(made from concentrate)

Twenty-five, man alive...

2012-01-08T01:24:00.002-05:00

At 16, I was no closer to getting my driver's license than I was to parade down the streets of Mt. Airy wearing a lederhosen, singing "Roll Out the Barrel". I don't smoke, so 18 meant nothing to me. Similarly, 21 was a dry, dry day.

Finally, I have grown into a rite of passage that holds some significance to me. Ladies and gentlemen, I CAN RENT A CAR WITHOUT PAYING OUT THE NOSE FOR IT!

So if you see me driving around with a car obviously too expensive for me, don't be so surprised. Also, don't be so surprised if you don't. After all, I've still got my junky car to drive about.

Specifying a PXE Boot Server on OpenWRT

2011-11-16T14:31:00.001-05:00

This was super-frustrating, which I would have written as "uber-frustrating" if I was trying to be a cool geek. I already had a TFTP server setup with pxelinux.0 and the gang. I had this working from a few months ago when I was still using DD-WRT on my router.

Well, I recently switched to OpenWRT and I haven't needed to network boot since then. So when the need arose yesterday, I had to work on getting it setup in OpenWRT. If you're reading this, then you likely searched everywhere just like me and only found references to making OpenWRT itself a PXE boot server. I didn't want to do that. I had everything else set up!

After much searching, I finally found the answer: https://wiki.xkyle.com/Pxe#Using_Openwrt.27s_DnsMasq

Basically, it can't (currently) be done through the GUI unless there's a dnsmasq add-on I don't know about (truthfully, I didn't look). Login to your router via telnet or ssh and navigate to /etc/config. Here, edit the file 'dhcp' using your favorite editor.

Under the 'dnsmasq' section, add the line: 'option' 'dhcp_boot' 'pxelinux.0,,192.168.1.2', where 192.168.1.2 is replaced by whatever your TFTP server's IP address is. Save the file and reset dnsmasq by sending this command: '/etc/init.d/dnsmasq restart'

Tada! You may also just send these commands:

uci set dhcp.@dnsmasq[0].dhcp_boot=pxelinux.0,,192.168.1.2
uci commit

The end.

Backyard Innovation

2011-08-05T10:51:00.000-04:00

As a kid, there was no greater domain than the back yard. Whether it be my own or if it belonged to someone else, the greatest adventures all took place in someone's back yard. I've built time machines, battled weeds, and have even been a participant in the Gentry Olympics. As I've attended several baseball games and the batting cages lately, I've been reminded of the games we had on Gentry Field (now renamed Simmons Memorial Field). With a total of 4 players on both teams, it called for some excellent, creative innovations.

My personal favorite: ghost on base. One pitcher was required. This left as little as three players for the team at-bat. Should the bases become loaded, the runner on third would call, "Ghost on third!" and proceed home for the next hit. The ghost follows very specific rules and only proceeds when forced by a later runner. If the ghost is not forced, it does not proceed to the next base. If we played with only one hitter on a team (which happened often enough), the bases could be loaded with ghosts alone. Sounds like a Scooby-Doo episode.

Rules to replace basemen: without basemen, we changed the rules to accommodate for their absence. First base was generally the forsythia bush, second, a place-marker in the middle of the yard, third, the green bush, and home a barren spot of earth. Should a ball be in play but uncaught, it can be lobbed at the base itself. This only got a player out if he was forced onto the base and had not touched the base before the ball made contact. Alternately, the ball could also be thrown at the player. This was not a pleasant way to get out, but it also helped to keep runners from stealing bases as getting hit by a ball is in no way coveted.

Home runs: anything in Bobby and Esther's yard.

Everyone could play catcher. Rarely did we have enough people to actually use a catcher, so an untouched ball usually ended up in the Simmons' yard. So it was a common maneuver to slide down the bank, pick up the ball, and throw it back before it got run over by the lawn mowers.

Lastly, any arrival on any base by the method of sliding was encouraged, celebrated, and enjoyed by all. This is the case in any youth ballfield, but grass stains abound when the field is a back yard.

I can only hope my yard will be big enough for my family to play mini-baseball, and if we're truly lucky, we'll create some strange customs and rules to account for our specific situation. If nothing else, perhaps the kids will come up with stipulations that any adults must run on their knees, much to Natalie's chagrin. Later!

P. S. Natalie is NOT pregnant currently, or if she is, it's news to me. I talk about kids because I do expect them eventually. The end.

The Write Stuff

2011-03-31T09:08:00.000-04:00

So I'm still coming to terms with how degraded my writing skills have become. Not that they were ever really great, but I was at a point in late high school where I was satisfied with my ability to express myself without killing a reader from boredom.

My last post is very important to me. I ended up trying to make it about two things: feminism in my life and feminism in some popular media. The result: a craptastic post pulling itself apart. I'm rewriting it. Expect a polished post soon detailing feminism in my life, a topic of importance as I enter the late stages of identity formation. G-bye

2011-03-26T10:33:00.000-04:00

DVR has allowed me to reconnect with my childhood interest in the Cosby Show and Home Improvement. I think I liked the Cosby Show best because of the laugh track and Home Improvement due to its recognizable running gags. Now I'm hitting them from an older perspective, being a married man with an interest and education in feminism, attributed mainly to my wife's education in Marriage, Family, and Human Development.

Four years ago, I couldn't have told you what feminism is. I could have mentioned something about the women's lib movement of the 70s, my views on Hillary Clinton, or Hollywood's woman's empowerment: all bad examples of feminism. The core ideas of feminism as I perceive them are mutual respect among all human beings as to the abilities of all others. I understand the origins of the ideology's name, but if the term didn't have long pre-existing definition, I'd prefer the term "humanism."

Feminism in me has taken the forms of anti-benevolent sexism, allowing myself to express anger when I feel it, and acknowledging my own shortcomings due to cultural projections onto my personality. Benevolent sexism is by far the enemy with which I am most enraged. Some actions you may claim under chivalry I may call idiotic proclamations in the weaknesses, academically, professionally, and physically, of women. Benevolent sexism takes its form in many ways: holding a door open for a person solely because she is a woman, considering oneself a godsend to dating women (an unusually high percentage of BYU men believe this), "going easy" on female participants in coed sports, basically, considering any favor or consideration to a woman to be considerate because she is a women. Benevolent sexism works the other way, but for my purposes, it need not be discussed now.

I realize some of these examples have roots in reality. Doors, for instance, used to be very large and heavy, such that a female frame had difficulty opening them. The object of feminism is not to claim that men and women are the same, but to recognize the differences and see that they aren't more diverse than differences that exist among populations of a single sex already. Men and women are fundamentally different in some ways and those differences do not affect personality in general.

The Cosby Show and Home Improvement, as it turns out, are both founded from the principles of feminism. The latter is most interesting because it addresses implementing feminism in an over-masculinized culture without really changing the personality of someone immersed in that culture. More on that later, but here are some examples of feminism's disparity with benevolent sexism from those programs.

In the Cosby Show, we see the attack on benevolent sexism when Clair rebukes Sondra's future spouse Elvin for remarking delightedly that he didn't know she "did that sort of thing" when she got up to get drinks for the group. He saw her as a modern women, which meant to him that man benevolently allowed her not to do housework and to play a career. She scolded him, saying that in the Huxtable household, she would sometimes retrieve drinks for her husband and he would sometimes bring the drinks for her.

A few different times on Home Improvement, Tim expresses that he feels the home, car, and other possessions are solely his because he makes the money, and he allows Jill to use them. This is always followed by a cold shoulder, a talk with Wilson, and making up. In the end, Tim always overcomes benevolent sexism by realizing that his desire to feel that he possesses as much as possible is a result of cultural beliefs.

For now, I'll let that conclude my talk on insolence in relation to benevolent sexism. I'll followup with at least two more posts relating to my other two personal implementations of feminism: anger and cultural conditional.

SixPix

2011-03-11T10:40:00.000-05:00

For a few months, I was a a teacher in an afterschool program. I did Math, Art, whatever was needed. I wasn't that great at it because I had no training whatsoever. When I was the P. E. dude, I invented a game. I just realized memory of the mechanics of the game were fading, so I'd better write it down.

It would have been more interesting to write about the evolution of the game, but it's been too long. Suffice it to say that I started with one set of rules and it continued to change as I saw it played out. The kids were my test subjects and every time I saw an unbalanced ability, I changed the rules. I was surprised the kids could keep up with it. They wouldn't/couldn't do their first grade math, but they could track the changes of a rather complicated game.

In the end, I think this is how it went. I had 6 colored circles made from poster board. The colors didn't matter. At the beginning of the game, all participants were lined up along a short side of the rectangular gym. I'd toss the circles, usually pseudo-blindfolded (by closing my eyes) out into the gym, at which point the participants were allowed to leave the wall and chase after the 6 circles. After all circles were retrieved, the game turned into tag.

Exponential tag, I might add. The 6 with the circles were the taggers and everyone they tagged must sit down right where they were tagged and, without scooting, use their armspan to tag other children running around. Thus, whoever remained had to deal with both moving and static enemies. Eventually, there are only six taggers and one runner left. The one runner is the winner, and gets to toss the circles for the next game.

They really loved this game. Mom took my position when I left and received many requests for the game. It had a surprisingly low injury rate, too. It kept them busy and involved. I don't recall anyone sitting out during the game. Why such a success? For one thing, it was custom made for them. When I saw that something didn't work for them, I changed it slightly. The end result was a balanced game of racing, tagging and running, and strategy in avoiding enemies. It's the Princess Bride of games, except without the kissing. I'm very proud of it.

Thus, I commit it to the Internet. May public domain serve SixPix well. Preserve it where my memory does not. Be kind to it.

Hobbies of Interaction

2010-12-23T14:26:00.000-05:00

Even if I could have delved more deeply into them, 2010 has been the year of the hobbies for me. In January or so, I picked up a Roomba at DI which provided me with a couple months' entertainment encompassing electronics, custom Linux kernel building, programming, TCP/IP and wireless networking, serial communications... oh, and vacuuming. I never finished my projects with the Roomba, but it's been great.

Next up was the telescope. Also found at DI, I purchased a $2,000 telescope for $35, needing only an eyepiece set and the hand controller unit, I was introducing Natalie to M13 in no time. This also allowed to practice electronics and serial communication, along with optics.

When I quit a job in the summer, I was a little bit forced to take up auto repair, something I enjoy except when my inability to accomplish my end goals hinders me or my family. But that gave me a chance to practice more electronics, diagnostics, more serial communications, and hone mechanic aptitude.

During this period, I also got to learn and practice programming, doing some freelance work online. It was enough to help me decide that I'd like to investigate it academically a little more.

Here at the end of the year, I got it in my head that I wanted to learn morse code. This launched me into exploring radio communications, especially HF and long-range. Last week, I attended a class to get my technician operator's license and passed the test, so I've taken a step into this hobby, too. This hobby also includes all previously mentioned specialties (except optics, though don't necessarily rule that out). It's currently the hobby about which I awake from dreaming. I'm fascinated at every turn, and while I don't yet have my own equipment, I'm learning a lot just by listening to others' receivers. Just a few days ago, I was listening along with someone else to a receiver in Cleveland to a signal sent by a high altitude balloon over Georgia. This introduced me to RTTY and digital transmissions, launching me into further fury.

So I've explored many of my interests this year. I've always been one to do that. But this time, pretty much all of these are things around which entire online communities thrive. Each has active participants who remain persistently excited about their interests. Such is the case with many hobbies, but I just think it's strange that I would choose these interests to explore, the ones where improvement requires interaction. I would describe myself as introspective, sometimes even neurotic. I don't fully enjoy conversing with others, especially if I don't know them. When I write in online forums, I seem to attract unpleasant responses, or at least less-than-friendly. It's not easy for me to instigate that comradery that seems to soak the special interests.

At any rate, it's been a very enlightening year. I look forward to the continuation of exploration. Merry Christmas, everyone! May Harry Potter bring you the very best this year.

Made in China: A Plea

2010-12-15T08:19:00.000-05:00

Think about your childhood time spent with your cousins who are your age. Pick out the best memories. Now, select some of the worst. Okay. Now I want you to pluck out a few of the between times. You know, when it wasn't awesome or awful. When it just was and nothing happened. You weren't excited about doing something or woefully anguished. In all likelihood, it may apply only to me, but for the sake of this post, I'll say it's a universal truth that there were none of these times.

Most childhood memories follow the Principle of Extremes which states that the quality of a given person, place, or thing can only be in excess of great or lacking entirely. This happens to be the situation with every dollar store item I've encountered. I've compiled a short list of things that are either really good or really terrible:

Cheerios: a good cheerio is dense, can last an entire cold breakfast meal without becoming soggy, and gives you some of the worst tasting burps you can have. The fake ones are full of air, dissipate when they meet milk, and come in orange bags. For some reason I want to say that if "incontinence" didn't already mean what it does, I'd apply it to knock-off cheerios.
Fingernail Clippers: my favorite pair will cut exactly where you place them in a single snip. It's heavenly! For show, they'll even discard your clippings missile style in the direction of you unsuspecting family member's face. My dollar store clippers are pretty good pliers for shredding off my thumb nail slowly, leaving a jagged edge which will help me receive further damage to my fingernails.
~~Sushi~~: I can't enjoy sushi.
Jobs: talk to anyone in America, they either have the best job in the world, or they literally spend time spring-loading their chairs and planning new escape routes to get away from work more quickly each day. I stopped spring-loading my chair when a spring stabbed me in the buttocks and I had to have it surgically extracted with a staple remover.
Pepto Bismol: the product never actually changes, but only extreme opinions are cast at the pink stuff.
This list

If you're planning to get me a Principle of Extremes-listed item (or a Power over Ethernet item) for Christmas this year, please make sure it falls on the awesome side.

2010-11-04T08:43:00.000-04:00

I'm hardly an expert on human behavior, but I am somewhat informed on mental illness due to the studies and situations of my good wife. When someone is physically sick or wounded, they can go to the hospital where they will receive treatment. When someone is mentally ill, it may never be recognized that they need treatment at all. Couple that with the stigma associated with mental illnesses and you're on a downward spiral course that affects countless people and their families.

I was following a discussion about a cryptic death. Inside sources unofficially indicated that the victim had depression all his life and died following complications after a suicide attempt. Members of the discussion remarked, "I don't think that was the cause of his death. He looked so happy." It's been my personal observation that depression isn't necessarily sadness and illness isn't necessarily depression. Those who chose to end their lives can be depressed without showing sadness. Suicide, I'd imagine, is probably an act committed out of a very sad moment, but surrounding that moment he or she could appear quite normal and composed. It's the nature of a few illnesses to be defined by sudden changes and unpredictability and all it takes is a short period of resolve for someone to do something they would normally not consider doing.

This year, Natalie arranged a team walk for NAMI, the National Alliance on Mental Illness. This non-profit seeks to provide support for those with mental illnesses and obliterate the stigma associated with the illnesses themselves along with that of receiving treatment. It was sobering to see all the teams whose shirts alluded to a loved one lost to mental illness. These are real symptoms, real diseases affecting real people. You and me, your neighbor, airline pilots, a school janitor, physicists, a college student, the homeless, absolutely anyone.

Our culture has a long way to go in understanding mental illness and coping with it in the best possible way. I don't know what that way is, but I do know that the key barrier now is to break down the stigma. Unlike cancer or heart disease, the stigma against treatment and open discussion is what's keeping back most people who need help. How do we break the stigma? Stop talking about it like it's shameful. Sensitivity still has its place, but people have mental illness the way they have any other lifelong disease. There are genetic predispositions and medications. Having one does not make someone a bad person.

Next, could we please stop joking about them? It's not really funny. Let's throw out cancer jokes while we're at it. Joking about serious conditions only helps condition the public to be desensitized and avoiding of these important issues. I realize this may ruin a lot of themed haunted houses every October, but it's well worth it.

Finally, if you or someone you know struggles with depression, life-affecting behavioral problems or otherwise, seek the help needed. Resources are greater than ever and growing every day. If you don't know where to start, go to nami.org and look around and call them. Treatment is important. Everyone is special and can be liked just the way they are, Mr. Rogers recently reminded me.

