Another Record

Evidently this is a new record for snowfall in a single month. The official measurement is 59.8 inches for December. Five fucking feet of snow in a month. I think about 55 inches of that has fallen in the last two weeks.

I hate every damnable inch of the stuff. I seem to spend every day shoveling. There is simply nowhere else to put it.

I give up. I am going to Arizona. The problem is that my car is buried because of the snowplows, so I will have to walk.

Apparently It's a Record

Officially, the city is reporting about 23 inches of snow dumped by the recent storm, with about 18 inches dropped in a 24-hour period.

Two feet seems to be a bit conservative for my neighborhood. After shoveling, I had snow caked on my pants up to about mid-thigh.

I am sure E got it worse than I did. Tracking the storm on the various weather maps, it appeared the storm was particularly enthralled with the area near her home.

Weevil may have more snow, but I think there was considerably more out there before this storm blew through.

I now recall why winter and I do not get along so well. After six rounds of shoveling in less than 36 hours, I am exhausted and in a good deal of pain. I think I pulled an abdominal muscle.

I'll try to post a picture of the glorious winter wonderland when I can.

Until then...

One Week Later

It has been a week.

How am I?

Well, for starters, I am tired of answering that question. Seems every time someone sees me, they get doe-eyed, lose about two-thirds of the volume of their voice, and ask "How are you doing? Are you OK? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Curious, that the people who ask these questions are people I would not typically turn to for help. The people I turn to are the people who frequent this page. Well, those people I know about, anyhow. The people I turn do do not need to offer their assistance. Such support is a symbiotic constant.

Now, to answer the question: I am here. I have good times and bad times, as one might expect.

I feel an odd calm in that we have found out what, exactly, killed my brother. Heart attack.

I don't like knowing that I do not know something. An awkward sentence, but I am sure the sentiment is clear.

Apologies, but much of my creative energy has been spent on a final paper that was finished mere moments ago.

Good night.

Planning vs Execution

I had intended to take my Japanese final this morning. That didn't work so well. I sat in class for about twenty minutes, just staring at the test. Finally, I gave up, turned the paper in without even putting my name on it, and left. I worked out an opportunity to retake the test next week. We shall see if my focus is better.

I had intended to travel to Florida to be with family this weekend. There are a few problems with that. First is cost. I simply do not have the $500-800 needed to make the flight, even with the bereavement discount. Second is scheduling. I realize that there is not exactly an opportunity to schedule a sudden death in the family, but I have finals and projects that I cannot reschedule.

I feel like such an asshole.

. . .

I am simply numb. Please forgive any fragmentation of this post, but I am not sure how I am handling the news I was just told.

My younger brother, Scott, is dead. He collapsed at work about an hour ago. An ambulance was called. About twenty minutes later, doctors at a Tampa area hospital were unable to revive him.

I used to consider myself quite fortunate. Everyone I gave a damn about was alive and kicking, causing whatever trouble they thought they could get away with. Now, in the space of a calendar year, I have lost my grandfather, and now, one of my brothers.

I had drifted apart from Scott since we were kids growing up in Florida. I think it had been close to five years since I spoke with him. This year, however, we reconnected. I spoke with him at least once a month, heard incredibly cute stories about his children, and how his construction business was finally starting to get off the ground. Things were looking very bright for him. The biggest worry he expressed to me was that he had just turned thirty and was beginning to find gray hairs. I mailed him a box of "Just for Men" hair dye as a birthday present.

I wish I could offer his family something worthwhile. Happy thoughts and well-wishing seem utterly useless at this point.

I am not sure what I am going to do today. I have a Japanese final. I should take that.

Let me close by saying to my regular crowd that I love you guys.

The Cruel Hand of Fate

A strange series of events turned Wednesday into a curious day, indeed.

I discovered I can set water on fire. I am just that damned good.

Baking goes much smoother and results in a superior product when you do not accidentally convert teaspoons to tablespoons for a measurement. I have never been a big fan of baking. My inner mad scientist is much happier with the improvisation other types of cooking allow.

Here is a sunny piece of news: A collection agency in Wisconsin claims I am on the hook for more that $5000 for a credit card I simply do not recall. They tell me the credit account was closed in 2000. So, almost ten years of someone doing absolutely nothing about this until I get a student loan, and this collection agency springs into action. I have already called them and asked all the appropriate "what the hell" questions. They are going to send me what information they have on the account. Now I need to obtain my credit reports, contact my bank and the police about potential identity theft, and jump through countless other hoops of which I have not yet been made aware.

After all this, Fate decided to just kick me in the balls yet again by sending thoughts of the ex wafting through my brain. I will not go into detail, since I want to hold to my previous statement. Suffice it to say that the thoughts lead to bit of a melancholy that lingers on. If you want to know the details, ask and you shall receive.

As I sit and look this post over, I realize that my extravagant school schedule has started isolating me from my friends. Weevil, re-Weevil, and I have not done the usual Rock Band session in a while. Game nights at Battleground and Uncle's have fallen by the wayside for the past few weeks. I do not remember the last time I spoke with E. I think it has been at least a month. Frequently, when I have opportunity to call my friends, it is far too late in the day to do so. So, to all those who have noticed the acute lack of Boom, I apologize. I wish I could say it will get better, but I know it will not. At least not soon. My Winter schedule is busier than this quarter.

Perhaps spring will bring easier times on several fronts.

Trick or Treat

Halloween is an interesting holiday. I am aware of many of the cultural underpinings of the day. I refer here to the modern execution.

I can certainly understand the enthusiasm children have for the day. Costumes and candy are a heady combination when you are ten years old.

As a teen, you have a chance to stretch your imagination and attempt the same mayhem your older brother did, which he learned from his friend's older brother, who learned it from that drunken uncle of his... What can I say? The teenage imagination thinks it is far more clever than it actually is.

As one approaches twenty, things just get sad. Seeing that guy -- the one who hung around the high school a bit longer than any one was comfortable -- come knocking on your door saying "trick or treat..." Well, you can almost see him dying a bit inside as he says it.

Once twenty-five hits, or thirty is within sight, things change. Halloween almost becomes an excuse for debauchery. Just look at the costume choices for women. Sexy nurse, sexy witch, sexy devil, schoolgirl (that last one is all for weevil). Bless them all, it is wonderful, especially seeing these costume choices in effect on a college campus. When the cute teacher's aide decides to show up dressed as a magician's assistant -- well, I was glad the day was just calculus review. No new math information would have been retained.

I just wouldn't be Boom without a shot across the bow at the revelers, however.

Today on campus I noticed no fewer than eight people dressed as the Joker. Every single one dressed as the most recent film iteration. Most of them poorly done. I can relate to the enthusiasm over the character. As I mentioned, I enjoyed the movie quite a bit. Honestly, though, I knew months ago that far too many people would latch on to the character for Halloween. There was a single, bright spot of variation, however. I had to run some errands around town, and bumped into a great costume. Green hair, white makeup, black circles around his eyes... nurse uniform. The costume made me smile.

I would imagine today tends to make bank employees nervous...

Venerable Bede's Trout Farm and Rhinoplasty Clinic

I would say that in order to understand that title, you had to be there. I was there, and it seems every bit as ridiculous to me as it does to you.

