My original title was going to have a deal about a guy with Dissociative identity disorder (formerly known as Mulitple-personality disorder) who had one of his alternate personalities kidnap him and he winds up with Stockholm Syndrome. Anyway, it was a bit too long so you got a dead hooker joke instead. Lucky you!
So this story is amazing. Up until now I've tried to avoid getting "newsy" with this blog. Unfortunately my life lacks the interesting situations that are required to keep it regularly updated with semi-entertaining material. Anyway, you can find the original story here. Have you read it yet? I didn't think you would. Anyway, it's about this girl who apparently picked Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the television series) as a topic for her DOCTORAL thesis and now regrets it. Now I'm usually the one to point out that Joss Whedon's show frequently used its demons, vampires and other assorted monsters as metaphors in addition to using the cover of a show about a girl who kills vampires for a living as a way to talk about real life issues. Vampires as a metaphor for sex has been done before, but when Buffy loses her virginity to one and he loses his soul as a consequence and goes on a killing spree... well that's metaphor on steroids and one of the show's defining moments. So while the show does work on a deeper level and I fully acknowledge this, you would have to be bug-shagging crazy to pick this as a topic for... well any paper you might be doing that you would like some sort of academic profesional to take seriously. Sure it explored the unexplored, putting a female in a dominant role as a fighter and leader among a group that primarily consisted of men, exploring a main character's turn to a lesbian relationship on prime-time television, it was - at times - some seriously heavy stuff. On the other hand you also need to remember that there was a vampire on there who, for 3 seasons, had a chip implanted in his brain by a secret government organization that wouldn't let him bite anyone. At the conclusion of the third year of this he gets his soul back and, with the aid of some bling that would make Mr. T envious (a large jewel encrusted pendant), he shuts a gateway directly to hell thus saving the world. A good story? Hell yes. A good foundation for a doctoral thesis? Probably not.
I was going to do a book review in addition to the above rant but, seeing as though I wrote far more than I planned to, I'll save it for another day.
To make this post complete, one of my favorite videos of all time:
Lightning Bolt!
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Talking Monkey Reveals Preference for Fez Hats over Pants
In the spirit of annoyance and irony in which I constantly dwell, I'd just to say F!%^ YOU!! to edited albums.
Currently reading Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Complete Sherlock Holmes". If any of you out there haven't read this fantastic collection of stories yet, consider yourself chastised and get your behinds to a bookstore.
I've come into possesion of a 1910 World's Fair shot-glass. The only striking feature about it is that it seems to be pieced together, the upper portion made of red glass and the base of clear. It's neat but, like most neat things, has no practical use.
I only have one good story about my Uncle Crazy, thus the stalling above (this whole blog is one big reminder of how bloody boring my life is).
It starts out on a typical day and I'm gonna guess here that my Uncle is about 10 which puts my Dad at about 8. Because it's your typical day my Uncle is throwing rocks at my Dad (as the older brother I typically used pinecones, but you set about picking on your sibblings with the projectiles you have, not those you desire). Having had a good deal of experience at being hit by rocks, my Dad seeks an immediate close by standing in front of the large picture window in front of the house. Displaying the lack of judgement that would later play a major role in his nickname, my Uncle threw another rock, breaking the picture window. My dad says he heard, as he was sprinting off the porch, my Uncle say to my Grandfather, "It's his fault! He moved!"
Currently reading Arthur Conan Doyle's "The Complete Sherlock Holmes". If any of you out there haven't read this fantastic collection of stories yet, consider yourself chastised and get your behinds to a bookstore.
I've come into possesion of a 1910 World's Fair shot-glass. The only striking feature about it is that it seems to be pieced together, the upper portion made of red glass and the base of clear. It's neat but, like most neat things, has no practical use.
I only have one good story about my Uncle Crazy, thus the stalling above (this whole blog is one big reminder of how bloody boring my life is).
