ...its...um.

OK, that ended weirdly. Alright, so you remember my lamp that broke? No? Oh, I didn't mention it. Anyway, I kept it beside my bed, and it had a secondary lamp halfway down the main lamphal superstructure- this was conveniently accomodating to the reading shelf. But when the lamp broke I was out of light.

I didn't read anything for five years after that. I mean...no...that isn't right...LOOK, the point is, I installed a small fluorescent lamp under the reading shelf. It's sweet for two reasons:

1: My current main lighting unit is across the room. That means that I have to walk a whole three feet in pitch-black darkness to get to my bed after turning the light off. It's easy to get disoriented in the darkness, and this has resulted in many unexpected falls. Think about it. If it's dark, and all the house is dark, and it's dark outside, is it any wonder that I've wandered through my room door, the house door, and walked off the edge of the porch several times? No, no it isn't. There's no way to tell a difference between the three feet to my bed and the two doors and differing temperatures and thirty feet of the walk to the dreaded Porch Cliff, as I've come to call it.
2: This just isn't working out. Let me put it this way: Lamp = secondary light source. Secondary light source = handy. Plus now I can read, read, read, and not feel guilty for not spending the time on a laptop- because I can't use the laptop on a reading shelf- reading shelves are single-use, pretty much. Laptops make the world spin, but Samus Aran's shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage and take captive the stars. Gosh I am fond of her.

Next up will be ... um...probably a new VCR/DVD player stand. That thing is just getting old. I think I might look into cabinetry, I'm getting sick of all of this "Let's not make a stand" riff-raff. Is riff-raff a word? It's two words? I don't care, good night, this is a weird post and long too. I haven't made one of these for a little while, have I?

Have I? I hope not. Lesson I've learned: Weird post title = weird and long post. GG.

Raise the Sign Up High!

Foreword, dictated to and thus transcribed by Kev: Have you ever thought how neat it would be to have your very own billboard sticking in your front yard? Well, I finally got my very own billboard today. Me and my son, me and my boy went out and dug the holes and stood that puppy straight up, sixteen foot high! Sixteen foot high billboard, 4' by 8'. No, actually, what is it? No, it's 3' by 7'. No wait, it's 38 1/2" by 75".

8"-high lettering and two white poles supporting it. Pretty soon, we'll be getting phonecalls: "OH look at me look at me, I need work done, pretty-pretty please!"

End foreword.


Begin KevWord™.


Ever heard the hymn Sound the Battle Cry? It's an old one. If you know it, then the following might be kind of fun:

Raise the Sign up high - See the passersby
Stop and stare a time - At the Sign
Ev'ryone take a look - This is for the his'try books
Tow'ring sixteen foot it ne'er shall fall!

If you don't know that particular hymn, you can say anything to the tune of Amazing Grace. So try singing it to the tune of Amazing Grace. Neat, huh? You can pretty much do the same thing with presidential speeches.

"I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, Dec. 7, a state of war has existed between the U.S. and the Japanese empire."

See? Fits perfect to the tune of Amazing Grace! Pretty 'amazing,' right? Get it?! Of course not, it's hymn humor, you wouldn't understand.


Anyway, the billboard is up. Here is a picture.


Yep. Billboard-a-rific. People are amazed by it. Notice how tall it is compared to the truck. And my dad, who is around six foot.

It was pretty tough raising it...a lot of it is welded, and one of the welds broke, so we had to take it all the way back to the house to re-weld it. But I welded it hard. That metal regretted ever existing I welded it so hard. Or, uh, good. I am not sure which adjective should describe force in welding.

Luckily there was a slight breeze, so I didn't have to breath too many welding fumes today. Welders say never to get into welding because you lose your sense of taste, smell, hearing and sight. I think that the fumes destroy your smell and taste, the constant noise ruins your hearing, and the welding ruins your eyes. Fun profession, right?


I am very sore. I had to hold the sign up straight while Dad positioned the truck to act as the main "anchor." Shoulders are amazing things, really, they are.


But of course, Samus Aran has already taught us that, hasn't she? Ah, Samus Aran. Her shoulder pads reign the Sun into a cage and take captive the stars.

I Love You Battery and Games Installed

My new laptop battery is possibly the greatest thing in everdom. No, no it isn't. Not the greatest thing in everdom...it ranks high for sure, but that spot is reserved for greater things than it. For sure.

Anyways, yeah, the battery is fantastical. Did I mention that? It's superindific, too. And it's stuporindipitious. And whimsically...um...gr...and. Yeah. Sorry, my panegyric ran out. There's your $10 word for the day. Kind of unwieldly, isn't it?


And the games are now installed, except for The Sims, which is MWL. Missing While Lost. I know, I know, these terms should totally actually exist! I of course haven't played any of them yet.
Uhh...I've played them all before, man, why on earth would I be so eager to play them again? Seriously, you expect too much out of me.

Or too little. I don't wanna decide which...

Destructive Recovery

You know how Windows has a Non-Destructive Recovery and a Destructive Recovery? One deletes everything, the other keeps your files and folders but you have to rearrange them all?

