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Showing posts with label Dbenyishay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dbenyishay. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 6
Thursday, August 13
Saturday, July 18
Otakon!
We just had some Chinese food and everyone is in a reclining state of mind. Therefore I have the time, and the lack-of-other-things-to-do, to put up a few pictures from today and yesterday. There's plenty more, no worries, but here's just a taste.
Saturday, July 11
A Friday Night in Photographs
Lunch: Cinnamon Life cereal.
Dinner: Chicken and Corn on the Cob.
Diner: Ice Cream Sundae.
Thursday, July 2
Liveblogging Starcraft Night!
I'm waiting for Nick's Starcraft to install so here I am.
First game: Nick and Tyler won, New Bill lost, Ian sucked.
Second game: Nick's computer is not working. We can get on the internet and start a game, but nobody can join it. Makes no sense. Morale low. Tyler's stalking girls on Facebook. New Bill's gossiping. Ian looks dejected. I'm drowning my sorrow in thinking about what I had for dinner.
Actual Second game: Note to self - don't ally with Tyler. Note to New Bill - shame on you, allying with both sides.
And then off to Denny's. Aka, typical Starcraft game night.
First game: Nick and Tyler won, New Bill lost, Ian sucked.
Second game: Nick's computer is not working. We can get on the internet and start a game, but nobody can join it. Makes no sense. Morale low. Tyler's stalking girls on Facebook. New Bill's gossiping. Ian looks dejected. I'm drowning my sorrow in thinking about what I had for dinner.
Actual Second game: Note to self - don't ally with Tyler. Note to New Bill - shame on you, allying with both sides.
And then off to Denny's. Aka, typical Starcraft game night.
Tuesday, June 16
The Great Green Monster
Six thirty this morning the residents of the lower half of Seckelpear Road were awoken by the clanging of an empty dumpster against pavement. Pulling aside their curtains, these homely neighbors, some whose homeliness was lesser than others, immediately drew back into their homes upon seeing the cavernous mouth of the great green monster in my driveway.
"What could they possibly be up to?" one of the wives might have asked their husbands.
"God only knows, " the husband would have responded, "but the break of dawn certainly isn't the time for it."
These men and women, along with their sons and daughters, then pretended to not care what the dumpster was for, brewed coffees, toasted breads, donned garbs, assembled briefcases, packed backpacks, got in cars and went about their business.
I did not see these events but know them to have transpired. For I was not awoken from my sleep by the crash of metal against pavement, nor was I curious about the neighbors, nor did I have coffee to brew nor workbags to fill. Nor did I fear the cavernous mouth of the great green monster.
And when at 6:30 this evening the neighbors again drove up Seckelpear Road they did not recoil from the expected emptiness of a long, green dumpster but from the sight of a monster reclining contentedly after a feast.
I sat in my now-empty garage, seeing this, the slow drivebys, smiling. Before, while I worked through the dust and decay, I had smiled even more broadly yet. I had smiled still more widely at each ringing sound of tossed junk finding its new home at the bottom of the monster's throat. I smiled when a passing mailman could not help but peer into the carnage and when today's junk mail joined it I also smiled. I smiled while heaving heavy furniture over the brim and I smiled when I took a break and had no seat to rest on.
I imagined the neighbors coming home from work and immediately turning the door's locks behind them and wondered how many realized they were locking themselves in as much as others out. Thinking of the inevitable future date when these pour souls would become aware of all the waste, I did not smile, for that thought is nothing more than sad. Standing on tip toes a top a rickety tower of things, these people would wait for a door to open up to the heavens, still unaware of the fact that simulated height does not equal flight. At the feet of these towers, and sometimes within their foundations themselves, lay the fallen bodies of those who once similarly built themselves up so high.
And I remember after my Grandfather's death when chest-fulls of property suddenly had no owner to bow to. My Grandmother chose not to hold on to most of her husband'st belongings. Perhaps she knew. One day, still in the period of mourning, my Grandmother invited her living relatives into her bedroom and emptied a drawer, the top drawer of my Grandfather's dresser, onto the bed. The floral bedsetting shook like a frothing sea as everything was divvied up between family members. My Grandmother sat propped in a corner, watching. Looking over I saw it on her face, beneath the shadows of wrinkles, a smile. She must have known.
What did she know then and I find out later? The fact that manmade objects have no meaning within themselves but only through the functions assigned to them. We buy what we want and grab what we can in order to fill a hole that simply can't be filled by meaningless things.
When we ask each other, "Who are you?" we actually ask, "What are you?"
And the answer to that question is, "A straw man," made of all that we have accrued in order to prevent deeper inquiry.
But I am more than a collection of bones that moves in concert. And I am more than a collections of bones that moves in concert that sometimes enjoys tapping its feet to certain kinds of music or turning the pages on certain types of books or standing in front of particular pictures. Who I am, who we are, is much deeper than what we have and it is an insult to think otherwise.
Today I filled a metal hole in my driveway. But I had no misconceptions of meaning in the exercise. I smiled then and I smile now.
Breakfast: Veitnamese Pad Thai. Thai Pad Thai's much better
Lunch: Big Bite Cheeseburger Hot Dog. My first and last.
Dinner: Chicken (dark meat).
"What could they possibly be up to?" one of the wives might have asked their husbands.
"God only knows, " the husband would have responded, "but the break of dawn certainly isn't the time for it."
These men and women, along with their sons and daughters, then pretended to not care what the dumpster was for, brewed coffees, toasted breads, donned garbs, assembled briefcases, packed backpacks, got in cars and went about their business.
I did not see these events but know them to have transpired. For I was not awoken from my sleep by the crash of metal against pavement, nor was I curious about the neighbors, nor did I have coffee to brew nor workbags to fill. Nor did I fear the cavernous mouth of the great green monster.
And when at 6:30 this evening the neighbors again drove up Seckelpear Road they did not recoil from the expected emptiness of a long, green dumpster but from the sight of a monster reclining contentedly after a feast.
I sat in my now-empty garage, seeing this, the slow drivebys, smiling. Before, while I worked through the dust and decay, I had smiled even more broadly yet. I had smiled still more widely at each ringing sound of tossed junk finding its new home at the bottom of the monster's throat. I smiled when a passing mailman could not help but peer into the carnage and when today's junk mail joined it I also smiled. I smiled while heaving heavy furniture over the brim and I smiled when I took a break and had no seat to rest on.
I imagined the neighbors coming home from work and immediately turning the door's locks behind them and wondered how many realized they were locking themselves in as much as others out. Thinking of the inevitable future date when these pour souls would become aware of all the waste, I did not smile, for that thought is nothing more than sad. Standing on tip toes a top a rickety tower of things, these people would wait for a door to open up to the heavens, still unaware of the fact that simulated height does not equal flight. At the feet of these towers, and sometimes within their foundations themselves, lay the fallen bodies of those who once similarly built themselves up so high.
And I remember after my Grandfather's death when chest-fulls of property suddenly had no owner to bow to. My Grandmother chose not to hold on to most of her husband'st belongings. Perhaps she knew. One day, still in the period of mourning, my Grandmother invited her living relatives into her bedroom and emptied a drawer, the top drawer of my Grandfather's dresser, onto the bed. The floral bedsetting shook like a frothing sea as everything was divvied up between family members. My Grandmother sat propped in a corner, watching. Looking over I saw it on her face, beneath the shadows of wrinkles, a smile. She must have known.
What did she know then and I find out later? The fact that manmade objects have no meaning within themselves but only through the functions assigned to them. We buy what we want and grab what we can in order to fill a hole that simply can't be filled by meaningless things.
When we ask each other, "Who are you?" we actually ask, "What are you?"
And the answer to that question is, "A straw man," made of all that we have accrued in order to prevent deeper inquiry.
But I am more than a collection of bones that moves in concert. And I am more than a collections of bones that moves in concert that sometimes enjoys tapping its feet to certain kinds of music or turning the pages on certain types of books or standing in front of particular pictures. Who I am, who we are, is much deeper than what we have and it is an insult to think otherwise.
Today I filled a metal hole in my driveway. But I had no misconceptions of meaning in the exercise. I smiled then and I smile now.
