Raise the Sign Up High!

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

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

End foreword.


Begin KevWord™.


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

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

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

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

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


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


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

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

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


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


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

Birthday #19, 2008!

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


Sorry. That was the preamble. Or something.

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

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

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

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

The jerk.




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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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


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

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

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


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

Happy Birthday, Dad

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

So...uhh...


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


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


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

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

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

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

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


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

The second was four more socks.

The third was two socks.

The fourth was two more socks.

The fifth was one sock.

The sixth was one more sock.

The seventh was one more sock.

The eighth was one more sock.


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

Karma courtesy Kev.

We got what now?! Again?!

Tap tap tap tap tap.

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

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


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


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


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

But...still.

Sparkling Water, My Sweet

My parents- especially my dad, as he doesn't drink the stuff- have a hard time understanding this logic: When we run out of sparkling water, and the stores are out, and we have none, we have none, and we cannot buy any.

It's basic logic. But if, when the stores run out of sparkling water, we have a stockpile, we can survive the drought. That is also basic logic. The common argument is, "What?! But we already have two packs of them! Why on earth do we need five more?" to which I respond, "Listen. We need to have extra for the drought that's upcoming, remember?"


On that note, I am unsure why, but sparkling water is sometimes hard to find- thus the "drought." It's as if they only ship a few to the stores, and sometimes other shoppers get the few that were shipped before you do. A few packs of sparkling water would make a great birthday present, hint hint. (Actually, really, I just need money this year. I'm a man.)


Then it happened. A drought. The store that sells it was out of stock for weeks. I thought I would go crazy. At the risk of offending one of you, I thought I would go cra...wait, I already said that. And it really isn't that offensive, sorry.


Regardless, we were out for weeks. I don't drink much normal soda; I find it too weird for everyday consumption, so I drink sparkling water instead. Without its sparkly goodness, I took to writing "No sparkling water and no place to buy sparkling water makes Kev a-go-crazy" on the walls with chalk. That's a hard sentence to write, however, so I didn't write it much. It made my hand cramp. Actually, the plural "walls" is exaggerating a bit.


Now the drought is over, so I am taking action to ensure that we don't run out again. Behold, heaven came down and glory filled our kitchen!:

Yes! Yes! Muahahayes!

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some, uh... business, to attend to. knird, k-nird!



[You get the joke, right? Like, "redrum"?]

Setting up my mom's new computer

Remember when The Thirsty Wolf's house unfortunately burned down? Remember this computer that originated from that? Well, I decided not to make it my gaming rig.

Coincidentally, my mom's computer has been going downhill for a time now. It's very old. Microtel is the brand, and I think it was refurbished. It's 'new' enough to be XP Home, but just barely. It's still a good computer.


I do know that it's old enough to not have USB 2.0. I've been meaning to get it set up for my mom for a while, but today was the day, as my brain hatched a brilliant plan. That and she has 500 Mb of space left. Being rushed is the mother of inv...genuity.

Problem is, and always was, that my mom's computer doesn't have high-speed data transfer. Standard transfer speed (IEEE 1394, USB 2.0) is 400+ Mbps. She has USB 1.0 or 1.1, which works at 12 Mbps, which is not 400+ Mbps.


The plan: slave a secondary drive within her computer, the only way to achieve reasonable speeds. I would take an old HD and put it in the Vista PC, heretoforethento known as Lyon. Lyon would ceaselessly erase that HD, then I would put the formatted HD into mom's computer, and copy everything onto that, then install it back into Lyon and my mom would be able to access everything and move it over as needed. God would send his angels to me for advice and counsel. Glory.


It went along perfectly. I could almost hear the flap of angel's wings! I formatted the hard drive, then installed it in my mom's computer...then it went downhill. 'Hard drive no worky' was the response. I thought quick to some words of wisdom Mr. dataDyne had spoken. The world turned all wavy as the scene came into focus.

Kev, when I have USB 1.0, it says 'will not work at high speed but will still work.' Use the force!


So I decided to try using my external hard drive. I've tried before and failed. It says, "This won't work." For some reason, this time it said "This will work slowly." But it'll still work! Y'know, I think that guy is a witch. Anyways, now it's transferring at a low speed. In two hours it has transferred 4 GB. There's a total of 37 GB that needs to be transferred.



It's actually quite a fast transfer when dealing with large files, but the small ones jam it up. And there's something like 900,000,000 small files...nevertheless, I expect it to balance out. In the meantime, it needs some memory, and it needs it bad. With 512 Mb of RAM, it's slower than my mom's old desktop. Darn Vista.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some business to attend to. It includes drinking a deadly duo of fresh vegetable/fruit juice and coffee. And then maybe eating that last slice of pecan pie. See you tomorrow morning.

(You know, I'm unsure of why I didn't just put my mom's hard drive into the other computer...I must be stupidly overcautious. Uhh...I'm going to...uh...go...now.)

Excessively High Cheese Prices: Dad Has the Details At 9

It started about a week ago. My dad went into a Walmart. "Oh my gosh, cheese is $8 a pound!" was his shrill scream. I'm going to enjoy this blog post. >:)


Then he went to a Bashas. It was $14 a pound. This was apparently a sure sign for him that Armageddon was right around the corner, and I think George Noory had something to do with this thought. He promptly filed into a Fry's and bought 25 (twenty-fire) pounds of cheese while it was "still" $3 a pound. A guy asked him, "Do you know something I don't know?"


Then it was confirmed (there's a story on the word "confirmed," I'll tell you some day) that cheese prices were astronomically high, comma splice, when the stores didn't send out their ads. That is, that the stores didn't send out their ads was proof of his theory. "Hah! I told you!" he bragged. "They didn't send out their ads! Stupid!"