Well, I happened to get a 250 GB Western Digital 5400 RPM hard drive for my birthday (thanks, me!). So I used EASEUS's Disk Copy (recommended by Don Horsegoggles) and copied my 80 GB hard drive to the 250 GB, having the 250 GB housed in an external hard drive "box."

My original hard drive was almost full, and had been at that stage for months. Don't believe me? Here's mathermatalical proof:


Over the past months, I continually uninstalled programs and neglected importing pictures to my computer to save space and it was to the point where every game I had was uninstalled save for Sins of a Solar Empire. It was only 1.5 GB and next in line.


Anyway, I used Disk Copy today and it worked. Since it worked, I uninstalled my 80 GB drive and installed the 250 GB drive...and it worked. Here's the new picture:


Ah. Space.

It was not without one minor hiccup, however. EASEUS copied the disc so exactly that the Local Disk partition remained at 60 GB. It did not show that I had 219 GB but was exactly as the prior picture. So I used EASEUS's Partition Manager, and...it worked. I could have created a second partition called F or whatnot, but instead I enlarged the C partition to include the rest of the "unallocated" storage. Thanks to Mr. dataDyne for the tip, as he recently went through a hard drive upgrade and mentioned that he enlarged his main partition; I halfway expected it, even.

It would appear that everything commenced flawlessly. You might ask, "Kev, why do a destructive reinstall? Why not a non-destructive reinstall?"

Humble fool, I'll tell you why. It's not called a reinstall. It's called a recovery. THAT IS IN NO WAY CONFUSING, NOT ONE BIT.

That was sarcasm; actually, it is confusing. Wouldn't it be a much better (and more intuitive) idea to call the destructive recovery a reinstallation, and call the non-destructive recovery a recovery? Because the ambiguity just steams my potatoes, for real. But I digress, the reason I chose the destructive recovery is for the finality of it. I'm dramatic sometimes, yeah?


I took my own advice and, after removing all the utterly useless programs and features falsely so called (and I really gave it to them this time, it was a warzone), I connected to the Internets (thanks, Al!) and downloaded and installed AVG. Then I installed Firefox so that I could get to blogging.

Now I'm off to download eSword, also, the King James Version without Strong's numbers (so that I can copy verses without the Strong's numbers) and another version. I won't say which, but it's like in Chinese or something, don't freak out, OK?

And I'll end this post by mentioning the slightly difficult to find Google toolbar (for Firefox - for Internet Explorer). I'm ending it for two reasons: One, it's long and boring, and two, a few programs are in "We need restart" mode.


Everything should be fine as long as my old hard drive doesn't suddenly die. I'll let you know if I jinxed myself.

Water water water and Beef beef beef

I had a rather busy day today. I had to get water; we were down to around 650 gallons. I got four loads in the "hottest part of the day." My dad has it all figured out: 9-11 AM is the hottest part of the day, except 4-5 PM, which is the hottest part of the day. So...you figure out when the hottest part of the day is.



Water. It does a body- and a brain- good. After that, I cleaned my brother's room. He wasn't too mad about that. He did threaten to kill me, though. I know, I know!...but I can't kill him, he's too strong! he breathed in Gollum-like fashion.



Also, yesterday, I got a wild idea that I'd make beef jerky. I always use Alton Brown's recipe...it can be varied easily enough. However, his box-fan idea is not good at all. It might work, but it fails miserably for me.


So I use a store-bought dehydrator. They're all that and a bag of chips. The problem I encounter is that if the jerky is dried at a high temperature, the end product is low quality; it gets all oily and dried up (but in a bad, crispy, sharp way).

I happily found a workaround for this. I dry it at the lowest setting for the majority of the drying time, then finish it off by drying/cooking it at 160+ degrees for 20-40 minutes. That way you can claim that it's "cooked," but it's not dried out and oily. Here is the same thing the next morning:



It's great stuff. I am fairly certain you can reuse the marinade a few times, so it's extremely economical compared to the $20/lb package of preservatives you can buy. If you make it, don't cut the meat too thick- else the outside will get dry but the inside will be...uh...less dry than that.

Just make sure you cut it with the grain. By that I mean that you want the strands of meat intact or the jerky will crumble and be no good. You can use any cut of meat. Tenderloin, brisket, london broil...the tougher the better. They don't serve beef jerky at tea parties.

R from the A: I Have No DVD Drive, Part V

I have no idea why I forgot to make the fourth post IV instead of IIII. I actually like how IIII looks, but come on. I think I was caught up in the pure victory of remembering that that was the fourth post. Usual header blathering here.



Actually, I do, and I really, really like it.

But there's a problem.



You know that, since I accidentally destroyed everything on my computer, it has been one wacky, crazed, failed attempt and useless effort after another. It's as if the whole world is conspiring against my laptop. I never knew such myriad complications could arise from merely initiating a system recovery.


I discover today that, after running the pitiful Windows/or HP update a few days ago, I now have no DVD drive. Thus, I can't use DVDs or CDs for any purpose, and can't even see the drive in My Computer. And the HP Update client is on the fritz so I can't try to re-download the update.


