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|One week from last Wednesday, March 24, 2004|
Aw, krippendorf! I completely forgot! You know whose birth-date was last week? Jared Rochelle. Not anyone who I knew especially well (or you, either, I expect), but I remember because his March-the-Seventeenth date was the same as mine. In regcognition of this, I ended up going to the log cabin. Not my log cabin, not just some log cabin that I know around here (indeed, I had no prior knowledge of its existence), that I refer to as "the" because I know of no other, but a restaurant called "The Log Cabin." So. Hardly my type of food; a lot of plain meat dishes, maybe with honey mustard or strawberry mayonnaise drizzled over it if you ever forget to ask that it not be. However, I was not paying, and neither was anyone upon whom I financially depend, so I did not complain. Actually, I did, but afterwards I felt bad about it. So.
This kind of cake is called a pie. Mud pie. I've had mud pie before, but was worried because the menu did not specify whether it was "Missisippi" or not. I was apprehensive, since this place was just gritty, grubby and lumberjacky enough to use real mud, and then I was even more worried that I might end up with something altogether unstomachable. But in the end, the only thing wrong with it was the stick of baby dynamite that got stuck in it. In real life I'm hardly the loveless mongrel I act like here, so I did the right thing.
"Mommy, I'm home!"
And... I don't feel like transitioning into the next picture
or commenting upon it. Neineenine thentth, yo.
I got this balloon at Wal-Mart, but it claims to come from Hallmark. A store employee found the balloon wandering around, trying to find its way home, and somehow the Wal-person came to ask if it was mine. It wasn't, but I have it now anyway, and I am of the thought that the focused, dedicated, hard working caterpillar being messily devoured by the emergent selfish, easy-going, gluttonous, image conscious butterfly is a positive uplifting birth-date message (I don't know that such a thing actually happens, but I like to think it does).
The balloon says (yes, it speaks too!) not to use it near power-lines, and also that misuse of the balloon, regardless of what variety of lines are involved, may cause personal injury. A nice warning, but I would appreciate having explained how one uses a balloon, or rather, what steps must be taken to no longer be using it, so that I may direct the injuries toward someone else. Possibly even someone who does not exist.
All right, I'm done. Your turn.
Don't tell anyone I told you, but the bass level on a car's sound system can actually be adjusted. Most people don't know this, but I'm letting you in on the secret because I like you. Not much, but I like you. Knowing when to utilize this feature can solve many of your bass trebles.
|Public Drunkenness Awareness Day, March 17, 2004|
Ehhh, you know all that copyright 1998 yuuyuucutietootiebaby42 you sometimes see on those personal WBS homepages? Apparently, and this will shock you, I know, that means not a graham thing. Just saying "copyright" doesn't really do anything a'tall. But my copyright is not for this website. I dare say that'd be unnecessary. It's for the play I wrote. Don't worry (if I'd had amnesia and been told I'd written a play, I'd certainly worry), it's not a "real" play. I only wrote the story as a play because I hate pronouns, "and then there are only so many ways you can say someone said something before you contrive an explosion that leaves all characters deaf and mute," I quipped unfunnily. And somehow or anotherhow this story got into the possession of some crazy person who actually thought it possible to be performed. And I guess you need actual copyright for that.
It's certainly funny to see other people saying lines I'd written, but I suspect it bothers them immensely. If not the first, after two readings I'd be quite sick of the semantic napkin juggling. It's pretty annoying. It's like taking a great big bite out of an aluminium foil sandwich, and then taking another. I feel so terrible. The play also does not have a true ending (so don't even bother trying again with your friend). Since I did not write it to be performed, this was of little consequence until two or three weeks ago when I found out they wanted an ending. For whatever reason, a scene was eliminated -and can I just say that you have to be a fairly terrible playwrighter for your work to need to be adapted for its native format- this scene, one of only two scenes that feature three of them characters, and it just looks like I forgot about them. I felt, to validate their existences, obligated to hackishly work them into the new, only ending, but poor Fenfizzelt (the character, not the actor, whose name I know not, but it doesn't matter because his wife is pregnant or something so someone else is doing it now) is still left out. However, being a robot, Fenfizzelt lacks true emotions, so perhaps I make too much of an issue of this. Yes, so there are actors. And not "aspiring" ones, either. Not just dimps who signed up for the drama club and so therefore by definition may call themselves actors. I don't even think we have a drama club, what are you talking about?
One of them has an agent. I once knew someone named Jason (not that his name, or really anything at all about him, including this story, is relevant) who claimed to have an agent, maybe back around my 13 or 14th year of life. I did not believe he did, but he became so offended at my disbelief as to prompt me to pretend I meant something other than what I did. I should get an agent for that performance.
