The Year of the Dragon

I went with my roomates this afternoon to get Chinese food from the food hut in the middle of Broliums grocery store's produce section. Odd I know, but nevertheless true. As I was eating the burnt rice coated with pepper, I was reminded of a favorite experience I had some time ago.

We were headed to a church in Syracuse to play some volleyball. We picked up a friend that had moved from England. We met him at his place where he showed us his massive inscence collection and a tipi he had built out of poles in his yard. He went to go change into some "active wear" before the game. He came back out in some pink capris and asked if that was appropriate active wear. It was good enough so we went on our way. We stopped at Wegman's to hit up their massive chinese buffet bar. It was priced by the pound so we all sparingly choose what to fill our white plastic containers with. Except our English friend, he just started filling his tray with everything there was. He went to weigh his carton and print out the price tag when it rang up to over 40 bucks! We all laughed as friends probably shouldn't but do, and he decided to bite the bullet. He then realized he hadn't even brought his wallet. He reacted quickly, he walked over to the trash and casually dropped his carton in. A nearby employee saw this all happen and came over to confront him about it. He asked "Did you just throw away a full carton of food?" "Umm, no." As we were leaving, our foreign friend was feeling pretty guilty. He remarked he couldn't believed he'd flat out lied to that guy. He then vowed to return one day and to buy a 40 dollar toaster, then after paying for it to put it back on the shelf. It was a day to remember indeed.

Anybody Have a Cough Drop?

Early in the year 1879, William H. Luden crafted out of his blood, sweat, tears, and a pile of sugar a throat lozenge that would soothe the ache of throats for many years to come. Mr. Luden's company also crafted the world famous 5th Avenue candy bar. Although it doesn't quite aid an ailing cough, it does taste better than a bucket of herbal remedies. Mr Luden's however didn't plan well enough for the future. I know this because he has yet again failed me and Luden's lovers everywhere. I found myself looking for the flashy mini box of throat drops that made the L-word commonplace in our country. I quickly walked to the nearby grocery store and scanned the stocked shelves. Much to my amazement, there were no boxes of the beloved drops. I snapped my fingers in the hopes that a fairy or flashy salesman would appear and solve my dilema, but no one answered my call. I set of with a fresh batch of determination brewing, for the long walk to Walgreens. The walk was made all the longer by the unrelenting cold. I arrived at my destination and found I was unable to feel my face enough to smile at the attendant near the door who greeted me. It indeed was cold. I rushed back to the trusted pharmacy and checked the massive cold aisle for the throat drops I was sure would be sitting on the shelves, a bright glow of white light surrounding them in a beautiful scene. The scene however was much different. It was much the same as it had been at the grocery store. I realized my best chance was to try the gas stations on the other end of town. They stocked little boxes of things right? Right. So my journey took on an epic scale as I again set out in search of my quarry. I made it to the closest gas station, locally famous for it's low priced big sized drinks, and found they had no cold remedies at all. The best they could offer was a new kind of tootsie roll that had apple flavoring and a green color. I took a bite of the Tootsie-monstrosity, and crossed the street to the other unfamous local gas station. Again I found no remedies for niether the common cold, nor for the cold breweing within my heart. I returned home, defeated. I checked other retailers, online. I found that I could indeed obtain my lozenges, but for a steep price. I would have to purchase a case of them, and a case was nearly 20 dollars. I decided to eat sour patch kids instead.

I've Been Looking For These Angels in the Snow

This morning I had class at 8, which sucked since I had gone to bed only several hours previous. I had a big project due and not much time to do it in. After saying my last goodbyes to my bed, and vowing to return later, I struck of into the cold brisk morning. I had no sooner stepped out the door when I felt the unmistakable pains of a cold metal shovel hitting my face. Once I regained my senses, I realized I'd mistaken. It was in fact the cold that had hit me like a freight train, the searing miserable cold. I did like John Travolta and hustled to class as fast as my stiffening legs would take me. Memories of my warm bed haunted me each step I took. If not for my project, I would have eagerly accepted an invitation from myself to miss class. I took refuge in a building nearby, comparing the symptoms of frostbite to my current predicament. It seemed I had an unmistakable case of frozen ears. I gave myself a hastily prepared prep talk worthy of an unsolicited screenplay, and headed back out into the cold to fight the frost witch of the north. I made it to class and discovered that it apparently was -18 degrees outside and with the windchill it was -38 degrees. Why did I walk to school in that? After finishing class and suffering an oddly familiar scenario, I vowed to not leave the warmth of my home again. Ever! That said, I left it again for my next class.