Natalie and I will begin attending a support group next week for both the families and "customers" of mental illnesses. I can't remember if it's specific to bipolar mood disorder or not, but I will be happy for extra help and direction in this matter, both for Natalie and myself. If we can't help open the world's eyes, at least we can be doing our part for ourselves by breaking down whatever barriers we have between us and the help we need.

Conventions

2010-10-24T09:06:00.000-04:00

I'm hardly attached to the music production community. I haven't produced much commercially, and rarely have I done work for anyone but myself. I've never had much money or resources for equipment, instruments, software, or lessons generally considered to be standard to be able to produce anything of worth. I haven't constructed a sound-proof booth or covered my walls with eggshell mattresses. The sterile studio environment is foreign to me and when I have had the opportunity to work in a professional studio, I'm alienated by the inorganic plateau of solemn functionality.

I am without conventions, but full of convictions. I'm not entirely sure what the status quo is. I'm so removed from the forums and professional training that I can't judge my own standards. Nevertheless, I find myself passionate about certain aspects concerning studio recordings.

There's a propagated notion of professionalism stemming from a set apart studio complete with booths, diffractors, cable snakes, control rooms, anechoic chambers, $3,000 microphones, monitor speakers, Pro Tools, and haughty engineers. Natalie had a co-worker who was a member of a band. They were watching a show at work where a band paid a few thousand dollars to record a demo. Natalie, being my wife, expressed shock at what they were paying. Her co-worker supported the characters though, saying, "That's a reasonable price to record a demo at a studio. They have the equipment, experience, and environment."

I'll start with my greatest pet peeve first: why are you trying to remove all sound from a recording? Why is it best to record in a sound-proof booth? Is that how you normally listen to music you're playing, or even music you listen to? I normally play and listen in rooms full of stuff. If I didn't like how it sounded, I wouldn't keep playing/listening. I'll never construct a studio that's just a studio because I like organic, life-like sound too much. Music sounds best in life. I'm not arguing that you should invite a crowd of loud teenagers to your recording sessions, but music is sound, sound is air pressure waves, and that requires air. What's wrong with the air you live with and breath? The air is already surrounding the possessions, people and music you love. It won't let you down. Please note that this only works if you have stuff in your room/house. If the walls are bare and there are no carpets, you won't get much that you'll like.

On the subject of equipment and experience, at-home multi-track recording is more accessible than ever. Even if you have a crappy microphone that buzzes, you can start to gain experience. A couple of my favorite recordings happened to be on the worst microphones possible. I thought I was laying something down for fun but I became pleasantly surprised when I enjoyed the results as recordings apart from quality. You may also be interested to find that with a little sleuthing, you can make buzzes go away. Touch different parts of exposed metal on your equipment, or expose metal. See if the buzz goes away. My latest recordings have been made with one end of an alligator clip biting my tungsten ring and the other clipped onto a specific part of the guitar. Problem solved.

Being so removed from the community, I don't know if there are any movements in support of leaving the studio and making the world your recording booth. I know amateur music recording is at an all-time high, but I think it's generally done in the direction of making closets and spaces at home more studio-like. I hope to continue developing this idea as I explore recording techniques that have so far been ignored.

Ad Ridiculum

2010-09-09T20:44:00.001-04:00

I've taken a most enjoyable class on Islam. Studying the origins and history of the faith and its people has garnered only respect within me. I also hope no follower of Muhammad (or those of my own faith) would find it offensive for me to say that except for a few points of doctrine, I would gladly consider myself a Muslim. In fact, if it were based only on the Five Pillars, I would say most Mormons are also Muslim.

Whatever level of education you've received on the religion of over 1.57 billion, there's always something more to learn. "Islam" and "Muslim" literally mean "submission (to God)" (differently conjugated). A most beautiful greeting, "as-salamu `alaykum" ("peace be unto you"), is exchanged at the beginning of most conversations between followers. In fact, most teachings of the Quran do nothing but inspire peace. Man's purpose is to worship God, says the book.

For you LDS readers, I mean to do nothing here except draw the parallels. The Five Pillars of Islam:

The shahadah: "I testify that there is none worthy of worship except God and I testify that Muhammad is the Messenger of God." This is the creed of Islam. There is no physical analogue to baptism, but this is the closest it gets. Reciting this, one may consider himself Muslim. This is none too different than a combination of the First Commandment and the required testimony of Joseph Smith as a prophet of God in order to become a member of the Church. One difference I should mention is that the shahada implies also that Muhammad was the last prophet; none follow him. This is in contrast to my faith, but only just.
Salah: a ritual five-times a day prayer performed by praying in the direction of Mecca. Elder Bednar spoke to us about the importance of praying always. Check the scriptural references while you're at it. Each has a slightly different emphasis. And while it may seem somewhat strange to pray facing Mecca, I remind you that Mecca is just a symbol of God, the religion and their devotion to it, the teachings of their prophet, etc. As I'll show later, it's not weird for any Mormon to find a physical location sacred. Also, on this point, I'll point to Mosiah 2:6, where King Benjamin, wishing to speak to his people for the Lord, had everyone pitch "his tent with the door thereof towards the temple".
Sawm: the fasting during the month of Ramadan. Muslims do not eat or drink from dawn til dusk. Members of the Mormon faith find fasting important, being encouraged to do so on the first Sunday of every month, but as needed in general. Fasting is used in both religions to help the fasters evaluate their closeness to God.
Zakat: alms-giving. Also, a pretty cool word. Members of the LDS Church are required to offer 10% of their annual increase to the Church and are heavily encouraged to offer a generous "fast offering", or money they could have used on food while fasting.
Finally, the Hajj: an at least once-in-a-lifetime pilgrimage to Mecca. This is the most interesting Pillar to me because it stands as a requirement but with no guidelines as to what time in life this must happen by. Thus, it is left entirely to the conscience of each follower, becoming a pure offering. At first thought, one might not believe in a strong analogue for Mormons, however we believe in certain ordinances which cannot be performed outside a dedicated temple of God. We must go there to receive those ordinances, and we do believe it a commandment to do so. For the greater part of the Church's history, there has been no more than one operating temple, and for most of that time, it was the temple in Salt Lake City. Many LDS family histories include some story of ancestors journeying across the country just to be at the temple a few days and leave. Just a few years ago, most people had to travel at least a fifth of the way across the country to arrive at an operating temple as I did. With the proliferation of temples throughout the world, especially within the United States, the "pilgrimage" aspect is being lost, but it's still quite similar.

The similarities are strong and the people are devoted. Great good comes from those who seek to align themselves with God's will, from whatever religion. But what of acts of destruction? What about September 11, 2001? There have always been those who destroy in the name of God. The Crusades, the Inquisition, persecution of Muslims in the early days, persecution of Latter-Day Saints in the early days. None of these incidents do I believe to have been the will of God, yet they occurred in His name. Just the same, I do not believe the recent acts of terrorism on this country have been anything but offense born out of the malice of puppet-masters' hearts.

One of the greatest shames is the destruction of the word jihad which references the internal struggle for submission to God. No single word better describes the human condition or the method by which man becomes greater. To search your own heart constantly is to give yourself the opportunity to improve upon it, to become more humble and to learn how to follow God more closely.

Instead, the word now carries the cry of war to every American. Although I've learned its meaning, I think of slaughter when I hear it. Twisted beyond any possible originally intended definition, I'm all too happy to remind myself of its peaceful, introspective message.

Having shared what I think about Islam, I hope you can guess at my reactions to the recent Ground Zero Mosque thing and the Quran Burning. Although the Founding Fathers weren't necessarily Christian, this country was founded on Judeo-Christian ideals. But even more important than this foundation was the great, great victory for human rights: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." There are some who say that America is really a Christian country and Islam has little place here. The moment we start saying one religion has a precedence over another or is more important, we open our own religions for attack. We are each guaranteed the right by the First Amendment to "worship how, where, or what [we] may" (11th Article of Faith, Joseph Smith). Let's not be so foolish as to infringe upon that.

This means if someone wants to build a mosque near Ground Zero, I will let him. If someone wants to burn a Quran, I will also let him, but I'll think it most stupid to burn a Quran. Now I've also heard something about the motivations of the would-be Ground Zero imam, but I've not investigated it myself. In general, I'm disappointed at the general negative reaction to the whole thing by Americans.

Before I lose all focus, I'll conclude with this: I believe all men on the earth are God's children. I believe strongly in the religious freedom of each. It's extremely important for the prosperity of the country that we recapture that facet of the Constitution and each internalize it within ourselves. Better people make for a better country and a better world, and I would so much love to live in a world that continues becoming better.

Everything and the kitchen rsync

2010-07-27T12:23:00.001-04:00

We recently realized our growing mass of critical data wouldn't stick around forever. We've just been trusting that our hard drives will continue to truck on. This is how people lose important data.

When I say "critical", I mean important to us. Music recordings, video productions, photo collections, gamesaves... So I started looking into different online storage hosts.

Web hosts who offer unlimited space are out due to their terms and conditions. The big names in the business, Mozy and Carbonite, look great as far as being quite reputable. I'd feel trusted in their hands, but they don't provide as much flexibility as I was looking for (performing custom rsync-based backups, having to update through a client, little or no Linux support, etc.). This was the case throughout the industry.

Among my digging and delving, I chanced upon Online Storage Solution. These guys are seemingly the poop of the trade. They have awful reviews where people complain about everything from lost files to receiving requests from the company to limit their storage to 500GB (despite their advertisement of unlimited storage space). One reviewer felt it necessary to purchase the domain http://onlinestoragesolutionsucks.com/ which was subsequently bought by the actual company who put it to use as a mirror of their homepage (although that mirror is not in sync and is now outdated). The most common complaint was that the service was often inaccessible where users could not download from or upload to their servers.

I graciously signed up for two years with these folks. Why? Besides $38 for two years of service, they offer the most flexibility outside of having your own server set up remotely. More flexibility if you consider that they provide a few more tools out of the box and take care of their own maintenance and network security. They run an rsync daemon, allow FTP and FTPES, WebDAV, and CIFS. They will host files publicly at your discretion. Oh, and did I mention they provide at least a limited level of support? They advertise it as being more robust, but people have trouble getting responses out of them. So I'm prepared to support myself, but there's at least someone out there.

Why would I rely on these guys if the reviews are so bad? Well, I won't. At no point will I keep data with them I don't keep myself, and certainly nothing sensitive to the end that it'd be unsafe to leave it with them. Then why pay money? Because it's another safety net at a very low price. Also, I wanted to try my hand at designing and setting up automatic backups.

Rsync = awesome. Prior to backing up files, it will scan the source and destination to determine if anything in the file structure has changed since the last backup. Then it will upload only what's needed. It also has the ability to make incremental archives, keeping copies of items that have changed and timestamping them so you can go back and find what you want from when you want.

I've been dabbling in Python for the past couple months, so I decided to look for a pre-written Python rsync backup script. This is what I found. It manages the parsing of the rsync command, handles archive rotation (deletion) after specifiable intervals, determines if it's been at least 24 hours since the last reboot (great for systems that are online sporadically like laptops), logs the transactions and alerts me by email if something went wrong. Let's go with that!

I had to make an alteration. Because it's not a local transfer, the rsync process would require a password. The script provided no way to invoke the --password-file rsync switch. So I wrote into the Python module and re-installed it. You can find my altered module here (hosting courtesy of Online Storage Solution). Just slip it into the lib/ directory of the RSyncBackup stuff before you run "python setup.py install" to integrate the module into your library thingy.

Open up examples/backup.py for a working example. It's fairly straightforward, even if you don't know Python. Look for the section where you specify the source and destination and all that. In my case, my source is local and my destination is remote. Here's what my backup.backup line looked like:

exclude = ['iPod/']
backup.backup (source="/home/", destination="rsync://username@ols10.com/username/current", archive="/archives/", excludeList=exclude, passwordfile="/root/.ols10pwd"

Oh, and just a hint on the password file, create it anywhere you like under any name. Its contents will be a single line and will only be your password (unless your password includes newlines, which I'm not sure is accepted). After created it, run

sudo chmod 600 /root/.ols10pwd

or whatever the name of your file is.

I'm currently in the process of uploading my initial batch, so I haven't automated the process yet. I'm on day 2 and so far I've uploaded ~72GB. It would've been more except for sporadic connection issues and some internal issues. But it's nice; both my ISP and Online Storage Solution (owned by iicinternet.com) are just off the Level3 backbone. My pipe to them is satisfactorily wide.

So if a crappy online storage provider can help my redundancy a little bit, I'm all for it. Good day all.

Harry Potter and the Kringle Connection

2009-12-19T11:54:00.009-05:00

This isn't fan fiction. This is the record and exploration of a most delightful idea, which is that Harry Potter and his structured magical universe make a far more believable and understandable explanation of the origin of under-tree gifts than does a one Santa Claus. We'll be looking to suggest some theories as to how the Boy Who Lived might accomplish the same feats as our inexplicable St. Nick.

Dear Santa,

I intend neither disrespect nor doubt of yourself or your methods. It's just that you don't tell us exactly how you work. We know you can see us when we're sleeping and you do have a pretty accurate method of determining our morality on an annual basis, but as far as I know, your magic has no limits. That's scary.

My proposal of an alternate theory of spontaneous gift arrival will give comfort to those who believe you may eventually go sour with your infinite power. The weak-hearted will take courage, fear's hold will diminish a little. Yes, they may end up believing in a completely fictional character and never come to know of the true giver of gifts, but I know you'll love them regardless.

So please don't take offense. You're great and I'm a huge fan (I'd like a new soldering iron base station with adjustable heat so I can fix the stuff I need, thanks!). Good luck on the big day this year! Be careful around Tim Allen's house and give my regards to the Ice Road Truckers on your way down.

Yours truly,

BdG

I'll exhibit my thoughts in chronological fashion. Annual holidays create a loop-like perception of time. Let's begin at what I'll call the beginning of the loop, just after Christmas when the hard work for next year begins, or if they work on a surplus system as would make sense with growing rate of population, the hard work for 20 years ahead begins. There are toys to be made and meticulous nice-and-naughty records to be kept. We'll start with the galleons.

Currency is important, even in the wizard's world. No problem for prosperous Potter, who was unknowingly born rich. Plus he could easily rake in the dough with short endorsements, smart investments, and re-enactments of David Blaine Street Magic on London sidewalks. What will he do with his money?

Similar to Santa's traditional choice of elves is Potter's employment of liberated house elves, all working hard under the pay of the man who inspired them to freedom with his liberation of Dobby. House elves have some handy use of magic and feel ethically responsible to be doing some kind of work. They'll be happy doing monotonous tasks for their kind master who will be bringing joy to millions of children.

Magical gifts cannot be permitted to be given to Muggles, but for the wizarding sort I'm sure the Weasley twins (er, twin) would be more than happy to chip in novelty items. Harry's popularity is also sure to have swayed him easy favors from other magical big business gurus wishing to associate their name with Voldemort's nemesis. That throws Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, and dementor-recovery chocolate surprise assortments into the mix. And don't forget autographed pictures which due to the popularity of the book series, magics and muggles alike would appreciate kindly (non-moving pictures for us regular folk).

The minute you wake up on Christmas morning, you're already being evaluated for next year's gift count. You pushed your sister over just to get to the tree faster? Bad move dude. Especially on Christmas, where you earn double negative points for mischief. But really, how does he know? A slight modification to the Ministry of Magic's underage magic detection makes it possible to keep tabs on the goods and bads of kids all over the world. It's fully automated. I just hope they've worked out all the bugs, you know, ones that cause them to mistake magic being done near an underage magician by a house elf as being committed by the underage magician. I don't want to be punished for my wife's faults, not that she has any.

Now for the fun stuff. The big night comes. Harry Potter's means are many for transporting gifts. For instance, he may make a few deliveries using his trusty broom. Classic. He simply uses a shrinking spell on himself to get down the chimney (or enlarges the chimney). No chimney? He apperates. Or for the large majority of the wizarding world with their fireplaces connected, floo powder!