Friday night I was surprised with tickets to see an improv comedy show. The show was "An Evening with Colin and Brad." The show surpassed my expectations. People who have seen "Whose Line" will be familiar with a lot of the elements of the show. We saw familiar games from television in considerably extended form. On "Whose Line," bits seldom last much longer than five minutes. Friday, each bit lasted at least twenty minutes.

Being a college venue, the audience participation came across as a bit more esoteric than the performers were used to. When asked to provide a foreign country, I'm sure the performers were expecting China, France, and the like. I heard suggestions of East Timor and Belgian Congo, in addition to the final decision of Djibouti. One game in particular provided some unusual suggestions.

Brad was the suspect in an unusual crime, the details of which he was not aware. Colin was the detective, dropping broad hints and clues in order to get Brad to confess. The crime in question was provided entirely by audience suggestions. While wearing wooden clogs and a plaid alpacca jumpsuit in Inchileum, at Venerable Bede's Trout Farm and Rhinoplasty Clinic, Brad Sherwood used a feather boa to clip the nose hairs of his neighbor's orangutan without a permit. Like I said, I was there and it doesn't make any sense to me.

It was incredibly funny, though. I will certainly keep an eye out for a return engagement.

I Really, Strongly Dislike People

Big surprise in that title, yes? I suppose there might be some out there who desire a bit of clarification.

There seems to be special brand of stupid in the Spokane air, lately. In the past thirty hours I have been in no fewer than eight near-miss accidents. They seem to occur in pairs. And parking lots seem to be a major contributing factor.

Yesterday: Whilst pulling in to the campus parking lot, I was required to merge from my access point into a sort of arterial (if such a thing exists) for the lot. More appropriately, others were required to merge with my traffic flow. I reason thusly: The other guys have a yield sign, whereas I do not. Two consecutive drivers decided that said yield sign must apply to everyone but them. They breeze on through without even slowing down. In the space of about two seconds I almost hit two cars. Fun.

After class yesterday: I was walking to my car and almost run down by someone who decided doing 40+ in a parking lot would be a good idea. After changing my underwear and getting in my car, a different person decided the previous driver had stumbled upon the greatest of all ideas. Exceeding 40 mph in a parking lot was a grand plan, worthy of emulation. After stopping short to avoid this higher-education cannonball, I was nervously on my way home.

Last night: I had to pick my sister up from an appointment of some sort. I don't recall what. Driving up Division (first mistake, I realize) exposed my flank to a pair of drivers who must have determined that exiting the fast food drive-through gave them right-of way.

This morning: It was a carbon-copy repeat of yesterday morning. What the hell? These people are college students, so it should be safe to assume they know how to read--at least at a basic (it was so tempting to use "fundamental" here) level. If they can't read, I would hope they have a basic understanding of shape recognition.

To my great relief, no collisions occurred. Though not for lack of opportunity.

Maybe I'm giving people too much credit with even the basic assumptions of competence. Perhaps it is safer to assume every other person, especially every other driver, has the intelligence of a carrot.

Not an Engouraging Term

I have noticed a sort of apologist phrase used for describing bad movies. Summer "blockbusters" tend to get saddled with this label more that other films. That term is "mindless popcorn flick." I think I understand the intent behind the phrase. The movie does not have aspirations for high art, the filmmakers just wanted to make shit explode for an hour and a half. The phrase does not fill me with confidence, however. In fact, any hopes I may have had for the movie tend to drain away rather quickly.

Telling me that in order to achieve the full experience something has to offer, I have to suspend cognitive function makes me wonder why I am encouraged to pay money for the experience at all. Now, there are plenty of movies I have enjoyed that could possibly be considered "mindless." These movies are usually quite forgettable, though. The only one that comes to mind is Starship Troopers, and that may be because of my attachment to the book, rather than anything from the movie, itself.

To be fair, I do not go into movies such as Iron Man or Pineapple Express expecting Oscar-caliber cinema. What I do expect is a reason to remember the movie past the drive home. People tell me I should go into these "popcorn flicks" with no expectations. If I had no expectations, I would not be sitting in the theater. If I had no expectations, my interest could likely be measured with the same gauge.

There are exceptions. Usually, if I can borrow a video or see it on cable, I will give something a chance. I have no problem watching Shoot 'em Up on HBO. I even enjoyed the movie while it was on. Once it was over, I had no intention of inclination to ever see it again.

If I wanted to turn my mind off and enjoy something, there are plenty of options open to me that are free, or included in things I already pay for.

Ghost of Super Bowl Advertisments Past

Sports fans probably remember Terry Tate, Office Linebacker. For those who do not, Reebok started the ad campaign with the Super Bowl in 2003. For whatever reason, it didn't last very long.

Well, it seems Terry Tate is back. Stick with the video. The payoff is right at the end.

Missing the Mark

Earlier this week, Weevil and his progeny (cool, a word that can be both singular and plural simultaneously) arrived at casa de Boom with a new music game. Rock Revolution.

The first thought was "fantastic. All involved enjoy Rock Band and Guitar Hero, so another music game should be fun."

This new offering is from Konami. These guys practically invented the genre. Guitar Freaks, Drum Mania, and Dance Dance Revolution pretty much laid the ground work for the monsters Guitar Hero and Rock Band would become. Things seemed promising. We were excited. We were hopeful. We were wrong.

First, the game is only available as a stand-alone game. The drum kit is not supposed to be available until November 11th. So, Konami is counting on the players of this game to have access to guitars and drums from other games. That's fine. I own way too many compatible guitar controllers, and one drum kit takes up plenty of space in the living room.

Relying on me to have access to other games in the genre, however, is also the game's downfall. If you expect me to already own another, similar product, you had better bring something new and interesting to the table. That, or be so in line with the other product that I can view yours as a sort of expansion pack. Rock Revolution does neither. At least half of the songs are already available in Rock Band or Guitar Hero, so there is very little new content. The game looks like it isn't quite finished. The note charts look slapped in, almost like they built everything else first, then tried to fit the note chart in. This design flaw becomes apparent as red notes are swallowed up by the predominantly red backgrounds.

The biggest flaw, however is the music itself. If I were making a music game, I would think to myself "self, whatever you do, make sure you don't fuck up the music." I don't think anyone had this thought in the entire development cycle for Rock Revolution. Sure, there are 40 songs on the disc, and every one of them is playable right away (good choice), but that's where the praise both begins and ends. Every single song on the disc is a cover. Rock Band and Guitar Hero learned their lesson, and focus on original masters as much as possible. Covers can be forgiven if they are good. These are not. Very few sound anything close to the original band, and the mix is usually horribly muddy. I commented to Weevil that I couldn't distinguish between any of the instruments. It was all just "sound" to me. Even while we were playing, I could seldom hear Weevil's drum tracks.

The final verdict is this: If you are planning on buing Rock Revolution, don't. Instead, might I reccomend sending your $50 to Boom's Triple B Fund. Your contribution will help ensure that not another weekend goes by for Boom without ample exposure to Beer, Beastie Boys, and Boobs. With your contribution, you will receive a picture of Boom simultaneously enjoying Beer, Beastie Boys, and Boobs. Periodic updates will follow as Boom tires other beers, listens to more Beastie Boys tracks, and enjoys more boobs.

Thank you for your support.

To the DeLorean!

The world of bureaucracy is a strange and confusing world.

Yesterday I got an letter in the mail. Apparently the county is having some difficulty in processing my voter registration. The sticking point is that the auditors cannot read my address.

