I Am Bruce Wayne

2006

Well, here it is, the last day of the year. You’d think I’d have something to say about it, but I don’t really. It’s just another day, another marker we ping as we ride the bone yard trolley on the way to our final sleep. Many things changed this year and hopefully many more will next year as well. Next year should be the year of self-actualization without the new age music. It should be the year we all do something for ourselves. The year that makes each of us figure out exactly what it is we really want, and do our best to take it. It should be the year of frightful introspection and even more frightening adjustment. Tomorrow we should wake and walk from our homes resolute in changing everything in our lives that sucks. This is the year 2006; the year the sucking stops. Ok, so now there’s no more sucking. It isn’t quite how I imagined it, but I guess it’ll do. Damn this post sucks. I'll try and do better tomorrow.

Gibbering

I'm afraid most of my Brain Gas is currently being released on a regular basis at the local watering hole and therefore find little to talk about. I'm sure that as soon as I return to the isolation of the cabin that I will once again victimize you with it here. Look upon this as a slight reprieve from my incessant stupidity and be grateful. Should any rampantly vulgar bit of Humanity raise its ugly head however, I’ll do my best to perpetuate it here as soon as possible.

As Michael-Paul once said through the blurry haze of much brewed liquid enlightenment, “Beached whales make baby Jesus cry.”

I leave you to ponder this.

Useless Poetry

Today it seems a poem is what,
Is needed here to read.
Instead of all the trifles
I’ve been posting with such speed.

So here it is in all its glory,
For you to look upon,
And wonder if my sanity,
Has run willy through the Morn.

Its contents will be simple,
And possible containing,
Almost anything that I can think,
That you’ll find entertaining.

So push ahead and keep on reading,
I’m doing all I can,
To make this poem nonsensical,
Which always was the plan.

Just a few more stanzas,
So try and push ahead,
Because If It slows down at all,
The bomb will kill us dead

It makes no sense, I am aware,
This little thing of words.
But somehow here it is the same,
This verbal pile of turds.

I've told you nothing useful,
For the preceding 25,
So I doubt that you'll get anything,
From this poem that doesnt strive.

Yet still you keep on reading,
Which is your first mistake.
Your second will most likely be,
The time you doth forsake.

Now that I have once again,
Wasted all your time,
I need to take a shower now,
And end this simple rhyme.

Apocalypto Madness

[This LIMITED EDITION POST has expired]

Time of (Giving) Taking

It's always good to know this time of year, that there is an underground social blight eating away slowly at the very fibers of our society at large. It is only a matter of time before humanity will succumb and wither and we shall all be lesser for it. I recommend staying and watching the whole process from here on out, either that or we should start bioengineering booby traps on and in our bodies so that once we pass, we will still have mighty Kung-Fu against the sickly pale human fungus that operates beneath or greatest fears. We should get cut some slack after we've died.

In Town

it wuld seem now, that I will be in town through the New Year. The parents are going to Florida on the 26th, and I'll be house sitting for them. So, I'm going to do my best to see everyone that I can. General history indicates I'll be at the bar on many occasions but need to also catch up on much movie watching. I hope everyone has a nice Holiday. If something interesting come up, I'll put it here. Will Maintain GCCS and GBH throughout, but posting them may be sporadic based on revelry of the season.

I have much present wrapping and cabin lock-down to perform at the moment.

amare et sapere vix deo conceditur

Back Into The Breech

Unfortunately, today is they day I attempt to finish my shopping and I've gotten up ever so late and will now hit traffic, I am sure, before I even leave the cabin drive. Should I not return it has been good knowing most of you and a trial to understand the rest. I've made my list and checked it twice, and scribbled bits of marginalia on the recto portion of the front sleeve. As soon as I finish removing last night's deposit of mucus from my sinus cavity I shall shower and be off. Just remember it is a time of giving and not receiving, so please feel free to give me anything you've received. It isn't that I'm greedy as much as in need of lots more useless things to hoard and one day make a fortune on ala Mark Hammil in AMAZING STORIES.

On an unrelated note, Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah (which this year you share with all the Christians since the first night falls on Dec 25th [Jewish Year 5766 : sunset December 25, 2005 - nightfall January 2, 2006] I'm surprised no one's made a big deal of it this year with all the hubbub going on about Christian Right controlling the major retailers with their insistence on the use of "Merry Christmas" and not "Happy Holidays". This year it actually should have been "Happy Holidays, which means “Holyday" anyhow, but I digress.), Splendiferous Kwanzaa, Happy Holidays, a right good Boxing day to you, and a Happy New Year. Unless of course you celebrate or adhere to none of these in which case, "A good day to you, sir!"

Auf Wiedersehen Meine Liebchen

Merry Christmas Europe

Time has expired for this LIMITED EDITION POST.

Evangelical Smack Down

Here’s the 139 page decision in the Philadelphia "Intelligent Design" case. It’s nice to know some people still have their heads screwed on straight. Of course, Pat Robertson has to add the Dover area to his little “God hates you” list. If this keeps up, maybe we can just find a place for the Evangelists. I’m thinking an island in the general Hurricane zone. We could call it “Evangelical Island.” And maybe the marketing slogan could be something like “Where all God’s wrath passes through on its way to Judgment.” Of course the best time to visit would be December – May for Atheists, Agnostics, and members of any humble belief. For Evangelicals, it would be June-November.

