Category: Writings

You guys might not know, but I’ve been into making wallpapers lately. I am going to put them up on my webpage sometime (rather) soon, but for now I am just putting up these Iraq-related papers.

The first is called Shock and Awe:

The second is called Shock and Awe 2:

And all you people can do is sit there reading this??

Grab a gun and run to the border – let’s all help out!

That, and I am too lazy to write something right now. I had this big “Most Catholics are Fakes” post, but I got tired of it and I lost steam. I could just reprint a poem or something, but “Casio’s Dream” didn’t go over so well.

It looks like it’s new material for you guys. How about recycled email Forward jokes? Topic today? The French.

Have you heard about the French kamikaze pilot? He’s on his 23rd Mission!

How many Frenchmen does it take to change a light bulb? One. He holds the bulb and all of Europe revolves around him.

Going to war without France is like going fishing without an accordian.

and lastly

What’s a Frenchman’s favorite wine? “We thought Belgium was neutral!”

That night, like so many others that year, twinkled on the young ex-battle operator. His name was Casio.
The night cast a purple hue, as if the world was tinted deep violet. And this night, like so many others, Casio stood at the cliffs watching the waves, the stars and the horizon.

Tonight? He took another drink from the long, slender bottle.

No. He sighed and turned his thoughts to more important things.

“Now where is Gabrielle?”

She was in the folio, in front of the screen. The screens of this time are thin. Technology is at such a point that silicon wafers are 1 nanometer, or eight Hydrogen atoms, thick and super cooled to allow for circuits the size of a period (.) and the ability to compute out complex algorithms at near the speed of light. Thus, the screens are about 5 times the thickness of a sheet of paper. This is so that one could set a screen down and it would not blow away.

“Hi, Honey.” He said. He removed his shoes. Actually, shoes nowadays are really a type of supportive fiber optic spring that cushions your feet. There is one strap (since no one runs anymore) and the shoes appear to be more of a sandal than a shoe.

He crossed the floor to the fridge. The floor was warm, being heated by a snake’s pit of semi-conducting coils made of platinum. To decrease heat costs the coils are only activated by human pressure preset by the thermostat on the wall by the fridge. The fridge, well, not a lot has changed there. You still kill the environment every time you throw one out.

Casio opened the fridge and pulled out another long, slender bottle. He pulled the top off and brought the bottle to his lips. “Anything interesting on the screen?”

She changed the screen from the weather, which she was watching, to the cable input. She turned and, seeing the bottle, thought OhGodNotAgain.

“There’s nothing,” she sighed. She turned away so he could not see her tears start.

“But I told you; you won’t find anything on the weather screens or the meteor reports.”

“Then where do I look?” She was a little angry. She crossed over to the clock.

The clock is my favorite piece in their spacious (at least in that time) living room. The clock is built to mimic those of your time, Gabrielle or rather the antique, fancy clocks of your time. It is very gothic. Shaped like a Catholic Cathedral of old, it has three stories and 16 spires total. Adorning the windows and doors are 18 beautiful arches in miniature. Standing guard over the entire scene are 4 gargoyles perched like hideous, winged devil-dogs warning evil of the presence of God in such a hallowed place. The gargoyles sit at the front, rear and midpoints of both side of the Cathedral, pointing, respectably, north, south, east, and west. Slightly removed from the gargoyles are the spouts. These huge, gaping mouths of grotesque animal faces pour forth night’s rain, should it ever come. Inside were thousands of intricately carved and fashioned prayerful minions. They sat on a large number of pews, knelt in serenity and security, and strolled down the aisles. There was no priest. It must have been adoration time.

But look. The peasants move! That’s right. The mechanics of the clock are incredibly complex, and I have not the knowledge or the paper to describe the inner workings of this beautiful timekeeper. The people walk down the aisles, turn back, go to the pew, admire the brilliant stained glass windows, and respect the Blessed Sacrament at the front. As miniature people stuck in a time vortex, repeating the same actions anon unto eternity, these faint memories of the dedicated go about their duties obliviously.

On the front of the clock, stretching from the left corner spire to the right corner spire, was the LCD display. This showed the people what the time was. It also was the brains of the operation. Located inside the crystal display pad was a miniature hard drive and microprocessor. These two combined together act as the basis for the pilgrim’s movements, sometimes according to the date (which would show up if you pulled the North-facing Gargoyles head twice).

The clock struck 11:00 at night. The hard drive inside activated the speakers hidden inside the Cathedral walls. They played a beautiful concerto of symphonic music. As the music died down, a soothing female voice announced the time.