Let me say that again. I got a letter in the mail. Sent regular post. The letter said my registration couldn't be processed since my address was illegible. This was not my registration form stamped with "return to sender." This was a brand new letter, with an address label that clearly displayed my address.

It gets better.

In order for my registration to be processed in time, I had to make sure the return form was postmarked no later than October 13th. Three days ago. Remember, I got this letter yesterday, the 15th. I sent my registration in months ago, and I got this letter yesterday.

I'm not sure if this is disenfranchisement, or simply bureaucratic incompetence. Either way, I'm not happy.

Freud Would Be Proud

In doing some preliminary research for this post, I was surprised to find an utter lack of significant Japanese psychoanalysts. So Freud is the go-to name.

I managed to raise some eyebrows and color a few cheeks in Japanese class today. We were trying to piece together sentences about what we like to do and with whom. We were expected to come up with things along the lines of "I like playing video games with Weevil."

When my turn came up, I was asked "Who do you like to eat with?" (pay no attention to the atrocious grammar. Sentence structure tends to get sacrificed in the translation.) I thought I'd be cute and clever and respond "I like to eat with women." Sort of an open invitation for the ladies to join me for lunch. That was the plan.

After I gave my answer, there was some chuckling throughout the class. I was confused. Either people thought my answer was indeed cute and clever, or I had misspoke. Then the answer came. Someone pointed out that what I actually said was "I like to eat at women."

OK. Now I have to find a way to spin this in my favor. Instantly, the appropriate path became apparent.

"I stand by my answer," I said.

The chuckling turned into a lot of whispered conversation. Just about every woman in the class started blushing.

My thought: How you doin'?

What to Do?

Tonight I find myself in an unfamiliar situation. For the first time since I've lived here, I will have the house to myself for the entire weekend. Both of my sisters are in Seattle until sometime Tuesday, giving me somewhere in the neighborhood of 96 hours by my self.

There are three categories of activity I can think of for this abundance of time.

1. Be the responsible sort. Catch up on homework, study for my Japanese and Chemistry tests that sit waiting in the early part of the upcoming week. Maybe do a bit of year-end yard work.

2. Be the mischievous sort. See what sort of trouble I can get into.

3. Be the shiftless layabout. Do as little as possible. Possibly just set myself in front of a TV and watch football all weekend, or in front of a computer and play video games.

To be honest, the second option doesn't seem likely. At 32 years old, I realize that if I were to set something on fire, cause a public nuisance, or systematically disassemble large quantities of something, I would be the one who would have to clean up the mess.

The first option is what I probably SHOULD do, but things will probably lean heavily toward the third option. At least until some point Sunday, then there will be a flurry of activity as I attempt to catch up with everything that should have been done.

Sir Psycho Sexy

The Red Hot Chili Peppers and I have a bit of a love-hate relationship.

I love listening to their music.

I want to be able to play their songs in Rock Band.

I was excited about Blood Sugar Sex Magik being made available for download.

The Chili Peppers hate me.

OK, maybe not the Chili Peppers, but the programmers over at Harmonix and Electronic Arts are probably laughing their asses off right now.

"Guess what. Boom only got ONE star on 'They're Red Hot." ONE star! A blind chimp could get one star on accident!"

I need to learn how to play a funk riff if I am going to have any chance of playing this album.

I also need to learn how to spell "their." So frequently I transposed the "I" and "E." Shameful.

Back to the Front

You will do what I say, when I say.
Back to the front.
You will die when I say you must die.
Back to the front.

OK, the start of a new school year doesn't fill me with dread and despair. It does, whoever, instill a bit of anxiety. I've been back in school for an entire year, gone to school for a little less than half my life, and a new quarter still brings a little tension. Tomorrow begins the new fall quarter.

Am I ready? Can I handle it?

The steady portion of my psyche, the one I always want to listen to, quietly reassures me that I have nothing to worry about. But there's that other part. Like a single, loud person in a crowded movie theater asking "yeah, but what if ..."

Once the quarter begins, I'm sure I will settle into an academic groove. My classes are firmly placed in my interest areas.

Japanese was a fun surprise last year, and I am looking forward to continuing. I think if I can find a nice Japanese girl to "practice" with, things will be even better.

Calculus and Technical Writing are pretty much requirements for my major, even though they are not listed as requirements. Calc leads to physics, which will probably be next quarter. Technical Writing will help with lab reports and written presentations.

Then there is the new job. That also starts Monday. I am a sort of tutor for the biology class I took this past summer. It's not much, but it will be nice to have my own spending money in my pocket.

So, tomorrow I boldly go where I have gone so many times, before.

Rumination and Reflection

It is strange what can send you to the rose-colored glasses of memory.

This afternoon, I was having a conversation with my mother. Just the normal daily chit-chat. Nothing at all profound or exceptionally remarkable. I was flipping through the day's junk mail, barely paying attention to the conversation, when I noticed something from the World Wildlife Fund. They sent a reference card with all sorts of information about orangutans. It was interesting in an offhand way. What was more interesting was the memories the card triggered.

As a kid, I had a wildlife reference file. I have no idea where it came from. It looks like a green tool box, about a foot long, about 4-6 inches wide, and also 4-6 inches deep. There were several hundred reference cards with everything from bacteria to sharks and elephants. I would spend hours at a time looking over these cards, trying to pronounce the classification names. I would later find out that these names were usually Greek and Latin, and my pronunciations were way off. I don't know what happened to that reference file. I don't think I had even thought about it for about twenty five years.

I do remember that the file originally belonged to my older brother. Much of what I did as a child was because of my brother. Not because I wanted his approval or anything like that. I wanted to be better than him. When my mom was teaching him how to read, I grabbed a kid's dictionary and taught myself. Three years old, and I was puzzling out what the hell the letter "A" was all about. When my brother started school, I wanted to go, too. The idea that someone would help me learn all this new stuff was exciting. My mom once told me that the first week of class was a tough one. My older brother was crying and screaming because he had to go to school. I was crying and screaming because I wasn't able to go.

Things haven't changed much since then. My brother still bristles at the ideas of scholarship and education, while I enjoy opportunites to expand my knowledge.

Nothing Good Can Come of This

Foreword: This got a bit out of hand. It's a lot more than I intended when I sat down.

I try to avoid talking about religion or politics as much as possible. These discussions can turn otherwise reasoned and intelligent people into bellowing gasbags who feel the need to speak louder than everyone else in the room. I am pretty sure that any who read this already know my feelings on these topics, but for those who do not, allow me to provide you a quick sketch of my beliefs.

I have absolutely no problem with people who are sincere in their religion, or even a lack of religion. I occasionally even envy that these people can devote themselves entirely to such conventions. What I have a problem with is people who decide that I am wrong in my beliefs, and must be lectured and scolded for not conforming to tenets and beliefs that are so out of date that the original intent behind them is mere speculation. I personally do not care if you are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Pagan, or if you worship a three-foot hot dog. If I tell you that I am not, then I probably have my reasons.

For the record, I was baptized Catholic, and my grandparents tried to keep me in the church throughout my childhood. Like many people, when I entered my teen years, I avoided any sort of religious service simply because I found them boring. As an adult, I went through some personal events that would cause many people to turn to god, or their religion for answers and guidance. When that happened, I was met with nothing. Emptiness. When I asked about this, I was confronted with the same empty responses. At that point, I discovered the clearest explanations and assurances of "how" and "why" were in logic, reason, and education.

