Hot damn.

Great satire. Awful day.

No One Sets Out To Be A Smooth Jazz Musician | The Onion - America's Finest News Source

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Definitive Decisions

I will not deny that Ms. Rowling has created an intriguing, imaginative fictional world which many people adore, my family among them. I am not one of those people. The serial has been brought up many times this past week at work among my coworkers (one of whom listens to the audiobooks on his iPod instead of actually reading them) and as a result I have formed a more concise reason of why the books just don't work for me.

1.) Dog Latin
My foreign language was Latin, which is dead. I chose it because it was the language of science, and because I have a penchant for Ancient Rome. And a great deal of English words are derived from it, allowing the lay man to both muse and ruse as a scholar of sort. For these reasons it should be granted some flexibility in academic and literary uses where it is far more practical to insert some Latin words than construct an entire language, although it has been done before, and it has an advantage over other languages which do not have any native speakers, like Esperanto. Most often, some words are invented to give the feel of another language, without icky worries of maintaining a grammatical consistency throughout. But please, just do one or the other, at very least be consistent within the pattern you establish for yourself!

2.) Twist Endings

The sorting hat always seems to have a sword in it. The same sword even! While I suppose you could make the argument that the hat serves as some sort of scabbard for it, that does not forgive the convenience that any necessary item will always appear when needed, whether by phoenix or magical mirror. I understand that magic is an integral part of the narrative, but the twist falls flat with me every time. And there's a twist in every book. First it turns out that, luckily, love protects the boy, though he seems hellbent on ending the life his parents sacrificed theirs to save by wandering into dungeons. Dumbledore, like an emaciated Santa Claus, always has a watchful eye on young Harry, even postmortem, and is able to provide not only prophetic advice but enchanted weapons at the very most favorable time, often with that damn hat. The sorting hat defies logic. It sits on children's heads, it can't be that big, yet it carries the Godric's sword on at least two occasions. It's either a really tall hat, or it has hammerspace. Which leads to the question: Why does it have hammerspace? It's a fucking singing hat. Honestly, the thing creeps me out, probably because of this one episode of Darkwing Duck where these evil aliens that looked like hats latched onto people's heads and took over their bodies. Look through the list of plot twists, you'll see that many of those same tired cliches are trod through the Harry Potter series. Is Snape good or bad? Oh it was Quirrell all along! No one would suspect him! Luckily, he turns to ashes when he touches Harry. If only he'd thought to stab instead of strangle.

3.) Quidditch
Sports are meant to be watched, not read about. No other medium can properly convey the excitement of witnessing the action, preferably firsthand. Yes, I mean you, radio sportscasts. The action is greatly obfuscated by the fact that the sport is both fictional and in 3 dimensions, which no sport, with the possible exception of water polo (which even then is only viewed from two dimensions by the audience), does. Plus the rules are retarded. Basically, catch the snitch to win and, in the mean time, bludgeon each other with these cricket bats. Pay no mind to the fact that the children playing this game wear no protective headgear or safety harnesses and fly at high speeds at altitudes that give muggles vertigo. At very least, I would hope that they would wear some sort of protective cup to shelter their manbits in case those dowels get finicky.

Honorable mention: Adverbs.

Reunion

About a week ago, or so, an assembly was called. All available staffers of Camp Ireland 2002-2004 were asked to attend a ceremonial retrieval of a time capsule buried at some point. I didn't know everyone there, having only worked 2 of the three years present. It was organized by the only person paid above the federal minimum wage, a former program director, who has (by my measure) failed to make significant progress from the point, the same standards being set far lower for those of whom were high school students at the time. He wanted group pictures, group luncheons, group activities in the same desperate way the departing seek with their posterity.

Did that seem overly wordy? I read a myspace bulletin my sister sent out about her intimate relationship with the fictional Mr. Potter and the syntax was incredibly pedantic. I wondered how she scored a 4 on the AP exam and professed a desire to be less like her in the future.

Continuing: I had a nice time seeing all these people I had forgotten. I can scarcely remember many of their actual names. There is one I can only recall as "Sharkbait". One of them, a year younger than myself (I presume), is married and has a child. I was baffled by this, though not by the revelation that a coworker, who was absent, has since come out of the closet, as it were. Even more strange was his gratitude that his latex had failed him; he considered it a blessing! For without this gift he would not have gotten a good job so that he could provide for the family he never planned to have, with the woman he freely confessed (apparently even to her, though he rebuffed this statement with one that they had since worked it out, or something) he would not have selected on his own. My mind reeled. What prevented him from seeking a fortunate profession before one was demanded of him? Surely, a position was not formed at his daughter's conception, and paternal obligations are in no way a requirement for employment, though the inverse may hold true. We did not envy his circumstances, even the eldest of us, who is a menace. He boasted of his many dates to various school dances, crowing of an "entire wall" of women he had conquered, in his way. We were quick to remind him that this life was over. One of us dared to ask, "where do you think you'd be if this hadn't happened?" His reply: on a mission.