“I don’t think you CAN look. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“You mean your dream? Your unsettling feeling about Midnight? Who’s the scientist here?” she asked. She is probably not considered a scientist by your standards, Gabrielle. “Why can’t you just give me facts?”

“Honey, I love you. Why don’t you trust me? I’m an artist,” he consolled her. He is probably not considered an artist by your standards, Gabrielle. “I work on inspiration and emotion.”

She took the long, slender bottle from his hands and placed it on the table. Then she put his arms around her and he held her.

“I love you, too,” she looked longingly into his eyes, “but I’m scared. Scared that you’re right, with your emotionalism and romanticism, and that I’m wrong, with my facts and figures and rock-hard, certain proof.”

“I want to be wrong. I know what I have to do, if it happens.”

There was a pause of comfort. Then it was gone.

She whispered, “Hold me tighter.”

======================================

Casio woke up early, which was quite contrary to his custom. He was used to sleeping in until noon. Today, he was nervous. It was the day. There was no hangover this morning, surprisingly enough. There was a reason that his prediction had not shown on neither the meteorological nor the astrological charts. This was not an event of either category.

She should have been reading the bible.

He could not explain how he knew, but he did. It was a feeling he had. Moreover, it was, in part, the dream. That had really done it. The dream had ended with that day’s date. A lump rose in his throat. At exactly 11:59 that night, The Dragon would sweep exactly a third of the stars from the sky. At least, that is what he had dreamed.

He stood in front of the fridge with another long, slender bottle and let his eyes and mind unfocus and relax.

Gabrielle rose from the bed and saw Casio in the kitchen. Derivative, a sort of pet, came into the kitchen and joined them. Derivative is a special kind of creature. He is a robot. Derivative is built low to the ground as a sort of moving footstool. He (it) can also function as a calculator, Guard Dog, household encyclopedia, housekeeper, and family friend. The Derivative is square shaped. It has six wheels that stick out from the frame like the wheels of an off-road vehicle. Two latches on the sides allow one to open the top (which is the Derivative’s back). There is a keyboard and a display screen. This explains the ability of the calculator (a useless novelty) and the encyclopedia. Two input feelers (one shaped like a straw, the other like a box and connected lid both with cables retreating back into Derivative) are necessary for the other functions. You can place the first feeler into a liquid and it will scan for a number of poisonous compounds. Reverse wise you can put the straw into a liquid and it will tell you what you have. It goes the same for solids, if you use the box-lid device. It turns out to be quite a wonderful and annoying little gizmo.

Gabrielle walked over to her mate and kissed him on the cheek. The glass in his hand slipped out of his grip and bounced off the floor spilling its expensive contents to the floor. Thankfully, not much is made to break in that time. Derivative immediately floated over to the spill and began to suck it up.

Casio snapped out of it. “Today.”

“No, honey,” she consoled. “Not ever.”

He shook his head. “I’m going to town today.”

He always goes to town, she thought.

“When I come back, around 11:30 tonight, I want you to join me at the cliffs. We’ll watch the end together.”

“Alright. I love you.” He stopped at the door. He looked back.

He said, “Tell me that when I’m right.”

======================================

It was 11:30, or so the Cathedral clock showed. The two young lovers stood on the firm ground of the cliffs. Their sea front house overlooked a spectacular view of the ocean. That was all they saw, for there were no islands, boats, or wildlife out there. It was as though the world knew, or at least was wary of, what Casio knew.

Casio was scared.

“Casio,” Gabrielle said, “I want you to know that whatever happens, I still and will always love you. My only regret is that I found you so late in my life. I thank God everyday for you. Do you know that? Everyday.” They embraced. She could feel his tears on her neck.

“I love you more than life itself. From the time I knew this would happen until now I’ve been praying that I’m wrong, pleading with God not because of MY life, but yours. I would die for you, if it meant that you would live.” He kissed her cheek. They broke apart and he took her hand.

It was 11:55. The stars twinkled maliciously. Were some moving? Yes. The brighter, closer stars began a slow deliberate journey to the horizon. The stars got brighter and closer, but they also changed their colors. At first, they were yellow, then green, and blue. When they reached the color blue the stars became a wand with a long azure shaft and sapphire jewel in the tip. The sapphire became indigo and finally purple as it stretched longer and longer and finally smashed into the ocean.