Also, a few amusing links to the yearly SantaCon world events, of which the Auckland Incident was connected. Also, Santarchy and a photo pool from one fellow who thought a nice Cthulhu Santa would be just the thing.

I think the cabin's floor is settling in for winter. It makes extremely loud Cracking noises. No damage is present yet so I think its the old expansion/contraction thing going on since the inside is 70 degrees and the outside is 17 degrees. Sometimes it's so loud it scares the Jeebus out of me. For some reason I have this vision in my head of the whole place splitting in half and falling into a very dark hole, where I can feel the cold dead breath of something giant that's been slumbering for a thousand years. I imagine stumbling through the rubble until I find a large round rock. While I pass by it, the rock flutters and opens to a giant eye that begins to look at me longingly. Then my feet get stuck and I begin to sink into the folds of its mucus-coated skin. Just before I go under, I can feel a thousand teeth begin to chew my legs and realize it will take me a long time to die. Well, I don't think that all the time.

Today is not Yesturday

Christmas is officially here as Mom delivers the Christmas schedule which will involve me going home on Christmas Eve to be with just them , then staying the night and driving up to Kingsport on Christmas day to see my brother and his family, then driving back, and then me coming back up here until new years, or staying a day with them. Oy. So, I told my mom that next year after I sell a “million dollar” screenplay, I’ll fly them both out for an LA Christmas. Or, maybe we’ll go to Vegas. It really will be easier that way.

Here’s a couple of interesting articles about C.S. Lewis. They take two diametrically opposed views , though one is more personal while the other is an article in a specialty magazine. The first if from the Baptist Standard, which paints Lewis as “the last century's most famous convert from atheist to Anglican-“. Then there is this one, from piano tuner Steve Van Nattan, or more specifically his wife Mary, both of whom seem to be right here near me. Raise the roof high brethren. Notice at the end of the article that she uses the Lord to deflect any bad blood that might come from her lack of proper source citations.

OK, there is currently something wrong with the paste function in my MS WORD which is driving me insane. To paste anything into it I now have to use “Paste Special”. It’s time for a system restart. I’ve become so accustomed to cutting and pasting at my whim that when it doesn’t work it feels like someone ripped off one of my arms. Just building this little post with it’s (3) hyperlinks was like scaling Mt. Sinai.

Also, for those of you who didn’t get the e-mail, the ever vivacious Anne Miller will be behind the bar on New Years Eve for a one time, limited engagement fundraiser, for her new establishment. By fundraiser, I mean she needs the tips because I doubt those yahoos in MN know how to lay down cash for a lady. (Sorry about that last sentence Anne, it made you out to be a floozy, which we all know you are not.)

I went outside this morning to fling rocks at Mr. Nibbles, but had to move slowly back inside. It seems that there was some sort of wild squirrel cabal going on outside. I counted fifteen before I edged back in and closed the door. Nothing more unsettling than hearing fifteen squirrels chitter while they run around knocking each other off branches. It must have been some sort of turf war. Hopefully they’ll take car of each other. I hope it didn’t have anything to do with me giving one Squirrel warlord fresh nuts and not the other. Oh well, diplomacy at work.

Again with the nothing

Spent most of today writing a short story that doesn't seem so short anymore. I might be done tonight, but most likely it'll take most of the day tomorrow as well. I did go fishing though but caught only bait fish as it were. I swear I'm going to cure me some small blue gill one of these days. I wonder if you can fry a small fish like that whole and eat it, gutted of course? Probably, but it really isn't worth the mess the oil would make here. I also spent a few minutes shooting rocks at Mr. Nibbles with a sling shot. I'll need to bring back my BB gun from Christmas visit so I can actually remedy the problem. I have no great desire to kill him, but if he keeps nibbling, there will have to be consequences.

I'm almost to the part in Harry Potter VI where Dumbledore dies. I can't wait. It's not the best of the franchise, but is an enjoyable read. I'm sure I'll find his death lackluster, what I call a "Yar Death." But I'll have to wait and see.

Been participating in a slow e-mail conversation with my friend, at least I hope we're still friends, Jessica (not the one who met some of you at the bar, but a different one) who just got a job working for E!, and some of you will be excited to know (Breena) that she's currently writing for a couple of their countdown shows, namely: "I just finished writing on "101 Celebrity Slimdowns" and just started on "50 Best Chick Flicks." So at some point you will be able to enjoy these at the bar. Countdown shows are always good at the bar. They stimulate conversation at a time when most people are not ready to talk to each other yet. Namely before the first beer is finished, however few people can resist talking to the TV when they disagree with who's #7 is on a list of cutest child stars.

Of course I'm mentioning her here because she says she doesn't read blogs on principle (because she'd get addicted and get less work done) and is sorry she hasn't read mine, so she'll never know I wrote about her. Unless I tell her of course so that she'll see what I've said and then get pissed because it is harmless and she's just read a blog. But, I wouldn't do that. It just isn't the type of person I am.

Hello Jessica.

Today

Nothing interesting happened today. Well, at least not yet.

"Greg By Himself" and "Giant Cowboy Chicken Says," are now fully operational. New cartoons everyday until I pass out or die.

