Checking an HP dv4-1220us Entertainment Notebook

Yep, heres(sic) I am. Checking the notebook. I am making a lot of typos; that's OK.

The touchpad speed is a little slow. I fixed it.

Now let's see how the speakers are. OK, they're nice. Or maybe the song is nice. The Adia song. Love it, love it, sugar on top.

For the record, it's probably not the Adia song you'd find by searching an engine...the screen is almost blindingly bright (compared to the brightness of my 2007 HP dv5215us). That's good. Right shift placement is fine; directional pad is not too great. Actually, the End key is way too close to it.

Let's see how...oh, great!

If there's one thing I dislike, it's the DirectX errors!

...20 minutes later, I am still trying to remedy...not a DX error...

Downloading 113 MB video driver...

Driver failed...downloading secondary source video driver...testing...secondary driver failed...

Trying restart...

\



...back on my laptop. Here's my review of that particular dv4-1220us: IT SUCKS!


As for all dv4-1220us's, I can't really comment. Command and Conquer 3: Tiberium Wars did not work and I will not invest the hours required to allay the problem. I'm seething!!! I can't take it!!!

For all I know, the laptop- which is my mom's work laptop- has a kind of governor which disallows video gaming. That's just dandirific.

I'm going to listen to that Adia song some more.

Not really.

Frustration: Sins of a Solar Empire

Here's something I'm ashamed to admit. It makes me feel like an absolute wretch.

It's actually hard to say. It says something about me that I certainly don't want to be said. And I don't want to see it, in written form, in front of me. It's much easier to ignore it...but some things have to be said. For the sake of posterity.

I can't play Sins of a Solar Empire.

...


I feel so humiliated.



Yep. And I really, really like Sins of a Solar Empire. Breaks my heart that I can't play it. As far as I can tell it is not a hardware-derived issue; it freezes the heck out of my laptop during the later stages of games, yes, but at that point, the computer is so far ahead of me that even if I wasn't freezing I would still lose miserably.

Kev sad.

Kev humiliated.

Kev go back to cave and start fire, keep warm, hit woolly mammoth over head with club tomorrow. Then Kev invite over man-friends, and Kev start town call Kevtopia. Then Kev and man-friends go hit two woolly mammoth over head and start butcher shop to buy mammoth brains from when Kev sick and no feel like hitting woolly mammoths over head. Kev pay for mammoth brains on Wednesday if Kev can have mammoth brains on Tuesday. Kev need till Wednesday to invent currency.

Why Can't Dupful be a Word?

Why? Why cruel language-crafters?


What would you call someone who was a fool? A tomfooleriedier? No! Too hard to say. Then, how about a dupful jerk? It'd fit perfectly, for certainly!

It's such a wonderful word. Think about it. Think hard, now, language-crafters.


...oh, you say it looks stupid?




Darn it. I guess you're right. I guess that's the reason I'm not a language-crafter.

(Hangs head in shame.)

I Got It, It's Silence

Yep, I got it. I chased it down and I captured it. It's a silence generator. It makes silence. Amazing, right? Yeah. It's about two feet high and doesn't exist.

Yet I caught it. It was quite a battle. So now it's mine. And so now I can't send you emails, alright, so don't get your feelings all hurt and in a spurt when you don't hear from me. Alright?

Alright, humble fool. I'll be going now.

That's New

I think...


That I'm turning into a wuss. I'm playing Metroid Prime 2, and I just got to um...the fortress place. I won't describe it too much so that I can claim this as spoiler-free.

Anyways...I saw a Rezbit...and I whimpered.


Like a girl.

I said, "I hate em I hate em I hate em!" and it came out in a whiny, sissyish whimper.

Just like a girl.


I was so surprised that I paused the game (the Rezbit is still there) and started writing this. I know what you're thinking. "It's not that bad, Kev. Rezbits are obviously ferocious, scary monsters, and one jumped out and scared you."

I might agree, and I did forget that they exist. So it was a bit of a surprise...but Rezbits...well...they look like...they're...they're floating sea mines, alright? With two mace heads attached to them with some kind of invisible bond, so that they float around them like satellites.


