http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/20502777/wid/11915829>1=10252
This may possibly be the most ridiculously disgusting thing I have ever seen. iPods are basically the Ambercrombie & Fitch people's way of saying "Look how much richer and more tech-savvy I am than you".
In reality, there is far less functionality for these devices, as you can only use them with the specific interface program iTunes. Why not just click and drag mp3 files, I ask you? "Well iPods are just better," is the inevitable answer. Nice logic.
In a society where putting a lower case "i" in front of a noun makes it cooler and more expensive than a different and more practical option, it seems we just don't need a good reason to do anything anymore.
Friday, August 31, 2007
Monday, August 20, 2007
Day 6
Captain's log. This is the 27th day we've been out in the wilderness, alone save for the company of a few friendly looking birds that bite us playfully when we pass out along the trail. They're fairly ugly, noisy things but I've never been one to judge based on appearances.
The Gimp finally died of dysentery yesterday. I feel that sense of loss similar to the feeling one has after a very satisfactory defecation experience. I feel it should be mentioned also that I tried very hard to dissuade him from eating the 4 years-expired contents of the Chef Boyardi can which led to his untimely demise. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't really stop a horse from drinking the deadly, bacteria-filled, festering lake water", my father used to say. Never knew how true it was until now.
Andrea is still missing, and I had all but given up hope when a wonderful thing happened. As I was writing the last entry of this log, a vision was granted to me. In my vision, a flying pig who identified himself as Rufus Waynewright III told me not all was lost and the great pork huntress would return to us.
He then handed me a dandelion and told me that if Tim could learn to love another and earn her love in return before the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, he said, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. I, of course, nodded politely and thanked Rufus and showed him out the window which he had flown in from, immediately discarding the glowing little flower. I had no idea what the fellow had been rambling about, and he had obviously traveled a very long way. Everyone knows mystical travelers often lose track of who they're talking to.
The Gimp finally died of dysentery yesterday. I feel that sense of loss similar to the feeling one has after a very satisfactory defecation experience. I feel it should be mentioned also that I tried very hard to dissuade him from eating the 4 years-expired contents of the Chef Boyardi can which led to his untimely demise. "You can lead a horse to water, but you can't really stop a horse from drinking the deadly, bacteria-filled, festering lake water", my father used to say. Never knew how true it was until now.
Andrea is still missing, and I had all but given up hope when a wonderful thing happened. As I was writing the last entry of this log, a vision was granted to me. In my vision, a flying pig who identified himself as Rufus Waynewright III told me not all was lost and the great pork huntress would return to us.
He then handed me a dandelion and told me that if Tim could learn to love another and earn her love in return before the last petal fell, the spell would be broken. If not, he said, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. I, of course, nodded politely and thanked Rufus and showed him out the window which he had flown in from, immediately discarding the glowing little flower. I had no idea what the fellow had been rambling about, and he had obviously traveled a very long way. Everyone knows mystical travelers often lose track of who they're talking to.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Day 1
Captain's log. I'm not really sure what the date is anymore; I only know Andrea has been gone for about a day. Already we've run out of bacon without her to hunt wild boar and without fresh meat, the men's morale has started to waiver. All I can tell them is "just keep on keepin' on, boys." and then they complain about my poor grammar. It's hard to take responsibility for a shipwrecked crew.
Tylor and I went hunting today and shot 11,000 pounds of meat. But we were only able to bring back 700 for some reason unknown to me. The gimp fell off the back of the wag....off the back of the ship and broke his ankle. And Tim was bitten by a snake whilst on a plane.
End of entry.
Tylor and I went hunting today and shot 11,000 pounds of meat. But we were only able to bring back 700 for some reason unknown to me. The gimp fell off the back of the wag....off the back of the ship and broke his ankle. And Tim was bitten by a snake whilst on a plane.
End of entry.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Ah, insomnia my muse.
I love music. It's really strange to think about, as most things are when you think way too much about them. But consider this: music is really just a rhythmic arrangement of vibrations caused by disturbing an object's rest. And yet, it's so very powerful. Music can alter your mood, make a normal situation seem scary or comical and it can even help a long, boring time pas with seeming swiftness. Amazing.
Also, as I was thinking these deep and worthless thoughts, I got to wondering just who sat down and decided which sounds were "notes". To tune my guitar, I sometimes employ an electric device which tells me whether or not my strings are on pitch. It's really quite picky about it too. But how the deuce does the thing know what a "C" is supposed to sound like? What is that determined by?
MY THEORY:
It is that group of people referred to as "They". Ex: "They say the sun is a good source of vitamin D". What do these people do all day? They wear very nice suits and sit around deciding things and saying stuff that the general populace accepts without question. I've often wondered what the qualifications for getting in on this would be, but as far as I can determine, you only need a Bachelor's in Psychology. I MUST get a job with these people.
Also, as I was thinking these deep and worthless thoughts, I got to wondering just who sat down and decided which sounds were "notes". To tune my guitar, I sometimes employ an electric device which tells me whether or not my strings are on pitch. It's really quite picky about it too. But how the deuce does the thing know what a "C" is supposed to sound like? What is that determined by?
