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.
Showing posts with label Memory Lane. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Memory Lane. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
My HP Pavilion dv5215us: A 2.5 Years Later Review
My laptop. My cherished, beloved laptop. It’s gotten me- no, it’s given me- more than two years of service. Hard work. Not really. Man that was a sappy sentence!
I got this laptop somewhere around the time I started this blog- way back in late August 2006…and Post #1: Drama at its Finest. I must say that, given my inexperience at blogging at that time, that’s one fine first post. Drama at its Finest? Genius.
It cost $700 according to memory. With tax and shipping it would be around $800. I got one other, but returned the other. I forget why and where…I just faintly remember that I got one then returned it and got this model. It “looked weird.” And I was the one who said that. It does have some unconventional, trying-to-look-cool-like-an-expensive-car features, but it doesn’t look all that weird after staring at it for two years.
The processor is either 1.79 or 2.2 GHz (power saving 1.79 or power-sapping 2.2), single core. When it goes from 1.79 to 2.2 it lags, but it’s not too noticeable. I got it one generation/line of laptops before dual cores became standard. It is an AMD Turion, which I like, but it isn’t an AMD Turion X2. I could have gotten the dual core for $100 more. A sticker on it says “Designed for Windows XP. Windows Vista Capable.”
The screen is nice, but dim according to today’s standards. I haven’t experienced any dead pixels- I despise dead pixels. It came with 1 GB of RAM…and I never upgraded to 2 GB. And I’ve never had a system stability problem that wasn’t caused by me- a lucky run so far with no spyware or viruses. It runs very decently with few lockups or slowdowns. My biggest problem with it is the Wireless Indicator Light, a very bright LED which resides at the bottom of the display and indicates when the wireless receiver/transmitter is active. It’s oppressively bright in dark rooms and especially when the monitor is turned down. I lived with it.
It has either a 128 MB or 256 MB graphics card- it never really gives me a straight answer- and the most recent game it can run is Command and Conquer: Kane’s Wrath. It runs it quite well (except for infantry swarms), but the graphics have to be bottomed out. It came with a 5,400 RPM 80 GB drive which lasted me until I upgraded (space requirements) in October 2008 to a 250-GB 5,400 RPM Western Digital Scorpio Blue. Space is nice.
The battery was all but useless by mid-late 2008. After living with it for months, I bought a new one at the same time as the 250 gig hard drive; a nice doublecell which increased battery time from 7-10 minutes to 2-3 hours. Time away from the outlet is nice.
It also has a decent keyboard. It’s sort of loud (not overly clicky) I suppose, at least according to today’s standards; I’d never use it in a classroom setting. And it catches your fingers under the keys at odd times. I enjoy this, some might not, but it’s rare enough to ignore. In mid-2008 the ‘O’ key failed to reinstall. I removed the ‘`’ key (next to 1) to attempt a structural replacement. It failed and I lost both keys, destroying the placement structures. The rubber nipple that the key normally presses on has worked just fine without a key. That’s neat. Also, the lettering on the keys has not faded at all. That’s neater.
The touchpad is very nice. It’s slick but not too slick- and that also means it isn’t sticky. And it isn’t sandy, either. Travel is nice and it’s happily controllable; it also happens to be in the middle of the laptop. I can’t fathom why you would align it to the right or left. The color wore off of it in the high-traffic middle, and the scroll wheel is only operational when some as-yet undiscovered process is running. Maybe “ScrollWheel.exe,” I don’t know- point is, when that process isn’t running, or is preempted by a process with higher priority, which is often enough to annoy, the scroll wheel does not operate. It will return when the problem resolves, sometimes requiring a system restart.
For some reason I’ll never know, about as often as the scroll wheel issue occurs, the control key will get stuck. Try holding control and typing “so there I was.” A million things pop up, it’s wacky, don’t try it. The sound is loud enough, but lacks any real oomphish depth that you get with more modern/expensive systems/desktop speakers.
In mid-late 2008 (can you tell this laptop lasted exactly 2 years before it started falling apart?), the CD/DVD drive began malfunctioning. As a result, a month or so later the faceplate fell off. The structure is a bit weak, and sometimes the uneven pressure of picking up the laptop with one hand causes the CD/DVD drive to rev up as if you had pressed the “rev up and do autoplay” button. Extremely annoying, I got used to it, it happened less when the faceplate fell off. But when the faceplate fell off, the ejection motors began wearing down, and it only pops out part of the way. At current, my CD/DVD drive is only operational at odd times. It’s usually operational when I need to game. That’s serendipitous.
Here are the specs: HP dv5215us 15.4″, $800 including tax/ship.
Processor/CPU: 1.79 to 2.2 GHz Single Core AMD Turion Mobile
Graphics card/GPU: 128 MB dedicated, possibly additional 128 shared Mobility Radeon Xpress 200 series
RAM: 1 GB
Battery: Double, 2-3 hours at brightest setting running browser and writing programs, charges slowly
Weight: roughly 7 pounds with normal battery, 7 pounds 7 ounces with extended battery.
Notable features: nice touchpad, nice placement of USB (2 on left, 1 on right), came with remote.
Well done, good and faithful servant.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Where Have All The Moon Pies Gone?
A time ago, at least 9 years, I went with my dad to get a copy of The Sims. I was confused; I thought that you actually went and worked a job with your Sims, i.e., you got to seek revenge on your enemies as a corrupt cop or choose choice houses to ransack as a thief. I wasn't much into peaceable living when I was 10.
Turns out, The Sims doesn't allow you to micromanage your career. No virtual thieving for Kev. I had no idea Grand Theft Auto was around.
(Choose and choice. That's pretty neat.)
Anyway, on our way to get that game, we stopped by a certain store and got a Moon Pie.
Now, I hate Moon Pies.
But I'm a very nostalgic person. I like memories. I dislike memories. Memories can move me, memories can...cause me to...rebel against them. I'm trying to be prosaic, here.
Oh my goodness! Prosaic is a word! I had no idea! I meant to write prose, but I wrote prosaic. I'm so smart, it hurts. No prosastic, procrastic, or prosarositarious for me. I'm a genius.
...problem is, prose is the exact opposite of what I meant. Isn't the irony ironic? I'm getting distracted. Yes, it seems that the Moon Pies have disappeared. It's been many moons since I've had a Moon Pie, but I quite remember seeing them as recently as a year ago. I always think, "Wow, Moon Pies are not good."
For some reason, God only remembers as I forgot, my nostalgia was engaged for Moon Pies. Maybe it's the long, forgotten blond hair, or the orange, gray-black-green suit, or perhaps the gnawing guilt. Definitely the suit. That suit is awesome. And adaptable. And stretchy. But in a rigid sort of way.
I think, or it seems, that I liken Moon Pies to working with a fine woman; you hate her, but she's kind of alright. So I told my driver, "Driver, drive me to the finest establishment I know of to purchase Moon Pies from. The ol' Circle K on the corner."
To my astonishment, shock, and horror, no Moon Pies. Maybe it's the name I like. Moon Pies. It reminds me of the armorsuit.
Then, no Moon Pies at 7-11. No Moon Pies at FR. No Moon Pies at the post office. I even asked! They said they could receive a package of them if I ordered them. Hah hah laugh.
I managed to find an off-brand (Little Betty) at a Fry's. No idea where the Moon Pies have gone, but the off brand will do. They're still gross.
But they're kind of alright.
Turns out, The Sims doesn't allow you to micromanage your career. No virtual thieving for Kev. I had no idea Grand Theft Auto was around.
(Choose and choice. That's pretty neat.)
Anyway, on our way to get that game, we stopped by a certain store and got a Moon Pie.
Now, I hate Moon Pies.
But I'm a very nostalgic person. I like memories. I dislike memories. Memories can move me, memories can...cause me to...rebel against them. I'm trying to be prosaic, here.
Oh my goodness! Prosaic is a word! I had no idea! I meant to write prose, but I wrote prosaic. I'm so smart, it hurts. No prosastic, procrastic, or prosarositarious for me. I'm a genius.
...problem is, prose is the exact opposite of what I meant. Isn't the irony ironic? I'm getting distracted. Yes, it seems that the Moon Pies have disappeared. It's been many moons since I've had a Moon Pie, but I quite remember seeing them as recently as a year ago. I always think, "Wow, Moon Pies are not good."
For some reason, God only remembers as I forgot, my nostalgia was engaged for Moon Pies. Maybe it's the long, forgotten blond hair, or the orange, gray-black-green suit, or perhaps the gnawing guilt. Definitely the suit. That suit is awesome. And adaptable. And stretchy. But in a rigid sort of way.
I think, or it seems, that I liken Moon Pies to working with a fine woman; you hate her, but she's kind of alright. So I told my driver, "Driver, drive me to the finest establishment I know of to purchase Moon Pies from. The ol' Circle K on the corner."
To my astonishment, shock, and horror, no Moon Pies. Maybe it's the name I like. Moon Pies. It reminds me of the armorsuit.
Then, no Moon Pies at 7-11. No Moon Pies at FR. No Moon Pies at the post office. I even asked! They said they could receive a package of them if I ordered them. Hah hah laugh.
I managed to find an off-brand (Little Betty) at a Fry's. No idea where the Moon Pies have gone, but the off brand will do. They're still gross.
But they're kind of alright.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Where Is My Pusher
I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. As you know, humble fool, hornets fly because they're really mad. When they can't exert their rage by creating upward lift and propulsion, they...uh...burn.
Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.
It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.
Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.
Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.
And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.
Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.
3...
Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?
Y'know, even though I found my wings...
Anyways, I'm madder'n a wingless hornet. My food processor pusher is missing. There's actually two pushers. They're both missing.
It's like this. The food processor is used for two things: One, grating cheese twice a year. Two, slicing potatoes for scalloped potatoes. Which means that the food processor is used less than once a month. And that we slice potatoes in it more than grating cheese. Which we do twice a year.
Anyways, in the Dark Ages, or back when I didn't do the cooking, it was common for the pusher not to be used with the processor- and certainly not with potatoes. It was the culinary version of the bubonic plague, man. Bodies in the streets.
Then I started doing the cooking, and I realized that to make a uniform potato slice you need to put pressure on the potato; I used the pusher for the first time, and it's been sunbeams beyond the sunset ever since.
And now this. Well, it happened two years ago, actually, so I suppose it really hasn't all been sunbeams. It's been mostly sunbeams. Regardless, the first time this happened I had to listen to 40 minutes of Coast to Coast AM while I searched for it. It was a disaster. This was back when I would spend long, paranoid nights on marathon cooking sessions. Lasagna (with homemade noodles), Alfredo chicken spaghetti, stir-fry, meatloaf, pork chops and scalloped potatoes, and chicken chili (both chile verde and chicken chili). Those were the days, back when you could sell people food for rock-bottom prices and people could take food that wasn't prepared in a sanitary manner.
Days of yore. Now I must go to search for the pusher. And if I don't find it, the house is getting burned down.
3...
Hooray, the house is spared! I found one! It's dirty. Now, who puts a pusher away separate from its processor master? And dirty?
Y'know, even though I found my wings...
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Chex Quest Pwnt
Remember when I mentioned Chex Quest? Here's the relevant bit of that post:
That link is now dead. Nice move, Chex Cereal, you morons. Estrange yourself from a game made specifically for you, real smart.
Notice it's in the program 'DOSBox.' DOSBox replicates a DOS computer. Supposedly Chex Quest can run in Win95, but it lags like a...laggy ...car... for me unless I run it in DOSBox. If you want to download it, you can find it via Chex Quest Mania. And if that link breaks, believe me, if you have the technical ability to operate DOSBox, you will have no trouble navigating your way through the Intranet to find the download. I am really quite unsure if downloading it in this fashion is illegal.
It's an old game- my brother even remembered it! Oh, good times playing this one. Actually, I have very little memory of it, just enough to remember all of the levels. But no details about the levels. Just the look of them. And only certain parts of them. It's all pretty much the same, though, so if you remember one room of one level you remember every room of that level. The reason I post this is that I beat the game today; it took maybe an hour and a half, so turn up the difficulty if you want it to last for any reasonable amount of time.
I kind of like the gameplay...I can see why people love Doom so much.
Nerds.
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.And here's the picture of Chex Man / the Chex Warrior of the Chex Squadron!
That link is now dead. Nice move, Chex Cereal, you morons. Estrange yourself from a game made specifically for you, real smart.Notice it's in the program 'DOSBox.' DOSBox replicates a DOS computer. Supposedly Chex Quest can run in Win95, but it lags like a...laggy ...car... for me unless I run it in DOSBox. If you want to download it, you can find it via Chex Quest Mania. And if that link breaks, believe me, if you have the technical ability to operate DOSBox, you will have no trouble navigating your way through the Intranet to find the download. I am really quite unsure if downloading it in this fashion is illegal.
It's an old game- my brother even remembered it! Oh, good times playing this one. Actually, I have very little memory of it, just enough to remember all of the levels. But no details about the levels. Just the look of them. And only certain parts of them. It's all pretty much the same, though, so if you remember one room of one level you remember every room of that level. The reason I post this is that I beat the game today; it took maybe an hour and a half, so turn up the difficulty if you want it to last for any reasonable amount of time.
I kind of like the gameplay...I can see why people love Doom so much.
Nerds.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Good Potato soup. I think.
This Sunday, we stopped by a Souper Salads. I like Souper Salads, and have ever since I was a kid. Even though I had a...I forget the term...but I had this thing where I always imagined the crunch from the salad coming from cockroach heads, or cockroach heads in my salad. The big cockroaches. We used to be infested with them when we lived in the city, but now we're out in the country, and I haven't seen a cockroach out here in...well, I don't know if I've ever seen one out here. Especially not a big one.
Anyway, when you have that bad of a problem with eating a certain food, you usually don't continue eating that food unless you love that food. So there's my love of salad on display, James 2 style, if you know what I mean. I like salad a whole lot if it has the right dressing (so salad is not always a foolproof dish to serve to me), and they have very good dressing. It tastes like the "homemade" salad dressing using the ranch packets. My mom also commented on the horror of store-bought ranch dressing in her post, Snacks Sunday.
I got some salad from Jack in the Box once...oogh. We got it on the way to Bess' wedding rehearsal. (She recently commented that she wants to see the footage, so I'll have to pwn some miniDV.) It was the kind made with vinegar and citric acid? Or in simpler terms, vinegar and lemon. Plus, the "bacon" they put on it was full of gristle...or rather, the gristle they put on it had some bacon clinging to it. Do NOT buy salad from Jack in the Box, or I'll have to say "I TOLD YOU LOL!" and stuff.
Anyway, Souper Salad is a very expensive place to go for lunch. We probably won't be going again. Plus, the Souper Salad we went to was probably the lamest Souper Salad I've ever seen. Regardless, I decided to try some of their potato soup. Twice-baked potato soup. It was delicious!
Rich and smooth, it was NOTHING like the potato soup I thought potato soup was. What I was led to believe potato soup was, was potatoes in milk with some onions, but this was fantastic! It was obviously made with baked potatoes (how many more times can I use the word "was"), as it had pieces of them still in it. God knows how they made it, but I attempted it Monday, and it was actually pretty good. But not as good as the soup they made.
I used the recipe Ultimate Potato Soup from Allrecipes.com. However, I found it rather bland. Actually, I found it very bland. Something was just missing, and I am unsure of what. For one, it has no spices in it, so...I mean, come on. Doesn't food need flavoring? Perhaps I am being a bit harsh, though. I will try another recipe next time.
Anyway, when you have that bad of a problem with eating a certain food, you usually don't continue eating that food unless you love that food. So there's my love of salad on display, James 2 style, if you know what I mean. I like salad a whole lot if it has the right dressing (so salad is not always a foolproof dish to serve to me), and they have very good dressing. It tastes like the "homemade" salad dressing using the ranch packets. My mom also commented on the horror of store-bought ranch dressing in her post, Snacks Sunday.
I got some salad from Jack in the Box once...oogh. We got it on the way to Bess' wedding rehearsal. (She recently commented that she wants to see the footage, so I'll have to pwn some miniDV.) It was the kind made with vinegar and citric acid? Or in simpler terms, vinegar and lemon. Plus, the "bacon" they put on it was full of gristle...or rather, the gristle they put on it had some bacon clinging to it. Do NOT buy salad from Jack in the Box, or I'll have to say "I TOLD YOU LOL!" and stuff.
Anyway, Souper Salad is a very expensive place to go for lunch. We probably won't be going again. Plus, the Souper Salad we went to was probably the lamest Souper Salad I've ever seen. Regardless, I decided to try some of their potato soup. Twice-baked potato soup. It was delicious!
Rich and smooth, it was NOTHING like the potato soup I thought potato soup was. What I was led to believe potato soup was, was potatoes in milk with some onions, but this was fantastic! It was obviously made with baked potatoes (how many more times can I use the word "was"), as it had pieces of them still in it. God knows how they made it, but I attempted it Monday, and it was actually pretty good. But not as good as the soup they made.
I used the recipe Ultimate Potato Soup from Allrecipes.com. However, I found it rather bland. Actually, I found it very bland. Something was just missing, and I am unsure of what. For one, it has no spices in it, so...I mean, come on. Doesn't food need flavoring? Perhaps I am being a bit harsh, though. I will try another recipe next time.
Monday, December 17, 2007
Updated Posts: How I almost fell for Charismania
Check the "sister" post, Church This Week: December 16th, 2007. Note: I am rearranging, editing, and linking to posts, and this is a gradual process, so this may not show up immediately. Note: what I meant was that I was still writing the other post.
I edited and updated some posts today. I need to update all but 80 or so of my posts due to grammatical errors and wording issues.
I updated the posts:
Hold Up, Wait a Minute
Reflection of Kev
Tomorrow
"GO"
For grammatical or otherwise errors. I retained most of the heart-wrenchingly embarrassing contents of the latter two.