And not only do they resemble three non-scary, small, floating sea mines, they also move slowly. And their two smaller satellite-sea-mines float around them pretty slowly, too. They can disrupt your view (making it staticky), and they can form a reflective shield, and they can launch a volley of blasts of sorts, but aside from that, they're hideously non-terrifying.

Someone shoot me in the head. I need some lead in my thought centers to toughen me up.

Or kill me. Which is what a craven wuss deserves.

I've got a brand new pair of Rollerskates

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


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

I Really Don't Want To

Job 16:2 KJV I have heard many such things: miserable comforters are ye all.
\
Eph 4:17 KJV This I say therefore, and testify in the Lord, that ye henceforth walk not as other Gentiles walk, in the vanity of their mind,

Rom 7:18 KJV For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not.

Rom 7:23 KJV But I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members.

Rom 6:16 KJV Know ye not, that to whom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?

Col 2:18 KJV Let no man beguile you of your reward in a voluntary humility and worshipping of angels, intruding into those things which he hath not seen, vainly puffed up by his fleshly mind,


Job 16:2 KJV I have heard many such things: miserable comforters are ye all.



I Really Don't Want To...but my three miserable friends say, "Do it."

My Mom's Job: "Here, Do This Thing That's Boring"

So, several weeks ago, I was recruited to go to my mom's job to work. OH, GANDRAYDA, WHY, WHY! My heart is broken now. Have you ever had something happen that you wished didn't happen, but there's no taking it back because it already happened? Then you read something that reminds you of that something and all the feelings come back in a horrible whirlwind tornado of sorrow? Oh, would to God that the memories of her would evaporate from my soul. And that I hadn't mentioned her in this blog post. Oh, that pink metamorph!



Anyways. I was recruited to go to my mom's job. They always work me like a slave. "Do this, do that, touch not, taste not, handle not," they bark. Well, this day it was special; it was kind of like preparing for a birthday party for 120 people. I think it's illegal to have 120 people at a birthday party.

Regardless, there I was. Me and my mom showed up at 9 AM. I was on my feet until 1 PM, then I got to sit down for half an hour (I played my guitar), and then I was back on my feet until 3:30 PM, when it was time for me and my mom to have a 15-minute "Everyone but us is stupid" break.

From 1:30 PM to 3 PM, I was given the privilege of getting the coffee additives ready. It went like this: wipe the tub out with a damp cloth. Get 8 fake sugar packets. Put those into the tub, next to those, put 10 creamer packets, and then 8 real sugar packets. Then put 10 straws. Repeat 24 times.

Then I got to wipe down the salt and the pepper shakers with the damp cloth. Each one was splattered with...something sticky. So they took a while to wipe down. Here is my finished work:

I hate coffee additives now. And I hate salt and I dislike pepper. The straws? They're OK.

Then (after the everyone-but-us-is-stupid break) I got to make salad. Let me rephrase that. I got to make salad for 125 people.

Oog. Luckily, I got a competent helper in the form of an 11-year-old. He added the bell pepper ring and the tomato to the top. He saved me about 5 minutes of time. He did good.


Just when I thought my troubles were over, and that I would get to go play my guitar some more, a younger waltzed in carrying some people. By people, I mean these:

Oog. The sight of them makes me SICK. So you know, 'younger' is a word I use for teenagers. "Youngers." I.e., I don't mean "someone younger than me," I mean "someone who is within this age group." Interchangeable with 'hipsters.'

So anyways, one of these hipsters waltz in with these people. I approached to render air. I mean, aid.

First, he did it all wrong. So with my direction, we were able to get a few up. Then his girlfriend materialized. That's when things got tricky. I tried to run it down to her- "touch not, taste not, handle not," but she wouldn't listen. "OOH, LET'S FOLD THESE IN HALF SO THAT WE'LL ONLY HAVE HALF AS MANY TO DO LOL!" she blurted. He thought that was a great idea. I thought that they deserved each other.

"Listen, stupid fool," I said. "If we fold them in half, we'll still have the same amount of wall to cover, but then we won't have enough people!"