MY THEORY:
It is that group of people referred to as "They". Ex: "They say the sun is a good source of vitamin D". What do these people do all day? They wear very nice suits and sit around deciding things and saying stuff that the general populace accepts without question. I've often wondered what the qualifications for getting in on this would be, but as far as I can determine, you only need a Bachelor's in Psychology. I MUST get a job with these people.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
I have a head injury too!
What a wonderful thing public transportation is. You meet the finest people.
Earlier today, Andrea and I were taking the bus on an adventure into the downtown Orem area. It seemed to be a relatively normal trip for the first fifty seconds or so. Then the following conversation occurred. I have transcripted it to the best of my ability and memory. The characters names have been invented, mostly because I never really had the thought to ask what they were. They are as follows:
Seizures McGee: A rather stout and short woman, aged approximately 25 years. Dark hair, head phones, and an indescribably public transportation-appropriate outfit.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: Tan, 80's hair with the classic perm styling, aged approximately 50. As her name suggests, she always had a photo-album with her which documented and proved her being in a very traumatic and near-fatal car accident.
The Overblooded Mistress: This woman was sitting the entire time, but it was obvious she wasn't a small person. I estimate her height at around 6 feet, blondish brown hair cut short and none too stylishly. Sort of long face. Easily the most normal of our newly acquired acquaintances.
So there we are. We get on the bus and it starts out normally enough. I am led to the "disabled persons area" and the bus driver straps the chair to the floor, thus making it secure in case of accident. As the bus starts pulling away, I am swept up in one of the most humorous and downright awkward conversations of my life.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: What happened to you?
Me: I was born.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: What?
Me: I was born this way.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: Oh. Well you sure are good at maneuvering that thing!
At this point, most people generally expect me to laugh or say something clever or in some way make them feel like they're the first person to ever have this conversation with me. I responded the way I always do.
Me: Well I have lots of experience.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: Ho ho! I bet you do! I bet you sure do. You people are so amazing! You can do all kinds of things. Why I have a bad ankle and a bad back and my left eye can't see anything and I lost my memory and I complain all the time. And I have a head injury. But you people, you don't let anything get in your way.
This statement, of course, has grabbed the attention of my soon to be friends, Seizures Mcgee and The Overblooded Mistress. Everyone loves to talk about what's wrong with their bodies on buses. It's just what you do.
Seizures Mcgee: I work at Teleperformance and there's a girl that works there that has no arms. Like, they're just stubs at the elbow. And you know what she does? She uses the phone and types on the mouse (yes, my friends, that is a direct quote) and she will pick up papers with her stubs and hand them to you!
At this point, both participants look at me for my approval or to see whether I am impressed. I of course am not. I believe that "disabled" people develop ways to do things because that's part of what makes humans so amazing. We ADAPT. But that's another post.
Seizures Mcgee: You know, my mother has lots of things wrong with her. She has degenerative disc disorder. Her discs in her spine just pop sometimes. And she can't see at all and she has......
At this point I sort of tune out. It's become a sob story contest, and some competitors are obviously making up diseases to gain an unfair advantage. The other woman pipes up.
Overblooded Mistress: I have too much blood in my system. So if I stand up too fast, I don't get light headed. My head just feels really heavy.
Seizures Mcgee: Ooooh! Do you have to take medication for that?
Overblooded Mistress: Of course. Pretty much everybody takes medication for something. I've never met someone who wasn't taking some kind of pill.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: I take medication! I have a head injury.
Seizures Mcgee: I have a head injury too! Like, I have seizures and every time I have a seizure I get brain damage. The longer the seizure lasts the more brain damage I get.
Andrea and I share a look. I love when we both hear someone say something retarded and think the same thing. It's really just the best ever.
The conversation went very much like this as we continued to travel toward our destination. Just as suddenly as it started, though, it ended abruptly. I'm not really sure if they all got off at the same time or if my brain had just overloaded from excessive stimulation. I didn't write about all of what happened, as I don't really have room, but I did want to give a general idea of what bus life is like. Grand.
Earlier today, Andrea and I were taking the bus on an adventure into the downtown Orem area. It seemed to be a relatively normal trip for the first fifty seconds or so. Then the following conversation occurred. I have transcripted it to the best of my ability and memory. The characters names have been invented, mostly because I never really had the thought to ask what they were. They are as follows:
Seizures McGee: A rather stout and short woman, aged approximately 25 years. Dark hair, head phones, and an indescribably public transportation-appropriate outfit.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: Tan, 80's hair with the classic perm styling, aged approximately 50. As her name suggests, she always had a photo-album with her which documented and proved her being in a very traumatic and near-fatal car accident.
The Overblooded Mistress: This woman was sitting the entire time, but it was obvious she wasn't a small person. I estimate her height at around 6 feet, blondish brown hair cut short and none too stylishly. Sort of long face. Easily the most normal of our newly acquired acquaintances.
