Snoogins

If you've worked with me you know I am a comment whore.

I just put the word "snoogins" after a comment.

I can't stop laughing about that.

I don't know why.

Strange Ceiling

I don't know how long this has been happening. On occasional mornings, generally when I wake naturally, I have a moment. This occurs as I slowly regain my consciousness, before I have made my first move of the morning.

During this moment I am completely unaware of not only where, but when I am. So before I open my eyes I am given to slowly reconstruct my reality, if you will. It proves difficult to describe.

I begin by realizing I don't know my current location in time-space. Before I can begin to deduce it I must clear a few cobwebs of "Do I need to study? Am I late for work?". Essentially every 'what am I sleeping through?' moment of my entire life.

Generally those questions are put on the back-burner, unsolved, and I ask myself more deductive questions. "Am I next to Alice? Babs? No one? Are my feet on a wall?

Perhaps some aural hinting: Is my mom making breakfast? Do I hear the traffic of china town? Or my sister snoring?

I refuse to open my eyes or move until the wave-form as collapsed. As you might imagine I eventually settle on Seattle, 2008 and wake up.

I thought it would be pretty damn cool, though, if I were able to do away with deductive reasoning and settle on a different time-place. Then when I wake up the shock of reality would be a neat rush. Imagine being a broke ass college student on the brink of a final only to wake with a fat paycheck, nice place and good job. And a Dog.

Taking it further: what if I could get my Kilgore Trout on and spend a day or two in college, or in high school?

Entendre

I bought Rock Band as a Christmas present for my younger brother, Gabriel. From December 25 to January 1st, when I returned to Seattle, we played Rock Band constantly, only breaking for food and basketball. My Sister, with her power-pipes, on mic, Gabriel on the guitar, and me living out my dead fantasy on drums.

By the end of that week I had taken my first timid foray into the 'hard' level.

Then I bought it for myself last month, on a whim. With a little practice I can now call my self an 'expert' though I do drop into 'hard' when precision is important.

Like DDR before it, Rock Band requires things outside my realm of physical possibility. Sometimes you just need to hit the bass drum too quickly for my 1 foot to do it. I've tried many configurations of seating and 'footing' to no avail.

Then I remembered this jazz show I went to. Halfway through a marathon drum solo the drummer stopped all drumming except for the bass drum, which sounded like a rapid fire gun going of steadily. In a flourish he wiped his face calmly as this impossibly quick beating took place.

Sure...but how? This is how.

Surely this would be trivial to construct in the world of Rock band. 2 pedals, an oscillator and some solder and bada-boom! Double pedal.

I'll be at Fry's.


Edit: Of course the internet already has this as a thing:

Coffee?

In a mere 30 minutes of reading/watching her web content I fell in love with her.

Perhaps I am enchanted due to her beauty? Her wit? Her chosen vocation being my foregone dream?

No, I believe it was due to her being very, very far away.

See? I'm discovering myself.


Sidebar: She mentions her search referrals several times which leads me to believe if I can get people to click that link she might find her way here. So everyone click the link!

SideSideBar: If you /are/ her. Hi. I'm sorry I blogged about you inappropriately.

I Think The Bard Said it

"This above all else, to thine own self be true."

A most noble goal. In reality it serves as the parent scruple from which I derive the many child scruples that comprise my entire....scruple....parentage.

Recently, while thinking on this, I boggled at how awesome it would be to share a telepathic link with your significant other.

Some semantics are required here. By telepathic link I do not mean to imply some form of active message passing during a game of win, lose or draw. I mean a passive empathy coupled with the ability to carry out unsolicited probes of the other's mind.

What I mean to create here is a complete destruction of my ability to hide anything about myself. Because the one who knows your purest form and chooses still to remain is an incredibly valuable person.

And lets face it! Every one hides the major part of their selves. In your entire social experience, if you took the sum total of what your friends allowed you to see about themselves you would have maybe 1 or 2 entire people, spread across hundreds.

I expressed this sentiment to a few folks and each one, with no exception, blanched in their response. What a terrible idea, this. I wouldn't be able to hide anything!

I've always considered my inability to be completely honest about myself as a shortcoming. A reason for shame. It would seem, however, that I am alone in this opinion. The small dataset I have indicates that folks view it not as an inability, but a superpower. A shovel, if you will, with which they have created entrenchments that they intend to protect to the end. Not even the girlfriend, or wife allowed in.

I'm sad about that.