Later this evening, I had plans to visit a good friend for dinner. I went out to my car to warm it up before going and found the doors frozen shut. I don't mean a white printer paper with Sharpie saying "Closed" shut, but frozen solidly shut. The doors might as well have been welded. The car had a thick 1 inch thick coating of ice. I chipped at it and pulled, and even gave myself the heimlech using the door as a chair, yet it wouldn't budge. I began the long arduous journey on foot. Several blocks and right turns later, I was there.
What happened to global warming, when did I move to Antartica? These are questions in need of answers. Why have the sidewalks been coated with ice for a month? Does the county not pay for snow plows? Who is watering my lawn?
The answers are unmistakable. Penguins.

Resolving Resolves Nothing

Resolving to do something doesn't make it happen, if anything it's less likely to happen after you've resolved to do it. Example: This weekend I resolved to read all the chapters of Art History that I've missed. (I have only been to class twice this semester, that's twice out of like 6 times. Also, I have only read the introduction pages.)
I went to class the other day for my second time, and discovered that we were now talking about Egypt. I somehow had missed everything between cave paintings and the pyramids. That is a huge chunk of time! I would give you the number of years but I haven't read the book enough to know. I also resolved to finish my 100 sketches for art class, and to do some other homework. It took me 4 days to get 50 sketches done. I am sitting here now staring at my sketchbook feeling defeated, as if those 250 pages of spiral bound paper wore a scuffed leather jacket, had a raspy Puerto Rican accent, and carried a wooden baseball bat with the words "Assault and Battery" carved into it. The results of my resolutions are clear.

Recently I purchased several seasons of 24. I have never seen a full season of the show, but caught an interest watching quite a few episodes while visiting friends and awaiting prosecution. I resolved to watch an episode a night until I had finished the first season. I made it two nights before my flight went down in flaming glory, Mark Wahlburg at the helm. In conclusion, resolving to do something doesn't amount to doing something. Fat people stay fat because they don't do something. Lonely people stay lonely because they don't do something about it. Short people stay short becuase they don't do something about it. They all resolve to do something but in the end they resolve nothing. I resolve to stop resolving and start doing. Now I have some sketches to ignore until tomorrow.

The Sound of Trees Falling Down

I imagine you have to be born into the buisness of crafting coffins...

So I went to eat at Pizza Hut tonight. It was like being caught in the middle of an illegal day care. There was trash all over the floor and childfolk running amok like Christmas had just been cancelled. We all aged profoundly while waiting to even be seated. It would have been easier to just go plop down in a booth but their little "PLEASE, Wait to be Seated" signpost stood like a snarling gargoyle blocking the path. It was fortunate that we got glasses of water right off, or there would have been nothing between us and the thin line into cannibalism. In the amount of time it took to get a plain cheese pizza, we could have walked to the grocery store, bought a frozen pizza reminiscent of cardboard, walked home, preheated the oven to 450, and cooked the sucker till it was nice, crisp, and ready to cause some serious indigestion. I suppose we could even have written a nice cordial correspondence to a nice bubbly Italian man in Italy or Nevada and had him ship us a hand crafted pizza dish named after someone's not quite famous father. Needless to say it took forever, and was further irritating by the two employees sitting nearby chatting with friends instead of um, i don't know, helping customers! After we finished eating, the waitress avoided our table like we were wearing hazmat suits and passing out coloring books. She may even have gone on break while we sat waiting for someone, anyone to take our money. Well I soothed my aching heart by taking their metal cup full of crayons.

They Call Me a Cliff Diver

This morning I awoke to the sounds of a roomate of mine fighting with an ex girlfriend. He had thrown away something from their relationship and she was upset he had given it the curb. She cried out, "You can't throw it away! It means something!" He told her she could take it, but she wasn't interested because it reminded her of him. He didn't want it so it went in the trash. Nothing like waking up early, especially when you had plans to sleep in till 2 (or at least 11.)


Today quite possibly could've been my birthday. I say this because it was unexpectedly extravagent. Stocked full of glorious surprises and social interactions. I learned that Wild Cherry Pepsi is not part of a good nutritious breakfast. Eating leftover popcorn from the night before is surprisingly unsatisfying, there are copyright laws that are enforced diligently by Walmart of all places, and lastly I learned that I haven't grown up at all in the past 4 years... make that 17 years.