There was a purple flash, and they saw a wall of purplish seawater stretch up into the sky as a ring of water the same color started towards them. Then, preceding the purple wave, came a sound wave. It rushed over the water at 346 meters per second. Like a wind, the sound blast brought with it a spray of warm water after it threw Casio and Gabrielle to the ground. They were wet and got back up. Casio saw the horizon as more stars went crashing into it, sending their watery arms up into the sky, their rings out at the world, and their sounds blasts likewise.

Casio yelled at Gabrielle to get into the house and seal it. The house still stood. If it had been constructed out of materials from your time, Gabrielle, it would have been faggots. She ran through the door and pushed the green button under the guard box. Immediately all the doors locked, all the windows shut and latched and the house began to sink. The outline of the house had been dug deep, 150 feet deep, into the earth and reinforced with Adamantium, an incredibly strong metal alloy. Gabrielle thought back to when Casio had requested this wholly unnecessary security measure and wondered if even back then he knew something. The house came to a stop and the lights went out. The only light came from the display pad of the beautiful Cathedral clock. The time was 12:15.

Casio saw the first ring of water fast approaching. Then he heard the metallic click as the metal plates sealed off the hole to his house and his wife. He stood his ground. He did not think he would die. In fact, he was sure that he would live on, that is what had happened in his dream…

The wave hit. The wave itself rose 150 feet over his head and came smashing down with enough force to shatter the house Casio had just sent into the ground. But, thankfully, his house was underground now. His Gabrielle was safe. That was all that mattered.

The wave hit.

At that second he was gone. Instead of killing him, the wave took him away from the world. He was pulled from reality and thrown into another world. A world of winter. Everything was white but a dark white. When he peered up into the sky all he saw was blackness: no clouds, no celestial bodies, nothing. He was in a forest where the trees still had leaves though those broad, green limbs of the foliage should have fallen off long ago. Piles of snow sat on the green grass (yes, he could see the grass in parts looking as healthy as in summer) and light airy flakes of snow floated leisurely from the sky. Then he saw before him an arch and beneath it a door.

He started walking towards the door. At first, his gait was paced and methodic. Nevertheless, he felt something in the pit of his stomach that told him to walk faster. He picked up the pace. Faster. Faster. Soon he was jogging, and then running. He got closer and closer. He was sprinting towards the door now, but it was not towards a door, it was towards something else. Towards… Gabrielle? Yes. Exit? No. Life? Yes. Yes. Yes!

Then he realized. He stopped just short of the door. That same feeling that had gotten him running had stopped him in his tracks. His eyes unfocused and his brain stopped thinking. He had his hand raised to the doorknob, but stopped it and dropped the hand to his side. He fell to his knees, but he was already down. He slumped over, but he was already on the ground. He closed his eyes, but they were already closed.

He died, but he was already dead.

The mind can be a terrible thing, Gabrielle, when faced with death. Especially its own. It is one of those devices that, being one of stubborn fiber, holds on to a pleasant unreality for as long as it can. Up until the last drop of blood rids itself of the gray matter and the brain finally calls it quits.

Casio, in those few seconds before his death, had pushed himself into a world that did not exist, and so filled himself with false hope and clung desperately to the little life he had left.

Gabrielle never knew this. When she woke the next morning, her husband was sleeping as usual, but something was different. She screamed as she realized he had died in his sleep. Just the night before he had been out stargazing, as if nothing was wrong, and then he was gone. She knew it was his drinking. That had done it. It was a tragic thing, but if one goes into town everyday and drinks himself ignorant and unfeeling, one cannot expect to live long. The shame comes in that his lover didn’t know this. It’s said that she cried for years, but that is another story. This one is about Casio. Casio who died, but he was already dead.

At first there was rock. The primitive Earth Man (as he was called) would use another (smaller) rock and scratch across his “canvas” to make drawings, symbols representing what he saw and felt. Drawing began.

It then (eventually) moved on to paper. This was a revolution in drawin’ because you could move your work. And often times you could eliminate the paper or even erase it. Did you draw “Thou” with too heavy eyebrows? Even if they are his best feature, I think you over did it. Paper lets you forget the past.

Then there was better paper (nothing much was going on for a long long time, so they just changed the paper a bit). The instruments for writing to paper changed drastically from a large (free) rock you find outside, to a small (expensive) rock you find inside a pencil. Queer.

Then there was the black board, which gave way to the wipeoff board. That gave way to the mini-wipeoff board (some say that was a step back). Now college kids could leave lewd messages to each other on tiny little boards in blue, black, or red ink. Life was good.