Why did I update these posts today, and not in order like all the other posts I update in the dead of night? Well, the first two were random, but the latter two were so I could discuss my dad's involvement in the justice system. Pastor made an announcement yesterday on the state of our miniature prison ministry (we send a few guys information, they learn it, we all win!).
During the time my dad was in jail, he had to deal with a guy named Mike. Mike, knowingly or not, tried to shipwreck our faith. The typical charismatic preacher centered around money.
See these posts: Tomorrow and "GO". (Lord Jesus Christ, help me to cope with the unstoppable embarrassment! Aah! Making himself of no reputation! In all lowliness! AHH, IT BURNS! ACID, ACIIID!)
Post Twin Powers activate, and together they detail the before and after of what happens when you allow your emotions to guide you and (almost) lose secure spiritual footing. I now understand so much more than I did at that time, but I knew enough then to know that he was not correct.
He was a preacher or pastor type guy. Traveled around. His trouble began when his pyramid scheme collapsed; he was sent to jail, and sentenced to 3 months. He ran the scheme with two other people, and between them they had to pay back $3,000,000. I am unsure of the logistics, but it seems a life sentence; for example, 400 years is just for the "rest of life" effect, like this 3 mil is. I'm sure he won't pay it all off. Though he did attempt to wrangle us into a pyramid scam while he was still in jail, so uh...yeah. Maybe he will pay it off, if he keeps that up!
He can talk a good talk, but doesn't mention much scripture. I was thinking last night of why Hal Lindsey frustrates me, and I came up with "He doesn't give a scrip of scripture," or "He doesn't exactly put the scrip in scripture." Ooh, that's almost as cold as an email I sent my Pastor today. Ice, ice, ice. I spoke of how non-computer users are fools who just slum their way through life, oblivious. I got a taste of it during the 4-day computer break, and it made me sick.
Anyway, Mike claimed he had a direct line of contact with God. Verbally, through dreams, to his heart, "whatever." He claimed he healed a baby back to life. He also claimed that the hand of God reached down and drug him out of the water, or an angel, or whatever. He expressed no doctrine beyond "the Father, Son and Holy Ghost." I guess that's almost all you need, but still, no edification whatsoever, and no rooting or grounding in Grace or any establishing. Problem: I was immediately blinded by him because I had previously never talked to anyone (outside of my mom/dad) about Christ.
Due to our lack of personal leadership (I had never been in a church before our current church) Mike almost had us believing in miracle healings. He had fooled my dad, and I trusted my dad on it, thus fooling me as well (not that I'm bashing my dad!). If you read the aforelinked posts, Tomorrow and "GO", you can see my progress from trusting the guy to realizing he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Simply, I now realize that what I experienced was far, far too full of "plot holes" to be of God. No rhyme or reason to it, and I refuse to have a fearful faith.
Finally, once more I'll answer the question, Why was my dad in jail?
I don't think I can answer this enough...basically, he used to drink heavily. He then got arrested for drunk driving. Then he got released from prison, and failed probation. He was then "on the lamb" for 10 years; he did not actively "run," they just never found him. He turned himself in last November, and was in jail for 5 months. Then released on normal probation.
After he became legal, we began attending church (also, he and mom got remarried), and that's where I heard about this prison ministry, prompting this post. Cause and effect, isn't it a great thing?
We sort of have a tender spot in our heart for the prison ministry, because we know what it's like to be so limited in our intake of knowledge. My dad does, at least, and I know what it's like to be an older son, and my mom knows what it's like to be a wife.
Pastor has a slight way of letting people know stuff needs to be done. At the Lord's Table this year, he said that we'd be needing someone to teach classes in the future. I knew he was talking to me, but I let him think I didn't know. I just smiled patiently.
But this week, he spoke directly to me about it! He suggested I go kick a cop in the knee real hard, and then I can insert myself into the prison system, and start a Grace congregation! I asked him, "But then won't I be locked up?" and he said "Go read Acts 16:23-24." Sure enough, it DOES say Paul was locked in jail, and apparently an earthquake broke him out! Yes, a grand plan! So, here's how it'll work:
I can't wait!
I edited and updated some posts today. I need to update all but 80 or so of my posts due to grammatical errors and wording issues.
I updated the posts:
Hold Up, Wait a Minute
Reflection of Kev
Tomorrow
"GO"
For grammatical or otherwise errors. I retained most of the heart-wrenchingly embarrassing contents of the latter two.
Why did I update these posts today, and not in order like all the other posts I update in the dead of night? Well, the first two were random, but the latter two were so I could discuss my dad's involvement in the justice system. Pastor made an announcement yesterday on the state of our miniature prison ministry (we send a few guys information, they learn it, we all win!).
During the time my dad was in jail, he had to deal with a guy named Mike. Mike, knowingly or not, tried to shipwreck our faith. The typical charismatic preacher centered around money.
See these posts: Tomorrow and "GO". (Lord Jesus Christ, help me to cope with the unstoppable embarrassment! Aah! Making himself of no reputation! In all lowliness! AHH, IT BURNS! ACID, ACIIID!)
Post Twin Powers activate, and together they detail the before and after of what happens when you allow your emotions to guide you and (almost) lose secure spiritual footing. I now understand so much more than I did at that time, but I knew enough then to know that he was not correct.
He was a preacher or pastor type guy. Traveled around. His trouble began when his pyramid scheme collapsed; he was sent to jail, and sentenced to 3 months. He ran the scheme with two other people, and between them they had to pay back $3,000,000. I am unsure of the logistics, but it seems a life sentence; for example, 400 years is just for the "rest of life" effect, like this 3 mil is. I'm sure he won't pay it all off. Though he did attempt to wrangle us into a pyramid scam while he was still in jail, so uh...yeah. Maybe he will pay it off, if he keeps that up!
He can talk a good talk, but doesn't mention much scripture. I was thinking last night of why Hal Lindsey frustrates me, and I came up with "He doesn't give a scrip of scripture," or "He doesn't exactly put the scrip in scripture." Ooh, that's almost as cold as an email I sent my Pastor today. Ice, ice, ice. I spoke of how non-computer users are fools who just slum their way through life, oblivious. I got a taste of it during the 4-day computer break, and it made me sick.
Anyway, Mike claimed he had a direct line of contact with God. Verbally, through dreams, to his heart, "whatever." He claimed he healed a baby back to life. He also claimed that the hand of God reached down and drug him out of the water, or an angel, or whatever. He expressed no doctrine beyond "the Father, Son and Holy Ghost." I guess that's almost all you need, but still, no edification whatsoever, and no rooting or grounding in Grace or any establishing. Problem: I was immediately blinded by him because I had previously never talked to anyone (outside of my mom/dad) about Christ.
Due to our lack of personal leadership (I had never been in a church before our current church) Mike almost had us believing in miracle healings. He had fooled my dad, and I trusted my dad on it, thus fooling me as well (not that I'm bashing my dad!). If you read the aforelinked posts, Tomorrow and "GO", you can see my progress from trusting the guy to realizing he was a wolf in sheep's clothing. Simply, I now realize that what I experienced was far, far too full of "plot holes" to be of God. No rhyme or reason to it, and I refuse to have a fearful faith.
Finally, once more I'll answer the question, Why was my dad in jail?
I don't think I can answer this enough...basically, he used to drink heavily. He then got arrested for drunk driving. Then he got released from prison, and failed probation. He was then "on the lamb" for 10 years; he did not actively "run," they just never found him. He turned himself in last November, and was in jail for 5 months. Then released on normal probation.
After he became legal, we began attending church (also, he and mom got remarried), and that's where I heard about this prison ministry, prompting this post. Cause and effect, isn't it a great thing?
We sort of have a tender spot in our heart for the prison ministry, because we know what it's like to be so limited in our intake of knowledge. My dad does, at least, and I know what it's like to be an older son, and my mom knows what it's like to be a wife.
Pastor has a slight way of letting people know stuff needs to be done. At the Lord's Table this year, he said that we'd be needing someone to teach classes in the future. I knew he was talking to me, but I let him think I didn't know. I just smiled patiently.
But this week, he spoke directly to me about it! He suggested I go kick a cop in the knee real hard, and then I can insert myself into the prison system, and start a Grace congregation! I asked him, "But then won't I be locked up?" and he said "Go read Acts 16:23-24." Sure enough, it DOES say Paul was locked in jail, and apparently an earthquake broke him out! Yes, a grand plan! So, here's how it'll work:
- Kick a police officer in the knee (figure out what "real hard" is on the force continuum)
- During the arrest, tell him "I'll tell you when I've had enough!" and ask where my whiskey is
- Act belligerent to the judge to increase my sentence from "knee kicking" to "prison time"
- Arrive at prison and instantly begin my new Grace congregation
- When the prisoners hear our Christ is Lord Gracetet (like a quartet), that'll be God's cue for the earthquake
- I convert Joe Arpaio, who will be visiting randomly and sleeping at the prison.
I can't wait!
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
It's the hap, happiest season of all...
I feel the need to "look back." I've seen bloggers do this before. I am unsure of what causes it, but they feel a need to go back and think on events of the past; I am sure it's not just bloggers, but bloggers reveal this stuff like others don't. It almost seems therapeutic; as if dealing from a clean slate, reassessing memories, re-rating experiences, evaluating how things have changed, and reforming world interaction based upon the wider/panoramic view of what has been, a change from the daily world interaction based on the comparatively narrow current window and the outdated "panoramic view."
Let's begin with my thoughts on winter, shall we?
For me, the winter season is very special. For one, it's the best season of all. It's the Samus Aran of seasons. Now, I'll be the first to tell you that some of my best seasons are fall, spring and summer, but we all know that's just an excuse because I am really seasonist.
It's just now starting to get cold enough outside for our indoor temperature to be effected; we have "HeatWave Max No Cool Burn Box Brick Oven Taste of Hell" classified insulation (because we live in Arizona and totally need good insulation :| ), and I love it. Uhh, that it's getting so cold, that is. I do not love the insulation. It is hard to believe that some actually do not like winter [link to a blog for Hudson Community Chapel, titled "winter splinter", and an article from The Southern Illinoisan], but I totally, honestly understand, as long as they totally, honestly understand that I despise summer.
In that light, I don't know if I could ever live in an area where the winter season caused me to hate it. In Arizona, it's still very cold (under 10 degrees in the mornings; I know this is child's play to colder states, but so is their 90 degree summer!), but it isn't cold enough to despise the winter. Unless, of course, you're my dad. Oh, how my dad hates winter. He doesn't pick flowers for, and meet the parents of, summer, either, but he doesn't hate it as much as winter.
In fact, here are my dad's feelings about winter, portrayed by a photo I took of Paper Mario.
The knowledge that anything you do outside will be ten times easier than it is in the summer (and how!)...
The water coming out of the tap at a nice temperature...
The bone-chilling effects of rain...the freezing despair...then being able to heat back up...
Going to sleep, warm under the covers...not being able to move for fear of losing the pockets of heat that have accumulated in the blanket...
Wearing clothes that should be worn in summer and freaking people out (they all wear sweaters like GIRLS!)...
Actually being able to drink hot beverages, like actual humans...but choosing to drink cold beverages because why not!...how chilly ice cream seems...
Christmas lights up everywhere...Christmas songs (I am partial to Todd Agnew and Friend's Do You See What I See album)...
My parents' dog, Little Jihad, waking me up to go outside...
The sheer base awenem of winter. More recently, it means I can play Twilight Princess again! Woo! Princess party over he-......I mean...ouhm...that is...I meant to say...
...manly...party... over here. Yes. With uh, razors, and ...power tools. And sports on the TV. Yes, uh, manly party over here...er...with...fast cars and...beer nuts...and......uhh...lawn mowers. Yeah, nothing but manliness over at this party, no princesses allowed. No marshmallows. Lots of sandpaper, and footballs everywhere.
In ending, randomly, I suggest this post from my blog- "That Dead My Great Grandmother Again." I did a search of my blog, and it came up, and I was laughing over it. Boy, she had a scorpion farm or something. And uh, Pastor was feeling a little..."hellfire" around the collar that day.
Let's begin with my thoughts on winter, shall we?
For me, the winter season is very special. For one, it's the best season of all. It's the Samus Aran of seasons. Now, I'll be the first to tell you that some of my best seasons are fall, spring and summer, but we all know that's just an excuse because I am really seasonist.
It's just now starting to get cold enough outside for our indoor temperature to be effected; we have "HeatWave Max No Cool Burn Box Brick Oven Taste of Hell" classified insulation (because we live in Arizona and totally need good insulation :| ), and I love it. Uhh, that it's getting so cold, that is. I do not love the insulation. It is hard to believe that some actually do not like winter [link to a blog for Hudson Community Chapel, titled "winter splinter", and an article from The Southern Illinoisan], but I totally, honestly understand, as long as they totally, honestly understand that I despise summer.
In that light, I don't know if I could ever live in an area where the winter season caused me to hate it. In Arizona, it's still very cold (under 10 degrees in the mornings; I know this is child's play to colder states, but so is their 90 degree summer!), but it isn't cold enough to despise the winter. Unless, of course, you're my dad. Oh, how my dad hates winter. He doesn't pick flowers for, and meet the parents of, summer, either, but he doesn't hate it as much as winter.
In fact, here are my dad's feelings about winter, portrayed by a photo I took of Paper Mario.
Paper Mario had some truly amazing character dialogue. I am unsure of their method, but it is by far the best I've seen. I haven't seen too much, though.
Yes, pa, we know you hate winter. But I love it. Perhaps people are born to love different seasons. A personality issue. Regardless, I like winter a whole, whole lot. The tinge of coldness in the air that somehow cannot be recreated in such subtle tones by merely turning the thermostat down...The knowledge that anything you do outside will be ten times easier than it is in the summer (and how!)...
The water coming out of the tap at a nice temperature...
The bone-chilling effects of rain...the freezing despair...then being able to heat back up...
Going to sleep, warm under the covers...not being able to move for fear of losing the pockets of heat that have accumulated in the blanket...
Wearing clothes that should be worn in summer and freaking people out (they all wear sweaters like GIRLS!)...
Actually being able to drink hot beverages, like actual humans...but choosing to drink cold beverages because why not!...how chilly ice cream seems...
Christmas lights up everywhere...Christmas songs (I am partial to Todd Agnew and Friend's Do You See What I See album)...
My parents' dog, Little Jihad, waking me up to go outside...
The sheer base awenem of winter. More recently, it means I can play Twilight Princess again! Woo! Princess party over he-......I mean...ouhm...that is...I meant to say...
...manly...party... over here. Yes. With uh, razors, and ...power tools. And sports on the TV. Yes, uh, manly party over here...er...with...fast cars and...beer nuts...and......uhh...lawn mowers. Yeah, nothing but manliness over at this party, no princesses allowed. No marshmallows. Lots of sandpaper, and footballs everywhere.
In ending, randomly, I suggest this post from my blog- "That Dead My Great Grandmother Again." I did a search of my blog, and it came up, and I was laughing over it. Boy, she had a scorpion farm or something. And uh, Pastor was feeling a little..."hellfire" around the collar that day.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Bess' Wedding #2: Come to me, my baby!
As you know (if you don't know, then you need to be told), Samus Aran's arm cannon has a tractor-beam effect on nearby powerups. When I first played Metroid Prime, and the first two times I played Metroid Prime 2: Echoes, I would say "Come to me, my baby!" almost every time I'd draw a powerup in. Since, I have matured, even bought a razor, and no longer have to narrate my actions in Metroid Prime. It's like babies; they have to tell their limbs to move; as you grow, you just do it through thought.
I use the same technique to draw my mouse and its USB connector, and my laptop desk (which is an old, desolated TV tray, and works great).
Although it did not work as I had hoped (I do not have an arm cannon), gathering them "manually" accomplished the same end result.
It's a little uncomfortable to type with the homemade lapdesk. Oh well. You can see the wireless USB adapter for the mouse on the left side of my comp, as well as the USB cord running to the Western Digital My Book external hard drive.
I had to format the drive, by the way. It was in FAT32, and FAT32 can A) not accommodate files over 32 GB in size and B) cannot transfer files over 4 GB in size. This made it impossible to store Bess' 11.6 GB wedding .avi- that's way over 4 GB. Simply right-click the My Book in My Computer, click "format," thus erasing everything on the drive, and choose "NTFS" instead of "FAT32." I strongly suggest the NTFS system for any drive over 300 GB even if you had no need at present.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to the "Level II" tutorials. Starting at 11:45 AM.
OK, there are only two in the "Level II" category- "Creating a Photo Slideshow" and "Sharing Your Movie." It is 12:41 PM, and I have finished both (the sharing tutorial took about 3 minutes).
Now for the "Projects" section of tutorials, which shows you how to accomplish challenging...uhh...video things. Important stuff for real men, you wouldn't understand. Beginning at 12:45 PM. It is now 1:11 PM. It is sprinkling lightly[outside]. I am 1/3rd through the tutorial.
It is 1:56 PM. I took a 20 minute break and retrieved a package. Within the package was the Satellite box I ordered. However, I was unsuccessful in my search for the card that goes with it (it's either in my parents' room, or my brother's room; probably my brother's room). Probably will have to order a new one from DirecTV. I continue at 1:58 PM.
2:12 PM and the "Wedding" project (tutorial) is completed. I've got some other business to tend to (plus my sponge-brain won't absorb no more), so off I go to another break.
2:49. I went ahead and took some more pictures for my photo montage of our late dog, Hannah. I will most likely do that montage before the wedding as practice (it'll only take 1-3 hours, then another hour to perfect, I estimate). Today feels like a pizza night for some reason. Maybe because it's cold and dreary. I'll make tacos for the folks so they can cease their whinnying. Whine-ney-ing.