That was a bit more than I intended. Not quite the "quick sketch" of my religious outlook I had intended. Now for politics.

I like to think that my political views are rather moderate. My leanings tend toward the Democratic side, but I can see value in both Republican and Democratic plans and policies. I have no problem voting for an incumbent, regardless of affiliation, if that person has done a good job. The same holds true for ousting the incumbent from office if they have dropped the ball.

What irritates me about the political process is the electorate. People are stupid. I know far too many people who have decided that, rather than vote for a candidate, their vote will be against another candidate. This is a completely valid act, and I can respect that. In a two-party system, sometimes you have to make that decision. However, if you are taking the path of voting against someone or something, you owe it to the process to make sure that the reasons behind your vote are valid.

You hear an attack ad, or get an email forward saying "don't vote for Bob Smith. In his spare time he likes to toss babies into tiger pits." Simply deciding to vote against candidate Smith based on this is irresponsible. As voters, it is our responsibility to find out if, in fact, Mr. Smith has ever tossed babies into tiger pits, why, how often, and if he continues to do so.

Religion and politics specifically cause me more headaches than I can keep track of.

Building a Better Band

This morning, a bit of ennui made its presence felt. To combat such boredom, I decided to create a new band in Rockband, and try to conquer the world.

I can already complete most of the guitar tracks on expert. So, to challenge myself, I decided to play guitar and sing simultaneously. There are three problems with that:

1) It can be a bit difficult to sing whilst playing. I have a new appreciation for bands that successfully implement such an arrangement. But, with a little patience, I am sure I can manage to get my mouth and hands working in concert toward beneficial ends (nudge, nudge, know what I mean, say no more).

2) I actually don't know the lyrics of most of the songs. The songs are familiar enough for me to recognize when played, but my vocals contained a lot of "hmmm hrrrrm aaah you got another thing coming."

3) I can't carry a tune in a bucket with an armed security escort. I think my singing might be similar to something like a walrus in heat. I have no idea what a walrus in heat sounds like, but I can't imagine a randy walrus sounds pleasant to anything other than additional randy walruses (walri?).

Even with those obstacles, I managed to have fun. I did well enough on a predictable selection of songs. Weezer, The Clash, Stone Temple Pilots, and other songs leaning toward the simple side of the lyrical spectrum.

Still, James Hetfield has nothing to worry about from my musical prowess (only 30% completion. Once the vocals started, I was done.).

Summer Quarter

It's over!

Summer quarter has finished, and I can try and relax. The quarter was much more stressful than I thought it would be. To be fair, things did start out a bit toward the distracting end of the spectrum. There was still a plethora of academic responsibilities, to the point that I felt actual, physical pressure building up inside my head. Rationally, I know my head wasn't about the split open from the mental stresses, but there is always that lingering thought. What if?

It is akin to finding out that particular people continually refer to the Republican presidential candidate as "John McClane." The meaning is understood, but the idea of Bruce Willis in the Oval Office is still amusing.

Not so Final, After All.

Evidently my calculus final was a bit of a misnomer.

I have another chapter to work through on conic sections, and the corresponding test on the material.

The good news is that there does not appear to be a written assignment portion for this chapter, and my online scores have been satisfactory. I am already a bit ahead of where I need to be for this chapter. I've spent all day drawing parabolas (for some reason I am surprised that this is an acceptable plural. I would have expected parabolae, or something.) ellipses, and circles. Tomorrow, if things go according to plan, I will be done.

Crap. Even before I finish the post, plans are disintegrating. I have a birthday party to go to tomorrow. I would try to beg off, but it's family. They know where I sleep. Maybe I can squirm my way home at a reasonable time and take care of things.

If not? Sunday, then.

PS - I did some digging around, and found that both parabolas and parabolae are acceptable plurals. Since the word origin is Greek, I think "parabolae" is the appropriate form. Take that, auto-spellcheck!

The Moebius Stirp of Confidence

I finished my calculus final this afternoon. The thing was quite a beast. One hour yesterday, and another three hours today.

I feel that I performed rather well, and therein lies a dilemma.

As I mentioned earlier, performance in this class seems to be running counter to the confidence I have in my grasp of the material. So, I feel I did well, but I am worried that the established trend will continue. Thus I am worried that I did not do well. But the trend would indicate that such worries mean acceptable performance.

Ah, the wonders of a feedback loop.

Hooray for Finals!

It's that time again. Finals are starting up for me. And I am predictably stressed. I know I will be fine on the other end of this, but that doesn't alleviate the current stress any.

Tuesday begins my two-day calculus final (it's actually precalc II, but that doesn't sound nearly as prestigious). Next week I have a two-day biology final.

For some reason the school recommends that every student take a stress management course as part of the degree program. Seems to me that finals and midterms are forced application of stress management.

Trotsky and Age

The Russian revolutionary Leon Trotsky once said "Old age is the most unexpected of all the things that can happen to a man." He likely said this more than once, actually, but probably in Russian. I think I first heard that about thirteen years ago, during my first attempt at the college life. At the time, I didn't understand. Age is not only inevitable, but completely predictable. Every year, in April, my age ticks up another interval. Now, I begin to see instances where this adage holds true.

I know I'm not an old man, no matter how much my knees and shoulders would like me to believe otherwise. However, with increasing frequency, I am being reminded that more time has passed than I might have thought. Hearing bands like Pearl Jam and Metallica on classic rock stations can cause a double-take. My academic life is where most of the reminders of my relative age appear.

I have mentioned previously that college makes me all too aware of my age. When I walk into a classroom, the first assumption people have is that I am the professor. Conversations with college students can lead to surprising moments where I just feel so incredibly old. Last week, I was studying in the cafeteria, when Kid Rock's "All Summer Long" started playing. Listening to the piano intro, I apparently asked out loud if we were listening to Kid Rock or Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London." I was met with blank stares from my study partners.

The adage is that you are only as old as you feel. Instances like these make me feel about 70.

Stress Levels

My stress levels are rising.

I am a bit past the midterm point in the summer quarter, and the typical tension and dread of pending finals is approaching. This seems to be a common occurrence for me lately. The concern has always been unfounded in the end, however. That is the reasonable, rational side of me talking. Usually that side is in control. Come test time, however, the emotional, panicky part of my mind kicks into overdrive.

Biology class is going well enough. I am keeping up with the class work, and the study guides are a great help. Plus, I have someone willing to help out with my understanding of plant physiology. The biggest concern I have right now is the simple volume of information I need to keep track of.

Then there's my calculus class. My scores this quarter seem to be running counter to my understanding of the content. The first test, I thought I had a firm grasp on the concepts. My scores amounted to a high "C." The second test, I had no clue what I was doing, and somehow manages a low "A." This time around, I thought I knew the subject matter fairly well, but my homework assignment came back as a high "D." That is not a score I'm used to seeing. With that score in mind, I thought I would run a practice test to see what I needed to work on. Unfortunately, I aced the practice tests. What the hell? Clearly I was doing something wrong in the homework, but failed to generate a sufficient study plan for the test. With the final about two weeks away (holy shit, only two weeks?), I am doubting an online course was the best plan of action here.

I don't have an adequate release for this stress. I went out for a walk, but my over-active mind actually managed to increase my anxiety level, and not just from academic concerns. I managed to pick out three distinct instances of police sirens in the neighborhood, plus one patrol car with a driver that seemed very curious as to why a grizzly bear was dressed in people clothes, wandering around a residential neighborhood muttering about complex numbers and vector magnitudes.