But I’ve found something better. It takes all the wondrous dexterity of the wipeoff board and combines it with all the lazyness of a website. It’s called Imagination At Work and if creativity needed a place to breed, this thing is dark, moist and cool.

Tonight I get a message from Missa. This was the message [ this ]. Simple, nice, and it gave me an idea.

I immediately reply with my own. It was supposed to be a cute cat face, but I drew too many lines and it started erasing what I had written. I was infuriated for 2 seconds, but then I got over it. Life’s too short, eh?

I started over and I drew [ this ]. I call the piece “Life and Love”. I made sure to share it with the few people I actually want to talk to. Lacey insisted on being included. One of the people (her name is Kari) started getting ideas, too. She decided to draw her own works.

I was panicked. What would I do? I knew that however this took place, I had to make my drawings funnier, better, and faster… er, stronger… eh, better still. I had no choice but to encourage her and pray for utter failure. She countered my drawing with [ this : warning adult content and themes and/or awesome nudity ]. What can I say? I can say, “:-O”, and I did.

Great. She’s doing the “Love Sucks” theme. I’m awesome at that. I’m always whining about love sucking and how much love sucks. This is my ball park. I carefully choose my topic and I set to drawing. I wanted something powerful and beautiful like … Jeff. So my finished product was [ this ]. This has no name. Who has time to name these things : this is war.

I think I stunned her, but she kept coming. She muttered “You couldn’t draw a breathe” and other archaic puns like that. I was scared, but ready. I was ready. She unleashed her [ work ]. Those grey things, they’re drumsticks or numchucks or something. And he’s bashing her in the head. (Can we say issues?) But I had to do it again.

I reached into my artistic grab bag and pulled out … nothing. The one before was so easy (because that literally happened to me Junior year at Prom), but now I had no more personally experiences. What would I do? I do [ this : warning adult content and themes and/or awesome nudity ]. That one was nice, too. But I could feel that I was losing steam.

And I did. I did two more but they had nothing to do with love. You see, Lacey has entered the competition as well (about 20 minutes behind the rest of us) and slew us all with [ this ]. No boy this time. No violence. Just a green spider crawling out of her mouth onto the only partially colored heart.

It speaks volumes.

But, just as I was about to head to bed, Kari made one more drawing. And this one blew me away. It’s so odd how she had chosen to draw this particular creature. This beutiful and unique individual who means to much to millions of people and throughout centuries of lifetime. It was [ Err! ] My jaw dropped once again (“:-O”), because recently I also got [ this ] from Lacey. It’s Err. Look at the eerie similarities. Some say he’s evil. But I just say he’s Err.

With much drawing haven been done, and all of us tired and sweaty, we said our sweet goodbyes and departed the scene. Would we draw again? Would we once again enjoy an orgy of lines and colors such as we did this night?

One can only hope.

Today I had to write my name. Writing ones name is quite the accomplishment. Remember when you were too young to know what an idiot you were? And you drew vast masterpieces and wrote volumes of literature, only to discover, while beginning school, that everything you knew was wrong.

You were not smart. You knew nothing. You had to start all the way over. And what do they teach you right off? Your name. This is who you are. This is what you are. You can write your name, and you will, over and over again.

Pretty soon you are churning out sheet after sheet of your own bloody name. Where before you would manufacture thousands of sheets of beauty and creativity, now it was all two words, that had no meaning, written carefully, calmly, methodically upon the paper.

You don’t realize it, but you will write these two words the most out of any other combination of two words in your life. I had to do that today. I had to sign a little sheet of paper that said that the letter I wrote was inappropriate. That I had created an incident. I had to acknowledge that I was guilty. Yes, I did it. I wrote a letter. And I’m guilty. God love Free Speech.

I need some good Freedom Fighters. Where’s my running crew? Yoo hoo, running crew. There are no Freedom Fighters, so I had to cheer myself up. Here’s what I did.

Picture [ Charlie Brown ]. Just see him sitting there under the tree staring at the clouds. See him chat with his friends.

Now, [ stab ] [ stab ] him in the back of the head. Picture the knife quickly and violently entering the back of his skull. Maybe even a little bit pokes out of his eye, or his cheek, or the back of his throat.

You see this [ emoticon ]? Ok. You know what this emoticon is of? This is the face that Charlie makes right at that knife makes contact. Before he blanks. Before the blood loss puts him out. Before he stops breathing and his brain shuts down.

Isn’t that the funniest thing ever? I laughed so hard. Cause you know he’s saying [ “Oh Brother” ] even as knife cuts the major nerves in his brain, severing the most basic, but most important, nervous information highways.