And I'm on a schedule. I owe a recordering to David dataDyne and his family, and I owe a recording to Doug Carrot Top and his wife and their dogs, and I owe Lisa dataDyne TWO emails, and there's lots of good news, humble fool, but I can't discuss any of it right now. This is the place, but the time, oh, it's just not the time.


Normally, if I were not in this zany twilight zone of a beat-on-Kev's-laptop fest, this would be simple. I would edit the WMA for dataDyne in Serif MoviePlus5, then shred the WMA away from the WMV for the Carrot's in MoviePlus5, and then I'd send the WMA's to them and I'd get nice emails back saying "Wow, that was quick" and "Nice work, Kev!" and I'd STILL have time to send Mrs. dataDyne the two emails I owe her and on top of that I'd have time to make a "Happy Birthday Mom" post but no, no, no, my DVD drive is malfunctioning, and thus I can't reinstall MoviePlus5, and the general consensus is that directly after running Microsoft or HP's update, the DVD drive fails.

But through it all, I must remember that anger is not the solution. The solution? That's the solution. So I need to find that and use it, not just vaguely assume that anger will solve any of my problems. Women could learn a lesson from me on this, I think.




Depressingly, I enter into the sickly, malnourished dread-world of PC Tech Help. I could call either of my so-called-friend techies, but both of them are acting out Hebrews 10:25 as we speak. Or, I know the one is, but I don't know about the other. The other is a shady, deathly ghast of pythonic proportions. That and I haven't talked to him for a while.

This barren wasteland. "When are you getting up tomorrow? Depression is waiting as soon as you wake up!" my mom reminds me happily, as my brother coughs and chokes and spits in his room. The clocks tick too loudly. My dad's TV in the other room drones on and on.


I try uninstalling and reinstalling. Updating driver- no updates. Rolling back driver- driver never rolled forward. I just burned a CD the other day. It should be working, I think to myself.

I try deleting LowerFilter and UpperFilter, as prescribed for this problem. I tried using TweakUI (download.com), which lets you change the letters associated with drives...but it only recognized two drives, the two partitions of my hard drive, C and D. Darn it.

Now it seems I only have one hope: apparently, my HP Update got damaged. Thus it is my theory- every theory I have had has been wrong, so bear with me- that while in the middle of updating it was destroyed. Thus it did not reinstall my DVD drive. Oh, I need to hear Mr. Grinch. YouTube has its purposes. Stink! Stank! Stunk.


OK, I'm going to try a "Guided Help." If this doesn't work...I just may start thrashing.


Right. This (scroll down) guided help- which basically does some things- actually deleted both th LowerFilter and UpperFilter. Previously, I could only find the LowerFilter. But after a restart, my drive is still nowhere to be seen. After almost five hours of this, I turn in for the night, seething with rage.


The next morning, I awaken to the sound of "HEY KEV, IT'S TIME TO DO HOOF TRIMS, GET UP RIGHT NOW, AND BY THE WAY, YOUR DVD DRIVE IS BROKEN REMEMBER!?" Thus, everything about that morning that was bad was brought to my attention before I even opened my eyes. I was about as angry as a horned toad in December.

Then, it turns out we aren't even doing the hoof trims because, yeah, she lost the cutters.

After another 1.5-2 hours- during which I seek more solutions and physically remove the drive and put it back in in futility- my mom finally began to help. Randomly, she found a place which said to right click My Computer- then click Manage, and Disk Management. Alternatively, you could go Control Panel>Administrative Tools>Computer Management>Disk Management.

Then I simply right-clicked on the drive- which was recognized but unassigned letter-wise- and selected Change Drive Letter and Paths. Then I set it to E, and I'll later set it to X because I like E free for my external drive.


That's just fabulous. And I mean that in an entirely sarcastic and non-sarcastic way. Emergency averted. I then packed my bags to go work with Pa for the day. There were reptiles a-plenty. I'll post about that soon. I got some awesome pictures from M.L. I'll tell you who M.L. is. But now the search cloud; I'm not greedy for hits, I'm greedy for helping others and hoping they'd help me.



DVD drive not working
DVD drive not recognized
DVD drive not operating
Windows XP
Windows XP Media Center Edition
DVD drive not operational
DVD drive broken
DVD drive LowerFilter UpperFilter LowerFilter

R from the A: Rearranging, Part III

I'll create the header sometime. It's storming now, and I'm basically offline.


OK, now it's time to destroy the rest of the programs in the start menu. It seems that the start menu saved itself automatically, but nothing in it is installed, the nut. Under Documents and Settings, and under All Users, I find my foe. I guess that's where the start menu is located, and under All Users, the Omega Start Menu manifests! En garde, thou vile fiend!


...long story short, now the hated start menu items are vanquished to the Destroyer bin. There's 1.6 GB in there now. 12 more items deleted...and hey, I found and imported my bookmarks. Man, I've got so many of them. I'll delete lots of them later. Lots of them. Hear me, you guys? I'm going to delete a whole lot of you.