The Hype Machine Grinds On

I went to the midnight showing of "The Dark Knight" last night. Of course, I return with opinions.

The major opinion is: Go. See it. Now. Perhaps multiple times.

For a bit more detail, check this review. I agree in nearly every respect. And, since I am running on about 3 hours of sleep right now, they have said things much better than I can.

The most common complaint I've seen is about the length of the film. At about two-and-a-half hours, it is longer than most movies, and critics are calling for tighter editing. After seeing the film, I don't know what they would cut out. There is very little in this movie that is inefficient or even slightly unnecessary.

One thing I was a bit surprised by is the rating. After seeing the violence portrayed in the film, I think it is pushing the "PG-13" rating a bit. I wouldn't be surprised if a little more colorful language, or the smallest bit of sexuality would have pushed this into an "R" rating.

But, like I said, see the movie.

I Got Nothing

My mental faculties are draining away. This quarter is rough stuff. I have a biology class that only runs three days a week, but four hours a day. In that time, we run labs every day, usually go through an entire chapter a day, and manage to squeeze in two tests a week. I have an online calculus class that is going well enough, but I worry about what I am retaining. I can knock out the assignments rather quickly. The tests are open-book and untimed, so I can get through those easily enough, but I don't know if I'll know what I'm doing come finals.

I remember that, as a kid, summer school was where the slow kids went to catch up. Now, it's where ambitious (which could be translated as "stupid," depending on your perspective) people go to try and get ahead. After spending half a quarter this summer, I don't think I want to be that ambitious any more. But I probably will.

When I'm not buried in text books and trigonometry equations, I try to post here. That's not going so well. I sit here and end up staring at the keyboard for a while, typing a bit, thinking it's all shit, deleting it, and giving up. Once this is done, I hope my train of thought returns to something resembling what I am accustomed to.

Train in Vain

You said you loved me, and that's a fact
Then you left me, said you felt trapped

Well some things you can explain away
But my heart aches in me till this day

Did you stand by me?
No, not at all.
Did you stand by me?
No way.

Apologies to We-evil for swiping his lyrical motif.

As much as I like classic punk, I never thought my adult life would bring relevance to lyrics from The Clash. It's really more suited to teen angst and other disaffectations of youth. At 32, you are supposed to put these things behind you. Yet here I am, finding resonance in the words of Joe Strummer. Bear with me a bit. This will likely be the last post on this subject.

I found out Thursday night that she reads my posts here. Or, at least, she used to. She was rather surprised to learn that I knew about the new guy. Through a couple of emails and text messages, she offered a sort of explanation.

It seems that the three biggest factors in her leaving were as follows:

- I am apparently too boisterous for her. She had problems with how outgoing I can be, and how much more difficult it can be to embarrass me than it is for her. Things I would freely talk about with my friends were apparently embarrassing for her.

- She said I blew her off and never made time for her, though she continually made time for me. I can't think of any time I explicitly declined spending time with her. Perhaps she had problems with me not wanting to insinuate myself into the family activities she organized with the kid. Only she really knows.

- She said whenever I did agree to do something with her, she felt like she was forcing me to participate. Evidently my lack of bouncing up and down with barely controlled excitement was translated as reluctance.

She assured me that she hadn't started dating the new guy until after we were done (the phrase "break-up" seems to imply at least mutual consideration). The way she talked about him, though, it seems like she didn't exactly wait too long. She also mentioned the biggest reason she agreed to date this new guy was because it was unlikely I'd find out. There's nothing quite like the justification of "I thought you'd never know" to salve the wounds.

I wish I was big enough to wish her well in the new relationship, but I doubt it will last. Given what she's told me and what I've experienced, I have an idea of how things will go. He'll probably end up as confused as I was.

On the surprising plus side, this information age makes it remarkably easy to excise someone from your life. Contact lists on my phone means I don't actually know anyone's phone number. Three clicks, and a phone number is gone. "Quick Reply" and Contact functions in email programs mean I don't have to learn anyone's address. Three clicks, and an email address is lost.

Well...

Fuck. Again.

I don't get angry often. The vitriol I spew here goes a long way in holding my temper in check. The last time I got truly angry, people (myself included) ended up with broken bones. I try to maintain control over my emotions as much as possible. Those close to me recognize when I get close to angry. I become quiet and methodical. I try to make sure that the next few moments are as controlled as possible.

That is difficult right now.

I am trying very hard not to be angry. This is not an easy task right now. My hands are shaking with the effort of self-restraint I am putting in.

When I got dumped last month, the reasoning was cryptic. The clearest explanation I got was that she was in a place where having a boyfriend complicated things. She was completing her master's thesis, working full-time, and raising a kid. She said she needed to focus on herself and her kid right now, and make sure things don't fly out of control. She said a lot of things.

Turns out a lot of that was complete BULLSHIT. I just found out a few minutes ago that she's dating again. I had suspected as much, but the confirmation hurts worse than the suspicion. Apparently it wasn't having a boyfriend that was the complication. It was having me as a boyfriend that fucked things up. It makes me wonder how long this was going on. How long before or after she cast me aside did she decide to fall all over this new guy?

There's a lot more I want to say, but as I type, the impact of my fingers on the keyboard is getting harder. I should stop before I break something. I guess I haven't put things as far behind me as I had thought.

FUCK!

Poor Planning

Sometimes I wonder who is truly responsible for logistical decisions in this town.

A major road near my house is closed for construction. This isn't just some routine patch-job. The entirety of the asphalt has been ripped up, they are doing whatever it is they do to the road bed, and then a whole new layer of asphalt will be applied. Frankly, the road needed it. There were ruts and potholes in that road that made driving downright dangerous for your car's suspension.

This repair job makes sense. not much about that particular project confuses me. I'm not even bothered that, last month, another major road was closed for an entire month for the same thing. What confuses me to the point of exasperation is this: The east-west detour route around the construction is, itself, under construction. Traffic has gone from two lanes in either direction, to one.

Who the hell thought this would be a good idea? Where in the city planning handbook does it recommend redirecting traffic through a neighborhood that has at least three businesses under construction, and one major intersection--the only intersection on that route with a light--under construction?

Oh, and if I happen to get the ear of any of these decision-makers, I would like to remind them that a fully-functional, regularly-timed traffic light is unnecessary when traffic is only permitted to flow in a single direction.

Sometimes I think a group of half-trained chimps could run this city better.

A Curious Turning Point

It was an odd thing for me to say. It seemed rather outside my character. And yet, the words came forth. There was no venom or spite. Just a profound apathy, if such a thing is even possible.

And now, the rest of the story:

I went to a baseball game tonight. Good times. The nephew, his grandma, her husband, and I had some great seats. Right behind home plate, front row. We couldn't catch any foul balls, but we could hear the conversation between the home plate umpire and the catcher. Like I said, great seats. Home runs were hit, double plays were turned, bases were stolen. I do love baseball.

Anyhow, back on topic. About the fifth inning, we were looking at upcoming games, and noticed a promotion called "Family Feast Night." It's all about $1 concessions. $1 for a hotdog, a burger, soda, whatever ballpark-appropriate junk food you can get a hold of.