Today Jeff and Carl and I went to iHop to eat with Lacey and Kari who had downed about 2.4 gallons of coffee (and 6 times that amount of half-and-half) waiting for us. It was about a 20 minute wait. These girls are hardcore addicts.

I wasn’t real impressed with the waitress. She seemed to be a drop-out of some sorts, but she was way older than the normal institutions (high school, college). Maybe she’s an overall, general, life drop-out. I think she used to be a man.

We sat and chatted. We had a good time, laughed a lot (a natural aphrodisiac), and then … well. ;) Yada yada yada, I’m ready for bed.

I must say that I am quite disappointed. I have been reading the school paper for almost 4 whole minutes and I believe that it isn’t living up to its potential. Let me explain.

I have had the opportunity and pleasure to read college papers from all around – SDSU, St. Olaf, and USDSU (yeah, like that counts…). The general stuff is the same. They are all black and white prostitution houses where the more you write the more you get. So these geeky, pretentious high school paper rejects spit some text onto paper for you to drink up. Hell, I can do that/am doing that right now/could con Darcy into letting me do it often.

DSU’s page is different. Well, I guess the geek spitting is the same (ok, you people love it) but something else is different. Censorship. Swearing. Cursing. Bleeping. ****ing.

Why don’t we do that? Are all the writers really that nice or do I smell a conspiracy (or do I smell General Beadle)? Not being one to pass up a reason to break into places (locked or otherwise) I quickly decided that this was a conspiracy that needed immediate sensual investigation.

And I am all about sensual investigation.

Stop ‘A’ : back to my room for some Mountain Dew and a pretzel rod. I love rods. I need these items if I am to investigate this anyway (let alone sensually). Then I decided to pay a little visit to the editor. Luckily they have that name IN the paper. Go figure. Darcy Turner is the editor. All I had was a name, but that is sometimes all you need. Actually, I guess, most times that is a lot. So I walked around stopping random people and asking them if they were Darcy Turner. I got three “maybes” and some guy’s phone number. He’s cute, but I don’t think anything is going to happen.

I decided to pay a visit to my best friend to find Darcy Turner. After she booted up, I launched my Mozilla Web Browser. Of course, with my homepage being DSU’s Website (ok, maybe not) I had just to navigate myself to Darcy Turner’s web page. It wasn’t there. I did a quick google search and came across a schedule. HER schedule. It seems that in between editing the paper and cuddling with her kitty Darcy enjoys playing the clarinet in DSU’s band. I found out where and when the Band rehearses and made my way through the snow dunes up there to…

Stop ‘B’ : the playhouse. It is a well known fact that the band rehearses on Mondays and Wednesdays starting at 4:30pm. Okay, I guess you get about the same reaction as if you were to ask an Education Major what 2 is in binary. Ooooo, baZing! Just joking, Ed. Majors. I love ya! At this time it was 4 o’clock, so I decided to wait. The hands of my watch raced each other to 5:30. Nothing.

That is when I realized that it was Thursday. Great. I was quickly losing interest in this investigation. I was ALMOST to the point of losing my sensualness (as if!)

I went back to the Trojan Center to … eh, eat … a large quantity of salt being passed off as French fries. I only made it to the half-way mark on the fries, because it was there that they had consolidated into a shell-like encasing. I could hear sounds of movement inside and thought I saw eyes blinking back at me. I was only halfway through before my throat closed off and I went into seizures. I was only halfway done before my blood solidified and began to back up. Ok, I’m kidding. The school food isn’t THAT bad, but it sure if fun to pretend it is. 4 days and 3 gallons of vomit later, it was Monday at 4:20pm. A minute passed (4:21) before I remembered about my sensual acts before my hospitalization.

I sprinted up to the playhouse. Gathered there were about a dozen of the finest musicians I have ever heard. Around them were seated some of the largest idiots I have ever tried to ignore. I knew, in my heart, that somewhere in the crowd (and who knew which side) was Darcy Turner.

I stood up on a chair behind what I am told is a “Mr. Hegg You Idiot” and yelled loudly. “Is anyone here Darcy Turner?” I guess she sits right in front. I guess she has quite the attitude. She also has quite the shove.

“Look jerk,” she shrieked. “I’ve heard about you and I found your stupid notebook where you talk about a ‘conspiracy’ and ‘censorship’ and I want you to know that you are way off base.” She made big, swooping, claw-like gestures for the single quotes around ‘conspiracy’ and ‘censorship’ (which hurt a lot). See, you usually do something like that when you’re being sarcastic. I’m not very quick to pick sarcasm up.