It starts out on a typical day and I'm gonna guess here that my Uncle is about 10 which puts my Dad at about 8. Because it's your typical day my Uncle is throwing rocks at my Dad (as the older brother I typically used pinecones, but you set about picking on your sibblings with the projectiles you have, not those you desire). Having had a good deal of experience at being hit by rocks, my Dad seeks an immediate close by standing in front of the large picture window in front of the house. Displaying the lack of judgement that would later play a major role in his nickname, my Uncle threw another rock, breaking the picture window. My dad says he heard, as he was sprinting off the porch, my Uncle say to my Grandfather, "It's his fault! He moved!"
Monday, March 19, 2007
Social Lepers Ooze Confidence
To begin, I'd like to thank Guiness for making this St. Patrick's day a memorable one and for being a wonderful compliment to pizza.
Nothing truly amusing has happend of late (except my cat getting a tissue stuck to her face, but that's more of a visual joke and I didn't have a camera handy) so it's old story time.
Arrogance makes people funny. Someone who is totally willing to laugh at himself when he trips isn't half as funny as the guy who pops up and looks around to see who saw him fall. Luckilly, I have two arrogant uncles who don't need bad luck, they make their own, and I don't think either one has ever honestly laughed at himself. To protect their identities (and myself from awkward moments at upcoming family reunions) I'll use fake names in the upcoming stories.
My Uncle Lucky has a colorful past. At the tender age of 7 (or thereabouts) he nearly hung himself going down a slide when he decided to wrap a rope around his neck beforehand. It's a good thing for him his little sister was there to rescue him.
On to college he either got drunk or had a sinus infection (this story varies from person to person) and was on the top bunk. Regardless of the cause, the effect was him falling out of the top bunk and the floor removing his two front teeth. Not finished yet, he then decided to go to a dentist that everyone knew was a quack. Never one to listen to what his family told him, Lucky went to the quack dentist and had two new teeth literally pounded into his head with a mallet. As if this experience and the bruises that ran from nose to cheeckbone under both eyes weren't enough, they fell out the next week and were swallowed along with his mashed potatoes.
And now to adult-hood. Lucky decided one day that the stump in the backyard really needed to be chopped out. A man of action, he grabbed the axe and went to work, ignoring that a clothes-line was in the way. The axe caught the clothes-line, rebounded and caught Lucky right between the eyes. I haven't seen the medical report on this one but we believe, given his more recent behavior, that the axe actually gave him a frontal lobotomy.
Tune in later this week where I'll profile my Uncle Crazy. Same Bat Time. Same Bat Channel.
Nothing truly amusing has happend of late (except my cat getting a tissue stuck to her face, but that's more of a visual joke and I didn't have a camera handy) so it's old story time.
Arrogance makes people funny. Someone who is totally willing to laugh at himself when he trips isn't half as funny as the guy who pops up and looks around to see who saw him fall. Luckilly, I have two arrogant uncles who don't need bad luck, they make their own, and I don't think either one has ever honestly laughed at himself. To protect their identities (and myself from awkward moments at upcoming family reunions) I'll use fake names in the upcoming stories.
My Uncle Lucky has a colorful past. At the tender age of 7 (or thereabouts) he nearly hung himself going down a slide when he decided to wrap a rope around his neck beforehand. It's a good thing for him his little sister was there to rescue him.
On to college he either got drunk or had a sinus infection (this story varies from person to person) and was on the top bunk. Regardless of the cause, the effect was him falling out of the top bunk and the floor removing his two front teeth. Not finished yet, he then decided to go to a dentist that everyone knew was a quack. Never one to listen to what his family told him, Lucky went to the quack dentist and had two new teeth literally pounded into his head with a mallet. As if this experience and the bruises that ran from nose to cheeckbone under both eyes weren't enough, they fell out the next week and were swallowed along with his mashed potatoes.
And now to adult-hood. Lucky decided one day that the stump in the backyard really needed to be chopped out. A man of action, he grabbed the axe and went to work, ignoring that a clothes-line was in the way. The axe caught the clothes-line, rebounded and caught Lucky right between the eyes. I haven't seen the medical report on this one but we believe, given his more recent behavior, that the axe actually gave him a frontal lobotomy.