I said, "You're telling me that they didn't send out their ads just because they are charging more for cheese?" "No, fool!" he replied. "It's all dairy products - farmers are just now buying their Summer feed, and the gas prices have driven it all up, up, up to the moon!!!" he rattled off, as his eye developed a progressively worsening twitch.


I decided I should leave it at that. Maybe he's right for once, I thought. It does make a lot of sense...could he be right for once?


I should tell you a story about a "gift." It "keeps on giving." Actually, I shouldn't. I want to keep this post short. Ideally, I should have posted about this story before. It'll come up again, I'm sure.



Anyways...a few days ago he told me that...well...turns out, cheese prices didn't remain $14 a pound. And gas is even down a little. And today I found the ads for all four major Arizona stores. I guess one of us brought them in but forgot. I called him and told him. He got real busy real quick and had to go...strange.


The only thing going for him now is that apparently they changed their pricing structure. Now they're charging per yard!


Picture circa January 2008.

A Good, Rotten, Good, Rotten, Good Day (And It's Only 5 PM)

Good

It started like any other day.

It was actually great until I ventured out of my room. No one was around. Ahh, a perfect day, I thought to myself. Then I got to wondering just what on Earth my dad was doing outside.


Rotten

Turns out, he had begun work on Mick Lock's Chevy Maxima. Yeah..."Chevy." So I went to help him. That's when my day turned rotten.

I'll detail that later. My dad drove the car to the shop (we couldn't do one of the three things we were contracted to). I was alone.


Good

Life began having purpose again. I began pondering. I washed dishes. The lights in the kitchen were bright and beautiful. I sanitized the counter. Life was good.

I fried up the hamburger for tonight's dinner, Hamburger Burros. They're good. I'll detail that sometime. [Here's the recipe in short: cream cheese, tortillas, 2 pounds hamburger, 2-4 cloves garlic sliced in rounds, 1-2 cans tomato sauce, 1 4-oz can green chilies; brown and cook hamburger, add rest of ingredients, stir until garlic is barely tender, then put in tortilla with cream cheese.]

Then there was a lull in the action, so I decided I should take a shower.


Oh, how my fortunes would turn.


Rotten

I emerged from the bathroom to a darkened kitchen. My dad always turns the kitchen lights off. He claims they make it so hot his eyes cook like poached eggs. I turned the lights on...and a light was blown out. I replaced it, cursing all the way. My parents were home.


I cut up the garlic (6 cloves), and opened the green chilies (sp?); they weren't very good. God be thanked that my aunty Sissy gave me four 8-oz cans of green chilies (sp?) in exchange for the bagels I made her (spoilers!). Those are probably the greatest green chilies (sp?) ever. We've used three so far.

My dad entered the kitchen to get the dog a bone. He gets them frozen sometimes, and he has to break them apart using a cleaver and "hammer"...let's just say that we are no longer possessors of a beautiful young $7 meat mallet. I will put it in cryopreservation until I can bury it. If not for Romans 12:17 ("Rom 12:17 KJV Recompense to no man evil for evil...") he would...well, he'd have one less favored tool, let's say that.



To make matters worse, the can of green chilies were gone. I can only assume that that Corinthian fool of a rotten baser jerk of a brother of mine took and violently slaughtered the beloved green chilies. His ways of death, menace and cruelty are terrible to behold.


Good

...but boy, when he says "Here we go again..." sarcastically when my parents start conversing about finances...priceless! I FORGIVE him! There, there's your happy ending to an organ recital! *tearing up*

"THE FLAMES OF HELL ... LEAPT INTO OUR AIR CONDITIONER ... FIRE EVERYWHERE... AHHHHH--"

So the call went. I am talking of the Hercules House (this post should explain the Hercules House a bit). The cursed place. Where all things live and die by a very exaggerated, aggressive, and ultimately violent form of Murphy's Law.

It's a mobile home. (OK, manufactured home.) Me and my dad hooked it up with power/water/septic, then made it presentable. This included laying the part of the floor that the movers tore up, smoothing over the cracks (it's a double), and then painting the inside. Someone else painted the outside.

It turned bad. The floor wouldn't go back down, so we had to buy new flooring for a five foot width. Then we had to tile it, and the floor in the kitchen is so crooked and damaged (from a previous bad tile job) that the tile may not endure correctly. That's a big problem with this house: Us: "But it won't work!" Them: "Sure it will! Just do it, man. And do it FAST! And cheaply."

Some sinks had concrete poured down them. The blinds in the entire house, despite being worth probably more than $2500, were not able to be installed. Except for the ones in the main room, about $1300 worth. (Yes, for blinds. They're $100 on the discount shelf for small blinds.) Then, once the people moved in, Dad had to go fix their water lines, because there was a "foot of water under the house."

The air conditioner was moved badly; that is, they damaged it in the move. The piping near the base was kinked in such a way that surely it would fail soon, so that would need to be replaced, requiring quite some mending skill. Indeed, this air conditioner seems the highest point of cursedness in this wretched house.



Here's the timeline:
Day 1, Monday. Air conditioner (Chansey; yeah, I bet he runs around with an egg in his shirt pocket) begins work on the air conditioner. It wouldn't blow cold air.
Day 2, Tuesday. He does some work, totally $5,000. They were without air for several days at this point, and the person who sold them the house had to pay to have it fixed, I believe.
Day 3, Wednesday. At around 2 PM, we get the call, in full. Keep in mind, we're not sure who this is entirely.

"Hel-"
"OH MY GOD, THE FLAMES OF HELL LEAPT INTO OUR AIR CONDITIONER'S BLOWER!!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!!! THERE'S FIRE EVERYWHERE!!! IT'S CRACKING AND POPPING AND-- A--- OH MY GOD, I SEE SATAN'S RED TAIL RIGHT NOW STICKING THROUGH THE FLAMES! AHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! IT'S WHIPPING AROUND TRYING TO HOOK ME WITH ITS DEMONIC POINT! THE TILE ITSELF BURNS WITH THE INFERNO!!! ----WHUH--- AHHHHHHHH!!!!!!"

