Nintendo power!

So...I notice that some of my fellow bloggers like to write for the sake of expressing emotion, or reaching out to others, even creating a beautiful work of art.
Me, I make stupid jokes. And as of right now, upload silly images!

uhhh

I've got a weird relationship with one of my sisters. She's taking a nap on the couch as an episode of MST3000 is playing on the TV. My response to this setup? I must go quietly over, careful not to wake her up, and sit on the couch. Yes, the same couch. It just so happens that she will be an intermediary.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, if I treat you like this too(in other words, like a silly younger brother), you're not alone.

And now, commence hi-keeba!!!

Mainly I wanted to write a post for the sake of the title.

A friend of mine recently told me that life had taken a turn for the worse. Actually, several thousand turns. I don't know any of the details--I guess it has to do with a relationship--but all I could really say was "If you need a hug or, better yet, a cheesy joke, give me a jingle." Well, folks, what else can be done?

As always, "We Kill Everything"

I've decided that Chem 106 burns my soul. It pains me to complain about how hard it is when I see all these snot-nosed little punks (in other words, underclassmen) also complaining, but man. I thought I was half-done with my homework assignment when I woke up this morning, but it took an additional three hours. At least I'll regain my left-brained-ness by the end of the semester, or die trying. And when I'm done doing that, I'll refine my Olympic Nuclear Suplex technique or die trying.

New idea for an action/adventure TV show when "Cavemen" gets canceled: "VCR Nomad." I'll star, if that's okay, and I'll be a wandering VCR repairman who fights crime and teaches people in small towns about themselves. It'll be Middle America's answer to "Heroes," if I can define myself as Middle America, and perhaps it will be more of the heart than of the head. I'll travel from coast to coast, battling my demons and mysterious past. Plus I'll have a rocket launcher!!!

I think now that I have lost my respect for people's property. I'm writing on somebody else's computer, and I haven't seen that somebody in a while. Betcha can't guess who. That is, "bet you can? not guess, who." (Is it just me, or does it look like a palindrome with that punctuation?)

I told everybody at ward prayer last night that I believed the five iron I happened to be holding "grants me mystical powers." Gimmicky! I am filled with shame.

By popular request and the power of Greyskull

Been a while, eh!? I have but little time as I must go home and eating. But first, I would like to say that every time you think about cutting corners in your classes, this man frowns at you:

(Does anybody know who this person is?)

I'm happy, for you see, I've finally gotten a chance to rock out with the public. That's right, me and two friends is gonna play at a birthday party on Friday, and so long as we don't get pneumonia or bonus eruptus (a serious disease where the skeleton jumps out of the body), it'll be way awesome. I'll probably record it in some way, so that my posterity will know of my ability to lay down a solid groove.

I am the possessor of an Indiana Jones lunchbox. The fact that I've never really seen the movies doesn't deter anybody and everybody from saying "hey cool lunchbox dood!! hyuk hyuk hyuk!!" Personally, I wish they wouldn't. Is not a man greater than his lunchbox? And if we must compare the relative value of a man's possessions to the man himself, they could say "I like your stupid shirt that says 'World's Greatest Grandpa,' loser!"

Actually, they shouldn't say that either.

Slob Mode activated!

I wrote a new song. Woo! It's based on how I don't have any energy when I wake up, and oftentimes I decide to loosen my belt and not shower and... hey, you're guilty too; I can see it in your eyes! Anyways, it's called "Slob Mode" and should be rockin'. It isn't disco rock, nor is it "chaos punk," but it's kind of nice-sounding rock. (That's vague, semi-purposefully.)

I haven't written anything new on the blog in a while. This is because I've been too busy feasting on giant spider corpses and ...quiche. (At least one of these is a lie. Can you tell which one?)

Wizard needs haircut, badly.

Wizard needs food badly

A. Once upon a time, I rather liked Dilbert. I thought it was generally pretty funny and even applicable to me, who had never inhabited a cubicle. Yet slowly, like the, uh..."rainy miasma that darkens my soul," a haze of lousiness crept over it and made it not-funny.
Likewise, I recently watched via YouTube part of a recent Simpsons episode. For ten long minutes I stared at the screen, having little else to do. The animation was pretty good; I don't usually notice such things, but it's as good as it's ever been. The voice actors were familiar and I felt like I should laugh. However, IT WAS AS FUNNY AS A WEEKEND TRAVEL PACKAGE TO THE GULAG. Anyways, my point is that things deteriorate.
But not always. MST3K managed to stay funny until the end, probably thanks a lot to Mike Nelson. Futurama? Heck yeah. I haven't seen an unfunny episode of Space Ghost, though I have seen plenty that are outright malicious toward the viewer. And to complement Dilbert, we have the excellent Calvin and Hobbes.
Maybe the constant theme is that of dropping out or getting canceled before you grow stale.