The "stepfather" points out that it's not the sort of food the ex would go for. I pipe up with "Well, it's no longer my place to give a damn what she'd like." A moment after the sentence finished, I realized what I had said. I was a bit surprised at the sentiment. More surprised at the resignation behind it.

Three months is a very short time to fall so hard for someone. Three weeks to put the whole thing behind you is downright startling.

Another Quarter Down

As finals wind down for spring quarter, I realize that I have just completed a year of college. Seems like things are going smoothly on the academic front. I am more or less on track for my transfer requirements, it will all depend on the scheduling in future quarters.

I have an open week before summer quarter begins, and find myself with unexpected free time. Two weeks ago, I was expecting to help the girlfriend move into her new place. Now, not so much.

People still ask me how I'm holding up with the sudden breakup. They seem to think I'm a fragile thing, ready to shatter if I'm not taken care of properly. In all honesty, I'm OK. I don't feel the hurt and anger I would have expected. Mostly, I'm just confused. That confusion has already been discussed, so I will not repeat the details here. However, the more I think about the possible reasons she may have had for ending things, the more confused I become.

Well, the good thing about a dead week is I can catch up on my reading. I have about 8 books that have been calling to me for months. With that, I am off to realms of fiction. I wonder if I can catch a showing of "Indiana Jones" today.

Well...

... Fuck.

That's about all I can think to say about this situation. All of a sudden, I am single again. This morning, she stopped by and said we were in different places in our lives, and moving in different directions. It basically boiled down to the old "it's not you, it's me" routine. Which can usually be translated into "it's totally you, but there's no one thing in particular I can point out that would make me say that."

I am confused as to how we can go from something so good to absolutely nothing so quickly. A week ago, we were damn near the picture of contentment. Now, I'm here in front of a computer wondering what the hell happened. The problem with a situation like this is: relationships can't be voted on. If she's not happy and wants to leave, I can't very well say "I disagree." If she wants to go, I have to let her. If this is some sort of test to see how I'd react... Well, I already told her I don't do well with the usual relationship mind-games.

So, now I have to go back to writing that paper I mentioned earlier. Good luck to me.

Checking in

So, it's been almost a month since my last post.

What's new in Zombie Town?

Not much. Finals are rapidly approaching, and I have a paper due in about a week. It's a rather open-ended assignment, and could be anywhere from 6-20 pages. It is entirely possible that the assignment may run a bit longer than that, too. Last quarter, I had a final paper that was supposed to be 6-10 pages long. Even after reducing the font size, tweaking the line spacing, and blowing out the margins, I was still looking at a 14-page paper. When I get in the literary groove, I can seldom be stopped.

I checked my grade in Japanese, and found out I'm doing better than I thought I was. I thought I might have about an 80% grade. Turns out I'm sitting at 88% right now, with three big projects to come. This news relaxes me a bit. I'm also feeling better about taking Japanese, in general. Lately, I've wondered if I was in over my head. In class, things seem to go fine, but once I look at the assignments, nothing makes sense any more. This past week, things started clicking into place again. I tried out my language skills on a willing student from Japan (no, Weevil, there is no euphemism or innuendo there.), and she told me that my choices for individual words waer sometimes a bit strange, but that I did very well.

The nephew is out on his first-ever fishing trip with his grandfather-esque. I'm not entirely sure how to refer to the man. I've known him for almost five years, and he has been married to my mom for about two. When I talk about him to casual acquaintances, I call him my step-father. Simply for the sake of brevity. I don't look at him that way, though. I can't ascribe a fatherly tag to someone I didn't even meet until my late twenties. This is certainly not to disparage him in any way. He's a good guy. He and my mom seem good together. It just seems odd for one grown man to spontaneously call another "dad."

Back on topic. The nephew is ecstatic that he has already caught two fish--bluegill, I've been told--and wants me to help him cook them when he comes by this evening. Sounds like a hell of a plan. I'm thinking lemon -battered, deep fried fillets. I could also pan fry them, but I think a seven-year old would find something resembling a fish stick or fish patty more appealing.

Looks like I had a bit more to say than I thought I did. I'll leave it this way for now, and bid you good day.

I'm Not Dead Yet!

So, it's been a while since I've posted anything. The problem is, that very little has pissed me off over the past couple of weeks. Things are actually going pretty decently in Zombie Land right now. School seems to be going OK, the friends and family have had no major crises that I have been made aware of, and things with the girlfriend are going very well. That's the big reason for the lack of posting. What fun is it to write about good times? Where's the conflict?

This is not to say that I've lost my venom and spite. It's still there. In fact, the lack of a target just means I'm stockpiling it. Woe to the poor soul who allows me to overhear something so idiotic they simply cannot be allowed to go on living. For now, however, I must retreat to a comfortable chair and do some homework.

I think I need to find a dramatic exit line. Superman had the whole "up, up, and away" thing. Snagglepus had "Exit, stage left." I got nothing.

Suggestion Box

I wish I could say that Weevil designating me as his "complaint department" was the exception to the rule. It is not. Seems most everyone I know, and many people I don't use me as a sounding board for their problems.

I certainly do not mind when friends and family come to me for advice, or just a friendly ear. That's what friends are for. And they understand that if I am unfamiliar with the situation, any advice I could give would be of the generic variety that only serves to reinforce decisions they have already made.

When strangers ask me for information on how to run their lives or fix their problems, they never seem to notice the mockery I heap upon them until it is too late. Today, a guy sitting next to me in the computer lab asks me why his computer is not behaving the way he expects. Without even looking up, I ask if he tried shaking it real hard. I explained that such actions usually work for me when dealing with animals and small children, so it would only stand to reason that it would carry over to complex electronic devices as well.

So, to Weevil's complainants (holy shit, that's a real word? I thought I made it up just now.) Feel free to complain vociferously in my general direction. I seem to be running out of things to rip apart here. I have an abundance of vitriol and no place to direct it. I have a seething surplus of scorn, and an apparent affinity for alliteration.

Sometimes I wonder if people understand my humor at all.

Liquid Pretension

If I could find a way to concentrate pretension, bottle it, and market it with a clever slogan, I'd be a fucking billionaire. No, I don't think "billion" quite covers it. Multi-billion seems a bit noncommittal, and trillion seems like I'm reaching a bit. Fuck it.

I spent some time constructing a nice bullet list of general people I want to say "fuck you" to, but things got a bit unwieldy. Seems I've lost what little patience I had with most groups. The list of particular people is hindered by a lack of names. I don't know who these people are, only how they appear to an outside observer.

One specific "fuck you," though: To the couple who was draped across my car Thursday in a rather enthusiastic session of... "heavy petting:" An equally enthusiastic "Fuck both of you!" You're in a rather remote section of the parking lot, so it is not unreasonable to assume you arrived in your own vehicle. Prop yourself up on that vehicle. Likely the one parked next to me. Leave my car out of it. And throwing me the evil eye when I ask you to get off my car? Did you not see how I blocked out the sun itself? I could crush you both without a thought. I think this is different than waving a walking stick at whipper-snappers running across my lawn. This is directing my rage at adults who ought to have a modicum of sense.

This incident capped what had been a gradual building of vitriol and spite that increased in pressure until it had to be released somehow. I hope that this is akin to volcanic activity, and I will be dormant for a month or two before some particular asshattery prompts me to find a tall building and a high-powered rifle.