Breakfast: Veitnamese Pad Thai. Thai Pad Thai's much better
Lunch: Big Bite Cheeseburger Hot Dog. My first and last.
Dinner: Chicken (dark meat).
Saturday, May 2
The Boy Who Lost His Grip
Do a quick Google search with the terms "weak grip" and you will only get a measly 28,200 results. According to the latest available statistics from CHAPL (Center for Health And the Prolonging of Life) more than four thousand people have died of weak grips since 2007. That equates to only four results per death. To put this into perspective, a search for "shark attack" nets 1,700,000 results, even as the ISAF (International Shark Attack File) has recorded little more than 1,000 attacks since 1990 in the entire world of which only a fraction resulted in fatalities!
Some more perspective: the latest public health scare, Swine Flu, yields an astronomical 282,000,000 results. And all this outcry while the disease has just recently taken it's 100th victim. That means, for every dead Swine Flu victim, there are nearly three million internet entries mourning their deaths.
Just the other day Linell Fontaine, mother of four, wife of one, and school administrator of 283, lost her grip on an Elm tree branch after careening off the side of Interstate 74 in her 1994 sky blue Jeep Cherokee (Winstonian Times, 4/27/09). Trained EMTs, upon arriving seconds too late, determined that it was indeed Smith's grip and not the tree branch that was too weak. Her death, and the grieving of her elementary school kids, her sons James and Steven, daughters Amy and Christine, and husband Rick, could have easily been avoided if there were greater awareness of the importance of a strong grip and more research grants given to researchers in this struggling field. Her death might have passed on quietly and with little upheaval on the blogs and tweets, but the real-life sorrow that resulted from her unfortunately weak grip continues to reap untold anguish on the town of Winston, Illinois.
Not only do weak grips contribute to a sizable, yet underrepresented, economic loss in the form of lost consumers and producers, but the emotional impact of a grip gone bad is often twofold in nature. I have only mentioned cases in which there are single victims, but the truth is most deaths result from two weak grips. I speak, of course, of the sad but common occurences of hangers-on.
No doubt you have seen many action movies in which the hero reaches out at the last moment to grab the flailing hand of a spouse or child as they fall over cliffs or out of helicopters. These scenes do not represent these situations faithfully. In most real-world examples of dangling victims the untrained hangers-on watch helplessly as their brothers, wives, children and life-long companions' fingers slowly slip from their loosening grasps. Make no mistake: no amount of desperation, no matter how deep, no amount of guttural desire, no matter how soul-wrenching, no amount of sweat or tears, no matter how heart-felt, can reliably save a loved one who has fallen from such heights.
I ask that you donate as much as you can, even if only a few dollars, to the cause. Already top scientists have been able to develop new grip techniques using money from people like you. The Swedish Swan Grip, currently being developed in Stockholm, already shows incredible promise in lab experiments. But we can't stop yet, not when the finish line is finally in sight.
Contribute today, save a life tomorrow.
Please visit Get a Grip for further details and incredible tales of survival.
________________________________________________________________________
The things I think of while taking showers... It occurred to me that people have very weak grips and, given the friend-over-a-cliff situation, would likely fail miserably. But then I realized that maybe it's just a matter of technique - maybe there's a way of holding hands that can't fail. I'm the boy who's lost his grip, if you couldn't tell. Can't wait to get out of here for a few months.
Brunch: Fried egg and cheese sandwich with potatoes on the side.
Dinner: Hamburger, ice cream sundae
Some more perspective: the latest public health scare, Swine Flu, yields an astronomical 282,000,000 results. And all this outcry while the disease has just recently taken it's 100th victim. That means, for every dead Swine Flu victim, there are nearly three million internet entries mourning their deaths.
Just the other day Linell Fontaine, mother of four, wife of one, and school administrator of 283, lost her grip on an Elm tree branch after careening off the side of Interstate 74 in her 1994 sky blue Jeep Cherokee (Winstonian Times, 4/27/09). Trained EMTs, upon arriving seconds too late, determined that it was indeed Smith's grip and not the tree branch that was too weak. Her death, and the grieving of her elementary school kids, her sons James and Steven, daughters Amy and Christine, and husband Rick, could have easily been avoided if there were greater awareness of the importance of a strong grip and more research grants given to researchers in this struggling field. Her death might have passed on quietly and with little upheaval on the blogs and tweets, but the real-life sorrow that resulted from her unfortunately weak grip continues to reap untold anguish on the town of Winston, Illinois.
Not only do weak grips contribute to a sizable, yet underrepresented, economic loss in the form of lost consumers and producers, but the emotional impact of a grip gone bad is often twofold in nature. I have only mentioned cases in which there are single victims, but the truth is most deaths result from two weak grips. I speak, of course, of the sad but common occurences of hangers-on.
No doubt you have seen many action movies in which the hero reaches out at the last moment to grab the flailing hand of a spouse or child as they fall over cliffs or out of helicopters. These scenes do not represent these situations faithfully. In most real-world examples of dangling victims the untrained hangers-on watch helplessly as their brothers, wives, children and life-long companions' fingers slowly slip from their loosening grasps. Make no mistake: no amount of desperation, no matter how deep, no amount of guttural desire, no matter how soul-wrenching, no amount of sweat or tears, no matter how heart-felt, can reliably save a loved one who has fallen from such heights.
I ask that you donate as much as you can, even if only a few dollars, to the cause. Already top scientists have been able to develop new grip techniques using money from people like you. The Swedish Swan Grip, currently being developed in Stockholm, already shows incredible promise in lab experiments. But we can't stop yet, not when the finish line is finally in sight.
Contribute today, save a life tomorrow.
Please visit Get a Grip for further details and incredible tales of survival.
________________________________________________________________________
The things I think of while taking showers... It occurred to me that people have very weak grips and, given the friend-over-a-cliff situation, would likely fail miserably. But then I realized that maybe it's just a matter of technique - maybe there's a way of holding hands that can't fail. I'm the boy who's lost his grip, if you couldn't tell. Can't wait to get out of here for a few months.
Brunch: Fried egg and cheese sandwich with potatoes on the side.
Dinner: Hamburger, ice cream sundae
Tuesday, March 31
The Sky is Falling
No matter how much they prayed for it not to, regardless of the millions of birthday wishes spent, despite all of the logic and rationale of all the scientists and philosophers, the sky began to fall one week ago today.
Actually, no one knows when it really began to fall. One week ago today clouds formed in the sky and began to descend towards the ground, pulling everything around down with them.
This was especially apparent because, for months before, there had been only the clearest of skies. Children everywhere rejoiced and chalked masterpieces crowded the sidewalks.
Bookstores quickly sold out of amateur astronomy books as the bright night sky excited people's thirst for names to put to newly discovered stars. Neighborhoods banded together in agreement to turn off all streetlights in order to better see what once could not be seen.
The Milky Way especially amazed people. Never before had they been able to so readily see their places in the larger universe without the wisdom of experience.
"You are right here," the Milky Way said with its celestial arms, as if cradling a child.
During the day separated lovers climbed mountains and skyscrapers and it was not so hard for them to imagine that the speck of dust on the horizon was their loved one, looking back from their own mountains and skyscrapers.
Airplane passengers took turns looking out their porthole windows at the many kites floating below on the slightest of breezes. Pilots waved to friends flying planes miles away and asked how each other’s wives were over the radios.
But then, one week ago today, the clouds came. Not the dark storm clouds one might expect from an apocalypse but great columns of white that inspired the imagination.
The clouds sank as a guilty dog might return to its master, slowly and deliberately.
The wind began to pick up. The clouds’ slanted descent did not worry anyone at first. Months of clear skies had left no one a skeptic. But then they noticed that birds would not take to flight, choosing instead to march, in droves, from tree to tree. The kites would no longer stay afloat, despite the rushing gusts of wind. The Lovers could not reach the peaks and roofs for they ran out of breath too soon.
The governments of the world paid little attention to the situation until planes began to roll down the lengths of runways without catching any air beneath their wings – not that they would know where to go since satellites no longer responded to electronic pleas for direction.
Cell phones stopped working and travel was limited.