Tune in later this week where I'll profile my Uncle Crazy. Same Bat Time. Same Bat Channel.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Emo-Boy Discoveries: Souls Can't Bleed
I've discovered that, by all appearances, my curtainless neighbors read my blog because there are now blankets stuffed in 2 of their 3 windows facing my house. Good job guys.
Turns out that not reading up on men's college basketball, disregarding rankings and picking teams to win based on their names is a bad way to go about filling in your brackets, which is to say that I'm getting the pants beat off me. Still, it's fun.
Odd story today. I went to the chiropractor because I've been having some issues with my right shoulder (it turns out I have tendonitis but that's not the story). I've been going to this guy for about 9 years and I'm friends with his son so we know one another pretty well. Anyway, while he's contorting my spine in new and creative ways he starts telling me about this dream he had the other night. Apparently it starts out and he's driving George W. Bush's limo to Alto, he says this felt perfectly natural at the time. At one point George leans forward and says to him, "You could have at least worn a suit." Looking down my chiropractor realizes that he's just wearing regular clothes, so he decides he'll go score a suit. So where does he go? To my house to borrow one from me.
So he shows up at my place only I'm not home, but luckilly my mom is there and she starts helping him find my suit. She brings down the white shirt and hands it to him, only the shirt is apparently crazy wrinkly so he pulls out an ironing board and irons it while my mom tracks down the rest of the suit. She brings it out to him and he apparently changes there in my house only to find that the suit is too big. Shunning convention the brave chiropractor gets back in the limo wearing my suit despite that. Apparently the president was pleased with the suit.
After recounting the dream he asked, "Do you own a suit?"
"No, I don't."
Turns out that not reading up on men's college basketball, disregarding rankings and picking teams to win based on their names is a bad way to go about filling in your brackets, which is to say that I'm getting the pants beat off me. Still, it's fun.
Odd story today. I went to the chiropractor because I've been having some issues with my right shoulder (it turns out I have tendonitis but that's not the story). I've been going to this guy for about 9 years and I'm friends with his son so we know one another pretty well. Anyway, while he's contorting my spine in new and creative ways he starts telling me about this dream he had the other night. Apparently it starts out and he's driving George W. Bush's limo to Alto, he says this felt perfectly natural at the time. At one point George leans forward and says to him, "You could have at least worn a suit." Looking down my chiropractor realizes that he's just wearing regular clothes, so he decides he'll go score a suit. So where does he go? To my house to borrow one from me.
So he shows up at my place only I'm not home, but luckilly my mom is there and she starts helping him find my suit. She brings down the white shirt and hands it to him, only the shirt is apparently crazy wrinkly so he pulls out an ironing board and irons it while my mom tracks down the rest of the suit. She brings it out to him and he apparently changes there in my house only to find that the suit is too big. Shunning convention the brave chiropractor gets back in the limo wearing my suit despite that. Apparently the president was pleased with the suit.
After recounting the dream he asked, "Do you own a suit?"
"No, I don't."
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Necklace of Human Ears: Disgusting or Organic Bling?
70 degrees out in March in Michigan. Freaky.
Taking a break from reading "We The Living" to visit an old favorite, "Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal". For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of reading it... well you should read it because there's no adequate way to describe it without ruining some of the story.
On a completely unrelated note, my neighbor to the west doesn't believe in window treatments, or curtains... she has some sheets and blankets stuffed into the windows that face the road, but the windows that face my house are utterly bare. The practical upshot is, if I look out my windows facing the west, and they see me, I look like a pervert trying to peep on them, whether I was attempting to or not. Sure I'm a bit of a voyeur (I'm a guy ffs) but I feel that with this situation I can be well-behaved and still be thought guilty. That irks me.
So I was gonna tell a random story, but then I realized all the ones I can think of off the top of my head involve drunk people or bodily functions, and for whatever reason that seems awfully low-brow all of a sudden. Am I becoming more mature or a prude? I'm not sure.
Baking owns.
Taking a break from reading "We The Living" to visit an old favorite, "Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal". For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of reading it... well you should read it because there's no adequate way to describe it without ruining some of the story.