My dad said, "Put it out, you fool!" It was obviously an electrical fire, judging by the popping and cracking. I am not sure what he saw that made him think he saw Satan's tail sticking through the flames. He got it out I guess, but it was an electrical fire, and you don't throw water on electrical fires.


Long story short, my dad couldn't make it to Bible study that Wednesday because he had to go rebuild the section of the house that had burnt down. (That was the day of this post.) When he got there...well, there wasn't a fire, after all. It was excess ice on the intake, and also, the drain hose was blocked. So the water dripped into the electrical portion. I guess if there was a red light all the ice may have looked like raging fire. And I guess maybe the phone cord was Satan's red, pointy tail.

We've had that problem ourselves (the electrical condensation problem); we had a guy come out to help us. My dad was in jail at that point. We almost went to the air conditioner's church; he was the pastor's husband.


Anyways, my dad fixed the air conditioner that night. It was great- blowing cold air, and all. I forget what happened next, but it was the very next day. I think it just went out. Then they were going to go to a hotel, but they couldn't, because they had two dogs and a goat. But then the dog killed the goat. So they only had two dogs. This house is wicked, and its ways instill corruption and death.

And I forget the rest, too, I'm sorry, so much happened. Point is, it caught fire again. This was yesterday, I believe- it would be Day 10. There was fire everywhere, so much so that the smoke alarm went off. I'm unsure if there actually was a fire this time. Dad didn't debrief me on his trip today to fix it.


Oh, and today we got another call. Their bathtub plumbing is dripping under the house.


Have I mentioned that it is an 86 mile trip to this place? And it takes an hour and a half? And the Red Beater that my dad often has to drive there in the odd days they need him gets 11-13 miles a gallon? And it's 86 miles each way, so we have to go 172 miles and spend 3 hours just driving there and back?

So it costs roughly $60 in gasoline and 3 hours of time just driving for each of these trips.

I've told my dad [or, I think I have], and I'll tell him until he gets it: There is no future in this madness. He has to let it go. His foolish pride will destroy him. This house must be given up.


In fact...verses of the day:

Rom 1:24 KJV-- Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves:
Rom 1:26 KJV -- For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature:
Rom 1:28 KJV -- And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient;


It's like they were written just for this house...

Dad Gets Pulled Over, and I Make a Pecan Pie

I was up pretty late last night. I described it as "early," y'know. So I didn't get much sleep. So I don't want to make a long post right now. Get it?

First off, my dad got pulled over today. Remember when I got pulled over? See the post, Kev Gets Pulled Over By Five Police Cars and Trucks; Police Grip Guns Warily.

He was driving along- drive, drive, drive- when all of a sudden, a police car came out of nowhere and turned its lights on. I think. It pulled him over on the freeway, and the officer a-walked up.

I'm unsure of the rest, except that the registration/insurance is not in there! The exact thing happened to me. (See the above post.) Except that the five police cars worth of officers didn't give me a ticket...my dad has to go to COURT! Hahaha sucker!

Greatest part? Remember when I shook the officer's hand (see above post)? Well, my dad said I was an weirdo fool to do that. Guess whose hand he shook today...yep. The officer's, much to the raucous laughter of me and my mom, and, over the din, repeated cries of "HYPOCRITE OF THE YEAR, LOL!" and "SHOOK HIS HAND! WHAT A GIRL, LOL!"



We're very unforgiving out here in the country. I had forgotten to put the registration in the holder, so...it should still be in the truck. But he might have thrown it out, or it may have fallen out/gotten lost through similar means. So it's partially my fault, but also partially and ultimately my dad's. Sorry, pops. He said he was nervous. "Maybe there was old information in the computer, or, maybe my prints matched something!" he said.

The reason they pulled him over was the windshield that's cracked vertically, diagonally and horizontally, and probably a few more directional terms, all ending with "ally." There's supposed to be 18 feet of blood vessels per square inch of human skin. So I think there must have been at least 800 feet worth of cracks in the windshield.


Also, I made a pecan pie! See the recipe, here. That was the highest point of the civilization known as Pecan Pie. Now it's deteriorating. But I will solve that in my wrath soon enough.


Um, I guess that's it. I try to always have a slice of pecan pie- chilled, of course- when I finish a Metroid title, usually when I watch the credits. Unless it's like, after Thanksgiving, and I've already had pecan pie. But since I've almost got Metroid Prime finished...well, I need to get the pie prepared! They last for weeks, after all.


Did I mention I shelled the pecans myself? Yeah! One cup of really old pecans. A year or more. They were hard to shell and I had to crack them by putting them in my eye (like an eyeglass?) and frowning really hard.

Then I had to rip them apart with the miraculous things we call fingers. My arms are sorer than a Yankees fan that lifted more than three pounds! At least my left arm is. And my right thumbnail is really stressed.

TTFN.

Dear Mom, Remember This Guy?

Warning! Video is creepy, but not in a gross way, in a "That guy is like Dracula" way. Oh, and the mind-control properties are filtered out. No worries.





Yeah...go Yuri. I used to have a non-color picture of him tacked to a wall-like thing. Turns out, my mom brushed her hair everyday at that spot, and was forced to stare at his menacing face and evil half-beard. It's a crying, barn-is-burning, dog-got-hit-by-a-car, cardoor-slammed-on-your-thumb shame that there's no available video of Lieutenant Eva being mind-controlled. She's a real trooper.

"Lon-don...Lon-don, Eng-land..."



Tanya was OK, but...she...is...kind of...





...well...um, how do I put this...


She...


Is...


Kind of...a little bit...