Families gathered boxes of food and bottles of water, stayed in their homes, and constantly spoke with friends and relatives on landlines. In this way they became tethered to their homes and threw life lines to loved ones.
I am writing this from a balcony at a hotel.
The clouds are not far away now. They are more majestic than ever – the invisible sun shines from above, turning each cloud into a light bulb that will never run out.
Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring, weathermen least of all.
Some think that the atmosphere is shrinking and that we will become unanchored from the earth. Others say that the earth is actually growing outwards, breaking through the air itself. Some think that this is a passing phenomenon, that nothing but more sky awaits at the other end.
What do I think?
I think that one week ago yesterday I didn't think anything. So why start now?
Breakfast: More sleep.
Lunch: Cream of mushroom soup and spinach and feta quiche.
Dinner: Pizza.
Actually, no one knows when it really began to fall. One week ago today clouds formed in the sky and began to descend towards the ground, pulling everything around down with them.
This was especially apparent because, for months before, there had been only the clearest of skies. Children everywhere rejoiced and chalked masterpieces crowded the sidewalks.
Bookstores quickly sold out of amateur astronomy books as the bright night sky excited people's thirst for names to put to newly discovered stars. Neighborhoods banded together in agreement to turn off all streetlights in order to better see what once could not be seen.
The Milky Way especially amazed people. Never before had they been able to so readily see their places in the larger universe without the wisdom of experience.
"You are right here," the Milky Way said with its celestial arms, as if cradling a child.
During the day separated lovers climbed mountains and skyscrapers and it was not so hard for them to imagine that the speck of dust on the horizon was their loved one, looking back from their own mountains and skyscrapers.
Airplane passengers took turns looking out their porthole windows at the many kites floating below on the slightest of breezes. Pilots waved to friends flying planes miles away and asked how each other’s wives were over the radios.
But then, one week ago today, the clouds came. Not the dark storm clouds one might expect from an apocalypse but great columns of white that inspired the imagination.
The clouds sank as a guilty dog might return to its master, slowly and deliberately.
The wind began to pick up. The clouds’ slanted descent did not worry anyone at first. Months of clear skies had left no one a skeptic. But then they noticed that birds would not take to flight, choosing instead to march, in droves, from tree to tree. The kites would no longer stay afloat, despite the rushing gusts of wind. The Lovers could not reach the peaks and roofs for they ran out of breath too soon.
The governments of the world paid little attention to the situation until planes began to roll down the lengths of runways without catching any air beneath their wings – not that they would know where to go since satellites no longer responded to electronic pleas for direction.
Cell phones stopped working and travel was limited.
Families gathered boxes of food and bottles of water, stayed in their homes, and constantly spoke with friends and relatives on landlines. In this way they became tethered to their homes and threw life lines to loved ones.
I am writing this from a balcony at a hotel.
The clouds are not far away now. They are more majestic than ever – the invisible sun shines from above, turning each cloud into a light bulb that will never run out.
Nobody knows what tomorrow will bring, weathermen least of all.
Some think that the atmosphere is shrinking and that we will become unanchored from the earth. Others say that the earth is actually growing outwards, breaking through the air itself. Some think that this is a passing phenomenon, that nothing but more sky awaits at the other end.
What do I think?
I think that one week ago yesterday I didn't think anything. So why start now?
Breakfast: More sleep.
Lunch: Cream of mushroom soup and spinach and feta quiche.
Dinner: Pizza.
Sunday, March 15
Where was I again?
The last two weeks were not fun ones. Midterm week, it was chock full of papers and assignments and banging out an issue of the newspaper, all with little to no sleep. I'm not a very stressed-out person. To most things my response is "So what?" But college can get pretty stressful some times - admittedly the majority of the problem is my own procrastination - and it's definitely nice to get away. Luckily last weekend was there to give a brief respite.
For a few hours Saturday, on a stage in Pearlstone Atrium, under cover of darkness and intermittent strobe lights, I and a few others engaged in a night of debauchery and glamor. The Gaming House held a Battle of the Bands Rock Band tournament and Jon, Lewis, Deb and I, under the guise of Galileo's Guns (our impromptu band name), rocked the motherflippin' house. Well, when it came to actual score at least. We found out once we got there that costume and performance would also be reviewed, to our immense and immediate chagrin. You see, we're not the most extroverted people, least of all on a stage in front of a small crowd. Our quickly improvised costumes amounted to my rolled up pants leg, Deb's borrowed NY Knicks jersey and Jon wearing Deb's sweater. Even so, after the first round of playing (out of three), the judges informed us that our score was triple that of the second-place band. Pure technique FTW. Our award at the end of the night was a gift card to Chipotle, a mexican establishment I hear is a fine purveyor of cheap burritos.
And then another week of stuff, and now back at home for Spring Break. I never really thought much of spring break, always just assumed I'd go home for the duration, but a lot of people seem to go on trips all over the place. I'm not talking about Mexico or Florida or somewhere stupid and cliche like that, but next break I hope to plan ahead and not get stuck at home for a week. Anybody else on break right now and want to drive out somewhere for a bit?
This weekend was kind of crazy, as it usually is when a large family convenes on its base of familial operations. In town for the rare visit of my Israeli grandmother were my oldest brother and his family (wife and two foster kids, hopefully adopted kids in a few months), my next older brother, my American grandmother, my Mom's younger sister and her husband, and her older sister and her husband with their two dogs. The dogs are getting late in their years - one is mostly deaf and with only one eye, while the other is completely blind. One was walking into the other for lack of sight while the other stood and let it happen because he couldn't hear him coming. It made for a few good laughs, except when the blind dog would walk into a room and stand perfectly still in the middle of it, scared to move and possibly walk into something. Funny, but sad. And then again, what's the point of humor if not to alleviate the somber?
But now my brother's family has left, as have the uncles and aunts and the one grandmother, and the mid-semester weeks of devilry are over as well, and so I am sitting down to write this post. Sorry for the wait. Not much, I know - it won't satisfy your interminable thirst for bloggery - but hopefully it will more smoothly pass a few minutes of your wait for the next masterpiece post.
Breakfast: two toddlers jumping on my pre-10 'oclock bed, shoving their foots in my face, apparently in an effort to wake me. Tasted like chicken.
Lunch: Everyone sat down to lunch together so it was a big production. I had one half of a bagel with cream cheese and lox, one half with cream cheese and chives, and a third with spinach and artichoke cream cheese spread. Also on my plate was a serving of eggplant parmesian, some pesto pasta, and some more stuff I can't remember.
The best part was dessert: a homemade/sistermade strawberry shortcake that came out much better than the cake she made a while back in which she tried to substitute salt for sugar. She currently wants to go to cullinary school after Neshaminy. Of course, at one point she also wanted to grow up to be a cash register and a taxi cab. (She wouldn't leave me to write this post unless I mentioned her.)
Dinner: I'm starting to get hungry after writing about lunch. Maybe I'll have leftovers or maybe I'll meet some Onions at the diner. We'll see.
For a few hours Saturday, on a stage in Pearlstone Atrium, under cover of darkness and intermittent strobe lights, I and a few others engaged in a night of debauchery and glamor. The Gaming House held a Battle of the Bands Rock Band tournament and Jon, Lewis, Deb and I, under the guise of Galileo's Guns (our impromptu band name), rocked the motherflippin' house. Well, when it came to actual score at least. We found out once we got there that costume and performance would also be reviewed, to our immense and immediate chagrin. You see, we're not the most extroverted people, least of all on a stage in front of a small crowd. Our quickly improvised costumes amounted to my rolled up pants leg, Deb's borrowed NY Knicks jersey and Jon wearing Deb's sweater. Even so, after the first round of playing (out of three), the judges informed us that our score was triple that of the second-place band. Pure technique FTW. Our award at the end of the night was a gift card to Chipotle, a mexican establishment I hear is a fine purveyor of cheap burritos.
And then another week of stuff, and now back at home for Spring Break. I never really thought much of spring break, always just assumed I'd go home for the duration, but a lot of people seem to go on trips all over the place. I'm not talking about Mexico or Florida or somewhere stupid and cliche like that, but next break I hope to plan ahead and not get stuck at home for a week. Anybody else on break right now and want to drive out somewhere for a bit?
