You remember the movie The Terminater? Arnold Schwarzenager is a cyborg that goes back in time to assassinate the mother of the child who will save humans from being eliminated by machines? It was something about a security system that got smart and decided to kill all humans. Kind of allegorical, because of how dependent we are on machines. Then, along comes The Matrix with the whole "everyone is in a giant computer program" thing. Another allegory, we are dependent on computer technology. Now, my opinion on our dependence on technology, it's a lot more subtle than all that. Computers and machines are not a major threat to humanity. Don't get me wrong, my van gives me grief every morning, and I make a blood sacrifice to the machine god every time I log on to a computer, but the true threat to humankind is far more sinister: Snack Machines.
Where's the harm in a snack machine, you ask? They don't seem evil, they're fairly simple and straight-forward: you put money in, food comes out. It is within this deceptive simplicity that the great evil lies. The power of the snack machine has developed over time. It started out with a simple inconvenience, when the machine wouldn't take your crumpled up dollar. There's really nothing wrong with the dollar, it's still worth what it's worth to a human being with feelings and emotions, but I guess I can understand that the machine can't read a dollar that has been passed through many living human hands. Next, the machine would begin eating money and giving no food in return. Another simple mistake? Possible, but not likely. However, as seldom as it happened, the convenience was tolerable. Meanwhile, we are being brainwashed into putting up with a machine that does not perform the simple task for which it was built. As it learned about human behavior, the snack machine became creative. It teases people; you put in money and make a selection, and it will look like the food is coming out like normal, but it stops just before it falls. The customer simply buys a second to shake the first one free, unwittingly giving the snack machine a new weapon. I have experienced first-hand this devious new plot. Within a machine, there hung a bag of chips, precariously perched on the edge of dispencing mechanism. I saw a rare opportunity to purchase two snacks for the price of one; little did I know that the snack machine had more devious plans for me. I inserted my money, the little springs spun, and another bag of chips was caught on the end with the first bag. Seemingly IMPOSSIBLE, but true. Two bags of chips trapped inside the machine. No visible obstruction to keep them out of my possession, yet I remained chipless. This must be a fluke, I thought. Perhaps if I pay for another bag of chips, the first two will fall with the third. No way it could get caught again. At least, that's what I thought. After the third bag was caught, my sanity began to slip away. I assaulted the machine with as much force as I could without being charged for vandalism. Ha, an unfair amnesty against a petty thief, I say. Still, it was to no avail, and my three bags of chips remained trapped, and my state of mind was shattered for the rest of the evening. If this encounter isn't evidence of a psychologival assault, I don't know what is. Join me to save humanity's peace of mind! I propose a boycott on vending machines of all kinds. Fight their shiny advertisements, fight their multi-colored boxes of candy, save mankind's sanity from the monotony of autonomous dispensation!
Tuesday, February 21, 2006
Sunday, February 12, 2006
A Dialogue
Not much, but I decided it was funny.
MARTEN: Alright, van, time to go.
VAN: ...
MARTEN: Hey, I gotta go to work.
VAN: I don't waaaannaaaaa
MARTEN: C'mon, I'm gonna be late!
VAN: It's Cold.
MARTEN: Don't be such a baby, it's only two miles.
VAN: Not moving.
MARTEN: Did I not just fill the gas tank and add oil?
(silence)
MARTEN: Hey!
VAN: It would be nice if you actually changed the oil. I've had the same filter since November.
MARTEN: Don't make me get out the starter fluid.
VAN:...Fine. (grumbles)
MARTEN: Alright, van, time to go.
VAN: ...
MARTEN: Hey, I gotta go to work.
VAN: I don't waaaannaaaaa
MARTEN: C'mon, I'm gonna be late!
VAN: It's Cold.
MARTEN: Don't be such a baby, it's only two miles.
VAN: Not moving.
MARTEN: Did I not just fill the gas tank and add oil?
(silence)
MARTEN: Hey!
VAN: It would be nice if you actually changed the oil. I've had the same filter since November.
MARTEN: Don't make me get out the starter fluid.
VAN:...Fine. (grumbles)
Wednesday, January 11, 2006
A Sith looks at Fifty
I know fifty sounds weird, but Darth Vader is supposedly 49 when this song is set, at the end of Return of the Jedi. It is sung to the tune of Jimmy Buffet's A Pirate Looks at Forty
On another Death Star, I've lost to my son
Refused to give in to the Dark Side, the worst has just begun
He nearly won, he nearly won
Watched the Emp'ror shock him, heard him call out to me
And in his despair I thought that their just might be a chance to redeem
Father, he screamed, Father he screamed.