Surprisingly

Surprisingly, someone with more time on their hands than me has made a rather wonderful fake "front page" from 1933s "Big Monkey Day".

In other news I've had to switch to well water while I figure out what went wrong with the main pump. I might as well be a building super while I'm at it. Oh wait, that's surprisingly what today has been like.

Dad comes up tomorrow for pump fixing, tree sheering, and possible roof crawling fun. Stay tuned for all of the excitement. I guess that means it's time to hide the hootch and nurses. I'm getting tired of nurses anyway. I'm thinking of switching to librarians...with glasses.

Attention Must Be Paid

You knew it was bound to happen. You knew I'd eventually take this thing too far. I have a few old things and a few new things in different stages of readiness. Click on the squares to access the different aspects. Every page but “Tales”, for now, will maintain the links under the headers. Not for the faint at heart. Warnings have been given.

I've been experiencing power outages here in the hinterlands, so don't know how much more progress will be made today.

Giant Cowboy Chicken Says 1

T-Shirts - Coming Soon 6

A new line of "Monkey Poem" T-shirts is currently in the works.

Cinema Death Watch

It had to eventually happen. They've been trying to do it for years, and now they're actually perusing it wholesale. Why make a movie that is going to flop. It makes perfect sense to run it through a “smart” neural net first and see if it is worth everyone's time and money. Screw the intricacies of the plot. Hollywood is killing itself, someone else needs to step up to the plate. This is only countered by the fact that 90% + of this years award worthy films were all made for under 30 mil. Maybe they can just push past the creative element and build another neural net that'll write the script. Then monkeys could direct from remote loctions via virtual presence. No one ever believes me when I tell them these things.

I think I'll switch to poetry. No one ever messes with poetry.

Blockbuster 1:

Large ship/plane/train with lovers onboard.
Big storm of waves/rain/lightening and emotion.
Keira Knightley, George Clooney, Mos Def and Julia Roberts.
Robert Redford has a cameo, or maybe Paul Newman.
If it's quiet, Bill Murray will pass in the night.
Someone will die.
Someone will cry.
Someone will be lost.
Someone will change.
Someone will mentor.
Someone will learn.
Then all will be lost.
Or maybe not.

Damn. I never was good at poetry. Well, at least not the good kind.

I once had a monkey,
Who’d sit and throw his dung.
Then climbed on trees all day long,
While having lots of fun.
Then one day he found a tick,
Embedded in his head.
The tick was very poisonous,
So now my monkey ‘s dead.

Mousmoleshrew

I set four traps last night with good Vermont extra sharp white cheddar. The mousmoleshrew simply crapped near all of them. I'm almost at wits end on how to rid myself of this thing. I'm thinking of getting one of my friends to bring over his night vision motion sensing cameras he uses to stake out hunting trails. I want to see what I'm up against. I imagine it's been inbred with multiple species of rodent. It has the basic body of a shrew, but with the metabolism of a mouse and the digging capability of a mole. I imagine it sees in infrared and can hear my heart beat through the walls. I imagine at night that it's digging its way through the thin fabric of reality and trying to tunnel into my head. I'm starting to thing that isn't mucus in my sinus cavities, but viscous, protein heavy fluid it will one day lay its eggs in.

I need more coffee. I need more sleep. I need more inspiration. I need more focus. I need more time. I need more of everything. Or maybe I just imagine that I do.

p.s. I may have made a fatal mistake and possibly opened this blog to the outside world. If for some far-fetched reason it gets out of control here, I'll have to lock it down. History suggests nothing will happen, entropy insists that it will.

Dear Santa/God

With the holidays fast approaching, I thought it was important to make sure everyone knew the proper way to write a letter to Santa or God. Hopefully this will make it easier for you to get what you want. Just remember, God does the miracles and Santa does the X-Box 360. Unfortunately, these instructions only apply to those people living in the US. If you live in a foreign country, please contact your local postmaster for instructions.

T-Shirts - Coming Soon 5

In Which Eeyore Hates Disney

Eeyore knew this was coming. Everyone kept telling him to cheer-up; that things would get better. He knew the truth. Large corporations care about nothing but themselves. Eeyore thinks this is almost as bad as the time Disney made him take Prozac because he was too much of a downer for the kids. Eeyore thinks of A. A. Milne and for just a moment a smile crosses his face. He is happy for a glimmer of a minute as he imagines the Old Man is alive to see this. Last time he got mad he'd kicked a small child in the face. No one liked to make the Old Man angry. Eeyore wished the Old Man were here now, on a plane heading toward Disney where he'd burn them to the ground.

It would seem that the ignorant, backward, possibly pedophilic mongoloids over at Disney think that their tripe-riddled version of Winnie The Pooh needs an extreme make over. So me and Eeoyre are leaving the Hundred Acre Wood and finding somewhere better. We're thinking about starting an anger management company in Minneapolis.

Someone else's take on the whole thing. I'm too angry to make this post funny.

The Sickness

I can feel something lodged in my throat, just hanging there above my esophagus. I think I have the sickness. It's trying to get to my lungs like it did years ago. It likes it there where it is moist and warm and there's plenty of room to grow. I’m making chicken soup and drinking orange/v-8/pomogranite juice; I hope I’m in time.

