mirthquakes

Sky Light - Part One of Six: Oscar and His Brother Dunstan See the Sun For the First Time In Their Lives

2009-05-16T21:29:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there was a village of mice who could talk, think, and feel like human beings do today. They lived in a place where, for reasons unknown to them, the sun only rose once a year. It was on a 'Sun Day' morning that Oscar and Dunstan, two mice, and Rufus, a crow, were playing on the moonlit outskirts of the mouse village. After an hour or so of a tag-like game, they collapsed onto the soft grass in exhaustion.

"Rufus, I wish you didn't have to leave tomorrow. You're not like crows we've heard about in stories," said Oscar.

"No. You're really not," agreed Dunstan.

And he really wasn't. That's true. You see, Oscar and Dunstan had heard stories about crows from their parents. Horrible stories that made crows out to be angry, foolish, and, most of all, dangerous. Every mouse in the village seemed to have a pretty nasty impression of crows, though few of them had ever met one. Rufus had a single, red feather sticking out from the top of his head. This was also different.

"I wish I could stay, too. I can't remember the last time I had this much fun. The next sun rise is just a few moons away, though, and we have a long way to travel," explained Rufus.

"What's it like, Rufus?" asked Oscar.

"What's what like?"

"The Sun!"

"I don't want to disappoint you two, but I don't think it's that impressive. I don't see why your town gets so excited..."

"You're one to talk! You travel across the world to see it come up again and again. There must be something to it if it's worth all that trouble."

"Maybe..."

A booming voice in the distance cut Rufus short. "RHO, OMICRON, MU, EPSILON!" it shouted. Rufus closed his eyes and began muttering to himself, clearly trying to remember something. He quickly opened his eyes and began flapping frantically.

"Oh no! That's the assembly order. I'm late!" he exclaimed as he started to fly away.

"Goodbye! See you next year!" shouted Oscar.

"We should probably make our way home, too," suggested Dunstan. "I wouldn't miss my first sunrise for the world."

His brother nodded, and the two quickly made their way towards the village. Sure enough, the townsfolk had gathered and were calling family names and rank. The brothers found their family, who happened to be part of rank 'A' (the best rank), and shuffled into order. You see, the mouse tradition was to climb to the top of a nearby hill and watch the yearly sun rise. The best spots, of course, were reserved for the highest ranking mice. Determining rank was a long, boring process that had mostly to do with how much a family contributed to the Sun Day festivities.

Anyway, the mice began their trek up the hill. To reach the grassy vantage point on top, they had to maneuver through a deep, narrow cave. Though mice are blessed with very powerful night vision, moving though a dark cave with a large, excited crowd is no easy task. The mice were about three quarters of the way through when, suddenly, a faint glimmer of sunlight pierced the darkness of the corridor. It came as such a surprise to Dunstan that he stumbled, and fell into a dark puddle.

Oscar stopped and reached out to help his brother. Dunstan's paws were slippery with some thick, black muck, so helping him up was proving difficult for Oscar. Almost instantly, the crowd of mice behind them erupted in excitement. Sight of the sun had obviously reached them, and they began scrambling towards the end of the cave. Dunstan was still unable to stand, and could only stare in fear at the mob rushing towards him and his brother. The stampede quickly separated them, and Oscar could only watch as it mercilessly trampled his brother.

He was rudely muscled to the cave's exit. There, in just a few, short seconds, Oscar saw his first sunrise. It poured over the hills in the distance and over his body. It was warm one moment, and hot the next. Orange for an instant, and white in a flash. Soon, Oscar could only hear the loud, cheering crowd around him. He was blind.

the perks of being a wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky

2009-05-08T19:45:00.000-07:00

Just finished it this afternoon. It was recommended to me by the girlfriend. She said it was really disappointing, but that it was probably right up my ally. The fact that the novel was published by MTV Books made me a little skeptical too.

All in all, I found it very entertaining. I finished it in about two sittings. The story follows an introspective young man's freshman year in high school. Because of my pretty sheltered upbringing, and lack of exposure to sex, alcohol, drugs, and literature at that age, this book would have meant very little to me during my high school years. I could maybe liken the protagonist's first year in high school to my first year in college. The young narrator's nonspecific angst, however, is very familiar. That brought my right back to high school.