OK...now time for what I was about to do yesternight when I ran out of time. Humble fool...I am going to organize my pictures. I experience extreme trepidation.

My plan is to organize them by year, then by month of year. This untested method scares me. Nevertheless, here I go. We typically upload each card when it's full (we use three cameras- a old cheapy, and a model from '04 or '05, and my Nikon S10), creating a file for them. So I have "uploaded from mom's card may 25 2007" and I need to go to that, then dispense those pictures into their destination master folders.

[time has passed]


Since it's raining, I need to take pictures. Thus I create the folder called "Video or Audio from cameras." Since camera video is so rare in comparison to pictures (and so hard to find inbetwixt them), I think they need their own folder. And just like that, I free up 590 MB from my card.

[more time has passed]

OK, I've organized (remember! We have no idea I won't utterly fail and make a jumbled mess of things yet) about a sixth (probably less) of my photos. It's time to go cook. We're having Double Egg Twice Baked Grainy Bread Air Souffle with Sauteed Sausage and Sardines a la GoodGame. Yeah, it's been raining, I'm not in the cooking mood. I'm in the...cartwheel mood.

[lots of time has passed, it is now 8:20 PM]


Ah, it's wet and cold. I love how the cold rips the life from your soul, and the wet drains the happiness and/or contentment from your heart. I am weary of picture migrating, it's scary. I did discover that when a filename is blue, it means that the file is compressed. I wonder if that's bad or not. It takes around 5 minutes to uncompress 300 MB, and it only takes up 1 more MB on the hard drive, what on earth is the point? I'll find out sometime.

Well, it's time to go, humble fools. I'll see you tomorrow. I still have something around half of my pictures to move and oh so many headaches, mainly relating to duplicates. Trying to guess which is the real folder...because one folder has 199 pictures, and the other has 299, but each one has the same pictures. Maybe I'm tired.


Files (pictures) relocated: 5.76 GB moved from pre-Crisis, dormant "Kev" user account to post-Crisis account's My Documents.
Pictures sorted: all but 235 MB.
Pictures left to relocate and sort: oh so many.
Hard drive space left: 11.1 GB with 1.73 GB in Destroyer bin.

Day of Dreams: Metroid Dream, Dual Segs, Silver Snail Road Graders, Terminators

To begin my pitiful day (which was OK, but then I had the worst fish tacos of my life, and now I'm depressed. I think I have to now make good fish tacos to get out of my slump), I had a dream wherein I was trying to sell a house for my aunt to my other aunt.

My dad or parents were with me, and we had, simply enough, not tried to drive on the outed bridge that's a 40-50 foot drop to another road below (one that's going the same direction as the bridge was?). One of the local yokels told us that he was impressed that we accomplished this feat of not plunging to our doom; there was a biker gang that (at this point, my mind went to the bikers:)

They (at least 20 of them) thundered about on their crazy bikes. They weren't bikes, though. The local told us that after having missed that bridge out sign and the...not-bridge itself- at this point the bikers go thundering onto the bridge that isn't there and crash to the bottom. But they're not normal bikers and they're not normal bikes. I am speaking of the motorized variety, though.

These bikers, having crashed to the bottom of this bridge so many times, have worn their spines down to the point where they had their lower body amputated, forming a...well, better if I just draw it.

A that kind of shape on their bottom. And uh, they did have arms. Um, they apparently were smoking- in a very voluminous manner- and their head or helmets were kind of polygonal. Their arms were longer than their bodies and had elbows, sorry, I'm currently running on steam until I get my laptop set up again. Because we all know I use um, photoshop, and never, ever use paint. (By the way, I did find everything! But for a few hours I thought I'd lost it. Impossible, stupid "you'd-never-figure-that-out-alone" details tomorrow!)


...anyways, where was I before I did what I did? ...OK, they had adapted to using what I term "dual segs." That is...two Segway scooter bases- you know, the ones that have two wheels on a base with a steering column and you stand on them and they're self-balancing? They had two of those attached with a rod of sorts.
These would balance the bikers, and give them extra power, and they could grip the rod with their arms and supposedly control it. This allowed them extra shock absorption for the fall, thus, through process of time, every single biker had these eventually. It was a sight; the self-balancing alone was purely neat. They still couldn't make the connection between no bridge on that air I'm about to drive onto and the brake, but they adapted skillfully regardless. Then I woke up.



Before that, I had a Metroid dream! I forget exactly, but somehow, I'm sure Samus was there. I forget most of the details, except that it was in the gas city in the sky of the N64 Star Wars: Rogue Squadron, behind the main city. She was not a sk8ter (or morph baller?) grl this time. Today, I was watching Terminator 2 (the second half of it, anyways), and the scene where the Terminator has to die um, happened.

I felt my soul crush. "No...NO! No, it'll be OK- stay with us, it'll be OK!" says John Connor. I mouthed along with him, inserting "Samus" and [omitted for extreme embarrassment potential]" and "Don't do it!"'s of my own. Sad thing about being 18, when you cry and scream and kick bloody murder, your parents just don't care. Regardless, all the familiar feelings came back. Except Samus Aran did not talk. The room kind of looked like that, but her awenem ship was there instead of the lava. And it was in acid, and she had the gravity suit. The pink gravity suit.