I put up a new piece of brain gas over on tales. I wrote it bleary eyed through bourbon glasses.

If the sickness goes to far, I’ll take the slingshot and bourbon on the deck and shoot as many of the little bastards as I can while screaming at the sun. Of course I should check my supply of shot first. I also need to get some serious traps for inside the house where the mousmoleshrew is still happily crapping his way through the midnight hours. I’ve been nice. I’ve put down humane traps. As Patrick Swayze said in ROADHOUSE, “I want you to be nice until it's time to not be nice.” I think that’s a good credo to live by. I’m just waiting for Sam Elliot to get here so the killing can begin.

At some point last night, or this morning, I got it in my head to see if I could get any signals from the air up in the loft. After a few hours of wires/bowls/and aluminum foil, I now have fuzzy JERRY SPRINGER, PBS and faint ghosts of all the locals. It looks like if there was an actual TV antenna here, local channels could easily be received. I'm thinking of covering the entire ceiling in foil and turning the whole cabin into an antenna. Maybe then I can get better cell phone reception as well.

Outposts

I woke up this morning to find that the squirrels have established outposts along the boundary of the cabin. I didn’t see them last night because it was too dark when I arrived home and the little bastards see better in the dark than I do. They’re actively watching me know. Some of them are armed. The true nature of these outposts is unknown at this time. I’m sure they’re looking for patterns. They’ll try to exploit any weakness they can find in my defenses. If watching is the game they want to play then fine by me. I have the patience of an extremely patient person. I’ve also got a slingshot if they decide to get frisky. I don’t need the hassle and there’s too many of them anyway. I think I can still sneak out unseen on occasion assuming I distract the guards by throwing pistachios onto the deck in back. They may be planning something, but they still have weaknesses. I’m sure one or two of them can be bribed as well. There are always a few bad apples in every army.

Running Away

Running back to the woods tomorrow, which is probably a good thing. I seem to have the will power of the Marques de Sade. I’m afraid I’ll need a liver transplant soon, and I seem to misplaced my nurse. Start saving your pennies those don’t come cheap. Liver transplants that is, nurses are a dime a dozen, at least where I shop.

It was a welcome if not somewhat unproductive break, but it must end. I’ll return sometime near the end of the month with a hunting rife and a scope and keep you safe by scanning the skies for fat terrorists in frilly toboggans who can’t stop chuckling about their plans.

I’ll try harder next time to see everyone I didn’t see on this round, and try and bitch about it a little less as well. Hopefully I can get a good night sleep next week when my schedule doesn’t have to match his royal highness. Yeowl.

In the end I think I was a little harsh on the crew who shot here yesterday. It wasn’t their fault they forgot a camera of some kind so they could take pictures of the rooms before they moved everything, so they could later put everything back where it went. Oh wait, yes it was. It’s close I guess, but I’m still finding things tucked away where they don’t belong. It was the nonchalant attitude I respected.

Going shopping now. Everyone gets something used this year. Tis the season of regifting Just make sure you give the things from friends to family and the things from family to friends. Otherwise it could cause a rift in the relationship and send everyone spiraling into depression.

Oh well, I’m off.

Invasion

They're here, in the house. The fancy men with their fancy 24p camera eating biscuits and crapping like trained monkeys in the toilet. Of course, as irony is my friend, the cat didn't try and wake me at 6:30 this morning. He simply jumped on the bed and went to sleep. So I woke myself at 4:00 expecting his arrival and drifted in and out of consciousness until my alarm went off at 7:00. If they hadn't been coming, I would have slept through the night for the first time in 7 days. Instead, I'm surrounded by grips and electrics, a DP who thinks he's the director, but is unable to make the lighting adjustments, so the AC is basically the DP. Now the director/producer is trying to tell the DP what he wants. It's like film school all over again except these are local "professionals".

Somehow the craft services woman was just told who I was, whatever that means. She just asked me what my screenplay is about. I told her I don't talk about those things. I've said nothing to anyone. What little musings about me have radiated into the air here in this fair city? This is very disconcerting.

They're pulling up the carpets and have called for a dolly. It's most interesting to me that this is a shoot for images to be used for a special about fung shui, and there is no "designer" here so the director/producer is running around redecorating and wondering where all of the "props" were from whenever it was he photographed the house. Plus, unless my understanding of Fung Shui is off, the house while nicely designed, is not a fung shui house. Oh well. What do I know. After this I'll never work in this town again.

Director/Producer just asked if I could write a screenplay while they were outside the office making so much noise. I told him I'm not writing a screenplay. I'm not, I'm writing this.

Turkish Gold Bastard

So, I was looking for my McKay's blue credit chit earlier today. I'd bought a few things a couple of days ago and had lost track of it. I knew it was somewhere, but could not quite remember where, although I had a feeling it was on the kitchen island at the house where I am currently staying. However, I was not there but at my parent's house checking in on Pascal the cat, and decided on my way home I'd check back in at McKay's to see if anything new had made it onto the shelves. So, I began going through all my pockets. Right inside jacket was the ipod and a few receipts. Inside left jacket was my cell phone and a few more receipts. My right sleeve pocket was my cards and stuff but nothing else. I knew it wasn't in my pants pockets because those get cleaned out and refilled every night and subsequent morning. Anyway, I double-checked my outer left coat pocket and that was just antacids and a pack of gum. Last was the outer right coat pocket, which almost never has anything in it, but there I did find a receipt, and something else. There in my right side outer jacket pocket were the remains of two well-crushed Turkish Gold (presumably Camel, moste likely lights [you poor disillusioned bastard]) cigarettes. The filters had of course broken off of the cigarettes and my pocket was filled with thousands of small dry pieces of tobacco, which took like four minutes to completely get out.