This weekend was kind of crazy, as it usually is when a large family convenes on its base of familial operations. In town for the rare visit of my Israeli grandmother were my oldest brother and his family (wife and two foster kids, hopefully adopted kids in a few months), my next older brother, my American grandmother, my Mom's younger sister and her husband, and her older sister and her husband with their two dogs. The dogs are getting late in their years - one is mostly deaf and with only one eye, while the other is completely blind. One was walking into the other for lack of sight while the other stood and let it happen because he couldn't hear him coming. It made for a few good laughs, except when the blind dog would walk into a room and stand perfectly still in the middle of it, scared to move and possibly walk into something. Funny, but sad. And then again, what's the point of humor if not to alleviate the somber?
But now my brother's family has left, as have the uncles and aunts and the one grandmother, and the mid-semester weeks of devilry are over as well, and so I am sitting down to write this post. Sorry for the wait. Not much, I know - it won't satisfy your interminable thirst for bloggery - but hopefully it will more smoothly pass a few minutes of your wait for the next masterpiece post.
Breakfast: two toddlers jumping on my pre-10 'oclock bed, shoving their foots in my face, apparently in an effort to wake me. Tasted like chicken.
Lunch: Everyone sat down to lunch together so it was a big production. I had one half of a bagel with cream cheese and lox, one half with cream cheese and chives, and a third with spinach and artichoke cream cheese spread. Also on my plate was a serving of eggplant parmesian, some pesto pasta, and some more stuff I can't remember.
The best part was dessert: a homemade/sistermade strawberry shortcake that came out much better than the cake she made a while back in which she tried to substitute salt for sugar. She currently wants to go to cullinary school after Neshaminy. Of course, at one point she also wanted to grow up to be a cash register and a taxi cab. (She wouldn't leave me to write this post unless I mentioned her.)
Dinner: I'm starting to get hungry after writing about lunch. Maybe I'll have leftovers or maybe I'll meet some Onions at the diner. We'll see.
Thursday, February 26
I'm Back, Baby!: Or, My Death and The Resurrection of the Blog
New design, new day. Let's get this ball rolling.
It's been so long you all probably think I've died. Which I haven't. I have, however, already decided how I would die if the choice were mine:
1) As an Astronaut come untethered from the space station mid-space walk.
2) Skydiving with no parachute.
3) Bludgeoned by an avalanche of books in a used book store somewhere in England or Italy after I'd finally found the book I'd been searching for and tried to pull it from the bottom of a ceiling-high stack of encyclopedias.
4) Choking on a peanut while Jerry Seinfeld performs a stand up routine on airplane food.
5) Overslept to death.
6) In an attempt to meet the legendary Shigeru Miyamoto on his way to work from his home in the foothills of Kyoto, Japan I scope out his schedule for weeks before I make a move. When I finally do he mistakes me for a burglar and sicks his Nintendog on me.
7) After the launch of Starcraft 2 I immediately lose all survival instincts and play until death shuffles me off this mortal mouse.
8) Jackie Chan and Samuel Jackson star in Rush Hour 5. After watching it I promptly die.
9) Died tragically rescuing his family from the remains of a destroyed sinking battleship.
10) I commit suicide in an effort to motivate everyone to post to the blog more often. Plan backfires as I'm the one who maintains it. Instead everyone discusses what they had for dinner at my funeral.
Lunch: Marinara and Alfredo sauce on turtle-shell looking pasta. Roll to soak up the goodness.
It's been so long you all probably think I've died. Which I haven't. I have, however, already decided how I would die if the choice were mine:
1) As an Astronaut come untethered from the space station mid-space walk.
2) Skydiving with no parachute.
3) Bludgeoned by an avalanche of books in a used book store somewhere in England or Italy after I'd finally found the book I'd been searching for and tried to pull it from the bottom of a ceiling-high stack of encyclopedias.
4) Choking on a peanut while Jerry Seinfeld performs a stand up routine on airplane food.
5) Overslept to death.
6) In an attempt to meet the legendary Shigeru Miyamoto on his way to work from his home in the foothills of Kyoto, Japan I scope out his schedule for weeks before I make a move. When I finally do he mistakes me for a burglar and sicks his Nintendog on me.
7) After the launch of Starcraft 2 I immediately lose all survival instincts and play until death shuffles me off this mortal mouse.
8) Jackie Chan and Samuel Jackson star in Rush Hour 5. After watching it I promptly die.
9) Died tragically rescuing his family from the remains of a destroyed sinking battleship.
10) I commit suicide in an effort to motivate everyone to post to the blog more often. Plan backfires as I'm the one who maintains it. Instead everyone discusses what they had for dinner at my funeral.
Lunch: Marinara and Alfredo sauce on turtle-shell looking pasta. Roll to soak up the goodness.
Wednesday, February 11
Randomness #1
Until people step up, I'll be forced to post randomness.
In class we had to do something boring with a passage from Moby Dick. So naturally I did something completely different and absent-mindedly wrote a new ending. I jumped in the middle of a random word in a random sentence on a random page and finished Moby Dick off for good. It's probably pretty easy to tell where I jumped in and helped Melville out.
In class we had to do something boring with a passage from Moby Dick. So naturally I did something completely different and absent-mindedly wrote a new ending. I jumped in the middle of a random word in a random sentence on a random page and finished Moby Dick off for good. It's probably pretty easy to tell where I jumped in and helped Melville out.
And thus, through the courage and great skill in obstetrics of Queequeg, the deliverance, or rather, delivery of Tashtego, was successfully accomplished, in the teeth, too, of the most untoward and apparently hopeless impediments; which is a lesson by no means to be forgotten. Midwifery should be taught in the same course with fencing and boxing, riding and rowing.
I know that this queer adventure of the Gay-Header's will be sure to seem incredible to some landsmen, though they themselves simply do not understand the beauty of the creatures. I'm not sure I understand it either, though it enthralls me. I will never properly entomb its beauty in these inky words for there is not paper enough to describe an encounter with one of these creatures. Perhaps some things full of beauty should be left alone and the greatest book will be a simple book of instructions and directions. For beauty go here; for an experience do this; consult Google Maps for further information (although Mapquest isn't bad). Satellite view would be best.
Regardless, put down this book and pick up your keys or put on your shoes for God's sake. Check out the primary sources, you won't be disappointed if you just try. I can only show so much, the rest is up to you. Whales don't read books. And it looks like they have a grand old time. They swim the oceans with friends and family. And then this guy comes along and tries to kill a jolly old whale.
Monday, January 26
Thursday, January 22
In The Meantime
Until such a time as the repercussions of public flogging set in, here is what I did at work yesterday (it was in reference to THIS):
And here's what I did at work today, in reference to nothing:
Mrs. Gillies, please post so we don't have to further suffer my drawings.
P.S. And the header (up there ^) I did on Tuesday.
And here's what I did at work today, in reference to nothing:
Mrs. Gillies, please post so we don't have to further suffer my drawings.
P.S. And the header (up there ^) I did on Tuesday.
Thursday, January 8
Sliding Slowly Into Insanity: A How-To Guide
I moved last Sunday back into my college dorm where the cold waited. Classes don't start until the twenty-sixth but I'm back early for work. This is no mere cabin fever striking me, it is college fever.
An idea born in high heaven this was not; I have little food. I ordered a pizza the other day and stretched it out to four days. By the end of the four days I hated pizza; not actually. It will take truly starving to force me to go to the Superfresh. Maybe Saturday, maybe not; maybe Sunday, maybe not; who knows?
I am the only person on the bottom floor of this square building. There is evidence, but no proof, that someone lives directly above. In the middle of the night I hear drawers close and open and close. Chairs scratch the floor, but who restlessly moves them from here to there to here? Does the ghost upstairs hear me: the sounds of my drawers, my chairs?
As of late I have been talking more with my fingers than with my lips. When I do speak it is only out of an instinct I'd thought long lost. My latest words made me proud, Can I have a large coffee and cookie? And I got that coffee and I got that cookie and my words worked well. The day before I had tried to purchase coffee but bought a toothbrush. When the only words you hear are in your head you start mixing them up.