Am I a total redneck or am I a crafty genius for fixing my broken headlight with electrical tape? Time will tell, I imagine it won't be to my benifit. Anyways, I was lectured at Walmart today by a large and in charge photo center associate. Apparently old style state fair photos are copyrighted and Walmart doesn't print copyrighted photos. They had already printed them, but the fatty wouldn't sell them to me because I was a copyright infringer. So he hid them under a white paper and sent me away with a scolding, I assume he plans to hang the pictures in his den or nursery. I am amazed that Walmart, the scurge of the seven seas has taken to becoming robocop. Half thrift store, half retired mall cop, half parking lot, all low prices.

Since my loving sister and cousin braved the treacherous road to come visit, spontaneously, I thought I would spontaneously drop all I was doing, and also all I was going to pretend to be doing, to brave the elements and meet them for dinner. We went to Applebees. I was skeptical at first, and then again as we left. I browsed the menu and wondered aloud, very aloud, "Aren't they supposed to be famous for something besides their apples?" I had intended to be clever, and it probably was at the time, but looking back... Wow. Lame. We all ended up getting steak, except Brittany who reminded us that there is a 30% chance of getting puppy when ordering steak. We braved the odds and came out on top, except Jessie who ended up with puppy. To my utter amazement, the plate was half filled with brocoli. What?! Brocoli. Who eats brocoli with steak? Who eats a half plate of brocoli? Ever. It was at this moment, and earlier when I realized my own maturity, or rather lack thereof. I got bored waiting for the food and made a sandwich for my gum between two sugar packets, then wrapped the packets in electrical tape. I tore a napkin and then electical taped it back together. Then when the waitress brought Jessie her hot chocolate, it was covered in whipped cream which she hates. She said "I forgot to ask for no whipped cream!" That second I reached over and scooped all the whipped cream out of her cup with my hand and put it into my mouth coating my face. It was an act of love, not immaturity. I think I am just misunderstood, not a social deviant or childish wanker.

Pop Em' if You've Got Em'

Good news for my self-loving self, Chuck Norris came back for me, just as if I was a slightly overweight, inexperienced, back home rustic soldier with nothing left to gain and everything left to prove in his platoon. Who am I kidding, Chuck Norris is a platoon of one, and he only goes back for noobs if it means he can take on an entire army of highly trained Texas hating assassins. That said, thank goodness for express mail. It is definately worth the 17 dollars to not have to wait an extra few days....

Last night I decided to treat myself to some home popped popcorn from my pleasant home pop popcorn popping machine. (Say that backwards with your eyes closed!) Needless to say, I popped more than I had anticipated. The hot air and loud vaccum cleaner backfiring noise, it's all so enchanting. Add the bouncing kernels just waiting to be turned into fluffy puffs of corn and it is very easy to get carried away. Let's just say I got carried away. I still am unsure of why, but this house has NO big bowls. This presents a problem as the popcorn is flying out of the funnel like burning hot angry killer bees. I had a small bowl handy, but the popcorn swarmed me and soon it was flying everywhere. I reached for the next closest container, and soon filled a measuring cup to overflowing as well. At this point I gave up trying to get the popcorn into bowls or cups, it seemed so futile. I just used my body and arms to try and keep the popcorn from spilling onto the floor. By the time the machine had finished turning those sweet childlike kernels into an army of one, I had my arms full of popcorn, the floor was showered with it, it had fallen into two drawers that were slightly open, and I still had my two containers filled to overflowing. Where was I going to put all this popcorn? The answer, in the trash.

The Lucas is Watching

A long time ago in a galaxy not that far away...

An evil empire was created by a man with a headache. He wore a big red hat similar in shape to a coffee mug. This man wore oven mitts on both hands and somehow never seemed to shave or wipe his face. The man's name of course was George Lucas, though he should never be mentioned by name unless there is a fierce northeasterly wind blowing and a notion of winter on the horizon. This hobbit looking creature crafted with his mind a universe surprisingly similar to his own (Ever been to the waterpark?) Needless to say legions of devoted social refugees flocked from the far corners of their basements to name him their king. He eventually relented and unleashed upon the masses a safe haven for dorks and super dorks alike. I speak of a realm that only exists in myth, or rather online. George Lucas fathered a mutant child we in the future like to call Star Wars. And within decades of being birthed, a franchise was grafted into America's favorite peg leg. The most heinous of this man's creations came in the form of his games which eventually included online opportunities to saber jedi, sith, and jawas alike.