One of you is up to Evil. Had I found them to be whole, it is quite likely that I would have smoked them. I'm only human you know. So, if you keep it up I will smoke them. If I find out who you are I will take your pack from you and smoke all of them as well, after which I will go buy a carton and smoke of all of it and then continue ad infinitum. You have been warned. I will start again if you persist. My future is in your hands you beautifully evil, nasty bastard.

p.s. Found the chit, it was on the kitchen island as I thought.

I know writers

Well, it is absolutely true that I know writers. I also know a few people, mostly myself, that claim to be. However, for every one of me there is at least one of them. His first book is coming out in 2006. While I haven't read it, I hear good things. OK, I haven't really heard much but another friend of mine wants to have it made into a movie, and I think she's actually read it. That in itself should be enough for you to look for it, especially if you have kids. If you don't have kids but occasionally read, or occasionally read to others kids, you should also look into it. You should maybe have a look if you like baseball and possibly things about Japan BTB. If you are in a place of prestige, you should tell people about it, or maybe just talk to them about something else. Either way, I think you will enjoy it more if you read it than if you don’t, even though you’ll have to wait a bit for it to come out which should give me enough time to figure out what I’m going to do with my life. So, just to recap, read his book (when it comes out) and give me a bit. This writing crap ain’t easy you know.

Magic Pants

I have bought a pair of “Legendary Gold” magical pants for only $10.99. They repel stains and are resistant to wrinkles. They must be cunning and powerful, these pants, to resist the entropy of the wrinkle. It says that during washing they help to lift stains, so they must be mighty as well, these pants. Not only that, but they are also double pleated and feel like polished canvas, but what do expect for $10.99…satin? They are of course black, but they didn’t have a cheaper pair without the stain resisting mojo. It also says that they like to relax, which is good for I do as well. I have never bought a pair of pants that comes with a 1 year warranty. I am excited. If they work out, they may become a part of the official Brigade uniform. If they chafe they shall not. I think I shall name them Carl.

(Note: best read in the voice of John Lovitz.)

Giving Thanks

December 5, 1933 - Prohibition of alcoholic beverages in the United States officially ended when the 21st Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified.

Disapproving Eyes

The stone gods stare at me with their blank accusing eyes. They wonder why I have done nothing in the past few days. I look down in shame and reflect on my failures. “It was the sweet wine,” I say to them in repenting tones. “The sweet, sweet, succulent honey wine.” They could care less and continue to stare unflinchingly. Their eyes are cold on me and make me shake with chills. The tremors have come on again. What they don’t know is that secretly I snicker at their crowns of Ivy and Stars and wonder what they were thinking when they decided to wear these silly hats.

Killer Squirrels

It has been brought to my attention by "English Bob" that there are currently "Killer Squirrels" inhabiting the forests of Russia. We must keep these so called "Black Squirrels of Death" from entering our country. While our scientists do believe that the black squirrels will be made more docile once they mate with our superior grey squirrels, this is only if they can keep themselves from attacking and eating the grey squirrels. So be diligent, keep an eye on the little bastards. Let them know that you know what they’re up to. Then they’ll know that you know that they know that you have you’re eye on them. It's all fun and games until you get your face chewed off, slowly, by small rodents with cute tails.

Servitude Extended

My time of service has been extended by a second tour of duty through the 10th of Dec. When will this bloody war end? Someone get me a pint and a nurse...and keep the ambulance running.

Level of Evil

This site has been certified as being 28% evil. I'm going to have to seriously work on that.

Luckily "Tales of the Fabricationist" is checking in at 51% evil which is much more acceptable.

December 1, 2005

Cotton

At some point last night I think some malevolent little house elf came into my room and removed one of my eyes and stuffed a dirty sock into my brain. It all feels like cotton now. I should have had more water. Nothing like waking up at four in the morning to a cat walking all over the bed with a dirty sock in your head and acid trying to eat the back of your throat out. I think I had two too many last night and would therefore like to apologize to anyone about anything I might have said within any conversation, including conversations I wasn’t involved in. There is also a mystery as to how after all this drinking my tab came up as $ 0.00. I seem to be beset on all sides by some odd kindness that takes the form of invisible bar tabs. I like it here; I think I want to stay.

And to all you poor bastards that didn't get a T.A.R.D.I.S keychain, it sucks to be you. And to all you poor bastards that don't know what a T.A.R.D.I.S is, it sucks to be me.

And to everyone that actually had to get up and go to work this morning, I salute you. No really, I'm saluting right now.