Yes, I am a Jedi
Just twenty years too late
The Republic was dyin' and Padmé was cryin'
I let the Dark Side dominate,
Lost in my hate, lost in my hate
I got my taste of power, ruling behind this mask
But now it's time to destroy the Empire, and restore peace at last
Happened so fast, happened so fast
And I've been hunting Luke down for over three years
In the process killing Ozzel, Needa, and Gen'ral Veers
But I got to stop chokin' I'm finally broken
The galaxy's free once again
Time for my end, time for my end
(Instrumental)
I thought that I lost Padmé, then I discovered my child
Though I ran'em a way, he came back today
Still could manage to smile
Just takes awhile, just takes awhile
Help me take this mask off, one last mechanical sigh
You saw your father behind Darth Vader, Tell your sister that you were right
I've turned to the Light, tell her you were right
(coda)
I've turned to the Light, tell her you were right
On another Death Star, I've lost to my son
Refused to give in to the Dark Side, the worst has just begun
He nearly won, he nearly won
Watched the Emp'ror shock him, heard him call out to me
And in his despair I thought that their just might be a chance to redeem
Father, he screamed, Father he screamed.
Yes, I am a Jedi
Just twenty years too late
The Republic was dyin' and Padmé was cryin'
I let the Dark Side dominate,
Lost in my hate, lost in my hate
I got my taste of power, ruling behind this mask
But now it's time to destroy the Empire, and restore peace at last
Happened so fast, happened so fast
And I've been hunting Luke down for over three years
In the process killing Ozzel, Needa, and Gen'ral Veers
But I got to stop chokin' I'm finally broken
The galaxy's free once again
Time for my end, time for my end
(Instrumental)
I thought that I lost Padmé, then I discovered my child
Though I ran'em a way, he came back today
Still could manage to smile
Just takes awhile, just takes awhile
Help me take this mask off, one last mechanical sigh
You saw your father behind Darth Vader, Tell your sister that you were right
I've turned to the Light, tell her you were right
(coda)
I've turned to the Light, tell her you were right
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Fetch
Why do we continue this practice in futility? Do you get some sort of existential joy from running after the bone, and returning it? I'm only going to throw it again. You obviously know more about happiness than I do. You can entertain yourself so simply. It's as easy as, say, tearing apart something that doesn't belong to you, or chasing down someone who is older and smarter than you. You're hopelessly dependent, though; you can't even go outside and take a piss without someone to tell you how good at it you are. Stupid animal, jumping all over things. As evinced by the game with the bone, you never learn anything. Sure, you're cute, but you make a mess of everything and you don't know when to stick your nose somewhere else. It's no wonder bitch became a curse word.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
procrastination
I've officially given up on 50,000 words, but I'm still writing. In the mean time I'm procrastinating with a funny thing that hit me while watching Whose Line is it Anyway? For certain games, Drew grabs a random audience member and has Wayne sing a song about their job.
DREW: You, what's your name? (motions to a dirty old man)
MAN: I'm.... jeff
DREW: and what do you do for a living?
MAN: I live in a dumpster
awkward silence. Drew motions toward a large-ish bearded man
DREW: Who are you?
MAN2: I'm George Lucas
DREW: And what do you do for a living?
hush falls over crowd. some people laugh
GEORGE:I invented Star Wars
DREW:I'm sure. (motions toward another man) Whats your name?
MAN3: My name is George W. Bush
Drew:What do you do?
BUSH: Um.... uh.... I, um....
the old man next to him whispers a few things in his ear
BUSH: I am responsible for the Hurricane Katrina!
okay, not that funny, but it worked in my head.
DREW: You, what's your name? (motions to a dirty old man)
MAN: I'm.... jeff
DREW: and what do you do for a living?
MAN: I live in a dumpster
awkward silence. Drew motions toward a large-ish bearded man
DREW: Who are you?
MAN2: I'm George Lucas
DREW: And what do you do for a living?
hush falls over crowd. some people laugh
GEORGE:I invented Star Wars
DREW:I'm sure. (motions toward another man) Whats your name?
MAN3: My name is George W. Bush
Drew:What do you do?
BUSH: Um.... uh.... I, um....
the old man next to him whispers a few things in his ear
BUSH: I am responsible for the Hurricane Katrina!
okay, not that funny, but it worked in my head.
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Peter goes to work.
Crazy woman thought Peter, as he fumbled with his keys. Crazy, stupid waitress, stupid keys, stupid job, stupid car, stupid everything! After finding the right key, Peter slumped into his white Oldsmobile Achiva and slouched for awhile as he built up the motivation to actually start the car and drive to work. Once he did, he reached for the ignition, and realized that he was no longer holding his keys. Crap, he thought, I'm the only one I know that loses his keys between unlocking the door and starting the car. After an annoyed search, Peter grumbled and headed for TW&Q insurance.
His job was a simple one which involved explaining to people why his company could not pay for any of their car repair bills, despite the fact that they give his company large sums of money every couple of months. It was not a very satisfying job; Peter spent a lot of time getting yelled at by his boss, and the rest of the time being alternately yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened with various torture methods by unhappy customers. The only real advantage of all this was free car insurance: depending on a customer's plan, a portion of their cash will be set aside to pay for insurance for TW&Q employees. This was made possible by complicated economic terms and lots and lots of paper work, and is probably the reason Peter got yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened so often.
Peter walked in just as his boss was walking out. "You're late!" he shouted, as Peter clocked in with the secretary. Peter was actually ten minutes early, but he didn't bother to reply. His manager would only tell him not to get smart, and, in a job like this, it was probably the best way to handle things. To get smart would be to get another job, and Peter was too apathetic to apply anywhere new, but his personal excuse was the free insurance.