2. Having listened to some songs recently (namely, "Take Me Out" by Franz Ferdinand and "At Least I'm Not Like All Those Other Old Guys" by Five Iron Frenzy), I suddenly have a burning desire to write a bunch of music that combines disco beats with rock vocals and guitars. This, friends, would most likely be awesome.
Is there any other examples like this? First off, I'd like to listen to more of this stuff, and also I don't want to make the raddest record in the world, then look in the papers and see that everybody's already jumped on the disco rock bandwagon.

3. I'm going to Las Vegas tomorrow. It's been a while since I last went, so I'm kind of excited. It's good to see my dad, anyways; I don't like the city itself that much.
I love all of you. Except Murray.

It's not unusual...

So uh, how's everybody doing? I have a Tom Jones song (or rather, a cover by Five Iron Frenzy) in my head right now...This is cause for rejoicing.

I just finished Catcher in the Rye today, so I'm whiny and unfocused like Holden Caulfield. This brings me to my next point: I knew a fellow who would often wear an MIT sweater. He wasn't Mormon, or even Christian (I think), so it irked him somewhat when people asked him if it meant "Missionary In Training." In my imagination, it's always some gray-haired patriarchal type guy that asks this, pretty close to retirement from his high-powered company where he meets with high-powered clients to discuss high-powered business deals over high-powered lunch. Despite bein' 60ish, though, he's got some booming voice and always dresses sharply, even when he jogs.

Anyways (not to take attention away from Father Abraham), I later learned that MIT sweater fella was gay. Uh, is gay. So, to use my amazing logic powers, wearing an MIT sweater means you're gay. Everybody at MIT wears MIT sweaters. Therefore, everybody at MIT is gay. So it's good that I didn't get accepted there!!!! Because I'm homophobic!!!!

In other news, I saw my good friend Genghis Khan yesterday. He just got back from his mission; were he to wear something that said MIT on it, it really would have meant "Missionary In Training." He's just as I remember him, though; he hasn't changed much since 5th grade, when we first became friends. I guess nobody changes too much, but rather they grow. And grow he has.

Have I grown? It's been six months and change* since I returned from my own mission. And six months ago, I would have unequivocally said "Yeaaaaaaahhh!!!" But now I'm not so sure; I have to wonder if I have regressed a bit. For one thing, I tried to make myself a lot more emotionally open and honest, particularly when I was about to return. However, somehow or other I've thrown up my walls, and it's difficult to communicate again. At least I've figured some stuff out, and figuring some stuff out is fifty percent of the conflict!!!! Wahahaha!

Thank you for your read my rambling blog entry.

P.S.: I hope somebody's computer gets fixed way soon.

*Specifically, $47.59.

Things are going well. Thighs are also going well.

Car update since I sure haven't told anything about it!!! At all!! My car, sweet, virtuous MacGyver, has suffered a grave injury to the main gasket. In other words, everything is wrong with it now, and I have to offer my first-born child* to the mechanic to even get him to try and fix it. Luckily, I've pried enough cash from the filthy clutches of my company to be able to pay for repairs and trade it in for something else. In other words, drinks all around! Or rather, ...aw heck, drinks all around! I'm probably going to be getting much the same car. Four door little thing with A/C and CD (but not an AC/DC) player, good gas mileage, and strong cheekbones. It doesn't need to be the most powerful thing in the world, so long as it can contain my winning personality! Does anybody have any advice or suggestions? I'm new to the high-stakes and high-danger world of used car sales, and I don't want to run afoul of dealerships with hordes of slope-faced thugs and overflowing secret graveyards.

I would write more but a Japanese lady stole my soul with a 30-minute phone call. Gahh!!!

But otherwise thighs are going well.

* Given my first-born is half-baby half-gold. I can accomplish this by either marrying a solid block of gold OR walking up to some random woman with gold bullion (not boullion) and saying "Hey toots, wanna make a baby? ...from gold, of course? Look, I have the sculptor's tools right here and...oh come on, can't we agree to disagree about the semantic ambiguity of that phrase? I contend that 'to the pure, all things are pure' and that 'make,' as a word, has a richer, broader history in describing creative production into ordered existence than it does as a euphemism for procreation. Granted, the tone and body language of the speaker are also important, yet I believe that my delivery, though somewhat awkward and frankly chilling, should not completely hide my good intentions..."