Prince of Kittens

I am currently in K-Town at the benevolent wishes of his most gracious Prince of Kittens, Duke of Kittendom, High Potentate of Litteracy. Or, as I simply refer to him, "B-Dog." It is here I shall remain for at minimum of four more days doing his every bidding which is mostly feeding, and occasional scratches behind the ears. Like all Monarchs before him, he has a rather rude propensity for late night activities, for which we are currently searching for a cure. However, while in his service he has been most very gracious and kind by allowing me access to his DSL connection, which makes me weep at its speed and accuracy.

Things of possible interest (maybe only to me)

Flickr:

29 Cloud Textures added

11 Clouds+Objects added

I shall be at the only officially sanctioned Brigade watering hole in town, this evening.

Storm's a Comin'

The storm’s come back. It wants a piece of me this time. I can feel its distain in its warm breath. It’s almost December and the temperature outside is 61 and dense with trouble. It knows I’m leaving and wants to get me before I do. In two days I’m heading west, back to the city of the fort. Back, to the place where the honey flows. So, Tomorrow I’ll batten down the hatches and turn off the generators and polish the floors. Make nice just in case the owners come home. They’ll wonder, “Who's been sleeping in my bed?’ “Who’s been eating all my food?” They’ll say, even though all the food is actually mine. But I’ll be gone, at least for a few days. Then I’ll be back, sleeping in their beds and eating their/my food and wondering when the next storm will come. But for now it’s spit and polish. Heave Ho!

Stories to read.

Also, here are a couple of nice articles about C.S. Lewis and the Chronicles of Narnia in general because of the movie and such that I’ve found to be quite enjoyable as well as informative.

New Yorker

New York Times

And here is one on making colored bubbles.

Incentives Offered

What possible incentives would be needed to entice good people to pick up a fine factory produced good book?

I Just Knew It!

See, this proves it, it's all just theater. All those years and no one would believe me.

Black Friday 2005

Well, since I'm near Pigeon Forge, I thought I'd make a little photo display of Black Friday for those who are no longer here, those who have ever thought of coming, and those who have never been here before. Luckily I was able to find a black outfit to wear to fit the occasion. The trip to the largest outlet mall "Tanger Outlet at Five Oaks" took 2 hours. I traveled 3.4 miles and looked for a parking place once I arrived for 20 min before giving up and heading home. Oh yeah, I also burned up 1/4 of a tank of gas. The return trip took 20 minutes.

If this gets out, maybe some fundamentalist whack job will understand the potential.

Black Friday Food

I've been playing around with a few things over the last few days.

One is a simple salad of baby spinach, pomegranate seeds, capers, crumbled salmon, lemon juice and pepper. I think it’s quite refreshing.





The other thing requires leftover mashed potatoes, that I placed in the fridge in a square container. Now all I do is cut out a square and brown it on all six sides, which seems to heat it through perfectly, and just a micro salad of spinach and pomegranate seeds. I also find this quite enjoyable although I’m still working on the best way to brown it evenly.

Thanksgiving and Remains

So, I hope everyone, that celebrated it, had a nice Thanksgiving, and I hope Sarah and Kurt now have a new addition to their ever-expanding franchise of Zinser-Lowe produced offspring. While on the subject, I should also congratulate Mico and Susanne on their addition as well, some eight weeks past or so. Everyone now has two. I'm really just waiting on the names.

This will probably be viewed one day as the most tasteless blog transition ever, but time is limited and I've been drinking.

Since I started telling people that I took the Forensic Anthropology course from Dr. Bass in the early 90's at UT, people have been asking me what it was like. So, while I can't really answer that here, I can link you to one of the reports I turned in, in 1992, so that you can see what we produced each week for class. I picked it from the middle. I think we produced ten of these reports, so it should be indicative. It would take me about 20 hours to produce one with the organizing and diagramming of the skeletal remains, then the research and the actual production of the report. It was hands down the hardest class I have ever taken. Then again, I was a bit behind from the start. It unfortunately does not contain the figures/diagrams that went with it because I no longer have access to a copier that makes “.pdf” files and I never got around to running my stuff through it while I did. I also don't know what my grade was on this one, but it was probably a B or C because of mistakes in the bibliography. Since these were "legal" documents we were producing, we had to be exact on references since the entire thing could be thrown out, theoretically, on the basis of a misplaced comma or missing period. I almost always hit the facts square on the head but then hosed the whole thing on the references. I should have had an editor or a savvy Admin Assistant while taking that course, but alas I did not. Anyway, it's over on Tales of the Fabricationist and can be found here "Forensic 92-5" as well. Be careful, it contains math.

Mice Turds and TG Wishes

The mouse, or whatever it is, keeps evading my trap and crapping on my floor. I’m pretty sure, as odd as it might sound, that he’s living in the sofa. I’d live in the sofa if I were in his place. It’s nice and warm, and comes with all of the material you would need to build a nest. And, just outside, is the biggest, nicest, hardwood floor TOILET anyone, mouse or man, could ask for. The irony of all this (although the level of irony may be less than I suspect since I have what is expected in the mountains, but did not have what is expected in Manhattan, which would make Manhattan full of more irony, which is probably how it should be since I'm not sure exactly how much irony is available to go around here in the mountains) to me is that I lived in NY for five years and never once had a rat or mouse problem. After the first two months where I made certain adjustments to my environment, mostly chemical, I never had roaches either. However, here in the woods in a state of the art, tightly sealed, modern log cabin, I have a mouse, spiders, squirrels chewing on the exterior, and what I believe to be bats or birds living in the roof (not in my belfry). Don’t get me wrong; in a way it is what I’d expect. Whatever.