If you've read Catcher in the Rye, you'll notice a lot of parallels in perks. The author cites it as a major inspiration on the back cover. The protagonists have a similar way of telling their stories, and are both intimidated and confused by events in their late adolescent years. The books end in about the same way too, with no real resolution, and a bittersweet sense that everything will sort of work itself out in the end. I guess that's how my teenage years felt.

Timequake, by Kurt Vonnegut

2009-04-29T08:38:00.000-07:00

Just finished reading my fourth Vonnegut book. I'm hooked.

Timequake was different from the other books of his I've read. Good different. It feels like you're having a conversation with the man.

A quote I liked: "Yes, and the word Socialist was the second S in USSR, so good-bye, Socialism along with Communism, good-bye to the soul of Eugene Debs of Terre Haute, Indiana, where the moonlight's shining bright along the Wabash. From the fields there comes the breath of new-mown hay. 'While there is a soul in prison, I am not free.'"

It loses some power without context, so read the book!

Alaskan Hobbits

2009-04-26T11:13:00.000-07:00

So the girlfriend and I took a trip to that flea mall I mentioned a few posts down. It's impressive. The place is packed with antiques, furniture, books, movies, and tons of other useless bric a brac. We wandered its claustrophobic hallways for almost an hour, and probably only saw about a fourth of the store. We'll definitely be going back.

At a book/record/porcelain cat booth, I picked up this:

It's a 1982 print of "The Hobbit" that appears to be in great condition. What's really interesting, though, is its origin. Stamped across the first page is the street address of one of its previous owners. 2666 Silver Street. North Pole, Alaska 99705. I actually looked up the address on google maps (not creepy), and discovered that there's still a little house there.

It's funny what kind of interesting stuff you can get with fifty cents.

The Return of Nielsen / Concert Ticket!

2009-04-22T21:23:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I was contacted by Nielsen, a television ratings company. They sent my two dollars in cash for completing a quick phone survey. Today, I opened my mailbox to find yet another large, cardboard envelope from Nielsen; they sent me thirty dollars this time around. The money is to thank me in advance for completing the enclosed 'ratings journal.' It's a little book that gives me space to write the name of the TV show I'm watching at a particular hour of the day. It's pretty simple. And half of it is written in Spanish. I'll probably fill it out. Who knows what they'll send me next time?

Also, I got my ticket for the Decemberists concert.

It's in Atlanta on June third. I'm pretty excited. From what I've heard, the band will play the entire Hazards of Love album, along with a set of their old songs. Blind Pilot is their opening act. Heard good things about them too. I'll be sure to write about it.

The Most Uncomfortable Meal of My Life

2009-04-22T21:01:00.000-07:00

Allow me to preface this story with a little background information. A few miles up the interstate, there is a small, little known shopping center that my girlfriend and I often visit. It contains two thrift stores, an antique mall, an asian super market, and a Korean restaurant. On our Saturday morning trips to this out-of-the-way place, we have often passed the restaurant with great interest. Identified only by a large, unlit sign that reads "Korean Restaurant," it's a hole-in-the-wall eatery that seems to cater almost exclusively to a Korean-American clientele. We're foodies to some degree, so we resolved to check it out.

Last Saturday, we drove eleven miles up I-85 to eat there for dinner. Aside from a small Korean family, the dining room was empty. The restaurant's only waitress motioned for us to sit. I say motioned because she did not speak English. At all. Expecting the frantic, broken English we are used to hearing in Chinese takeout restaurants, this came as a shock to us. We ordered our meal by pointing to items on the Korean/Engrish menu and smiling nervously. We did a lot of smiling. While waiting for our food, we discussed our surroundings very quietly, carefully avoiding eye contact with the other people in the room.