So my advice to you, thou who wisheth to be insane for a day. Is to curl into a sphere and think this thought: Why are blueberries blue?
After reading what I have written I have come to a conclusion.
Talking about insanity only leads to more insanity.
Breakfast: for breakfast I had a large coffee with extra white sugar.
Lunch: for lunch I had a cookie with raisins and other things: oatmeal.
Dinner: I wanted lasagna but bought a shoe accidentally.
P.S. Every sentence has exactly seventeen syllables. Like American haikus - because that is how I roll, don't you know? Even this one, but I do not really think that this one is so great. My fingers are tired from counting the syllables, and from talking.
An idea born in high heaven this was not; I have little food. I ordered a pizza the other day and stretched it out to four days. By the end of the four days I hated pizza; not actually. It will take truly starving to force me to go to the Superfresh. Maybe Saturday, maybe not; maybe Sunday, maybe not; who knows?
I am the only person on the bottom floor of this square building. There is evidence, but no proof, that someone lives directly above. In the middle of the night I hear drawers close and open and close. Chairs scratch the floor, but who restlessly moves them from here to there to here? Does the ghost upstairs hear me: the sounds of my drawers, my chairs?
As of late I have been talking more with my fingers than with my lips. When I do speak it is only out of an instinct I'd thought long lost. My latest words made me proud, Can I have a large coffee and cookie? And I got that coffee and I got that cookie and my words worked well. The day before I had tried to purchase coffee but bought a toothbrush. When the only words you hear are in your head you start mixing them up.
So my advice to you, thou who wisheth to be insane for a day. Is to curl into a sphere and think this thought: Why are blueberries blue?
After reading what I have written I have come to a conclusion.
Talking about insanity only leads to more insanity.
Breakfast: for breakfast I had a large coffee with extra white sugar.
Lunch: for lunch I had a cookie with raisins and other things: oatmeal.
Dinner: I wanted lasagna but bought a shoe accidentally.
P.S. Every sentence has exactly seventeen syllables. Like American haikus - because that is how I roll, don't you know? Even this one, but I do not really think that this one is so great. My fingers are tired from counting the syllables, and from talking.
Monday, December 22
Dungeons and Dragons and Nerds: Oh My
Things have happened since my winter break started, but none nearly as exciting or mind-numbing as my recent trip to the highest level of Nerddom - Dungeons and Dragons, or D&D as we veterans sometimes call it. Sunday night we started out on the epic quest. And how could we possibly call ourselves D&Ders without coming up with a name for this particular adventure? So it began:
Ray Feeney (Formerly Known as Blonde Ray): Antidino, Fancy Elf Wizard, Level 1. Also, 69 years old.
Dan Benyishay (dbenyishay): Ned Silverberg, Fancy Elf Paladin, Level 1. Also, 13-year old Historian prodigy.
Erik Oluf Mayer (Professor Nesto): Riddlindorf, Dragon Guy Warlock, Level 1. Also, all-around evil person/dragon.
Nicklaus Gillies (Ian's Brother): Dweebmasour, Dragon Guy Rogue, Level 1. Also, 10,000 pounds.
Backstory:
Antidino and little Ned Silverberg come from the same fancy tribe. The elders of said tribe, hearing of a meteor strike in a nearby town, decide to send two adventurers - Antidino because he was old and they were hoping he would die so they wouldn't have to pay for his Social Security checks anymore, and Ned because he was just TOO good at History and they didn't want some little twerp showing them up all the time. The two adventurers made their way to the town, called Town town, where they learned that the entire east side of the town, called East Town town, had recently been decimated by a falling meteor. This is where "Jeff Goldblum, Rainbow Warrior: Attack of the Loch Ness Monster and Other Fun Swedish Adventures" begins.
The Story So Far:
Antidino and little Ned failed to gain entry into the crash site, due to the fact that the townspeople had put up a white picket fence and placed numerous guards along the perimeter (Fred, George, Jack, John, Joe, Jim, Mikey Two Shoes, etc.). Full of despair, the two travelers retreated to West Town town (which had by some miracle been spared destruction) and made their way to Humpity Bumpity Inn. Once there little Ned Silverberg decided he could go for some hot chocolate, only to be told by the Inn owner that hot chocolate costed 200 gold peices - the sum of both Ned's and Antidino's budget for the entire adventure! Luckily, just as Antidino was about to give in to Ned's whining and waste their lifesavings on a cup of hot chocolate, a shady character from across the room got their attention (by being shady). He motioned for the unlikely duo to come over to his shady corner where he offered them two cups of hot shady chocolate. The two finished their drinks and were about to walk away, when the man said, "Wait, my name is The Kita. Hey Ned, you're a paladin, so'm I...you should trust me." Accepting this as a perfectly acceptable way of meeting strangers, Ned decided then on to do whatever the shady character told him to. Oh little Ned...
"We're after the same thing," The Kita said. "You want to investigate the meteorite, so do I...and so does my other buddy over there." He tossed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a man outside peeking in through the window, as if the warmth and company of the Inn were calling him but his "buddy" had refused to allow him in.
His name is Torin. He's an ass sometimes, but kickass other times.
The Kita snapped his fingers and Ned's attention was again drawn to the formerly shady character. Antidino was slumped in his chair, perhaps asleep, perhaps dead. "So are you down, Neddy boy? You ready to play the game of life and death? If so, meet me and Torin at midnight by the bushes by the fence by the meteor by East Town town. We'll be waiting."
Blah blah blah a few hours pass and everyone's by the bushes. The guards have changed shifts and now there is only one: Gregory. The gang decide not to try their luck and sneak through the bushes and over the fence. "That was easy," said Antidino.
The meteorite looked like just any other giant rock protruding 15 feet from the ground, except it had a large chunk missing from one side. Ned did a history check but rolled too low to be succesful. Same with everyone else. Then, out of nowhere, completely randomly - and some might even think this was made up on the spot as a result of two of the players around the table, hitherto uninvolved, threatening to leave and go to the diner - two dragons appeared behind the group!
They quickly explained that yeah, my name's Dweebmasour and this is Riddlindorf and we're investigating the meteorite or something as well I guess so hey, what's this trail of rainbow blood leading from the meteor into the woods?
The whole troupe started following the trail of blood (which may or may not have actually been skittles), with Dweebmasour in front. He's 10,000 pounds, don't forget - not that that really ever matters. After a little while the members of the group started to hear strange gurgling sounds. Nobody knew yet, but those sounds were actually coming from a family of Goblins, out on a camping trip to celebrate the dad's promotion at the steel mill. But by the time they found out it was already too late, the pack of rabid Goblin family members were upon the adventurers, mercilessly trying to rip their faces off with cake forks and pancake spatulas. Or something.
This battle went on for at least half an hour so I'm going to cut it down to the most important parts. Everybody was fighting with spears and swords and spells and stuff. Then this one goblin got his hand cut off. That shit was crazy! Then some of us got hurt, then some of them. Then The Kita kept accidentally stabbing himself with his own sword. Then Torin was an ass, then Torin was kickass. Then everyone was getting a bit restless and little Ned Silverberg realized he could just throw a hammer at one of the campsite's many trees and try to make it fall on the remaining goblins. He missed, but Riddlindorf's turn yielded a direct hit and the battle was over. Oh and the one-handed goblin, named Handyman, managed to escape, presumably to try to find his missing hand.
So anyway, the group continued on the trail of rainbow blood. Then, up ahead, in the distance, not so far that they couldn't see but not so close that they could tell what exactly it was they were seeing, they saw flippin' Jeff Goldblum meditating in the center of a pond in a clearing in the forest. The group rolled a history check and, sure enough, the pond was called Jeff Goldblum Pond. Next they rolled a history check on Jeff Goldblum and ended up reading his wikipedia entry for a while. But then, out of nowhere, more goblins appeared! Jeff Goldblum, still bleeding from his fall from heaven, was in no shape to fight them off and so the adventurers had to keep them at bay until such a time as Jeff Goldblum could do what he does best: blast some motha 'uckin' dinosaurs.