So, I switched from peanut butter to a nice slice of extra sharp Vermont white cheddar. It was the only cheese I had. I’ve decided the reason people hate mice is not because they carry disease, and it isn’t because people find little holes in their food from time to time. The reason people hate mice is because of the fact that mice crap in the middle of your floor. The sheer audacity, not to mention rudeness of the act drives people mad. Mice are small; they could crap in a corner of your house you never look at, or under your fridge, or in their own little burrow. They taunt you with their little jimmies of defiance, of humiliation. They say, “Look at me, I’m crappin’ on your floor and there is nothing you can do about it.” Well bygod , there is something I can do. Either he goes humanely into that little trap by the time I return from Thanksgiving, or I’m going to have to raise the stakes and get some more “permanent” solutions. Or, at least he could crap somewhere I don’t see it. I swear, if I find his little home, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to leave him a little (sic) present. Where did I put that flax seed?

On an unrelated note, I hope everyone has a nice Thanksgiving, unless you’re from another country and don’t understand why we celebrate the first handshake, which delivered the European virus upon the land that infected everything and eventually mutated into the society we have now, that is fine. You’re not missing much, except for the hugs and some gas. For you I wish a well deserved extended weekend. The turkeys are blurry because the photo was taken from my car while I was leaving the encampment.

I'd kill for a cigarette

It is a drab and dreary day here. Kind of feels like that moment when you step in a small puddle of water with nice clean socks on and feel the cold dampness hit your feet and wince as though in pain and walk the rest of the way skipping on one foot. I went out and had lunch at THE OLD MILL RESTARANT with my parents and my aunt and uncle who were in town. All the way back I craved a cigarette. This day is perfect for having a cigarette. A cigarette smoked on the screened in porch in the damp and cold wearing my father’s old JC PENNY jacket and watching the drops hit the planks of the deck. But, I drove on, passing all of the grocery stores and gas stations until it was too late to buy cigarettes; it was too late to turn back. The desire did not fade though so when I got home, I had a pipe, first one in over a year, of SMOKEY’S store blend instead and thought a little about killing and how good the smoke tasted in my mouth.

There’s a new story up on Tales called “Room 34” and it is the second story about preparation. It'll probably change from this form later when I have another look at it. For now it's just a first draft.

Mouse Trap and White Chili

All I wanted was a mousetrap. The reason is that there is either a mouse in the cabin or one of the plants near the window bears fruit that looks like little chocolate jimmies. So I went out for the mouse trap knowing it was Saturday and sunny. I am a fool. While it did not take long to get to the Wal-mart, getting back to the cabin was something like 30 min for five miles.


Stopped by the grocery store where there was a pound of ground chicken for $ 1.79. So, I picked-up a few things and went home and made a very spontaneous white chili, which I've never made before and which I made-up. I'm now wondering what it has in common with other people's white chili. This one takes like 20 minutes to make max. I also seeded (peeled as it were) a Pomegranate, which was interesting. I now have a container of Pomegranate seeds that I intend to add to a salmon and spinach salad tomorrow.

1 lb ground chicken (browned)
1 can Great Northern Beans (drained/rinsed)
1 can Black Beans (drained/rinsed)
1 packet Pioneer Biscuit Gravy Mix (2 cup version)
Salt and Black Pepper to taste

Combine first three ingredients once Chicken is browned. Make gravy as per directions. Add gravy. Add water to achieve desired consistency. Allow to simmer for ten minutes. Enjoy with biscuits or corn chips. I thought it was quite tasty, but then again it was chicken and beans in gravy if you want to really break it down. How bad could it be?

I wonder why I don't seem to be losing any weight? Oh Well.

Oh yeah, and I've now baited the trap (which is a live capture box since I can't bring myself to kill it) with the fresh peanut butter I made from a cup of the 5 cup container of peanuts given to me after the party at the bar.

I am living the life of Riley. Don't tell his wife.

Caught in the Act!

Oh yeah...I have a Master's Degree in Film. Take that French New Wave. I'm breaking new ground here. I have a feeling deep in my gut that what America wants is funny videos of animals. It will be earth shattering. It will change everything. Man, maybe I can even get some third string comedian to host a show of them once I have enough. Baby Oh baby I am hot right now.

Tinkering About

MIND THE GAP PLEASE!

Tinkering about today moving bits from here to there and sometimes back again. Trying to make Tales of the Fabricationist a bit more useful as a somewhat professional warehouse of goods. Things will start popping up over there in the sidebar as well. Only one new post a day over there though. Until then I've posted some cloud textures over at flickr that may sooth your soul if it is weary.

So that you won't be bored, here is a little poem.

Tippy the bear sat up with a start,
He sat right up in bed to the beat of his heart.
It was beating quite quickly, quite quickly indeed.
Tippy the bear was so scared that he peed.
His sheets turned all yellow, his face changed to red,
But tippy the bear kept on wetting his bed.
His bladder soon empty, like a newly dead sack.
Tippy sighed a bear sigh, and laid down on his back.
Just as quickly and fast as the fear had first been,
Tippy the bear dreamed of having a swim.