On a completely unrelated note, my neighbor to the west doesn't believe in window treatments, or curtains... she has some sheets and blankets stuffed into the windows that face the road, but the windows that face my house are utterly bare. The practical upshot is, if I look out my windows facing the west, and they see me, I look like a pervert trying to peep on them, whether I was attempting to or not. Sure I'm a bit of a voyeur (I'm a guy ffs) but I feel that with this situation I can be well-behaved and still be thought guilty. That irks me.
So I was gonna tell a random story, but then I realized all the ones I can think of off the top of my head involve drunk people or bodily functions, and for whatever reason that seems awfully low-brow all of a sudden. Am I becoming more mature or a prude? I'm not sure.
Baking owns.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Introverted Hypochondriac Fears Inner-Child Seriously ill
Today's post is brought to you by the only letter that is a vitamin and a bug, B.
I mentioned a few days back that I watched "Little Miss Sunshine". I'd just like to say how completely unexpected this movie was. I thought I was going to get an ensemble road trip comedy and that's it. This movie is an ensemble, features a road trip, and is certainly funny, but it's so much more than just that because the movie isn't really about the road trip and it certainly isn't TRYING to be funny. All it did was, simply, try to be as real as it possibly could be all the time. There were a few times when it deviated from this path. I could list what I think are the times and you could argue with me about them, so I think I'll just say that it did happen and you can agree with me in general.
So I got invited to my first ever NCAA tourney bracket deal today. I find this neat. I haven't seen a college basketball game in over 7 years and am utterly uninterested even now that I've filled out my brackets. I've picked Winthrop to go all the way. After doing so I did search the internet and found out that this is an actual school. Who knew?
GO EAGLES!
I mentioned a few days back that I watched "Little Miss Sunshine". I'd just like to say how completely unexpected this movie was. I thought I was going to get an ensemble road trip comedy and that's it. This movie is an ensemble, features a road trip, and is certainly funny, but it's so much more than just that because the movie isn't really about the road trip and it certainly isn't TRYING to be funny. All it did was, simply, try to be as real as it possibly could be all the time. There were a few times when it deviated from this path. I could list what I think are the times and you could argue with me about them, so I think I'll just say that it did happen and you can agree with me in general.
So I got invited to my first ever NCAA tourney bracket deal today. I find this neat. I haven't seen a college basketball game in over 7 years and am utterly uninterested even now that I've filled out my brackets. I've picked Winthrop to go all the way. After doing so I did search the internet and found out that this is an actual school. Who knew?
GO EAGLES!
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Canine Narcissist Claims "Puppy Love" for Himself
Do you ever get an idea that's funny, but you're not sure where it came from and then you start to worry you've sub-consciously plagarized someone else? Well that's how I feel about this title.
To start off today's wonderful trip through my brain, I think you should watch the video I was forced to view earlier today. Be advised, if you have a soul that is currently un-tainted, you may want to skip it.
Hopefully that works. Never done this whole embedded video thing before.
Anyway, now that you've seen that bit of depravity, I think it's time I talked about it. Part of me wanted to write "discuss" in the previous sentence but honesty got the better of me. First off, what is the artist-I believe this is Fergie in the video, wearing a wig-trying to convey? Sure she's loves shoes, but are they real shoes or metaphorical shoes? Are the $300 shoes actually shoes that cost $300 or does the 300 somehow pertain to upcoming movie "300" which is based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller which is in turn based on the actual Battle of Thermopylae where 300 Spartan Hoplites (in addition to around 1,000 other soldiers) strove to stall the advancing Persian army (all of them wearing SHOES) so their main force could be made ready.
Now if only I could connect that with Kevin Bacon.
To start off today's wonderful trip through my brain, I think you should watch the video I was forced to view earlier today. Be advised, if you have a soul that is currently un-tainted, you may want to skip it.
Hopefully that works. Never done this whole embedded video thing before.
Anyway, now that you've seen that bit of depravity, I think it's time I talked about it. Part of me wanted to write "discuss" in the previous sentence but honesty got the better of me. First off, what is the artist-I believe this is Fergie in the video, wearing a wig-trying to convey? Sure she's loves shoes, but are they real shoes or metaphorical shoes? Are the $300 shoes actually shoes that cost $300 or does the 300 somehow pertain to upcoming movie "300" which is based on the graphic novel by Frank Miller which is in turn based on the actual Battle of Thermopylae where 300 Spartan Hoplites (in addition to around 1,000 other soldiers) strove to stall the advancing Persian army (all of them wearing SHOES) so their main force could be made ready.