They stared blankly, very nervously/frightened. "OK, look," I said. "People. There are fifteen of them. There are ten people worth of wall. If we only have seven people, then how will we cover the ten people worth of wall?"

After a few seconds, he raised his hand excitedly. "Well?" I asked. "There are three of us!" he said. Then he counted us to make sure. "Yeah! We can stand there and make up for the rest!" He smiled real big. "Well," I began. "We could do that, but no." "Why not?" he asked, providing a shockingly thousand-mile, open-mouthed stare, as if his brain had suddenly turned to mush.

I just looked at him. "Because, then we'll have to sit there- for hours- and unlike the people, we jut out from the wall two feet. People would throw coffee on us," I added, frustrated. "But wouldn't that help us stay awake?" she added hopefully. "In a sense, yes," I allowed. "Regardless, we are not going to fold them in half, and we're not going to sit here on the ground like idiots getting coffee thrown on us."


This went on for at least two hours. And putting the people up was just as frustrating- either they wouldn't stick, or they'd come out lopsided. When we thought we were done about 40 minutes into this ordeal, the news came that we had more to do. "They are young and reckless," I confided to Red. "They are not ready." I forget what she said, but it spurred me to say "OK, I'll go gather my charges, then." It must have been a pep talk of some kind. Why do I know so many more women than men?


I digress. Remember the 125 salads I made? Well, I had to do the same thing with a cake. Or rather, a lot of cakes. If you look at the picture with the salad, you can see the cake near to it. Except that there were many platters of cake on plates. It was kind of sad that all of this brave food was about to be slaughtered. I could hear them singing "Muffin Man" and "BINGO"...innocently.


Then it was time to serve the food. I was assigned to switch the pans out. So when they ran out of corn, it was my duty to get the pan of corn out of the oven and switch it out with the other pan. I had to scream "AHHHHHH! HOT PAN! OUT OF MY WAY OR I'M THROWING IT IN YOUR FACE! AHHH!" at the top of my lungs while moving the pans so that they would know I have a hot pan. It's hard to scream in such a harried way and not match that physically by jumping around or moving violently.


Then the ceremonies began and concluded. Then it was time to clean up. The work was finished at 10 PM. I was on my feet for roughly 13 hours. Three days later, I noted that the flesh at the ends of my toes were still numb. While I was volunteering, my dad at home made the lid for the guitar case. It rained on the way home. Problem is, as soon as we pulled into our property it stopped. The more I experience this, the more I believe that our land is actually cursed.

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.)

Where's The [Other 2%]?

Warning! Minor Metroid Prime spoilers!


Murrumph. I've searched long, I've searched hard, and I've searched in water. I've searched on land. I've searched on top of humongous flowers.

I'm at 98% in Metroid Prime, and I can't find the other 2%. There are 100 items to collect in Metroid Prime...thus the 100% rating. So I've collected 98%- or 98 of 100- of the itamz to be had, but I can't locate the other two. There are five areas:

Tallon IV overworld (it's the surface of the planet)
The Chozo Ruins (remnants of an civilization of anthropomorphic hippie-birds)
The Magmoor Caverns (lava pits)
The Phendrana Drifts (snow land)
The Phazon Mines (the Space Pirate's mining operation)



I've searched them all. Apparently, not thoroughly enough. I must now go explore them all over again. I will start where I ended, I guess, which is more or less the derelict space vessel. Here goes. I hate this area...it's just so...particular. You have to go through murky water, and it's not spooky (as water can be), but it's just dull, I guess.



Nothing. Also nothing in the Great Tree Hall...now I'm onto the back end of the Chozo Ruins. I took 'Transport to Chozo Ruins East' to get here. Darned Chozo.

Alright...now the entirety of the Chozo Ruins have been searched. They're OK, but...there's those freaky giant frogs that try to digest you (and have tusks), and there's wasps EVERYWHERE. Sure, there are nice of lots...lots of nice things. Just not when you've gone through it looking for the last few items for the fourth time. And it's DANK! Man!