The kettle is a regular Billy Dee Williams

I made the mistake of falling asleep on the couch last night. Maybe this has something to do with my feelings of silent desperation and hockey hair. (No, I don't have feelings of hockey hair. I got in enough trouble from feeling Mr. T's hair.)

Some of you may appreciate this, which I briefly mentioned at a Happy Pirates practice some time ago: Pay particular attention to elements T and Tv.

Let's questioning. What does everybody do when, even though everything is outwardly going well, you feel like you need to unleash a Mighty Headbutt (tm) on the world? I have this feeling of unfulfilled-ness and discontent despite all the cool stuff that's going on. Maybe it's a midlife crisis. Maybe I just need to throw a brick through somebody's window. Could it be yours? Eh, I'll settle for mine.

I'll change the mood from self-pity and try not to make it saccharin: "I know that I'm not alone / The treasure of my heart is calling on the telephone / I've got my friends around me, they don't seem to hate me yet / My family lends me cash and they're not strict about the debt." I like rock 'n' roll bands that can package a real good message in a reasonably weird ...uhh, package. Pain is one of those bands, and I wish I could write like that. I guess I have written like this a little bit, with my ill-fated song "VCR Nomad." But Pain makes it seem effortless to talk about drawing half-boy half-rhinoceri and apply it to our own lives without hammering the idea into my skull.

Happy Pirates was good-like. My mind decided to tell me "Hey, you totally had an off night!", which may be true, but it does no good to dwell on it. So I punished my mind by drinking a few gallons of Drano. Sure, it maybe caused some serious liver damage, but to that I say "acceptable losses!" The next time you see me, I'll likely be a lovely golden color. If any of you try to pan for me, though, I'll likely find it highly inappropriate. Or, I don't know, mildly amusing, depending on who you are.

I felt the power of the PHANTOM MULLET today.

She got distracted in the meat department...

I don't have too much to say other than a) some things are just awesome b) other things are jawesome, as W.S.M. has reminded me c) you can dance if you want to; you can leave your friends behind.

There was originally a bit more of my half-baked philosophizing here, but suffice it to say that the good in my life is drowning out the bad. Or, as I like to envision, clubbing it in its shins and using, I don't know, the Jumping Jack Attack to go in for the kill.

The giant robot: he is my friend

It has come to the attention of me and my associates (well, me, anyways) that a certain girl with "shapely legs" is going to be the subject of this entry. Let's call her Mrs. Dalloway.

Usually I can set pen to keyboard and come up with something passable for this blog. (The IT guys at work keep saying "don't spill ink on your computer anymore, doofus!") However, I can't seem to come up with anything worthwhile to write about, so I'll meta-write about how when I think Mrs. Dalloway (or whoever) is expecting me to write something awesome, I can't do anything at all! Heck, I'm not even breathing right now!

In spite of you silly beasts, I'll continue breathing. Okay, so I've developed a capacity for caring less about what people think over the past year or so. This is in accordance with a certain resilient quality that I admire in some people; I call them "likeable jerks." I decided to skip the "likeable" part and go straight for "jerk," with mixed results. At any rate, I generally assume that if I turn off my usual over-concern for others, I'll be able to do better, which is best for them in the long run.

Now I have to decide: how do I put in the "likeable" part? Sometimes I make myself the sidekick of somebody who has a higher Charisma score than I do. (Wahaha!) Other times I duct-tape kittens to myself so that people who naturally like kittens will gravitate to me. But I think being likeable has a lot more to do with a) liking yourself b) sincerely seeing the good in others and c) strong cheek bones. Heck, I may as well add d)ability to do Dim Mak Death Touch and e) butter, lots of butter.

• Discuss what "likeable" means. Then what "jerk" means, only occasionally drifting to the meaning in "jerk chicken."
• Some other people have suggested that items such as "a grandfather clock" and "an electronic Japanese-English dictionary" are also helpful to likeability. Can you think of more?

Good night, everybody; enjoy the buffet.

I'm reading behind a blog around a bunch during inappropriate prepositions

Just in case a sudden influx of visitors comes to my blog any time soon, I feel that I should put something important up here. Something to catch the eye, and yet also something to provoke thought and perhaps advancement towards liberty, fraternity and equality. I dare say that this message will finally unite all humankind in harmony!