Again this battle took more than half an hour (there were nine goblins total). Long story short, it wasn't looking good until Jeff Goldblum declared he was fit to fight and killed all the goblins in one fell swoop.
Returning to Humpity Bumpity Inn Ned decided to check the history of the Inn. Did I mention he was a prodigy? Dungeonmaster Ian went into extreme detail with Humpity Bumpity's backstory. Turns out he's Jesus' brother.
And that's about it for our D&D session last night. It took 3+ hours, but it was worth it.
Breakfast: Tea
Lunch: Bagel with melted cheese and hummus, my specialty.
Dinner: Beef brisket, mashed potatoes, potato latkas, Hannukah cookies.
Oh yeah, merry Hannukah and happy Christmas, fellow bloggers!
Jeff Goldblum, Rainbow Warrior: Attack of the Loch Ness Monster and Other Fun Swedish Adventures.
Cast:
Ian William Gillies (Ian X. Gillies): The Kita, Human Paladin, Level 1. Also, the Dungeon Master.Dan Benyishay (dbenyishay): Ned Silverberg, Fancy Elf Paladin, Level 1. Also, 13-year old Historian prodigy.
Nicklaus Gillies (Ian's Brother): Dweebmasour, Dragon Guy Rogue, Level 1. Also, 10,000 pounds.
Backstory:
Antidino and little Ned Silverberg come from the same fancy tribe. The elders of said tribe, hearing of a meteor strike in a nearby town, decide to send two adventurers - Antidino because he was old and they were hoping he would die so they wouldn't have to pay for his Social Security checks anymore, and Ned because he was just TOO good at History and they didn't want some little twerp showing them up all the time. The two adventurers made their way to the town, called Town town, where they learned that the entire east side of the town, called East Town town, had recently been decimated by a falling meteor. This is where "Jeff Goldblum, Rainbow Warrior: Attack of the Loch Ness Monster and Other Fun Swedish Adventures" begins.
The Story So Far:
Antidino and little Ned failed to gain entry into the crash site, due to the fact that the townspeople had put up a white picket fence and placed numerous guards along the perimeter (Fred, George, Jack, John, Joe, Jim, Mikey Two Shoes, etc.). Full of despair, the two travelers retreated to West Town town (which had by some miracle been spared destruction) and made their way to Humpity Bumpity Inn. Once there little Ned Silverberg decided he could go for some hot chocolate, only to be told by the Inn owner that hot chocolate costed 200 gold peices - the sum of both Ned's and Antidino's budget for the entire adventure! Luckily, just as Antidino was about to give in to Ned's whining and waste their lifesavings on a cup of hot chocolate, a shady character from across the room got their attention (by being shady). He motioned for the unlikely duo to come over to his shady corner where he offered them two cups of hot shady chocolate. The two finished their drinks and were about to walk away, when the man said, "Wait, my name is The Kita. Hey Ned, you're a paladin, so'm I...you should trust me." Accepting this as a perfectly acceptable way of meeting strangers, Ned decided then on to do whatever the shady character told him to. Oh little Ned...
"We're after the same thing," The Kita said. "You want to investigate the meteorite, so do I...and so does my other buddy over there." He tossed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to a man outside peeking in through the window, as if the warmth and company of the Inn were calling him but his "buddy" had refused to allow him in.
His name is Torin. He's an ass sometimes, but kickass other times.
The Kita snapped his fingers and Ned's attention was again drawn to the formerly shady character. Antidino was slumped in his chair, perhaps asleep, perhaps dead. "So are you down, Neddy boy? You ready to play the game of life and death? If so, meet me and Torin at midnight by the bushes by the fence by the meteor by East Town town. We'll be waiting."
Blah blah blah a few hours pass and everyone's by the bushes. The guards have changed shifts and now there is only one: Gregory. The gang decide not to try their luck and sneak through the bushes and over the fence. "That was easy," said Antidino.
The meteorite looked like just any other giant rock protruding 15 feet from the ground, except it had a large chunk missing from one side. Ned did a history check but rolled too low to be succesful. Same with everyone else. Then, out of nowhere, completely randomly - and some might even think this was made up on the spot as a result of two of the players around the table, hitherto uninvolved, threatening to leave and go to the diner - two dragons appeared behind the group!
They quickly explained that yeah, my name's Dweebmasour and this is Riddlindorf and we're investigating the meteorite or something as well I guess so hey, what's this trail of rainbow blood leading from the meteor into the woods?
The whole troupe started following the trail of blood (which may or may not have actually been skittles), with Dweebmasour in front. He's 10,000 pounds, don't forget - not that that really ever matters. After a little while the members of the group started to hear strange gurgling sounds. Nobody knew yet, but those sounds were actually coming from a family of Goblins, out on a camping trip to celebrate the dad's promotion at the steel mill. But by the time they found out it was already too late, the pack of rabid Goblin family members were upon the adventurers, mercilessly trying to rip their faces off with cake forks and pancake spatulas. Or something.
This battle went on for at least half an hour so I'm going to cut it down to the most important parts. Everybody was fighting with spears and swords and spells and stuff. Then this one goblin got his hand cut off. That shit was crazy! Then some of us got hurt, then some of them. Then The Kita kept accidentally stabbing himself with his own sword. Then Torin was an ass, then Torin was kickass. Then everyone was getting a bit restless and little Ned Silverberg realized he could just throw a hammer at one of the campsite's many trees and try to make it fall on the remaining goblins. He missed, but Riddlindorf's turn yielded a direct hit and the battle was over. Oh and the one-handed goblin, named Handyman, managed to escape, presumably to try to find his missing hand.
So anyway, the group continued on the trail of rainbow blood. Then, up ahead, in the distance, not so far that they couldn't see but not so close that they could tell what exactly it was they were seeing, they saw flippin' Jeff Goldblum meditating in the center of a pond in a clearing in the forest. The group rolled a history check and, sure enough, the pond was called Jeff Goldblum Pond. Next they rolled a history check on Jeff Goldblum and ended up reading his wikipedia entry for a while. But then, out of nowhere, more goblins appeared! Jeff Goldblum, still bleeding from his fall from heaven, was in no shape to fight them off and so the adventurers had to keep them at bay until such a time as Jeff Goldblum could do what he does best: blast some motha 'uckin' dinosaurs.
Again this battle took more than half an hour (there were nine goblins total). Long story short, it wasn't looking good until Jeff Goldblum declared he was fit to fight and killed all the goblins in one fell swoop.
Returning to Humpity Bumpity Inn Ned decided to check the history of the Inn. Did I mention he was a prodigy? Dungeonmaster Ian went into extreme detail with Humpity Bumpity's backstory. Turns out he's Jesus' brother.
And that's about it for our D&D session last night. It took 3+ hours, but it was worth it.
Breakfast: Tea
Lunch: Bagel with melted cheese and hummus, my specialty.
Dinner: Beef brisket, mashed potatoes, potato latkas, Hannukah cookies.
Oh yeah, merry Hannukah and happy Christmas, fellow bloggers!
Tuesday, December 2
Litost! and other Haikus, or, How I learned to Stop Caring and Just Be Strange
A purple cloud brews
In the upper atmosphere
Will it pass or stay?Dull blades of gray grass
Crunch underfoot, I enter
The frozen forest
Fleet foxes fling feet
For fresh feathers feel no force
To feed Gravity.Windows are made of
Broken wills and bent spirits
Not glass or plastic
Yes, my legs are short
And my arms are useless, but
My eyes see more stillLitost! the crumb'ling
Of constructed mindsets
And sanity, too
cheeze cheeze berry flan
coke coke creamy jam
spaghetti sauce and meatballs
Breakfast: Last night/this morning I had coffee.
Lunch: Tomato basil bisque and a roll to soak it all up. Also, a chocolate chip cookie.
Dinner: We'll see.
Sunday, November 16
Map of my mind, for now.
A lot of things on the mind. I'm not even going to try to tie it all together with a moral like "...and that's why you shouldn't put jam on your toast at 3 a.m." Take it as it is! After all, that's all I can do so why not you too?
