Sunday, June 29, 2008
Wanted is a super over the top action flick that I loved.
Shoot 'Em Up is also awesome.
That's all I have today.
Oh, and this:
OnePlusYou Quizzes and Widgets
Monday, June 23, 2008
Short of selling all of my possessions or trying to become a prostitute in a heavily Mennonite town in Kansas, is there any way to make a few quick dollars within a week or two? Like say, 100 to 200 dollars? Anyone have ideas? Can I draw you a picture and sign it for 5 dollars and do one for twenty people?
I actually would seriously do that. I'm good with pencil sketches, and I'll take requests for 5 dollars.
Saturday, June 21, 2008
How does someone get so laid back and so cool? He's obviously an artistic genius, creating awesome paintings, but he's also... calming and soothing. Happy trees, happy clouds, happy mountains... They all seem so ridiculous, but he's says it so insignificantly, as if we all refer to bushes and water as "happy".
Anyway, I want to paint now.
Here's another excerpt from the book:
The door is open slightly, and I knock lightly before entering. On the right is a wooden door labeled “Sauna.“ To my left is the shower, a large communal type with high, broad shower heads. It is practically a large, stainless steel rain factory, and in the middle stands the Captain lathering her hair.
"Captain?" I ask.
She doesn't hear me at first, so I speak up, and with a calm turn, she faces me.
"What is it?"
"I was just wondering where the fruit was."
"It should be in the fruit holder in the fridge. Did you look there?"
"I thought I did, but I must have missed it. I'll look again."
I turn to go, but I catch a glimpse of a pink scar on her side. I opt not to say anything right now.
Rechecking the fridge yields nothing. It is empty of everything but milk and deer meat. I want to give the Captain her privacy, but something drives me to see her again. I reconsider and find myself heading down the hall once again.
This time, the Captain is facing the entryway as I enter.
"Not there?" She asks.
"No, there is only milk and deer meat in the fridge."
"That's odd. It was there last I checked. I'll find something for you in a minute." She rinses her hair and applies conditioner. Then notices that I haven't left. "Was there anything else?"
"I just noticed your scar there earlier and wondered what it was from."
"It's not the only one, but most of them are smaller. If you come closer you can see." She waves me over so I make my way there, avoiding the water, but little splashes catch me fairly often. When I get within a few feet, I notice, like she said, many more scars. My eyes open wide.
"Don't look so surprised. Everyone has scars."
"I know. I have my share, but you are covered. I didn't notice earlier on deck..."
"They only seem to show up when I'm in the water. Water healed them, and water reminds me…"
"Why is that do you think?"
"Like I said before, my storytelling is incredibly boring. Let's just say that scars sometimes contain ill feelings within them."
I'm not sure I understand, but I nod and turn to leave after taking one last look. The scars are all thick, knotted, and pink. It is strange that I didn't see them beforehand. I’ve never heard of scars that only show up in the water…
Friday, June 20, 2008
The sun is shining down, but it seems so dark. Not that there are many shadows, but it is like someone just turned down the brightness. Everyone standing around notices, for sure, but there is no comment of course, just the feeling of a general unspoken consensus. However, there is tension in the air as well. The man and woman are not fearful, so to speak, but are being cautious. A magical, beautiful, and nude hermaphroditic clown is always cause for concern. The three stood there, in a snowy wilderness, staring each other down. Two versus one. It was a standoff, a stalemate, and a pause. Every thought culminated and processed in such a way that time slowed by their perception. Then it all just happened. The Clown, in its own artistic way, displayed a dazzling smile, one that could freeze anyone in their tracks. It produced a long balloon from the hammer-space and started working balloon animal magic. However, this was no balloon animal; this was a cherry-red tommy-gun-shaped piece of latex. The Clown took deadly aim at the couple. There, in a barren wasteland, so long ago, yet where it is so similar to today, bullets flew and lives changed…
Anyway, I was browsing their forums and saw a thread for people to post pictures of their gun collections.
You could say I'm both surprised and horrified. Especially this picture here on page 12.
I'm not the kind of person that thinks government gun control is a solution to gun violence, nor do I think that's even a step in the right direction. I think people should be able to own whatever weapons they want to protect their homes and families within reason as long as they know how to be safe. That said, some of the posters there at zombiehunters are a tad... excessive. There is no reason whatsoever (outside of law enforcement/military, obviously) to have more than maybe 3 or 4 guns, and that's stretching it.