The secretary, whose name is not important at the current time, eyed Peter and told him not to mind the manager; he'd just been having a bad day.
"You're obviously new here," replied Peter. "For him, every day is a bad day. And it's contagious. God, I hate this job."
The secretary frowned."Then why don't you quit, if you hate it so much?" she asked, as Peter walked toward the elevator that would take him to the 5th floor, where he would find cubicle 12a and begin to die a little more inside.
Peter paused and said, "free car insurance."
Quit, ha, thought Peter, as the elevater carried him up the metaphysical heavens and a metaphorical hell. And where would I go then? Back to school? Study for another few years, hopefully landing a life changing job, and ending up in another dead end? No, I'm not going down that trail again. Peter suddenly realised he had began a peculiar and specific inner monologue. Sheesh, this is pretty pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head because of something no one important said. I must be losing it. After some careful thought, Peter deduced: No, I've already lost it. I don't think I've ever had it. I don't even know what it was. Oh well. Time for work. So ended Peter's introspection, and he sat down at his cubicle and began politely replying to the hundreds of e-mails recieved from hundreds of unhappy clients.
His job was a simple one which involved explaining to people why his company could not pay for any of their car repair bills, despite the fact that they give his company large sums of money every couple of months. It was not a very satisfying job; Peter spent a lot of time getting yelled at by his boss, and the rest of the time being alternately yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened with various torture methods by unhappy customers. The only real advantage of all this was free car insurance: depending on a customer's plan, a portion of their cash will be set aside to pay for insurance for TW&Q employees. This was made possible by complicated economic terms and lots and lots of paper work, and is probably the reason Peter got yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened so often.
Peter walked in just as his boss was walking out. "You're late!" he shouted, as Peter clocked in with the secretary. Peter was actually ten minutes early, but he didn't bother to reply. His manager would only tell him not to get smart, and, in a job like this, it was probably the best way to handle things. To get smart would be to get another job, and Peter was too apathetic to apply anywhere new, but his personal excuse was the free insurance.
The secretary, whose name is not important at the current time, eyed Peter and told him not to mind the manager; he'd just been having a bad day.
"You're obviously new here," replied Peter. "For him, every day is a bad day. And it's contagious. God, I hate this job."
The secretary frowned."Then why don't you quit, if you hate it so much?" she asked, as Peter walked toward the elevator that would take him to the 5th floor, where he would find cubicle 12a and begin to die a little more inside.
Peter paused and said, "free car insurance."
Quit, ha, thought Peter, as the elevater carried him up the metaphysical heavens and a metaphorical hell. And where would I go then? Back to school? Study for another few years, hopefully landing a life changing job, and ending up in another dead end? No, I'm not going down that trail again. Peter suddenly realised he had began a peculiar and specific inner monologue. Sheesh, this is pretty pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head because of something no one important said. I must be losing it. After some careful thought, Peter deduced: No, I've already lost it. I don't think I've ever had it. I don't even know what it was. Oh well. Time for work. So ended Peter's introspection, and he sat down at his cubicle and began politely replying to the hundreds of e-mails recieved from hundreds of unhappy clients.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
first Coffee shop scene. not necessarily the beginning, 427
"Why do I even bother to do anything?" Peter asked this question often; many of his friends gave up and begun to wonder why, in fact, Peter did anything. Sometimes complete strangers would give him advice from time to time, but usually they just gave him annoyed looks. Today, however, the waitress pouring Peter's coffee was in an interesting mood and decided to give him an answer.
"Why don't you bother doing anything?" she asked, with a somewhat ironic tone.
"What?" Peter replied. He was quite a bit startled, for after a year of going to this particular coffee shop every morning, Peter had become accustomed to being ignored by the employees and usual clientele.
"You never do anything," continued the waitress. Her voice had all the implications of a rant about to begin. "You've been coming in here for about a year, now, I think, and all you do is sit here for about an hour and drink your coffee with sugar and non-dairy creamer. You never talk to anyone, you never come in with anyone, you don't even read a paper! You just walk in and order a coffee and stare into space, and every once in a while you'll ask why you bother to do anything to no one in particular. What do you do when you aren't here that you shouldn't bother doing anymore?"
A stunned silence gripped Peter, then let go slowly. "Um... er... uh, well, what I do. Um" explained Peter, "I work. I have a job. And that's none of your business!" Silence let go and the usual annoyance and irritability took over. "What kind of a place is this, anyway?" As Peter regained his composure, he angrily began to pack his affects. After a moment or so, he realised he had nothing to pack angrily, flailed with something that was a bit too pathetic to be rage but definately stronger than mere annoyance, and spilled the remainder of his coffee. The waitress merely watched with a combination of sympathy and amusement. This did nothing for his mood. "Do all the employees here go around criticising the customers? Did I ask for an analysis of my personal life?"
The waitress blinked. "Well, actually, yes, you did," she replied, then laughed.