Nothing, nothing, nothing, and for the thir...fourth time, nothing!

I can't find the last two items tonight. I'll have to continue on tomorrow. I JUST...CAN'T...DO IT! For now...I save in the Magmoor Caverns. I'll search them tomorrow, then go give Phendrana Drifts a third searching. I get the feeling they're in the Phazon Mines...I've only searched there twice.


See this post for details on one of the Mine searches (yes, I did get quite a bit of examining done on this trip): Clad in Corruption: A Metroid Prime Post.

Protein Dense Salad Alert

A few days ago, while outside waiting for my dimwitted family members to get their act together so that we could go spend money on gasoline, I saved a moth out of one of the dog pools. We have three dog pools. Why do we have three dog pools? I really don't know.

It was a difficult rescue. I doubt it lived...it would leap off of the bean pod I was using to remove it every time I got it onto the bean pod. If that makes sense. Of course, eventually it didn't leap off, and that's when I set it on the grass and it probably proceeded to die.


Then my family materialized. "Huh, huh, we r go 4 teh money and gasoline!! el oh el!!1" they said collectively. It's creepy to hear three people speak as one, especially them. Children of the Corn, man. The only remedy is Children of Mana, but I don't know anything about that. I've just heard that Secret of Mana is really good. OK? OK. OK? Fine. Good. Stop.


You know that a meal is not a meal without a salad, but oh, I am finicky about salad. Anyways, check it out! This is the salad I had. It's a new recipe-method-style-addition. I forget the name, but it ends in 'fey.'



Isn't it a pretty salad? I don't think I've ever seen a salad with so good a mix of croutons, and if I may say so, that napkin is hot. Though the lettuce itself is not the greatest- for, if you behold, it is romaine cut widthwise. The dressing was fine- a kind of vinegary ranch, I reckon.


I think I saw pepper in it. Anyways, did you see anything special in the picture?






Cause I did when I was eating it.


I think the new recipe-method-style-addition is called moth-fey.



Yum. "Oh, but Kev, you haven't touched your salad!" they said. I scowled. This must be some maniacal form of reverse-karma, I thought, remembering the moth I had saved. Now I recall the Luminoth...I digress. I wanted to give it to Manny and Mrs. Carrot Top, but my mom said "Don't do that, it might make someone sick to their stomach."


It may seem an illogical thing to give a moth to them, but Manny and Mrs. Carrot Top paid dataDyne Jr. $2 a while back to eat a grasshopper wing. I figured they'd have a ball with a living moth. I'd be a hero.

...and I also figured my chances of getting paid $5 for eating it when Jr. refused would be high, as well. I don't know if I would be able to do it.



wholestep wholestep halfstep wholestep wholestep wholestep halfstep mincemeat...

Amazingly good Chocolate (Sheet) Cake recipe. And I try to write like a man.

Do you know who The Pioneer Woman is? She's a lady who lives on a cattle ranch, and she's pretty cool- if crude at times. She has several blogs (the link goes to her main page, so you can see the individual blogs there), but I enjoy most her food blog, directly linked here. The index system is a little wacky right now, so don't hold that against her.


I had actually started to get sick of chocolate cake. I think it's the only cake we ever make. I do surely have fond memories of making chocolate cakes...most of them have to do with Metroid Prime 2. I think it may have well been the first time I played it.

[erased] My dad says I need to stop writing like a girl. If anyone has any tips, let me know. Let me begin by erasing that last sentence, particularly the word 'awakening'. That's much better. Anyways, those were [erased]

How to not sound like a girl...let's see...I'll erase that sentence, that'll surely help, the words 'yore' and 'golden' together never did any man good...otherwise...

...


Drawing a blank, here. Damn. Wait, that's good, a curse! Ignoring admonitions from Paul is surely a way to write like a man. Hah! Curse not? Bah! Now, how much more heinous do I have to become before my writing is entirely transformed?

Hmm...if I could gaze on her condemned, rotten visage long enough (may the truth of her womb festering the deathly Worm one day see light), I would probably post pictures of TWWMNBN. That should certainly make me seem more like a man...but that would be folly to the highest degree, and I would not sell out in that manner for a mere increasing of opinion of me by a man who claims to be my father.