When it comes to defending your home, unless you pissed someone off in the mob or Taliban, then a simple handgun can be used to neutralize any intruder easily, and you have a better chance of not killing them. If for some reason you or your family is desperate for food, the pistol is not nearly as much use as a rifle for hunting.
So how can you justify over 20 guns? How can you justify 20 guns with 20 high capacity magazines for each one? Are you planning on starting a small war with your local police agency?
For perspective, I own one handgun that holds 13 rounds, with a spare magazine. I keep it in the case with a flashlight so if I hear some suspicious noise in the house, I grab both, and use the light to make sure I'm not shooting at something I don't intend to hurt. I also own a Mosin Nagant Bolt Action rifle. It's probably the most cumbersome gun in the world and weighs a ton. That's for killing a deer to feed myself if I had to. Lastly, I have pieces to an old WWII machine gun that I would like to restore as a collector's item.
So anyway, WTF?
Thursday, June 19, 2008
This kind of bullshit pisses me off so much. Why the hell do you advertise the "big all-over" swimsuit with a model that is CLEARLY NOT BIG AT ALL! Not one of those models can be considered big (The second girl is by far the biggest and I think she's smoking hot. Just as attractive as the other girls, if not moreso.) yet that slideshow is SPECIFICALLY FOR girls that are trying to find swimsuits for their size and shape.
And what's worse is, I can't think of a single person I've ever met or spoken to that doesn't agree with me on the whole "Models are unrealistic and portray an often unattainable so-called beauty to kids that shouldn't have to deal with it" thing, and this talk has been in the media for years, so why the hell hasn't it changed? Are we seriously that brainwashed that no one can start up a company for girls of all sizes with MODELS of all sizes that I can remember off the top of my head (because, of course, if I can't remember it, it's not worth remembering for anyone... or something)?
Anywho, I know I said I'd post a bit of my book, but unfortunately, Microsoft, in their infinite wisdom, created the crappiest program in the world, Microsoft Works. I used that to write my book because it was the only thing on my computer at the time. It is like a really really stripped down version of Word, except it is completely incompatible with every other program in existence. The only way I've found to get my book back intact is to buy *cough* and install Works, then save the damn file as a notepad file and open it with something more decent... like notepad.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
You see, in Kansas, there is very little open range BLM land. You leave town, and there is a house every mile or two, and the land inbetween those homes is private property. Right now, the wheat and hay fields are about waist-high, which would be unpleasant at best to go shooting in. Also, the land is flat, meaning there is nothing to stop a stray bullet from hitting some random cow and/or horse. We thought about trying to find a wooded area, but really, that wouldn't work because I don't know if some dude is practicing his ninja skills all innocently there in the trees when I'm blasting away. Guns are pretty damn dangerous if you aren't aware of your surroundings.
So anyway, we drove around for an hour and a half and didn't find a suitable place to shoot. We might try to go out again tomorrow.
Wow... well, I've been staring at the screen here for 10 minutes, drawing a complete blank on what to say. I started this blog to force myself to write more, but I've been slacking a bit, no longer updating daily (even though I have more than enough time). Perhaps tomorrow I'll post an excerpt from my book, except I might throw in some of those "revisions" and "corrections" that people are always yammering on about.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
I know it sounds like I'm completely unwilling to work hard and do a shit job for awhile, and it's partly true. I have qualifications that put me above premature back and neck problems for 7 dollars an hour. I'll do two steps forward one step back, but not 2 steps forward 3 back.
Sorry Mr. Cameron. I did not think to poo anywhere. Next time I get a job, I'll go in with the mindset to poop all over the place if it doesn't work out. That way, I have both something to look forward to, and something to fall back on at the same time.
Jorl Heiderich - The only characters that I can really make mention of were the billions of little styrofoam pieces that attacked my eyes and clothing with a vengeance, like some kind of ant hill of white fluffy puffs of death.
Lora - I'll tell them. I need to call anyway and tell Dad how I fixed my car. :)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
I really have nothing to write about tonight and my thoughts are in a bit of a jumbled mess. I got a job yesterday and quit within four hours. It was a total waste of my time so I took off and got 5 applications for jobs that I wouldn't hate within the first 15 minutes. I'll see how that pans out, now that I'm being serious about my employment, rather than skating by on what an employment service can get me.