"I don't have to put up with this. You've just lost a customer!" Peter tried to storm out, but it just wasn't his thing. The waitress simply shook her head. Not much of a loss, she thought, One cup of coffee a every morning isn't putting anyone out of business.
"Why don't you bother doing anything?" she asked, with a somewhat ironic tone.
"What?" Peter replied. He was quite a bit startled, for after a year of going to this particular coffee shop every morning, Peter had become accustomed to being ignored by the employees and usual clientele.
"You never do anything," continued the waitress. Her voice had all the implications of a rant about to begin. "You've been coming in here for about a year, now, I think, and all you do is sit here for about an hour and drink your coffee with sugar and non-dairy creamer. You never talk to anyone, you never come in with anyone, you don't even read a paper! You just walk in and order a coffee and stare into space, and every once in a while you'll ask why you bother to do anything to no one in particular. What do you do when you aren't here that you shouldn't bother doing anymore?"
A stunned silence gripped Peter, then let go slowly. "Um... er... uh, well, what I do. Um" explained Peter, "I work. I have a job. And that's none of your business!" Silence let go and the usual annoyance and irritability took over. "What kind of a place is this, anyway?" As Peter regained his composure, he angrily began to pack his affects. After a moment or so, he realised he had nothing to pack angrily, flailed with something that was a bit too pathetic to be rage but definately stronger than mere annoyance, and spilled the remainder of his coffee. The waitress merely watched with a combination of sympathy and amusement. This did nothing for his mood. "Do all the employees here go around criticising the customers? Did I ask for an analysis of my personal life?"
The waitress blinked. "Well, actually, yes, you did," she replied, then laughed.
"I don't have to put up with this. You've just lost a customer!" Peter tried to storm out, but it just wasn't his thing. The waitress simply shook her head. Not much of a loss, she thought, One cup of coffee a every morning isn't putting anyone out of business.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
On perception durring drug use. Don't expect it to make too much sense
I had my wisdom teeth taken out yesterday, and it hurts right now way more than it did durring the procedure. I opted out of the IV sedation, because I wanted to experience the other wacky stuff they put in me. The nitrous oxide is probably the closest I'll get to using recreational drugs of any kind, and it's probably not nearly as strong as stuff people use on the street, but the effects were interesting. The entire time I was on my nitrous high, I was completely aware of it. I knew the stuff was supposed to make me silly, and I knew what I was saying was an effect of the drug. I had some interesting conversations with the nurse, who obviously knew that I would be incoherent and rather silly, but held an interesting discussion with me until it was time to do the actual removal. I knew exactly who I was and where I was, and the drug just made me a little dizzy. It got stronger after a while, and I tried to fight it. It was like little bits of me were being turned off and on. I don't mean in the sense that suddenly my arm wouldn't move when I told it to, I mean that peices of my personality started talking to and about each other and began to separate themselves (myselves?) in a manner not disimilar to a friend of mine who has created a sort of alter ego. Any part of me could retain coherency at any given time, but the aggressive part of me kept trying to fight the drug while the part of me that knew why I was there had to restrain him. It was like trying to roll a will save against myself. All the while, I was completely aware that the drug was making me think like this, and if I tried hard enough, I could simply ignore its effects. As for the rest of my body, its connection with my brain was slightly weakened. I'd probably have to concentrate a bit more on things that would normally be muscle memory, but I do that when I'm really tired anyway, so I've had practice. It seemed like my body was far from my brain; my proprioception was really weird. It was as if my body were a giant machine, and I controlled everything from my brain, sending commands to different bits of me. I guess that's what actually happens, but you can't usually feel it happening, because it's so fast. The whole experience was very interesting, but I don't think I could do it again; there's too much for one part of my mind to take control of at one time.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Rain is only soothing if you're inside
Underclassmen suck. They are ignorant, annoying, disrespectful and stupid, with few exceptions. Phillip won't shut the fuck up about batman and how begging for his life won't save him, the dumbass girls who sit behind me in studyhall wont stop giggling and making mundane comments about people and events they know nothing about while I'm trying to write a fucking essay and half of Central Sound just can't SHUT THE FUCK UP AND SING YOU FUCKING IMBECILES! I took the class to sing and dance, not have my time wasted by lectures everytime anyone wants to do shit their own fucking way.
Work sucks. Theres always some tiny goddamn mistake that doubles the amount of time I take to do anything. Either the wood is upside down, or I forget the fucking hinges and I just realized I haven't labeled a single damn wall Ive constructed since being shown how to do it. If he didn't suddenly have lots of work for me, Ken'd probably fire me for my incompetence.
Old people suck. I'm quite obviously having a long, bad day, and someone I haven't seen in years and will doubtlessly not remember asks me how I am. I reply with a flat, don't-bug-me-toned "tired," and she has the nerve to say "well, welcome to the world." Yeah, great, I've lived in the world for eighteen years now, and I have a fairly good idea on how it works. I know everyone has their hard days, but I also know how not to be a smart-ass bitch to them. I don't care how many fucking years of life experience you have right now, I just want to go home and write my fucking essay and eat some fucking food. I don't need you're sage-like condescension to make me stop and think about how much of an ass I am. Now I'm home, and it took me a fucking hour to get this machine working, and I'm so fucking pissed about everything I can't concentrate on my fucking essay that currently has no fucking focus of anykind. That, and I hate hate fucking rainstorms.