Now if only I could connect that with Kevin Bacon.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Silly Putty is Thicker Than Marshmallow Fluff
No title explanation today.
I watched "Little Miss Sunshine" earlier today. More on that at a later date when I've had more time to process. Wonderful movie.
As you know (if you've read my previous blog entries, judging by the number of comments I've gotten so far that would be all none of you) I'm reading "We The Living" by Ayn Rand. If you'll permit me (all of you 0 readers) I'll forego my amusing story for this entry and will, instead, discuss a section of the book that just grabbed ahold of me and shook me like I was a baby in the care of an insane Brittish nanny.
In this section, Kira- our main character and a Bourgeois (which in this Marxist sense means capitalist in an era of communism)-and her unlikely friend Andrei-a communist, soldier and member of the secret police-are discussing what the common bond is in their relationship given that they're polar opposite in political/social view. Believing she has identified the problem, Kira explains that their roots are the same, their base worldview as it pertains to the divine or lack thereof in this case. To further explain Kira asks: "Do you believe in God, Andrei?"
Andrei responds: "No."
"Neither do I. But that's a favorite question of mine. An upside-down question, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if I asked people whether they believed in life, they’d never understand what I meant. It’s a bad question. It can mean so much that it really means nothing. So I ask them if they believe in God. And if they say they do-then, I know they don’t believe in life."
"Why?"
"Because, you see, God-whatever anyone chooses to call God-is one’s highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life. It’s a rare gift, you know, to feel reverence for your own life and want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here, now, for your very own. To imagine a heaven and then not to dream of it, but to demand it."
Now to start, it's easy to see that her view of God is fundamentally flawed. Those who believe in God ascribe to Him abilities that no mortal indivdual could ever possess. One may aspire to know all, be everywhere at once, and other things that man belives God is capable of and one would of course never achieve any of them. Rather, it's the latter portion of Kira's second diatribe that really got me.
I believe that people get stuck without ever knowing it. They get it in their minds to pursue a certain path in life and never deviate because it never occurs to them to do so. We simply can't imagine what we've never experienced, even if we could it never crosses our minds that we ought to. Even some common fantasies, such as teenagers imagining what sex will be like, are so far off we wonder, afterward, why the hell we bothered with them in the first place.
Imagine greatness for yourself, then-if you can-pursue it. Don't torture yourself with dreams that you're un-willing or un-able to accomplish or even chase after. To put it simply: Go Big or Go Home.
I watched "Little Miss Sunshine" earlier today. More on that at a later date when I've had more time to process. Wonderful movie.
As you know (if you've read my previous blog entries, judging by the number of comments I've gotten so far that would be all none of you) I'm reading "We The Living" by Ayn Rand. If you'll permit me (all of you 0 readers) I'll forego my amusing story for this entry and will, instead, discuss a section of the book that just grabbed ahold of me and shook me like I was a baby in the care of an insane Brittish nanny.
In this section, Kira- our main character and a Bourgeois (which in this Marxist sense means capitalist in an era of communism)-and her unlikely friend Andrei-a communist, soldier and member of the secret police-are discussing what the common bond is in their relationship given that they're polar opposite in political/social view. Believing she has identified the problem, Kira explains that their roots are the same, their base worldview as it pertains to the divine or lack thereof in this case. To further explain Kira asks: "Do you believe in God, Andrei?"
Andrei responds: "No."
"Neither do I. But that's a favorite question of mine. An upside-down question, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, if I asked people whether they believed in life, they’d never understand what I meant. It’s a bad question. It can mean so much that it really means nothing. So I ask them if they believe in God. And if they say they do-then, I know they don’t believe in life."
"Why?"