Back to the projects...the next is "Christmas." 3:02 PM. At 3:49 PM, the Christmas project was completed. Ooookay...that was useless. About 20 minutes later, I order the pizza. I got a salad, too, as you know me. "A meal is just glorified air without a salad, and salads should be simple."
5:26 PM, and Project 3, "Child's Party," is finished. That was the longest tutorial yet by far. I estimate working time at 1 hour, 15 minutes. I'm done for now. I'm going to go enjoy some music. Gonna break it down old school with DJ Funk Barney and Baby the Bop. BJ the yellow who lets kids know that their two-letter names are acceptable the dinosaur might even show up!
No DV tapes imported.
Total time studying the program tutorials: 4 hours, 37 minutes.
Completion percentage: tutorials: exceeding 93%
Completion percentage: wedding video: unknown
Total estimated time left: way too much
I use the same technique to draw my mouse and its USB connector, and my laptop desk (which is an old, desolated TV tray, and works great).Although it did not work as I had hoped (I do not have an arm cannon), gathering them "manually" accomplished the same end result.
It's a little uncomfortable to type with the homemade lapdesk. Oh well. You can see the wireless USB adapter for the mouse on the left side of my comp, as well as the USB cord running to the Western Digital My Book external hard drive.
I had to format the drive, by the way. It was in FAT32, and FAT32 can A) not accommodate files over 32 GB in size and B) cannot transfer files over 4 GB in size. This made it impossible to store Bess' 11.6 GB wedding .avi- that's way over 4 GB. Simply right-click the My Book in My Computer, click "format," thus erasing everything on the drive, and choose "NTFS" instead of "FAT32." I strongly suggest the NTFS system for any drive over 300 GB even if you had no need at present.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to the "Level II" tutorials. Starting at 11:45 AM.
OK, there are only two in the "Level II" category- "Creating a Photo Slideshow" and "Sharing Your Movie." It is 12:41 PM, and I have finished both (the sharing tutorial took about 3 minutes).
Now for the "Projects" section of tutorials, which shows you how to accomplish challenging...uhh...video things. Important stuff for real men, you wouldn't understand. Beginning at 12:45 PM. It is now 1:11 PM. It is sprinkling lightly[outside]. I am 1/3rd through the tutorial.
It is 1:56 PM. I took a 20 minute break and retrieved a package. Within the package was the Satellite box I ordered. However, I was unsuccessful in my search for the card that goes with it (it's either in my parents' room, or my brother's room; probably my brother's room). Probably will have to order a new one from DirecTV. I continue at 1:58 PM.
2:12 PM and the "Wedding" project (tutorial) is completed. I've got some other business to tend to (plus my sponge-brain won't absorb no more), so off I go to another break.
2:49. I went ahead and took some more pictures for my photo montage of our late dog, Hannah. I will most likely do that montage before the wedding as practice (it'll only take 1-3 hours, then another hour to perfect, I estimate). Today feels like a pizza night for some reason. Maybe because it's cold and dreary. I'll make tacos for the folks so they can cease their whinnying. Whine-ney-ing.
Back to the projects...the next is "Christmas." 3:02 PM. At 3:49 PM, the Christmas project was completed. Ooookay...that was useless. About 20 minutes later, I order the pizza. I got a salad, too, as you know me. "A meal is just glorified air without a salad, and salads should be simple."
5:26 PM, and Project 3, "Child's Party," is finished. That was the longest tutorial yet by far. I estimate working time at 1 hour, 15 minutes. I'm done for now. I'm going to go enjoy some music. Gonna break it down old school with DJ Funk Barney and Baby the Bop. BJ the yellow who lets kids know that their two-letter names are acceptable the dinosaur might even show up!
No DV tapes imported.
Total time studying the program tutorials: 4 hours, 37 minutes.
Completion percentage: tutorials: exceeding 93%
Completion percentage: wedding video: unknown
Total estimated time left: way too much
Friday, December 07, 2007
Highspeed transfer VS. USB 1.0
So tonight I made an attempt to transfer some of my mom's pictures (9 GB worth! Wow!) to my computer. It failed miserably. The SD card didn't work, the new external hard drive we got tonight (a 500 GB My Book marked down from $170 to $130) wouldn't work, and it was just a mess.
These are the problems you encounter when you have a computer that is 6+ years old that has USB 1.0, no Firewire, no CD burner, and no DVD burner. It seems to be across the board; I get the same error message with the SD card as I did the previous external HD. It must be...I don't know.
Bah. Once more. Bah. Again, now, with feeling. Bah. Humbug! Humbug! Pancake flapperjacks!
I'll just wait until my mom buys a USB/Firewire upgrade...but then again, for the cost of buying the $40 upgrade, we might as well just buy a new desktop. OK, maybe desktops aren't that cheap, but darnit, I'm mad at my mom's computer right now. Oh, it's disclaimer time.
Disclaimer: I am in NO way an expert in computers. I studied purchasing laptops for about a week when I purchased my laptop a year ago, and it's easy to apply that to purchasing a desktop.
Go look at this Gateway GT5405E, and rage against my mom's machine with me. Ooh, feel the hate. Tss, burn.
A 2.8 GHz dual-core, 1 GB memory, 250 GB hard drive...only problem I see is that it has 2 RAM slots, and both are taken up by 512 MB chips/board/cards/whichever (max RAM: 2 GB). It's got Vista premium. The graphics processor looks like the only lmao but we have a (better) GPU on the current desktop. It costs $300, and shipping would make it around $350.
Then there's this eMachines T5230, which has the same processor as my laptop, only it's 2.3 GHz and it's a dual core. It also comes with Vista and a 250 GB drive. The difference is that this one has only 1 RAM card, which is 1 GB (max RAM: 2 GB). Actually...a reviewer argued that it has 2x 512, and Tiger Direct is usually wrong when contested by anyone. It has a Nvidia 6150SE GPU...only thing I know about that GPU is that it's shared memory, and I think the 128 MB GPU on our current desktop is 128 dedicated. It is also $300.
Then there's the Gateway GT5407E, which is almost the same as the first Gateway, except that it has a slightly different processor (it's still a 2.8 Dual Core), 2 spare RAM slots (max ram: 4 GB), and a 320 GB HD. It also comes with a TV tuner. I'd choose this model over the first Gateway, the 05E. This is the 07E.
I believe those 3 are the top 3 on Tiger Direct as far as refurbished in the $300-$400 price range. Now...would I choose the eMachines, or the Gateway 07E? First things first, only looking at Tiger Direct is a mistake. You have to vary your search to different sites, but given the choices...oh...I suppose since we already have a GPU, I would choose the Gateway. The 320 GB HD pushes it over.
The next step towards buying one would be A: see if the need is logical (it might be), B: get the money together and see if it's possible, and C: research the heck out of them and find others. But the really awesome, amazing thing about desktops is the ability to upgrade them. So any small lack of foresight can be remedied easily.
For example, I got Command and Conquer: Generals as a birthday gift from my dearest Granny several years ago. I was so overjoyed! I loved it already!
I put it into the machine, and...lo and behold...it didn't work! It would crash the game and dump me onto the desktop just in the opening movie. If it were a laptop, I'd be out of luck. But it was a desktop, so my mom bought me a...I think Nvidia GPU. Then it worked. I was happy. I think I may have peed my pants; I can't remember.
Of course...I would install the current desktop's HD into the new desktop just to spite it, therein taking care of the file transfer problem. Assimilation. The Borg have it down right. Anyway, I consider the hard drive the soul of the computer, and we've had that old desktop for 6+ years. It's also refurbished (we would not have bought a new one), so I have no doubts about refurbished computers. It's still going very strong, and it's a generic brand, to boot. Get it? To boot? Computer humor! Laugh, man!
Of course, first things first, determine if there's a need. We'll see how all this pans out.
These are the problems you encounter when you have a computer that is 6+ years old that has USB 1.0, no Firewire, no CD burner, and no DVD burner. It seems to be across the board; I get the same error message with the SD card as I did the previous external HD. It must be...I don't know.
Bah. Once more. Bah. Again, now, with feeling. Bah. Humbug! Humbug! Pancake flapperjacks!
I'll just wait until my mom buys a USB/Firewire upgrade...but then again, for the cost of buying the $40 upgrade, we might as well just buy a new desktop. OK, maybe desktops aren't that cheap, but darnit, I'm mad at my mom's computer right now. Oh, it's disclaimer time.
Disclaimer: I am in NO way an expert in computers. I studied purchasing laptops for about a week when I purchased my laptop a year ago, and it's easy to apply that to purchasing a desktop.
Go look at this Gateway GT5405E, and rage against my mom's machine with me. Ooh, feel the hate. Tss, burn.
A 2.8 GHz dual-core, 1 GB memory, 250 GB hard drive...only problem I see is that it has 2 RAM slots, and both are taken up by 512 MB chips/board/cards/whichever (max RAM: 2 GB). It's got Vista premium. The graphics processor looks like the only lmao but we have a (better) GPU on the current desktop. It costs $300, and shipping would make it around $350.
Then there's this eMachines T5230, which has the same processor as my laptop, only it's 2.3 GHz and it's a dual core. It also comes with Vista and a 250 GB drive. The difference is that this one has only 1 RAM card, which is 1 GB (max RAM: 2 GB). Actually...a reviewer argued that it has 2x 512, and Tiger Direct is usually wrong when contested by anyone. It has a Nvidia 6150SE GPU...only thing I know about that GPU is that it's shared memory, and I think the 128 MB GPU on our current desktop is 128 dedicated. It is also $300.
Then there's the Gateway GT5407E, which is almost the same as the first Gateway, except that it has a slightly different processor (it's still a 2.8 Dual Core), 2 spare RAM slots (max ram: 4 GB), and a 320 GB HD. It also comes with a TV tuner. I'd choose this model over the first Gateway, the 05E. This is the 07E.
I believe those 3 are the top 3 on Tiger Direct as far as refurbished in the $300-$400 price range. Now...would I choose the eMachines, or the Gateway 07E? First things first, only looking at Tiger Direct is a mistake. You have to vary your search to different sites, but given the choices...oh...I suppose since we already have a GPU, I would choose the Gateway. The 320 GB HD pushes it over.
The next step towards buying one would be A: see if the need is logical (it might be), B: get the money together and see if it's possible, and C: research the heck out of them and find others. But the really awesome, amazing thing about desktops is the ability to upgrade them. So any small lack of foresight can be remedied easily.
For example, I got Command and Conquer: Generals as a birthday gift from my dearest Granny several years ago. I was so overjoyed! I loved it already!
I put it into the machine, and...lo and behold...it didn't work! It would crash the game and dump me onto the desktop just in the opening movie. If it were a laptop, I'd be out of luck. But it was a desktop, so my mom bought me a...I think Nvidia GPU. Then it worked. I was happy. I think I may have peed my pants; I can't remember.
Of course...I would install the current desktop's HD into the new desktop just to spite it, therein taking care of the file transfer problem. Assimilation. The Borg have it down right. Anyway, I consider the hard drive the soul of the computer, and we've had that old desktop for 6+ years. It's also refurbished (we would not have bought a new one), so I have no doubts about refurbished computers. It's still going very strong, and it's a generic brand, to boot. Get it? To boot? Computer humor! Laugh, man!
Of course, first things first, determine if there's a need. We'll see how all this pans out.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
Claw Machines. Kev likes them.
I like claw machines.
There, I said it.
Typed it, at least. There, I just said it. Verbally. You wouldn't of been able to hear me. See, I've always liked them. 50 cents a play, you get 2-5 toys per $5, along with the fun and the "Wow, you got this from a claw machine?!" to which you reply, "YEP! Cost me 50 cents!"
For some reason, they feel impressed by this. Great birthday gift. Perhaps it is that if you actually pay for a toy they feel...like you're a stalker. Otherwise, it's like, "Hey here's this neat stuffed, cheap toy- I just happened to win it and thought of you and here you go!"
It had been at least 5 years since I played a claw machine, and at least 8 years since I played to win (that means playing 10-20 times in a row, which guarantees lots of winnings). I've only played once or twice on a "bucket" styled claw machine (they have cheap fake jewelry and stuff and typically have them sitting in small, shiny rocks). That was at a bowling alley.
The reason I say "It had been" is that the most recent time I've played a claw machine was October 19th. It was at a Denny's.
For some reason, as I knelt down- then reached down- to put the coins in the coin acceptor less than two feet off the ground, I felt...sort of...like I am far too tall to be playing claw machines. But there were no children around, so I went for it. I always feel bad feeding coin after coin after coin into the machine while some poor kid watches. And they always watch. Amazedly. Then their parents come up. And look at you. Like you're...stupid, or something.
So, kids = parents = Kev getting looked at like he's a freak. Thus I avoid kids. From now on, I'm going to carry several dollars in quarters around with me, and if I happen to find a claw machine with a clear coast, I'm going to win big! I'll chronicle and photograph my prizes! It'll be great!
I just love winning those darned things. I have been on the lookout for 3+ weeks, and it appears no stores on my regular route have claw machines. Well, you know, I can't very well play a claw machine that's in the most-trafficked area of the store. I'll have to visit that one Denny's again sometime.
I'll make up bizarre reasons to go to that Denny's. "Uhh, Mom, I uh...have to go to the bathroom! Yeah! And that Denny's has a good bathroom! Let's go! We can both go to the bathroom. You know how you always, always have to go to the bathroom! In fact, you won't know if I'm really in the bathroom or playing the claw machine, so off you go!"
And she does always have to go to the bathroom, too, so it won't be a lie!
There, I said it.
Typed it, at least. There, I just said it. Verbally. You wouldn't of been able to hear me. See, I've always liked them. 50 cents a play, you get 2-5 toys per $5, along with the fun and the "Wow, you got this from a claw machine?!" to which you reply, "YEP! Cost me 50 cents!"
For some reason, they feel impressed by this. Great birthday gift. Perhaps it is that if you actually pay for a toy they feel...like you're a stalker. Otherwise, it's like, "Hey here's this neat stuffed, cheap toy- I just happened to win it and thought of you and here you go!"
It had been at least 5 years since I played a claw machine, and at least 8 years since I played to win (that means playing 10-20 times in a row, which guarantees lots of winnings). I've only played once or twice on a "bucket" styled claw machine (they have cheap fake jewelry and stuff and typically have them sitting in small, shiny rocks). That was at a bowling alley.
The reason I say "It had been" is that the most recent time I've played a claw machine was October 19th. It was at a Denny's.
For some reason, as I knelt down- then reached down- to put the coins in the coin acceptor less than two feet off the ground, I felt...sort of...like I am far too tall to be playing claw machines. But there were no children around, so I went for it. I always feel bad feeding coin after coin after coin into the machine while some poor kid watches. And they always watch. Amazedly. Then their parents come up. And look at you. Like you're...stupid, or something.
So, kids = parents = Kev getting looked at like he's a freak. Thus I avoid kids. From now on, I'm going to carry several dollars in quarters around with me, and if I happen to find a claw machine with a clear coast, I'm going to win big! I'll chronicle and photograph my prizes! It'll be great!
I just love winning those darned things. I have been on the lookout for 3+ weeks, and it appears no stores on my regular route have claw machines. Well, you know, I can't very well play a claw machine that's in the most-trafficked area of the store. I'll have to visit that one Denny's again sometime.
I'll make up bizarre reasons to go to that Denny's. "Uhh, Mom, I uh...have to go to the bathroom! Yeah! And that Denny's has a good bathroom! Let's go! We can both go to the bathroom. You know how you always, always have to go to the bathroom! In fact, you won't know if I'm really in the bathroom or playing the claw machine, so off you go!"
And she does always have to go to the bathroom, too, so it won't be a lie!
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Thanksgiving Memories -- Thanksgiving post #4
Have I ever mentioned "the bad house?" Yes? Well, it was a mobile home. An old, old one. A small one, too. One not designed for four people. We lived there for five or six years, and hated every year of it. I hated almost every day, and at one point I was almost suicidal over it. I think so, at least. I was seven or something. It drove a seven-year-old to contemplate suicide.
My Mom recently told me that she hated it so much, she would talk daily to her coworkers about how much she hated it (the neighbor did this, the neighbor is sunbathing again and no matter how much he tries he's still a shockingly-white, muscleless man, the neighbor's car is parked in our driveway, our car was parked in his driveway and he peed his pants when he realized it, on and on). We may sound spoiled, but...I don't know. One reason it was so bad is that we have trouble keeping our house clean. A lot of people do, apparently. According to Pastor, messiness is a sign of brilliance. We can clean the house, but we lets it get messy agains, then cleans it again. So...I guess we's are only brilliant some of the time?
It's almost as if we prefer to not clean daily, but clean weekly. At any rate, it's fine in our current house, but that house was so small that if you went fifteen minutes without cleaning it, the pressure from all the garbage would threaten to launch the roof off of the house. That was mainly due to the horror of the construction. That place was so badly constructed...oh, I could go on.
Nevertheless, it was where I spent the majority of my childhood. Oh, the neighbors. It was a trailer park. It was in one of the worst places in Arizona economically, culturally, and neighborly. I remember "the kids in #6." Bad apples, the lot of them, their entire family, all inbred. That was probably the first time I heard a child being beaten.
Imagine this: your idiot friends aren't smart enough to buy video games (they rent them and...do stuff to them that they wouldn't do if they were their own; demoralize, use, abuse...other things...). You, on the other hand, are. Mostly because your brilliant Mom knows about Half.com, your favorite place to buy video games. Because you had a bad experience at a Game Crazy.
So, they rent a bad game. "Wah wah wallywoo!" they cry. "I know," they say collectively. "Let's bother Kev and see if he'll bring one of his games over! The jerk!"