Work sucks. Theres always some tiny goddamn mistake that doubles the amount of time I take to do anything. Either the wood is upside down, or I forget the fucking hinges and I just realized I haven't labeled a single damn wall Ive constructed since being shown how to do it. If he didn't suddenly have lots of work for me, Ken'd probably fire me for my incompetence.
Old people suck. I'm quite obviously having a long, bad day, and someone I haven't seen in years and will doubtlessly not remember asks me how I am. I reply with a flat, don't-bug-me-toned "tired," and she has the nerve to say "well, welcome to the world." Yeah, great, I've lived in the world for eighteen years now, and I have a fairly good idea on how it works. I know everyone has their hard days, but I also know how not to be a smart-ass bitch to them. I don't care how many fucking years of life experience you have right now, I just want to go home and write my fucking essay and eat some fucking food. I don't need you're sage-like condescension to make me stop and think about how much of an ass I am. Now I'm home, and it took me a fucking hour to get this machine working, and I'm so fucking pissed about everything I can't concentrate on my fucking essay that currently has no fucking focus of anykind. That, and I hate hate fucking rainstorms.
Sunday, September 11, 2005
Fedora, Phedora, c'mon, just say it.
I'm back! Well, I've been back, but I've been lazy. eventually I'll read everyone's stuff and update on everywhere I post, but its weird to get back into the habit of being able to use the internet. For my first trick, I shall post a thing I turned into english. I'd give info about the assignment, but that isn't important. What I wrote was an essay written by my eight-year-old daughter for fathers day. No making fun of the name.
Fedora A. Dollinger
What I think about my Dad
June 15, 2024
My Daddy is wierd, but I like him, most of the time. Daddy teaches philosophy at a college, but Mommy says he just uses big words to make the people he teaches think funny. I think thats okay, because sometimes its fun to think funny, and if he gets money for it its like getting paid for playing games. But I think that maybe my Daddy plays too many games, because sometimes it makes him really annoying. Like his Star Wars thing he made me watch. I like it, but Daddy likes it too much sometimes. He wrote an entire book about it, Mom says I'll understand it better when I'm older. I don't really understand it at all right now, but I like the robots. Daddy also bothers me because he is always right. I didn't want to show him my paper, because he would point out all the little mistakes in it. I know he only wants to make it better, and he does stuff like that at work, but I want to be able to fix stuff on my own. Mommy says I get that from him, and Daddy used to always have to do stuff on his own. He still doesn't always let Mommy help him cook. I don't mind that so much, because Daddy is better at cooking than Mommy. Sometimes I get mad that he named me “fedora” because people make fun of me because its a kind of hat, but later I feel better because it makes me feel special. My Daddy always tries to make me feel special, and tells me to just act the way I want to because he says “there are so many people in this world and its hard enough to be seen without acting like everyone else.”
Fedora A. Dollinger
What I think about my Dad
June 15, 2024
My Daddy is wierd, but I like him, most of the time. Daddy teaches philosophy at a college, but Mommy says he just uses big words to make the people he teaches think funny. I think thats okay, because sometimes its fun to think funny, and if he gets money for it its like getting paid for playing games. But I think that maybe my Daddy plays too many games, because sometimes it makes him really annoying. Like his Star Wars thing he made me watch. I like it, but Daddy likes it too much sometimes. He wrote an entire book about it, Mom says I'll understand it better when I'm older. I don't really understand it at all right now, but I like the robots. Daddy also bothers me because he is always right. I didn't want to show him my paper, because he would point out all the little mistakes in it. I know he only wants to make it better, and he does stuff like that at work, but I want to be able to fix stuff on my own. Mommy says I get that from him, and Daddy used to always have to do stuff on his own. He still doesn't always let Mommy help him cook. I don't mind that so much, because Daddy is better at cooking than Mommy. Sometimes I get mad that he named me “fedora” because people make fun of me because its a kind of hat, but later I feel better because it makes me feel special. My Daddy always tries to make me feel special, and tells me to just act the way I want to because he says “there are so many people in this world and its hard enough to be seen without acting like everyone else.”
Friday, July 08, 2005
Wreckage Cannot be created or destroyed, only repaired.
I should have a new machine sometime next week, at which point I shall begin the long and arduous task of updating everything I said I would from the last post. Arduous is such a cool word. I wonder if I spelled it right. Anyway, to tide you over, here's an amusing theory I developed based on my driving experience. In the past four months, my 62' Greenbriar has suffered a rear-end assault, a side-swipe, and two flat tires. None of it has caused irreparable damage or prevented me from driving for long, and neither of the collisions were my fault, but all three incidents (both flats happened at the same time) have caused undue stress and financial annoyance. This has lead me to believe in a law of conservation of wreckage. This law states that every individual who owns or will ever own an automobile will suffer a given amount of wreckage. Because of the short life-spans of the vehicles I can afford, it is safe to say that I will probably own several different automobiles. Thus, the damage done to my modes of transportation must be split thin to cover all my vehicles evenly. It is probably safe to say that I will not be any more wrecks until I start driving something else.