...brash? Let's go with that.

Dad Plays A Non-Wii Videogame

Yeah...who would have thought? Sure, he can hold a Wiimote and press A, or B, and then swing it like an ape going from branch to branch and release it, but an actual game?


The only game he's ever played is Cruisin' World for the Nintendo 64. He got good enough to beat one of the hardest time trials in it (Egypt) ...Cruisin World is a real racing game, back from the days of good physics and better courses. Now racing games are practically a collection of shiny dust. That's why I hate racing games. They steam my carrots, and my broccoli, too. And they toast my bread. They boil my eggs and fry my fish, to boot. And they bake my spaghetti squash. I hates em.


The next thing, I think, was Wii Sports. There's like, a 10-year gap between games he's played. It reminds me of the Eight Years of Silence from Super Metroid to Metroid Prime, and the voice of one crying in the wilderness, also known as Samus's Appearing in Super Smash Bros., which heralded the coming of Metroid Prime.


He is dismal at Wii Tennis, but does pretty good in Bowling. Anyways, today he said that we should start playing board games. I disappeared into my room. I knew what would be required; a game that's simple to play, yet not boring, and preferably turn-based, or he would get lost quickly.

There's only one game I know that fits the bill: Mario Party (#6, the only version I have). I've never been a great fan, but I've loved the maps, especially the haunted/ghost maps. They're creepy. Then there are the high-tech space maps...that was one of my favorites. The western maps own, too. Mario Party is basically a board game.

But in-between, there are minigames. If you don't know what a minigame is...it's where, at the end of the rolling of the dice, you all engage in a sort of battle. This could be a "push everyone into the water and drown them" or a "jump over the ring of fire, please" or a "press A fast to inflate the balloon before the other person." Basically you compete in a contest setting for a short duration, OK? There are lots of them, and they're very entertaining, at least for a long while.

Point is, it's very simple to play. Airing up a balloon consists of either jumping then ground-pounding or just hitting A. Shoving people off of the raft to drown them consists of...y'know, hitting B and slapping them off of the raft onto/into the rocky currents. Jumping over the spindly line of fire that's playing jump rope with you consists of jumping with A. My dad was able to pick it right up, but he continually muttered about how it's a "Sheer waste of time."


I had to play with the small off-brand paddle that is weakening. Its A button sticks; you can barely ground-pound. It was me, Mario, my dad, PRINCESS PEACH LOL, and my brother, Luigi. Then there was Wario; he was computer controlled and set at normal, I think. We call Wario "The Monster" because he's so weird-looking.

To make ends short, I won 38 out of 40 minigames, and I got lots of revenge on Wario, who swapped coins with me when he had 10 and I had 110. Curse his bones. My dad did really great, but still lost. I decimated them in the minigames. Ran circles around, choose your phrase.

It ended with me having over 100 coins and 2 stars. My dad and Wario each had 2 stars, and my brother had none. (Wahmp-wahmp.) And he had the least coins. He felt horrible about himself. Then the bonus stars were distributed...I won Minigames, Dad won Special Spaces (he got attacked by bees), and I forget the rest. Point is, #4 was Brother; #3 was Wario; #2 was Dad; #1 was me, leading by 1 star.

Good work, dad. Even though I had a bad paddle. And you still lost. His words: "First and last time I ever play a video game!" followed by "That game was alright." He's such an old grandpa.

Kev Goes Bowling And To The Movies (guess which one he fell down at)

Well, we had decided a few days ago to go see a monster truck show or something (Father's Day, and all). When we discovaried (sic) that the tickets were approximately $400 a piece, and that parking (defined as sections named "Dehydration, "Heat Sickness," "Organ Failure," and "Pork Rind Sunburn") was $50, $40, $30, and $15, respectively, we changed our minds. The outrage of the parking really got us. Who charges for parking? Jerks, that's who!



...instead, we set out for a fun-filled day of bowling. The movie idea came later. My dad said "Mom hates us, and wishes us death; let us not provoke her slumber, for she desires not to roll balls down an alley like we men do; and likewise also, your brother does not desire these things." I said, "O rly?!!" and I woke my brother up. He told me, "Thanks, Kev. I completely forgot!"


My dad stood corrected. My mom woke up before we were off, and apparently she really didn't want to go. I decided that, since Matt wanted to see The Incredible Hulk anyway, we should have that as a backup plan if bowling didn't work out (i.e. if there were too many people there).


Off we went. La-de-dah, we were there. Not too many people. We got our shoes- a 13 is a bit small for me- and the balls. I got me and my dad a XL finger size, and my brother a L. The guy was pretty helpful. I wonder how he knew Matt (he has down syndrome) would need a light ball? I barely knew that. Those things get heavy after an hour of missing the pins.


I stepped to the plate. Mistake one, it isn't called a plate. I don't know what it's called. I type with two fingers, and hit the spacebar with my thumb, and shift with my right pinkie...I have no idea what a bowling stand is called.

My dad showed me the basic form. I've only been bowling two or three times and that was more than ten years ago. (I think I did win a game at a birthday party. Mom, can you confirm?) I thought you held the ball with the middle and index fingers.

I took too many steps on the first shot. My dad, ever helpful, was SURE you only take two steps. I released the ball. It wasn't a gutter ball, I don't think. I went off balance.

My feet slid around. I fell.

I caught myself on some invisible, ethereal object and managed to catch what I will define as a "temporary, impossible balance." Then I fell again. Before I hit the floor (I was falling very, very, very slowly) I accepted my fate. There were five parts:

#1: Slip
#2: Fall
#3: Somehow regain balance
#4: Falling again
#5: Accepting my fate and landing on my back. (I accepted it before I landed.)