How can he do all this in one night? Remember Hermione's hourglass? Also, he has lots of helpers, you know, people he can count on. Why doesn't anyone see him? Invisibility cloak. How can it be Harry Potter when he would have to be over 300 years old (preemptive question)? He says he handed over the entire philosopher's stone, but maybe not.

I'm sure there are more questions you may have and I'm sure they can be as easily answered as the above. Harry Potter stands as a competent stand-in for the Claus. Only time will tell if he is really and truly up to the job. Will my children be leaving out treacle tarts on Christmas Eve? Perhaps. Maybe alongside some milk and cookies.

It's finally happened

2009-12-05T00:37:00.003-05:00

Today, someone called me on the telephone and told me to look in the toilet. It wasn't even a sibling.

It was an insurance man asking how old the building was. Apparently, the date of a toilet's manufacture can be determined by lifting the reservoir lid and reading the stamped date. At any rate, I was fondly reminded of a scene from Lethal Weapon 2 in which Danny Glover is trapped on a bomb-rigged toilet.

I smiled at first but eventually I became scared. Walking toward the bathroom door, I wondered if the toilet, and indeed, the entire building, would explode when I lifted that lid. The request was coming not only from our insurance man at work, but also from one of our customers. I recalled our insurance man/customer having issues with his phone service through us. Motive!

To spare suspense, it didn't explode. Instead it just kind of wobbled and the water winked at me with its reflection of the ceiling lights.

But it finally happened today, and I'm proud.

Sleepless in Sea Cattle

2009-07-21T07:00:00.002-04:00

I find myself about two days from my wedding. I also find myself wide awake, albeit tired like a car. I do not believe the two to be related, though being awake, wedding plans, wedding shoes, wedding circumstances, wedding singers, wedding (lack of) funds, wedding weddings, wedding wingdings (try wingdings 2 for that newer symbolic look) are all on my mind.

One of the offices I've taken upon myself is corrector-of-common-misconception-misconceptions. For example, children learned in school that it's so often a mistake to say "So-and-so and me" and were so corrected to say "So-and-so and I," rather than being taught about subjective and objective forms of pronouns. Thus, we've ended up with a generation of Facebookers who caption photos as "Spock and I at the beach!" meaning to have good grammar, but in actuality having a common misconception about a common misconception. I generally hold my virtual tongue on the web, but in real life and with folks I know, I have a few less inhibitions. It's not something I pride myself in. To be honest, I dislike this tendency of mine, but it nonetheless remains.

So don't take this the wrong way. Stress isn't just a "negative" bucket of things. It's anything that is emphasized, like a stressed note in music or a stressed point in a political debate. Being so closely involved in a wedding and wedding plans stresses, magnifies and emphasizes all emotions to the point that most everything is overwhelming. My wedding is significantly less stressed and magnified than most and I'm still experiencing this effect. So to all you with large weddings, I salute you. Also, I thank you for your delicious cream puffs. And the punch. To all you who will attend any of my wedding parties, I hope you enjoy Twinkies and suckers.

Whoever thought of big weddings should be both honored and shot. The ceremony of marriage certainly provides quite a cause for great celebration and the difficulty of such an event warrants eloping.

Newhart

2009-07-17T00:15:00.002-04:00

It used to be quite a privilege to stay up late and watch Newhart with Mom and Dad. I have suspicions that any sleeping trouble I had as a toddler was cemented by my desire to wait for Johnny Carson to go off the air so I could witness the cheering of the studio audience that marked the entrance of Larry and the Darryls. And not many children enjoy watching credits, but I always loved watching Newhart's credits because I knew I could count on the MTM cat to meow at the end. While I couldn't comprehend much about the actual nature and plot of the show, I knew it made the studio audience and my parents laugh, I knew that Mancini's opening theme music was perhaps one of the best composed pieces of the 80s. Well, maybe I didn't know that.

Folks often work hard to express nostalgia and, well, I won't work hard to do it because I think it's something everyone understands. Also, I can't think in a straight line right now and it'd be hard to actually try and describe my nostalgia. At any rate, the one-sided telephone conversation comedy master still holds a special place in my (new)heart. Yeah, after a while, I only finished writing this one so I could have an excuse for including the link to my graphic.

Overdue Residue

2009-02-19T10:31:00.002-05:00

The blogging community is a writing one. Some write journals, others compile recipes, some postulate on the human condition, and some write fiction. At any rate, if you read this, you are a writer of sorts. Often in my history of post-writing there have been lingering ideas, subjects I want to write about. Sometimes they build up and I finally write about them. Other times, they meet oblivion itself.

I'm in the same situation in the musical world: musical ideas build up, never get finished because I either forget about them or never progress with them. The greatest cause for the latter is not knowing how or what to do with them, usually lyrically. I'm surprised at how long I can hold on to an idea without it fleeing the confines of my memory. In fact, I remember some unfinished ideas that I wish would fly the coop.

What am I to do with these? Some of them are good, others I love. How do you shock the writer's block? Do you ever give up on something you feel passionate about?

Lisht

2008-12-01T19:47:00.002-05:00

Every year, a few days before Christmas, I've been asked by my parents what I wanted. "We don't really know what to get you, so please help us out." A Christmas list would have been a convenience to them, but not to me. 1) Time invested in list-making could be wasted elsewhere, and 2) if I don't expect anything, I won't be disappointed. These things have discouraged Christmas lists for most of my life. The last time I made a Christmas list could have been when I was 12 or younger.

Times are changing! My brother Kyle asked me the other day what I wanted, and I didn't know what to say. I've given it some thought, but received no results. Then I gave it some more thought and this is what I've come up with:

Musical intruements and equipment of any sort. Dinky recorders, a KAOSS pad, an obscure eastern string instruement, a guitar fret file, anything really. These things bring as much joy as I want them to for an indefinite period of time.
A new soldering iron. The one I've been using is old and difficult to work with. It'd be nice if I had a smallish tip to go with it, and the instant heat-up models have interested me for years without convincing me to get one. That may be because of battery usage, but I'm not sure.
As an early gift, could someone teach/refresh me on all of Calc 2 before Dec. 15? I'm a quick learner who is unaware of his learning style, and that has been a disappointing factor in my education.
Heck, a ski trip would be cool
Star Trek ship model kits? That's always fun
Piano tuning muting wedges and tempering felt
Somewhere to watch the Doctor Who Christmas special
Tools are always nice
Any kind of practical item. Kitchen utensils and gadgets, car accessories, you know, that kind of stuff.
Not clothes (although I won't turn them down, I tend to take care of myself there)

A Valet Parking Service...for wallets

2008-09-17T10:54:00.004-04:00

This morning, I asked Google where my wallet is. Seems like it's been missing since Saturday. Google frowned, told me it didn't know. It also seems like many others are asking themselves the same question. Where have all the wallets gone? I keep hoping I'll get a call saying my wallet's dry cleaning has been completed and is ready for pickup, or another call where I'll pick up, hear a nose sniffle followed by a whimpering wallet telling me it's ready to come home.

At any rate, when I find it or (*gulp*) replace everything within and get a new one, I'm thinking of hiring someone to follow me around and hold it for me. You know, like a butler who just keeps my wallet. "Werthers, give the poor man a nickel," followed by my esteemed butler pulling out a $355 bill (I'm pushing legislation for its creation due to its common usage) and handing it to the vagrant.

I'd be a terrible wallet butler, as my most recent loss has proven. I've looked everywhere (except for where it is). I keep thinking about Spock: "If you eliminate the impossible - anything that remains, however unlikely, must be the truth." It's impossible that my wallet is still in my pocket. Unfortunately, that's all I have to go on. More unfortunately, checks are all I have to go on. If you see my duct tape-covered bamboo wallet without cash but with many cards, let me know. Oh, and if you want to be a wallet butler, let me know.

Don't bank on net banks

2008-07-26T14:24:00.002-04:00

In our present day banking system, money can be transferred in and out of a bank account more quickly than before. Most banks have an online access to funds, statements, loans, account openings and closings, and almost anything you can do face to face with a teller. Teller you what, it'll be interesting (and scary) to witness the first digital run on a bank. At the news of a banks closings, what will the members do? With debit cards and ATMs, quick purchases and cash back can be made in an effort to keep money. PayPal offers another at least temporary solution maybe, members trying to transfer funds to that successful money transfer empire. Or, if you're an 80s movie fan, Matthew Broderick will simply hook his computer up and put all the money in his account and you can just go talk to him to get it back. Beware Mr. Potter; I think he's just a mean old man.

2008-05-29T18:23:00.002-04:00

diffident:

There's no good reason why an employer should hire me, especially in my fields of interest. I can and will do a good job when I'm hired, I just don't know who will be the ones willing to take a risk on a washed-up bub guy like me and if it will be one of my top-choice jobs. I'm willing to take a job I don't necessarily want, but I was recently told it's okay to go for something I want. So, whoever you are or will be, future employers, I salute you.

Flares don't act like that

2008-04-22T10:26:00.002-04:00

Last night's UFO sightings (I use "UFO" by its definition, not necessarily with connotations of extraterrestrial life) above Phoenix have me asking questions and wanting answers. Not whether there is life from or on other planets, but whether there will ever be any kind of sighting by a more professional cameraman, or perhaps one with a tripod. Sightings are not rare, but good film quality is. Apparently, all talented camera men and their higher quality cameras are far too busy to capture these lights, crafts, and shapes in the skies.

Or are they?

I make conjecture: professional cameramen are behind the UFO phenomena. It's quite possible. Once, I tried to buy a really expensive camera. Before I realized I had $5 to my name and nothing else, they took me in a room in the back and started asking me questions, taking my finger prints, hooking up machinery to me. This ceased when they took out my wallet, witnessed its emptiness, and threw me out of the store. I believe I was being initiated into a secret society devoted to keeping amateur photographers busy so we professionals could corner the photography market. It is my belief that the best way to do this is creating UFO fakes, and the amateurs leave the parties they were gigging, the weddings, newspaper jobs (Eddie Brock, I believe, was a member of this society and his attempts at UFO production were failures on his rival Peter Parker, who was used to balancing his interests already), and car shows. Proof: a UFO sighting in Florida last night was explained by some as sky lanterns from a local wedding. I don't doubt it at all, and I wouldn't put it past those pro-phos.

Will they be exposed? Can the bloggosphere relieve me of this insufferable secret? Or of my athlete's foot? Please, world, read this and know it is true: UFOs are the brainchildren of photographers.

An Easy One

2008-04-17T07:14:00.003-04:00

My stomach turned at the thought, lurching like dodging something as inevitable as the truth. Something I hadn't expected, but something I wanted, both at the same time. No, I definitely wanted to live in Provo this summer. An atmosphere of living growth, a fall backwards would become more difficult. It'd give me the chance to have a better job more suited to me while being part of an environment easier to live in. Also, like symbiosis, I'd be able to support and encourage Natalie as she did the same for me. It sounded like a bargain; there shouldn't be any question about it, right?

"I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents..." Nephi wasn't righteous by default. The goodliness of his parents allowed him the opportunity, however, to learn, progress, and grow. Isn't that just like me? Goodly parents. And I contribute myself into those who share a characteristic with Nephi, the most likened, compared, and thoroughly read prophet of the Book of Mormon. My parents, I can say of a surety, are righteous people.

A tornado is created when warm air and cool air find themselves misplaced and they begin a deadly dance to restore nature to the most stable configuration. My principles aren't nearly as precise as those of nature. My mind shifts with the breeze, my emotions with the humidity. Not literally, it's just poetic speech, yo. Two things that exist separately and completely, both correct: my wish to live in Provo, my wish to please my parents and follow their counsel. Both are notions guided by the Spirit, both are good things, both are air. One is cool, and the other warm; the designation is unimportant. Both are air. If partaken, they will bring life. They're just, you know, different.

A little deadly dance began in my soul. Small, but the great disasters of the world, too, are small enough to fit on our little globe. Calamity experienced is greater always than calamity observed. An itch on my brain. Someone had pulled the drain plug out of my tub full of excitement and expectations as I realized in the end, I should more greatly acknowledge my parents' advice, whatever end to the prospect of living out West that brought. In such a way were my thoughts funneled.

Is it wrong to take righteous advice? Never. Is it wrong to not follow righteous advice? Not always. Think of the first tornado, taking its path through the Garden of Eden: multiply; don't eat it! Both laws, both conflicting. Like a Kobayashi Maru, what to do, what to do? No correct solution. "A test of character," Kirk called it. Then what's my character? Who am I?

Sucking it up, I decided who I was. I knew, for the day at least, I was a son first and the traveler to Provo second. The two things don't have to conflict. They may not, but I realize the spiritual security available to those following sound advice from their parents. Does this make me selfish? I hope not; it's been painful enough coming to this point without the pains of selfishness!

Humility is what I seek, a willingness to obey my sound-minded parents here on earth and directives from my Father on high, whatever the implications are. This is difficult! This is possible.

Natalie, I love you. See you this summer? It's quite possible. I love you either way, though. From afar and up close, we're still us. Whatever these next couple weeks bring, I know they'll still bring love.

And there's no conflict about that.

Our Bees

2008-04-04T17:41:00.002-04:00

Bored? Grab a phone.

My latest form of non-aggressive, impersonal voicemail vandalism came to life just a few minutes ago. Give Arby's customer service a call at 1-800-487-2729. If you were wondering about nutritional value of fried cheesecake squares, this number will be helpful. But for my purposes, and for those like me, follow these steps in deliberate order:

1. Dial 1-800-487-2729
2. When you hear the computer-controlled prompt, press the pound (#) key
3. In your best 12 Days of Christmas voice, sing, "Five roast beef sandwiches!"
4. Hang up, applaud yourself.

Also, if any of you are into blackjack, and more specifically, blackjack with Sean Connery as the dealer, call 1-800-555-TELL and say "Blackjack" to begin. Phone phun, fone fun?

Natalie is coming!!!

2008-02-13T21:06:00.002-05:00

What a surprise, she'll be here soon
She is our friend, she plays no bassoon.
Socks and hair and Kool-Aid mix
all kinds of food she knows how to fix.
These are the things that make her she
this is the end of the rhyme, you see.

Bradley's Quick Fried Apples

2008-02-05T06:39:00.000-05:00

My first published work! I was but a wee lad, and experimenting came natural to me. What would happen if I threw the rock in the mud puddle Kyle was standing next to; how hard do I have to throw a walnut to get it to smash on the outside of the house? Naturally, I played with my food too. It's kind of amazing that this ever happened since we don't really keep applesauce in the house, but even more unlikely was that we had apple butter (which we don't even buy occasionally) at home at the same time we had applesauce.

This is the way it worked in my brain: apple + apple = good together

I was right! Apple math, what a breeze that was in third grade. I told Mom about it, and it turned out that the very next day was the deadline for entries into Mama's Dinner Bell, the Wilbur D. and Ara Jean Hiatt family's cookbook. Mom called it in and I was always very proud of the recipe. As far as I know, I was the only grandchild to have one in there. Could be wrong on that, don't go spreading it around

BRADLEY'S QUICK "FRIED APPLES" -- Carolyn
Quick note: yes, I was and am proud of this, but I was always a bit miffed that Mom's name is beside it even though I created it. Yes, my name is in the title, but people might think she ripped it from another cookbook and just kept the same name or something. Oh well. I think you have to have been a wife to get your name in the book as the submitter.

Chunky applesauce
Apple butter

Mix 2 parts applesauce with 1 part apple butter. Serve cold.

Yep, that's it! And it's great, too. Something I've been enjoying very much lately. Fried apples is one of my favorite dishes and this replicates them very well, I'm astonished at how closely, too. So, on your next grocery trip, pick up your own applesauce and apple butter and try this out. No, I don't get royalties every time you eat it, but if you want to send me money, we can talk after class. Don't be afraid to experiment with the ratio yourself, or, if you dare, with other ingredients. The best food is...tasty food, I guess.

Corpses in the Movies Aren't Real

2007-09-23T17:50:00.000-04:00

Now that I've gotten away, out of the business, I can finally speak of the dark secrets involved in the movie industry. Movie theater industry, I should clarify. I do this only on the condition of anonymity. If you know who I am, you must forget now and know nothing of me. For those of you who don't remember me anyhow, the majority, please just relax for this part of the post.