So there we are. We get on the bus and it starts out normally enough. I am led to the "disabled persons area" and the bus driver straps the chair to the floor, thus making it secure in case of accident. As the bus starts pulling away, I am swept up in one of the most humorous and downright awkward conversations of my life.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: What happened to you?
Me: I was born.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: What?
Me: I was born this way.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: Oh. Well you sure are good at maneuvering that thing!
At this point, most people generally expect me to laugh or say something clever or in some way make them feel like they're the first person to ever have this conversation with me. I responded the way I always do.
Me: Well I have lots of experience.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: Ho ho! I bet you do! I bet you sure do. You people are so amazing! You can do all kinds of things. Why I have a bad ankle and a bad back and my left eye can't see anything and I lost my memory and I complain all the time. And I have a head injury. But you people, you don't let anything get in your way.
This statement, of course, has grabbed the attention of my soon to be friends, Seizures Mcgee and The Overblooded Mistress. Everyone loves to talk about what's wrong with their bodies on buses. It's just what you do.
Seizures Mcgee: I work at Teleperformance and there's a girl that works there that has no arms. Like, they're just stubs at the elbow. And you know what she does? She uses the phone and types on the mouse (yes, my friends, that is a direct quote) and she will pick up papers with her stubs and hand them to you!
At this point, both participants look at me for my approval or to see whether I am impressed. I of course am not. I believe that "disabled" people develop ways to do things because that's part of what makes humans so amazing. We ADAPT. But that's another post.
Seizures Mcgee: You know, my mother has lots of things wrong with her. She has degenerative disc disorder. Her discs in her spine just pop sometimes. And she can't see at all and she has......
At this point I sort of tune out. It's become a sob story contest, and some competitors are obviously making up diseases to gain an unfair advantage. The other woman pipes up.
Overblooded Mistress: I have too much blood in my system. So if I stand up too fast, I don't get light headed. My head just feels really heavy.
Seizures Mcgee: Ooooh! Do you have to take medication for that?
Overblooded Mistress: Of course. Pretty much everybody takes medication for something. I've never met someone who wasn't taking some kind of pill.
Madame Traumatic Photo-album: I take medication! I have a head injury.
Seizures Mcgee: I have a head injury too! Like, I have seizures and every time I have a seizure I get brain damage. The longer the seizure lasts the more brain damage I get.
Andrea and I share a look. I love when we both hear someone say something retarded and think the same thing. It's really just the best ever.
The conversation went very much like this as we continued to travel toward our destination. Just as suddenly as it started, though, it ended abruptly. I'm not really sure if they all got off at the same time or if my brain had just overloaded from excessive stimulation. I didn't write about all of what happened, as I don't really have room, but I did want to give a general idea of what bus life is like. Grand.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Riding Bikes
Band practice. A time when all idiocy that is humanly possible seemingly strikes four individuals at once. I'm not really sure why I get excited for it; I'm positive if I weren't there nothing would ever get accomplished.
Our band refers to the inability to concentrate on what we should be doing as "riding bikes". It's based on the following joke.
"How many kids with A.D.H.D. does it take to screw in a light bulb?"
"I don't know. How many?"
"Let's go ride bikes."
This basically epitomizes approximately65% of band practice. The conversation usually goes like this.
"Ok, guys. Now let's run through this song and we need to focus on this part. Tylor. Tylor shut up. Stop it. You're riding bikes. You're riding bi-......Would you freaking stop? Thank you. Ok, ready? One, two.......Lyle! Dude, come on. Stop it. Let's focus, here. LYLE! Thank you. Now, on three."
By this time, Bruce has gone to the kitchen to retrieve some kind of edible and my precarious hold on the guitarists' attention has already started slipping. By the time Bruce comes back and sits at his drum kit, the two are once again off in their own world, which is full of cool riffs and undeveloped material. Great for the band's future in a way, but very frustrating to anyone trying to harness all this ability and pointing it in a direction in which it can be useful.
Rock on.
Our band refers to the inability to concentrate on what we should be doing as "riding bikes". It's based on the following joke.
"How many kids with A.D.H.D. does it take to screw in a light bulb?"
"I don't know. How many?"
"Let's go ride bikes."
This basically epitomizes approximately65% of band practice. The conversation usually goes like this.
"Ok, guys. Now let's run through this song and we need to focus on this part. Tylor. Tylor shut up. Stop it. You're riding bikes. You're riding bi-......Would you freaking stop? Thank you. Ok, ready? One, two.......Lyle! Dude, come on. Stop it. Let's focus, here. LYLE! Thank you. Now, on three."
By this time, Bruce has gone to the kitchen to retrieve some kind of edible and my precarious hold on the guitarists' attention has already started slipping. By the time Bruce comes back and sits at his drum kit, the two are once again off in their own world, which is full of cool riffs and undeveloped material. Great for the band's future in a way, but very frustrating to anyone trying to harness all this ability and pointing it in a direction in which it can be useful.
Rock on.
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