The day was, however, ruined. The malicious act I had contrived was thwarted by that same simpleton failing to roll down a window just low enough that I could loose a legion of lady beetles into that van. I was deeply disappointed by this. Fortunately, it happened that I had the foresight to purchase a selection of liquid wasp bait for application in yellow jacket traps, which could be easily administered to any number of objects, in the same trip as the beetles. I let the beetles free in the backyard with my brother and it was fun.

200th Post: Living on my own.

My family is in Utah. It is the Mormon Mecca. And thus they travel, almost yearly, to visit relatives and see the same sites they see each time. I recall this being at least their third trip as a family for 2007, although some have a greater tally. I, conveniently, had to work. I would have declined a visit, even if it were possible. I find the slow degeneration of my grandparents uncomfortable, and, as much as I know I shall regret it someday, relinquish the opportunities to spend time with them. They've always been far off, having adventures in Washington and Europe, and my childhood was past by the time they became accessible. I can only recall 3 instances when they've come to visit us here in Oregon: Once in the mid-ninties, shortly after Ethan's birth, and for my Eagle Court of Honor. They don't really know me, and I them. But I know enough to know what they'd want and expect: things I can't present. My grandfather is a stoic man, a cold man of the Cold War. Conversations, even (or perhaps especially) those made in transit, are tense. The truths he knows about me are fading. He does not understand "the jazz" and I don't even play anymore. I was the third grandchild, from the parents they didn't think were going to make it, on shores too distant to visit. They'd ask me when I would serve a mission, I'd give a non answer. They'd ask me about music, tell me to be nicer to my siblings. They might ask about my plans, ambitions, of which I have none. I might be able to carry a conversation about current events for a while, but I am one of those damned, baby-killing liberals. World events are filtered through the lens of a former spy in East Germany and ambassador for him; a podcast and flicker set for me. The world has changed.

So I have the house to myself this weekend. It is wonderful! They were gone Thursday night and I was able to sleep in late for my evening shift at the Robin Hood Festival. Of course, it is quite perilous. My family is incredibly slothful, and I am no exception. I am also left to fend for myself, foraging and such. I also have to set my own bedtime, which Robin Hood through off. Mostly, it's been leftovers and other microwavables. The problem isn't that I will eat significantly worse than ordinarily, but simply much less. I forget that I need to eat, and will run my tank to empty, or will snag a stray granola bar to stave hunger off long enough to not only complete my current task, but become preoccupied with the next. Also, I drink way more Mountain Dew than usual and have run out.
My family made the grievous error of leaving the house a mess and will find it in greater disarray when they return, their clutter compounded my disinclination to clean their messes to such an extend that repulsion may exclude their completion in the foreseeable future. A prime example is the cat's food. For some time, my sister has neglected to feed the cat in a timely matter, in fact relying on it's prompting to usurp both her negligence and obliviousness, two fields in which she excels beyond compare. Coupled with this intermittent diet are likelyhoods of antifreeze poisoning and old age that create a very decrepit cat. Anyways, she never bothers (and though not likely her doing, she will receive the blame regardless) to remove the cat's dishes after the cat has finished. Now there are maggots in one of the dishes and trails of ants speckle the floor. My solution has been to close the door in a simple act of quarantine. I take full responsibility for the gnats around the sink, but I only feed the cat on plates, which maggots fall off of. Clearly I have no fault in this matter. And the flies are merely members of nature's recycling department: I praise their efforts!

I love you, Wikipedia

They've protected the article on Snape so I can't mention that he has a doe patronus. I'm not sure if I've spelled that right, but I've decided it doesn't matter because Rowling doesn't take the time to conjugate her latin verbs or use noun declensions (which aren't really present in the English language).

In this instance, I love the blatant vandalism. Especially when taken when this crazy foo's advice was not followed, because really, who'd want to prevent such gems? THIS IS NOT A DRILL! MAN BATTLESTATIONS!!! Silly Wikipedia..

The Flaw in the Plan

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, pg 743



Confirmed Deaths:

Bellatrix

Voldemort

Fred

Tonks

Lupin

Colin Creevy

Snape

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

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Must find...

Because otherwise, I'm just not living up to my potential. I sure hope I don't let any spoilers slip to my fanatical family. I, personally, do not really follow the series. I find that link "I have the hots for my stepson" much more intriguing than the novel itself. It's the leak that's intriguing. Time is pressed before I am forced to clean the kitchen instead!