I don't know, but my Mom must have counseled me against letting people borrow my stuff, because I was one idiotic kid. Looking back, I must have been the most idiotic human I have ever known. It wasn't "cute" idiocy. It was blaring, offensively idiotic, sorrowful idiocy. I would have let them chop my ears off if they'd asked. So I can only assume my Mommy told me not to. Thanks, Mom. Without you, I would have lost everything. I still have those games I would have lost, you know. Cruise'N World for N64. Not sure on spelling...and Goldeneye: 007.
Several times they had us over. Once, it was early afternoon, and they told me and my brother that if their Dad came home we would have to run out the back door (which didn't have stairs). My Brother has down syndrome, and he can't do stuff like that. I said something to the effect of "My good sirs, and madame, let me cordially state that I regret to inform you than I am unable to pursue your offer to have fellowship centering around a video game.
"My brother is disabled in that he has down syndrome and he cannot traverse the nonexistent stairs to escape what would surely become a harrowing scene, as your father entered the household to discover myself and my brother in the vicinity in violation of his desires set forth from before this point in time. Please accept my warmest well-wishes and apologies for me and my brothers' inability to attend your social gathering, which would likely have been very enjoyable for both attending parties."
Another time, I/we were over for some reason (I forget why), and, seemingly randomly, their Dad dragged one of the kids to the back of the home and started beating on him. He was screaming and crying. There were four of them, if I remember. The other three were giggling and/or stifling laughter. I forget if I was laughing or not. It would've been nervous laughter. The first time I remember hearing a child beaten. I...don't remember another time...uh...uhm...My Mom Never Beat Me Not Even Ever Once. SHE MADE ME TYPE THAT.
Why does this apply to Thanksgiving? Well, I spent five-to-six Thanksgiving's there. One time in-particular, I was sick, and I watched some of the Coneheads. That show is gross, if I remember correctly. They have pointy heads! How icky!
That was around the time that that one freak show was just out...3rd rock from the sun or whatnot. I hated that show with a passion. And I still do. And I still don't know why. That show came out in January 1996, so it was most likely 1996. Which was a fantastic year. Honestly, there's SO many things about 1996. It's like how 1999 was a good movie year. Or, so it seems to me.
My bed was 5 feet off the ground (to top of mattress) at that point (it had a storage area underneath it as a clubhouse of sorts), and...well, it was 2 feet from the kitchen. So I got to see some of dinner being made...I was sick, so I slipped in and out of consciousness, then I finally got the call.
"Kev, it's time to eat dinner. Wake up, son. We love you."
I dragged myself off of the bed. Sick on Thanksgiving. I forget what I was thankful for. Oh yeah, thankful that GOD DOESN'T INTERVENE, YOU MORONS!
If all goes well, I will be sick on this Thanksgiving, too. My nose is...how shall I say...hurting, right now, and it is three days to go. I need to eat a bunch of sugar and something immune-destroying today and tomorrow so the virus will gain a foothold, then I'll need to not rest too much on Wednesday. But I may just miserably destroy the virus, as my immune system does not enjoy trespassers.
What is immune destroying? Besides AIDS? Like, cereal? That's sugary, and has no nutrient value. OOH, COFFEE! I'll eat it with coffee instead of milk.
Sick bed, here I come! Three days to Thanksgiving!
My Mom recently told me that she hated it so much, she would talk daily to her coworkers about how much she hated it (the neighbor did this, the neighbor is sunbathing again and no matter how much he tries he's still a shockingly-white, muscleless man, the neighbor's car is parked in our driveway, our car was parked in his driveway and he peed his pants when he realized it, on and on). We may sound spoiled, but...I don't know. One reason it was so bad is that we have trouble keeping our house clean. A lot of people do, apparently. According to Pastor, messiness is a sign of brilliance. We can clean the house, but we lets it get messy agains, then cleans it again. So...I guess we's are only brilliant some of the time?
It's almost as if we prefer to not clean daily, but clean weekly. At any rate, it's fine in our current house, but that house was so small that if you went fifteen minutes without cleaning it, the pressure from all the garbage would threaten to launch the roof off of the house. That was mainly due to the horror of the construction. That place was so badly constructed...oh, I could go on.
Nevertheless, it was where I spent the majority of my childhood. Oh, the neighbors. It was a trailer park. It was in one of the worst places in Arizona economically, culturally, and neighborly. I remember "the kids in #6." Bad apples, the lot of them, their entire family, all inbred. That was probably the first time I heard a child being beaten.
Imagine this: your idiot friends aren't smart enough to buy video games (they rent them and...do stuff to them that they wouldn't do if they were their own; demoralize, use, abuse...other things...). You, on the other hand, are. Mostly because your brilliant Mom knows about Half.com, your favorite place to buy video games. Because you had a bad experience at a Game Crazy.
So, they rent a bad game. "Wah wah wallywoo!" they cry. "I know," they say collectively. "Let's bother Kev and see if he'll bring one of his games over! The jerk!"
I don't know, but my Mom must have counseled me against letting people borrow my stuff, because I was one idiotic kid. Looking back, I must have been the most idiotic human I have ever known. It wasn't "cute" idiocy. It was blaring, offensively idiotic, sorrowful idiocy. I would have let them chop my ears off if they'd asked. So I can only assume my Mommy told me not to. Thanks, Mom. Without you, I would have lost everything. I still have those games I would have lost, you know. Cruise'N World for N64. Not sure on spelling...and Goldeneye: 007.
Several times they had us over. Once, it was early afternoon, and they told me and my brother that if their Dad came home we would have to run out the back door (which didn't have stairs). My Brother has down syndrome, and he can't do stuff like that. I said something to the effect of "My good sirs, and madame, let me cordially state that I regret to inform you than I am unable to pursue your offer to have fellowship centering around a video game.
"My brother is disabled in that he has down syndrome and he cannot traverse the nonexistent stairs to escape what would surely become a harrowing scene, as your father entered the household to discover myself and my brother in the vicinity in violation of his desires set forth from before this point in time. Please accept my warmest well-wishes and apologies for me and my brothers' inability to attend your social gathering, which would likely have been very enjoyable for both attending parties."
Another time, I/we were over for some reason (I forget why), and, seemingly randomly, their Dad dragged one of the kids to the back of the home and started beating on him. He was screaming and crying. There were four of them, if I remember. The other three were giggling and/or stifling laughter. I forget if I was laughing or not. It would've been nervous laughter. The first time I remember hearing a child beaten. I...don't remember another time...uh...uhm...My Mom Never Beat Me Not Even Ever Once. SHE MADE ME TYPE THAT.
Why does this apply to Thanksgiving? Well, I spent five-to-six Thanksgiving's there. One time in-particular, I was sick, and I watched some of the Coneheads. That show is gross, if I remember correctly. They have pointy heads! How icky!
That was around the time that that one freak show was just out...3rd rock from the sun or whatnot. I hated that show with a passion. And I still do. And I still don't know why. That show came out in January 1996, so it was most likely 1996. Which was a fantastic year. Honestly, there's SO many things about 1996. It's like how 1999 was a good movie year. Or, so it seems to me.
My bed was 5 feet off the ground (to top of mattress) at that point (it had a storage area underneath it as a clubhouse of sorts), and...well, it was 2 feet from the kitchen. So I got to see some of dinner being made...I was sick, so I slipped in and out of consciousness, then I finally got the call.
"Kev, it's time to eat dinner. Wake up, son. We love you."
I dragged myself off of the bed. Sick on Thanksgiving. I forget what I was thankful for. Oh yeah, thankful that GOD DOESN'T INTERVENE, YOU MORONS!
If all goes well, I will be sick on this Thanksgiving, too. My nose is...how shall I say...hurting, right now, and it is three days to go. I need to eat a bunch of sugar and something immune-destroying today and tomorrow so the virus will gain a foothold, then I'll need to not rest too much on Wednesday. But I may just miserably destroy the virus, as my immune system does not enjoy trespassers.
What is immune destroying? Besides AIDS? Like, cereal? That's sugary, and has no nutrient value. OOH, COFFEE! I'll eat it with coffee instead of milk.
Sick bed, here I come! Three days to Thanksgiving!
Thursday, November 15, 2007
1 week to the Great Holiday
Great. Used to denote a sort of wonderment at (objects') abilities. Other times, used in terms of amazing or aweful expanse, such as the Great Poison the Chozo couldn't stop railing about in MP1. Oh, they railed, they railed. They railed. Great poison this, great poison that, great poison gonna do this. Great poison.
Every other holiday is just a time-passer until Thanksgiving. They're mostly pagan holidays, anyways. Ahh, but Thanksgiving. The crowning achievement of America. The single greatest holiday this blue, wretched globe sustains. The food. The loneliness. The creepy neighbors trying to set their house on fire. TheQueerboys Cowboys game that's supposedly always on on Thanksgiving. Cranberries- fresh cranberries- in the store. Pumpkins and other ugly things. The Welch's White Grape Peach juice. The other weirdo juice blends which mean THANKSGIVING! YES!
The turkey. My favorite part is when we stab it with the probe thermometer (it makes you feel like such a superior species). The simple ease of it. The knowledge that you outsmarted that damned bird and will soon be feasting on its flesh without risk of food-borne illness. Heh heh heh.
Last year, my Dad was in jail awaiting sentencing, so we had to buy a premade meal (we weren't even gonna celebrate, but decided to). He actually went to jail less than a week before Thanksgiving. It's so weird- you get a full-sized turkey, but the sides are for a seemingly smaller bird. I mean...wow, so few mashed potatoes. Then everything has sage strewn throughout it. Eeyuck. I did get to decide I want to make marshmallow sweet yam thingers, though. So not a total loss.
When he was released in March (he violated probation 12 years ago and has been on the run ever since; that is, they hadn't found him; that is, he wasn't "actively" running), I stayed up all night making a Thanksgiving-styled dinner, and I even taped the making of it. So many things went wrong, it isn't even funny. Weird thing is, I can make all that stuff easily, but jumbled together...it creates problems. I despise mashed potatoes with a heated, frenzied passion anyways. The cheapest, most disturbingly antagonistically fiendish use of potatoes I know of.
Regardless of my mashed hatred, I failed miserably. It was one of the worst moments of my life. The only good part was that my Dad was home. I remember he called me in the middle of the night (I was up cooking). "Hey, they just let me out." "OK, I'll wake Mom up."
Mom went and picked him up, and when they got home, I had the dinner all set out. Oh, the adventures we had whilst he was in jail. He was on work furlough (leave jail to work, then go back at night), so we would sometimes combine trips to a supposed doctor or something to ferry him back to jail.
Once, I even made a tailgate party. Porkchops, chinese fried rice...a few more things, I forget. I kept it hot in a crock pot with burning hot bricks. Anyway, maybe my Mom remembers. It was great. They make you eat peanut butter and moldy bread in there, and it was a Friday (they have to stay in on weekends), and he said he didn't eat anything else that weekend. One guy walked up, looked at the food and said, "right on."
The guards, needless to say, would have shot us all had they known. Rofl. We were having a tailgate party in the jail parking lot!
Lol...anyway...this year will be different. My Dad won't be in jail, and my Mom will hopefully be cooking. She does a better job than me, but of course, I had to do it all by myself with absolutely no moral support. Plus she's older. And she's uh, stupid.
Yeah. And we usually help with some dishes, especially the stuffing. Did I mention I love stuffing? Not the kind that's baked in the bird, but the kind cooked on the stovetop. And I never add sage. I make homemade Jew food Challah bread and let it dry out for a few days (or in the oven)...it's the eggs, it makes a rich stuffing base. Then you just add stock and, well...stock+Jew food Challah bread is by itself a winning combination.
But enough about Thanksgiving for now. There's 6 more days to recount stories. 11:59 PM. Goodnight.
Every other holiday is just a time-passer until Thanksgiving. They're mostly pagan holidays, anyways. Ahh, but Thanksgiving. The crowning achievement of America. The single greatest holiday this blue, wretched globe sustains. The food. The loneliness. The creepy neighbors trying to set their house on fire. The
The turkey. My favorite part is when we stab it with the probe thermometer (it makes you feel like such a superior species). The simple ease of it. The knowledge that you outsmarted that damned bird and will soon be feasting on its flesh without risk of food-borne illness. Heh heh heh.
Last year, my Dad was in jail awaiting sentencing, so we had to buy a premade meal (we weren't even gonna celebrate, but decided to). He actually went to jail less than a week before Thanksgiving. It's so weird- you get a full-sized turkey, but the sides are for a seemingly smaller bird. I mean...wow, so few mashed potatoes. Then everything has sage strewn throughout it. Eeyuck. I did get to decide I want to make marshmallow sweet yam thingers, though. So not a total loss.
When he was released in March (he violated probation 12 years ago and has been on the run ever since; that is, they hadn't found him; that is, he wasn't "actively" running), I stayed up all night making a Thanksgiving-styled dinner, and I even taped the making of it. So many things went wrong, it isn't even funny. Weird thing is, I can make all that stuff easily, but jumbled together...it creates problems. I despise mashed potatoes with a heated, frenzied passion anyways. The cheapest, most disturbingly antagonistically fiendish use of potatoes I know of.
Regardless of my mashed hatred, I failed miserably. It was one of the worst moments of my life. The only good part was that my Dad was home. I remember he called me in the middle of the night (I was up cooking). "Hey, they just let me out." "OK, I'll wake Mom up."
Mom went and picked him up, and when they got home, I had the dinner all set out. Oh, the adventures we had whilst he was in jail. He was on work furlough (leave jail to work, then go back at night), so we would sometimes combine trips to a supposed doctor or something to ferry him back to jail.
Once, I even made a tailgate party. Porkchops, chinese fried rice...a few more things, I forget. I kept it hot in a crock pot with burning hot bricks. Anyway, maybe my Mom remembers. It was great. They make you eat peanut butter and moldy bread in there, and it was a Friday (they have to stay in on weekends), and he said he didn't eat anything else that weekend. One guy walked up, looked at the food and said, "right on."
The guards, needless to say, would have shot us all had they known. Rofl. We were having a tailgate party in the jail parking lot!
Lol...anyway...this year will be different. My Dad won't be in jail, and my Mom will hopefully be cooking. She does a better job than me, but of course, I had to do it all by myself with absolutely no moral support. Plus she's older. And she's uh, stupid.
Yeah. And we usually help with some dishes, especially the stuffing. Did I mention I love stuffing? Not the kind that's baked in the bird, but the kind cooked on the stovetop. And I never add sage. I make homemade Jew food Challah bread and let it dry out for a few days (or in the oven)...it's the eggs, it makes a rich stuffing base. Then you just add stock and, well...stock+Jew food Challah bread is by itself a winning combination.
But enough about Thanksgiving for now. There's 6 more days to recount stories. 11:59 PM. Goodnight.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Wedding Preparations and the Prodigious Discovery
So, right now it is 3:34 AM, Friday the 19th. Of October. Sheesh, do you even know what state you're in right now? Are you...are you drunk? At this hour? Shame. Shame on you. Now you're going to Hell.
As or me, I ...that is, as FOR me, I am preparing to head out and see BOTH of my grandmothers. They usually fight over me, make a fuss, tell me I shouldn't trust the other one...actually...I can't remember the last time I saw both my grandmothers at the same time. It was...uhh...I wonder if I've ever seen them together? Oh well, I guess I was probably lying when I said they fight over me. But I'm sure they do. Or would.
We're going to do a "rehearsal" for the wedding, so we need to be there early, before Satan haunts up the place. Oh...which wedding, you ask? My Mom and Dad's! Yes, I'll tell the story sometime.
In short, my parents were going to wed in a courtroom. They had it all planned out. Then my Mom decided she wanted a real wedding. Not a $25,000 wedding, mind you. Just a ceremony. Which we'll be working on today.
Kev, signing off.
Later that same day, evening...
Ouch. Owie. Pain! How could I have foreseen this agony; what sort of devilish witchery would I gleefully sink to to avoid the remorseful pain! My shoes, in the last half-hour of work, were turned into miniature beds of hot, smoldering coals! Like those video game enemies you see which have cracks of lava on them. Those were my shoes! Those ARE my shoes! They look like a burned-blade (black- we'll get that in editing) marshmallow, and my feet look WORSER!
I had to mop an 15' by 50' section of floor. Not too terrible, but the bucket had to be emptied very often, and the floor looked no different before and after. When it was polished it looked a lot different. All shiny and stuff. So I mopped half the floor, did half of the work, then some bozo- who hadn't mopped anything- comes in with a polishing wheel-thing and takes all of MY glory! Curse him!
Then I had to work in a kitchen for a few hours. I had to go to Walmart twice, and do a lunchrun (but we ate around too small a table, and it was horrible). Ahaha hah. It was hilarious!
Kev:
"Can I get 5 whoppers with cheese..."
Guy:
"5 whoppers. Will that be all, sir?"
Kev:
"Ahaha, no. Can I get three medium fries and two medium onion rings?"
Guy:
"...OK. Wil-"
Kev:
"And can I get a whopper with no onions and no cheese?"
Guy:
"Another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get a whopper with extra pickles and mayonnaise and no cheese?"
Guy:
"...another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get two side salads?"
Guy:
"...will that be all?"
Kev:
"Yes, sir."
Guy:
"Total is $35 at the window."
Kev:
"Thanks."
When I got up there, they had 3 bags to give me. The lady handed them to me spitefully. I gave the order to a guy, so I assume he was so distraught that he just had to take a break or did not want to see me, at which point the lady took over. Seriously, they were upset or something. I ruined their morning.
She looked like she really hated me right then. There was no one in line behind me, though, so it isn't like it was the lunch hour rush and I was ruining things. In fact, the intersection there was closed, so I did them a favor!
"I hope you burn in HELL!" was the lady's goodbye to me. "Uhh...thanks...you have a nice day, too," I offered. She stared down at me. I...drove away from that evil place. Now that I think about it, I could've sworn I tasted evil on my whopper! I wonder if anyone else tasted evil on theirs? Come to think of it, they gave us 2 extra salads. I wonder if that was to contain all the evil they wished to dispense upon us.