Way to be a girl, Samus.



Then, I had to go to sleep at 4 PM or so. I had very little sleep, and well, there you have it. So I just had another dream:

Me and my dad (and my mom and brother) were driving on a road. We saw a lot of cats; evil cats looking haggard. One of them looked like Precious, my cat, so we stopped and I took a picture. It was eviler-looking, though.

Then we were home, and both of our doors were open, and my dad said that that "always worried him." So we went into the house like we were SWAT. Turns out, there was nothing here. So we then went outside to check our property, as some road graders- new, huge, silver, Light Suit looking road graders that resembled giant snails of that coloring and detailing- had run over it during their course of applying twin streams of caulking.

Nothing. But how they could hope that two streams of caulking would spread out for the 8-foot-wide graders is beyond me.

Then I woke up, and low and behold, there was a stead flashlight beam out right where we were going to look! It was light reflecting off of the car, but for a few seconds, the Terminator, those evil ED-209 RoboCop versions, a trio of raptors, and twelve chicken hawks were after me. "Lord, looks like I'm about to die, unless these seemingly allied enemies turn on each other over who gets to kill me." Then I saw that it was the car, and silently cursed my parents. I need to work on my subconscious cursing now, it's such a reflex.

Another Pastor Nightmare

We were driving to my place. Ostensibly, Pastor was going to drop me off after what was probably another conference. There was news about a comet that crash landed, but somebody got video of it (I think 3 TV), and it wasn't a comet, but some armored, stronger-than-it-looks 6-wheeled moon rover. I would have no idea how this dream ends.

Somehow, in the physics-bending way dreams do, I was home, but not before I asked Pastor if he was sure he didn't want to just stay out here tonight.

We lived in a two-story house that had a really weird first story, then just a one-bedroom-sized second story. It was, once again, ostensibly in the area I live, but there were new roads...and it rained like a bleeding...uhh...pirate's face. It had rained like a bleeding pirate's face. This was a good dream.

I was sleeping on the top floor bed (the room was about 10' x 10' x 4.5-5') and my dad was on the first floor, and he and my mom were in separate beds. His was in the living room on a bed, and I guess I actually don't know if my mom and brother were there; I assume they were.


Then I got the call. "Hey Kev, is that invitation still open?" "Our house is always open to you!" I replied in my oft-heroic dream voice. "Just give us 15 minutes to pick up the garbage!" I forget what was apparently heroic about the last bit, but like someone singing the second verse of Blessed Assurance, I uttered it with due gusto.


I guess Pastor arrived, because my next move was the local Taco Bell. Which isn't local in the ..."short distance away" sense as much as in the "closest we have" sense. I forget what I did there. They have a new lady who would be a great VA, but they got rid of the old guard. VA's usually seem like airheads. Thusforth, the dataDyne's youngest child will assuredly be a great VA!


Then I was on my way home, apparently to play a trick on everyone. My dad was with me. I guess we were going to make them think somebody was breaking in. Real funny, Kev and Kev's Dad. We decided to stop by our local claw machine store. Apparently it was a claw machine store- it had 5 or 6 claw machines.


Then the nuke hit.




I am unsure of how we survived, but we did, and I was still trying to play the blown-out, but-somehow-still-operable claw machines. People had looted the stuffed animals game from them, and a group of teenagers had gathered nearby. I was attempted to knock a can of chili in the claw machine down from the top of the claw machine (there was a shelf), but the chili was frozen to another can of chili, and yeah, it was as weird a scene as it sounded. The building was gone and there was a wave of burned-out, desolated ground.

Thanks a lot, Joel 2.


My dad got bored and...picked a fight with the teenagers. There were at least three guys, and I have no idea how many girls. Two was all I saw, but I'm not sure if I was seeing the same two, because I'm horrible with faces while I'm awake, so am I when asleep, and Dream Physics enter in, but one of them was apparently passed out on top of a claw machine (maybe a failed attempt to crawl inside). Then it would seem that I saw the same one twice, or there were two more. See, there was a column where the claw machine was...let's go with the number of two.

Anyways, my dad picked a fight with them. He did great, until he tried to break the one's leg backwards. That was actually his third or fourth move. The guy broke out of the hold and then got Pop in a horrible type of arm-breaking hold, and I was like, "What do I do? Do I help that hapless idiot, or do I not get beaten and my arms broken? He does deserve it..."

About that time, I woke up. With a start. My eyes wouldn't work right, but I somehow...wait, the dream is over. Yeah, we got nuked...but the claw machines still worked. They're like cockroaches!

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...

:(

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.

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.

When Getting Water Isn't Easy. Again.

Two and a half weeks ago- that's two water days- I had a pretty rough time getting water.

I had previously also had some...mishaps, while getting water. I almost lost the tank, had to drive around like a loon looking for the pump station (which turned out to be poisoned), and spoke on the issue of what makes the Local Hairy-Man Operated Pizzeria slightly unnerving.