Before bringing the entrées we ordered, the waitress placed a beautiful array of small dishes in front of us. Whether they were side dishes, appetizers, or condiments, I cannot say. The bowl closest to me was full of pickled peppers and whole anchovies. It became very clear to us that the Korean palate is very different from our own. That's not to say we're averse to foreign foods. Over the last few months, we've visited several 'dives' that serve genuine regional fare. The run-down, probably illegal kitchen in the back of the Mexican tienda by the liquor store is a prime example. The taste of "Korean Restaurant" was a little much, though.

Our main dishes, in short, were bland and unsatisfying. Expensive too. We hardly noticed this during the meal, though; we were terrified of stumbling upon some strange, Korean dining faux pas. Needless to say, we were anxious to leave very early in the evening.

We picked up some ice cream later that night to clear our palates. Over our sugary treats, we discussed the experience. It's entirely possible, we concluded, that "Korean Restaurant" just makes terrible food, by anyone's standards. Or it could be that our humdrum, American taste buds will never be able to appreciate the flavors of the far east. Either way, we won't be going back.

Question: Why Does My Kid Eat Play Doh?

2009-04-08T13:42:00.000-07:00

Answer: It looks like tasty ice cream.

Piracy

2009-04-08T08:45:00.000-07:00

So I'm heading home for the Easter holiday this weekend. To make the drive bearable, I'm downloading a bunch of music that I haven't really explored. Here's my playlist for this Friday's drive:

Animal Collective- Feels
DeVotchKa- Una Volta
Metric- Live it Out
Explosions in the Sky- The Rescue
Devendra Banhart- Rejoicing in the Hands

I've been trying to think of a new way to describe my taste in music. Up until now, I've said my taste is 'eclectic,' but I'm starting to notice common themes is most of the music I listen to.

More on that later.

Daytime Television

2009-03-31T15:21:00.000-07:00

Between commercials for denture adhesive and adult diapers, I realized that I was not part of the Golden Girls demographic.

Tom and Jerry

2009-03-30T09:21:00.001-07:00

Sorry Jerry. This is wrong. Sometimes you're right, but this time you're wrong.

If you make your little mouse-home under the stage of an opera house, you have to expect some loud music a few nights of the week. You're a squatter, and you have no right to sabotage Tom's performance just because it's keeping you awake.

I never thought I would have to say this, but cut it out. You're being a dick.

Heaven

2009-03-28T20:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

As you're no doubt aware, I've been dead for about a week now. From what I've been told, I was sucked out of that airplane I was riding home for Christmas. I must have opened the aircraft exit while looking for the bathroom. I was always clumsy. Oh well.

Anyway, I'm writing to let you know that I got into heaven. I know; I'm surprised too! It was pretty easy, actually. I was under the impression that there would be some kind of tribunal, where all my evil deeds would be meticulously counted up and weighed against my good ones. I thought that I would have to explain all of my crimes, relive every horrible sin, and answer to God for my lack of good will towards my fellow man. Nope. Some angel guy at the door just greets you, and gives you a wrist band with your name on it. Takes about five minutes.

As it turns out, heaven is a lot like how people imagine it. Friends and family that have died are all here. You can look them up in a handy directory, and pay them a visit. Grandma says 'hi,' by the way. One thing people like to do around here is visit the souls of famous movie stars, and other historical figures; it's not really that great. The line to see anyone important, Abraham Lincoln, for example, is horribly long. I know that I'm going to be here for a long time, but waiting in line to ask somebody questions about the world I left behind is just stupid. There are a lot of lines in heaven. A lot of waiting and looking ahead. I don't really see the point, but I guess people are just used to it.

Sports are popular. Particularly stock car racing and football. Oh, and war. Being immortal takes any element of danger out of these things, but people still line up every day to crash cars into walls, and blow each other up. But you know me, I never really liked sports.

As I'm sure you can imagine, I'm not really enjoying myself here. In fact, when I first arrived, I was certain that I had actually been sent to hell. I was convinced that this was all some clever trick. That fire and unspeakable suffering would surely consume me without a moment's notice. I was wrong. Hell, as it turns out, is on television. There's a channel called 'Inferno!,' where you can watch people writhe in misery as they eternally endure the tortures of hell. It's awful. It's also the most popular show on TV. People here like to be constantly reminded that they...won, I guess.