...anyway, whilst I was in Walmart, I took 40 minutes and made some wedding gifts for my Mom and Dad. They cost $18; there was a dog-tag-engraving-machine, and I put "Kev's Mom's Groom," and "Kev's Dad's Bride." I made a mistake, though; I put Dad's number on the tag Dad should wear (and vice versa for my Mom's tag). So if emergency crew find him mangled and possibly decapitated (link is to a post of mine, not a decapitation, I wouldn't do that! Although...I did execute an ant in that manner once), they'll call his number to inform his family of his bitter fate, but the phone there will ring. They'll be able to get his information from the number, I'm sure, but it's less convenient. All in all, I spent about 8 hours on my feet. Even Big Boss experienced foot pain, so that's something.
I also got a tag for my parents' favored dog, LJ. It has his name, TWO numbers to call, and "Reward" at the bottom. I remember how often me and my Dad would find things and return them expecting a reward. The people would say "Oh...thanks," and shut the door. They always had doors...
One time, we found a HUGE wallet. It had everything in it. We found it on a water regulator (someone had stripped it of cash, most likely, but we didn't look, lest we spoil our well-earned reward!), and took it to the owner less than half a mile away. "Yeah...thanks, I'll give it to him," the guy said. Then closed the door. I told you. They always have doors.
Once my shoes turned into coals, and my feet into burnt-to-crisp marshmallows, we left. We had to pick up roses and a gift certificate. On the way home, I decided that I should get a haircut, as we may not have time the day of the wedding. Good idea as far as the timing goes.
But...the haircutter was very violent. You KNOW you have a violent haircutter when they ask you if you want to be anesthetized...then recommend it when you say "uhh, I don't think so."
We picked up some dinner, as my Dad was making the wedding cake. "It...could...be...very...dry!"
The prodigiously fantastic, amazing discovery...
We also picked up an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, as that is my tradition for celebrating. The last time we had something to celebrate was 5 or 6 months ago. And...really, the tradition isn't that old. This was the first time I realized that you can ask them to thin-coat the ice cream!
It's simply amazing. Typically, the coating is so thick it's disgusting, and you end up throwing most of it away. You just ask if they can make the coating thinner. E plus Z. My Mom asked them if they dip it several times or what, or if they can give it a light coating. "Uhh, no ma'am, we only dip it once."
She has a way of not asking things very clearly at drive throughs. One time, she ordered like this:
Kev's Mom:
"Yeah, can I get one of the menu items 5 items down and 3 items right, without white rings?"
Guy:
"W...what?"
Kev's Mom:
"And one of the menu items 3 items down, 4 items over, and 5 items down, and 1 item over to the right?"
Needless to say, he didn't quite get it. They had to send someone out so Mom could point to what she wanted. So instead of saying "could you give that cone a light dipping," she asked "how many times they dip it." Riight. It worked out in the end, though. I recommend having them light coat it. I wonder if other brilliant minds have discovered that DQ can light coat their cones?
Well, it doesn't matter- this brilliant mind has revealed it unto the world!
[tomorrow is the wedding]
As or me, I ...that is, as FOR me, I am preparing to head out and see BOTH of my grandmothers. They usually fight over me, make a fuss, tell me I shouldn't trust the other one...actually...I can't remember the last time I saw both my grandmothers at the same time. It was...uhh...I wonder if I've ever seen them together? Oh well, I guess I was probably lying when I said they fight over me. But I'm sure they do. Or would.
We're going to do a "rehearsal" for the wedding, so we need to be there early, before Satan haunts up the place. Oh...which wedding, you ask? My Mom and Dad's! Yes, I'll tell the story sometime.
In short, my parents were going to wed in a courtroom. They had it all planned out. Then my Mom decided she wanted a real wedding. Not a $25,000 wedding, mind you. Just a ceremony. Which we'll be working on today.
Kev, signing off.
Later that same day, evening...
Ouch. Owie. Pain! How could I have foreseen this agony; what sort of devilish witchery would I gleefully sink to to avoid the remorseful pain! My shoes, in the last half-hour of work, were turned into miniature beds of hot, smoldering coals! Like those video game enemies you see which have cracks of lava on them. Those were my shoes! Those ARE my shoes! They look like a burned-blade (black- we'll get that in editing) marshmallow, and my feet look WORSER!
I had to mop an 15' by 50' section of floor. Not too terrible, but the bucket had to be emptied very often, and the floor looked no different before and after. When it was polished it looked a lot different. All shiny and stuff. So I mopped half the floor, did half of the work, then some bozo- who hadn't mopped anything- comes in with a polishing wheel-thing and takes all of MY glory! Curse him!
Then I had to work in a kitchen for a few hours. I had to go to Walmart twice, and do a lunchrun (but we ate around too small a table, and it was horrible). Ahaha hah. It was hilarious!
Kev:
"Can I get 5 whoppers with cheese..."
Guy:
"5 whoppers. Will that be all, sir?"
Kev:
"Ahaha, no. Can I get three medium fries and two medium onion rings?"
Guy:
"...OK. Wil-"
Kev:
"And can I get a whopper with no onions and no cheese?"
Guy:
"Another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get a whopper with extra pickles and mayonnaise and no cheese?"
Guy:
"...another one?"
Kev:
"Yeah. And can I get two side salads?"
Guy:
"...will that be all?"
Kev:
"Yes, sir."
Guy:
"Total is $35 at the window."
Kev:
"Thanks."
When I got up there, they had 3 bags to give me. The lady handed them to me spitefully. I gave the order to a guy, so I assume he was so distraught that he just had to take a break or did not want to see me, at which point the lady took over. Seriously, they were upset or something. I ruined their morning.
She looked like she really hated me right then. There was no one in line behind me, though, so it isn't like it was the lunch hour rush and I was ruining things. In fact, the intersection there was closed, so I did them a favor!
"I hope you burn in HELL!" was the lady's goodbye to me. "Uhh...thanks...you have a nice day, too," I offered. She stared down at me. I...drove away from that evil place. Now that I think about it, I could've sworn I tasted evil on my whopper! I wonder if anyone else tasted evil on theirs? Come to think of it, they gave us 2 extra salads. I wonder if that was to contain all the evil they wished to dispense upon us.
...anyway, whilst I was in Walmart, I took 40 minutes and made some wedding gifts for my Mom and Dad. They cost $18; there was a dog-tag-engraving-machine, and I put "Kev's Mom's Groom," and "Kev's Dad's Bride." I made a mistake, though; I put Dad's number on the tag Dad should wear (and vice versa for my Mom's tag). So if emergency crew find him mangled and possibly decapitated (link is to a post of mine, not a decapitation, I wouldn't do that! Although...I did execute an ant in that manner once), they'll call his number to inform his family of his bitter fate, but the phone there will ring. They'll be able to get his information from the number, I'm sure, but it's less convenient. All in all, I spent about 8 hours on my feet. Even Big Boss experienced foot pain, so that's something.
I also got a tag for my parents' favored dog, LJ. It has his name, TWO numbers to call, and "Reward" at the bottom. I remember how often me and my Dad would find things and return them expecting a reward. The people would say "Oh...thanks," and shut the door. They always had doors...
One time, we found a HUGE wallet. It had everything in it. We found it on a water regulator (someone had stripped it of cash, most likely, but we didn't look, lest we spoil our well-earned reward!), and took it to the owner less than half a mile away. "Yeah...thanks, I'll give it to him," the guy said. Then closed the door. I told you. They always have doors.
Once my shoes turned into coals, and my feet into burnt-to-crisp marshmallows, we left. We had to pick up roses and a gift certificate. On the way home, I decided that I should get a haircut, as we may not have time the day of the wedding. Good idea as far as the timing goes.
But...the haircutter was very violent. You KNOW you have a violent haircutter when they ask you if you want to be anesthetized...then recommend it when you say "uhh, I don't think so."
We picked up some dinner, as my Dad was making the wedding cake. "It...could...be...very...dry!"
The prodigiously fantastic, amazing discovery...
We also picked up an ice cream cone from Dairy Queen, as that is my tradition for celebrating. The last time we had something to celebrate was 5 or 6 months ago. And...really, the tradition isn't that old. This was the first time I realized that you can ask them to thin-coat the ice cream!
It's simply amazing. Typically, the coating is so thick it's disgusting, and you end up throwing most of it away. You just ask if they can make the coating thinner. E plus Z. My Mom asked them if they dip it several times or what, or if they can give it a light coating. "Uhh, no ma'am, we only dip it once."
She has a way of not asking things very clearly at drive throughs. One time, she ordered like this:
Kev's Mom:
"Yeah, can I get one of the menu items 5 items down and 3 items right, without white rings?"
Guy:
"W...what?"
Kev's Mom:
"And one of the menu items 3 items down, 4 items over, and 5 items down, and 1 item over to the right?"
Needless to say, he didn't quite get it. They had to send someone out so Mom could point to what she wanted. So instead of saying "could you give that cone a light dipping," she asked "how many times they dip it." Riight. It worked out in the end, though. I recommend having them light coat it. I wonder if other brilliant minds have discovered that DQ can light coat their cones?
Well, it doesn't matter- this brilliant mind has revealed it unto the world!
[tomorrow is the wedding]
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Kev and Cupcakes
I have a confession to make.
I...have trouble making cupcakes. Yes, tis true. It started back when I was 9. Somebody made blueberry cupcakes...and...I tried to make blueberry cupcakes. They turned out...not so good. All the blueberries went to the bottom, and, oh, I've been traumatized ever since. I wanted to die.
Slowly, over the years, I've been mending my relations with cupcakes. Well, really, I've just been getting over the tragic event. A while back, I made Pumpkin Chocolate Chip muffins (which are really good, and especially good as mini muffins), and recently, I made these Wicked Cupcakes.
They have a peanut butter frosting. If you're like me, you'll laugh, because you HATE peanut butter! In fact, it makes you sick. But I loved these cupcakes despite the fact they had peanut butter in (or...on) them. I did not make witches out of them, but cutting into them and inverting the cone of cake on top is a neat way to decorate. They're a little difficult to eat with a cookie on them, which is why I didn't bother.
Once again, let me advise: if you ever have to "combine flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon" in a bowl, just use a ziptop bag (you'll have to blow it up a bit then seal to "shake" it properly). It works tons better and does not dirty a bowl. I'm sure you could reuse the same bag, but I prefer to cut a hole in the corner to easily pour into the Kitchenaid (when I need to alternate, especially). Yes, I am spoiled.
Next on my list is the Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. Oh, I'm sorry, Lemon Cream Cupcakes. I only saw "Lemon Cr" in the tab, and I assumed it was "Crusted Lullyberry." But y'know, I think I will call them Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. I have high hopes for these (I <3 lemon). After, my next goal is a nice, white cupcake with pink or purple frosting. How the hell do I make white cupcakes?
OK, after searching one of my best cookbooks, I come up with buttermilk cupcakes. Ooohkay.
Now I only need a fr...oh, baby. What on earth is a Dobostorte?
Or a coconut cake with lime curd...
Well, I'll need to spend some more time with this cookbook.
As for the cupcakes, I'll convince my parents to buy the ingredients today. I just need 8 lemons or so. I'll need a cup of juice for the meringue pie. And zest. I'll let you know how they turn out.
I...have trouble making cupcakes. Yes, tis true. It started back when I was 9. Somebody made blueberry cupcakes...and...I tried to make blueberry cupcakes. They turned out...not so good. All the blueberries went to the bottom, and, oh, I've been traumatized ever since. I wanted to die.
Slowly, over the years, I've been mending my relations with cupcakes. Well, really, I've just been getting over the tragic event. A while back, I made Pumpkin Chocolate Chip muffins (which are really good, and especially good as mini muffins), and recently, I made these Wicked Cupcakes.
They have a peanut butter frosting. If you're like me, you'll laugh, because you HATE peanut butter! In fact, it makes you sick. But I loved these cupcakes despite the fact they had peanut butter in (or...on) them. I did not make witches out of them, but cutting into them and inverting the cone of cake on top is a neat way to decorate. They're a little difficult to eat with a cookie on them, which is why I didn't bother.
Once again, let me advise: if you ever have to "combine flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon" in a bowl, just use a ziptop bag (you'll have to blow it up a bit then seal to "shake" it properly). It works tons better and does not dirty a bowl. I'm sure you could reuse the same bag, but I prefer to cut a hole in the corner to easily pour into the Kitchenaid (when I need to alternate, especially). Yes, I am spoiled.
Next on my list is the Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. Oh, I'm sorry, Lemon Cream Cupcakes. I only saw "Lemon Cr" in the tab, and I assumed it was "Crusted Lullyberry." But y'know, I think I will call them Lemon Crusted Lullyberry cupcakes. I have high hopes for these (I <3 lemon). After, my next goal is a nice, white cupcake with pink or purple frosting. How the hell do I make white cupcakes?
OK, after searching one of my best cookbooks, I come up with buttermilk cupcakes. Ooohkay.
Now I only need a fr...oh, baby. What on earth is a Dobostorte?
Or a coconut cake with lime curd...
Well, I'll need to spend some more time with this cookbook.
As for the cupcakes, I'll convince my parents to buy the ingredients today. I just need 8 lemons or so. I'll need a cup of juice for the meringue pie. And zest. I'll let you know how they turn out.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
That Dead My Great Grandmother Again
Well, recently, my greatest Grandmother, Helen L. Stewartsky, passed away. I accompanied my Mom as the FO (flag officer) of our household, as is my customary position, to the memorial service. A lot of people showed up, not a lot of people had memories. There were two funeral operators: one short person, one tall person. Short One and Tall One.
I think it was the most dynamic duo I have ever seen. And I've seen some really dynamic duos. Link and Midna. "Sir, are you here for the memorial service of Mrs. Stewartsky Sr. III?" Tall One asked. "Why, I...I guess!" I said, overwhelmed by the sheer, raw base awenem of their operation. The Short One could cling to walls like the Beam Pirates during the Elite Pirate fight. She could also fly to an extent, it appeared...or, hover...
My Grandmother was one of the first there. Also, my Pastor. I was so happy to see him. I didn't know anyone else there, and the Short One was beginning to creep me out a little. "Hellfire and DAMNATION!" the Justice screamed when he saw me. He said he was preparing for the service, said he'd been practicing his grimaced shout of "HELLFIRE!" for hours in the mirror. "Well, you've certainly got it down," I said after getting over the initial shock. "I doubted my own salvation for a second, there!" I said. He nodded his head enthusiastically, smiling. His trademark.
We all sort of stood around a bit waiting for Molly, my Aunt. She was late. While we were waiting, I discovered my camera did not work, and...I WAS THE CAMERAMAN! Oh, no!
There was a bus route nearby, and I considered throwing myself in front of one of the big creepy things to bypass the severe, horrific, piercing blow of failing in my God given duty to record that service. I felt all of my hopes and dreams fading. I felt like a leaf crumpled and browning on the ground, awaiting the rain for a trip to the gutter to live out my life as a sewer leaf.
Then I remembered I had cleared my SD card. And...sure enough, I got to record it with my digital camera! It looks simply terrible, I am sure, but I recorded it nonetheless. I had something like two minutes left once it was over (whew); enough to take about 40 pictures.
My Pastor was kind of nervous, but he did great. Certainly better than I would have. I think Short One and Tall One were regretting not having the pulpit bolted down. He pushed it over two or three times, and finally settled for standing on it, towering above his captive audience.
"HELLFIRE, DAMNATION!" my Pastor railed. "EVERLASTING INFERNO, ETERNAL JUDGMENT!" he spat. "YOU'RE ALL GONNA ROT IN THE BITTER PITS OF HELL, AND EVERY ONE OF YOU KNOWS IT!" he shrieked in a primal fashion. "FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, ETERNAL SEPARATION FROM THE LORD!" he blared.
"ROMANS 3:23 STATES THAT ALL MEN ARE SINNERS REGARDLESS, AND ALL MEN, INCLUDING YOU, HAVE FALLEN SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD! ONLY DEATH AWAITS! THERE'S ONLY ONE ESCAPE! THERE'S ONLY ONE HOPE OF SALVATION! ONE LORD, ONE FAITH, ONE BAPTISM! YOU MUST ACCEPT THE GLORIOUS GRACE OF GOD THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST! PUT YOUR FAITH IN HIM, HIM ALONE, AND NOTHING ELSE!" he finished.
There was an awkward pause. When I looked over, somehow the audience, all but 7 or 8 of them, had recoiled so fiercely that they were actually sitting several seats further back than they had been. I saw no one stand up (I have totally awesome peripheral vision), so I can only assume they melted into the floor and slithered their way under the pews. Many of them had taken liberal use of the alloted tissues to stuff their ears as scalding tears of frustration streamed down their faces, their teeth gritted. It took them awhile to realize he had quit talking. The best I can describe their actions is "writhing."
Others, the older ones, I assume, had flipped over with their legs sticking straight up, kicking violently; they had failed their trek under the pews. Pastor's Wife, the Mrs. Raw Support, was there. She's...supportive. Her presence kept the audience from crawling too far back in their desperate attempts to escape my Pastor's voice.
Afterwards, everyone was really happy. I would assume as happy as someone would be to discover that a tornado had passed over their house, and they survived hiding in a cupboard. My mom instructed me to take a picture of the milling crowd every once and a while, and afterward, a lot of us got a "family picture" taken (I was shiningly brilliant enough to bring a tripod; I made them all look like fools!). I think most of us were there.
I didn't know my Great Grandmother. All I knew of her is that she likes fish and chips. After hearing memories exchanged and my Mom blathering with her family on the phone, I discovered that my Great Grandmother used to knit sweaters out of tears because yarn cost too much. She would best be described as "stupidly frugal."