Yep. Five parts. There I was, after my first um, pitch...on the floor. Looking at nothing in-particular. I got up, then proceeded to take the most difficult second bowling pitch of my life. I took half a game to learn not to fall (it came pretty quickly from my "learning to skate on cement" days), then one and a half games to fail to learn how to throw the ball straight.

Remember how my dad said to only take two steps? Turns out, HE takes three. And others take four or five. Yeah, way to know how to play the game, Pa. Funny thing is, he argued me...the proof was manifest at his next throw. "Oh, I do," he said. Then I said, "And they do, too." And he said, "No they don't," as the guy next to us took five steps. I think I got the order messed up, there...it happened, but maybe not in that order. OK? OK.

On the second game we played, he got four strikes in a row, then proceeded to not hit anymore strikes. Once I said, "You win a prize if you get a perfect game," he began missing.


Way to not win a prize, Pa. All coin-operated machine efforts were thwarted...

I can't spell tonight. I have to go. I'll post the movie review in another time. We went to see The Incredible Hulk, and my review is abbreviated as thus follows: Um...yeah...what's your point?

Hey, It's My Mom's New Nikon S550!

My mom's Mother's Day and Her Birthday present, a Plum Nikon S550, got here today. I went outside and hid in a car near the fence and waited for the UPS man. I then took covert pictures of him.

He dropped the box, and when he left I retrieved it. It felt heavy. I didn't think it was the camera- obviously, it was.

I took it inside and started it charging. The battery's about the size of two AAA batteries. It's only a little bigger than a stick of Bazooka gum. The camera is a bit smaller than a deck of playing cards. I couldn't believe it. This thing has a 5x zoom? I thought to myself in perplexity. After a futile attempt to locate one of our 2 GB SD cards (we have three! Where are they!), I just used my peculiar 1 GB SD card.

The pictures may be lackluster. It seems the ISO is stuck on a high setting but it's set to auto... and the pictures outside are great. But the zoom, even the optical, is blurry. I seem to remember experiencing the same thing when I got my camera, then it "broke in" or something.


Hey! Here's a video I made! Nothing special. I don't have time right now, I'm sorry. I took some pictures of my dad in his Daisy Dukes to test the camera...he was trying to practice his flute.





Yeah...it takes good video, I think. It brought out Dad's doppelganger.

The Symphony of Annoyance and Yuck

Ah, listen to it. Creak.
CREEEAK.

HACKH, PTUH!

Tap tap, tap tap.

Flies are everywhere. My mom's newest idea for saving money: leave the doors open all day on cool days. Shamefully, the flies are in season, so before we knew it, they all rush in like they just found the barn of their dreams. I dread to think what it may be like in the actual barn outside. Let's put it this way: The rain, over the last few days, have made it worse.

HUURGH, PTU, HACHGKCK, FLAGHZPLUH! My brother spits and hacks and flaghzpluh's at a steady cadence. I think that, since my dad's going to start playing an instrument now, that my brother is going to play his mucous membranes. HIGGH, PLAGH! PTUH, PTUH. HAAAACK. HIGGH, PLAGH! PTHUH, PTHU!


AACGH, SPL!


Ting. Ting.

Flies are everywhere. The fly swatter is missing. I will soon use my guitar to fend the beasts off. It amazingly keeps them away from me with its vibrating, but only in a two foot radius.

He reemerges from his room. He sighs the sigh of the person who goes HACKSH PTHUH BLAGH! after every breath.

God, take me now, I think.

HAGH, FL-AAGHPLUH! Sidle. Sidle. "Brother? Are you alright?" NO, NO, NO! I shriek inwardly. "Oh yeah, I'm just fine" I say outwardly. The serenading continues. Crinkle, crinkle, CRINKLE, CRINKLE CRINKLE, CRINKLE...


I really can't say I don't deserve this.

HAGH, PLAGHUHTHUP!

I become conscious of ever [removed] I ponder if [removed for potential gross-out of the humble fools] Maybe it would be sentient by that time.


Well, I've got to go. I would include an audio clip, but...no. Just...just no, I wouldn't want to put you through that. Because, it's time to make shrimp gumbo and Manhattan Clam Chowder. Who likes Manhattan Clam Chowder? Well, we know this old humanist vet, and he requested it. I sent him some old split-pea stew (yes, stew) and he apparently loved it enough to request I make something I've never tasted.

My dad got the ingredients. He got the bell pepper. And the parsley. And the clam juice- 24 oz of it. And he got bay leaves.


He forgot the clams.



For the clam chowder. And he's home with them now, so I need to go get those.

The Two Week Notice

Recently, my dad gave his two-week notice to leave his place of employment. Originally, he was only to work there for two or three months, and he and his boss have discussed his quitting before, so it's not like they were looking forward to having him as a long-term employee, nor were they shocked. If anything, they were pleasantly surprised he stayed as long as he did.

His boss said that he can still make bids on jobs that need to be done around there, and they'll still call him if something special needs doing (such as a toilet not flushing- our pastor and Kile II can tell you, my dad fixes toilets like a champ!), so it's not a total loss for either side. However, my mom is distressed by it. She hates unsteady sources of income; my dad wants to start his own business, and that's basically the definition of "unsteady income!" But that's his lifelong dream, and I'm sure it will work out one way or another.

Starting your own business is a grueling, horrific, potentially disastrous, scary, unbelievably hard trudge-fest where all you do is slave and toil and work and worry. Needless to say, that appeals to my dad very much. "Where do I sign!" he says with much glee. I may never understand that man.

We need to work on our customer service and advertising (what advertising?), as well as accepting that there are certain parts of jobs that will require us to call electricians or plumbers. As it is now, we're operating under the "Handyman's Clause." That means that you can do pretty much anything if the total job is under $1,000. It's dangerous, though. (See linked article.)