Hey! That's it! Rebellion! That's certainly a manly occupation. Wait, no...those are hippies.

I think I need to accept my fate as "that lyrical guy who everyone thinks is a girl when they read his blog- you know, the guy who looks like he'd really like to be writing in loopy pink font." Sigh.



Anyways...yes, I was getting sick of chocolate cake, then we found this recipe, and I'm nowhere near sick of chocolate cake anymore. It's reminiscent of fudge (because of the icing), but not too much so. It's great...really. Here is the recipe. The Best Chocolate Sheet Cake. Ever. by The Pioneer Woman.


Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go frost it (I made three cake pans out of it), and then I've got to work my way, in a very disquiet manner, through the Phazon mines. No sermons to help me this time...only bare, tunnel-vision-like concentration. Every tool in Samus Aran's arsenal must be put to cunning use to make it in- and out- alive.

As I Have Judged, I Hold the Cast of Death

The other day, my mom was out of town on business, and me and my dad had to milk. My mom is very gentle ('crazy old goat lady' gentle) with the goats, but me and my dad...well, we're not quite as old-lady.

When my dad decided that Lightning, the Black Goat that Recently Gave Birth (link to my mom's blog), didn't want to be milked and decided not to milk her, it fell to me as the ruthless, cruel, and evil one, to milk her, and to thereafter put lots of commas in this sentence. After she kicked the bucket twice (soaking me in milk), I decided that she did not deserve to have her small, [word removed] baby anymore. In fact, I won't even use that word, lest I bring shame to Samus Aran. I'd never want to go and do a thing like that. It'd also make an attempt at shaming Jesus, and well, I wouldn't want to do a thing like that, either.


This was the baby I recorded being born...here it is:


...and am currently not editing the footage of for Mrs. dataDyne and Mick Key and well, a lot of people who want to see it. I can't seem to find the inspiration- and now I think I've found it, but shame, there's no time to start right now. Anyway, guess what happened today? Something very sad.

I was washing dishes, as I often do. Then I discovered it...somewhere near the bottom of the water.

The beloved Harvest Plate. The plate that bore several Thanksgiving feasts, and found itself at church supplying food more than once. Brother-in-arms to the elder Holiday Plate.

Dead. I am sorry, Holiday Plate.


See that? Somehow it got chipped in a jarring way. What nonsensical, pointless brutality. This plate died long before its time should have come. And speaking of death...


There's Lightning's little baby. Well, OK, click here to see it. Warning: It's 'graphic'. It's a baby goat swollen up in a dumpster laying next to a lamp. Its dead eyes do not even show. It's not that bad, sheesh. Anyways. I suppose, now, that I hold the keys of death, or at least the ability to cast it in some fashion. His life is extinguished, and the message spans the entirety of the goat hoard. Rumors abound that I poisoned him in his sleep.

Still...what a fate not to be shared, to be dumped uselessly into a dumpster. A fate I will not allow to be shared.

Thus, I begin.

First, find your area.
Then mark the area, like below. (Squint, if you have to. Or be smart and open the picture to see it bigger.) I used a fair, fierce shovel, if weak of neck. But still not lacking in courage, and one of the sharpest we have.

Now, it in this lackluster, brutal beginning of Summer that I begin my toiling.


What a cunning foe I face...the sun...

Now start digging. I remember what short bit of life it lived as I dug, burrowing deeper and deeper, as what could have possibly been tears, but were almost assuredly sweat, dripped from my face.

Nine minutes later, with the hole sufficiently dug...


I begin the solemn progression. A fate not to be shared...the words rang in my head, as bitterly and resolutely as first my mind whispered them to me. No time for lamenting, no time for speeches...dinner had to be made. Unceremoniously, but still as ceremoniously as I could, I placed the young, dead one into the hole, then covered it with shielding to keep out prying, evil eyes. And shovels.

Now the time comes to cover it. Again, I cry bitter tears that are most likely just sweat. They sting my eyes.