And here's the message: "He's single, ladies!" I guess my "engagement" of two posts ago has already fallen through. Whatever.

On a related note, my homey Exoth and I have decided that I should start a betting pool as to when I would get a girlfriend. Takers? Ah, I guess I wouldn't be allowed to know who was betting. However, if you're an attractive young lady in every sense of the word, feel free to get "personally involved" in your investment!!

Again, I end my communique with a hearty "Wahaha!"

Friend/associate theory

I should preface this by saying I don't always use this way of thinking. It's fairly realistic but also takes a rather naturalistic, Nietzsche-esque view of human nature, which I don't always like. Anyways, what am I talking about? Oh yeah, the promised "friend" vs. "associate" theory.

I first heard this from a psychologist, but it sounded more like something he learned through his own experience than the ideas of philosophers or scientists. He told me that with very few exceptions, people do things for other people, even in a warm relationship, in hopes of gaining something in return. Only the likes of parents and spouses will be so committed that they will show kindness in spite of no physical, social or emotional reward. And that means absolutely no reward.

He gave the example of a woman who bought a pair of pants for her grandson. The grandson was somewhat of a delinquent, being at a ranch for troubled teens, and he threw away the less-than-stylish pants. When the woman came to visit, she naturally asked about the pants; the boy cooked up some story about how they got stolen--fairly believable at this ranch.

What is the problem with this example? First, the grandson is controlled by his fear of disappointing his grandmother so much that he doesn't care about being honest with her. But another rather obscure problem is the motive for the woman giving him the pants in the first place. Is it love, going by the "thought of no reward" definition? If it is, why did the woman care whether he wore it? She wanted validation from the child, and supposed she'd get it by buying something for him. She isn't his "friend," so to speak, but rather they are "associates."

I thought of this as rather interesting to say the least. I was halfway killing myself trying to bust myself up to "friend" level with every last person. Invariably, I'd fail on my end and feel guilty about not being selfless and loving enough. Also invariably, people would ignore me or do something not "friend"-like* and shatter my expectations into a lifeless blob. (I'm not sure how expectations, being brittle, would turn into a blob, but they do.) Once I realized the true nature of my relationships with "associates," though, things became much easier. I hate to say it, but lowering my expectations works really good!

Anyways, my point is not that people are jerks (though they are, if you ask me or famed hair metal musician David Coverdale of the 80s band Whitesnake). It's okay to be only associates with most people. We should be thoughtful, nice, giving, and charitable, but maybe we should show true devotion to a select few.

So this all begs the question: which of you are my true "friends," and which of you are mere "associates?" I won't lie to you: Every last one of you are "friends." *wink*

*The words "not 'friend'-like" and "unfriendly" are different. Very different!

Titled CXLV

I've been through about a hundred different versions of this in my head, and I can't think of a clever or lyrical way to put this, so I'm just going to say it the way I announced it to the family tonight.

We're engaged. And I couldn't be happier.

Strobe lights and blown speakers

I have a couple of lights above my head that are almost going out, but have decided to go down blazing, being like strobe lights. Combining this with looking at a computer screen all day is probably going to make me blind, unless if I'm lucky, in which case I'll be able to shoot laser beams from my eyes! Yeah!

To complete the mostly-coincidential Radiohead reference in the title, my car speakers are slightly blown because of my brother's treachery. (It was originally his car. I suppose he didn't necessarily blow the speakers deliberately and treacherously, but we can all agree that ascribing somebody's innocuous actions to "treachery" is fun...and educational!)

Oh, heh, I decided to crawl out of my shell and accidentally make a friend this morning. Soon after waking up, my cell phone exhorted me to "buy these shoes (you'll jump higher!)." As every retired naval officer knows, this meant a text message. This one was from a stranger! "It's National Good Looking Day! Send this to someone gorgeous and sexy. But don't send it back to me, I've been getting this message all freaking day." Thanks, I particularly enjoy random appraisals of my beauty from people who are possibly 43-year-old stubble-y truckers!* With this in mind, I replied "Who the devil are you?!" As it happens, though, this person thought I was her cousin (I'm not), who apparently had the same number as me. And this person being gregarious started up a conversation, at the end of which I reluctantly told her of my facebook. So now we've opened a correspondence; her citizens are allowed to use my ports and there are favorable duties on most goods. Still, who knows what could happen? I'm starting a pool, and I'm going to guess "more or less nothing."

I used the term "friend" above, and I just remembered that I was going to post about my "friend vs. associate" theory. But I didn't, and I don't feel like writing too much more tonight. Tune in...uh, sooner or later.