My mom figured out that if we skimp so hard that we're eating beans, we can get by with $550 a month on top of her income. That's doable. My dad can typically make upwards of $700 in a two-day weekend, so as long as the work lasts, we should be fine, and especially if he works a 3 or 4 day week (or even 5-day!). I think the idea is to slave and work and almost kill yourself when there's a lot of work, because next week, there may not be any work. It's called "rolling with the miserable sun," I guess. Did I mention that I damned an entire country to Hell the other day? I had to take it back, because whew, that was a bit too much for me.

He's hoping to very soon acquire a license of sorts that allows him to do work of up to $25,000. (There's another class that allows for $50,000, I think, and I'm sure there are others.) Since he is a felon/ex-felon, he has to complete a felon test. They fingerprint you, beat you with a cat-o-nine tails, stab you a few times with needles to test your reflexes (hammers only work on joints), and then hang you upside-down blindfolded and have spiders crawl on you, and you have to guess which one is the biggest. I don't know where they dream these tests up, but they sure are weird.

Once he has that, he will be restricted from doing electrical/plumbering (that's not a word)/other specialty work. I'm not sure what he will be able to do at that point. Then, he goes and takes "electrical" tests, and that is added to his license to make a super license that allows for electrical. He then will do the same with plumberating (that's not a word) and air conditioneering (that's not a word), and anything else he wants to. Then we can make the "real" money.


More good in all of this is that my mom will be able to get home about two hours sooner, and may even go back to a 3-day workweek. That'd make me happier than a hatter! Additionally, my dad will be able to stop missing church, and probably be able to attend the Bible studies and perhaps the Q&A's. I don't think he'll be able to make this Q&A, which should be an "ice cream social."

I asked Lisa dataDyne, and she says that she hasn't heard anything more of it. She did manage to propagandize for Pastor's dad, though. One plants the seed, the other waters. I now recall that Pastor Justice had mentioned the ice cream social while coming home from California- wish I had remembered and mentioned that to her. I don't think it'll be a potluck-type event, but simply someone purchasing several gallons of ice cream- probably Pastor Justice. We'll need sprinkly things too, though! I personally am very partial to rainbow sprinkles. They make me about as happy as Samus Aran does.



Best of all, Dad's finally starting to admit that he needs to learn to use the computer. The poor guy, he's called an idiot if he doesn't want to learn it, and he's laughed at if he says he does. A real "damned if you do, humiliated if you don't." (That isn't really true. Hi Don! Glad to see you're blogging again! Am I keeping up the peer pressure sufficiently?) Anyway, time to go. I wanted to keep this much shorter, but I failed, alright? I admit it. I failed. Shoot me now, Short Blog Post gods, for I have failed in my offering to you.

Repairing a Porch

Today I will show you how to repair a porch. Last year- back when my mom finally acquired a Nintendo Wii- I repaired the same spot, but didn't do as thorough a job as I should have. That was on December 22nd, and my dad was still in jail at that point. Now I am reaping the fruit of my not fixing it thoroughly by having to repair it once more.


We begin by examining the spot that needs fixing.

See the large section of wood that's lighter colored? That's the piece that's becoming week. (Weak- we'll get that in editing.) It's cheap wood, and it's thinner than the rest of the porch, so you can understand the problem. Not to mention that it's on the most used part of the porch.


Now, I removed all the fastenings. Several screws, and a nail. I had to look for a hammer; failing, I used the miniature kiddy claw hammer we keep in the kitchen. It only has one claw. The other claw broke off in the process of trying to remove the single nail- this was one of the times I'm very grateful that I wore pants, as because of their protection I'm thankfully still capable of having children. So I had to spend another 10 minutes looking before I found a medium sized hammer that worked.


Take that, you cad nail. See how it looks underneath?

Note that it needs more cross braces. That's one of the most stressed portions of the entire porch, and it has little support. I know this because, well, it's the ONLY portion of the porch we've had to replace. Now we have to replace it a second time. Precious and either Tessa or Penny are in the picture; probably Tessa.

Next, we need a saw so that we can both cut the supports and the new plywood section.

No...that's too old.

AGH, that's WAY too old!

Ah! Just right! Ever used a table saw? I wish I could say "It's really quite simple" but I don't know either. Because I'm unrelentingly smart, I'll figure it out on my own. Oh...and before you think this is all easy fun and games...it's been over an hour so far. It's not easy, fun and games when you have to hunt down every tool you need, most of them not working very well. Pastor says that the only way out of this life is a .45 to the temple...don't have that particular caliber.

OK, here the braces are in. See how I positioned them? That's called a "Y-axis inward end support." So far, it's been another hour- almost exactly another hour, in fact. (It isn't really called a Y-axis inward end support, but why not?)

Now to the pile of wood for the plywood. The pile of wood was supported by two metal sawhorses, and one of them got mercilessly owned during removal of the plywood. I got very angry and frustrated during removal. There were 4 2x12x12's, and 3 1x4x10's, and 3 sheets of 5/8x4'x8' plywood. Then there were two picnic tables on top- yes, picnic tables- and two milk-crate-sized boxes of tools. Then two tarps covering it all.

It was the whole "Maybe I can remove this without removing it all one by one" attitude that owned me. I was very mad. I haven't cursed like that in months! And months! In the course of my cursing, I rethought some of the meanings of the words I was using. Those things are downright vulgar, especially when strung together in just the right way. No wonder I don't like them.

Anyway, here's the plywood cut. I believe it's called "ripped." Because you "rip" a sheet of plywood. I don't know why it isn't called "cutting." It's the 21st century, dudes...we have cool new words to use. Like "cut."

There it is. It's not a very straight cut...I don't think table saws are designed to cut ...er, rip plywood. It's sort of a wavy cut. If I had the circular saw, everything would be fine and dandy, and the Muffin Man would have dropped by with a basket of lemon fluff and orange creme muffins. But my dad has the circular saw at his job. Thanks a lot, Dad. You prevented a visit from the Muffin Man! ...and now I want to make a lemon meringue pie!