What I'm reading: The Living Sea, by Jacques-Yves Cousteau. This, this is the good shit. I'll admit that I'd only thought of reading it after watching Life Aquatic (high five goes to whoever knows what other Wes Anderson movie makes a reference to Cousteau), but here's what I think about that: First, so what? Second, I like Wes Anderson and I like what he likes it seems, so it's only natural; Third, too often I read/watch/listen to something that refers to a previous book/movie/song/whatever and think the old thing is entirely imbibed in the new. Newton stood on the shoulder of giants, but you can't replicate what he saw without climbing from the bottom up. What this all amounts to is the fact that I am very much enjoying this book. Every time I open it up I'm excited to think of what ocean, what shipwreck, what reef, what exotic (and made up-sounding, fish is going to be explored next.
"Merde," I'm told, translates to "shit."
What I'm listening to: My iTunes library is permanently set to shuffle, but when the mood strikes I make a playlist and, sometimes, stick with it for a while. Lately I've been listening to Wes Montgomery's Full House album. It's Jazz (if only Class and Snazz were also musical genres) and I like it. I have no idea where it stands in the pantheons of Jazz - I got it randomly on the internet in that way that we young'uns do - but I like it. My favorite track is Blue 'N' Boogie. That's just how I roll.
Which reminds me! Tune in to www.goucher-radio.net to listen to the Allow Me To Present the Chris Tritch and Dan B. Radio Show: What We Talk About When We Talk About Nothing radio show. We'll be ordering pizza and it'll be good times all around.
What I'm watching: I saw Quantum of Solace on Friday, it was pretty good. I don't know though, I have some mixed feelings about Daniel Craig. On the one hand that man is a flippin' TANK. On the other, James Bond isn't (hasn't been) about tankitude but suave-ocity. Pierce Brosnan's still who I see in my mind when I think of Bond. (I know, I know, but I grew up with him as Bond!)
What I'm playing: Rock Band! I love playing the drums, it's probably just an extension of my childhood habit of banging things against other things. I can't get the hang of the microphone though, when I try to sing high it goes low and when I do low it goes high. Maybe it's because I make up my own words... Also, sadly I have fallen to the videogame low of playing World of Warcraft. Don't worry just yet, it's just a 10-day trial, but it's amusing to follow people around and say "hi" randomly and ask to join groups just for the hell of it and see how these people react. People are surprisingly nice online, although I think this might just be because I'm in the low-level area and people are probably a little bit less conceited. I'm a troll and I have white hair.
What I'm doing: waiting for a book to come in to the library. The school's library has a very addicting feature - you can look up books that it doesn't have but is owned by libraries across the world. It is the most awesome thing I've ever seen. I read about obscure books and writers and out-of-print editions and then I go on the computer and a couple weeks later I have in my hands a book on loan from a library in Ontario! Right now I'm waiting for a book on Typography. That's right, the art of designing fonts. This is another thing I discovered through Wes Anderson (still not embarrassed how much of who I am I discovered from his movies). It IS embarrassing, however, how much time I've spent switching fonts in and out of various food-blog designs. And yes, I follow a typography blog - ILoveTypography. I'm probably the only one here who gave more than a passing thought to the fonts in Quantum of Solace each time Bond went to a new place. I've realized recently that I quite like graphic design. I suck at drawing and I suck at art (when I go to museums, no matter how much I hear about the power of traditional art I still get most pleasure from just the aesthetics), but graphic design is different, I think. I'm going to be the design editor for my college's newspaper next semester and I'm thinking of taking a class - we'll see how that all goes.
What I'm eating: as I type I'm waiting for a pizza to arrive. I'll probably be eating it during the radio show so sorry if I talk with my mouth full.
What I'm reading: The Living Sea, by Jacques-Yves Cousteau. This, this is the good shit. I'll admit that I'd only thought of reading it after watching Life Aquatic (high five goes to whoever knows what other Wes Anderson movie makes a reference to Cousteau), but here's what I think about that: First, so what? Second, I like Wes Anderson and I like what he likes it seems, so it's only natural; Third, too often I read/watch/listen to something that refers to a previous book/movie/song/whatever and think the old thing is entirely imbibed in the new. Newton stood on the shoulder of giants, but you can't replicate what he saw without climbing from the bottom up. What this all amounts to is the fact that I am very much enjoying this book. Every time I open it up I'm excited to think of what ocean, what shipwreck, what reef, what exotic (and made up-sounding, fish is going to be explored next.
"Our godfather was the Napoleonic marshal Pierre Cambronne, whose portrait hung in the mess. We chose him because of his reply to Wellington's demand for the surrender of the Old Guard at Waterloo. 'Merde," said Cambronne. It had no nationalistic meaning for us; it simply expressed our attitude with which we tried to meet adversity."
"Merde," I'm told, translates to "shit."
What I'm listening to: My iTunes library is permanently set to shuffle, but when the mood strikes I make a playlist and, sometimes, stick with it for a while. Lately I've been listening to Wes Montgomery's Full House album. It's Jazz (if only Class and Snazz were also musical genres) and I like it. I have no idea where it stands in the pantheons of Jazz - I got it randomly on the internet in that way that we young'uns do - but I like it. My favorite track is Blue 'N' Boogie. That's just how I roll.
Which reminds me! Tune in to www.goucher-radio.net to listen to the Allow Me To Present the Chris Tritch and Dan B. Radio Show: What We Talk About When We Talk About Nothing radio show. We'll be ordering pizza and it'll be good times all around.
What I'm watching: I saw Quantum of Solace on Friday, it was pretty good. I don't know though, I have some mixed feelings about Daniel Craig. On the one hand that man is a flippin' TANK. On the other, James Bond isn't (hasn't been) about tankitude but suave-ocity. Pierce Brosnan's still who I see in my mind when I think of Bond. (I know, I know, but I grew up with him as Bond!)
What I'm playing: Rock Band! I love playing the drums, it's probably just an extension of my childhood habit of banging things against other things. I can't get the hang of the microphone though, when I try to sing high it goes low and when I do low it goes high. Maybe it's because I make up my own words... Also, sadly I have fallen to the videogame low of playing World of Warcraft. Don't worry just yet, it's just a 10-day trial, but it's amusing to follow people around and say "hi" randomly and ask to join groups just for the hell of it and see how these people react. People are surprisingly nice online, although I think this might just be because I'm in the low-level area and people are probably a little bit less conceited. I'm a troll and I have white hair.
What I'm doing: waiting for a book to come in to the library. The school's library has a very addicting feature - you can look up books that it doesn't have but is owned by libraries across the world. It is the most awesome thing I've ever seen. I read about obscure books and writers and out-of-print editions and then I go on the computer and a couple weeks later I have in my hands a book on loan from a library in Ontario! Right now I'm waiting for a book on Typography. That's right, the art of designing fonts. This is another thing I discovered through Wes Anderson (still not embarrassed how much of who I am I discovered from his movies). It IS embarrassing, however, how much time I've spent switching fonts in and out of various food-blog designs. And yes, I follow a typography blog - ILoveTypography. I'm probably the only one here who gave more than a passing thought to the fonts in Quantum of Solace each time Bond went to a new place. I've realized recently that I quite like graphic design. I suck at drawing and I suck at art (when I go to museums, no matter how much I hear about the power of traditional art I still get most pleasure from just the aesthetics), but graphic design is different, I think. I'm going to be the design editor for my college's newspaper next semester and I'm thinking of taking a class - we'll see how that all goes.
What I'm eating: as I type I'm waiting for a pizza to arrive. I'll probably be eating it during the radio show so sorry if I talk with my mouth full.
Wednesday, November 5
Reboot!
Seems to me we something of a reboot to get back to business. Starting fresh in a new era and all (Eh, eh, anyone?)
So my day started like any other: to the sound of my roommate puking his guts out into a plastic Target bag that was laying around. I can't say just how much I hate vomiting. I'm fine with the whole concept - it's pretty much just a reverse meal - but the physical act of vomiting is the single greatest target of all the hatred my spirit can muster. I remember the last time I threw up. It was early in the morning before a test in AP Government that I stumbled over to the bathroom. The entire time I was throwing up I was picturing my Government teacher, Mrs. Szsxczqczurowski (I could never spell that) - not because it was her image that caused the vomiting, but because for those long and stretched-out minutes she looked like an angel in comparison. She wasn't the worst teacher I'd ever had or anything, but coming into her class every morning was a form of dull and prolonged torture. And yet I would take that in a heartbeat over the sudden and acute sensation of my skull being flipped inside out through my mouth.