* It's common knowledge that every person you don't know on the Internet is actually a 40something greasy male who still lives with his parents and wears women's underwear. Especially if they are posing as young women. So, it's not too much of a stretch to apply this to mysterious text-messaging people.

Sadistic theory of blogging

Like most of you, I have no talent for creativity. So I asked krebscout to give me ideas for a blog post. She suggested, and I quote: "work, life, milk, and/or heavy metal." In an effort to deliberately create a lousy post so that magically a good one will come out, I've decided to combine two of these and make 'em the worst blog post ever. Namely, osmium being in milk.

Osmium is a pretty heavy metal! When you look at a mountain and the ore contained therein (or, as I like to do, look downwards at the ground to the metallic core of the earth), you just might be fixing your gaze at churlish iron and vulgar tin cowering before the mighty osmium. Or maybe it's the other way around: gold snickers "Where ya headed, tubbo?" when osmium is mined, and even uranium is picked for teams in P.E. before poor no. 76. Granted, uranium commands a certain respect due to the whole "look at me wrong and I'll blast some gamma rays on your kneecaps!" thing, but maybe life is hard for osmium.

So you have isolation and loneliness from being the best on one hand, or ridicule and weakness on the other. What would you do? Personally, I shout with the combined voices of the children of America: "Jump into milk, creating trace amounts of myself that could be poisonous!!" Hence, osmium in milk.

Man, that really was silly. I'd ask for your forgiveness, but I don't think I will. I've got angry Japanese people to talk to.

Edit: Yes, I DO realize that this is a pretty dumb post. But, like rock'n'roll bands and Orville Redenbacher, I have to appease the masses by pushing out large quantities of product.

Note to self

Don't do Flying Atomic Punches on your be-castered chair with a wall between your oddly protruding knee and your foe.

"Great baby! Delicious!"

I'm not too conscious right now. But I figure that if I give my blog a new, rather ugly color scheme, I should also make a post.

Today's theme is...Awkwardness.

My buddy thirdmango and I have shared a fair amount of social situations. It is clear that we are marked by a particular mark. We can, merely by exercising our native talents, cause shuddering dread to even the most hardy of opponents. If we wholeheartedly focus our powers, we can cause the destruction of entire civilizations. Is this blessing, or curse? One can only guess. But I'd probably guess "curse."

Yesterday...I guess "two days ago," because it's now 12:46 ..., I demonstrated one principle of controlled awkwardness to a female coworker (with her permission, of course). That was Proximity, perhaps one of the most simultaneously basic yet destructive techniques known to our kind. It isn't necessary to have every inch of the body close to the victim's body; in fact, only my legs were close enough to have any effect, and what an effect it was! But then when my "team leader" (probably a mini-boss that doesn't get paid more than me) came to work, I sneakily whispered "check this out" and approached him, a menacing gleam in my eyes. For you see, the previous demonstration had made me bloodthirsty. So I pulled the dreaded "your pockets are not personal space" move, which is deadly in and of itself. Then I utilized Principle 2: Lingering Eye Contact.

One can destroy the body with weapons, but only awkwardness can destroy the mind.

Eat photons, smallheads!

I don't write for the 100 Hour Board, but I play one on TV. A 100 Hour Board, that is.

The reason I bring this up is that many of my friends who blog are affiliated, or have been affiliated, with the Board. Thus, you who read this must think "Hey, he's related to the Board!" Which is not true. Jerks.

So today's subject is respect. Specifically, self-respect. Where is the line between being a good friend and having no self-respect? I guess I should give some background. How far does the law of "love thy neighbor" bind me in situations where I keep my promises to a person, often go out of my way to talk with them or invite them to things with not much in the way of return?

Yes, I have somebody in mind. How could you tell? And it's a g-g-g-girl. And having a crush on said girl makes me foolish and not ubermensch-ish. Sure, I don't really care about fulfilling Nietzsche's dreams. But this girl either doesn't realize how much it frustrates me and is doing this unconsciously, or she knows that she does it and can't help it. (I guess I need to protect my ego by excluding "She hates my guts" as a possibility.) This leads me to say "If she doesn't respect me with her actions (regardless of what her motives are), I need to supply that respect myself."

So I need friends that respect me as I respect them...or I guess I should say that I already have them, but they're out of reach, since I work all the time. And my id pops in and says "Plus you need attractive, available female friends!! For the dating!!"

I should name my id.