Machinist: Tech Blog, Tech News, Technology Articles - Salon

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You

I started thumbing through my mother's new book, You: On A Diet: The Owner's Manual for Waist Management. Of the many interesting things relayed in it, this jumped out at me(pg 49):

Stay-Va-Va-Va-Voom Satisfied. In any waist management plan, you can stay satisfied. Not in the form of a dripping double cheeseburger but in the form of a safe, healthy, monogamous sex. Sex and hunger are regulated through the brain chemical NPY. Some have observed that having healthy sex could help you control your food intake; by satisfying one appetite center, you seem to satisfy the other.

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Bash

I attended a lecture last night. It was a good time. Although it was a little frustrating how I kept navigating to the Gun Owners of South Carolina website instead of Geological Society of the Oregon Country. The lecture was entitled "Was Triceratops like a bison, rhino, or hippo: Implications for lifestyle and habitat". The lecture wasn't as expansive as I would have liked (he never compared the dentition of the animals) but consisted primarily of geographical and skeletal locomotive analysis. The whole time I kept thinking of this cybersex log from Bash.org:

bloodninja: Ok baby, we got to hurry, I don't know how long I can keep it

ready for you.

j_gurli3: thats ok. ok i'm a japanese schoolgirl, what r u.

bloodninja: A Rhinocerus. Well, hung like one, thats for sure.

j_gurli3: haha, ok lets go.

j_gurli3: i put my hand through ur hair, and kiss u on the neck.

bloodninja: I stomp the ground, and snort, to alert you that you are in my

breeding territory.

j_gurli3: haha, ok, u know that turns me on.

j_gurli3: i start unbuttoning ur shirt.

bloodninja: Rhinoceruses don't wear shirts.

j_gurli3: No, ur not really a Rhinocerus silly, it's just part of the game.

bloodninja: Rhinoceruses don't play games. They f*cking charge your ass.

j_gurli3: stop, cmon be serious.

bloodninja: It doesn't get any more serious than a Rhinocerus about to

charge your ass.

bloodninja: I stomp my feet, the dust stirs around my tough skinned feet.

j_gurli3: thats it.

bloodninja: Nostrils flaring, I lower my head. My horn, like some phallic

symbol of my potent virility, is the last thing you see as skulls collide

and mine remains the victor. You are now a bloody red ragdoll suspended in

the air on my mighty horn.

bloodninja: Goddam am I hard now.

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Well...

Conclusion

 

The
Armed Forces offer opportunity, challenge, and structure to young
adults. Some young adults with LD or AD/HD may be disqualified for
military service under current, regulations. For example, the current
use of medication to improve or maintain academic skills is
disqualifying.

 

THE ARMED FORCES AND ADD/ ADHD

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Lost Dream

I remembered the lost dream as I was swaying timidly in the shower, wary of the warmer water. I had trained a mischievous black kitten to smile on cue, making for an abundance of LOLcat captions which I would then create for the amusement of all, or whatnot. Damn LOLcats.

I guess there's a farewell party tonight. I wasn't invited and it'd be weird to show up unannounced. We were never that close anyways, I suppose. Each day I listen to my coworkers regale each other with stories of drunken stupors and misadventures that invariably end with inebriation. They will extol the virtues of various spirits and demons, and I nod along, knowing only what public education and public encyclopedias have told me. That same question comes up so often. I'm sick of it, but I know nothing else.

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Reruns

The Tom Leykis show was a rerun today, as yesterday, on two very hot days. Though still entertaining, I feel slowly more disillusioned with each episode. His opinions and advice are rebuffed daily by scores of young men such as myself. Am I so different? The truth seems inevitable, and dismal. Perhaps it's the heat speaking, but is that all there is? I'm exhausted.

I've been having weird dreams in my often fitful sleep. Vents in my room have recently become uncovered and I haven't established a sort of normalcy. I dreamed of a slightly anthropomorphic bull named "SmartCow" which walked upright like those from Barnyard and was blue. SmartCow fought for justice in a post-apocalyptic world with his sidekick "FirePig," a firebreathing pig that resembled the pig (Spider-pig!) shown in those previews for The Simpsons Movie. Firepig's attempts to incinerate Smartcow when they first met failed, even though Firepig tried to hard he actually began to rotate mid-air as if placed on some sort of rotisserie spit. It was an interesting night.

What other strange dreams have I had this week? I am trying to recall. I remember noting that they were strange and I should try to remember them so I could perhaps be interesting on the internet. Unlikely.

I had one last night whereupon finding my sister's boyfriend in our house before 12pm I told him it was a bad idea and when he asked why, I kicked him in the face! That was satisfying, although the kick did not connect as well as I would have hoped. I don't care for the guy, as he apparently mocks me when I am away, despite displays of civility when I am present. He quickly found my disfavor when I discovered this, and supposing I have any tenacity left, I might try to make his continued presence as uncomfortable as possible. Unlikely. I'm still limping from the castration my last relationship imparted me. Was I fired or laid off? I want to know.