Excerpt

I Love this Guy:

"Ting-Tong," He chuckled, "I've heard many things."
"Yeah? Like what?"
"Ahh, just things, go on in."
Tog turned and hesitantly opened the chamber door. This was a new one to him. If Art-Deco and a Victorian Designer had a love child that child would shit this room. The intricate patterns spewed everywhere were an outright offense to the eyes. He got in and was instantly dizzy.
"Why can't any of these rooms be decorated tastefully?" He muttered to himself.
"Exit To The Right" even though there was only 1 door. Tog opened it and stepped out to the Durazno collection.
"Who the fuck are you? Do you fuckers need to send someone different every god damned time? Ah well, welcome to Durazno." It was said through a cigarette being lit. Ting-Tong was wearing old black jeans an a black tank top. From what Tog could see the man liked his tattoos. He wore a meticulously cultivated five o'clock shadow and no hair otherwise. The man looked like a rebel gone to pasture. Tog was surprised by his lack of sycophany.
"Ting-Tong I presume?"
"Say the name and god-damned if you don't get the man. You smoke fucker? I got these sticks from a guy I know in Eurasia. Fucking delicious. I'd give up mediocre pussy at least once a day for a pack of these." He offered Tog a cigarette, who declined with a wave. "Your loss man, offer stands."
"Thanks" Tog was warming to this guy.
"So you're here about a our shitbrick. Business as usual dude, the eggheads tell me I got fucking 55% to offer this time 'round. Ain't no bad shakes," he paused to remove the bouncing cigarette from his lips and exhale a puff of smoke that actually did smell pretty delicious, "You oughta pay out your fucking nose for that, but whatever keeps us running, y'know what I mean?"
He didn't. "I'll need to scan it.."
"Hell yeah, fuckers like me lie like a cheap rug. Mi casa and all that, fap where you want just clean up after. Follow me to the shitbrick." He left out a door and Tog followed him down a small path to the ruck. "Scan away dude, when you're done I gots some ladies coming in, y'know. They do this thing with a basket and spinning, if it don't make you bust your dick's broke. I could call up a couple more, probably get a discou..."
"Thanks, but no" Tog interrupted with a chuckle, "busy day."
"'nother day 'nother dollar, fuck if I don't know it man. If you get some off time you let me know and I'll get you every disease south america has to offer" He lit another cigarette.
Tog took a moment to scan the ruck. 52 percent, Ting-Tong's eggheads were right. Tog figured he would send some slag Ting-Tong's way, he liked him and this was a very decent load.
"Looks good doesn't it? Goddammnit I love this job," He spread is arms as if to embrace the giant block of ruck, "People send me their shit and I sell it. Fucking, I ain't a reading man, but there's got to be some sort of profound irony there or some shit."
"It looks good, yeah. You want some slag?"
"Fuck yes I want some slag. These cigarettes'll only go so far, am I right? Toss whatever shit you can my way and I'll find some use for it." He grinned and slowly brought his cigarette toward his mouth.
"Great, I'll get you something."
"Fuckin' A, pleasure doing business man, now leave or stay but I plan on getting down to business doing pleasure." He laughed deeply.
"Have your man send it to Kansas, we're full-up in Persia."
"No shit? You weren't fucking kidding busy day. And just so you know my tech is a broad, huge tits and the prudence of a turnstile. Say the word and I'll hook your ass up, she likes power, catch me?"
"One day, Ting-Tong" Tog really liked him.
..end meetting ting-tong. I fucking /love/ ting-tong

From Will's Blog

Meme: "Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, favorite type of underwear, graphic techniques, etc. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other." (Of course, I'm sure they meant to say "repost in your own journal if you like.")

BioShock

I finally found my way to the end of "Bioshock".

I don't feel that my actions during the course of this narrative truly justify the 'evil' ending. I 'harvested' some girls, I did. And while that is, in all practicality, a way of saying I killed them for my personal gain I feel there are mitigating circumstances.

You see, the little girls are protected by a...thing.. called a "Big Daddy". Tennessee Williams never created a character more suited to the name. Early in the game I had to take on one of these metal-clad behemoths with a /wrench/. No, not a magic wrench imbued with runic power by the Druids of the Under Keep. Just a wrench I found on the floor.

While I ineffectually raged against this angered colossus of destruction this 'little girl', who, by the way, I had /just/ seen sucking some essence out of a dying man, this demon with an angel's face was cheering on the Big Daddy. I feel that it was at her behest that her pet monster patted me around the room like a cat's squeak toy.

Given all that you can imagine that the adrenaline was running a bit high when I finally managed to fell this beast. Who wouldn't greedily destroy the helpless demon at that point? I defy you to withstand that temptation.

And I only lost control 1 or 2 times. Out of the 25 or so little girls I saved did the 2 I ripped apart for my own gain really make a huge difference?

I feel that I should have gotten the good ending.