Here it is, finally in place. Isn't it pretty? I think it is. I simply screwed it down every so often along the sides. That worked out well. It took 2 hours and 53 minutes to get to this point (not counting break/phone time.) Seems very durable, but there's one problem...


Now the screen door is hard to open and shut. Thus, it needs to have its hangers adjusted; shouldn't be too hard. Also, part of the problem is that our screen door has nail heads sticking out on the bottom- don't look at me, I'm smart enough to use screws- and those nail heads rake across the wood until they've sufficiently cut themselves a groove to move in. That's where the term "Groovemovin" came from, you know. You know, from the song?...no? Come on, everyone knows the chorus to that song! It's as popular as the chorus to "Pear Trees Don't Bloom In August"! ...you know that one, right? About how partridges are left without a pear tree to hang in dur...oh forget it, you uncultured nail.


I was screwing and unscrewing on my merry way to having the screen door adjusted just perfectly, when something happened that I didn't expect.

The bit broke.


Oh, the humanity! Oh, the drama! Oh, the pain! Oh, the nausea, heartburn, indigestion, upset stomach, and diarrhea! HEY PEPTO-BISMAL!...aw man, that completely ruined the whole "disastrous occurrence" effect I was going for. Anyhoo, time to find a new bit, right? E+Z divided by Z, right?

Once more, not that simple. By 1:50 PM I had given up completely. With no more bits to be found- my dad has them all except the ones which are too big or too small- my toiling was found to be in futility. In total, I spent 3 hours fixing the porch today. We'll see how effective my laboring was next year around this time.

Now, I am off to have a bowl of gumbo. Gumbo makes everything better. Including the fact that I should be milking right now, and dinner is nowhere near being started.

Preparing for my Trip to California: Post #1

So I am now going by myself, as the lone Flag Representative of the Quixotic USay. Too many things have to be done around here and abroad, and my dad can't get Monday off. The way I look at it, it'll just be one long, extended, 4-day-long Wednesday night. I wish I had a good hat to wear. I don't wear hats well. They tend to wear me. I'll bring my "I'm sad" hat, which is probably the second hat I've ever liked in my entire life.

I'm planning to travel with the Pastor Raw Justice and at least one other (Mick Lock), but I'll probably be sent to travel with the Bruckners, so that Mrs. Lock can travel with her son. Old people are usually fun to ride with. All you have to do is be very, very quiet, only speak when spoken to, and they get all impressed and stuff. They can even forget about you, if they like. But usually, they start treating you like the perfect grandchild they never had: "Hey, Kev, want to stop and pick up an ice cream cone?" "Oh, sure, granddy!"

It may sound like a sweet gig, but not when it comes to actual food. "And one happy meal for my grandson here!"



I've finally figured out the teenage angst: it isn't teenage angst at all, it's stress! I'm now free! Yes! Liberated from the crushing jaws of the teenage angst. Stress is easily handled- depression that isn't actually depression is not. It's like trying to pull a tooth by giving someone a haircut. You may have heard of the Kev Conscious...ah...I'll explain it later.

I was getting fed up with all the theories. "Maybe you don't think you'll ever meet anyone. Maybe you'll come back from California with grandchildren!...triplets!" my mom breathlessly suggests.

"Maybe you hate Pastor Raw." "Maybe...why would I hate Pastor?" "Because he first hated you?!?! LOL, I JOHN 4:19 BABY!" my dad laughs. Great one, pops. Just great.


I'll need clothes to last 3 days, my camera camcorder laptop and their respective chargers, 4 1-hour miniDV tapes, 2 SD cards (one 1 GB, one 2 GB), on and on and on. I'd also like to bring some powdered paper towels...just add water, and poof! Paper towel!

And some socks. Whew. I figure I'll need 40 pairs of socks to get me through the weekend. And I'll need to bring two pairs of shoes.


Speaking of which, it's laundry time. I have so few clean clothes, --- That's a bad joke...I'm going to cross it out in editing.

Then I need to do a load of dishes and start dinner. We're having steak...pounded flat and covered in breading! My favorite kind of steak! I'll be having a side of black-eyed peas. I bake them in the toaster oven just until they lose their nutty flavor. They're all dry and stuff, it's great.


OK, one load of laundry done. On the second load, I realized that IT WAS SET TO MINI, and it was supposed to be set to extra-awesome ultra double-sized steel-chain-wash-mode! GREAT! No wonder that first load of laundry smelled like a pile of dead, rotting corpses when I transferred them to the dryer!...oh well, if I don't tell anyone, no one will know, just like that time that cat poop found its way into the wash. They wouldn't of know if I hadn't of told them.


Milking is done. I milked those goats so quickly, two of them now have what could be called hemorrhoids on their udders. I have to process the milk, still.

OK, the milk is processed. I got most of the clothing washed for this weekend, except for the socks. I need to get my DS all together, and Dad advised me to take a plastic bag to bag up all of my filthy, smelly clothing. Uh, yeah...my clothing doesn't tend to get filthy and smelly after I've worn it for one day to a glorified Bible study. Speaking of Bible study, if Don Feldick doesn't come to Bible study tomorrow, I'm going to be saddened. Heaviness of heart, all that.

I contacted Pastor Raw Justice to let him know it would only be me. He said something along the lines of "Oh...are you sure you don't want to just stay home too Kevin, maybe your mom could go instead of both of you, or yeah, the better option is that none of you go you guys get a lot of things done that you want to do. Like covering hay or milking pigs or building maternity wards or whatever."