I have some vague recollection of another dream that involved a friend returning from his mission and me trying to escape the confines of some complex in rexburg involving submarines and torpedos and peter was in it and I think this guy neal who I haven't spoken with in forever and may have knocked up his girlfriend which he was complaining about in my dream. It's all fuzzy. I remember having ninja skills. But that's just a manifestation of my undying passion for ninjas. I can't be certain where the rest of the fog came from. Perhaps the heat.

The ninja comment reminds me. I apparently have a membership at the Sherwood YMCA that I haven't redeemed with the possibility of a 12-week personal trainer. I know, me? A trainer? But am already a specimen of prowess and virility! But the whole breakup thing has had me rethinking my self concept. I'd never felt any desire to exercise before, I haven't a clue about it. My complete understanding of biceps and triceps comes from a middle school biology teacher who was eventually forced into early retirement for sexual harassment, so.. I'm hesitant to start, because, what do I do? I've never been one to jump in. I was thinking of finishing my survival guides and planning something along the advised line. You never can be too prepared for a zombie uprising. Is there any natural disaster that could possibly be worse? Doubtful. Thus preparing for the hordes of the undead is the best preparation possible. Anyways, perhaps I will say I want to be a ninja. I've got nothing to lose right?

Someone was surprised I remembered their birthday today.Why would I have forgetten someone's birthday? I'm not sure why this bothers me, but it does, like I've been written off somehow. I dislike it. It'd be so easy to conform to expectations. So easy..

My hat arrived today. I thought I'd be more excited. I'm not even that excited about dinner, and it's one of my favorites. The highlight of my day is the Rick Emerson Show.

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So Ha!

I want to say "Don't be hatin'", but I know I shouldn't.

NPR : Study: Virtual Games Hone Real Business Skills

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Happy Ending

'I like turtles' boy comes out of his shell after online frenzy | Entertainment & Lifestyle | kgw.com | News for Oregon and SW Washington

Spoiler!!!


























He gets a turtle!

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Listen!

You should listen to this excerpt from the wonderful Rick Emerson Show on AM 970. Wonderful.

Zombies

I have a few things to say, but this kid says them better.

Freedom!

My friends, the time has come. I was struck by an epiphany last night some time between seeing Transformers and Knocked Up, both of which were enjoyable, thank you. What was this revelation, you ask? It was the truth that I am in no way encumbered by trite doctrines of practicality that might prevent the advancement of my utilitarianism! Indeed, I did purchase my 4th remote control watch less than a fortnight ago, but that was no an increase in my functionality, which shall be my utmost goal. I have surveyed the nets, though not to an excess, to determine my next stride and I ask of you, humble Internets, to divine my next furtherance from a select candidacy with regards to their overall utility and versatility in numerous circumstances. I am feeling very well about this item. Indeed, I have contemplated the purchase of a simple hat since my habituation from employment. And while this item is also 'cool' it would not be practical at the time because of the RFID at the public works building. Ponder upon the price, but briefly, as it is of lesser concern now that I am free from the confines of a fiscal fidelity. I implore you, brave 'tubes, what shall be my next gadget? The items in pool 2 are not finalized but I beseech your opinion regardless.

Pool 1:

Option A
Option B
Pool 2:
Option A
Option B

Freaking babies!

Add this to list of reasons to not be a parent:

Babies not as innocent as they pretend | Science | Earth | Telegraph

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Graaaagh!

"I like how ever outfit conveniently covers their nipples so they don't have to animate them" My sister playing FFX
"Well yeah, nipple physics are hard." -Me

I thought that was clever.

Bush spares Libby from prison term - Politics - MSNBC.com

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Happy Canada Day!

Story time:

I woke up today, dreams of Weekend Edition, and was asked by my father, "Why did you break up with Kirsten?" I blinked. "I didn't" He was confused, as was I by the inquiry. "But Michelle said the opposite." I assured him I wouldn't have broken up with Kirsten. My parents later discussed this startling revelation as I prepared for zombie uprisings. I head my father ask, "If Derek thinks Kirsten broke up with him and Kirsten thinks he broke up with her, how broken up are they?" My mom replied, "If only it had been Amanda and Tom. They made me so sick last night with that lovey-dovey crap."

I'm so bored on the weekends now. I have nothing to do but play with my brother. I need more friends.. My life sucks. It didn't seem as lame before. At least I have lots of mountain dew. T-formers comes out this week! Yay. Brother wants the computer now. Good-night.

Flash » Happy Canada Day

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