This time was not much different. Last week I actually had a normative water day. The Thirsty Wolf even got a new puppy. Things are looking up, but boy, the week I had two...




It all started out fine. Me and my dad were of course arguing over something- I forget what- so it wasn't the best of days to begin with, but he was at work and I was at home and water needed to be got, so off I went.

I got into the truck. It's a 1989 (same year I was born) Ford F-150 with some really good tires on it (it was given to us by my dearest Granny; thanks, Granny!). They're good for hauling water, that is. Not so good for driving on roads where there isn't 2 feet of mud. People routinely comment. "Wow, dood, thast a ton of water lol, how u carry it?" I do not correct them that it is in fact two and a quarter tons of water. "Prayer and supplication!" I say.

They jump backwards (even old ladies!), arch their backs and hiss. If you ever want to get out of an uncomfortable conversation, just say something like "Jesus rocks" or "Prayer is the answer" or something. I am convinced that murders have been committed by getting someone near the edge of a cliff and whispering "Jesus saves!" to which they jump back with such force they fly off the cliff. Cursing on the way down.


I drove out to the gate. Druh druh druh druuuuh. It dies. "What in Manhattan?" I ask myself. It is sprinkling by now. The Rice Cooker rain; it rains very lightly, failing to cool the environment down, thus creating steam from the moisture. You can put rice in a pan, set it outside for 20 seconds, then bring it back in and it's done. This goes against several laws of nature, but then, so does the 206 degree days we experience out here that create the steam in the first place.

I had to walk all the way back to the house- about 500 feet- to get a siphoning hose. I knew I was out of gas. We have two tanks on the truck, but one tank doesn't work so well. I would siphon from that tank, then deposit it into the main tank, and I'd be a happy, contented camper.

Little did I know, foolishness was about to get the best of me.


First, I had to get the gas can to siphon into.

Aha! Luckily, we have two real nice ones. With rust on them. That's no indicator of what's inside of them, right?
Oh, drat. I guess it is.

That's Little Jihad, or LJ, my mom's dog. He's a pit bull, and he still doesn't have the tag I made for him on.

That's Precious. She doesn't look too happy, does she? Strangely enough, The White Cats- we call Precious and Vicious "The White Cats"- don't seem to mind rain too much, unless it's a downpour.

Luckily, I found a Gas Can that isn't likely to have rust in it! Rust is like the mold of the iron world.

Gleg. It isn't the cleanest water I've ever seen, but it is not rusty. (The pictures are blurry because it is sprinkling, and there's water and water stains on the lens.)

Next, you'll need a siphonin-...oh, well, lookie there! That one will work. Get that. Grab it real hard and don't let it slip from your dread grasp:

...as you sorrowfully trudge your way back to the truck, which is...well, here's a picture.

Way out there.

Now, once you're way out there...get your hose...


...OH, A THOUSAND ILL-CONCEIVED CURSES, WHERE'S THAT DARNED HOSE AT?!

...drat!

I trudge back.

On second thought, do not rely on your feeble fingers. Tie it around your wrist real good. Take the time to realize...that...

There's a slash in the hose! Argh!

Get this hose to siphon with...then realize it won't work...

Then get this hose, which will, but only for about 3 gallons.


Dump the 3 gallons you got into the tank. Wildly, with your tongue flopping out of your mouth and a crazed grin on your face, check the gas meter with wonder.

Darn. Still not enough. But it is enough to drive back to the house and hunt for a siphoning hose which will actually get more than 3 gallons. Before that, though...

Get some water running out of the tank (we always have 30-40 gallons leftover).

• Wash your eyes out, which got gasoline in them.
• Get some water in your mouth and try to get the oily gasoline residue to leave, only succeeding in spreading it. Hope it doesn't hit your lungs.
• Wonder how much damage will be done to your lips. Gasoline rhymes with Vasoline, but they are different aside from that.
• Wash out your ears. Yes, your ears. This is how you know you siphoned the gas successfully.
• Wash your nostrils very well; I think sinuses don't like gasoline.
• Wash the spots on your shirt that got gas on them. That is, just go change clothes.
• Try to figure out the ratio between gas you got in the can, and the gas you got in your eyes.
• Start up the truck and drive closer to the house so that you're not in danger of being talked to by neighbors, who don't understand that, like as the gas station while pumping gas, their car should not be running while in the vicinity of you.

Once you're back near the house, ponder if you're dripping with rain water or gasoline. Shudder.


After this, I stumbled around until I found a really nice siphoning hose. It was great. In fact, it let me siphon most of the gas out. Hooray! Here is a picture of it working, below.

If you're happy and you know it gratefully keep your face two feet from the gas! If you're happy and you know it you'll actually be able to keep your face more than two feet from the gas! If you're happy and you know it- the gas that isn't in your eyes will show it- if you're happy and you know it keep your face two feet from the gaaaas! HOORAY!

I forgot how much water I got. This was the week that I had to go 2 miles to get the water, and I discovered that the truck weaves side to side when it's loaded down with 2 tons of water. Did I mention that our homemade bridge successfully can hold 4 tons of weight? Probably more, but I know something went over it that weighed 4 tons; it was 85 bails of hay on a trailer, and the trailer stopped with all 4 wheels on the bridge. Yikes.