I hope that you and Dad are well. Stay healthy, and enjoy life while you can. I can't wait to see the both of you, but really, take your time. There's no rush.

Your Recently Departed Son,

Angel #6BA-21-1Q5E

Slapstick, by Kurt Vonnegut

2009-03-28T19:10:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading it this afternoon. Give it a shot if you're a fan of his work.

"History is merely a list of surprises. It can only prepare us to be surprised yet again. Please write that down."

Minute by Minute Coverage of President Obama's Online Town Hall Meeting

2009-03-26T09:13:00.000-07:00

11:35- He's Late
11:36- Jared Explains what the administration hopes to accomplish with these meetings. They want to include me!
11:39- President comes out and says hello. It's great to see you too!
11:40- "...This isn't about me. It's about you..."
11:42- He explains that stimulus polices are already showing promise.
11:45- Healing the economy is hard.
11:46- First Question: "...How do you plan to restore education as a right and core cultural value in America?"
11:47- A problem: teachers and schools have insufficient resources.
11:48- We need more resources and reform.
11:49- Invest in early childhood education. $1 investment = $10 back in the future! Better training for teachers. Working with teachers to determine best methods for classroom administration.
11:50- Math and science education is vital.
11:53- Government is making loans more accessible.
11:54- Question 2: "When can we expect the jobs that have been outsourced...to become available to workers in US?"
11:55- Explains why companies outsource jobs.
11:56- "Put our economy on more solid footing" by creating jobs. It's hard to preserve low-skill jobs. Invest in creation of higher skill jobs in fields of energy and bio-fuels.
11:58- We're using a dated energy system. Reforming it will create jobs. Smart-grid!
12:00- There are hard times ahead. We must be patient and persistent.
12:02- Question 3: "Why can't we have a universal healthcare system...like in European countries? ...Based on need."
12: 03- The time to reform is now. It's a "drag."
12: 05- "I want a universal health care system. That is our goal." It may be accomplished differently.
12: 06- How many people here have health insurance through employer? Show of hands.
12: 07- We should build on the system that we have, and fill in the gaps.
12: 08- Investing in prevention, along with many other small reforms will help heal the system. We hope to have a reform bill soon.
12 :09- Question 4: "Would legalizing marijuana... improve the economy?" No, I don't think that is a good strategy.

Ok. I'm tired of typing.

The Hazards Of Love

2009-03-25T08:09:00.000-07:00

This is the first album I've paid for in quite some time.

I'm a fairly big fan of The Decemberists, so I knew that I would enjoy Hazards, to at least some degree, on loyalty alone. It did, however, take a major departure from the sound I have come to love; it truly is a piece unlike any of their other work. That said, it's probably one of my least favorite albums from the band.

That's not to say I don't like it. It tells an imaginative story in the whimsical, hyper-literate style that made the band famous in the first place. And it's bounds above some of their overly-poppy albums as a coherent piece of music. I was just a little disappointed that they sacrificed some of what made them unique for the sake of experimentation.

Insomnia

2009-03-23T22:43:00.000-07:00

I couldn't sleep.

I wanted to, but I couldn't. Insomnia I think it's called. I had spent over an hour tossing in bed before giving up on rest. I pushed off my comforter, and dragged myself to the couch; it's not a long trip in a matchbox apartment like mine.

My neighbors were talking just outside my door. This is not unusual. For some reason, they insist on having their loud, spirited conversations outside of their respective apartments, and right in front of my door. It didn't matter. It wasn't their noise that was keeping me awake.

I looked up 'insomnia' on the internet. Apparently it has a lot of causes: excess hormones, brain lesions, hyperthyroidism, parasites. There's even a condition that causes fatal insomnia. At this hour (1:43am), I felt like any of these could be the cause. I shut off my computer. Twiddling my thumbs in the darkness, I tried to ignore the noises outside my door. I failed.