I remember thinking then that I never wanted to vomit ever again so long as I lived. This has become my life's goal and it turns out I'm pretty good at it. I avoid alcohol, I don't eat heavy meals right before or after riding roller coasters, my favorite food is watermelon and I try not to imagine what would have happened if Obama had lost (zing! just kidding).
And then I woke up this morning, after a most splendid evening, to a sound I first thought was my roommate pouring water on the floor. "That's strange," I thought. "Maybe he just knocked over a water bottle." And then I heard the most horrible, loud, soul-destroying retching noises I have ever come across. My stomach started to hurt just hearing it. I don't know if it's his vomiting skills that are exceptionally bad or the stomach virus. He vomited a couple more times throughout the day. Every time he throws up I have to either dive under my covers and wait it out or put in earphones and listen to loud jazz - jazz is one of only a few remedies for second-hand vomit known to mankind. I'm convinced he's just getting back at me for convincing him to pay for half of rock band. That or stealing some of his halloween candy.
What a post, huh? Now that all those grimy details are out of the way, on to the food!
Breakfast: After waking up and realizing the room would be full of vomiting for the next while I showered quickly and got the hell out of there. (I went to the Health Center and got him an "upset-stomach" kit, don't worry. I'm not that bad a roommate.) Problem was, my class wouldn't start for another hour and a half. So I resorted to filling my time by filling my stomach with eggs on a croissant.
Lunch: Here's what I do most Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I walk through Pearlstone to check my mailbox and pick up a newspaper on the way to the dining hall across campus. I then eat lunch while reading said newspaper. But what's this? Something happened last night and now all these liberal arts newspaper-posers stole all the New York Times' to tape the front page up on their wall or make triangle hats or do whatever else it is fake readers do with newspapers? I was angry, if you can't tell. I grab one every day and there's always plenty to go around, and then on a day when I especially want to read it, not a single newspaper is left in any of the stands on campus?? What the hell. I would just like to say this to my slice of white pizza with parmesan: I'm sorry I took my anger out on you and chomped you to bits, it wasn't you, it was me. If it's any consolation, I promise not to throw you up.
Dinner: I still didn't want to go back to the room so I spent a good while in the library. My mind can only go so long without food though and I couldn't focus on what I was reading any more. For dinner I had chicken tenders and french fries. It wasn't the most pleasant meal though, what with all the thinking about how food gets digested and, sometimes, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, undigested.
P.S. There, Batman icons. Ya'happy?! Also, anybody else remember that show, Reboot? That was awesome...
So my day started like any other: to the sound of my roommate puking his guts out into a plastic Target bag that was laying around. I can't say just how much I hate vomiting. I'm fine with the whole concept - it's pretty much just a reverse meal - but the physical act of vomiting is the single greatest target of all the hatred my spirit can muster. I remember the last time I threw up. It was early in the morning before a test in AP Government that I stumbled over to the bathroom. The entire time I was throwing up I was picturing my Government teacher, Mrs. Szsxczqczurowski (I could never spell that) - not because it was her image that caused the vomiting, but because for those long and stretched-out minutes she looked like an angel in comparison. She wasn't the worst teacher I'd ever had or anything, but coming into her class every morning was a form of dull and prolonged torture. And yet I would take that in a heartbeat over the sudden and acute sensation of my skull being flipped inside out through my mouth.
I remember thinking then that I never wanted to vomit ever again so long as I lived. This has become my life's goal and it turns out I'm pretty good at it. I avoid alcohol, I don't eat heavy meals right before or after riding roller coasters, my favorite food is watermelon and I try not to imagine what would have happened if Obama had lost (zing! just kidding).
And then I woke up this morning, after a most splendid evening, to a sound I first thought was my roommate pouring water on the floor. "That's strange," I thought. "Maybe he just knocked over a water bottle." And then I heard the most horrible, loud, soul-destroying retching noises I have ever come across. My stomach started to hurt just hearing it. I don't know if it's his vomiting skills that are exceptionally bad or the stomach virus. He vomited a couple more times throughout the day. Every time he throws up I have to either dive under my covers and wait it out or put in earphones and listen to loud jazz - jazz is one of only a few remedies for second-hand vomit known to mankind. I'm convinced he's just getting back at me for convincing him to pay for half of rock band. That or stealing some of his halloween candy.
What a post, huh? Now that all those grimy details are out of the way, on to the food!
Breakfast: After waking up and realizing the room would be full of vomiting for the next while I showered quickly and got the hell out of there. (I went to the Health Center and got him an "upset-stomach" kit, don't worry. I'm not that bad a roommate.) Problem was, my class wouldn't start for another hour and a half. So I resorted to filling my time by filling my stomach with eggs on a croissant.
Lunch: Here's what I do most Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I walk through Pearlstone to check my mailbox and pick up a newspaper on the way to the dining hall across campus. I then eat lunch while reading said newspaper. But what's this? Something happened last night and now all these liberal arts newspaper-posers stole all the New York Times' to tape the front page up on their wall or make triangle hats or do whatever else it is fake readers do with newspapers? I was angry, if you can't tell. I grab one every day and there's always plenty to go around, and then on a day when I especially want to read it, not a single newspaper is left in any of the stands on campus?? What the hell. I would just like to say this to my slice of white pizza with parmesan: I'm sorry I took my anger out on you and chomped you to bits, it wasn't you, it was me. If it's any consolation, I promise not to throw you up.
Dinner: I still didn't want to go back to the room so I spent a good while in the library. My mind can only go so long without food though and I couldn't focus on what I was reading any more. For dinner I had chicken tenders and french fries. It wasn't the most pleasant meal though, what with all the thinking about how food gets digested and, sometimes, no matter how hard you try to prevent it, undigested.
P.S. There, Batman icons. Ya'happy?! Also, anybody else remember that show, Reboot? That was awesome...
Wednesday, October 22
Pass
I'm really sorry folks, I have to pass on my duty today. However, any late passing up of blogging responsibilities is hopefully mitigated by the House theme that I set up (after much pleading, as usual.) Sorry if I made you a House character you don't like (except Ian) - I usually have just a couple people in mind for certain characters and then fill in the blanks. Special apologies to Anna for making her the Asian guy...
Breakfast - Lunch
Lunch - PB&J
Dinner - BBQ Wings
Breakfast - Lunch
Lunch - PB&J
Dinner - BBQ Wings
Tuesday, October 7
Top Ten
Top Ten Things That Don't Require a College Education:
1. Proficient grilled cheese making.
2. Skydiving.
3. Cross country travel.
4. Stargazing.
5. Dogs, because they'll like you regardless.
6. Homelessness, although student loans will help you get there.
7. The presidency, it would seem.
8. Writing, I'm beginning to think...
9. Music.
10. Knowledge.
Top One Thing You Can Write Without Having To Put Much Thought Into It Because It's Been a Long Day:
1. Top 10 lists.
Breakfast: Spearmint gum to wake me up for philosophy class.
Lunch: Hot dog, french fries, circular philosophical argument for the fun of it.
Dinner: Tuna melt with chips and fruit punch.
Post-Debate Snack: Cheese melted on tortilla chips. Mmmmm.
1. Proficient grilled cheese making.
2. Skydiving.
3. Cross country travel.
4. Stargazing.
5. Dogs, because they'll like you regardless.
6. Homelessness, although student loans will help you get there.
7. The presidency, it would seem.
8. Writing, I'm beginning to think...
9. Music.
10. Knowledge.
Top One Thing You Can Write Without Having To Put Much Thought Into It Because It's Been a Long Day:
1. Top 10 lists.
Breakfast: Spearmint gum to wake me up for philosophy class.
Lunch: Hot dog, french fries, circular philosophical argument for the fun of it.
Dinner: Tuna melt with chips and fruit punch.
Post-Debate Snack: Cheese melted on tortilla chips. Mmmmm.
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