I thought I should "get the word out," as the kids like to say. If your call does not go through, please, please try again later! Jordan takes on all challenges.
|Wednesday, March 10, 2004|
Many bulletin boards and such things typically reflect the monthly theme at Grateway. As you know, February was Dark Skin Month, and the library had on special display books written by people who have it. Months are all about acknowledging the existence of disadvantaged minorities. February was also Dentistry Month, but I guess dentists don't write books. You can't deny however, that there are less dentist people than black people (ones who are dentists don't count torward either total), and they are discriminated against just as much. Case in point: they also need to share a month.
There can be no disputing to whom March belongs, however. Raise awareness with your own door, wall, or other solid vertical object and join us as we observe Homosexual Midget month.
|Saturday, March 06, 2004|
Were you aware that rrrrrrruffles have ridges? They do. The bag says they do, and I say they do. That's not a compliment, it's an observation. They don't necessarily taste good, but they do have ridges. Ehhh, and [don't bother trying to] correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't they only called Ruffles at all because of this? If you were to inform me Ruffles have ruffles, it wouldn't sound any smarter, (in fact, you'd sound like more of an idiot than usual) but it would at least put an end to all the rumors. I heard a rumor that there were some rumors.
I set off a metal-detector today. No one noticed.
For the sake of history and my own memory, should I lose it, I return on 2-25-2005 to inform you it was actually a property-of-library detector which I disturbed, but the ensuing noise was plenty loud enough to indicate a more threatening breach of security gone unnoticed.
This star looks like it really wants to know why you had it neutered.
I should audition for fear factor.
|Tuesday, February 24, 2004|
|The bards have long told of a dark and mysterious ancient vanquished force who would one day return to spread horror and terror across the land.|
|Once known but sadly forgotten with the passage of time, for years the sinister creature's identity remained a mystery whilst it plotted its devious strategy in seclusion.|
|Only recently has the foul being again emerged and made its name known. A crazed menace claiming to represent the earth's wishes, it was by his hand that much Gore was seen to run in the streets.|
|Or at least, that's what I heard. I hardly see what's so scary about Nader. Despite having unlimited magic points and the ability to heal any ally on the map, it should be noted that Nader is only at level 1, with a meager DP rating of 7, and thus is easily eliimated from contention once encountered.||
|He would recruit more followers and run a more effective campaign, but he is only known to have 175 zenny to his name at any one time.|
BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!
|Monday, February 23, 2004|
No no no. This picture is too small for this page. Must... fill... space...!
I was just thinking about that General Electric Kung-Fu Lassie (I didn't want to, but the ad came on again. And again). Whatever does that have to do with selling generally electric things? They certainly aren't impressing me with their technology, since the scene isn't even in color. Right. I was just thinking that.
|Aw naw, is it Friday, February 20, 2004 already?|
I read by accident that february 14 between 6 and 7 PMs is a good time to suggest marriage, because the moon is in the best alignment, and this has some kind of effect on mood, but you should not do it after seven, because Saturn is too close by then. I say, ask away anyway. In my thinking, if your relationship is so weak that this matters, it's probably for the best that you don't spend every single other day of the year together. Since I don't believe there's an evil corporate conspiracy behind it at all, I think that it is purely a coincidence and nothing more that the day this "expert" mentioned also happens to be the Valentine's one.
Heh heh. Someone gave me World Championship Wrestling valentines once. I had kept them around for the purposes of scanning when I left my previous house, because at the time, I did not have a [working] scanner, and now that I do, I cannot find the cards anywhere. They said "from student council" on them. I went to that kind of school. The one where not only can an entire supposedly significant council agree that is their duty and actually possible to express personal and meaningful love toward all persons, but that professional wrestlers are the way to do it. Because what says "I love you" better than a nearly naked, pointing, angry snarling man amidst steel scaffolding? THIS SUNDAY AT THE GORBO ARENA WHEN I GET YOU IN THE RING BROTHER I WILL CATCH YOU WITH THE DIGIRIDOO AND I WILL COVER YOU FOR THE 1-2-3 AND I WILL MAKE YOU MY VALENTINE AND THERE AIN'T A DAB THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT. AND THAT'S THE BOTTOM LINE, IF YOU SMELL WHAT RUNS WILD IN THE HAMSTER WHEEL! This may seem like an odd move, but understand that of all the decisions the Student Council made, this was the only one that affected me in any way. I'm not surprised, seeing as I didn't vote for any of them. Actually, no one did. Whoever said they wanted to be president first ended up as president, and then on from there. Of course with that system, the vice-president has as much power as the president and the comptroller, that is- none. Not to imply that handing out valentines is an easy task; if it was, I probably wouldn't have ended up with two of them. But I did. Or maybe the heartless crushing machines love me twice as much. One was the guy I just described (right around the caps lock section), and another was Raven,
Here's a fascinating Raven tidbit I came across while trying to find any proof that I hadn't imagined these things. I was certainly shocked at how many Raven facts there were after seeing all the vacant space in his valentine profile.