This is the saddest leg of our journey...the last sighting...the sorrowful parting.

Five minutes later, it is complete. Now to stomp all about to make it harder for the dogs to get to it. And now to get back inside, for, since the Foe has seen me, it has doubled its efforts to wipe me from the face of the planet.

But Harvest Plate is in its final rest. The waves of death radiating from the sky have not succeeded...this time.

And thus I have stopped the dumpster-fate from touching my dear Harvest Plate. May its soon replacement not be a sk8rgirl or a person who says "dude" and "whoa" every other sentence.


Note: I now hear that the dummy goat (as is his name) will be buried tomorrow morning. As is our manner, I shall dig the hole today, and he shall bury the goat tomorrow. I dig holes good.


This is out next to Hannah, our psychotic border collie whose montage I have yet to make.

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?

Welcome the newest addition: A Yet Unnamed Filthy Buckling

Yep. A goat gave birth- Lightning, to be exact. To another filthy buckling- fifth this year with no doelings. That is unprecedented in our short history. Maybe a nuclear warhead will fall out of the sky and detonate and kill us all to put us out of our misery, as even if it were a doeling, it would still be worthless because we have enough goats. The only option is to slaughter them, and I just hate slaughtering females. Really, I do.


Sorry. Anyway, that's why I'm up right now. And why I didn't post until now. I would post pictures, but honestly, I'm just starting to get over the grossness of it. And I videotaped the whole ordeal. I'll be taking that to the dataDyne's and...anyone else who wants it. The weirdos.

I took pictures, too. It'll be a grand, gross epic tale of um, grossness. I'll edit the pictures into the video, and I'll take it to them and say, "Here, have your filthy goat birth, I don't want it anymore." And if they want, they can have the buckling. It'll be grand.


Now, enough of my venom-dripped sarcasm. I've really got to get to bed and seethe for a while. Actually, I won't seethe. I'll go sing Amazing Grace three times, and if I'm not in a better mood by then, I'll have fallen asleep. I got a capo for my guitar today, and I need to practice up as I think I'm a "capo the first" voice. I have to record myself for Fool/Guitar, too. You guys will get to hear me embarrass myself soon, I promise.

Actually, I think I might fall out.

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

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

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

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

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

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


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



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

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

Way to be a girl, Samus.



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

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

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

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

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

Another Pastor Nightmare

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

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

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

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


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


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


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


Then the nuke hit.




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

Thanks a lot, Joel 2.


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

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

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

Life with the New Thermostat

10:15 PM, the day before:
"This is great, it's FREEZING! I can't feel my toes! We need to turn it up at night, check."

5 AM, current day:
"Oh, you turned it off, because it was too cold? Figures, you cowardly DOG! At least it's great in here right now."

11:15 AM:
"Whew, it's heating up, for sure."

12:00 PM:
"Agh, I can't take this much longer..."


12:30 PM:
"OH, GLORIOUS LORD THERMOSTRATO, PLEASE HAVE MERCY! MERCY ON US FOOLISH SINNERS! WE OFFER YOU GIFT OFFERINGS OF HOMEMADE GOAT CHEESE! PLEASE, MAY WE BE BLESSED BY YOUR FROSTY-LIVING, LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF COLD!"

12:45 PM:
"Don't worry, brother! Heheh heh HAH! Only a short while, only a short while, oh, it'll hurt, don't be scared, death is a glorious, bright future when you're sacrificed in honor to LORD THERMOSTRATO! I sure am glad I sharpened this knife yesterday, ahahhehh! NOW HOLD STILL, AND DON'T GET BLOOD ALL OVER MY PRIESTLY GARMENTS! LORD THERMOSTRATO, I OFFER UNTO YOU THIS SACRIFICE OF MY VERY OWN BR..."

1:00 PM:
"Man, that was close. Sorry I almost sacrificed you, brother. I'm glad that air conditioner kicked on, if my sacrificing rituals took any less time, you'd be a goner. That was miserable."