Did you know that being too nice will kill you? Proven fact. Being too mean will easily kill you, as well. Being too clever will kill you. And so will being too frugal.
Among the things I overheard, as pertaining to her frugality:
"She was so frugal, she used to water her garden with her toilet water!" Eww!
"She was so frugal, she used to beat children herself, instead of hiring someone to do it!" Weird!
"She was so frugal, she would bake 'scorpion cakes...'" which is a cake pan filled with SCORPIONS EWW!
"She was so frugal, she used to do her own laundry in, you guessed it, her toilet water before she watered her garden with it!" GROSS!
"She was so frugal, she used a cheaper butter alternative - air! Her cakes were "stillbaked!"
"She was so frugal, once she had to have brain surgery (massive brain tumor), and she did it herself with two butter knives, a grapefruit spoon and a pastrami sandwich!"
On and on and on. Apparently, she was very cheap. But she never missed a birthday (her freezer would fill up with frozen scorpions; she used them like normal people use frozen blueberries and slash or cranberries), never missed a wedding (scorpion cake covered in fondant), and always put on a Halloween display. Her neighbor (he had a backhoe) would dig her a pit, she would push the children into the pit, and the pit would be crawling with scorpions. It was voted the neighborhood's least favorite Halloween display 58 years in a row.
She was...a human. She survived three cold wars, five hot ones, and countless dreadful, demonic, arrogantly cruel and evil Arizona summers.She seems like the kind of useless fool who enjoys summer. Curse her bones. God bless her for ever, that brave brave woman! Honor! Honor!
Afterwards, we received a call. All I heard was screaming and crying. I figured someone had gotten in an accident. I wore my suit, so I was dread to anticipate dragging a (possibly) decapitated family member from the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. In fact, I always wear a tee under in case I have to drag a (possibly) decapitated family member out of the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. I suggest wearing normal clothes under dress clothes wholeheartedly.
Long story short, a friend of my Mom's had a dead cat which needed to be buried. I dug the hole and covered the little darling up. A flower plant was planted on top. Rest in peace, Cloud.
Two funerals in one day. Do we have bad luck?
I think it was the most dynamic duo I have ever seen. And I've seen some really dynamic duos. Link and Midna. "Sir, are you here for the memorial service of Mrs. Stewartsky Sr. III?" Tall One asked. "Why, I...I guess!" I said, overwhelmed by the sheer, raw base awenem of their operation. The Short One could cling to walls like the Beam Pirates during the Elite Pirate fight. She could also fly to an extent, it appeared...or, hover...
My Grandmother was one of the first there. Also, my Pastor. I was so happy to see him. I didn't know anyone else there, and the Short One was beginning to creep me out a little. "Hellfire and DAMNATION!" the Justice screamed when he saw me. He said he was preparing for the service, said he'd been practicing his grimaced shout of "HELLFIRE!" for hours in the mirror. "Well, you've certainly got it down," I said after getting over the initial shock. "I doubted my own salvation for a second, there!" I said. He nodded his head enthusiastically, smiling. His trademark.
We all sort of stood around a bit waiting for Molly, my Aunt. She was late. While we were waiting, I discovered my camera did not work, and...I WAS THE CAMERAMAN! Oh, no!
There was a bus route nearby, and I considered throwing myself in front of one of the big creepy things to bypass the severe, horrific, piercing blow of failing in my God given duty to record that service. I felt all of my hopes and dreams fading. I felt like a leaf crumpled and browning on the ground, awaiting the rain for a trip to the gutter to live out my life as a sewer leaf.
Then I remembered I had cleared my SD card. And...sure enough, I got to record it with my digital camera! It looks simply terrible, I am sure, but I recorded it nonetheless. I had something like two minutes left once it was over (whew); enough to take about 40 pictures.
My Pastor was kind of nervous, but he did great. Certainly better than I would have. I think Short One and Tall One were regretting not having the pulpit bolted down. He pushed it over two or three times, and finally settled for standing on it, towering above his captive audience.
"HELLFIRE, DAMNATION!" my Pastor railed. "EVERLASTING INFERNO, ETERNAL JUDGMENT!" he spat. "YOU'RE ALL GONNA ROT IN THE BITTER PITS OF HELL, AND EVERY ONE OF YOU KNOWS IT!" he shrieked in a primal fashion. "FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, ETERNAL SEPARATION FROM THE LORD!" he blared.
"ROMANS 3:23 STATES THAT ALL MEN ARE SINNERS REGARDLESS, AND ALL MEN, INCLUDING YOU, HAVE FALLEN SHORT OF THE GLORY OF GOD! ONLY DEATH AWAITS! THERE'S ONLY ONE ESCAPE! THERE'S ONLY ONE HOPE OF SALVATION! ONE LORD, ONE FAITH, ONE BAPTISM! YOU MUST ACCEPT THE GLORIOUS GRACE OF GOD THROUGH OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, JESUS CHRIST! PUT YOUR FAITH IN HIM, HIM ALONE, AND NOTHING ELSE!" he finished.
There was an awkward pause. When I looked over, somehow the audience, all but 7 or 8 of them, had recoiled so fiercely that they were actually sitting several seats further back than they had been. I saw no one stand up (I have totally awesome peripheral vision), so I can only assume they melted into the floor and slithered their way under the pews. Many of them had taken liberal use of the alloted tissues to stuff their ears as scalding tears of frustration streamed down their faces, their teeth gritted. It took them awhile to realize he had quit talking. The best I can describe their actions is "writhing."
Others, the older ones, I assume, had flipped over with their legs sticking straight up, kicking violently; they had failed their trek under the pews. Pastor's Wife, the Mrs. Raw Support, was there. She's...supportive. Her presence kept the audience from crawling too far back in their desperate attempts to escape my Pastor's voice.
Afterwards, everyone was really happy. I would assume as happy as someone would be to discover that a tornado had passed over their house, and they survived hiding in a cupboard. My mom instructed me to take a picture of the milling crowd every once and a while, and afterward, a lot of us got a "family picture" taken (I was shiningly brilliant enough to bring a tripod; I made them all look like fools!). I think most of us were there.
I didn't know my Great Grandmother. All I knew of her is that she likes fish and chips. After hearing memories exchanged and my Mom blathering with her family on the phone, I discovered that my Great Grandmother used to knit sweaters out of tears because yarn cost too much. She would best be described as "stupidly frugal."
Did you know that being too nice will kill you? Proven fact. Being too mean will easily kill you, as well. Being too clever will kill you. And so will being too frugal.
Among the things I overheard, as pertaining to her frugality:
"She was so frugal, she used to water her garden with her toilet water!" Eww!
"She was so frugal, she used to beat children herself, instead of hiring someone to do it!" Weird!
"She was so frugal, she would bake 'scorpion cakes...'" which is a cake pan filled with SCORPIONS EWW!
"She was so frugal, she used to do her own laundry in, you guessed it, her toilet water before she watered her garden with it!" GROSS!
"She was so frugal, she used a cheaper butter alternative - air! Her cakes were "stillbaked!"
"She was so frugal, once she had to have brain surgery (massive brain tumor), and she did it herself with two butter knives, a grapefruit spoon and a pastrami sandwich!"
On and on and on. Apparently, she was very cheap. But she never missed a birthday (her freezer would fill up with frozen scorpions; she used them like normal people use frozen blueberries and slash or cranberries), never missed a wedding (scorpion cake covered in fondant), and always put on a Halloween display. Her neighbor (he had a backhoe) would dig her a pit, she would push the children into the pit, and the pit would be crawling with scorpions. It was voted the neighborhood's least favorite Halloween display 58 years in a row.
She was...a human. She survived three cold wars, five hot ones, and countless dreadful, demonic, arrogantly cruel and evil Arizona summers.
Afterwards, we received a call. All I heard was screaming and crying. I figured someone had gotten in an accident. I wore my suit, so I was dread to anticipate dragging a (possibly) decapitated family member from the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. In fact, I always wear a tee under in case I have to drag a (possibly) decapitated family member out of the burning, ashen remains of their failed 80-mile-an-hour freeway merger. I suggest wearing normal clothes under dress clothes wholeheartedly.
Long story short, a friend of my Mom's had a dead cat which needed to be buried. I dug the hole and covered the little darling up. A flower plant was planted on top. Rest in peace, Cloud.
Two funerals in one day. Do we have bad luck?
Sunday, September 09, 2007
It all started when Uncle George Henry died...
My uncle was a fireman. He would go to the fires, and he would inhale like the big bad wolf, and he'd huff, and he'd puff, and he'd blow the flames out. They called him Iron Lung, because he had asthma. He is since "late."
Uncle George Henry. He told all sorts of stories...to my Dad. I never met him. He was bright; all of my Dad's family are smart people. They're sorrowful, bitter drunkards, though.
Anyway, when he died, he left behind a bunch of junk. And I mean it. This guy collected washers. Rusted washers. I mean ROUND RINGS OF METAL. He also collected beer mugs. Cracked beer mugs. And keyrings with old, useless keys on them. Rusted keys. And odd-threaded and shaped bolts, and accompanying odd nuts which were stripped, rusted and broken in half. Rusted odd nuts which were stripped, rusted and broken in half. He used not a few baby wipes. He kept everything in baby wipe boxes. Rusted baby wipe boxes. Nuts, bolts, dust, rust, old 1/4" pieces of string (for decoration? I guess he liked to dress up his "trinkets"), keyring cozies, old frozen bottles of super glue (he'll use them someday), and on and on.
Amongst these "trinkets," as my Dad frothing-at-the-mouthingly refers to them, was a pile of clothes. In these clothes was a really nice suit. Pants. Vest. Jacket. All matching. "Well, howdy-wow-wow!" I exclaimed. If you think that is dumb, I actually liked Pokemon! I had a poster on my wall! EWW GROSS!
I liked the suit...I was 11 or so. My Mom was working at the Arizona Hall for Higher Sites at that time, and they have an annual Lottery Ball. You go, you gamble, you go home. "Hey Kev," she said. "Do you want to serve as a waiter?"
Hah hah hah. Like I would eve- "Sure I would, Mommy!" NO!
As so many of my childhood decisions were made. I wore my brain on my sleeve. Where it could not function as the decision center of my body. One time, I jumped off of a house onto the hood of a Mercury Grand Marquis. Did I mention that the only sweater I owned (which had the sleeve I wore my brain on) was stored in the mold-ridden shed under a pile of hate? That's where my brain was.
So we went to the ball. The lottery ball. We brought...peanut butter cookies. Ew. Peanut butter cookies make me sick. I was wearing some shoes...I think...I think we might have stopped by the Your Local Short Gay Man Shoe Store and bought me some shoes. I was having a ball!
Until one old lady threatened to hit me over the head with her cane. I asked her what she wanted (I was a waiter! A short waiter! Height! Easily struck by cane!), and she tried to hit me. Needless to say, I peed my pants. AW, MAN! I thought as I hobbled to the bathroom. Later I emerged, only to find my shoe untied. I walked around dazedly with it for a while, wisely avoiding Cane Lady. I was suddenly having a bad night.
One set of old people needed some food, and I forgot their order. God help me, I got to the "order-filling-deck," and the guy asked me what they wanted. He spoke in a growl, and when I hesitated, he flipped. "HRAAHH!" he screamed, booming with pent-up rage. "Uhm, uh," I struggled. "HRAAAAAAAAAAAWGH!!!" he screamed, leaning and reaching over the counter menacingly, swinging at me wildly with the spatula, trying his best to hit me. "CABBAGE AND POTATO!" I screamed in a high pitch, eyes filling with horrified tears. I took the people's food to them.
"What's wrong, deary?" the lady asked. "OH, I JUST ALMOST WET MY PANTS AGAIN, AND NOW I CAN'T STOP CRYING!" I stated, my gaze fixed far-off and speaking in a loud, shellshocked voice. I had not blinked since I ordered the food; I went to relax by the water cooler.
Ahh. Safe, I thought. I wanted to crawl inside that cool water. Then, much too soon after I breathed that sigh of relief: "Hey, are you a gay?" some guy asked. I looked up at him. "Uhh, ..." I began. "Wow, so young and so puh-roud!" he gushed. Looking back, it was the shoes; they had "Gay and PROUD!" stitched on the front! THANKS A LOT MOM! YOUR LOCAL SHORT GAY MAN SHOE STORE, HUH?
But...at the time, I had no idea what he meant. "What?" I said. He had left; I guess I froze. By this time, I was just not having fun at all; and when I poured myself some water, I was reminded that my shoe was untied. So I bent over to tie it. You can guess what happened next- my pants ripped!
"Oh, man!" I wailed. Worse, the crotch had ripped out...along the zipper, I believe. Did I mention that along with everything else that Uncle GH had that was rusted, the suit was rusted, too? Like, the cloth? On second thought, maybe he didn't collect junk. Maybe he collected rust.
I took off my jacket and held it in front of me and slumped to my Mom's office. "Oh, I can sew that right up, son...let me go tell my friends, and ask them if they have any sewing supplies with them!"
I smacked my forehead.
Then Mom's coworker, a guy, comes in. "Hey, how's it going, Sammy."
"Kev," I corrected.
"Did you have a nice time at the ball, Sammy?" he ignored.
"Well," I began. "Not completely." He rolled over. The beauty of office chairs. "Tell me about it," he said. "Well, it all began when I was BORN!" I began loudly, then I broke down crying. He walked away after a few minutes.
The rest is a total, complete blur. Hazy. Perhaps my Mom can say what happened next, as I can only remember leaving.
Anyways, why do I tell you this? Well, when Uncle George Henry died, his stuff became haunted. Maybe he just wanted to make my life hard, or maybe he just never really liked me, or maybe I am just exaggerating. But his stuff- and these pants- were, like, Buster Halfrou haunted, and believe me, you're done at that point. Do you know how many people ripped their pants at that ball that day due to a rusted zipper?
One.
Do you know how many people peed all over themselves at the ball that day?
One.
Do you know how many haunted, demon-possessed suits there were at that ball that day?
One.
Fill in the gaps. I did not wear that suit. I was in that suit. It wore me. Bad time had by Kev.
Why do I post this? Well, today I wore a suit. I think it is the first time since the "Uncle GH's haunted suit" incident I wore a suit. Nothing ripped. Everyone was jealous, the guys were looking nervous, shuffling and stuff, etc. About 30 people asked me where my wife was. "I'm not married!" I said. "Oh, well, you should be- that's a nice tie!"
Nice tie, indeed. My brother also wore a suit. My Great grandmother passed away on Friday night, an hour after her 93rd birthday party. We are getting comfortable wearing our suits for that purpose and my parents' upcoming wedding. It will be the first funeral I've ever been to. Except that time I crawled on that dead, male witch.
...thanks a lot for that priceless experience, Dad...
Uncle George Henry. He told all sorts of stories...to my Dad. I never met him. He was bright; all of my Dad's family are smart people. They're sorrowful, bitter drunkards, though.
Anyway, when he died, he left behind a bunch of junk. And I mean it. This guy collected washers. Rusted washers. I mean ROUND RINGS OF METAL. He also collected beer mugs. Cracked beer mugs. And keyrings with old, useless keys on them. Rusted keys. And odd-threaded and shaped bolts, and accompanying odd nuts which were stripped, rusted and broken in half. Rusted odd nuts which were stripped, rusted and broken in half. He used not a few baby wipes. He kept everything in baby wipe boxes. Rusted baby wipe boxes. Nuts, bolts, dust, rust, old 1/4" pieces of string (for decoration? I guess he liked to dress up his "trinkets"), keyring cozies, old frozen bottles of super glue (he'll use them someday), and on and on.
Amongst these "trinkets," as my Dad frothing-at-the-mouthingly refers to them, was a pile of clothes. In these clothes was a really nice suit. Pants. Vest. Jacket. All matching. "Well, howdy-wow-wow!" I exclaimed. If you think that is dumb, I actually liked Pokemon! I had a poster on my wall! EWW GROSS!
I liked the suit...I was 11 or so. My Mom was working at the Arizona Hall for Higher Sites at that time, and they have an annual Lottery Ball. You go, you gamble, you go home. "Hey Kev," she said. "Do you want to serve as a waiter?"
Hah hah hah. Like I would eve- "Sure I would, Mommy!" NO!
As so many of my childhood decisions were made. I wore my brain on my sleeve. Where it could not function as the decision center of my body. One time, I jumped off of a house onto the hood of a Mercury Grand Marquis. Did I mention that the only sweater I owned (which had the sleeve I wore my brain on) was stored in the mold-ridden shed under a pile of hate? That's where my brain was.
So we went to the ball. The lottery ball. We brought...peanut butter cookies. Ew. Peanut butter cookies make me sick. I was wearing some shoes...I think...I think we might have stopped by the Your Local Short Gay Man Shoe Store and bought me some shoes. I was having a ball!
Until one old lady threatened to hit me over the head with her cane. I asked her what she wanted (I was a waiter! A short waiter! Height! Easily struck by cane!), and she tried to hit me. Needless to say, I peed my pants. AW, MAN! I thought as I hobbled to the bathroom. Later I emerged, only to find my shoe untied. I walked around dazedly with it for a while, wisely avoiding Cane Lady. I was suddenly having a bad night.
One set of old people needed some food, and I forgot their order. God help me, I got to the "order-filling-deck," and the guy asked me what they wanted. He spoke in a growl, and when I hesitated, he flipped. "HRAAHH!" he screamed, booming with pent-up rage. "Uhm, uh," I struggled. "HRAAAAAAAAAAAWGH!!!" he screamed, leaning and reaching over the counter menacingly, swinging at me wildly with the spatula, trying his best to hit me. "CABBAGE AND POTATO!" I screamed in a high pitch, eyes filling with horrified tears. I took the people's food to them.