So, again, I'm just hanging out. I'll be getting a new roommate saturday, which should alleviate some boredom, but who knows if I can handle having less space now and dealing with the usual roommate crap.
Eh, oh well. I'm going to learn some spanish now so I might have another job skill and get mo' moneyz.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
But not as badass as me.
What I'm getting around to is how I pictured a gritty remake of West Side Story starring J Timberlake as our Puerto Rican/Cuban/Latin-something-or-other lead (I'm sure some Hollywood makeup artists can work magic with Justin T's look. I just KNOW it.). This thought, of course, led to another tangent in my mind.
A few weeks ago, as I was moving to Kansas, I stayed at the home of my ex-roomates, Erik and Shea. Since I don't want to get caught on the wrong side of the tracks in Laramie, Wyoming, running the risk of having some college dropout all hopped up on cheap beer and five-dollar shit-pizza from Little Caesar's stealing my hubcaps, I keep a loaded pistol with me at all times. When I whipped out my handgun in front of Erik, he was delightfully surprised. Then I whipped out my pistol and he was frightened because he is afraid of guns made of metal that shoot bullets of another type of metal.
I said, "Why are you afraid of guns?" to which he replied, "I've just never been good around them. They make me nervous." Of course, I, being a smug, attractive, gun-loving bastard, had to convince him that guns are AWESOME when held by a BADASS, so I grabbed a cigarette off the coffeetable (because coffee and cigarettes with an ambiguous past ownership are manly as hell) pulled my trademark hat down a bit, and sunk into character--
Friday, June 6, 2008
Ugh, I need to get off my ass more often. I did some squats yesterday. 30 of them, to be precise, and was totally tired out. I mean, I could have done more, but not nearly as many as I used to. I remember when 100 squats was like... warmup routine. I'm soft and weak now, and it's starting to get to me. Not enough to drive me to work out regularly yet, but just enough to make me more easily pissed off about myself when I'm tired, like now, for instance.
Anywho, I wrote a draft for yesterday's blog, but forgot to post it, so keep reading if you're interested in my exciting new computer chair. Whooptie frickin doo.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Yes, my day was proper exciting it was. Actually, the best part of the day was when my roomate came home with a present for me. She bought me a new computer chair. Until now, I was sitting on a wooden kitchen chair, but now I have a neat rolly chair that actually forces me to sit up straight, so my back might actually get a little better, posture-wise.
Anywho, this Xenu character from Scientology. Is he the devil or good guy for their Sci-fi religion? Wikipedia is awfully ambiguous about it. Apparently he's the dude that led a bunch of people to earth in an airplane and blew them up with nukes and psychiatrists. Those dead people are why were are miserable today, apparently. So I can't tell if Xenu is like the ultimate evil or the redemption or what.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Classical guitar sound
The smell of rain
A bottle of water by my side so I never go thirsty
The smell of flowers
A good movie
Putting my feet up
Making people giggle
Making people squirm
Doing things the hard way, on purpose
Wandering through fields
John Dies at the End
The following Disney movies: Aladdin, Hercules, Tarzan, Lion King.
Cuz gurlz r dum.
Monday, June 2, 2008
My very worst memory comes from when I was 7 years old, living in Rock Springs, Wyoming. There isn't much to say, except that night, my Dad attempted suicide. It's not a particularly clear memory, and at the time, I wasn't 100% sure of what was going on (I did know a lot, but probably didn't understand the complete consequences of what would happen.).
Anyway, a friend of the family managed to talk my Dad out of it long enough to get the gun out of his hands and for him to fall asleep. The next day, phone calls were made and my dad was admitted into a detox center. He has been sober, drug and alcohol free, for 14 years now. I'm so proud of him that I cannot express it in words.
I'm telling you this, my legions of dedicated and brainwashed fans, because I firmly believe that no memory is worth forgetting. The things I've learned, the value I place on love and life, the love for my Dad that has grown, the decision to seriously limit any alcohol I drink... all things that I wouldn't deem as important if I didn't actively consider my memories. To me, confronting and fighting your fears and past inadequacies is the most honorable thing someone can do for themselves.
I know I haven't had a hard life by any means. I know that things can get hard really fast. For what I've gone through, and for what I've learned from others, coupled together with the basic human imagination and simulating/predicting the future as best I can, this is the most proactive battle plan for life I can follow. Until I've experienced things that sway me otherwise, it is what I will practice and preach.