1:40 PM:
"I OFFER UNTO YOU, LORD THERMOSTRATO, THIS FELINE NAMED LIONEL!
ACCEPT HIM AS YOUR EVERLASTING SERVANT AS LONG AS HE SHALL LIVE! HAVE THIS SACRIFICE, AND BREATH YOUR FROSTY-LIVING, LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF COLD ON HIM, AND HE SHALL SERVE YOU FOREVER AND EVER UNTO ETERNITY, UNTO..."

1:44 PM:
"...YET STILL LIQUID, AND DIE A THOUSAND DEATHS, BUT NOT BEFORE THE FROST LEAVES THEIR LIPS! NOW, AS THE BLOOD-"
"Kev, what the hell are you doing?"
"Oh, hi, guys," I said, realizing I was holding the knife I recently sharpened and seemed to have on a crude, eye-burning face-paint of mustard and ketchup.

As I looked around, holding Lionel down with one hand and having the knife held up in my right, the scene reminded me of some weird version of The Lord of the Flies. I had apparently amassed a pile of offerings/sacrifices to the great "Lord Thermostrato" on the makeshift alter of a VCR tape cabinet positioned directly in front of it, and I'm sure I engaged in all sorts of devotion and worship, trying to get this great idol-god to cool down the air so that my suffering could end. My brother seemed rather shaken by the events of the day.

I forget how the movie ended, but suffice it to say, this version ended on the thermostat being turned down three degrees and a unanimous familial decision not to allow me to test thermometers without adult supervision.


DARE to not test AC thermostats without adult supervision. Here is the link to the goat cheese.

Back to the Heart of Gaming

It's happened.


I'm not sure where...I'm not sure when. It was probably very gradual. Gradual Syrup.

Have you ever lived life, only to find out that you were living life only because you were alive, not because you had something to live for? Life Shroom.

That's what happened to me with gaming. I believe that dramatic turns of events- mainly typical teenage brain development- have caused a detachment from what gaming really is. Dizzy Dial. I believe Romans 1:22 applies for me:

(KJV): Romans 1:22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools,

Then there's I Corinthians 1:20, and, well, you could run the verses, in the end I've been a fool. I...think.



To conflict my new mind I seem to be developing, I'm starting over. Forgetting and abolishing my overly strict, outdated programs and misplaced, legalistically dispensed loyalties belonging to undeserving or overly-worthy candidates like some sort of medieval system of lords jockeying for position. Back to a time akin to returning to a field of daisies after wandering a field of wildflowers when your favorite color is yellow.


I'm going back to the heart of gaming. I'll begin by forgetting all others and playing Super Mario 64. En garde, mind. You shall be brought into captivity.

Kev's First Encounter with the Highway Patrol

So yesterday, I was on my way to Bible study. Like I always am. The demon tonsil's face had melted, and I was feeling much better. Really, as long as I know that it won't spawn arms and reach out of my mouth and grab the wheel and crash me, I'm fine. Things were lookin' good.


It had been several weeks since I drove. Since my pa is going to Bible study, I don't get that chance to stay in tune...so I was driving along. It was kind of difficult- the steering wheel shudders, and it was difficult to accelerate and felt a little like I was driving on sand for the last half of the trek. The steering wheel always shudders and vibrates and shimmies and shakes, but the sand driving was new.

Because I hadn't driven the Pathfinder for a while, I didn't know if it was just another condition it developed, or if something was wrong. It actually felt as if the wind were blowing, which it were. Bah, I'm making good time! I believe was my rationale.


Then I had to merge into a freeway lane, right before a curvy-style 1-lane onramp. Cars were pouring in. All of a sudden, it felt as if the road opened up and Satan reached his ghastly fingernail out and ripped the rubber off of the tire. The car went up and down and up and down...so I stopped.

Turns out, the tire had esploded! I didn't hear a thing.



So I went a-plotting. I had to either get across three very busy freeway lanes to get to the other side which was less busy, or go forward and block the onramp for a time as I hobbled to the gore zone and hope to God that the 300-cars-a-minute-going-60-MPH did not rear-end me.