Devestating to my reputation, I spent some time interacting with these saber weilding socialites. (It was research for a blog.) In my travels, online, I discovered that there existed a bright, vibrant, force worshipping community. These wishful padawans had gathered themselves into clans reeking of clan pride and saber tactics. They put tags on their characters and spent countless hours sabering anything that made an appearence in their realm, or server. I grew to love taunting and terrorizing these dedicated saberers. Their hearts were tarnished red and their appetites for destruction were more prevailent than their appetites to leave the comfort of their computer chair for a meal not consisting of the skittles laying somewhere on the floor near the overfilled litterbox.

To somehow come to a point, and some closure I bring us to a Jedi Master named (amy). She was a clan leader and a saber dueling champion. On our encounters I was always sabered and my smoking, still stunningly attractive body was seperated from other parts of itself within seconds. She was always somewhere online sabering someone. It was uncanny how it mattered not what time of day or night, weekends, holidays, or blackouts, she was always online. Even intergalactic revolutions didn't seem to matter. I guess I never logged on when there was a Star Wars marathon on TNT, or during Shark Week, but still amazing. I came to learn that (amy)'s name was in fact Amy, she was from Canada and had a 2 year old child. To tie off the garbage sack and put it in the pail, "Mommy I'm hungry. Hang on baby, Mommy will make you some pork and beans when she's done sabering jawas."

He's out there, he created this monster, and he's watching...

The Ghost of Jimmy Dean Still Loves His Sausages

Update on status of transportation device: Not looking good

Update on status of Chuck Norris notebook: In Transit

Update on status of Dreamweaver availability at bookstore: Unavailable

Update on status of student project website: Online and amatuerish

Update on status of Jimmy Dean's sexuality: In question

Update on status of people posting status updates: Incredibly lame.



I am listening to an incredibly sappy song for no real apparent reason. It is a miracle that I haven't melted down into a gelatinous puddle of goo by this point. It makes me wonder, has anyone ever purchased and then listened to a Michael Bolton CD track for track and survived? Is it even possible to listen to his album's completely through? He probably doesn't even need to write more than 2 songs, the rest of his album could be silence or prank phone calls. Maybe he could rant for like 20 minutes on how obsessed he is with Teddy Roosevelt and how the country has been heading in the wrong direction since Waffle Crisp left our supermarket shelves.



I got up early this chilly morning to head to class. I sat with eyes glazed over waiting for class to start. I sat for quite possibly ten minutes before realizing that I had somehow missed the start of class and all the instructions for the day. I also realized my teacher was trying to ask me a question. Who put on a big orange hat and decided when the day should start? It is impossible to learn when you are brain dead, just ask Charles Barkley. Classes should be short and sweet, sometime later in the day, but not too late or they will interfere with my television programming.

Dont Put All Your Homework in One Chuck Norris Notebook

I once had a man dressed as Shrek tell me that he was a 21st Century Digital Boy. When my eyes didn't light up with enthusiastic glee he assumed I was shamefully ignorant. He then proceeded to explain that it was a lyric from a Bad Religion song mocking our lack of intelligence even though we have intellegent technologies. I however, didn't need to have all this explained to me by a giant green man that looked like he had escaped from off the label on a can of peas. I had bled Bad Religion for years! I knew the songs well and understood the message well enough to know that this ogre, dressed as a cartoon version of himself, was in fact telling the truth when he called himself a 21st Century Digital Boy. If one were to finish the lyric, it would continue with "I don't know how to read but I got a lot of toys." Indeed, the Shrek before me had in one hand a camcorder, and in the other a digital camera that was worthy of admiration. My green friend further fit the mold in his obvious failure to read the bright colored packaging that said Medium Sized Shrek.

Chuck Norris has a history of failing people, and he failed me this morning when I realized that my notebook graced with his bearded likeness was in fact several states away and out of reach. It is unfortunate that with all these "Digital Boys" running around we are still unable to project hollograms of homework across the world... or even the living room. Let it be known, by man, child, manchild and boy, that I will herefore ever after never be impressed until that day that visual transmissions of essays on Assirian and Egyptian cultural exchanges are accessible in any location and environment. Further, with the creation of Geek Squads and Gamer Clans, it is far past time for the unification of the scientific and the sci-fi communities. Gather round my banner, though it be an old tablecloth wrapped in a torn grocery sack, together we... or rather you in my name will harvest the necessary information to create a teleportation device of an unepic proportion. (I only need to cross the state line.) I only ask that you impress me and perhaps pay for gas along the way.