"Because, you see, God-whatever anyone chooses to call God-is one’s highest conception of the highest possible. And whoever places his highest conception above his own possibility thinks very little of himself and his life. It’s a rare gift, you know, to feel reverence for your own life and want the best, the greatest, the highest possible, here, now, for your very own. To imagine a heaven and then not to dream of it, but to demand it."
Now to start, it's easy to see that her view of God is fundamentally flawed. Those who believe in God ascribe to Him abilities that no mortal indivdual could ever possess. One may aspire to know all, be everywhere at once, and other things that man belives God is capable of and one would of course never achieve any of them. Rather, it's the latter portion of Kira's second diatribe that really got me.
I believe that people get stuck without ever knowing it. They get it in their minds to pursue a certain path in life and never deviate because it never occurs to them to do so. We simply can't imagine what we've never experienced, even if we could it never crosses our minds that we ought to. Even some common fantasies, such as teenagers imagining what sex will be like, are so far off we wonder, afterward, why the hell we bothered with them in the first place.
Imagine greatness for yourself, then-if you can-pursue it. Don't torture yourself with dreams that you're un-willing or un-able to accomplish or even chase after. To put it simply: Go Big or Go Home.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Quantum Shaving Foam
Today's post title comes from Quantum Foam and Shaving. Since I'm not a physicist and am currently sporting a (manly) beard I'm not qualified to discuss either.
In what is probably an overzealous display toward something I will soon grow bored with, I've now posted two days in a row.
First I'd like you to turn your attention toward this page's links, over there on the upper right, yeah there, right below the machine-gun-toting-gopher. That top one is my Deviant Art page. I've got a collection of my photography over there. It's pretty much restricted to landscapes, waterscapes and graves so... you should check it out.
And it's fun story time again! This one I like to call, "Double-O Negative" - a title borrowed from The Goonies.
As most of you know, my mom had surgery this past spring to remove a tumor from her throat/mouth area. This story takes place during the actual surgery at the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor. A bit of back-story will serve us well here. First off, my dad and I had combined for about 5 hours of sleep between the two of us and I think 4 1/2 of them belonged to me. My sister wouldn't be there and the surgery itself was expected to take somewhere between 6 and 8 hours. To put it simply, both of us were bored, tired and totally stressed out.
The hospital itelf has several waiting areas so it's nice to be able to wander around from place to place while you wait. After about 3 hours I'd gotten the idea that I needed to take some pictures on my camera phone, maybe I was thinking of comemorating the event... maybe I just wanted to show someone the sign I'd a given stared at vaccantly for half an hour, either way I took the picture, entirely disregarding the news report I'd seen a few days prior about how terrorists are using camera phones to case possible bombing targets. Anyway, not 3 minutes later, Double-O Negative shows up. Dude is dressed in a black 3-piece suit, sunglasses and an earbud. I kid you not, if I saw this guy pull up in a black SUV in front of the hospital I'd start looking around for the president.
On top of that, the guy doesn't even try to be sneaky. I'm not sure if that was due to his arrogance or his awareness that it was pointless to attempt incognito behavior since his outfit made everyone expect Sean Connery to come around the corner and yell, "You're the man now dawg!" at him. Anyway, he positions himself about 20 feet ahead of us and against the left-hand wall. I noticed him immediately (how could I possibly miss Baby Hughey in his secret service outfit?) and pointed him out to my dad, who is immediately pissed off. The guy then makes his presence even more obvious by strolling back and forth from the wall to the front enterance and chatting with the valet guys, presumably hoping I would take another picture with my cell phone to send back to some terrorist sleeper-cell.
During this time, as Double-O Negative strolls back and forth, a patient in a wheel chair begins suffering from Nostophobia (fear of returning home) or possibly Stenophobia (fear of narrow things or places, it was one of those turnstile doors) or maybe some other issues (thank you phobialist.com) but the practical upshot was, she refused to move through a door and was openly weeping at the prospect of doing so. The only thing that could've made our situation more absurd was if the Marx Brothers had come strolling down the hallway re-anacting their old films (I'd horse-whip ya boy but I don't have a horse!).