I had no childhood fear. Nothing spooked me any more than anything else. It was really all the same. Having built time machines in my back yard, I suppose I feared the entire vehicle might not make it to the time and place I traveled, leaving it split in half and me stuck in whatever fantastic adventure Universal Studios paid me to be in. But when I entered school, my fears dealt with the discipline system. Drop your train a track, drop your star, flip your card, name on the board, foot in the bear trap, jump into a bed of nails, get your fingers bitten off by the bear in the woods. Excuse me, granite bear in the woods.

It wasn't until my college days that a true irrational fear developed for the first time. Elevators: not scary at all. Elevators falling: pretty scary, but it might be kind of fun (for the few seconds involved) if you're in it while it's happening. My fear arose from the possibility of being next to the elevator doors if it occurred, hearing it plummet and the screams of any who may be inside. That's right, the fear of becoming a basement scrap pile isn't nearly as dreaded, for me at least, as hearing the same happen to others. I'd be scarred for life. And probably late to class, seeing as there's been a large movement in college dormitories against stairs.

My most recent experience with irrational fear has been at my former workplace, the movie theater. When you give it some thought, you can find plenty of things to be worried about. Children will sneeze in the popcorn, you'll fall down the stairs, drug violence, stale candy, and what's worse, bad movies. There's a list as long as end credits of rational fears at the movies, but I took none of these. Mine was a Law and Order-induced paranoia.

Law and Order has three basic plots: Murder, rape-murder, and civil injustice-rape-murder. Whichever of these three, there is only one opening sequence. I assume it's used so often because it's effective. Two or more people argue about some topic not of interest, but sometimes of humor to the audience. At the climax of one's argument, the point of most indignation, the argued glances over the shoulder of the arguer to see the hand of a corpse protruding from the back of a large crate, dumpster, under a car, or any other place you and many others reading this will hide a stiff. One mutters interjections, we hear the "jung-jung" of the gavel and the text announces the location of next viewing, and we hear phones in the background while lawyers jabber.

As often as I cleaned theaters, I was mortified of having an argument with any of my co-workers. I knew if I did, I might have the same misfortune and amid my scooping of articles of trash, I might stumble upon articles of corpses. That is, to say, corpses themselves. It was actually an episode of Monk that opened my eyes to the possibilities of murder at the movies. How terrifying! How spooky! What a mess that might be to clean up! And then there's explaining to customers that the movie will not be showing because there's a dead body inside. To Chris O.: if this ever happened, do you think your uncle would help the theater out?

The worst part is, with the cleaning tactics of some employees, the body might be swept under the seats without noticing and Jon the cleaning guy would have to clean it up himself overnight. "Oh no, not another one." Guys, don't leave corpses in the movie theaters. It's disgusting, scary, and they paid their money, let them see all of the movie. It's just wrong.

Hey, Prehistoric Forest

2007-06-09T13:13:00.000-04:00

Just a note of interest today. So you'll know, I've thought of several good ideas for posts in the past few weeks but I've yet to expend the time and energy in articulation. So, another journal entry, shorter than most I hope.

My friends Alyssa and Mr. Moses are getting married today, right now even. I very happy when things worked out that I would be able to attend the reception in Ohio. A longer trip than I have made alone, but not the furthest I've driven in one leg before. Running behind schedule as I do, I got out of the city and pressed onto the corridor to the interstate when my hood flipped up, crackling the windshield and blocking my vision.

First reaction: ?!!?

Second reaction: Thought. Light. What is this? Is this 'consciousness?' Who am I? What am I? I am Bradley, I am a Vulcan. No, wait, I am a human driver. A person in a bit of a dangerous situation.

Third reaction: Problem-- my vision is blocked and I am traveling 65 miles per hour. Is there anyone near me? Not last I knew. I need to get off the road. No, wait! I need to slow down first. Where is that HAZARD button? Nevermind, the left turn signal will have to do. Slower, slower, careful, look out the window; I'm off the road? Yes, good.

Fourth: "Hey Dad, you won't believe what happened."

Dad believed me. A good man pulled over and helped me tie down the hood so I could get off the interstate. Other than one or two glass cuts, I'm all hunky-dory, a word I understand far less than I use it.

Song playing, Wilco's "You Are My Face." I wanted to get Wilco out of the way and out of my head at the first so I wouldn't be stuck on them the entire way, which wouldn't have worked anyway. Strangely enough, the song has taken on new meaning for me now.

"I have no idea how this happens
All of my maps have been overthrown
Happenstance has changed my plans"

I'm prayerfully thankful for the guidance, clarity of thought, and protection I received today. May each of you be careful in all your journeys, seek safety first, then chocolates.

Pictures to come.

Grammar Wars

2007-04-23T17:27:00.000-04:00

I was involved in a conversation of grammar the other day. Heated discussion is a form of conversation, no?

Chris: I wanted to stay so bad.
Will: Badly.

I defended Chris' usage, claiming the adverb "badly," modifying "wanted," literally interpreted would state that Chris was not wanting well, or in fact did not want very much when it was obvious he was saying he wanted to stay very much. I postulated that perhaps neither usage would be grammatically correct as "bad" is an adjective meaning not good and "badly" is the adverb equivalent meaning not well. It seems as though Merriam and Webster have contradicted me, claiming "badly" also retains the definition of "to a great or intense degree." Thinking this curious, I checked the definition of "well." We read: "well: to a high degree."

It would seem with the dichotomy of the English language, good and well would hold positive connotations and bad and badly the negative. Any quality meaning more or better would fall under the former category and the opposite under the latter. What's the purpose of the antonym system of words come to mean the same thing. One definition of badly denotes a lower relative quality, but the other denotes a higher degree, as does the antonym of the word? I hypothesize the second definition of "badly" was added as it came to be used more often.

Actually, it makes sense. People use "bad" but it doesn't make grammatical sense. What is that adjective modifying? However, when "badly" is used, it's clear to see that it is modifying the verb "want." So, the slang was introduced and then the definition was amended to work everything out. I can see that, but I will not subscribe to it! I have learned rules of grammar governing the language. It is inevitable that a language evolves and changes, but I still don't think it's right to equate antonyms on paper. I'll stand by my guess that neither usage would be technically correct.

What bothered me most was the impression that corrections were being offered at the notion that it's more proper to use adverbs wherever possible. Apparently, I'm not innocent of being ignorant in my own corrections, but I especially dislike trendy misconceptions, so I cynically dispel the more common errors. The most popular one being the correct usage of "whom." I think most mistakes against American English grammar are those of misspelling and then ignorance of the difference between subjective and objective forms. It's okay, it doesn't bother me as much as I might lay on sometimes. But if I have learned correct grammatical usage, I'm more likely to use it in my first-person accounts. Tru dat, dinkin' flicka

You can only be what you are

2007-03-17T12:08:00.000-04:00

Greetings well-doers, soft-singers, happy livers, and kidneys too. Recently, a movie asked me what my dream was. A friend got me thinking what my dream job would be. A television show and the previously mentioned film reminded me of my answer to all of that. I'm a space man, man. It's who I've been my whole life. Child Brad was no different. It's never been forgotten, but I haven't thought about it in a little while.

Whatever captures your imagination the most is what your dream is. That which allows you to expand upon your own knowledge using your own mind is what you will love to do. We humans love to grow and learn. I sometimes follow the folly dream to do nothing at all, but I find it unsatisfactory. No growth, no learning, no life. As I see it, part of the grand definition of life is the potential for more life, for growth. That makes us what we are. Where your dreams lie, you can expand as far as you want them to take you.

When asked, I'll report my favorite school subject as science. That's an easy one! But when I try to justify that answer, it does confuse me somewhat. I'm no fan of earth science, though I certainly don't hate it. I never understood why every year of elementary school science focused on that branch. Maybe because this is where we live, but if you ask me, I'd much rather learn about where I will live. That's the world I don't know. Plus, to me, earth science is the task of learning names we have given to things. Sedimentary, igneous, alternative, just names we've tacked onto things. They come to mean test answers more than what they actually are. I do have to say, in earth science's defense, any of you interested readers should look up magnetic pole switching. Real cool, that.

Back to science: biology's just not my favorite, chemistry's cool, but I prefer the macro- world. I'm into physics, but only some parts of it. The parts that remind me of my dream. But it's not just science that feeds my dream. Something about the advance of human propulsion interests me greatly. Everytime we reinvent our locomotion, it gets cooler and cooler. Less brute force and more ingenious, thoughtful and beautifully crafted technology. Ion propulsion, beamed propulsion, solar wind sails (don't know how feasible that last one is, I've not looked into it), it's all great. Propulsion based on learning. Way cool.

So, I guess what I'm saying is I want to be an engineer on a space ship that's not powered by just a larger version of the internal combustion engine. That's what I want to do. Unfortunately, nobody gets to do that at the moment. Luckily, it's not now that's the time to chase all my dreams. Just some of them.

Slow and Steady Kills the Race

2007-02-25T17:09:00.000-05:00

So I find myself sitting up at 3:30 am. Nowhere I haven't been before. In fact, somewhere I know quite well. It's not so much the hour that defines 3:30, but the things people do, or don't do, at the time. It's just so peaceful, sometimes lonely. Most of the time tired. But because of the peaceful thing, it makes me wonder if 3:30 is the place to be when solace seeking or serious thinking.

After saving all the previous text as a draft and coming back to it, it's not so 3:30ish anymore. I've lost my aim, if there ever was one, so now I'll talk about styrofoam. Well, I'll actually be talking about courage, but relating it to out crinkly, least biodegradable friend.

Courage can be a fragile thing. It can break in the hand, split at the malicious nails of ferocious fingers and fall apart. How easy it is to let courage go, succumb hope to the winds of worry, throw it to the trash of trial, and other awesome alliteration. Of course, all these terrible things that can happen to courage can only be accomplished by the holder of the courage. It's a choice, to have courage or not. It's a pretty good choice to have it.

You see, while fragile at the will of the holder, it's also quite cushiony, not a bad insulation, wonderful for keeping you intact through all manners of rough shipping procedures. Where would we be without styrofoam? Well, we'd have more bubble wrap, but that would launch me into another long set of tedious analogies that would fall apart faster than Achebe could have ever predicted. So, I'll just end here and say that courage is good. I could deal with more of it and I only hope I know how.

The best of good days to all of you.

Musica Grande

2006-12-19T12:25:00.000-05:00

Several weeks passed, no Christmas songs. What's going on, Brad? Well, with the universal blog disclaimer of "if anyone is reading this at all," I've gotta explain to you that there are some things more important than music. Many things more important than music. One of them is the reason for doing music. More important than that is the reason for doing anything at all. Don't think I'm saying I've been doing much bigger, more important things with my time. I haven't recorded because of laziness. However, it stands true that things more important than music, even to me, exist and play great roles in my life. Music often serves higher purposes and I know for me music will bring more important things to forefront, like some kind of guardian angel who picks a man out of the snow in the freezing cold and carries him to a warm house, knocks on the door and when the door is opened no one is there but the man from the snow, confused at his advantageous transportation. How often I notice the serendipity of music, how I look to music and it brings me somewhere else, I learn different, more intricate things, ideas, and truths. Plus, in the same way, "Good music leads to more good music." --Alan Sparhawk

Music is big. Very big. There are bigger things than music, and even bigger things than bigger things. Some estimate the bigness of the bigger than bigger things is even bigger than the biggest of the bigger bigger things known to exist. It's a good thing and something to keep in mind.

I wear covers in the summer

2006-11-26T18:51:00.000-05:00

And I also record covers in the summer. Here are a couple I never posted about:

Fool On the Hill by the Beatles: what a great song from a great album. Generally considered as strange, but a very good album. One of my favorite personal recordings. This was more of a work of production than performance. Rather than waiting for perfect takes, I manipulated the ones I had to sound more like my intention, but I don't feel like I compromised anything as a musician by doing so. Many who know me know about my views on musically-compromising production techniques such as auto-tuning and quantization and all that stuff, although auto-tuning was used on one flute track, as far as I can hear. This case doesn't particularly bother me as 1) I'm not a flautist and 2) it was a pretty dumpy flute. Sorry Kelsey, it's just the truth. At the end of this particular flute track, you hear it make chromatic jumps which happened to fit the music, but in reality, I was holding a single note. The intonation of the flute in question was that bad that the auto-tuner didn't know which note it was trying to play. All in all though, the sounds in this recording are untainted in ways relating to musicianship.

Sink to the Bottom by Fountains of Wayne. If a recrowning for the King of Pop occurred, I'm quite sure Fountains of Wayne as a whole would be the recipient. This cover was a challenge I'm glad I accepted because as it turns out, it was very fun to make. Fortunately, the pending suit from Paul McCartney was put on hold in the light of his other ordeals. No reverb farms (wherever it is that reverb is grown) were destroyed in the making of this song. This one goes out to all ye ambient, quiet rockers out there.

I've also decided that my Christmas album, years in the promising, will never happen. Not quite like I've always planned anyhow. For each week following up to Christmas Day, I plan to finish at least one Christmas recording. With narrowing free time and a constantly growing musician's insecurity, I won't even promise this, but I have faith in me (today)! We'll see how this goes.

the North Race Wreckers

2006-11-22T09:48:00.001-05:00

When I said I want everyone to know what song I'm listening to at my time of death if it is known, I meant it. However, to balance out the gruesomeness, I also want to let you know what songs I listen to in other important milestones of life. When I first drove a car by myself after getting a license a few months ago, I first listened to the Beatles' "A Day in the Life." Good pick, Brad: "He blew his mind out in a car / He didn't notice that the light had changed." But it is a good song. When I go skydiving, I'll let you know the choice of music. Coming home through Chicago's Midway Airport after a year of college earlier this year, I listened to Wilco's very appropriate "Via Chicago." You better believe I'll tell you what I'm listening to when I first make it to earth's exosphere and/or beyond. And when I had my first wreck, I was listening to Low's "Sunflower."

Yeah, it's my displeasure to inform you that I had my first (and hopefully last) little crunch-up the other day. It's a strange experience and a lot of it is based in our culture, where crashes happen all the time but never affect us less. Here's the lowdown, narrative form:

You don't know me because I'm not really here. None of you have ever seen me, nor will you ever. I'm a friendly nobody though, perfectly willing to help in all ways possible even though I have no way of doing that. Lots of people (don't) ask me what it's like to not exist and all I can('t) tell them is that it's pretty much the same as existing except without taxes. You'd be surprised how many eyebrows that (doesn't) raise. But I am what I am, and what I was on Monday morning was Brad's shotgun seater. It's okay, he (didn't) say I could.

Bradley, as far as I could tell, was doing pretty good that morning. He slept in longer than he wanted at his brother's house in Statesville, but he needed it. Like he was saying, he had been up late into the night fruitlessly attempting to install Greg's new car CD player. After he had a couple hours of sleep, he was awoken again to finish the job, which he couldn't do. So you can understand the sleeping-in part. I certainly can! Not that I need sleep or ever do sleep, but I am good at understanding, you understand? It's a gift.

Our friend Bradley packed the car with all the useless gadgets he brought with him, including a soldering iron and a trumpet. I asked him why he brought a DVD burner drive, but he didn't answer because of my non-existence. Then he locked the car keys inside the house and had to wake up Greg's roommate to get back in, it was hilarious! That boy's an idiot, he even went through a checklist of things in his head that he needed to get out of the house before he locked the door and left.

Pouring a ton of power steering fluid into the innards of the used Lumina his family just got a few weeks ago, he seemed cheery enough. He had called his dad when he didn't see the power steering place under the hood, but found it soon enough, thanked his dad for the help and informed that he would be leaving Statesville within the minute. We got in the car, he threw a bag of junk in me on the seat, and he started Low's album "Things We Lost in the Fire" and we heard the first chords trickle out of the speakers. The car has an okay sound system, at least representative of the actual sound. The real virtue of the car was in its quiet driving though. Barely a sound on the road.