I got to see some telephone pole repairmen in an argument. One of them left their lunch pail on the transformer, and...oh, it was just dreadful. (Post sometime.) Now, I'm off to do something useful, like cook and clean and get ready to study my Bible with the guys tonight.



I think I'll be wearing my cowboy hat in memory of Heath Ledger. He died. I haven't cared that someone died this much since that one lady died, uh...I forget her name. She overdosed on drugs in a hotel room or something? Everyone stepped on a huge, collective Drama Mine and the media couldn't shut up for months, sort of like how Michael Jackson did?

[I'll stop making such long posts here in a while, I promise.]

Not Much Sleep

How very good is that memory in that skull of yours? We'll find out.


I haven't been getting much sleep, lately. I was playing Final Fantasy I&II (I was grinding right before Tiamat, leveling and hunting for Death Machines) about a week ago, and I was also listening to sermons by our pastor. 5 hours later, after intensive concentration, the series was over, and I had encountered like 10 Death Machines and leveled to 95+. I thought maybe it was 11 PM, or midnight...but no, it was going on 2 AM!

I slumped out of bed, because I had to go pee. YOU try listening to someone blather for 5 hours! It's the frequency, or something... it does mysterious things to bladders. It makes me think of Gandrayda...that poor girl. You ever notice how whenever you despise something, you sometimes turn to having a real soft spot for it in your heart, more so than if you didn't hate it at one point?


Ever since that 5-hour session, I've been able to concentrate a lot better. In fact, I got up that morning only 3.5 hours after I went to sleep. Normally, when I get up after 3.5 hours of sleep, I fall back asleep. Now I was able to remind myself to stay awake successfully.

Now, I don't completely credit my ability to function on less sleep to the 5-hour marathon of sermons (this could also be rabid worker syndrome); I partway credit it to GIANT LEATHERY DOG MONSTERS JUMPING OUT OF PEOPLE AND THREATENING TO KILL OTHERS THEN REACHING AND TRYING TO SHRED THEM AND STUFF.


...well, actually, the 5-hour marathon did seem to be the thing that did wonders for my concentration. The giant leather werewolf demon just caused necessity. But we'll see how this "not getting much sleep thing" pans out.

I have talked about how I'd need to condition myself to be able to stay awake for 3 hours for the Bible conference, and this seems to be the way to do it. Q&A ran 3 hours, and it barely seemed like anything. The Sunday sermon ran about an hour, and it didn't seem like anything, either. Sort of how people get used to driving 70 miles one way, and it doesn't seem so far. I listened to a preacher named Ted Bellows last night...with a name like Bellows...

...well, you know. Now for the test!

DO NOT READ THE OPENING LINE AT THE TOP OF THE POST. In it, I asked how good your memory was. Now, let's see.



Which is the correct opening line:

1. How very good is the memory in that skull of yours? We'll find out.
2. How very good is the memory in that skull of yours? Let's see.
3. How very good is that memory in that skull of yours? We'll find out.
4. How very good is that memory in that skull of yours? Let's see.
5. How good is the memory in that skull of yours? We'll find out.
6. How good is the memory in that skull of yours? Let's see.
7. How very good is the memory inside of your skull? We'll find out.
8. How very good is the memory inside of your skull? Let's see.

If you dare comment, please let me know how what you guessed. I bet my mom will get it right. I'll probably stop by the store tonight and buy some cucumbers, instant coffee, and Ovaltine.

My Shoes

I love my shoes. They keep my feet from getting stared at, and they never complain, even though I walk on them all the time. Now that's a servant's spirit. I got them especially so that I could have nice shoes to wear to church...but that didn't work out well.

You see, humble fool, they're such nice shoes, I just can't keep them clean! I have to wear them every time I choose shoes (I have one other pair of shoes to choose from.) Do I know anything about shoes? I must answer a very strong no. But I like these shoes, and that's all that counts for me.

They have several eyelets for the shoe string to run through, then at the top, there are some loops. These allows me to not have to tie my shoes every single time I wear them. I like not tying my shoes. I can hook the string around the loops; that's why they're called loops. I just love cheating the laws of physics. Einstein once said, "Brilliant is the man who denies the string gods their daily sacrifice of knot tying."




The shoes are Fitzwell Brice's. Brand Fitzwell, style Brice. Link to Zappos.com: Fitzwell Brice (Black). In case you don't know what Zappos.com is...like, wow. I've ordered two pairs of shoes from them (one pair are my dress shoes which turned out to be too big and a bit too dressy but I was too stupid to send back before the cats tore them up (the cats ignore shoes that don't need to stay perfect) and I also dug a 3' deep hole with them and I don't think they would want to take back dress shoes which someone wore when they dug a 3' deep hole to bury a goat that died from urinary calculi. [gasping for breath])

Whew...uh, anyway, I've ordered two pairs of shoes from them, and both pairs arrived very quickly with no shipping charge (I think one took an additional day because I ordered after 1 PM), but I still don't believe they don't charge for shipping. You can send them back with free shipping, as well. I still don't believe it. It's like Santa Claus; it's too fantastic to believe. Free shipping? Not only free shipping, but free overnight shipping? No. NOT POSSIBLE.