I turned my computer back on. I don't have a record collection, or even a CD collection. My library of digital music would have to do. I picked a band who writes songs about insomnia. Not exclusively, of course. That would be weird. I kept the music on as I paced about my apartment, eventually making my way into the kitchen. I poured myself the last glass of tonight's wine. My girlfriend had been over earlier for dinner. I thought of her and smiled.

I returned to the couch, and finished my fruity, bitter, weak-bodied beverage. Vintage: recent. My neighbors had stopped talking. It was surprisingly quiet outside. More pacing. When the last song on the album had finished, I took my wine glass over to the kitchenette. It means 'little kitchen.' I washed the glass, along with the dinner dishes from earlier. We had chicken parmesan, which is a thin, chicken cutlet which is breaded, fried and served over spaghetti with a tangy red sauce. It's delicious, but hard to clean.

Suddenly, I heard a crash. The sound of metal hitting concrete just outside my door. I can't explain it, but at that moment, I was neither startled or afraid. I felt serene, and indifferent to the world. On a very unlike-me impulse, I hurried over to my door and opened it. There was a man outside. Not one of my neighbors, just some guy in a black sweatshirt. With a crowbar. I just stood there and watched him.

Two seconds later, the guy bolted. He disappeared from view, and I could hear him clamoring down the building's side staircase. Then, I heard another crash. I walked down a flight, and saw the would-be crook lying face down at the foot of the staircase, streaks of blood left on a few steps behind him. On another impulse I don't understand, I ran upstairs and called an ambulance.

I watched the emergency vehicles through my window. Two paramedics carried the injured man to the ambulance. Its lights pulsed, red and white across the street. No sirens, though. People were trying to sleep, after all.

I miss her.

2009-03-21T12:13:00.000-07:00

I just want to shut off until she comes back.

The Guest Room

2009-03-19T22:29:00.001-07:00

"This is just like her," thought Benson as he drove to the hospital.

His mother-in-law had suffered a stroke just moments after arriving in town for a visit. Now, as she seized, and gasped for air in the back seat of his blue sedan, Benson couldn't be angrier with her. The woman couldn't wait a day, or even a few hours before messing everything up.

Just the day before, Benson had been preparing for his mother-in-law's arrival. He had come to learn, after seven years of marriage, that the woman liked for everything to be in a very particular order. The smallest things could, and often did, trigger her disapproval. This always filled his wife with crushing disappointment, and he hated to see her upset. He was, therefore, determined to ensure that everything was perfect during the woman's stay.

He started with the kitchen:
.clean counter tops- check
.sweep floor- check
.stock fridge with imported, Mediterranean nectarines- check
.chill one 4.2 fluid ounce champagne flute- check
.open one bottle of red wine- check

He proceeded to arrange each room of the house to the exact specifications he had garnered over years of scorn from his demanding in-law. He finally arrived at the guest room; this was, by far, the most important room to perfect, and the easiest room to screw up.

.clean sheets with Tide brand laundry detergent- check
.replace blue, down comforter with red, feather+down comforter- check
.fluff pillows- check

Benson thought about the last time he and his wife visited his mother-in-law's home; he slept on her couch with a blanket that smelled like cat piss.

.adjust room temperature to exactly 21 degrees Celsius (69.8 Fahrenheit)- check
.open window blinds- check
.place a small, glass candy dish full of orange tic-tacs on bedside table- check
.vacuum floor- check

Benson was just setting the twelve-inch guest television to the TV Guide channel, when the doorbell range. He checked his appearance in the hallway mirror, and hurried to the door with his wife. He opened the door, and his mother-in-law burst into his home. She squinted hard, her eyes darting back and forth inside her wrinkled, little skull. After a moment of silence, she growled a little. She opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes suddenly rolled back, and she collapsed onto the floor.

Without a moment of hesitation, Benson grabbed his car keys from the nearby table, and hoisted his mother-in-law's body over his shoulder.

"Darn," he muttered under his breath.