Finally, fate turned in our favor when our phobic friend decided to go through the door, trapping Double-O Negative out in the vestibule. Seizing the opportunity, my dad and I made a break for it, losing our hanger-on and, I'd like to think, costing him his job or at least the pay bonus he would've received for catching a possible terrorist suspect.
In what is probably an overzealous display toward something I will soon grow bored with, I've now posted two days in a row.
First I'd like you to turn your attention toward this page's links, over there on the upper right, yeah there, right below the machine-gun-toting-gopher. That top one is my Deviant Art page. I've got a collection of my photography over there. It's pretty much restricted to landscapes, waterscapes and graves so... you should check it out.
And it's fun story time again! This one I like to call, "Double-O Negative" - a title borrowed from The Goonies.
As most of you know, my mom had surgery this past spring to remove a tumor from her throat/mouth area. This story takes place during the actual surgery at the University of Michigan Hospital in Ann Arbor. A bit of back-story will serve us well here. First off, my dad and I had combined for about 5 hours of sleep between the two of us and I think 4 1/2 of them belonged to me. My sister wouldn't be there and the surgery itself was expected to take somewhere between 6 and 8 hours. To put it simply, both of us were bored, tired and totally stressed out.
The hospital itelf has several waiting areas so it's nice to be able to wander around from place to place while you wait. After about 3 hours I'd gotten the idea that I needed to take some pictures on my camera phone, maybe I was thinking of comemorating the event... maybe I just wanted to show someone the sign I'd a given stared at vaccantly for half an hour, either way I took the picture, entirely disregarding the news report I'd seen a few days prior about how terrorists are using camera phones to case possible bombing targets. Anyway, not 3 minutes later, Double-O Negative shows up. Dude is dressed in a black 3-piece suit, sunglasses and an earbud. I kid you not, if I saw this guy pull up in a black SUV in front of the hospital I'd start looking around for the president.
On top of that, the guy doesn't even try to be sneaky. I'm not sure if that was due to his arrogance or his awareness that it was pointless to attempt incognito behavior since his outfit made everyone expect Sean Connery to come around the corner and yell, "You're the man now dawg!" at him. Anyway, he positions himself about 20 feet ahead of us and against the left-hand wall. I noticed him immediately (how could I possibly miss Baby Hughey in his secret service outfit?) and pointed him out to my dad, who is immediately pissed off. The guy then makes his presence even more obvious by strolling back and forth from the wall to the front enterance and chatting with the valet guys, presumably hoping I would take another picture with my cell phone to send back to some terrorist sleeper-cell.
During this time, as Double-O Negative strolls back and forth, a patient in a wheel chair begins suffering from Nostophobia (fear of returning home) or possibly Stenophobia (fear of narrow things or places, it was one of those turnstile doors) or maybe some other issues (thank you phobialist.com) but the practical upshot was, she refused to move through a door and was openly weeping at the prospect of doing so. The only thing that could've made our situation more absurd was if the Marx Brothers had come strolling down the hallway re-anacting their old films (I'd horse-whip ya boy but I don't have a horse!).
Finally, fate turned in our favor when our phobic friend decided to go through the door, trapping Double-O Negative out in the vestibule. Seizing the opportunity, my dad and I made a break for it, losing our hanger-on and, I'd like to think, costing him his job or at least the pay bonus he would've received for catching a possible terrorist suspect.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Dead Hookers and Quantum Theory
To clear things up, the title has nothing to do with anything that will be covered in this post.
I started reading Ayn Rand's "We The Living" a couple days back. I'm enjoying it so far. It's really opened my eyes to the situation that existed in early 20th century communist Russia and also gave some insight into the so-called McCarthy Era.
Fun story time! I like to call it, "The Most Expensive Job Interview I've Ever Had"
So a few weeks back I had an interview set up for a counseling position at Pretty Lake Vacation Camp. It's down in Mattawan so I left about a little over an hour before my interview. I roll into town about 10 minutes before I'm scheduled to start. I'm in the left-hand lane and about to go through an intersection when the guy towing a backhoe in the right hand lane decides he needs to swing into my lane to make a right hand turn. I jump on the brakes, which feel fine for a fleeting moment and then the pedal slams all the way to the floor. Yippee, my brake lines just broke. Choking down panic and enough curse words to make a sailor blush I manage to navigate my truck into a parking lot and am able to stop thanks to a dual-master cylinder (I don't know what this means other than you do have a little stopping ability even when you don't have brake lines).