Yet it has worked. I will have to test this system, as it's getting to the point that I need another pair of shoes for non-messy-activities. Today, I spilled gasoline on my shoes (and glasses, and eyes, and pants, and shirt, and hands, and fingers, and eyebrows, and lips, and tongue, and teeth to a minor extent), and here is the picture below. Of my gasoline stained Fitzwell Brice's.


Notice the mud on them? That's fine. The yellow? That's the gasoline! My dad tells me that I shouldn't get water on leather shoes. I asked him how many cows shrivel up and die because they got caught in the rain and their skin shrunk and suffocated them, and he had nothing to say. But gasoline...I don't know if gasoline will come out. Besides, I've been wanting some of these in black since a few days after I got the brown shoes.

I'm really the kind of person who doesn't worry about not dirtying clothing unless it's dress clothing, so it's good that I have "good" shoes and "bad" shoes. Understand, I consider it a badge of honor to walk around with green on the knees of my pants from kneeling in the grass. Ever think of that word? Kneeling? Knee ling? Hatchling? Newborn? Samus Aran! Yes!



How about we put their system to a test, and order them at 12:30 PM PST on Thursday? According to their doctrinal statement delivery chart, that should assure delivery by Friday. If they do not arrive in time, I will protest bravely the iniquity dealt me. Or just deal with it and not be able to say, "Yes, they really do ship overnight for free."


ION, I need more instant coffee...I've taken to making coffee shakes in the morning. I get up, make the shake, then drink it, regardless of how tired I am or if I got 3.5 hours of sleep. If I go to sleep after that, I've earned it. My pa also uses this method (his coffee machine takes a whole 5 minutes to brew, so he drinks instant during the 5 minutes), thus why we're running low.

Iced coffee mocha sunburst whoppo vanillin wallyfruit darkburst ice beam lalaland butterfree cream sunrise surprise mocha coffee iced drink:

• 1 cup milk (goat milk if you have it, and raw goat milk if you have that)
  
• Some Ovaltine (we need more of that, too!)
• 1/2 to 2 teaspoons instant coffee. Or more, depending on how much you can handle/need; I get the jitters easily
  
• And ice to the top of the container (a handful or two); I make it in the Magic Bullet my granny purchased for me for Christmas (thanks, granny!). Believe it or not, the thing crushes ice very well (it's like a blender with a lot of cups; that is so awesomely convenient).

It's worth it simply for that reason, as pulverized ice is a comfort food to me. Yeah...you heard me...how it forms into hard ice when you bite it...oh, I'm going to go have some pulverized ice right now! I hope I don't spoil my diet!



[what diet?]

Internet Speed is Back and So is the Water!

Everything is like a blur now. If you don't have access to broadband, let me say that I am very, very sorry, and understand well your position. I spent well over 5,000 hours on a computer with dialup, so believe me, I understand.

We have Wildblue satellite internet, in case you didn't know. Recently my mom acquired a virus which downloaded...something, endlessly, up to 3 GB worth a month. We have a 7 GB per month limit, and typically we will hit 3-4 GB. With the virus, we went over bit by bit until finally, they cut our speed down to 100k or so. It seemed much slower, but eh. Ugh is all I can say to that. I had to spend 2-3 times as long on everything, and I officially was branded as being addicted to the computer again. Thanks a lot, dad.


Today I also went to get water. They had it back Saturday afternoon (see the backstory here: When Getting Water Isn't Easy), but I wanted to wait a day for the flood of thirsty fools to cease. Come to find out, they did something to stir up a bunch of dirt (or other ruffian particles), so our water is yellow. See a photo, below. Mmm, mm. Aren't you envious of our filthy water? Not ...not even a little?

Please?


Last year about midway through my Twilight Princess playthrough, I saw our neighbor, the Thirsty Wolf. Now, a year later, I saw him again! I am only 1/4 through at this point; we need to pick up a pizza from the Local Hairy-Man Operated Pizzeria. You can guess what they're infamous for. Eyuck...but aside from the...hairy part, they have good pizza.

I've seen our neighbor once throughout the year, and I saw his wife a few times, 2-3 I think. Good thing I saw him; otherwise, he might have thought his tank ruptured and was letting dirt in. I've made almost $1000 this year from delivering water to him. It sure doesn't seem like a thousand dollars when you spend it each week like a crazed fool! Donate this, donate that, sow a seed, make a love pledge, bring it to the storehouse, and you can't give until you've tithed!


...speaking of spending money like a crazy fool, Final Fantasy I & II: Dawn of Souls arrived today, as I prophesied. I should go join one of those prophecy cult meetings worship festivals! They do have prophecy worship festivals, right?

I will try it out tonight, and hope that it isn't like most 8-bit games I've played. You know, pointlessly overly hard. Shouldn't be too bad, right?