Raven became involved in the Hardcore Division, becoming the all-time holder of the WWE Hardcore Title with 27 title reigns, including a title defense @ Wrestlemania X7 against Kane & Big Show. He feuded with Molly Holly trying to win her over with the help of Tori, who was in a ninja phase.
First of all, nothing that you can do 27 times in one year might posssibly have gone on for long enough to bring out the word "reign." But don't you hate that ninja phase? I remember when I was in a ninja phase. I was five years old, and always throwing star-shaped pieces of metal at people and disappearing in bursts of smoke and kidnapping Ronald Reagan. Put in the same position, I probably would even have helped Raven to another 30 second reign just because his name sounds the same and this would put me in good position to kidnap him. A coworker approached me the other day seeking my advice regarding two children with a similar problem to the one I'd had. I said not to worry, they're just going through that ninja phase, and I only suggested that they should be kept away from Eliza Dushku. This story is of course a fabrication; I don't work!
Ehhh, as long as I've mentioned wrestling, I'd love to know why THE FIRST NETWORK FOR MENS isn't advertising Wrestlemania XY.
February 14 (yes, it took me six days to get around to putting this here) was also Pete's birth-date. Nice Pete can operate a piano. I am enrolled in a piano class. Ah, at last the subject is me again. So yes, a piano class. "Why don't you take a drawing class?" Why don't you just admit you think I'm a terrible artist? None of that. I don't want to go through it, learn nothing, and then have some lousy krippendorf claiming to have taught me everything once I'm famous.
Ha ha ha ha.
Piano. I could stand not being able to play one, and that's fine and well, because I don't expect to be able to. Right away I know things will not go well, because the man instructing the class speaks like the guy from Big Fish doing an Al Gore impression. Not so much a character flaw as a not-annoying-me-flaw. It's one of those things I could hate someone for, even if there's nothing they can do about it and no real reason for them to try even if they can. Eventually he announces that the class next week is canceled. There is one per week, and this is the first week. Doy! All this time to practice nothing. Two weeks later I enter and he's not there. He's taking a leave of absense for the semester's remainder. So now not only am I not going to be able to play a piano, I won't be able to get angry at that guy's voice, either.
Mmmm, there's a different person now. I sense we will not get along well, because this is the first to have a problem with me writing Freepfop Frupidor, Bimbelb Bickbyarvice or Griegar Gargrebliod on the class's sign-in sheet. Others just assumed the one student they couldn't put a name to might be the one name they couldn't put a student to, but we can't all be Columbo, can we. Maybe I'll write that name next week. Or Duckman or Michael Richards, if I really want to simultaneously amuse me and alienate not-me. Eventually this person gets to talking about how Every Good Bird Does, contrary to popular belief, Fly, and how this is supposed to help the students in the room read music, but it doesn't help me, possibly because all I can think about are emus and ostriches, and how anything bad about them might possibly be not bad in birds that do fly. Besides their flight skill, obviously. Every time teacher person stops talking for a moment, I hear from a certain keyboard in the room... doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo... (this makes more sense when I say it than type it). Oh, right. Thank you, "my grandmother taught me these songs" dork. Very good. You can play the first few notes to Heart and Soul and All Them Jazzes. Congratulations. You're obviously too good for this class. So get the eck out. I can understand you want to show off; that's what the head-phone port is for. No one is more impressed than you, trust me. Alright, maybe you weren't here the first day. What's everyone else's excuse, then? I think maybe three people, including me, actually brought the ear things in. And this is after two weeks. There couldn't have been any mistake. I guess some people just want everyone else in the world to know that they know how Fur Elise begins. Over and over and over again. If this must happen, can we at least try some interesting songs? Maybe ones that we don't hear so often, ones that I might actually be able to get behind the awkward, gradual memorization of? Like the theme musics from MacGyver or Sledgehammer. They've been off-air for years, and Vh1's half-wit half-celebrities aren't going to sing them after not being prompted off-camera at all. Yeh, you try playing that. Not that we're even here to do that. The class is about proper finger placement, smooth note transitions, and being able to play songs without fiddling around like an idiot first. At least, I hope that's what it's about. In the two weeks during which nothing happened, I was playing guardian legend music and super-muncher intermissions without anyone's help, and if that's all there is to it then we've wasted our money to endure repetetive cacophony that isn't even synchronized and not get to leave until 5:20pm every wednesday until May. All I'll have gotten out of it was the second half of this web-site entry, which was quite too long already.
|Let's say... Wednesday, January 28, 2004|
I don't know why (or maybe I do), but the the phrase cactus crooks just seems funny to me. It sounds like the actual cactus are running around breaking into people's homes and stealing things. They're just thugs. Punks. Ne'erdowells. Somebody needs to stop those unruly misbehaving cactus. You might then think that cactus rustling was a good thing, and about time, but it is, in actuality, the same thing. It's just the same thing as a different thing.
I probably should have saved that second page when I had an opportunity to do so; the link is now redirected to whatever that site's current agenda is.