A Typical Day of Spring Break

2009-03-18T17:09:00.000-07:00

10:30am- Wake up
10:31am- Make Coffee
11:00am-4:59pm- Alternate between studying and reality telivision.
5:00pm-???- Drink

Dunstan and the Magic Genie

2009-03-16T10:45:00.000-07:00

One Saturday afternoon, little Dunstan Dewitt was exploring the city junk yard. As dusk approached, Dunstan has very little to show for his trip. He had found a damp copy of Pride and Prejudice, some used needles, and a tattered shirt with a wolf on it. All treasures, to be sure, but Dunstan couldn't help but feel disappointed. With a dramatic sigh, Dunstan gathered up the day's spoils and started home. As he walked toward the yard entrance, something shiny and golden caught his eye.

"A doorknob," thought Dunstan, dropping his sack of discarded goodies in excitement.

He ran to the nearby mountain of garbage, and began digging furiously for his prize. He finally pried the object from its smelly prison, staining his sleeves with a blackish-green residue.

"This is no ordinary doorknob," thought Dunstan. "It's all rusty and lamp-shaped."

Suddenly, a blueish mist poured out of the lamp-shaped object, and filled the sky with the smell of jasmine. The object flew out of Dunstan's greasy hands, and exploded in a beautiful display of light and sound. When Dunstan unshielded his eyes, he saw a man with greenish skin and a tiny red hat standing before him. He staggered to his feet, mouth agape in awe.

"You must be a magical genie!" screamed Dunstan. "I mistakenly freed you from your ancient prison, and you're here to grant me three wishes. This is amazing! Oh magic genie, I wish for a gazillion-trillion dollars!"

The genie simply stood there looking puzzled, his green aura slowly breathing around him. After a few moments of awkward silence, the genie spoke.

"Que?" He said.

At that moment, Dunstan felt the bitter sting of Karma. He was so sure that his middle-school spanish class was useless. He was certain that he would never need to master a foreign language for his future career as a junk salvager. He had never guessed that there was a spanish-speaking genie in his cards.

In broken spanish, Dunstan tried to piece together his wishes for wealth and fame. The genie looked at him intently, clearly trying his best to understand. When Dunstan had finished, the genie seemed very confused. Never the less, he rolled his eyes and clapped his hands together. There was a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder.

In an instant, the sky turned black and a three hundred foot-tall, fire-breathing she-wolf appeared. It crushed Dunstan with its mighty paw, and proceeded to terrorize the world. The genie sighed, and shrank back into his lamp.

"Every God-damned time," he thought in Spanish.

The End

Mary Ella

2009-03-15T17:57:00.000-07:00

..is my girlfriend. She's amazing :)

New Layout

2009-03-15T14:45:00.000-07:00

That's my cat off to the left.

This vacation is shaping up to be my most productive one yet!

Free Money

2009-03-06T08:22:00.000-08:00

I opened my mailbox today, and saw a large, professional-looking envelope. Apparently I was selected at random for a survey about the quality of today's television programming. Inside the package was a survey form, a pamphlet, and two dollars cash. Not a bad start to the day.

I called the toll free number and answered a few questions to thank them for the free money. The moral of the story: don't throw away letters from Nielsen Media Research.

An Excerpt From the Diary of Benny, The Gay Vampire Bat

2009-03-03T16:41:00.000-08:00

Dear Bat-Diary,

This SUCKS! I have to spend the weekend at Dad's place, away from all my friends, just so Mom can go out to dinner with some bat-jerk. It's bad enough that I have to miss the bat-tle of the bands this bat-Friday, but spending a weekend with Dad just makes everything worse. For one, his place is SO FILTHY. There are feces ALL OVER his floor. I know we're bats and all, but would it really kill him to tidy up the place every now and then? And his cooking is terrible! I swear all he eats is cockroaches and flies. Cockroaches and flies. Cockroaches and flies! BLECH! I've told him a hundred times: "Dad, I'm a bat-vegan! I don't eat animals or animal products!" (Though I did sneak a frozen yogurt yesterday afternoon at the bat-TCBY. Shhhh, LOL!)