So we turn off the small Cherry Street of Statesville onto N. Race Street which would take us to a road that would take us to I-40 and then to 77 and so on. Despite the name of the road, Brad decided not to race with anyone that day, even though I egged him on. Low kept singing for us, "When they found your body / Giant Xs on your eyes." Brad was driving, I was singing along with the music, reaching down to get something off my non-existent shoes, when I felt sudden deceleration, swerve to the left followed by a *bump* that was us going up onto the curb and across the sidewalk into a nice lady's yard. I looked up when we stopped and

Goodness, sometimes it's draining, writing in a first-person who's not me. I prefer reading third person, so maybe I should have written in third, but I didn't and I already wrote all that, so I'm not going back. Anyhow, here's the dealio. I was moving north on North Race Street, approaching an intersection where my light was green. With less than seconds to spare, I look to my right and see a bright yet pastel orange (figure that one out for me, bright and pastel) car turning left out of West End. That slow-motion stuff isn't real. I've been in a few car wrecks in my life and if it was slow motion you would have been able to do something about it. My memory is slow motion, but that's just because I've always been a slow boy. I remember imagining how it would sound when I hit the car, less than a second before we collided, because it was obvious in my head that it was going to happen. If there's anything that BYU physics taught me, it's that if you don't do your homework, you'll get a bad grade. But if there's anything else that physics and Howie Day have taught me, it's that things collide far more often than we might believe.

**DISCLAIMER** This is in no way an endorsement of the Howie Day song "Collide." Sure, he's real good friends with Jump, Little Children and Jay wrote a bunch of his songs for him. I don't know if this was one of them or not, but let's be honest, whoever wrote it, it's really not that great of a song and doesn't deserve much of the worship it receives. If you want to enjoy the notion of serendipitous romance, read a book.

Having slowed for the turn, big Orange Honda slew down faster than me. I know that's not the right conjugation, but man is it a cool word. It's funny how you can slow faster. I was in the intersection and Hon. Da still hadn't stopped, so it was that the passenger side doors were gouged in, giving them a nice bright pastel orange finish. The other vehicle made a stop while I kept going with my soft brakes across the other lane in a delayed reaction to swerve out of the way of Hondalica and up into the Nice Lady's yard who called 911 for us while I called Dad. The other folks jumped out of the car, with all limbs attached to my joy, and I confirmed by asking if they were alright and they responded in the affirmative. There was much consoling and they noticed the sticker on the windshield of the car and were sorry that it happened to a "new" 10+ year old car, but I comforted them with the fact that the doors still opened, shut, and locked.

I mean, it was really very cool. I could have gone for hamburgers and milkshakes with these folks. I told Mom and Dad that I was in the perfect mindset to be in a wreck that day, being calm and jovial, extroverted almost, if you can believe it.

So, you've heard my story, the green light and all that. There is a conflict of claims, apparently, as outlined by the police report, although a few members of the other party claimed that both lights were green. I don't know about that, but I was glad that everyone was okay and everyone was cool about it.

It's funny. If we hadn't hit, if it had been a close call, angry words may have been shouted by different people and we might have been in bad moods. But since we crunched up against each other, we were all shaken, but in good light with each other. The insurance process scares me because I don't want this to change but because of conflicting accounts, it would be easy to do. I don't want that, it shouldn't happen. Love thy neighbor as thyself. I just hope love isn't expected in dollar form.

Here comes Thanksgiving, my friends, let's be thankful for peaceful car wrecks.

London (Wrong Side)

2006-11-15T08:39:00.000-05:00

The latest completed Fighting Gals composition

Kenfessions: You can bet I wasn't the first to use that one

2006-11-10T05:43:00.000-05:00

There's an annoying habit of mine I'd like to get rid of, but I can't. It's part of who I am and I've lived with it for some time. Well, actually, the first annoying habit is pressing the spacebar twice after each sentence. Blogger is kind enough to filter this affliction for me. I picked it up a couple of years ago with an e-mail correspondence. That's annoying habit #2, mimicking the style and even typography of those whom I talk or type with on a regular basis. Neither of the first two annoying habits are to say that I don't like improvement or being myself is an excuse to be the current Bradley Delano Gentry that I am and I shouldn't use others as examples of possible improvement, but since I forgot what I just typed in this very sentence, I'm gonna give the argument up. Funny how being tired makes you placid as well.

The annoying habit I alluded to originally was that of becoming discouraged when I become engulfed in the work(s) of someone who does something a heckuva-tonuva-clockuva lot better than myself. Musicianship brings me there time and time again. Over the summer, Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot brought me the joy of rock (see my previous description of the term) and made me feel like a wrung dish cloth. It's the duplicitous edge which we all walk upon. I try to imagine imagining my favorite music before it was born and get as far as, "Buh. Fuh." Manipulation of sounds at its best, stunning and heartbraking. Heartbreaking, too, if your heart isn't an automobile. (Another annoying habit, misspelling (and parenthetical statements)).

Posting regularly has been something I've cherished at times too. In fourth grade when I thought I was going to be a writer, being a good writer meant writing as much as possible. The more pages, the better. My reasoning was if you have more to write about and more to say, you must be saying things you like and that means other people will like it. I've since lost all copies of my Kool-Aid Monster short story. One thing I never understood about that, if I may, shooting them with sugar water from a squirt gun would kill them? Shouldn't it just be plain water to dilute them? Adding sugar water may change the sugar-water ratio in the solution, but if you want to kill them, you have to use plain water. Or celery. It kills almost any good meal.

The claims have been made that posting to this blog has made me a quicker and better writer in times when it's counted the most. Maybe it's true, but I wouldn't post at all if I didn't enjoy it. But I do enjoy it because I like reading creative stuff. Going back to Mr. Habit #2 (Annoying), if I enjoy a work of any medium I like to recreate it. As mentioned, I do it with music. I like food, so I sometimes feel a desire to cook something well (well done, rather). Dancing's never been something I've even understood artistically, so it hasn't clung to me as an aspiration (yet) as is obvious by any goofing off that resembles a resemblance of dancing. And I like Mark Twain, so I like to write.

Mark Twain is probably my highest writing idol. Consistently witty, frequently funny, [adverb] [adjective], a master of plots, reading ringleader, this cynic of cynics stands among my favorites. Writing nothing without purpose, Twain always wrote what and how he wanted, never failing at his aim. The common high school reaction to Huckleberry Finn is, "Oh, I really enjoyed it, it was pretty good I guess, I liked it, I mean, uh, yeah. Good man, good. Well, except for that whole escape thing, taking five years to escape Jim, what was up with that? I mean, they knew they could get him out and get him out quick, but they didn't. How boring!" Mark Twain chuckles in his grave whenever a poor soul struggles to get through the escape sequence because they expect it to be as meaningful and plot-effective as the rest of the book. As I said, he always accomplished his goals.

May I introduce the Mark Twain of the bloggosphere, a word I loathe? Sure, he's not quite an eternal cynic and other character traits of Clemens don't apply, but he is consistently witty, his writing feels like it's read as it was written, whatever that means, and... Nevermind, I'll get to it, it's Ken Jennings, or Ken Jennings for all you link-enabled internet sleuths/sloths. That's right, your favorite Jeopardy! contestant who stole the hearts of teenaged girls of America, or maybe just the hearts of America, or maybe just Merv Griffin's money. I mean forget the fact that his general specific trivia knowledge was enough to make me jealous and joyous during his half-hour-including-commercials era. I probably missed a few Quiz Bowl questions he wrote. Who knows? I sure won't, mostly because I don't even remember the QB questions that tripped me up (there's a little bit of trivia for you). But goodness, is he ever a blog artist.

I'm quickly losing the energy and composition of thought to describe everything I wanted to, but in the end it wouldn't matter how long I told you about it. You'd have to find out yourself. Thus, I refer you to my blogging idol. Peruse at your pleasure. Some might not even call his postings collection a blog though. There was an article by somedude from somewhere, maybe in a tech magazine I was reading, who described what blogs really were and were not. His blog requisites were, in an e-nutshell, ability to post in several different ways or from different applications, RSS feeds, comment feature for interactivity with the public, the ability for a single post to be a single page independent from other posts, and a bunch of other stuff. To me, that's all pointless, like arguing over whether Pluto is a planet. What it is has never changed, what we've called it has or hasn't depending on whom you ask. What Pluto is not is a blog and Ken Jenning's blog rocks in a blog way, so there you have it.

Is insomnia a habit or a condition, maybe a habitual condition? Whatever it is, it ain't a blog either and it sure is annoying.

2006-11-09T18:39:00.000-05:00

Lots of my highly interactive and responsive readerbase might call it excessively morbid, but I'm not offset at all when I say I want everyone to know what song/album I'll have listened to at my time of death. At least I want to be listening to music when I die. Something good, something upbeat , something significant to me. But I can't really choose it unless I choose my time of death which I don't want to be able to do. I'd never get around to it because I wouldn't be able to decide which song to listen to. So, please, if you will, paste the song title in my funeral program, that'd be nice. Thanks!

If the song is unknown, make one up. Ooo, or "Afterlife" by Jump, Little Children.

2006-10-31T17:21:00.000-05:00

I've truly joined the other side. In no temporal way am I a kid anymore. Nothing like a good ole' Halloween kick to the face to bring this to realization. Just because I was weened off the 'Ween years ago doesn't mean I haven't been a kid during all this time. Trick-or-treating for me ended years ago, still probably later than most of my peers', but that alone isn't enough to prove you're not a kid. I'd still wake up on Halloween and say to myself, "Oh wow, it's Halloween!" I'd look forward to somewhere, somehow getting some kind of candy.

Sadly enough, this morning I didn't experience the waking realization of what day it is. No costume to wear around today. No reason to be excited about this day in particular, either. I've been working all day and in a short time, I'll be going to another job. Jobs! Work! I'm no kid, I'm a boring adult. At least, that's me on the outside. On the inside I'm just as much a kid as ever. There's still the incredible urge to go outside and gather junk and yard-trash to build a contraption to serve as imagination fuel. Yes, that's being a kid at heart. What? You never did that?

Happy Halloween, may Satan(s) remember to forget you in his (their) plans tonight.

A Pot of Hygienic Goods at the End of Every Rainbow

2006-10-30T18:30:00.000-05:00

After sleeping not long enough in a bed that was too small in a house as drafty as root beer, I woke up in the shower preparing for a day of work. As usual, I was reluctant to turn the shower off because it was cold in the bathroom. There's a small space heater that was built in when the house was made, and it does okay if you've had it on for four hours. At any rate, it came time to apply the deodorant. There's not a huge selection here, probably just three choices. Kyle generally has some laying around somewhere, but he tends to hide it when he thinks of it. He doesn't want his deodorant on anyone else's arm pits, I don't know why. There's the generic brand that has been bought by Mom, cheap as it can be found, placed somewhere around the bathroom sink. The third is fortune, that is, you hope you don't stink all day by some miracle.

I chose the second option.

This week's generic brand was in the shade of Irish Spring. Taking a whiff, not too bad. Deodorants are often too excessive. And that's not just based on the amount one uses, it's the actual fragrance. Why would I want the noses of my peers to burn when I'm around? This was a mild, soothing odor (shouldn't they be called odorants?), light on the nose and successfully masking any offensive natural functions where the arms attach with the torso. Yeah, it's not bad. But that's not why I'm writing. I was thinking about the name of this scent and I was thinking... does Ireland really smell like this during their spring? If so, do the Irish wear deodorant at springtime or do they sort of roll around in the mud for a while to get rid of the stinkyness? Irish men aren't much different than the rest, they sweat too, but if you're working in the deodorant mines of your homeland, it won't make you stink, right? When ODEC (Organization of the Deodorant Exporting Countries) wants to raise prices, do they simply cut production or do they have to go through the retail chains? Forget the oil crisis, we need to focus on the deo-depletion. B. O. is one of the few things we want government officials, and everybody else for that matter, to cover up.

To all ye Irishmen with your fiery drinks and rousing tales, keep doubling (Dublin?) your efforts; thanks for all the deodorant.

13 Degrees of Separation

2006-10-26T08:18:00.000-04:00

Fingernails are a lot like weeds. You're always trying to get dirt out from under them and keep them from growing. Weeds are a lot like telemarketers because they just won't go away! Telemarketers are a lot like stars since there are so many of them. Stars are very similar to CD-Rs in the way that they're burning. CD-Rs bring us to bags because they're plastic, bags to professional movers because they hold things, pro-mo's to dogs because they take things away and never bring them back, dogs to car stereos because you can hear them even when they're outside, car stereos to toothbrushes because there is no standard, teethbrushes to NiMH rechargeable batteries because you throw them away when you're done with 'em, batteries to coaches because they make things run, the coach to turtles because they have cool shows named after them, and turtles to toe nails because they're made out of a hard substance. That's how I know my fingernails are like my toenails. If you don't trust my logic, ask if my end result isn't true and then review my methods. Next episode: Tums and Rolaids!!

Limerick

2006-10-21T11:29:00.000-04:00

My Biggest Fan

2006-10-19T17:25:00.000-04:00

Many years ago, I bought a snare drum from Russell Davis for $5. He found it at the landfill. The only reason I did it is because I love musical instruments of any type and it didn't look to be in the worst condition. Both heads were still intact, unpunctured, and the snare still attached. For a brief stint, I retained the possibility that it could be Wes Burkhart's drum stolen from the band room. This was an un-truth confirmed in its falsehood when Wes looked at it. I think he thought it was hilarious that I paid any money for it, but it was mine for sure.

I asked for drum sticks for Christmas or my birthday and was granted that wish. A pair of Black Bays. For a while I thought they were called Black Boys ######!!! NOT ACCEPTABLE !!!###### Did I say Black Boys? I meant to say, Minority Boys? (ACCEPTABLE) I proceeded to record a cover of Yashingo's "Good While It Lasted." It was great, it began with a toilet flushing instead of the ocean sound effect, and ended with a rendition of the Beatles' "A Day In the Life" wall of sound. It took a long time to produce and the hard drive crashed. Oh well, too bad. But I got a chance to use the drumb (dumb drum).

Most years since, the drum has seen a lot of shelf time. I recently pulled it back out and used a trash can for a stand. I found that if you drape a t-shirt over the drum with the snare side facing upwards, it doesn't give a terrible sound at all. That was cool enough, but it was even more cool when I realized the fan sitting on the chair beside it, ready to go into storage until next summer, served as a ruddy-yet-unique ride cymbal. It's true, I have a two-piece set now. Oh dear, it's time to go to work. More to come about the drum!

The truth about rock n' roll

2006-10-16T17:52:00.000-04:00

I don't know anything about being a rock star. After going through a handful of live shows with varying results from rotten to okay, it seems like it's not something I've improved upon either. There are all sorts of dimensions to being a rock star: ability, presence, experience, expression among them. But I know a lot more about being a rock fan, and I have improved on that.

After reading a little in The Wilco Book, written by the band Wilco among others, one section has been on my thoughts. Jeff Tweedy discusses the definition of rock and roll, talking about how each person's definition is different, some being more confining and others being as general as my own: "Whatever I like." I was pleased to find the thoughts of Jeff weren't far off from my own, at least that they were less specific than general. If I understand correctly, he doesn't even have to like it for it to be rock and roll. Rock and roll, Tweedy says, is music and the impulse to make music. Rock and roll is music that, when conceived and performed, is about music and not rock and roll. Music is the heart of rock and roll and rock and roll is the heart of plain ole' noise.

The more I think about it, the more I am willing to adopt this outlook, especially his belief that one's definition of rock and roll can and should expand and grow to encompass more and more. This is similar to a religious belief of mine that a human being can grow closer to perfection, encompassing more and better traits, discovering higher laws to follow. I wonder if there is a musical belief equivalent to perfection which a lover of rock and roll can reach by appending his definition infinitely. At any rate, it's far more comfortable and precise to base a definition on what it is rather than what it is not.

Still, there are ambiguities with this outlook that I cannot resolve just yet. How do you know with what spirit music is created? Can you really know if music is written for the sake of music or if it was written for the sake of being written? I have faith that Jeff is more advanced than myself on the rock climbing adventure of Music Mountain, but this is why for now I'm sticking to my old favorite of "whatever I like."