She wasn’t done. “I also saw those drawings you made of me, and I know you broke into my house.” Oh, man. She’s observant. She must have seen the boot prints on her bed. I guess Pine-sol doesn’t clean everything. “You stay away from me, you hear?”

I had opportunity to retort. “You’re a little emotional right now.”

“And you’re just little!”

Oooo, man. That was it. I had had it. You know what, Darcy? I think you’re mad because you can’t edit worth sh-

I’d just like to say, right up front so that there’s no confusion, that Rausches are the coolest people ever to grace the planet, in all their crazy cousinish forms. Especially in their cousinish forms. Hells yea.

Today, I had another Math class and that was horrendous as I forgot to multiply the derivative by the reciprocal of the nth factor in the seventh stage of that proof I was working on. So that sucked. But the reason I made such an egregious oversight was due to the fact that I was too busy looking out the window at my other nemesis: Snow.

And in a related story, my cousin Brenna is going to California on Friday for a week with my other cousin Katie. As if life wasn’t already unfair enough, my two most beautiful and funniest cousins will be reunited in a sunny party haven far away from this hell which is South Dakota. ‘Course, Brenna already got out long ago, to the also-snow-infested Minnesota but also to the rain-blighted Scotland. You’d think she was a smart one, but no, she just keeps going from one kind of crappy weather to another.

My sister Brenna is kind of an idiot. She’s like 10 years old and still gets food all over her face when she eats. I ask you, is the concept of a mouth that hard? Answer: It’s not.

Well, responsibilities of one kind or another are calling, in their horrid screetchy wee voices, so I must away with me. But as a final reminder, dinna forget that cousins are cool. Way cool. Pretty brilliant cool.

I have taken Hiatus (look it up folks) but now I’m back. I have brenna, my cousin, working on a post for me that is sure to knock all your socks off.

I feel like I’m famous. Not the kind of famous where everyone is eager to see what you’ve written, but the kind of famous where you can have people write “guest” pieces and you don’t have to do any work, and the people love you more for that.

That’s how famous I am right now.

Today was mostly uneventful. I had a GAF (general allocation of funds) meeting with Terry Ryan on lead guitar. I was a little late getting in, but I didn’t miss much. Today Instrumental Music, Drama, Cheerleading, and the Student Senate came in and begged us for money. We heard their cries, and, much like kings did in days of olde, we told them to wait and come back later. We have many more meetings. Those who are unlucky enough to miss the meeting have to listen to audio tapes of it. Ha ha ha!

Then I had my health meeting. Health is another committee that I am a member of for Student Senate. I think the only reason I am on it is because Vonnie has a crush on me, but that is too creepy for me to consider seriously. I’m starting to worry about her, though. She seemed awfully eager to share with us the dangers/side-effects of small pox. Maybe too eager…

Later in the evening (past all the uninteresting stuff) I went to Play tryouts. Dakota State University is putting on “The Fiddler on the Roof” this year. They have also opened up auditions to the community. Dennis Hegg is the guest director. He seems quite enthusiastic about it (so I’m sure it’ll be a grand show). But, because it is open to the public, that means that I got there and it looked like a day care had exploded inside the playhouse. Little girls and boys (but mostly girls) were everywhere. Many were straining to remember how much they weighed (or estimating what they could get away with putting down) and the others were chatting about the things that concern kids that age : the pending War in Iraq.

I heard one little girl remark that Bush was only declaring war on Iraq for the his own personal reasons. She said that in his State of the Union, two words that would not be mentioned would be “oil” and “empire” and then chuckled snidley. The other girls laughed and one said, “It’s the ‘Just Because’ war.” That’s when I went to sit down. I can’t stand listening to politics when I don’t know enough to get the jokes people make about it.

I sat behind Heather and her whole bloody family. Heather and Chris and their three girls: Meggin, Brigid, and … the baby. Really, they’re cute. I am afraid of Brigid, though, because she is Heather 2.0. Picture Heather as a 3 year old (at least, Brigid told me she was three before muttering, “…even germany and france are against it…”)

Meggin on the other hand had much more intelligent things to say. She related a scene from “Kilo and Snitch” (or whatever that movie is) which ended with something having to do with sharks or tuna. I forget which one it was. Then she asked if I remembered her. I said, “Of course I remember you” and I flashed my big “I’m an adult and I’m a friend not a Stranger so take the Damn Candy” grin at her. She’s so cute. Brigid scares me. One) I keep trying to spell it Briggid which is wrong, but two ‘g’s just seem right, you know? And Two) … another Heather….