So I call the guy I'm supposed to be interviewing with from my trusty cell-phone, which is only showing 1 bar of power remaining I might add. He comes, picks me up and takes me the remaining 2 miles to camp. The interview goes well and I think that, perhaps, my woes for the day are over. WRONG!
I try to get ahold of some friends, relatives and so on. None are available. Finally I get ahold of my sister who is over 2 hours away and is actually able to come out there. It's now about 4pm, meaning she should be there by 6pm. I get a call about 5:30 from my sister. Turns out she needed to pee and pulled off the freeway in Shelbyville. Unfortunately for my sister there isn't anywhere to pee in Shelbyville. She soon discovers this and attempts to turn around in a driveway and only manage to get her car stuck. Seeing forced opportunity, Melissa pees on the driveway holding her car captive. About a half hour later the owner of the driveway with the forzen pee-snow on it arrives, followed shortly by the police Melissa called. After much 'Man-Talk' they push her out of the driveway. During this ordeal my cellphone goes dead so I'm not entirely certain, at the time, that she's even out of the driveway.
About 7:30 my sister shows up at parking lot I've been hanging out at for the last three and a half hours. We go inside a nearby restaraunt where I buy her dinner and set about getting a tow for my truck. We get back home, without further incident, about 9:30. The tow truck shows up about 1am after getting lost a couple of times, which they dutifully charged me for, the grand total coming to about $340.
Looking on the bright side though, I got the job.
I started reading Ayn Rand's "We The Living" a couple days back. I'm enjoying it so far. It's really opened my eyes to the situation that existed in early 20th century communist Russia and also gave some insight into the so-called McCarthy Era.
Fun story time! I like to call it, "The Most Expensive Job Interview I've Ever Had"
So a few weeks back I had an interview set up for a counseling position at Pretty Lake Vacation Camp. It's down in Mattawan so I left about a little over an hour before my interview. I roll into town about 10 minutes before I'm scheduled to start. I'm in the left-hand lane and about to go through an intersection when the guy towing a backhoe in the right hand lane decides he needs to swing into my lane to make a right hand turn. I jump on the brakes, which feel fine for a fleeting moment and then the pedal slams all the way to the floor. Yippee, my brake lines just broke. Choking down panic and enough curse words to make a sailor blush I manage to navigate my truck into a parking lot and am able to stop thanks to a dual-master cylinder (I don't know what this means other than you do have a little stopping ability even when you don't have brake lines).
So I call the guy I'm supposed to be interviewing with from my trusty cell-phone, which is only showing 1 bar of power remaining I might add. He comes, picks me up and takes me the remaining 2 miles to camp. The interview goes well and I think that, perhaps, my woes for the day are over. WRONG!
I try to get ahold of some friends, relatives and so on. None are available. Finally I get ahold of my sister who is over 2 hours away and is actually able to come out there. It's now about 4pm, meaning she should be there by 6pm. I get a call about 5:30 from my sister. Turns out she needed to pee and pulled off the freeway in Shelbyville. Unfortunately for my sister there isn't anywhere to pee in Shelbyville. She soon discovers this and attempts to turn around in a driveway and only manage to get her car stuck. Seeing forced opportunity, Melissa pees on the driveway holding her car captive. About a half hour later the owner of the driveway with the forzen pee-snow on it arrives, followed shortly by the police Melissa called. After much 'Man-Talk' they push her out of the driveway. During this ordeal my cellphone goes dead so I'm not entirely certain, at the time, that she's even out of the driveway.
About 7:30 my sister shows up at parking lot I've been hanging out at for the last three and a half hours. We go inside a nearby restaraunt where I buy her dinner and set about getting a tow for my truck. We get back home, without further incident, about 9:30. The tow truck shows up about 1am after getting lost a couple of times, which they dutifully charged me for, the grand total coming to about $340.
Looking on the bright side though, I got the job.
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