Evanescence of Memory

This morning I had an idea for a post that would mark me as the winner. Of everything. It was going to be the perfect confluence of observation, sarcasm, vitriol, and tangential asides. Then I made the mistake of falling asleep. It's all gone now. Instead, I'm just hungry. I should order a pizza.

Here Lies the Boom...

This relationship thing is going to end me. But it will be a joyful end. In the past week, I have lost an estimated 20 hours of sleep, lost three nights of study time, and spent only about 6 waking hours at home. OK, that last number is an exercise in hyperbole. I am not as skilled in exaggeration as We-evil, but I manage.

The rational part of me, loaded with logic and reason, says this is pretty much "new toy" syndrome. Things will normalize before long. The irrational part of me, the one largely influenced by exposure to We-evil, wants this to continue as long as possible.

If it does continue, however, I need to re-evaluate my study habits. My current extra-curricular activities are incompatible with my class work.

The Day After

More precisely, a continuation of the day of. After resigning myself to being a whipping boy of the cosmos, things have taken a turn for the sublime. Pertinent details have already been disseminated to a few, and I am content to leave it at that for now. The general scope of events should be made abundantly clear through the context of this post.

Today, I was a wonderfully useless, scatterbrained mess. Lack of sleep, and other contributing factors will do that. Really, it's not an effective mind-set in a college environment. Just when I thought I might have a nice run of conscious thought, a wonderful scent would waft from the surface of my jacket. More than once, someone asked about the ridiculous grin on my face.

That's about the limit to my cognitive ability right now. I still have some wonderful smells on my clothing. I am sleepy, and looking forward to some fantastic dreams.

Oh, and a quick five letters for Thumper: GF FTW!

Just to Irritate Sky

How you doin?

Something in the Water?

I don't understand. Perhaps I'm just not wired the same as most guys. Over the past couple of weeks, I have been in situations that, possibly, could have been parlayed into some sort of sexual action. Each time, at least when I was aware of the circumstance, I elected not to pursue that course of action. Each time, the epic dry spell was made to continue. Each time, I would do the same thing over again.

I mentioned this to Weevil. I suggested that a smoother man may have been able to take advantage. Weevil suggested that it may indeed be true, but that level of smoothness includes a level of assholishness and disregard that I do not possess. Nor does he believe I will ever be able to attain the appropriate level of genuine bastard.

It is heartening to know that the person whose opinion I value most has such high esteem for my character. I make good friends.

Stop Me, Before I Post Again

Three posts within about 12 hours. If I'm not careful, this may be habit-forming.

Anyhow...

I came to the realization today that I am not an effective telephone conversationalist, at least when it come to casual chatting. The first minute or so are usually adequate. The expected platitudes are exchanged, minds are illuminated, and there is an effective interchange of ideas and information. It would seem that after approximately 90 seconds, I feel the increasing need to be entertaining. This generally leads to awkwardness and poorly thought out jokes. Similar situations arise in personal conversation, as well. The time frame is drawn out a bit, because I can be easily distracted by shiny objects to artificially prolong a conversation.

The only exceptions to this trend seem to be Pedro and Weevil. Then again, they seem to be the exceptions to most rules, norms, and trends. My phone conversations with Weevil tend to be stream-of-consciousness conversations. One topic does not often flow easily into the next, nor from the previous. We seem to be able to follow each other's thought processes and are able to bounce back to a previous topic as necessary. I'm not sure how that developed, but we've had twenty years of practice to work on it.

So, Sky, Thumper, E, Buckaroo, and everyone else must endure my telephone awkwardness until I'm... 50? Oh dear god, I'm old.

Warning: Adult Content

This is, quite possibly, the single best idea for a holiday. Ever.

When the Unconscious Mind Runs Wild

For some reason, a disproportionate (evidently "disproportional" would have worked here, too.) number of things has my thinking skewing particularly libidinous. Weevil once told me that the average man thinks about sex once every seven seconds. That time frame seemed ridiculously brief to me. Seven seconds for Weevil, sure. I used to believe that thinking about sex once or twice an hour was a bit high. Today, I'm probably making up lost ground. There is no frustration involved, either. I actually find myself in a very good mood.

My music choices are only contributing to this. Aerosmith, Stone Temple Pilots, and The Doors are seldom counted among pure and chaste bands.

I had to retype that first paragraph a surprising number of times to remove any accidental innuendo.

I can't think of a witty way to end this. I think all my creativity has been spent on the run up to finals. With that in mind, I will just say good night.

Sick Day: Addendum

It occurs to me that Sky and Thumper having an army of contagious children could have some truly nefarious potential. Imagine the devastation that could be wrought with a relentless surge of sniffling children. They are walking germ factories. Walking WMD's, they are.

I could rule the world! But what would I do with the world once I had it? I have nowhere to put the damn thing.

This Looks Like a Sick Day

I really hate being sick. Now, I'll take a bad cough that keeps me awake at night over anything that sends me to the hospital. Still, it's almost 3 in the morning, and I'm in front of my computer. Normally I would have been asleep at three or four hours by now. Not tonight. Tonight I have a lovely hacking cough that gets worse if I lay down. I've been coughing so much, my back hurts. I have therefore decided that I will take a sick day today, and catch up on sleep in tiny 3-4 minute increments while sitting on an uncomfortable sofa.

I feel bad for Sky, Thumper, and Weevil. This bug is going around, and there's about five thousand children running around that house. Being sick by yourself if bad enough. Having a small army of children being sick right along with you cannot be fun no matter how you look at it.

Just for the Hell of It

Howdy.

"You Are Here"

The maps at information kiosks at malls and amusement parks are certainly handy. Just look for the little red arrow boldly confirming both your identity and location, and you can accomplish a great many things. You can see who wants to take your money, how to get to those eager people, surmise where the mall rats might like to hang out, and how best to circumvent them. Best of all, in my opinion, is figuring out how to get the hell out.

It is unfortunate that there is no such information center for life. Sure, there are many people and institutions who will tell you where you ought to be. There are similar numbers of entities that will give you vague and well-meaning, but ultimately useless suggestions on how to get there. My favorite morsel of sage wisdom is "plan for success." That's just great. It is akin to teaching someone to walk by saying "take a step." That would certainly seem like a reasonable approach, but if I knew how to take a step, I wouldn't need much help walking.

I sit here wondering what the hell I'm doing with my life. I have an idea of where I want to be, but I'm not certain I'm going about getting there the right way.

Professionally, I think I'm close to the right track, but I may have started too late. When I look at my fellow classmates, I feel old. In each of my classes, I am the oldest person in the room until the professor arrives.

Socially, I'm very happy with my circle of friends. Weevil, Sky, and Thumper are awesome to me, and I only hope they feel half as fond of me as I do of them.

There is something I could say about my personal life, but there's a couple problems with that. First, I'm not sure how best to articulate my frustration with that aspect of my life. Second... well, there's not really a second. If I could figure out how to form these words, I would.

This post came out a more melancholy than I anticipated, but it feels like the right avenue. I'm not sure how to end this anywhere close to elegantly, so I will just say "goodnight."

Goodnight.

Beastie Boys, Beer, and Boobs

First, Thumper and Sky are the worst kidnappers ever. Saturday, I get a call saying "We're going to kidnap you. Can you be here at 5:30?" Not very intimidating.

The night was fun, though. We went to see a roller derby. The match started out slow, but ended up as a good time. We were all disappointed the girls did not pick me as their tug-o-war partner, but oh well.