Anyway, with my completed sheet (after figuring what weight I can get away with and still be conservative) and a script, I took to the stage. One thing about this play is that it is Jewish in content. It involves a Jewish group of characters doing Jewish things in a Jewish setting. Not a Brit in sight, so there goes my accent niche. I have never been confident in my “Old Jew” accent, so I didn’t dare test it out. It’s quite dusty from the few lines of Snatch the utilize it.

The other thing this script has is a lot of Jewish Names. Names like Motel (which is pronounced “modul” but I pronounce it “Motel”), Lazar (“lay-zar”, but I say “Laser”), and Tzietel (“zietell”, but I say “Tinsel”). I can hardly pronounce these let alone act them out. I don’t think that the tryout went that well at all. I didn’t feel confident. I felt out of place.

If I don’t get a part, though, I can always be in the pitt band. That is the back-up. If that doesn’t happen then I can always help with Tech Theatre. Of course, it is always possible that all 3 could happen. Then I could rule the world!

:giggle: Oh, I’m so silly.

I got back to the room where Jeff was in the same spot doing the same thing as when I left… Wierd… But Jeff has been up to a lot. For one, his site is different. I’m not talking about http://lazydesert.net. I am talking about Jeff’s new toy : converse.lazydesert.net. This is going to be his new way of blogging. He posts on the “blog” forum and you have to sign up and then you can comment. And we can discuss things at hand. We can discuss that post, or what we like best about each other (it’s your eyes : they get me everytime), or even the pending War in Iraq so we can be up to speed. Well, I can be up to speed.

Ugh … I’m tired. And everyone is a lullaby.

There has been quite the addition to the site.

We have ourselves quite a new addition to the community. I have 6 new poetry authors and 2 new image artists.

The first six are:

The next two are:

I am quite excited. In other news, I am starting to get invovled in some online communities. My latest memberships are into deviantART, where you can see just me by going to http://awayken.deviantart.com, and Design Technika or DT², where you can see me by going to http://www.designtechnika.com/board/index.php?s=1c32732685a4fb9d4521ed11eabbc21a&act=Profile&CODE=03&MID=1432.

Jeff is, too members of both (and joined both before me), but I am not copying him. I am an individual.

Heather also informed me that she and Jeff love each other. Their love is so strong (apparently) that she/they would kill me. Kill me for their love. It doesn’t matter if I’m trying to break them up, if I’m trying to hurt one of them – no. Just for no reason, she/they will kill me for their love.

Oh, great. Looks like I’ll need an RA if this keeps up.

This post is going to be half and quarter and quarter. I am going to break into three women who just happen to be either forcing me into writing posts about them or online right now.

Half is going to be devoted to Heather cause I love her (and who can’t, right Heather?)

The other quarter is going to be for Sammi.

The last quarter is for my cousing Brenna.

So, Heather I met through the play. She works at 911 dispatch where she mostly draws and listens to people die (it makes her giggle). She has a husband and some kids (2 of which can talk). She met Jeff the other day. She is going to have some artwork on this site soon – do not let her tell you that I did them. She lies. She and Jeff have a song : Falling by Ben Kweller (check it out).

Sammi lives in florida. She is 14. She added ME to her list and not the other way around so I am NOT a pedophile. Read the sentence again as I stress it. Sammi talks to me a lot and signed my shoutbox asking me to write a post about my “bestest buddy” (her) so here it is.

It’s Lame, I know.

Brenna is my cousin. She went to Scotland last semester. She got Rausched. Then she came back with books of tales to tell and now I don’t have to do math when I chat with her to figure out what her time zone it is.

Each of these girls (and thousands others) have a special part in my heart. But there will always be someone who has a larger part.

I love my mom more than anything (and I hope she’s reading this) and everytime I hurt her or put Lemon concentrate in her coffee (like today) I feel terrible inside and I cry for the anguish I have caused her.

“Oh, how could I?!” I cry to the silent heavens. God is silent because he knows how wrong it is to hurt your mother like that. And I fear the wrath of God! That is why I have turned this new leaf. I will be contrite to the end of my days if not but to show my mother a % (implying small) of the love and kindness that she hath shown unto me.

By the way, My birthday is coming up this year and I need a new DVD-ROM drive.

:)

There and back again. An Undergrad’s story.

And what is an Undergrad?

Undergrads are poor people, poorer than people with real jobs. They love food, music and sex. They disklike homework, but are good with instant messenging. They like to laugh and watch downloaded movies for free. They inhabit a land they call The dorm, a place between home and the next party.