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
Darth Sidious: People Person
A combination of personal curiousity and reflections from The Darth Side has inspired me to write a sort of fan-fic. I don't know if it's been done yet, but I really want to get the Palpatine story. I have been intrigued with his character for quite some time, and I would like to research his character. I'll do my research, see what stuff has been written for him thus far, but hopefully I can put more of my own ideas into his rise to Sith Lord.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Inadvertedly Submitted by Jenna Smith
In an online correspondence with the Valedictorian of Tech's class of 2005, a few amusing stories came into being. I have posted them here, because I think they're funny. If you don't, you probably stopped reading my posts a while ago, so I'm not too worried about it.
Jenna Wrote:
So... once upon a time, there was this guy. His name was Marten. And last Wednesdsay, he flew (yes, like a bird, with his own wings) to a distant island where they are currently filming the next Survivor episode. After suggesting a contest idea to Jeff Probst (lightsaber tree battles) he continued his trip and visited the continent of Antarctica. There, he became a foreign exchange student with a family of unable-to-fly-but-still-noble-birds (they think penguin is discrimnatory). He learned how to fish and found the bad-Santa's workshop located on the South Pole (for everything there must be balance). He then took his plane and flew around the world so fast that he went forward in time. There, he bought a pocket watch that made him invisible. Then, he flew backward a long, long time so that he went back to the beginning of Episode three filming. His pocket watch let him watch all of the filming of Episode Three without anyone being the wiser, but! during the last take, he accidentally dropped it and appeared right between Padme and Anakin. George Lucas found out what happened, kicked him off the set, then started filming all over again, completely changing the plot line. Afraid of what else might happen, he finally went back to his own time and place. He thought everyone would ask him where he got his "I was kicked off the Episode Three set and all I got was this lousy, yet cool, T-Shirt" shirt, but everyone else only saw the official No-Pants Day shirt. "Why are you wearing that shirt, Marten?" they asked, "No Pants Day was yesterday. Where were you?" Ahh... if only they knew.
I Wrote:
I only wish last Wednesday were that interesting, but sadly it was slightly less exciting than that. I sort of robbed a bank. Don't tell my mother, she still doesn't know. I discovered my super powers earlier last week, and decided to test them by braking into a bank safe. I didn't actually plan to steal anything; I can only use my powers for good. However, it is possible that others may develop similar abilities, and I figured that the traditional targets of super villains would save quite a bit of money revamping their security systems if the first attack came from some one who wasn't going to take any of their money.
She Wrote:
Can you imagine the life of a pair of sunglasses? It must be weird. First, you start off in a factory where you're born. Then, you are boxed up with all your brothers and sisters. After a long time in the dark, a humanoid lets light in, then sets you on a rack where there are fluoresent lights all around. A weird guy picks you up and puts you on his ugly big nose. Look, there's a wart! He puts you back on the rack, then a girl comes over and trys you on. She takes you off and pays for you. You have a new home. The girl wears you in the car and outside. You spend many, many hours perched atop her head. You get tossed aside sometimes, but she keeps track of you even as you travel overseas and through the country. It's a good life.
More coming later, unless she gets mad that I posted these and stops writing. Hopefully she won't mind.
Jenna Wrote:
So... once upon a time, there was this guy. His name was Marten. And last Wednesdsay, he flew (yes, like a bird, with his own wings) to a distant island where they are currently filming the next Survivor episode. After suggesting a contest idea to Jeff Probst (lightsaber tree battles) he continued his trip and visited the continent of Antarctica. There, he became a foreign exchange student with a family of unable-to-fly-but-still-noble-birds (they think penguin is discrimnatory). He learned how to fish and found the bad-Santa's workshop located on the South Pole (for everything there must be balance). He then took his plane and flew around the world so fast that he went forward in time. There, he bought a pocket watch that made him invisible. Then, he flew backward a long, long time so that he went back to the beginning of Episode three filming. His pocket watch let him watch all of the filming of Episode Three without anyone being the wiser, but! during the last take, he accidentally dropped it and appeared right between Padme and Anakin. George Lucas found out what happened, kicked him off the set, then started filming all over again, completely changing the plot line. Afraid of what else might happen, he finally went back to his own time and place. He thought everyone would ask him where he got his "I was kicked off the Episode Three set and all I got was this lousy, yet cool, T-Shirt" shirt, but everyone else only saw the official No-Pants Day shirt. "Why are you wearing that shirt, Marten?" they asked, "No Pants Day was yesterday. Where were you?" Ahh... if only they knew.
I Wrote:
I only wish last Wednesday were that interesting, but sadly it was slightly less exciting than that. I sort of robbed a bank. Don't tell my mother, she still doesn't know. I discovered my super powers earlier last week, and decided to test them by braking into a bank safe. I didn't actually plan to steal anything; I can only use my powers for good. However, it is possible that others may develop similar abilities, and I figured that the traditional targets of super villains would save quite a bit of money revamping their security systems if the first attack came from some one who wasn't going to take any of their money.