However, notwithstanding, his insight brought me to the realization that a rock star might not know the first thing about being a rock star. Many rock stars probably do, but it's not a requirement in the least. A true rocker is such because of dedication to the music, not because of presence or being behind the shadows, ability or incompetence, expression or stoicism, ostentation (whether feigned or genuine) or humility.

Are there any music philosophy classes in existence? I think it's the only kind of philosophy I'm interested in discussing. Not theAre we really here? philosophy. Ridiculous

On a scale of one to dead...

2006-10-09T10:42:00.000-04:00

Alright kids, this one's kind of gross, disgusting even. But not really, only sort of. A week or so ago we began smelling something terrible around the yard. Worse than normal. At first I thought somebody left soaked clothes in a plastic bag near the porch or something. When that proved not to be the case, I gave up and stopped thinking about it. Mom and Dad, however, kept wondering what the stench was.

Dad blamed the smell on a couple of things. First, he said it was Mom's rubarb plant. Sure, it's an ugly plant and you would expect it to have a matching ugly smell, but I've never actually smelt rubarb and we've never had that odor around our yard (so strongly) before. His next was even better. Apparently, a few days before he had heard what he thought were sounds coming from under the floor, and muffled voices, like they were coming through a megaphone (I don't understand how muffled and megaphone go together, but that's the way things work out sometimes). Naturally, someone probably got stuck under the house with a megaphone and was calling up for help. Just as naturally, Dad didn't check it out but asked me to take a look under the house 4 days later, after it began stinking. I did look, but there were no bodies under the house. Not this time anyhow. Normally when I find bodies under the house they're fresh and have plenty of not stinking around them. I don't know what they're for or how they get there, but I'm not the brains behind that operation, and by operation I do not mean the mob in any way.

The source of the perplexing rot smell was discovered by Mom a few days ago. Under the nearly broken down Lumina was the nearly broken down carcass of Snickers the Cat. Man, did he stink! Dag, it was terrible. I pulled the car up a few feet as to better get at the remaining remains. We dug a hole in the back but then I was afraid that when we tried to pick him up with the shovel, he'd sort of just fall apart. So we started one right next to him, but the ground there was too full of roots to dig into. That's why we're getting sinkholes there, the dirt that filled up that spot was full of roots. When the roots decay, there's empty space which the dirt moves to fill up. The ground sinks and our house because a half story building. To make a short story boring, somehow Mom found it in her to put him on a plastic bag and carry him to the first hole. She used the dirt from the second hole to cover up the maggots. I probably could have left that out.

Snickers was the last remaining offspring of Milk Dud. His cause of death is unknown. He never seemed sick, and the car didn't back over him. It would have been more noticeable. We hadn't seen him for weeks, but that wasn't unusual. He's disappeard for long periods of time before. But there he was, dead anyhow. Sometimes you don't really need a cause of death to die, I guess. His sibling Cinderblock was laid to rest by Bryan's foot. Milk Dud herself was the next to go around Christmas time. Her cause of death is unknown, as I explained the day I found her frozen and stiff by the roadside. Someone moved her body before we went back to get her. Licorice disappeared a few months ago. The longest she had been gone before was a day, maybe two. Although we have not seen (or smelt) her dead, we presume her dead because no one would take her in. She was too ugly and had a lot of weird defects, like her bent up tail and the time that all the fur came out in tufts off her back side. Yeah, she's gotta be dead. And now Snickers. Being a little over two years old, he experienced all a cat really could around here. When he was home, he liked to hang out in the building out back and be disassociated with the other catlings. He hated Saturn the dog when we got her a month or two ago. Later Snickers! It was fun making fun of you, laughing at you and making you chase the laser pointer.

A bajillion other cats, surely his own offspring, survived by Snickers. They eat a lot of food.

It's Time to Plead With the Pleated People

2006-09-19T21:42:00.000-04:00

All these years, thousands and thousands of racks of Goodwill pants have sported grotesque arrays of pleated pants. Wal-Mart, K-Mart, Mart Mart, and many other locations support the endeavors of pleated pants. Now I ask you, why? Why submit to this idea, this school of thought that pleated pants are where it's at?

Many people will pay good money to get wrinkles out of their pants. But what's the use if you own pleated pants? They were designed for maximum wrinkledge at the waistline. I call them wastelines. Why would you want these designed into your clothing? Perhaps you feel they give you more room to grow, they help you with your homework or sing to you when it rains. Such arguments are ridiculous because if you put them on a scale and the fact that they're really quite ugly on the other side, the latter argument outweighs them by the metric ton.

"Pleated pants may become the downfall of western civilization. As Rome fell, so shall this modern age, and you have pleated pants to thank for that." --Albert Einstein, as quoted by Mr. Ed. So there you have it, straight from the horses mouth, just don't do it. Love the earth, wear non-pleated pants.

Fall Down

2006-09-02T11:51:00.000-04:00

What makes an autumn day an autumn day? "Well, there are many things, I believe, which do such a thing... of that-- nature." (Michael G. Scott) Is it a period of time, a quarter of the year? Sure, that helps it out, but that's not all. Innovative and original authors all over the world all like to use the words "crisp air" when talking about autumn, but crisp also describes numerous vegetables and cheese crackers. It's more of a marketing scheme. Fall is not an item you can buy on a shelf though, so "crisp" is out.

I can't make a list of things required for autumn to be present. In the end, I believe it's just a personal decision that it's autumn, but I can make a list of things that help me decide it's fall time.

Obviously, everyone will mention the falling leaves. What an important part, especially in this part of North Carolina and Mt. Airy in particular with the Rotten Leaves Festival (-- K. Bretz). If it weren't for the visible transition of the leaves, you might as well just say summer ends somewhere in September and it's dead time until December when winter starts. Those seasons are based mostly on the temperature, but there's so much more to fall!

Marching band. Yes, nothing brings fall to me like sunny, shadow-casting marching band competition days and college football on TV. This is probably one of the factors that is a little more personal and not as widely shared. 4 years of marching band during the fall time lodged it in my head that marching band = autumn. But I don't know, from the very beginning it felt like a reinforcement of autumn. There's something magically, naturally fall about marching band. And college football, I actually don't feel the need for it that often, but when I do, it can't be anything but fall.

Fall brings a different shade of sunlight. This is a very ambiguous attribute, but I can't leave it out. There's something there, or something not there in the light in the air. Everything's golden. Not the leaves, the air. Sounds too. Anything that goes through the air is caked with the gold of autumn. The sun is given the Midas touch for a season. Anyone seen that Wishbone episode?

Whenever I feel that it's autumn, I am overwhelmed with a feeling of contentment and peace. Heaven for me is eternal autumn on a porch with a rocking chair, forever just before sunset. Of course, the same heaven requires that I wouldn't have to have that if I didn't want, but what I mean is the contentment and peace I feel when seeing a particularly beautiful autumn scene and feeling that it is autumn is how I want to feel forever.

Gillian Welch helps a huge amount in the autumn equation, but like I said before, the most important thing is the decision that it's an autumn day for you. With that said, today is an autumn day. Everyone have a good day!

2006-08-30T07:57:00.000-04:00

Okay, for the past year, I guess, I've been getting these emails regularly. I normally just delete them. I don't know what they're talking about. The subject is "failure notice" and the email is about an email that I supposedly sent but it did not go through. Sure, this is all weird to me and I'd appreciate any insight on what's actually going on, but that's not why I'm writing.

The body of the emails is:

Hi. This is the qmail-send program at pip1.domainsite.com.
I'm afraid I wasn't able to deliver your message to the following addresses.
This is a permanent error; I've given up. Sorry it didn't work out.

To me, there's something so inconspicuously amusing in the last two sentences. I get this image in my mind of a guy sitting at a computer all day and working furiously to get emails to go through, and when one doesn't make it, he beats himself up for it and can't sleep that night. If he ever goes to a shrink, he talks about each and every email that he failed to send.

On the other hand, he might not be that connected with it at all. He's learned to be professionally disconnected. Like a doctor. He comes out to the lobby and delivers the bad news. Alas, our email, there was...nothing they could do. So, it feels to me like comparing the gravity of bad news you may receive in a doctor's office with inability to send an email. It's something to be passionate about, kids, it's something to worry about. It won't be global warming or the reincarnation of Don Knotts that ruins this world, it will be unsent emails, waiting, ever waiting.

Live life on bass and treble

2006-08-21T00:57:00.000-04:00

For me, at least, it's not every day that one of your all-time mega rock heroes reviews your music, even lightly. Naturally, I was ecstatic when we received the following from John Wozniak of Marcy Playground after dropping a message on OurSpace telling him who we were and offering to open for him if he's ever in NC or surrounding areas:

Hi Greg
Funnily enough I just played a show in Raleigh in late June. It was during that wicked thunder storm... typhoon thingy that blew through. Anyway, yeah I've been searching for Marcy fans to let them know about this new solo stuff.

Your guys music really sounds great. You have some hooky little melodies going on there...

Woz.

Whoa; I mean, there have been weeks where I only listen to Marcy Playground's "Shapeshifter," leaving it on repeat. Their debut album is a great work full of catchy, articulate songs in the MP style, and their latest album MP3 is all the same, with more rock than the granite quarry here in Mt. Airy. And it's common knowloedge that it's the largest open-faced granite quarry in the world, so that's a lot of rock. And like granite, Marcy Playground's rock is shifting, evolving. Though not quite as slowly as the igneous formation I was talking about. But at any rate, music that evolves yet continues to be spectacular and awesome every step of the way is the best. I really enjoy everything they do.

I'm also enjoying John's new stuff. He's releasing a solo album, "Leaving Wonderland...In A Fit of Rage" when he finds a label. You can listen to some great tracks here.

Rock and roll heroes
Keep me so mesmerized
In the confines of my room
I'm moving to the sound
And rock and roll heroes
They help me sleep through the night
And in the morning wake up to that song
That played the night before

I may be a teenage rebel
I live life on bass and treble
but I know that these years
They won't come again

So I have rock and roll heroes
And baby I love them all
I got my headphones all turned up
Just cruising down the hall
Without my rock and roll heroes I would be miserable
And so everywhere I go
Ba-boom the radio

I may be a teenage rebel
I live life on bass and treble
but I know that these years
They won't come again

Yea mamma I'm more than crazy
Oh baby all my sense is gone
And when I'm pushing daisies
I'll have my tunes to carry on
Oh my rock and roll heroes
Oh my rock and roll heroes
Oh my rock and roll heroes
I'm lost without my rock and roll heroes
I'm lost without my rock and roll heroes
I'm lost without rock and roll

--Marcy Playground, "Rock And Roll Heroes"

Small Person Goes to Throw Ring in Volcano

2006-08-19T13:29:00.000-04:00

Yeah, I'm just sitting back, watching my favorite movies today. There's "Police Men Chase Doctor Who's Innocent" and "Khan Comes Back to Attack Captain Kirk" and "Emperor Turns Into Llama (Laugh Laugh!)," and we can't forget "Orlando Bloom Uses A Sword." Wait, which one is that again? But I'm sure by now you know that I'm referring to the dumb movie title of "Snakes On A Plane." I won't be seeing the movie due to its rating (and the fact that CleanFlicks is shutting down), so from all I know about the movie, I can only give it two thumbs down. All I know about the movie is the title; and it's a terrible title. That could have called it "Tachonka" or "Hiss" or "Feldspar." Anything's better than Snakes on a Plane. Actually, Tachanka sounds good. I'll make Tachonka and make more money off the title than Snakes on a Plane.

Holy cow, "Whiney Guy Learns to Use the Force and Becomes Less Whiney" is coming on, can't miss it! Later all.

The Lemonheads

2006-08-18T13:29:00.000-04:00

I just posted this on an Evan Dando and Lemonheads fan forum after visiting the new Lemonheads website and listening to a few new tunes from their upcoming album:

"Call me a wuss, but for being a different type of emotional about the new stuff. Evan's compositional skills are as good as ever and you can spot his distinctive and amazing voice a mile away. I'm emotional about this stuff, but right now that emotion is anger. Not at the songs or Evan, but the production of the songs. Something that makes me most angry about music these days is overproduction, where work is done that needed no work at all. Mainly, I'm talking about the auto-tuning technology which "fixes" a vocal line by making every note sung go exactly to the nearest note in a particular scale, thus making it a "perfect" vocal line. You can hear this tool used in all genres of music now, and most every artist's releases contain the touch of the auto-tuner. Bad singers use it. They have to or they wouldn't be able to make a CD. Think Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, several hard punk artists use it to give it a "clean cut" feel (because they tend to write four musical notes for every syllable of lyrics). In fact, there's a graphical interface that allows you to tell the software what note should be sung at a particular point in time. Translation: one doesn't even have to be able to carry a tune to sing a melody on a record.

As the auto-tuning extravaganza advances on all fronts, you sort of feel surrounded in a record store these days. You can try to fight the good fight and avoid artists who've been produced with auto-tuning, but you may find yourself fighting the ones you love if you do so. It turns out that the technology has advanced so much that even the artists you love begin using it. This is where the anger comes in, because if there's anyone in the world who doesn't need auto-tuning, it's Evan Dando. I've never noticed much vocal production if any on his voice. He's tended just to record great cuts and they use them mostly raw. If there has been auto-tuning in his past works, it's been extremely light and non-intrusive. Artists who nail their stuff live these days are using auto-tuners all the time now. People who sound great, and even better, without them are consistently produced using the auto-tuner. Perhaps it's because if you don't have an auto-tuner on your vocals, it sounds like it was a cheap production, I don't know, one of those check list "album with potential" items. With the new material on the site, that was the first thing I noticed, was the dumbing down of Evan's remarkable voice, making every note change immediate and rough edged, basically having a computer sing his stuff while he shaped the words. And yes, it makes me very angry because it was entirely unnecessary.

After a few more listens, I've already warmed up to this stuff. It really is great, and it's even better that we finally have more of our favorite music to listen to. I know I'll be supporting the guys in getting the word out about this album. I will love it, based on my past Lemonheads experiences, which have been extraordinary. It's only an instant turn-off with the whole auto-tuner thing, but how can any true lover of good music refuse to like the brilliant melodies of the complacent Evan Dando? Keep rockin', Lemonheads. No one deserves more musical attention based upon past musical greatness and consistent new musical greatness than the Lemonheads. Rock, rock on!"

I'll never not call myself a Lemonheads fan, and I really do like the new stuff now. Catchy as ever, just as great. But all of this applies to more of my favorite artists now. Jay Clifford of Jump, Little Children had his voice auto-tuned on most of their productions even though he is known to nail vocals perfectly live and he has what is pretty much the most complete vocal ability known to rock and roll. Ben Folds, sadly, uses it religiously now. I don't know if I'm just weird or something, but I feel like it detracts from the voices of artists who really can sing. But oh well. There'll probably be a big roots movement in five years or so and it will become cool to not use an auto-tuner. I'll probably despise that movement because everyone will do it just because it's cool. There will always be love and disappointment for music from me.

"As a doctor, you would not tell a patient if they had cancer."
--Michael G. Scott, The Office

Sha Sha La La

2006-08-08T10:10:00.000-04:00

It's time for a plug for one of my newest favorite places on the internet. Actually, these days, my full round of surfing the net involves all of four web pages, so it's a high honor to be among my list. Actually, it's probably not, but I still want to share with you.

Lala.com started as a great idea and has ended up and continues to be totally awesome. The basic idea is this: you list CDs you own. Real CDs that is, actual official copies of albums. You also list CDs you want. When someone lists a CD they want that you own, lala gives you an option to ship the album, for which they send shipping supplies and pay postage. You send off the album, which gives you credit to receive a CD. You just pay $1 plus 75 cents postage to receive one. This goes for any CD, no matter the rarity, number of tracks, or whatever.