It seemed I was stuck. My only hope was to make the still-suicidal jump to the less busy side of the freeway. About then, on the opposite side of the freeway, a policeman turned his lights and flashers on. I figured he saw me and was coming in Real Life 3D! to save me! I put my escape plans on hold.

I had already been here 15 or so minutes. It was a sticky situation; the people in the lane behind me had to get over to stay on the freeway, and the people in the lane next to me had to get over into my lane to get off of the freeway. They developed their own little lane going next to me.


5 minutes later, a highway patrolman showed up. "Yes! Thank God!" I said amongst myself. He walked up. "Howdy, sir." I said. "How's it going?" "I'm a little stuck." "Alright, we're not gonna stay here. What we're gonna do is head for the gore zone." "OK."

Onward we hobbled. I don't know how he stopped traffic aside from that he was a policeman. There's no way that any normal person could do that. A minute or ten later and we were there. I hopped out and introduced myself. "I'm Officer Mammoth Armed Reclamation Vehicle." "WHAT?" "Uh, I said, I'm Officer Marv. Are you alright, sir?" "...yeah, I think so."

He asked me if I were able to change it on my own. "I think I were, let me just make sure I have all the odds and the jack...oh, no lug-wrench, and without the lug-wrench, the jack won't work and the tire can't be dropped out of its holder."



Here is the halfway point at which you can go fetch a moolatte or whatever and come back to read. It's a long post.



What followed was quite possibly the most humorous slapstick comedy ever performed by a Highway Patrolman Marv and Person with Flat Tire. "No, it goes in THIS way!" "Yeah?! Get me a pair of pliers!" "I don't know about pliers, try your TEETH! They're ugly enough!" "Oh yeah?! How about we just use the barrel of your gun! Knowing YOU thus far, it probably shoots SQUARE BULLETS, SQUARE!"

"Yeah?! What's this guitar do? Do you use it as a woodwind? You seem STUPID enough to! And your teeth are BAD ENOUGH to! Do you floss with the E STRING?!" "No, but what are the cuffs for? Do you use them to hogtie pigs because you can't tie knots like a GIRL!?" "No, but I bet you do, FARM BOY!" "Oh yeah?! WELL, AT LEAST MY CAR DOESN'T LOOK LIKE A GIRL DRIVES IT!" "YEAH?! WELL, AT LEAST IT DOESN'T LOOK LIKE A GIRL IS DRIVING MY CAR!" "AT LEAST MY FACE ISN'T AS UGLY AS YOURS!" "AT LEAST I DON'T LOOK AS MUCH LIKE A SISSY GIRL AS YOU DO!" "YOU BRING SHAME TO YOUR BADGE!" "YOU BRING SHAME TO HUMANITY!" "YOU MAKE APES LOOK APPEALING!" "YOU MAKE LIVING A HERMIT LIFE SO I'LL NEVER HAVE TO RISK SEEING YOU AGAIN SEEM APPEALING!!!" "YOU ARE SO STUPID, AND UGLY, AND OVERALL WORTHLESS, THAT IF ALIENS INVADED-"


So, we determined that without the lug wrench, it wasn't going to work. I shook his hand and sent him off, telling him that help was on the way. Church wasn't far. They're helpers. He lit three flares for me! Just for me! Wow!


I was told that The Pit Bull, better known as The Hitman, was on his way. I could just imagine him, an ex-hitman, driving very coldly and methodically to the scene. Then I got the call. "Hey, your dad is about 10 miles away, so The Hitman's coming back to home base."

After another half-an-hour of antics related to us not having that stupid lug wrench (my dad was and still is in disbelief), me and pa were off. We missed the first half of Bible study. They were running completely off of a skeleton crew. I guess once everyone heard I wasn't showing, they just didn't go.


Afterward, I broke the news to The Hitman. "So, I got a second computer, and started a second blog." "Really. Did you close down your first blog?" "Nope." "Huh. That's good." Then he gave Pastor a goofy-looking sword. Then, we made a trek to a new eatery. It was good, but something was missing. I think I'll have relish on my burger next time. Afterward, Don Horsegoggles made a comment about a mad supercomputer impregnating a human female. More on that later.