She Wrote:
Can you imagine the life of a pair of sunglasses? It must be weird. First, you start off in a factory where you're born. Then, you are boxed up with all your brothers and sisters. After a long time in the dark, a humanoid lets light in, then sets you on a rack where there are fluoresent lights all around. A weird guy picks you up and puts you on his ugly big nose. Look, there's a wart! He puts you back on the rack, then a girl comes over and trys you on. She takes you off and pays for you. You have a new home. The girl wears you in the car and outside. You spend many, many hours perched atop her head. You get tossed aside sometimes, but she keeps track of you even as you travel overseas and through the country. It's a good life.
More coming later, unless she gets mad that I posted these and stops writing. Hopefully she won't mind.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Man and His Machine
So I discovered that my car only stopped working because something knocked the killswitch in the trunk, and it's not broken or anything. Still, I'm not going back to that thing. I've moved on. I'm driving the corvair van, now, for better or for worse. I've taken all my trash out of the sable, and I have removed Geoffrey, my dashboard buddy. He's a dragon that blinks. Lina says he looks more like a Charlie, but that's beside the point. I've left my car for another. I had some good times with the it, and we've had our differences. It's going to be tough; they say the first car is always hard to leave behind, but I will have to be strong. I've already started something with the corvair, it's taken me places. We've had our first fight, and we've worked it out. I think this is the start of something good.
Monday, April 18, 2005
Sunday, April 17, 2005
It got bigger
We had a sort of a script writing clinic thingy in drama, and we were charged with writing ten lines of a script for a show that clearly took place in the future, and something seemingly impossible had to happen, but it had to be possible to stage.
One and Two are holed up in a moderately small space. It is clear that they are hiding from something
ONE: You think it's gone?
TWO: I don't know. I don't hear anything
ONE: Take a look outside.
TWO: Why do I have to look? Why don't you do it?
ONE: I'm One. You're Two. You have to do what I say.
TWO: What if it gets me?
ONE: It would be worse if it got me.
Two seems to accept this logic. Two slides th door open slightly, looks out, suppresses a scream & quickly shuts the door
ONE: What? What did you see?
TWO: (Panting)It... got... Bigger... I think it saw me...
ONE: What do you mean? How much bigger?
A loud banging is heard off stage. Possibly a roar.
TWO: A LOT Bigger
So that's my crappy handfull of lines. feel free to make fun of it, though I think I've got an idea for an entire show based on the relationship between One and Two. Probably something to do with seniority=/=superiority.
One and Two are holed up in a moderately small space. It is clear that they are hiding from something
ONE: You think it's gone?
TWO: I don't know. I don't hear anything
ONE: Take a look outside.
TWO: Why do I have to look? Why don't you do it?
ONE: I'm One. You're Two. You have to do what I say.
TWO: What if it gets me?
ONE: It would be worse if it got me.
Two seems to accept this logic. Two slides th door open slightly, looks out, suppresses a scream & quickly shuts the door
ONE: What? What did you see?
TWO: (Panting)It... got... Bigger... I think it saw me...
ONE: What do you mean? How much bigger?
A loud banging is heard off stage. Possibly a roar.
TWO: A LOT Bigger
So that's my crappy handfull of lines. feel free to make fun of it, though I think I've got an idea for an entire show based on the relationship between One and Two. Probably something to do with seniority=/=superiority.
Friday, April 08, 2005
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Adventures in Keyboarding: Continued
An essay, the rubric of which only defined the number of words and the topic "Spring Break":
You have exactly one week to do what ever you want. What do you do with it? You certainly can’t waste it; a whole week is valuable time. Yet, while this time is too valuable to waste, it is a whole lot more time than one has been accustomed to since winter. Without careful planning, the entire week could go by and no one would ever know it was there to begin with. So what does one do with a free week? I have compiled several possible plans to make your spring break more manageable. These plans will be listed in order of level of detail. Some of these plans are more complicated than others, and it is recommended that you try the more traditional plans first. If you find these too simple, feel free to move on to more elaborate arrangements.
Level 1: Simple vacation
The most common spring break plans are small excursions to a beach, park, or other kind of resort. The simple vacation may last through the entirety of the week, or just a couple days of it, depending on funding. When planning a simple vacation, the following must be taken into consideration: where it is you are going, how long you’re going to stay there, and means of transportation. Depending on these three factors, other questions of packing and how much money to carry will arise, but those details will vary from situation to situation. The simple vacation is not for everyone; if you are uncomfortable with simple relaxation, please try one of the other plans.
Level 2: Party
Some would argue that a party is simpler than a vacation, but this is a common misconception. Preparation for a party is much more demanding than it seems. Unlike a family vacation or short excursion with a close friend or loved one, a party involves a high level of political intrigue. When preparing for a party, the most important detail, aside from food, is who is coming to the party. With limited resources, one has a limited number of possible guests, and one must choose carefully who to leave out. Even when party resources are abundant, tough decisions are replaced with possible miscalculations, and someone can be left out by accident. This situation is even worse than the former, as one left out of a party at which a large number of people attended is likely to be more sour than one left out of a small, exclusive group. When entertaining a large number of people, one must also maintain a level of etiquette unknown by many who have attempted the position of host or hostess. A host must be sure of the comfort of all guests, aware of how much food or drink is available, and must be ready repair any damages that are commonly made by large concentrations of people having a good time. The efficiency of parties is debatable, depending on the level of planning and the after-math. If you spend half your break preparing for a party, one night actually throwing it, and the rest of break cleaning up after it, then the party was not very efficient.