He just doesn't get me, you know? I'll be in my bat-room, writing a bat-song or something, and he'll just try to strike up a conversation. Like: "Hey Benny, what do you think of Bat-Batterson, the new bat-ball coach at Bat-State?" Or: "So Benny, I hear bat-prom is coming up. Who's the lucky girl? Huh?" He still doesn't get it. I've hated sports since he forced me to join a bat-ball team when I was seven. The other kids dunked my head in the bat-toilet and left me tied to a bat-pole for three hours. As for the bat-prom...I think Dad would kill me if he knew I was planning on asking Chad.

Who am I kidding? I'll never work up the courage to ask CHAD BATSMAN to the bat-prom. I mean, we're best friends. We've known each other since bat-middle-school, and I don't want to jeopardize our friendship. As good a friend as he is, I still can't tell if he 'hangs right-side up' if you know what I mean. It would be SUPER embarrassing if he rejected me. But hey...I can always hope, right? Oh, Chad, you'll be in my bat-dreams tonight.

Well, I guess I'll go take Dad's bat-van out to the bat-theatre for the night. It's the only thing to do on this side of the bat-town. UGHHH! SO BORED!

-Benny Out

Dino Facts

2009-02-17T15:53:00.000-08:00

Dino Data (Taken From Quaker 'Dinosaur Eggs' Oatmeal Packages):

"Most Dinosaurs swallowed their food whole without chewing. Where were their manners?!"

Coffee

2009-01-31T06:57:00.000-08:00

I've been drinking coffee every morning for the past four years. I own three coffee machines: a French press, an espresso machine, and a boring-old drip machine. Needless to say, I really like the stuff. Up until now, I've joked about having a coffee addiction to my friends and family. I've said stuff like "I need my fix," or "What are you talking about? This is only my third cup today" whenever my affinity for coffee is brought up. Haha, right? LOL, right?

No more jokes. I think I have a serious problem.

Yesterday afternoon, after returning home from class, I was feeling a little drowsy. I decided to make some coffee to perk me up. Halfway to the kitchen, I remembered that I had used up the last of my beans that morning. I was out of coffee. Suddenly, my head started hurting. No. "Hurting" is not a strong enough word. My head started throbbing with pain. I knew why of course. It was simple. I needed caffeine.

I took three Headache Relief tablets and crawled into bed. My head felt a little better, but I still have a dull pain in the back. This is not healthy.

An Open Letter to the Asshole Who Sits in Front of Me in Discrete Mathematics

2009-01-28T08:07:00.000-08:00

Dear Asshole Who Sits in Front of Me in Discrete Mathematics,

Honestly, is it really so difficult to devote less than an hour of your time on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays to a class that you're paying thousands of dollars to attend? If you insist on interrupting each lecture with your nasally comments about World of Warcraft and Halo, just don't come to class. Stay in your greasy, unkempt dorm room, and sleep in to recover from your late-night porn binges. Seriously, annoying one of the few energetic, and engaging professors you're ever going to have is disgusting. Disgusting as the unwashed Boba-Fett t-shirt you wear every day.

Just give up.

Affectionately Yours,

The Guy Who Sits Behind You in Discrete Mathematics

Last Night I Had a Nightmare About a Spider

2009-01-28T06:28:00.000-08:00

Content: The Spider looked like a cross between a beach crab and a wolf spider. It wanted to hurt me.

Interpretation: I miss my mother.

Hello World

2009-01-27T16:33:00.000-08:00

First Entry. After hours of toying with the layout and color scheme I'm finally writing. I'm pretty excited. So, I suppose I'll kick things off by telling you why I'm here, like I've done with my last three failed blogs.

I'm a Software Engineering student at University X. In short, I need to exercise the creative part of my mind that's being systematically beaten out of me by my chosen field of study. I hope to update often, but I'm not going to set any deadlines just yet.

What will I write about? I'm not quite sure yet. I recently got Cable in my apartment, so maybe expect my critical opinions on current events and/or infomercials. Also, I plan to explore a slew of lazy writing methods. Expect 'top 5' lists, pictures of baby animals, haikus. You know. Whatever strikes my fancy.

Mirthquakes. I first saw the word in my high school history textbook, used to described former president William Howard Taft. Essentially, it's what large, jolly men do when find something funny. They quake with mirth. Santa ho-ho-ing is a classic example.

I think that's all for now.