Sounds cool? The coolest thing to me is the fact that $.20 from every purchase goes to the original artists. Well, twenty cents may not sound like much of a royalty, but it's the only used CD store in the world that gives back to the artists. Twenty cents a disc adds up! Unless you never sold any CDs in the first place, then you can't have used ones. Don't worry, I fall under that category, but it has more to do with the fact that I don't sell CDs. Well, that's a bit of a non-truth, I tried to sell "singles" of the Ubba-Dubba Song in middle School. That is, I compressed it enough to fit on a single floppy disk. And I didn't actually try to sell it. That was just for the sake of this post.

Also for the sake of the post, I think I'll just quit writing now. Just go to lala, it's cool.

2006-07-22T00:51:00.000-04:00

Kicking Chairs and Taking Names

2006-07-13T20:22:00.000-04:00

This is not an abnormal conversation between Mikel Snow and myself on instant messaging programs:

(20:52:16) Mikel logged in.
(20:52:16) Mikel is no longer away.
(20:52:16) Mikel is no longer idle.
(23:39:56) Brad: stapson clearsod
(23:40:17) Mikel: clifford Stempson
(23:40:30) Brad: Sal Foley
(23:41:30) Mikel: Benjamin Harvey
(23:43:29) Brad: Cad Mardy
(23:43:53) Mikel: Chad McMurry
(23:44:27) Brad: Taston Colfrey
(23:46:48) Mikel: Trenton Culler
(23:47:57) Brad: McNair O'Flint
(23:48:42) Mikel: Milton Stone
(23:49:26) Brad: Nils Blunts-Water
(23:50:27) Mikel: Nathaniel Warren
(23:51:37) Brad: Walden Prataal
(23:52:36) Mikel: Miles Weathermere
(23:53:25) Brad: Stafford Boltonshire
(23:53:31) Mikel: Su Nyun
(23:54:13) Brad: Xiau Yon
(23:54:37) Brad: noxious au juice
(23:54:54) Mikel: Randal Hollenshead
(23:55:46) Brad: Eddie Stilson
(23:56:34) Mikel: Philip Ghill
(23:56:59) Brad: Giff Golgon
(23:57:42) Mikel: Pete Coucolugh
(23:58:39) Brad: Thurnow Yakolkosh
(00:00:11) Mikel: Mikhail Gurlukovich
(00:00:54) Brad: Urstal Bashir
(00:01:59) Mikel: Urskin Bule
(00:04:13) Mikel: i'm out! (Richard Mullandigraph, awayyyyyyyy.....)
(00:04:41) Brad: qapla
(00:04:55) Mikel: yes, copeland
(00:05:03) Mikel logged out.

Maybe I should have posted this on the dead Listerine because it's a good list of fake names, but I think the nature of the list was more suited to my HomeBlog. Now, if anyone wants to road trip with me to Harper Lee's home to shout praises to her name and her work, let me know.

Official Statement on Extra-temporal Displacement Dominance

2006-07-02T21:11:00.000-04:00

That's right, I decided it was time to organize my personal rules regarding time travel. How chaotic would it be to travel to another time period to play a game of baseball with yourself (yourselves) and when you arrive, you start assuming all that belongs to the you that's indigenous to that time period belongs to you, inserted from some different point in spacetime? It just wouldn't work so well. Let's say that the thirty year old me arrives in the next ten minutes and tells me he needs $75. The 35 year old me will surely still be a bum, and it's not like I'd have $75 to give him anyhow, but the truth is I shouldn't have to. And I'm deciding from this moment on, all property, statuses, fortunes and otherwise in possession of the indigenous me will remain so during any visit I make to any other time period. I'm sure this will clear up a lot of confusion and hustle when start to visit myself.

The plural of "status" is quite ambiguous. Webster says "statuses," whereas other dictionaries neglect to mention a plural form. I wanted to say stati, and I don't think that would be incorrect though, seeing as it's an unclear subject in English. It's okay to make up words if you need them and they convey what you intend accurately.

Holy cowz0rz!!! the me from next week just came up to me and told me that I will decide to go against my Dominance Protocol and that he needed $75! You think I would have known that I didn't have the money. Crazy Brad, he forgets things sometimes.

Keep your back straight and your eyes low, low

2006-06-28T17:50:00.000-04:00

My brother Greg made a list for a friend the other day of the top albums to take muscle relaxants to. Or any other kind of diminishing medical substances, especially those in the mental area:

1. Dark Side of the Moon
I know it's cliche, but when Bradley got his wisdom teeth removed he listened to this while still on his pain meds from the surgery. He called me later and said "Nothing too great happened except I did have a very distinct dream in which the statue of Liberty was singing" The best part, is that he doesn't remember telling me this, but I will forever. Now this album gets all the glory, but Wish You Were Here is scarier and the Wall can be as well.....but Meddle is just as/if not more psychedelic as any of them......Ok change #1 to anything Pink Floyd, but for full effect I'd keep it to something within the Roger Waters era.

2. A complete succession of Wilco's "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot" and "A Ghost is Born"
Two of my favorite albums ever. Listen to these in their entirety/back to back. Bradley and I both pretty much agree that it takes significant mental and physical control to keep from gyrating and speaking in tongues when we hear these albums.

3.the Flaming Lips' "Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots"
I think I had hallucinogenic visions the night that I first gave this album a listen, and you know me, there were no drugs in my system. So it should be effective under the influence.

4. Oasis' "Standing on the Shoulder of Giants"
has significant value especially if you are going to be medicated.....or at least I'd imagine.

5. the Beatles "Rubber Soul" or "Revolver"
A lot of people would say "the White Album" but I think these two are better for the circumstances.....as great as the White album is, These two may be better. Ooooh....Throw Magical Mystery Tour up there as well....like I said, given the circumstances, it is probably a good choice.

I'd have to add Time (The Revelator) by Gillian Welch to the list. Haunting, scary as a bat on caffeine.

Mr. John v. the Collared Lizards and their Vivarium-Defying Death Ray

2006-06-05T21:16:00.000-04:00

Drinks are great. Drinks are very, very good as a matter of fact. This is a relative statement, and it's relative to food. Solid food. This might be confusing for someone who has never had a drink of anything ever, but most living people have. Therefore, I've connected with my entire audience and I can describe things in terms everyone will recognize.

First of all: yum! Tasty drinks are good and not just good in one place on the tongue, but on all buds of the tasting sort. Food can only stimulate certain parts of the tongue at the time due to its solid form. Liquids normally stimulate all parts of the tongue at once, giving a broader response. You could liken it to hearing a symphony played over a phone and then hearing it live. The response spectrum is wider and more full. If the drink is good, it will be all the better since you can taste it more.

A necessary factor for my liking intake is texture. I'm just a big texture fan. Texture is icing on the cake, literally, and corn chips in a Mexican casserole, the crisp of an apple, etc. Most drinks, with the exception of pulped juices and other like drinks with solid masses floating inside, are uniform in texture, so they could be considered to be less interesting. But just like cartoons as a kid, it had little to do with interest and more to do with whether you enjoyed them or not. If the texture of a drink is good, if it's uniform, it's not going to matter. Milk is a choice drink of mine because of its thickness. Some people say thickness is the cause of bad grades, and I don't mean grade A pasteurized. Orange juice is quite coating and it's what you drink when you want to get those bubbles in the back of your throat that make you sound weird. The ones that you try to keep, but even after they pop, you act like it's still there and try to make yourself sound the same. The same case with helium from balloons: when it runs out, you try to keep your voice high until people realize you're faking it. Helium doesn't have a noticeably good texture.

Drinks are wonderful, but as good as they are, perhaps semi-solids are the best edibles. Yogurt and pudding, ice cream, primordial soup, and what exactly is whipped cream? Yogurt is about the only semi-solid that can be considered healthy though. What I want to see on the shelves are candied gases. No supplemental or detrimental nutritional values at all. Mmmm

2006-05-21T20:14:00.000-04:00

Doll

2006-05-08T22:34:00.000-04:00

And you must be the Monopoly guy

2006-04-20T22:30:00.000-04:00

Lord of the Rings: The College Years

2006-04-14T20:06:00.000-04:00

No, nothing's as good as the original. It seems like a full year almost since my last April 14th (Ruination Day) post, but alas, I have returned at the turn of the tides for a time, until my task is done. My task will be done when I run out of things to say.

But back to the main idea: nothing's as good as the original. I'd like to see this proved fully. For wasn't Super Mario Brothers for the NES better than the original card game in which the Italian plumbers were born? Actually, I wouldn't know as I haven't played the card game, but most people will answer yea, even though they know no more about the card game than I.

Spaghetti! Holy cow, to keep with the Italian theme, spaghetti is far better as leftovers than the first serving. If I had my way, spaghetti would be made and promptly put away in the fridge to be baked later as a kingly meal. If meatballs can be spared though, spaghetti is just as good the first, second, third, or even eighth time. The New Kids On the Block were... well, if there were an Old Kids On the Block, I might actually like them better. As for Weezer, Pinkerton had nothing on their debut. Pinkerton has about nothing on any album for the most part. Everyone loves the Da Vinci Code while the previous book in the series has no renown. I sure don't know the title.

And wouldn't it be sad if nothing was as good as the original? I know that at least I plan to get better at things and improve all the time. I mean, the definition of dismal would be if things keep going the way they have and my third semester of college is worse than the previous two (hard to beat!!). This is the part where I say, "Good times," and sigh. Good times, good times *sigh*

*burp*

2006-03-11T04:52:00.000-05:00

hodgepodge

2006-02-16T23:44:00.000-05:00

2006-01-13T00:30:00.000-05:00

Textbook lines are for nerds!

2006-01-10T12:53:00.000-05:00

This is why I've been dreading my trip to the book store. Ah, me!

Won't Uncle Glade be my neighbor?

2006-01-09T00:37:00.000-05:00

Oh, and I was telling a fib. I can do it again. Bwahahaha!

What a special friend Deanne is.

2006-01-09T00:31:00.000-05:00

2006-01-04T23:52:00.000-05:00

2005-12-19T15:56:00.000-05:00

holy cow, Brad. A month? One whole month?! I promised myself this wouldn't happen, but what do I know? Nothing, apparently. I apologize for my lack of postage, but it's not an apology to you the readers so much, but to myself. My writing skills must be deteriorating. I no longer have bright ideas on a whim. Not to say I really did before, but I was at least able to write somewhat fluently (look at all those modifiers; yuck!). It took me a very long time to write papers this semester and I think it's because I'm not used to organizing ideas right now. I'll work on it. The blog is back, in some form. You can bet on that.

I'm leaving for home today (yaayyyyyyaoiefijaweoifjwea!!!)! North Carolina, I've always been with you in my heart. Now I'll be with you in body and peace.

Merry Christmas everyone!

2005-11-19T12:19:00.000-05:00

Wow, I feel bad for keeping this place so poorly upheld. The flames of blog regret have lashed me again. I'd give you an update on my life, but 1) it'd defeat the entertainment-like purposes of this blog, and 2) all I'd say is "college this, college that, college Antarctica, college etc." When really, college isn't different than high school except for the fact that I live here. In most respects, it isn't different at all than high school. I mean, you have different hours for school (depending on when you choose them), but I turn in just the same amount of work unfinished as I did in high school. I eat food, like I did in high school. I sit around on the computer waiting for IMs and emails that never come, just like in high school.

I throw rocks at people, just like in high school (I dont throw rocks at people, and I didn't in high school).

When in doubt...

2005-11-02T16:56:00.000-05:00

The effects of doing work on work ethic.

It's survey time!

2005-10-31T10:00:00.000-05:00

No, not one of those surveys where I say my favorite color or tell if I've ever been drunk or not. I'm talking about a calculus survey I took for 20 extra homework points!! My response:

You guessed it!

2005-10-27T07:20:00.000-04:00

Happy birthday to Robert Picardo, a massless holographic doctor we've all come to know and love. Or maybe not all of us.

Off a roll!

2005-10-15T20:10:00.000-04:00

Westerners are weird. Some tell me I have a very pronounced accent, others tell me they're surprised I'm from the South because I have no accent. Well, whatever. I'm proud to be from where I'm from. And I'm missing it very much right now! I'm especially missing Bristol, Florida. As much or more than I'm missing North Carolina. I've attempted to explain my fixation with this place before, but I can never find a logical answer. Which makes sense; I'm an illogical human after all.

It's strange because sometimes I'll catch a whiff of the air here and it somehow reminds me of Bristol. And also, the early Utah fall reminds me of Florida winter or late Florida fall. The past few times I have been home to G-Pa and G-Ma's down there has been in the late fall, so that also reminds me of being there. Dag, I really want to go back again...

On a roll!

2005-10-10T16:07:00.000-04:00

Really, 4 strikes in a row during the game that mattered today. The first game we play each day in bowling is against another team. My teammate and I weren't doing very well, but we both pulled ourselves out and won that game. I have a new high score of 164 and I intend to beat it very soon, hold me to it.

And I don't like journal entries, but I wanted to think of something before I go off and do my maths homework. Remember, pedestrians have the right-of-way, unless they in the way!

Goodness me; goodness us all.

2005-10-05T12:47:00.000-04:00

I love captioning life. I'm talking about the captions you read under "Close to Home" cartoons and stuff like that. Punchlines, except on life, not on a drawing. Sometimes drawings reflect life, but there's something so much more funny when it's real life stuff happening right there in front of you. For example, I just left the science center and was surpassed by another kid who was running out the front doors. Clasping his book bag to his back, he ran quickly across the sidewalks to get somewhere. (It's hard to run with a book bag, btw).

So, the first thing that came to mind was, "Alas, poor Johnny believed he could conquer his phear of fysics courses, but no, it conquered him. It conquered him." For no reason at all, saying that out loud at the sight was so funny to me. No one else within audible range laughed, but that's not the point. Maybe it's because I'm so tired, because I am. Or maybe everyone on campus is used to my talking to myself by now. I do it all the time and I can't stop. I attribute this to calculus.

In conclusion, go and get Fiona Apple's new album.

Lord, let me die with a hammer in my hand

2005-09-27T20:26:00.000-04:00

Rain in Utah stinks!! No, really, it smells bad. Not that it rains too often, but when it does, shoo-wheee! No me gusta! We've had one large outlandish downpour and two or three sprinkling rains since I've been here. The large downpour was one I brought with me from home so when I got homesick I'd have something to remember North Carolina by, but I spent it much too early!

I get to play the bowed upright bass for Men's Chorus this Thursday and Friday at a choral showcase. I'll leave the tenor section and hide behind the bleechers and play it behind the basses, apparently to help them keep their note. They're using a technique called overtones and this is supposed to help or something. I'm not complaining; I've not played a string instrument in concert before, especially an unfretted one with a bow that I've been using for two days.

A guy on the floor below mine was kind enough to teach me bowing technique last night on his upright. This morning I went to the Fine Arts Center Instrument Office, claimed I needed to borrow a bass, and what do you know, they lend me one through the end of the semester!! I'm excited about that. Maybe I'll ask about borrowing other instruments. I wonder if there's a limit... Well, next semester I might play bassoon with the orchestra or something anyhow. I'll get that music minor yet!

2005-09-22T14:15:00.000-04:00

Throw your oatmeal, save your best friend.

2005-09-22T13:48:00.000-04:00

That's alright I guess

2005-09-18T10:24:00.000-04:00

I just woke up from a full, proper night's sleep for the first time in a week. I went to bed relatively early and woke up relatively early with hardly any interruption in my sleeping time. I normally wouldn't give you a straight out journal entry, but it was related to the last post, and I wanted to talk about a dream.

I think (I'm tired of beginning paragraphs with "I!") it was about 6:00 that I looked up at the clock, afraid that my mind would suddenly become conscious again and I would have to stay awake, and in my mind, that's exactly what happened. I thought I stayed awake from that moment on and I continued dreaming. In the dream I found some folks on my floor who were going around to different rooms and changing the time on clocks to 6:00 when it was really 3:00 or 4:00. They thought it would be funny. It was a few moments later that I somehow realized it wasn't real and I was dreaming. It's the closest to lucid dreaming I've ever come; I knew it was a dream, but I couldn't control it. Too bad.

And my roommate isn't here. He didn't sleep here over night. He probably told me where he was going while I had headphones on.

Also, if you're wondering, I'm absolutely sure I've found my true love out here already:
BYU Creamery's Cookies n' Cream Milk.