Level 3: Wacky adventure
This is a quite complicated venture that requires luck, timing, and almost no experience at all. In fact, the less experience one has with wacky adventures, the better. The actual events that constitute a wacky adventure will vary considerable, but they must be zany, absurd, silly, or unimaginable in some way for it to be considered as “wacky.” No possible adventures will be listed here, as that would ruin the wackiness of any adventure you may have. If you really want to learn more about wacky adventures, check out Madcap Hijinks for Idiots at your local library. If you are uncomfortable with making things up as you go along, please consider any of the other plans before attempting a wacky adventure.
Level 4: Organized Crime
Caution: For Experts Only! Illegal operations of any kind require a high level of organization and pre-planning, and to be able to pull off any sort of heist in one week is a challenge for only the greatest of minds. Possible crimes include, but are not limited to: casino robbery, jewelry heist, mass-burglary, safecracking, bank robbery (a classic favorite) and museum heists. Most thefts will involve the manipulation of some form of security, be it laser motion detectors, automated or live guards, or heavy containment units. More complicated jobs will have more than one kind of security system combined, adding to the danger level, as well as the pay-off. For the protection of the author, no successful plans may be listed in this volume. Good Luck!
Boredom lies crushed and defeated by my mighty hand!
You have exactly one week to do what ever you want. What do you do with it? You certainly can’t waste it; a whole week is valuable time. Yet, while this time is too valuable to waste, it is a whole lot more time than one has been accustomed to since winter. Without careful planning, the entire week could go by and no one would ever know it was there to begin with. So what does one do with a free week? I have compiled several possible plans to make your spring break more manageable. These plans will be listed in order of level of detail. Some of these plans are more complicated than others, and it is recommended that you try the more traditional plans first. If you find these too simple, feel free to move on to more elaborate arrangements.
Level 1: Simple vacation
The most common spring break plans are small excursions to a beach, park, or other kind of resort. The simple vacation may last through the entirety of the week, or just a couple days of it, depending on funding. When planning a simple vacation, the following must be taken into consideration: where it is you are going, how long you’re going to stay there, and means of transportation. Depending on these three factors, other questions of packing and how much money to carry will arise, but those details will vary from situation to situation. The simple vacation is not for everyone; if you are uncomfortable with simple relaxation, please try one of the other plans.
Level 2: Party
Some would argue that a party is simpler than a vacation, but this is a common misconception. Preparation for a party is much more demanding than it seems. Unlike a family vacation or short excursion with a close friend or loved one, a party involves a high level of political intrigue. When preparing for a party, the most important detail, aside from food, is who is coming to the party. With limited resources, one has a limited number of possible guests, and one must choose carefully who to leave out. Even when party resources are abundant, tough decisions are replaced with possible miscalculations, and someone can be left out by accident. This situation is even worse than the former, as one left out of a party at which a large number of people attended is likely to be more sour than one left out of a small, exclusive group. When entertaining a large number of people, one must also maintain a level of etiquette unknown by many who have attempted the position of host or hostess. A host must be sure of the comfort of all guests, aware of how much food or drink is available, and must be ready repair any damages that are commonly made by large concentrations of people having a good time. The efficiency of parties is debatable, depending on the level of planning and the after-math. If you spend half your break preparing for a party, one night actually throwing it, and the rest of break cleaning up after it, then the party was not very efficient.
Level 3: Wacky adventure
This is a quite complicated venture that requires luck, timing, and almost no experience at all. In fact, the less experience one has with wacky adventures, the better. The actual events that constitute a wacky adventure will vary considerable, but they must be zany, absurd, silly, or unimaginable in some way for it to be considered as “wacky.” No possible adventures will be listed here, as that would ruin the wackiness of any adventure you may have. If you really want to learn more about wacky adventures, check out Madcap Hijinks for Idiots at your local library. If you are uncomfortable with making things up as you go along, please consider any of the other plans before attempting a wacky adventure.
Level 4: Organized Crime
Caution: For Experts Only! Illegal operations of any kind require a high level of organization and pre-planning, and to be able to pull off any sort of heist in one week is a challenge for only the greatest of minds. Possible crimes include, but are not limited to: casino robbery, jewelry heist, mass-burglary, safecracking, bank robbery (a classic favorite) and museum heists. Most thefts will involve the manipulation of some form of security, be it laser motion detectors, automated or live guards, or heavy containment units. More complicated jobs will have more than one kind of security system combined, adding to the danger level, as well as the pay-off. For the protection of the author, no successful plans may be listed in this volume. Good Luck!
Boredom lies crushed and defeated by my mighty hand!
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