The after-party... afterwards was fun, too. Though that was possibly the most expensive pitcher of beer I have ever heard of. Things were pretty quiet for the most part, but good time were had when some of the roller girls showed up. Since the party was split between two tiny little bars, I wonder if we just picked the quiet of. No big deal. Any night that includes my face buried in boobs can't be all bad, right?

I'm actually looking forward to going again.

Where Am I, and Why Am I in This Handbasket?

So, midterms are done. As usual, I realize now that I was worrying entirely too much about them. It can be difficult, however, to recall two different Japanese words to describe sushi.

Now that we are done with midterms, my professors don't feel guilty about piling on the homework. I have two papers for English comp due Tuesday. I also have two chemistry projects due Tuesday.

The good news is I have a three-day weekend. The bad news is that I know I will not use the time productively. We-Evil is on his way over to play Rock Band. I know tomorrow I will just waste the day doing things like house work. Sunday is right out. I can already see myself cooped up in my room with a book and some music. That leaves Monday as the day to get everything done.

I can already see myself procrastinating, and am procrastinating on doing anything about it. It's a vicious, self-perpetuating cycle. But it has worked well enough for me over the past 31 years.

Midterm Time in Zombie Town

Stress level is extremely high right now.

Like Counting Sand on the Beach

I'm beginning to feel overwhelmed.

Here I am, midway through my second quarter on college, and I'm starting to feel the pressure. Bothersome. Last quarter, about this time, everything started coming together. I was understanding what was happening in my Japanese class, writing great papers for my media and film classes, and generally feeling fine. Now, I feel like I'm struggling to keep things from flying apart.

The recent snow we've had is contributing to this. A week of class was wiped out, so there's a ton of catching up to do.

I have two Japanese exams coming up within the next five days.

I have two chemistry projects due Friday. I'm halfway through one of them.

I have three papers due "soon" for my english comp class. This professor is absolutely insane. He scribbles hardly legible notes all across the whiteboard, throws out vaguely defined assignments with nebulous release dates, and then seems to take it personally when assignments are not turned in "on time."

I don't know why I'm still in my basketball class. The only time I get the ball is on accident.

Sleep has been scarce. 3-4 nonconsecutive hours a night. I'm constantly in a fog, and not sure I'm even getting the classroom information that is presented to me.

On top of all of that, my friends are being neglected. I'm sorry, guys, but right now you are about 9th on the priority list for me. I should still be able to go to P&P this weekend, though.

Could be worse. I could be back in the hospital.

I wish I could drink heavily.

Perfect Ending

Giants win!

There isn't anything I can say that hasn't already been said repeatedly. However, I have little problem with repetition.

The Pats are being called the worst 18-1 team in NFL history. That makes me laugh. I like it.

Pretty much all the talking heads are saying that 20 years from now, we will likely remember that the Pats fell short, rather than who won. I'm OK with that.

The Giants' six losses are tied for the most losses ever by a Super Bowl champ (record!). Whatever, they still won.

I'm not going to say Eli is the greatest QB ever, but he played awesome in the playoffs. I hope this becomes the rule, rather than the exception. The only downside is that we now have to hear from Mercury Morris the next time someone starts 10-0.

There's a couple videos I've seen today that I like quite a bit. The first if from Aqua Teen Hunger Force.

And then, from Nike:

The decline of civilization marches... onward?

I previously (Yes, I linked to my own blog. I'm such a self-important douche) mentioned my distaste for "text speak." Friday, I overheard parts of a conversation that made me snap.

I must pause here, first, to point out that I am a huge fan of the Oxhorn videos based on World of Warcraft. "ROFLMAO" is probably my favorite.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled bitching.

I was walking down the hall at SFCC, on the way to my English Comp class. About four doors from my destination, I walk past a group of students, and one says "ROFL is a real word." I stop dead. I am just stunned that a college student in the English wing of the Communication Studies building would say such a thing.

Travis and Sky will know that I wanted to tell her she hadn't thought things through. Before I can do that, though her friend comes to the defense of sanity and reason by saying "No, it's an acronym. All those video game words aren't words, just acronyms." He's on the right track, so I decide not to explain the different types of initialism to him. Besides, right now we seem to be on the same side of this argument.

Unfortunately, he caves in when she gives some half-assed explanation that language is defined by those who use it. I am quite confused. She just reasoned that her argument was correct, simply because she said so. I feel I must call her out on this insane twist of logic. I tell her that wishing really hard for something does not make it true. When she gives me the evil eye, I know that it is time to argue with her on her own level. Therefore, I say the following:

"OMG Noob, STFU. L2P. RTFM. ROFLMAO, PWN'D!"

At that point, having made a complete ass of myself, I continued down the hall, singing about how I was "UBER UBER L33T, So UBER UBER L33T." Looking back, I should have dropped a "Dairy Queen, BBQ" into the conversation.

I'm such a dork.

The Lady or the Tiger, but as Football

Oh, the torment of the NFC playoffs.

I am a huge fan of the New York Giants. I have been since the days of Lawrence Taylor, Mark Bavaro, and Phil Simms. Good times, those.

We-Evil is a Cheesehead, through and through. So is my mom. My brother claims to be, but that's mostly because his Lions haven't been any good since the time of Caesar, and he gave up on them.

This weekend, the Packers play the Seahawks. I've never been able to root for the Seahawks, so it's an easy choice. Go Pack! Also, my Giants play the Cowboys. I found out this week that this is the first post-season meeting between the two teams. More than 90 regular season games, and this is their first playoff match up. Given my attachment to the G-men, and a solid contempt for Dallas, this is another easy choice. Go Big Blue!

Now, if both of these games finish the way I want, I'm faced with a dilemma. My Giants will go to Lambeau Field and face off with Methuselah, himself. Brett Favre. I will admit that Favre is about as good as it gets. He's a great player, fun to watch, and seems to have the enthusiasm of a little kid when he's on the field. The problem is, he might be standing in the way of the Giants.

I know, I'm getting ahead of myself. Our teams have to win in order to make this an issue. Still, I worry about these things. How will We-Evil react to my exuberance over another sack of Favre by Strahan. One thing I don't think We-Evil has to worry about is Favre throwing picks to the Giants secondary. Those guys are... not too good.

Auld Lang Syne

Alas, the new year.

I'm not sure if it's been good or bad, overall, for me. There has been a number of things on both sides of the board.

For the good, I've gotten closer with Trevor. We'd grown apart the last several years, and it is great to be back as close as we used to be. Now if only I can get Jay to move back out here, we'll have the old band back together.

I quit my job at GameStop. I think that qualifies as a good thing. I've gotten back in school, and am actually enjoying it, and continuing. I'm sure there are more, but events aren't springing to mind right away.

The bad are a bit more prominent in my mind, at the moment. My hospital stay stands out as one of the larger personal negative events for me.

I've seen some of my friends' relationships disintegrate. It's tough seeing that happen, and not being able to do anything of consequence to lessen the impact. On the surface, though, they appear to be happier in the aftermath.

My grandfather passed away right before Christmas. That was rougher than I thought it would be. Understanding the inevitability of death doesn't make it much easier to deal with the passing of someone close to you.

I would suppose this year ended up more or less neutral when taken as a whole. Most years seem to be like that. Here's to hoping the upcoming year holds more absolute positives, and fewer absolute negatives. Here's to hoping.