"What's wrong, deary?" the lady asked. "OH, I JUST ALMOST WET MY PANTS AGAIN, AND NOW I CAN'T STOP CRYING!" I stated, my gaze fixed far-off and speaking in a loud, shellshocked voice. I had not blinked since I ordered the food; I went to relax by the water cooler.
Ahh. Safe, I thought. I wanted to crawl inside that cool water. Then, much too soon after I breathed that sigh of relief: "Hey, are you a gay?" some guy asked. I looked up at him. "Uhh, ..." I began. "Wow, so young and so puh-roud!" he gushed. Looking back, it was the shoes; they had "Gay and PROUD!" stitched on the front! THANKS A LOT MOM! YOUR LOCAL SHORT GAY MAN SHOE STORE, HUH?
But...at the time, I had no idea what he meant. "What?" I said. He had left; I guess I froze. By this time, I was just not having fun at all; and when I poured myself some water, I was reminded that my shoe was untied. So I bent over to tie it. You can guess what happened next- my pants ripped!
"Oh, man!" I wailed. Worse, the crotch had ripped out...along the zipper, I believe. Did I mention that along with everything else that Uncle GH had that was rusted, the suit was rusted, too? Like, the cloth? On second thought, maybe he didn't collect junk. Maybe he collected rust.
I took off my jacket and held it in front of me and slumped to my Mom's office. "Oh, I can sew that right up, son...let me go tell my friends, and ask them if they have any sewing supplies with them!"
I smacked my forehead.
Then Mom's coworker, a guy, comes in. "Hey, how's it going, Sammy."
"Kev," I corrected.
"Did you have a nice time at the ball, Sammy?" he ignored.
"Well," I began. "Not completely." He rolled over. The beauty of office chairs. "Tell me about it," he said. "Well, it all began when I was BORN!" I began loudly, then I broke down crying. He walked away after a few minutes.
The rest is a total, complete blur. Hazy. Perhaps my Mom can say what happened next, as I can only remember leaving.
Anyways, why do I tell you this? Well, when Uncle George Henry died, his stuff became haunted. Maybe he just wanted to make my life hard, or maybe he just never really liked me, or maybe I am just exaggerating. But his stuff- and these pants- were, like, Buster Halfrou haunted, and believe me, you're done at that point. Do you know how many people ripped their pants at that ball that day due to a rusted zipper?
One.
Do you know how many people peed all over themselves at the ball that day?
One.
Do you know how many haunted, demon-possessed suits there were at that ball that day?
One.
Fill in the gaps. I did not wear that suit. I was in that suit. It wore me. Bad time had by Kev.
Why do I post this? Well, today I wore a suit. I think it is the first time since the "Uncle GH's haunted suit" incident I wore a suit. Nothing ripped. Everyone was jealous, the guys were looking nervous, shuffling and stuff, etc. About 30 people asked me where my wife was. "I'm not married!" I said. "Oh, well, you should be- that's a nice tie!"
Nice tie, indeed. My brother also wore a suit. My Great grandmother passed away on Friday night, an hour after her 93rd birthday party. We are getting comfortable wearing our suits for that purpose and my parents' upcoming wedding. It will be the first funeral I've ever been to. Except that time I crawled on that dead, male witch.
...thanks a lot for that priceless experience, Dad...
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
Upping the Pom, dating the POM
I've been working on PomPOM (Pretty Pink Onions Month, or my version of OAMC, Once A Month Cooking). I added a lot of chicken, a lot of beef, and some sides. Progress is coming along so quickly, I may just have time enough to worship a copy of Metroid Prime 3 until the 21st! YAY PAGAN IDOL WORSHIP clean up that area outside, clean my room, and not worship false idols. I have to assign my Mom the task of exacting the play time of Metroid Prime 3...God forbid, if Metroid Prime 3 is too short (GOD FORBID!), I will have to postpone it and just play Metroid Prime 2. God forbid! Oh, why not, let's say it again: God forbid!
There's not much left to do. I'm going to break down some milk when I make the Spinach and Noodle Casserole. I'll be using over a gallon. Around here, that's like saying "I am going to pour gasoline throughout the house and throw a Molotov cocktail on top of it." So I am going to steal it quart by quart. Heh heh heh. They'll never notice! I am invincible!
\
...boy, I remember when I learned (the hard way) the difference between invisible and invincible...it took me like...5 hours...
There's not much left to do. I'm going to break down some milk when I make the Spinach and Noodle Casserole. I'll be using over a gallon. Around here, that's like saying "I am going to pour gasoline throughout the house and throw a Molotov cocktail on top of it." So I am going to steal it quart by quart. Heh heh heh. They'll never notice! I am invincible!
\
...boy, I remember when I learned (the hard way) the difference between invisible and invincible...it took me like...5 hours...
MAINS - PREPARED MEATS
(ITALICS ARE ALREADY PAIRED IN A MEAL, BELOW; BOLD ARE UNUSED)
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, 2 lbs. 4.6 oz --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, 2 lbs. 3.2 oz --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, 2 lbs. 4.0 oz --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, unspecified weight --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, unspecified weight --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, 2 lbs. 3.2 oz --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, 2 lbs. 4.0 oz --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, unspecified weight --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
CHICKEN BREAST --- 8 breasts, unspecified weight --- TERIYAKI or BUTTERFRIED
HAMBURGER --- 30 patties, 3 meals
CORNED BEEF --- 3 roasts
CHICKEN, CUBED --- 5 meals worth to be made into private servings of Chicken fried rice
SIDE DISHES
(ITALICS ARE ALREADY PAIRED IN A MEAL, BELOW; BOLD ARE UNUSED)
CAUTERIZED CABBAGE --- 2 sides(ITALICS ARE ALREADY PAIRED IN A MEAL, BELOW; BOLD ARE UNUSED)
STIR-FRIED BROCCOLI, MUSHROOMS AND CAULIFLOWER --- 1 side
CIRCUS POTATOES --- 2 sides
RICH CHICKEN BROTHED RICE --- 2 sides
BROCCOLI CASSEROLE --- 1 side
MACARONI and CHEESE --- full sized side
CORN ON COB --- 1 side
MAINS
(ITALICS ARE ALREADY PAIRED IN A MEAL, BELOW; BOLD ARE UNUSED)
SPLIT-PEA SOUP --- 2 meals worth, need BREAD(ITALICS ARE ALREADY PAIRED IN A MEAL, BELOW; BOLD ARE UNUSED)
LASAGNA --- Needs a side, perhaps GREEN BEANS
ENCHILADAS --- 2 meals worth, each needs sides, preferably RICE and BEANS
Marlboro Man's Sandwiches --- 14.5 pounds cleaned "steak"; 5 meals worth.
MINESTRONE SOUP --- Needs noodles and bread
CHICKEN SPAGHETTI --- 2 meals
***COMPLETE***
(BOLD ARE DISHES YET TO BE MADE; ITALICS ARE DISHES WHICH CAN'T BE FROZEN)
Hamburgers, french fries and corn on the cob(BOLD ARE DISHES YET TO BE MADE; ITALICS ARE DISHES WHICH CAN'T BE FROZEN)
Hamburgers, french fries and (vegetable)
Hamburgers, Macaroni and cheese and (vegetable)
Marlboro Man's Sandwiches --- Circus potatoes
Marlboro Man's Sandwiches --- Circus potatoes
Marlboro Man's Sandwiches --- Broccoli casserole
Marlboro Man's Sandwiches --- Cauterized cabbage
Marlboro Man's Sandwiches --- Cauterized cabbage
Split-Pea soup with bread
Split-Pea soup with bread
Minestrone soup (needs noodles) with bread
Lasagna, store-bought, frozen green beans
Chicken spaghetti, stir-fried broccoli, mushrooms and cauliflower
Chicken spaghetti, Broccoli casserole
Teriyaki chicken, Chinese fried rice
Teriyaki chicken, Chinese fried rice
Enchiladas, Spanish rice, refired beans
Enchiladas, Spanish rice, refired beans
Butterfried chicken, eggplant
Butterfried chicken, eggplant, zucchini
Butterfried chicken, eggplant
Corned Beef, will be boiled with cabbage, potatoes and carrots
This leaves me with
5 private servings of cubed chicken
2 main dishes of enchiladas (they will be complete once I make the rice and the beans)
2 side dishes rich, chicken-brothed rice
So, on my to-do list:
Spanish rice --- 3 sides worth
Refired beans --- 3 sides worth
Circus Potatoes --- 2 sides (to be paired up with two future steak dinners)
Broccoli Casserole --- 1 side, plus 1 side divided into private servings
Chinese fried rice --- 4 sides, plus 1 side divided into private servings
Spinach and Noodle casserole --- 8 half-sized sides
I've got some serious steakage to do- we have like 30 steaks left and 70 pounds of hamburger. In fact... hold on a minute...
Ah-hah!
It's hard to tell, but the meat there is piled up about one foot high. I will tally up the weight when I clean it on Thursday. Oh, and while I was up, I got out our dehydrator. Believe me, buy a dehydrator, you will NEVER regret it! I know people say "Oh, you can make jerky, and dry things," but the truth is, that's TRUE! You'll love it, I guarantee. I am not one to like things I only use five or six times a year, but the dehydrator is an exception.
Now I am drying 2 oranges, 4 kiwis, 5 apples, and some gummy bears. The uh...gummy bears weren't pictured. Aww, ain't it a pretty picture?
...that does it, I am going to make some jerky.
Saturday, June 02, 2007
Oops, I did it Again
Man I feel weird for that title. Weird. As in a, sort of, like a guard feels in Goldeneye when Invisible cheat is on. Speaking of Invisible cheat...you know I've never used one in Perfect Dark?
Wow. That's hurtful. I am going to order a Gameshark sometime. Oh, my memories of Gamesharks...
It all began back when I was young. No, younger. That's right. The tender, young age. My Mom's ex-boyfriend, named Dave, bought me a Nintendo 64.
It was the greatest day of my young life. I don't want to devalue the long, long winters, but those were long, sweet months, full of cold, and not just days or events.
I remember it as if it had just recently occurred..."Hey, Kev." My Mom said in a type of interrogatory fashion. "Dave is going to buy you an N64 tomorrow."
My heart stopped. It had previously been supplying blood to my vital organs. I can't remember if I fell down or jumped up in the air like a frog in the blender, but I was happy. Oh, the joy.
I don't have any idea how I slept that night. I think I slept with visions of N64s rifling through my private thoughts. Violently. As if trying to locate, I don't know, an old bottle of super glue. I thank God right here and now, that I did not get a Playstation. No offense to you Sony fans out there, of course.
My previous experience with the famed AWNINTENDO 64PWN, as I thought of it back then, was two experiences. First, my uncle used to work at a video game store. He would trade in games like they were cheap, dirty, filthy sluts. And he treated them as cheap, dirty, filthy sluts as well. He would use them once, then get bored of them, and turn them in for the next girl. That fool. He would have no idea the glory and joy of having a full harem of games, which do not resemble cheap, dirty, filthy sluts. Pure and clean games. Games with hearts. Games which can hold an intelligent conversation- games which you could bring home to Mom.
I remember he was amazed at the fact I knew how to hold an N64 paddle. Apparently, not many did. Not without previous exposure. The game I played was Super Mario 64. He later traded in his system. The kinds of shuffled-around, dirty whores of games he shuffled around dirtily probably gave his system an equivalent of an STD. That dirty, filthy system.
He then bought a Sony Playstation. I believe the two games I saw on that was, I am tempted to say, Carmageddon. It was at least a Car combat game- I don't know, honestly. The other was, and I have no proof for this, Lara Croft. I just know it. I can feel it, sense it in my memories, taste the very dripping oozing of the bare, explosive fact that it was my first ever experience with a Tomb Raider game. I remember very graphically, as if even then my tiny mind could sense the fact I would need to remember it.
Second, my Mom did some housework for some people, and me and my Brother would go with her. I never really played theirs; just once I remember, and it was Super Mario 64. The level with the Boo's. I also heard of Goldeneye: 007 from them (strangely, no gameplay), and Diddy Kong Racing. I forgot it was Diddy Kong Racing though, and confused it with Mario Kart all these years.
They were also impressed that I knew how to hold the paddle. It was just instinctual for me I guess.
So, back to my N64. Which, God help me, I don't know if I still have- all I know is I now have on with a RAM pak and I love it more than a man should love an inanimate object. It came with Goldeneye: 007. I think I remember I was a fan of James Bond at that point, as I somehow knew of Goldeneye, so I said "OH MY GOSH I WANT A 007 GAME MOMS!"
I apparently used to call my Mom "Moms." You know, I don't think I really liked video games before the N64 (I did, but I only had three games, as I didn't know how to research and buy other ones- I kinda thought only a few games existed!). So, the next morning, I was so happy.
I think I peed my pants. Regardless, he delivered the N64. This was, of course, a clever ploy to get me to like him. As they say, "When you want at a bitch, get with her friends. Or buy her kids things- either way is the fast track to the bedroom!" That's just a general guideline, I'm not, you know, applying that to my Mom. Well, you know what I mean.
I didn't fall for it. I didn't hate the guy, but I didn't like him. Apparently, I had no idea the extent of their relationship. One time, he told me, "I'm going to be your new Dad soon, so you'd better grow some balls, because I won't have an effeminate little bitch as a son."
I thought he was bluffing. Later, come to find out, him and my Mom were going to get married 2 months before she broke up with him. He actually broke up with her I guess. His #1 problem was that me and my brother used more than 1 square of toilet paper, and didn't flush the toilet.
Seriously.
So, I popped Goldeneye in. Oh boy! I remember I killed a few guards. They died. I couldn't open the door...or the gate rather. Then my Mom discovered the B button opened doors. Ever since then, it has been smooth as...as...well, think of something really smooth. And sumptuous.
Then, I have NO IDEA how, I got a Gameshark. One day, it just...arrived. "What the HELL is this thing?!" I asked my Mom. "This looks nothing like a Gameshark! It has no fins!!! And it's shaped WRONG!"
"You enter codes into it, Kev." She said condescendingly. "Oh." I replied, astonished. "I will try it then." It worked pretty well. Then it broke.
Broke. I didn't just misspell "bloke." It broke.
All those months of sweet, long gaming sessions. Gone. Well, actually, the Gameshark held no ground in that- cause well, it's just memories. No...data lost. The memories weren't even lost.
Then, one night, I had an urge to get a Gameshark. "MOOOOOOMS!" I yelled from the game room, which doubled as the bedroom. "WHAT DO YOU WAAAAAANT" she yelled from the living room which doubled as the computer room. "A GAMESHAAAARK!" We went to a KMart, and the rest was history. Not recorder history, just, you know.
I have no idea how I could get the things I wanted, as apparently we were poorer than the service at the local candy shop. Because... there wasn't a local candy shop. That's apparently how poor we were. We were so poor that we were poorer than the service at a candy shop which didn't exist. I had to make up a candy shop- a made up candy shop. It is a candy shop which doesn't exist, not just in the real world, but it was created with the idea in mind that it doesn't even exist in its made up form. Then, on top of not existing even in its own made-up universe, its service sucks.
So we were poorer than the service at a made-up candy shop which didn't even exist in its made-up form. That's how poor we were.
I will regale you with stories of my childhood some other time. For now, onto today's events. I once again forgot to post. So here I am!
Two more packages arrived today. The one from World Net Daily, and Diddy Kong Racing. All the books, except for The Marketing of Evil, arrived. It is on backorder. One book is really interesting, by a chick named Cassandra Walker. If not for her picture on the cover, I would think of Cassandra, the Queen Lord in Battletanx: Global Assault. Oh man that game owned.
Cassandra in Battletanx: Global Assault is a...well, the female population of earth is wiped out almost entirely. The remaining women, only a VERY FEW, control the male populace with their feminine wiles. If you know what I mean. She is a redhead, and she looks totally evil. I seem to remember her holding a whip, or having one on her side, or something, only adding to her evilness.
I tried to watch Goldeneye last night, but it sucked too much. I only got halfway through before I got so exhausted from watching it I had to just turn it off. Either, it's boring, or I am too familiar with the story.
I watched that movie so much when I was a kid, I could say everyones lines. Wow. I was a FREAK, huh?
I think I'm gonna watch The World Is Not Enough tonight. Goodnight. This post took a mere two hours, lol
Wow. That's hurtful. I am going to order a Gameshark sometime. Oh, my memories of Gamesharks...
It all began back when I was young. No, younger. That's right. The tender, young age. My Mom's ex-boyfriend, named Dave, bought me a Nintendo 64.
It was the greatest day of my young life. I don't want to devalue the long, long winters, but those were long, sweet months, full of cold, and not just days or events.
I remember it as if it had just recently occurred..."Hey, Kev." My Mom said in a type of interrogatory fashion. "Dave is going to buy you an N64 tomorrow."
My heart stopped. It had previously been supplying blood to my vital organs. I can't remember if I fell down or jumped up in the air like a frog in the blender, but I was happy. Oh, the joy.
I don't have any idea how I slept that night. I think I slept with visions of N64s rifling through my private thoughts. Violently. As if trying to locate, I don't know, an old bottle of super glue. I thank God right here and now, that I did not get a Playstation. No offense to you Sony fans out there, of course.
My previous experience with the famed AWNINTENDO 64PWN, as I thought of it back then, was two experiences. First, my uncle used to work at a video game store. He would trade in games like they were cheap, dirty, filthy sluts. And he treated them as cheap, dirty, filthy sluts as well. He would use them once, then get bored of them, and turn them in for the next girl. That fool. He would have no idea the glory and joy of having a full harem of games, which do not resemble cheap, dirty, filthy sluts. Pure and clean games. Games with hearts. Games which can hold an intelligent conversation- games which you could bring home to Mom.