There's not that much to do, not too much that I can't go and represent the church! Yes, they'll be like, "Wow, Pastor...what a dead group you have here, I wouldn't want to be handcuffed to any of them when they died," then they'd see me and go, "Wow! Quality over quantity! That boy's anointed, make way!" They'd push down old ladies and randomly stop and momentarily choke people on their way to me.

"Oh, yes, I taught him everything he knows," Pastor would say. "Well boy-howdy, every single day of your life hasn't been a miserable waste, after all!" his dad would chime in. "This boy is the future! We must build him a megachurch!"


I would react with typical humility...I don't have a proud bone in my body! Anyway, I've still got to make a more detailed list of what I need (my mom pledged to help with this), read up on California some (there have to be some good eateries on the "strip." I really don't know if it's called "the strip," from what I know, 95% of land in California is "on the strip." I need to find out weapons laws especially. I think a Bible is considered a weapon of some sort.)

Wii: Fun for my Moronic Family

I wasn't sure what to title this post. I was going to call it "Compound Bow: Fit for the Average Joe?" but I figured, "Wii: Fun for my Moronic Family" would work well indeed as it would be on topic. Pointing out a newspaper article which stated that retirement homes like to use the Wii because it's easy to learn, simple on top of that, and it doesn't require much movement, I conned my idiotic moronic family into trying it. It allows a safe, competitive environment.

And it doesn't take much brain power to learn. That makes it a boon to my family. Well, actually, my parents. They're not stupid...well, they can do their own things with much proficiency. However...let us say that video games are not their forte. Once, I tried to teach my mom how to play Perfect Dark. She got past the "P," but the e, the r, and f (along with every other letter in the title) completely confounded her.

If I lost you, she understood about as much of the game as you would understand of the title if all you saw was the letter "P." It was a mess. She couldn't even remember what made the guns fire, let alone...well, let me put it this way: she doesn't even remember she even tried. That's how little of the game she got; she didn't even know she was playing the game.

She may not remember playing Perfect Dark, but she remembers playing 007: The World Is Not Enough (TWINE). She recounts:

I remember one time you and Matt tried to teach me how to play 007. I was 'M,' and I couldn't figure out how to get downstairs, so my 'gameplay' consisted of jumping up and down repeatedly until you guys got frustrated and shot me and told me to get out of your room.

She says we shot her because she was annoying the hell out of us with her useless ignorance. That sounds about right. We would shoot her. We would watch her futility with disgust...then shoot her after we judged she would never get it. Typically, there would be ONE bad guy, me and my brother, and an allied BOT. If I lost you- a BOT is a computer-controlled character- it was me and my brother and a computer on a team against one computer. It was great fun. If it was 2v2, then it was too strenuous because all that we ever did was shoot. Otherwise we got to chill out. Those computers? They're all business. No snow forts for them. No shooting at you from a distance with rocket launchers for them.


My dad used to be able to play Cruis'n World for the N64. There was one level- Egypt- which he did really well at. He actually beat it fast enough to unlock the cheat for the level. I could never replicate that. God knows how he did it. For all I know, I was sleep playing, and he took credit for it. That was back in the olden days when cars didn't lamely skid sideways on every single turn. I hate racing games. I've said that before, right?


So I told my pa, "Hey, pa, do you want to try to play Wii Bowling?" he said, "Well, I haven't bowled for years, and neither have you; perhaps we should see if we can hone our skills on a video game then apply the gained skills to actual bowling, thus proving or disproving that the Wii can sufficiently increase player skills via replicating a real-world sport."

Dumbfounded that he actually caught on to an idea, I said, "Uh, OK. I'll get the Wii."

As you may know, every US system comes with Wii Sports (I think the European systems also?). That has baseball, bowling, boxing, golf, and tennis. You get to make little caricatures of yourself called Miis. They are somewhat limited, and importing custom-drawn elements would be expedient, but you can't have everything.

I assume you begin by playing a game of golf- then one side gets mad, and demands to play tennis which they're better at...then the other side claims they're really better at baseball, the other side gets frustrated with that and demands bowling, then the other side claims they are cheaters, and they progress into the boxing. Very good setup there. That's what I call a progressive revelation. I...think.


We decided to try Wii Bowling first. Me and my dad played. My brother was still in his room, and my mom was on the computer. Here's how it went, game score bracket linking to a photo:

Kev VS. Dad
Dad wins, 155 to 91
Dad wins, 122 to 121
Kev wins, 145 to 134

Matt VS. Mom
Mom wins, 127 to 125
Mom wins, 114 to 101

As you can see, my dad did real well to begin with. He is really good at flailing his arms, and he even seemed excited to play a video game. Wiggy. (He thinks wiggy is a computer term, by the way, and is horrified by it.) After the first game, my brother showed up, amazed that we were playing a video game together.

About the time my brother couldn't help but want to play, my mom also joined in. Me and my dad walked away. My mom and brother proceeded to squeal hysterically if one of them picked up a spare. Kids.

As you may know, the video game hierarchy in our family is as follows:

Kev > Matt > Mom and Dad, Dad and Mom, and any combination thereof. Kev > Matt, Mom and Dad on their best day.

If you can't understand that, let me make it clearer: my parents SUCK at video games, but they can actually do halfway decent on a Wii system! But...logic, wit, problem-solving, reactionary movements, any combination thereof, and remembering what the buttons are called (A button, Z button, etc.)...they need to work on those before they can play a real game.



You know, like, pong. The up and down arrows overwhelm their senses and they're left wondering which one to press as the ball flies towards them, seemingly out of control...



[Really, it's great fun. Wii Sports, that is. Not pong. And am I the only one who HATES Tetris? I think I am. I HATE Tetris. I HATE TETRIS. IT MAKES ME SICK. I HATE TETRIS. DO YOU GET THE POINT? GOOD. I'M ANGRY NOW, DAMNIT, I'M GOING TO SLEEP.]