Oh yeah, and here is a picture of me, not suitable for framing and yes I realize I am pouring bourbon and lime juice together. It wasn't my drink I was pouring...I don't think.

T-SHIRTS - Coming Soon 3

Feeling Loved

I am slowly beginning to feel loved. It is all that keeps me warm here. Do not stop. Never stop.

Kitchen WMD

Awe...isn't he sweet. Wait...what's that he's doing? He's eating the buds off of the plant next to the bird feeder. Well, I'm afraid that it has come to this. The squirrels continue to gnaw at the exterior of the house. My father wanted me to spray the places where they chew with insecticide, but he has done this once before and they have returned. So, I have taken it upon myself to construct a nasty liquid of my own, the act of which takes me back to when I was a small child mixing all the liquids I could find in the bathroom into a glass jar and wondering at it's might power. I have chose for my repellent elixir the following items, which I have added to water and heated to a rolling boil then let sit so as to extract of of their goodness: 10 chili pepins (crushed), 1 1/2 Tsp. crushed black pepper, cinnamon, 2 crushed garlic bulbs, tsp. cloves, tsp crushed mustard seeds, white vinegar, balsamic vinegar, and a pinch of salt. After the liquid had cooled somewhat I strained out all of the biggish bits since on the last try they clogged the sprayer, and poured the whole lot into a handy pressure canister. I pumped the canister vigorously then placed a ladder on the side of the house and sprayed where the little buggers had already decimated a healthy portion on the logs above the porch. Oh, and I've also chili peppined the sunflower seeds at the bottom of the bird feeder. As "W" once said after a satisfying day, "I think I could use a vacation." Currently the cabin smells heavily of black pepper, mustard, and vinegar in the most unappetizing way possible. If a picture is worth a thousand words then this post is 6298 words long, which officially makes it the longest post on this blog.

Beef and Pasta Soup

Made a moderately successful Beef and pasta soup for dinner. Unfortunately it was a bit on the salty side due to the brining of the meat and the subsequent addition of chicken stock I had made four months ago. The stock was more sodium rich than I had remembered. It is by no means inedible however since the sodium amount has the taste equivalent of a can of Campbell’s soup, which is simply more sodium than I care for. Two servings have been reserved for later. The photo would have looked nicer had I some green herbs to sprinkle on the soup, but alas what I do have, that is green, is not appropriate for this particular soup. However, I may heat and pour the next serving I eat over some julienne Napa cabbage.

Mr. Nibbles

Mr. Nibbles has struck again. This time however, I was able to capture him fleeing the scene. To the right you can see a small portion of the damage he hath wrought. Something must be done before he is able to make it through the logs and gain access to the cabin. One can only assume that he is suffering from the delusion of being a Beaver. While not common among squirrels it has been documented over the years. The most recent account was made in 1956 when a squirrel was found to have built a 30-foot high damn just outside of Sioux City. Unlike a standard beaver damn, this one had been constructed almost entirely of walnut shells held together with a paste made of chewed pieces of telephone poles. Unfortunately the squirrel was found to be suffering from tar poisoning at the time of its discovery. I’m afraid Mr. Nibbles may find himself suffering from lead poisoning should he persist in his efforts to whittle away the logs above the porch.

Tales of the Fabricationist

Tales of the Fabricationist is now live. This will be where I put new fiction or even parts of fiction. It is partly me trying to make sure a nice copyright trail is in effect as well as making myself create new content. I'm sure in some way I'm hurting my ability to publish it anywhere else, but only the future will tell if that is true. Since this is primarily a "local" site for friends and relations, it shouldn't constitute official publication. So having said that, I am now stating that the items over at Tales of the Fabricationist are being placed there for storage purposes only and are not intended to be considered self published works of fiction. Having said that, I'm not sure there is anything I can do to stop you from having a look. I can't guarentee the frequency that new things will be posted there, but hopefully it will be more frequently than not. I still haven't gotten the font to be the one I want nor do I have much control over formatting.

A Storm is coming

I can smell the storm coming in from the west before I see it. Its moving slow and brings destruction with it. It smells like tepid bathhouse water and regret. It screams inaudibly as it rolls across the sky. It is malevolent and has aims beyond my understanding. The cows know more than I do. Last evening I witnessed one sacrifice itself against a tree while the rest of the herd stood encircling it, moaning in low dissonant songs that vibrated the windshield of my car. The fish in the pond have begun to push themselves into the rocks trying to escape. The water rolls like its simmering, filled with uncontrollable feeding frenzies as those trying to escape fail, and break apart against the rocks. I can feel it picking at the center of my mind, probing for my true name. It will never find it. My true name is hidden deep within the weeping tree in a box of skin and bones of men once lost at sea. The regrets of these men hold it secure; masking its true allegiance with their confusion, thinking it is their own. When it cannot find what it is searching for it will move on. It needs to feed and will waste little time where it cannot be satiated. While it does enjoy the hunt, it is driven by baser needs. It has not left yet and lingers just beyond the hills. So for now, the cows continue to moan and the fish break upon the rocks of the shore, and I sit still thinking of nothing and moving as little as possible.