I remember he was amazed at the fact I knew how to hold an N64 paddle. Apparently, not many did. Not without previous exposure. The game I played was Super Mario 64. He later traded in his system. The kinds of shuffled-around, dirty whores of games he shuffled around dirtily probably gave his system an equivalent of an STD. That dirty, filthy system.
He then bought a Sony Playstation. I believe the two games I saw on that was, I am tempted to say, Carmageddon. It was at least a Car combat game- I don't know, honestly. The other was, and I have no proof for this, Lara Croft. I just know it. I can feel it, sense it in my memories, taste the very dripping oozing of the bare, explosive fact that it was my first ever experience with a Tomb Raider game. I remember very graphically, as if even then my tiny mind could sense the fact I would need to remember it.
Second, my Mom did some housework for some people, and me and my Brother would go with her. I never really played theirs; just once I remember, and it was Super Mario 64. The level with the Boo's. I also heard of Goldeneye: 007 from them (strangely, no gameplay), and Diddy Kong Racing. I forgot it was Diddy Kong Racing though, and confused it with Mario Kart all these years.
They were also impressed that I knew how to hold the paddle. It was just instinctual for me I guess.
So, back to my N64. Which, God help me, I don't know if I still have- all I know is I now have on with a RAM pak and I love it more than a man should love an inanimate object. It came with Goldeneye: 007. I think I remember I was a fan of James Bond at that point, as I somehow knew of Goldeneye, so I said "OH MY GOSH I WANT A 007 GAME MOMS!"
I apparently used to call my Mom "Moms." You know, I don't think I really liked video games before the N64 (I did, but I only had three games, as I didn't know how to research and buy other ones- I kinda thought only a few games existed!). So, the next morning, I was so happy.
I think I peed my pants. Regardless, he delivered the N64. This was, of course, a clever ploy to get me to like him. As they say, "When you want at a bitch, get with her friends. Or buy her kids things- either way is the fast track to the bedroom!" That's just a general guideline, I'm not, you know, applying that to my Mom. Well, you know what I mean.
I didn't fall for it. I didn't hate the guy, but I didn't like him. Apparently, I had no idea the extent of their relationship. One time, he told me, "I'm going to be your new Dad soon, so you'd better grow some balls, because I won't have an effeminate little bitch as a son."
I thought he was bluffing. Later, come to find out, him and my Mom were going to get married 2 months before she broke up with him. He actually broke up with her I guess. His #1 problem was that me and my brother used more than 1 square of toilet paper, and didn't flush the toilet.
Seriously.
So, I popped Goldeneye in. Oh boy! I remember I killed a few guards. They died. I couldn't open the door...or the gate rather. Then my Mom discovered the B button opened doors. Ever since then, it has been smooth as...as...well, think of something really smooth. And sumptuous.
Then, I have NO IDEA how, I got a Gameshark. One day, it just...arrived. "What the HELL is this thing?!" I asked my Mom. "This looks nothing like a Gameshark! It has no fins!!! And it's shaped WRONG!"
"You enter codes into it, Kev." She said condescendingly. "Oh." I replied, astonished. "I will try it then." It worked pretty well. Then it broke.
Broke. I didn't just misspell "bloke." It broke.
All those months of sweet, long gaming sessions. Gone. Well, actually, the Gameshark held no ground in that- cause well, it's just memories. No...data lost. The memories weren't even lost.
Then, one night, I had an urge to get a Gameshark. "MOOOOOOMS!" I yelled from the game room, which doubled as the bedroom. "WHAT DO YOU WAAAAAANT" she yelled from the living room which doubled as the computer room. "A GAMESHAAAARK!" We went to a KMart, and the rest was history. Not recorder history, just, you know.
I have no idea how I could get the things I wanted, as apparently we were poorer than the service at the local candy shop. Because... there wasn't a local candy shop. That's apparently how poor we were. We were so poor that we were poorer than the service at a candy shop which didn't exist. I had to make up a candy shop- a made up candy shop. It is a candy shop which doesn't exist, not just in the real world, but it was created with the idea in mind that it doesn't even exist in its made up form. Then, on top of not existing even in its own made-up universe, its service sucks.
So we were poorer than the service at a made-up candy shop which didn't even exist in its made-up form. That's how poor we were.
I will regale you with stories of my childhood some other time. For now, onto today's events. I once again forgot to post. So here I am!
Two more packages arrived today. The one from World Net Daily, and Diddy Kong Racing. All the books, except for The Marketing of Evil, arrived. It is on backorder. One book is really interesting, by a chick named Cassandra Walker. If not for her picture on the cover, I would think of Cassandra, the Queen Lord in Battletanx: Global Assault. Oh man that game owned.
Cassandra in Battletanx: Global Assault is a...well, the female population of earth is wiped out almost entirely. The remaining women, only a VERY FEW, control the male populace with their feminine wiles. If you know what I mean. She is a redhead, and she looks totally evil. I seem to remember her holding a whip, or having one on her side, or something, only adding to her evilness.
I tried to watch Goldeneye last night, but it sucked too much. I only got halfway through before I got so exhausted from watching it I had to just turn it off. Either, it's boring, or I am too familiar with the story.
I watched that movie so much when I was a kid, I could say everyones lines. Wow. I was a FREAK, huh?
I think I'm gonna watch The World Is Not Enough tonight. Goodnight. This post took a mere two hours, lol
Friday, May 25, 2007
Outrage!
Okay, so it was a good night. Much as a full moon glistens on the surface of an unmoving lake while crickets chirp in the breeze.
I had Arby's for dinner. I have a thing for Arby's. I had Arby's when I first got the Wii, and I also repaired the porch that day. Well, a 4'x4' section. I had to go straighten up my room juuust a tad since I wanted the Wii to have a good welcome. I set it in the hallway (it and accessories/games were in a brown bag) and quoted Jesus Christ. I forget what I said exactly. I mean, I remember, but I forget the words. Exact words. You know what I mean.
I had three sparkling waters in the fridge. I don't drink sweetened soda, as it is...well...too sweet. So, I took one to my room.
How I would regret that.
Did I ever tell you I keep a notebook and book light and pen next to my bed so I can write down TA notes? Yes. I do. I have the notebook halfway filled, and it's useful in every aspect of the word. But...the soda spilled.
Normally, the four horsemen would trample through the room, the house would be swallowed up by not only flames of the everlasting inferno (with resentment), but also the ground, opening its killer maw to crush us like a fortune cookie.
An organic, multi-human fortune cookie. However, since this is sparkling water, and not sugar-laden sugar-death, it does not stain or slowly evaporate and concentrate into poison death. As a bonus, the four horsemen do not trample through the room and the house is not swallowed up by everlasting flames of fiery inferno, and also the ground does not open up its killer maw and attempt to crush us like a multi-human fortune cookie.
However. The soda (water) spilled on my TA notes.
As I have previously stated, if this were normal soda, the horsemen, and stuff. So I am grateful I like sparkling water.
I watched a movie, called The People Under the Stairs. It was great! I loved that dude, "daddy." What a psycho! The Answers.com "Plot" is wrong...it is either eyes, ears or tongue. Not all three. I saw, actually, no blind ones. And they could hear I think.
Then I went to write something down in my TA notes. I don't remember what it was. All I knew was, I felt around, and I felt something wet.
And cold.
To my horror, I discovered the spilt water. I sprung into action. I got like eight paper towels and put them between the pages, then sought a source of FLAT and HEAVY. I could not find FLAT and HEAVY in my room. I went to the living room. I thought the VHS tape shelf would qualify as FLAT and HEAVY. However, it did not.
I THEN FOUND THE FILING CABINET!
It was both FLAT (and how!) and HEAVY (not so much!). So I got four one-gallon cans to put on top of it. To make it heavier. I tipped it sidewayes(saywhat?) and put the notebook underneath it. I can now only hope. And dream heavy, and flat, dreams. I may iron the notebook. If I have to.
And now, just the icing on the cake...by the way, Mom, HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
The icing on the cake ... to my horror ... and... I was thinking of Turok 2: Seeds of Evil. How it's a great game. You know, the usual. If it was only more personable, and soft, and warm, like Metroid, I would really love it (like, really). However, Turok is neither personable, soft, OR warm. Turok isn't too personable, and is not soft, and is not warm! Maybe warm in a BAD way, but not warm in that comforting, soft, and personable way.
Then I saw Perfect Dark laying on the floor.
I have mentioned Perfect Dark before. Yes. Joanna (I think that's how it's spelled!) Dark. She is the one who talks, but not too much. Game is based off of the Goldeneye game engine. Has a sequel on Xbox 360 (I think Xbox too) called Perfect Dark: Zero, made after Rare left Nintendo's employ for Microsoft. Rare is said to have pulled Nintendo out of a slump, and made some of -THE- best games on the system (N64, their hayday). Then they cooled down, and Nintendo did not want them I guess. It is said to be a "friendly" leaving. As in, Rare might work for Nintendo again. I am unsure of this. Do your own research on this.
Anyways, I saw some weird thing. Turok 2: Seeds of Evil is rated M. For Mature. For GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, BLOOD, AND GORE (not "quoted," that's just things I could apply). You can shoot holes in thing's chests, and see through them. There are these things called Fireborn, which reside in Lava, and are fire-dinosaurs. You shoot them and can blow them off of their legs, leaving their calves standing there. Shaking.
You can blow somethings head off. Or its arm. You can blow half of a torso off of something, then watch them stumble around, off-balance. You can blow the head off of a raptor then watch them stumble around like a chicken. And then, there's the Cerebral Bore.
M. For Mature.
So I saw this weird thing. It looked like, lol, like an M on Perfect Dark. LOL! Yeah, that's silly. As, Turok 2 has M on it. Not, M and 18+. Just M.
So I picked up the cartridge. Mmm. Plastic. Paper. I am glad that DS uses cartridges still...so anyways...IT DID SAY M!!!
Perfect Dark features shooting. Shooting. Turok 2 features fountains of blood, with limbs and bodies being blown apart. Granted, these are not humans. However, Perfect Dark only features...you know...blood spots on the wall and red-colored "dots" on the soldier's clothes. You get that?
Blood on clothes.
A bit of blood.
Ketchup.
Catsup.
Turok 2 features blood spouting out of (newly formed) open body cavities. Blood spurting out of open body cavities so exaggerated it is on par with the vibrating breasts in newer games which are supposed to be more "realistic." Last time I saw a woman wearing a bikini, her breasts were not rippling (also her bikini was not skintight enough that you could visibly see her breasts rippling under it).
I don't really have extensive experience in games like those, so I may be exaggerating. Just a...disclaimer there. I will do some research some day. But until I find out if I am or not, I am going to continue screaming "SAMUS IS BETTER THAN ALL OF THEM MADE INTO A POPCORN-BALL LIKE MASS OF FLESH!" with an eye-twitch.
...just so you know, if they put anything near those kinds of physics in any Metroid games, I am going to cry. The Super Smash Brothers' Brawl footage is bad enough, but that isn't "rippling." That is bouncing. Which is a normal, healthy activity for breasts.
So yeah. Somehow, someway, Perfect Dark got rated M. That game is E 10+ if anything! It's just shooting people! And not, like, people who suffer! These are NPCs who have no story, and the graphics are not advanced enough to show them bleeding really bad or anything! JUST BLOOD SPOTS!
...but whatever. It's just, what if someones parents went by the ESRB ratings? Man, why even have it there if it's so inaccurate?
See, Perfect Dark would get...Violence, and Fantasy Violence. "T" rating would be fair. Not "Graphic" violence. Splinter Cell? Certainly. Give that an M rating. OH NO WAIT, SPLINTER CELL GOT A "T" RATING!
THE WORLD HAS GONE TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET!!!!!!
I had Arby's for dinner. I have a thing for Arby's. I had Arby's when I first got the Wii, and I also repaired the porch that day. Well, a 4'x4' section. I had to go straighten up my room juuust a tad since I wanted the Wii to have a good welcome. I set it in the hallway (it and accessories/games were in a brown bag) and quoted Jesus Christ. I forget what I said exactly. I mean, I remember, but I forget the words. Exact words. You know what I mean.
I had three sparkling waters in the fridge. I don't drink sweetened soda, as it is...well...too sweet. So, I took one to my room.
How I would regret that.
Did I ever tell you I keep a notebook and book light and pen next to my bed so I can write down TA notes? Yes. I do. I have the notebook halfway filled, and it's useful in every aspect of the word. But...the soda spilled.
Normally, the four horsemen would trample through the room, the house would be swallowed up by not only flames of the everlasting inferno (with resentment), but also the ground, opening its killer maw to crush us like a fortune cookie.
An organic, multi-human fortune cookie. However, since this is sparkling water, and not sugar-laden sugar-death, it does not stain or slowly evaporate and concentrate into poison death. As a bonus, the four horsemen do not trample through the room and the house is not swallowed up by everlasting flames of fiery inferno, and also the ground does not open up its killer maw and attempt to crush us like a multi-human fortune cookie.
However. The soda (water) spilled on my TA notes.
As I have previously stated, if this were normal soda, the horsemen, and stuff. So I am grateful I like sparkling water.
I watched a movie, called The People Under the Stairs. It was great! I loved that dude, "daddy." What a psycho! The Answers.com "Plot" is wrong...it is either eyes, ears or tongue. Not all three. I saw, actually, no blind ones. And they could hear I think.
Then I went to write something down in my TA notes. I don't remember what it was. All I knew was, I felt around, and I felt something wet.
And cold.
To my horror, I discovered the spilt water. I sprung into action. I got like eight paper towels and put them between the pages, then sought a source of FLAT and HEAVY. I could not find FLAT and HEAVY in my room. I went to the living room. I thought the VHS tape shelf would qualify as FLAT and HEAVY. However, it did not.
I THEN FOUND THE FILING CABINET!
It was both FLAT (and how!) and HEAVY (not so much!). So I got four one-gallon cans to put on top of it. To make it heavier. I tipped it sidewayes(saywhat?) and put the notebook underneath it. I can now only hope. And dream heavy, and flat, dreams. I may iron the notebook. If I have to.
And now, just the icing on the cake...by the way, Mom, HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
The icing on the cake ... to my horror ... and... I was thinking of Turok 2: Seeds of Evil. How it's a great game. You know, the usual. If it was only more personable, and soft, and warm, like Metroid, I would really love it (like, really). However, Turok is neither personable, soft, OR warm. Turok isn't too personable, and is not soft, and is not warm! Maybe warm in a BAD way, but not warm in that comforting, soft, and personable way.
Then I saw Perfect Dark laying on the floor.
I have mentioned Perfect Dark before. Yes. Joanna (I think that's how it's spelled!) Dark. She is the one who talks, but not too much. Game is based off of the Goldeneye game engine. Has a sequel on Xbox 360 (I think Xbox too) called Perfect Dark: Zero, made after Rare left Nintendo's employ for Microsoft. Rare is said to have pulled Nintendo out of a slump, and made some of -THE- best games on the system (N64, their hayday). Then they cooled down, and Nintendo did not want them I guess. It is said to be a "friendly" leaving. As in, Rare might work for Nintendo again. I am unsure of this. Do your own research on this.
Anyways, I saw some weird thing. Turok 2: Seeds of Evil is rated M. For Mature. For GRAPHIC VIOLENCE, BLOOD, AND GORE (not "quoted," that's just things I could apply). You can shoot holes in thing's chests, and see through them. There are these things called Fireborn, which reside in Lava, and are fire-dinosaurs. You shoot them and can blow them off of their legs, leaving their calves standing there. Shaking.
You can blow somethings head off. Or its arm. You can blow half of a torso off of something, then watch them stumble around, off-balance. You can blow the head off of a raptor then watch them stumble around like a chicken. And then, there's the Cerebral Bore.
M. For Mature.
So I saw this weird thing. It looked like, lol, like an M on Perfect Dark. LOL! Yeah, that's silly. As, Turok 2 has M on it. Not, M and 18+. Just M.
So I picked up the cartridge. Mmm. Plastic. Paper. I am glad that DS uses cartridges still...so anyways...IT DID SAY M!!!
Perfect Dark features shooting. Shooting. Turok 2 features fountains of blood, with limbs and bodies being blown apart. Granted, these are not humans. However, Perfect Dark only features...you know...blood spots on the wall and red-colored "dots" on the soldier's clothes. You get that?
Blood on clothes.
A bit of blood.
Ketchup.
Catsup.
Turok 2 features blood spouting out of (newly formed) open body cavities. Blood spurting out of open body cavities so exaggerated it is on par with the vibrating breasts in newer games which are supposed to be more "realistic." Last time I saw a woman wearing a bikini, her breasts were not rippling (also her bikini was not skintight enough that you could visibly see her breasts rippling under it).
I don't really have extensive experience in games like those, so I may be exaggerating. Just a...disclaimer there. I will do some research some day. But until I find out if I am or not, I am going to continue screaming "SAMUS IS BETTER THAN ALL OF THEM MADE INTO A POPCORN-BALL LIKE MASS OF FLESH!" with an eye-twitch.
...just so you know, if they put anything near those kinds of physics in any Metroid games, I am going to cry. The Super Smash Brothers' Brawl footage is bad enough, but that isn't "rippling." That is bouncing. Which is a normal, healthy activity for breasts.
So yeah. Somehow, someway, Perfect Dark got rated M. That game is E 10+ if anything! It's just shooting people! And not, like, people who suffer! These are NPCs who have no story, and the graphics are not advanced enough to show them bleeding really bad or anything! JUST BLOOD SPOTS!
...but whatever. It's just, what if someones parents went by the ESRB ratings? Man, why even have it there if it's so inaccurate?
See, Perfect Dark would get...Violence, and Fantasy Violence. "T" rating would be fair. Not "Graphic" violence. Splinter Cell? Certainly. Give that an M rating. OH NO WAIT, SPLINTER CELL GOT A "T" RATING!
THE WORLD HAS GONE TO HELL IN A HANDBASKET!!!!!!
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