The Undergrad is a story of these delightful creatures, a story complete in itself yet full of portent. For this book tells of Miles Rausch, the far-wandering undergrad who discovered (some say stole) the One CD-ROM of Power and brought it back to the Dorm.

And so this is the absolutely necessary beginning to the great story of the War of the CD-ROMs which is completed in the Epic trilogy The Lord of the Disks.

If you ever talk to Jeff (a pleasant experience) for more than 10 minutes (an unpleasant experience ;) ) he may bring up the subject of 24.

What is 24 (besides a number)? It is a show on Fox. It features the events that transpire in the life of Jack Beuer (a Counter Terrorism Unit agent) in real time. Jack has quite an exciting life to fill not one, but two, seasons worth of 24 hours. Actually, if you take out commercials, the entire series would only take you about 20 hours to watch. Still : I’m not sure I could hold people’s attention for that long.

So, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, as Carl watches the show passionately as well. I wanted to see if it was a Geek-related illness or quality programming. So, I watched. And I became hooked.

Jack Beuer is an interesting guy. He would just as soon shoot you in the face (with lasers perhaps) than converse over coffee. It is just this jump-and-tumble (is that a phrase??) style that I have come to expect (and applaud) from this wild gun.

Jack has taught me a thing or two.

Jack knew what he wanted. In the first season, he just wants his family back. In the second season, he just wants his family back. He also wants to not die (a good goal), and he sorta wants to keep his job, but knowing what you want if step one.

Jack usually just kills everyone. Sometimes he lets them live and kills them later. Only some people does he let live. And those people usually help him find his family.

I did this before, but it was nice to see someone else do it. I mean, no one is trying to kidnap my family, but if they did, I already have the “look all around you” thing down. Sometimes I do it twice, in case they knew I was going to do it and then they hid and then they popped up again and then I would catch them. I never do, though.

Really, you are just going to have to trust me.

Jack does mean things to people. But he usually has good intentions (or his temper has worn really short). Like, I have learned that if you need to prove to someone that you are really his friend (even if you are just kidding about it) you should kill an enemy of his and hack-saw his head off. Put it in a bowling-ball bag and bring it to him. Then you are quite frankly “in like Flinn!”

Jack loves his cell phone. He takes it everywhere, and he loves to slap that thing shut. He is always looking for his phone, or someone is throwing him a phone, or he is taking someone else’s phone and pretending to be that person. What fun! But the one thing Jack Beuer does not do is say goodbye. He may give you a time when he will call you back, but he never really says, “Well, talk to you later, friend!” He just slaps his phone shut and looks everywhere around his car and then gets in and drives off.

Jack is really my new idle (I realize I spelled that wrong – it is for comedic effect). But what is the most important lesson I learned from Jack?

Thats right! Jack is not always 100% sure of anything, and that can get him into trouble. Like, in the first episode of the first season, he thought this one guy was a bad guy, but turns out he was a nice, good guy! So confusing. I guess the REAL lesson is to trust no one and to kill anyone you think might be bad. Or, if you think they may be important later in the season, then just knock them out or something.

Actually that is good advice. I am sure that most everyone in my family will come back sometime in the rest of the season, so I will not kill them. I guess the real trick to life is to figure out who to kill and who to not… kill.

But, really, didn’t we know that all along?

I have yet to work my Category system into effect. I hope to have a different background color for different categories. Then you would know if what I have to say is babble, prose, or humour.

I have yet to get my links in order on the left side, but I looked at my site in IE and found it to be quite unsatisfactory. Why cant the browsers agree?? So, I had to make my Width for the #content tag. I had it un specified before, but IE doesnt like that and tries to make that div tag the same size as the whole window. Guh.

I have done a lot to keep my CSS compatible with my old one. I did a lot of restuctring, though. Took some tags out (milesmade and milesmaded and blog) and had to add some for the sake of what I still plan to do (inverse and bottom). To make sense of it, the milesmade put a red border around things, the milesmaded put a blue border around things, and blog made the first post padded by 15px.

I dont think anyone is reading this, but it also serves to give me something to scroll. I need more stuff to put on the left. The blue box I plan on making into Status stuff. Right now I have iMood and this nice BlogAmp thing that puts my latest song on the site (I can configure it to show more than one song if I wish.)

So, I think thats all that is new. I plan on making the links cool, too (CSS time) but I am running out of time. I wish to release the site on January 1st.

We will see.