2005-09-14T16:15:00.000-04:00

I've got a flair for making things hard on myself, but this time it's not my fault. I can't sleep and that's that. Keep in mind the actual meaning of that statement: "I can't sleep" means that I am unable to do so. No choice involved! For the past few nights I have slept up to three hours and then awoken abruptly (always alliteration!). That's no so much a problem on its own, but when I can't get back to sleep, it bothers me. I visited a doctor this morning and got advice, but I agreed not to go to bed until 11:00 tonight. By then I will have been awake for over 24 hours. That's a long time to be doing nothing. I've tried to do stuff, like calculus, but it doesn't work. I can't think. I've sat through some classes and it's not a pretty sight! So, prayers, for all you pray-ers out there, are very much accepted!

On a more awakened note, spin in bowling is like vibrato in music. Many believe its the one element that makes the difference between good and bad bowling. For bowling class today, I bowled with two guys who had this very attitude, never bowling a straight ball. They're in it for the curve, which also means they're in it for the gutter balls. When used correctly and not as a main element, like vibrato (both on instruments and in vocals), spin can be an asset. But, goodness, keep the balls out of the hands of those who are too cool not to spin every time.

I'm sour when I'm tired. To lighten the mood, here is a smiley:

:-D

(they work miracles, don't they?!)

That's where I live, folks

2005-09-04T13:13:00.000-04:00

The Q Hall. Get Google Earth. It's worth it!

2005-08-30T15:25:00.000-04:00

Very strange, indeed. It seems fall, the season, is threatening the Salt Lake Valley much earlier than I'm used to it striking at home. It's not just a temperature change, it's the change in the smell of the air. Like an early marching band competition. I bet it'll get hot again, though. It was very hot the day I got here, but the humidity wasn't there. It was a very strange kind of hot, one I'm not used to, but for now, it is cool. Cool air and breezes. It reminded me I'll be needing a jacket of some sort. I have to coats, but no jackets.

And I just had a Catcher in the Rye experience. My windows overlook the swimming pool, which may soon close because it's getting cooler, of course. The water was mostly vacated. The lifeguards are still out, but I didn't know if they were watching when two kids got on the diving board. Three year olds or something like that. My eyes start scanning the area quickly trying to make sure someone's gonna see this kid. He runs, jumps! My heartbeat pounded for a second until I saw that the child was wearing his personal floatation device. As was his buddy. And they were being watched, of course. But for a moment, the possibilities scared me.

I like the idea of being a protector of the innocent, free, and defenseless. But that's all I share with Holden. I don't get the rest of that book.

2005-08-28T20:19:00.000-04:00

The thought of ramen noodles occurred to me and I wondered who had the idea that they should be an easy food to create. For instance, why have many gone through such efforts to make ramen noodles easy to prepare and not foods like spaghetti and pizza? Well, I suppose Chef Boyardee has done his best to make spaghetti easy, but it's not considered the most affordable easy solution. Ramen noodles have always been known as the easy, poor man's solution to a meal.

I wish peanut butter and jelly sandwiches were a bit easier to make (a testament to my laziness). They have those Ritz sandwiches, where two mini snack crackers are pasted together with a bit of peanut butter. Why can't they sale pre-made PB&Js? When I do decide to watch TV, I enjoy eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Here is my troublesome process:

Grab the bag of bread. Not so easy! We're always running out of bread at my house and even when we do have bread, it's often smashed and contorted to unpleasant shapes which aren't fun to eat. Star-shaped food is fun to eat. Bryan-shaped food is not.

Pull the bread out of the bag. Dagnabbit! Parley got jelly all over the inside of the bag again! Wait, that's not possible. Parley doesn't make his own sandwiches. It will be his downfall in the future.

Place the bread in an accessible area. The table's covered with last night's dinner, the counter has dirty dishes all over... *sigh* Get a plate and use that.

Apply peanut butter and jelly: out of PB, go to the basement and grab a new jar, spread it on the bread, which rips as you put on the thick substance, put the jelly on the other slice of bread, you drop a huge glob of jelly on the carpet, get paper towels (one dry, one wet) wipe it up, find the trash can full when you're ready to throw in the paper towels, replace the trash bag with a new one, find out it's the wrong size of trash bag, pull it out, decide to leave it sitting in the floor without a new liner in the can, go to get your sandwich and find that Snickers the cat has eaten it (and will regurgitate it in the yard later).

Maybe I can major in mass peanut butter and jelly manufacture and marketing. I'm going to check the catalog and see if any classes are available.

2005-08-19T14:31:00.000-04:00

Oh, this wretched state of my blog! Please pardon my awful maintainence and sustainence to this blog (once again, not that anyone cares), but I've been getting ready to change my life. This is my last post from the library. I'm leaving for school Monday and I very well may never step inside this library again, though I doubt that.

Farewell, Mount Airy Public Library. I'll miss contemplating paintball games inside your walls that will never take place. But they should. This place would rock in paintball. Pat Gwyn wouldn't have it though. I fear for the souls of those who try to stage such a game. Anyhow, leighter

2005-07-28T23:39:00.000-04:00

anyone seen about $550 laying around? I'll take it

The Importance of Realizing the Importance of Exclamation

2005-07-21T18:14:00.000-04:00

I crax myselves up! You see, I sometimes secretly get annoyed when I'm supposed to shelve a book and there's someone standing in front of the place the book is supposed to be placed. So, what I do is I just take the books back to the cart and wait for the person in the way to move. However, in many notable cases, the patron in question will remain in the very same spot for large portions of time. I believe this library's record is 5 hours and 47 minutes, set by Remus Jyles who read a Victor Hugo biography in its entirety standing amongst the shelves.

Today was such a case. A lady was reading what appeared to be one of the non-fiction murder-mystery books which all rest in the 364 section. I had a couple of 362's I needed to shelve, but she was there for a long time. I finally put the books back on the cart, grumbling about the purpose of tables and chairs and patrons with strong legs. Hours later, I found the area free, so I grabbed the pair of books and departed the upper level for the non-fiction section, only to find to my hilarious embarrassment that where the lady had been was not where the 362's belong. In fact, the 362's were on the other side of the shelf, the area of which had been completely vacated for hours at a time. Tears of laughter came to me. Croissant.

2005-07-19T17:06:00.000-04:00

It's raining out front, but not in the back. This is a very good omen. I mean, I've never heard that it is, but I decided it's not a bad thing.

Codswallop

2005-07-15T12:47:00.000-04:00

Hmm... Before I promise to write a review, I suppose I should plan ahead. Like, maybe I should promise to write a review during a night when I won't be dismantling my computer. And also on a night when I won't be getting ready to leave for a family reunion. But, alas, I didn't do such planning. I took my computer apart to get ready to put my new computer together. The parts didn't come until just before we left for the reunion on Monday, so I took it all with me to put it together at the reunion at Springmaid Mountain.

The reunion was great. It was good to have everyone congregated and being able to visit. But my new computer is a sad story. When I got the motherboard and everything mounted inside the computer case, I turned it on and the screen was covered in glitches and artifacts. It seems my video card had taken a bad turn on the way there and it's out of commission (yay for warranties that might replace it!). So, I had to wait until I got back home on Wednesday night/yesterday morning to try it with a lesser video card. Even still, it seems the operating system would not install. This is my current status and I'm still troubleshooting it. It looks like it's the motherboard, even though it is brand new and beautiful.

So, once this system is built and all the bugs are worked out, then I'll write the stinking review.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince is released tomorrow. I pre-ordered through Amazon, but I don't know if it will be delivered tomorrow since I chose Super Saver Shipping. But that's okay. It's not like I have a computer with which I can accidentally run across a plot synopsis before I read it anyhow. I am terribly excited though. It's my first major book release as a librarian! I've been reading the previous books to get ready. The first two books were refreshing as I haven't read them too many times, but as I've started the third, I think I might just skip it, and the fourth, as I'm too familiar with them. I mean, whatever. If the new book comes in the mail tomorrow, I'm reading it tomorrow.

What's to Come

2005-07-10T23:20:00.000-04:00

I'll write a review of something... in the morning. Promise, yo

2005-07-08T21:18:00.000-04:00

Speaking of Garfield, I now have the entire first season of Garfield and Friends. Heck yes.

You know, as much as I don't like doing that journal type thing on my blog, I'd rather type something than nothing. So, what does it matter? I've bought a computer for school using my paycheck for the month of June and my graduation money! It's so kickbutt it's not even funny. The thing is, if it's just for school, it's way overkill. Always overkill. Athlon 64 3700+ processor tagged onto an MSI K8N Neo Platinum Edition (better than Gold Edition!) motherboard with my ATI Radeon 9800 128MB Pro video card and a lovely DVD burner (lovely because it was $40). Not to mention the great hard drive deal: last week I bought a grand 250GB hard drive at Staples (with rebate and my brother's employee discount) for about $95. I won't be running Windows XP 64-bit edition, just because it's not fully stable yet, so the 32-bit will work fine for me. I might even get one of those 64-bit distros of Linux, but we'll see. So, yeah, a gaming type computer for a limited gamer. Well, I'll see how the onboard sound does with recording. If it doesn't work well, I'll have to buy a nice 24-bit recording card. Bleh, my money well is nearly depleted!

And about college, I don't have a clue what I'm doing.

Revision 1

2005-07-05T12:49:00.000-04:00

Pardon me! That was one pathetic Independence Day post. Not saying a thing I wanted and saying even less about anything at all. This is how yesterday's post should have read:

It's a pleasure and a blessing to be typing this to you from the comfort and security of a free nation, marked with this peculiarity years ago by all manners of men: brave, indecent, stalwart, loving, bitter, and lively men, all caught within the same walls with conflicting and even varying interests in this experiment of democracy. Never before had a nation like it existed, and since none have risen to the impeccable level of liberty achieved by this state.

This is such a rare occurrence, the induction of a free society into this earth, not even the creators of the physical governing bodies knew what it was to become. In fact, it was the many conflicts and arguments on how such a government should be realized that it became the most perfect government known to date. Anything made by humans is inherently flawed, but consider the reign of democracy on this land, which has since grown considerably through dubious and rightful claims, which has not erred and continues with flagrant embrace of the ideal of liberty.

Also consider that the Beatles toured here a lot before they quit touring all together.

What other place is more desirable than where I am? This choice land is my home! Oh, and HApppyY fouatht of fojiuly!!!

"As He died to make men holy
Let us live to make men free"

2005-07-04T21:03:00.000-04:00

HApppyY fouatht of fojiuly

How Ironic

2005-06-30T12:34:00.000-04:00

This is the Garfield from the day I was born. I'd say Garfield is more reliable than the horoscopes.

At the Blog

2005-06-29T11:10:00.000-04:00

My ultimate goal in writing as an entertainer is to become like Mark Twain. This does not mean to copy his every tone and convert his ideas and construct a new story based on tidbits of his, but to become as versatile as he was. He never really used the same idea twice and yet the volume of his works is amazing. Plus most are all some of the funniest pieces I have read.

Mr. Twain was an entertainer. No doubt about it! When he took up a pen, he intended to amuse people every time. He was an entertainer in print, in letters, and in the spoken word. What's so funny about his stuff? I can't quite pinpoint it! If I were just more articulate I might be able to tell you. His quirky and witty phrases, ridiculous diction, use of dialect and culture, and physical discomfort swirl into his stories and books to make them funny. For instance, just last night I read "The Celebrated Jumping Frog" (it goes by other titles as well). I laughed all the way through that piece without ever being able to say exactly why. His jokes are not outright but rooted somewhere in the subconscious, which is at a different level for everyone. This is why some people may be able to articulate it and I cannot. Or maybe it's just because I'm stupid.

Laundry? -->

2005-06-28T22:56:00.000-04:00

I misspelled "arises" in my last post.

That's it?

2005-06-27T14:21:00.000-04:00

I'm back from Youth Conference! And, man, was it ever a good one! I enjoyed it immensely, even more than all my other YCs. It was my last, but best! Thanks to everyone involved with making it such a success! I love the youth of the Winston-Salem Stake. We're a strong group. Now, on to my real subject.

Gregory Peck should never have been cast as Atticus Finch. This is not because he's not a good actor and certainly not because he didn't do a good job in his role, but because he simply is not Atticus Finch. I've only seen the movie of To Kill A Mockingbird once, but I don't think it is how it's supposed to be.

For one thing, the setting was all wrong. No one on the development team visited the Deep South before setting up for the film. They would have seen that the South is very ugly. Trees are much more sparse and ugly in real life than in the movie. Houses aren't built that close to each other anywhere below Atlanta. And come on, it gets much much much much hotter during the summer than it seemed. "Oh, it sure is hot." Yes, Scout, it is. But what you don't know is that it's so hot that you're dripping with sweat everywhere, no matter what kind of person you are. There was no air conditioning in the Finch home and ice was an impossible rarity.

As for Atticus, Gregory Peck reminds me of Superman: large in stature, deep-voiced, friendly, and radiating the adjective "strong." Atticus is not supposed to be a big man. In fact, he's supposed to be quite thin, un-built. Almost nerdy. Certainly not intimidating at all, as Mr. Peck could be seen. I suppose Scout and Jem fit quite well though.

I need to read that book again. I've only read it about 5 times. Or maybe just three, but I love it! One of my favorite novels ever. I don't know why either. Probably just the moods it induces and the setting it reminds me of (Bristol, Florida, I less than three you). That reminds me, I need to make it back down to Bristol before the year is up. Maybe for Christmas, but I don't think I'll be able before school starts. I certainly won't turn down the opportunity if it arrises!

2005-06-22T15:10:00.000-04:00

And this game makes me feel like I don't have control of my life.

The World Tonight

2005-06-21T12:30:00.000-04:00

I've straightened some shelves up. I mean meticulously! I went through all of the books and put them all in order, bringing them all into line on the edge of the shelf. How neat it looked! How wonderful it was to have a library properly sorted and organized!

But people like you destroy it. You (not really you, but you nonetheless) came in and threw the books off the shelves onto the tables only to leave them there. You took the cookbook from 641.584 and surrounded amongst the Danielle Steel books. You went through the entire 700s and misplaced every single on of them, leaving the aisle in ruins. You didn't know the difference between the EZ books and the Junior Non-fiction, so you figured it'd be okay to place a book from one into the other. It'll find its way back on its own.

You got the bright idea to take a video in hand and accidentally drop it in the magazine area, so that the next time that the bald guy in golf shorts and different shades of purple (light urple, etc.) socks comes in to rent the Yellowstone National Park video, we can't find it. You thought the ramp leading down to the majority of books was a raceway, so you ran down it very fast, slamming into Mrs. Dashier, spilling her books into the floor, when she decides she will never return to the library and leaves all of the books in the floor. And she also has an overdue fee she won't be paying. You brought back 50 books on tapes, leaving us with zero available room on the cassette shelves, making it more messy and disorganized. You thought it'd be a great idea to turn every single book on the 800s shelf onto its spine and switch a few out for books from other areas. You knew that if you brought your kids in to destroy the library they'd do a great job of it, which they did. The Junior Fiction shelves are in shambles right now. You thought the library would be a great place to go!

You'd better stay away from my library.

I don't have anything to say

2005-06-18T12:16:00.000-04:00

inth3eto the toe hte the boy went teo the marekt anay done edon't eenveoiny eo thaeo nalek. Te Ihi ! aownd ktyoek I don't know what the heck this is but I'm not typing very well today and that's all I have to say about it. If you have a problem with it I won't know what to do. Could you help me? Yes, you sitting in front of me. Hello?! Can you hear my typing? What if people could know what you were typing just from the sound of the clicks and clacks and heart attacks? That might not be so secure but I would know what to do. I would make noises and things to throw them off while I type in my password or something. Or what if speech were like typing and typing like speech? where typing is what people understood and talking was the discreet form of communication? That would be weird. Little do y'all know this (until I tell you), but I have typed this entire post in the URL bar at the top of the browser. How cool is that? No, really, how cool?

your mom is the walrus

2005-06-17T12:09:00.000-04:00

and you're an inert gas