Quality Television

Archive of American Television

Thu, 22 Jan 2009 19:27:40 GMT

Found this link to the Archive of American Television on YouTube.

This channel is a treasure trove delving into the history of Television containing many in depth interviews with producers, writers, actors, executives, etc. From Harvey Korman to Carol Spinney (Big Bird), this site impresses me with the sheer volume of background info on the shows we remember and the industry who gave us them.

I suggest checking them out, it's a bowl of nostalgia mixed in with fascinating insight!

Randy Pausch Last Lecture: Achieving Your Childhood Dreams

Sat, 16 Aug 2008 01:32:16 GMT

For those who haven't seen this, I recommend grabbing a cold drink, some Kleenex and making sure that your chair is nice and comfy.

This lecture was given on September 18, 2007 by Carnegie Mellon Professor Randy Pausch, who died today from complications of pancreatic cancer. It lasts approximately 75 minutes and is simply one of those videos that makes you laugh, think and get a little misty-eyed.

Enjoy.

Fruitless Chase Pt. 1

Thu, 08 May 2008 20:59:15 GMT

Made this eons ago with some childhood pals of mine. The quality is horrendus, the script was just barely above horrible and the acting was downright embarrassing.

Still, it was a ton of fun to make and that's all the excuse needed to unleash it upon the world...

...I'm so sorry.

Steamed Clams...

Tue, 06 May 2008 22:20:09 GMT

For well over eight years now, I have enjoyed using the term "hope they get hit by a Capitol Metro bus."

I can no longer use it now thanks to politicians, the media and to the now widespread usage of the recently created cliche, "throw (or thrown) under a bus." This fills me with great rage because I used my expression when it was funny.

People would chuckle, nay, guffaw when, in fits of frustration, I would mutter, "I hope that asshat gets hit by a CapMetro." Now, not even a nervous cough. My joke is now rendered sterile thanks to popular culture.

In fact, I just heard someone outside my office say "she really got thrown under a bus there."

That was MY line, you THIEVING COMMUNIST BASTARDS!

Now I understand why Michael Buffer was so adamant in registering his famous catch phrase, "let's get ready to ruuuummmmbbbbllllllleeeeee!" He had a vision, even if he was still a complete tool.

So, I need a new catch phrase. One of my very own.

One that will be able to convey my complete disgust for others while at the same time make people laugh. A phrase that will stand the test of time and possibly even etch into my tombstone and will be mine eternally.

"Here Lies Robert...
(Insert clever catch phrase here.)"

That and I want a pony.

Communist Milk

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 03:51:48 GMT

A Visit To El Tourista Spectacularrrrrr...

Wed, 01 Aug 2007 15:28:08 GMT

Went down to San Antonio to visit friends who were in from out of town.

Now, the thing that gives me the red ass is when you've actually lived somewhere and people who haven't refuse to listen to the voice of reason.

Take for example... The Riverwalk.

I know where to eat and where to not go. For example, you do not go to the first food stop on the river simply because you are starving wicked hungry and MUST eat and have a margarita first.

Against my better counsel, that's exactly what happened. The service was atrocious, the food was WAAAAY overpriced and the topper was the band. Get this, they had a pretty reasonable lineup for the most part. The guitar player was good, the drummer was good, the bass player/vocalist was good. The guy playing the synthesizer?

He sucked the life out of the whole band.

First off, his keyboard was way too loud. Secondly, he liked to get overly creative with his instrumentals. I don't care how much of a musical genius you think you are, NO ONE thinks that inserting the shower drama music from Psycho into a country music love song is EVER a good idea.

After that, we stopped into Durty Nelly's which is fairly decent. Kind of a grimy Irish-piano-bar-pub kind of feel to it. We drank nicely before retreating back to my friends' hotel room.

Soon, hunger struck again and they had the urge to get food. My suggestion was IHOP, since I knew the near-downtown location well enough to know that it was a good late night suggestion.

They, however, decided to once again go against my counsel and chose Denny's instead.

Having had TWO bad experiences with Denny's (in two other locations), I was for damn sure not going to eat there. But being overruled, we went anyways.

For background on the past incidents:

1) Denny's incident #1 - My brother found chewing gum in his food. No, I am NOT making that up.
2) Denny's incident #2 - I ordered a hamburger and was treated to a burger that was cooked on the outside but frozen solid on the inside.

Those, plus the fact that the lighting in Denny's gives their food this ungodly yellow hue, reasons give me pause alone.

Well, we had the opportunity to sit in a filthy booth in a filthy restaurant surrounded by prostitutes, schizophrenics and drunken louts. I thought I was safe getting the ice cream and brownie (after much urging by my friends to eat something), but the frequent ensuing trips to the Little Loggers' Room for a short while thereafter proved that my hypothesis was thoroughly disproved.

So, next time someone says "hey, let's get us some tasty Denny's" to me, they're getting a salmon to the face.

But, the visit was fun and we still managed a good time, which was really the important thing! Yaaa

Riddle Me This...

Tue, 01 May 2007 20:47:59 GMT

Something has always bothered me.

Batman is the secret crimefighting identity of millionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. If the number one priority on his list is protecting said secret identity at all costs, why would he make such an obvious error in judgment:

It doesn't take a supervillian to make a quick stop at the local DMV and run a simple plate info request...

AE31 UNIT PREDICT FAULT AT LINE 595911

Tue, 01 May 2007 17:24:08 GMT

------

BrainDOS has encountered an unexpected prediction fault at Line 0501070908.

(A)bort, (R)etry, (I)gnore, (F)ail? r

------

Welcome to BrainDOS v. 2.0

C:/run lifeplan.exe

------

Lifeplan: Life Management Software v. 1.0

Select one of the options from the following menu:

(1) System Health & Disk First Aid
(2) Memory Storage, Cerebral Data Processing/Allocation & Sensory Response Interpretation
(3) General Motor Functions and Movement Control Panel
(4) Autonomic/Central Nervous System Control Panel (Admin Level Access Only)
(5) Speech Control Panel
(6) Reflex & Instinctual Response (Admin Level Access Only)
(7) System Cleanup/Evacuation
(8) Put System Into Sleep Mode
(9) Consume Cheese

(S) Save & Apply Changes
(Q) Exit Program & Return To BrainDOS Prompt

Choose: 2

------

Lifeplan: Memory Storage, Cerebral Data Processing/Allocation & Sensory Response Interpretation

Select An Option From The Following Menu:

(1) Access Memory A-L
(2) Access Memory M-Z
(3) Fulfill Hunger Need
(4) Fulfill Thirst Need
(5) Adjust To External Temperature/Moisture Data
(6) Process Hearing Data
(7) Process Visual Data
(8) Process Taste/Touch Data
(9) Ponder Life & Its Cruel Ironies
(10) Engage In Intellectual Pursuit
(11) Sexual/Hormonal Control Panel
(12) Engage Audio/Visual Input Trance Mode (TV/Internet Mode)
(13) Engage In Hilarious Misadventure
(14) Attempt To Predict An Uncertain Future
(15) Consume Cheese
(16) *Next Menu*

(ESC) Return to Previous Menu
(S) Save and Apply Changes
(Q) Exit Program & Return To BrainDOS Prompt

Choose: 14

------

BrainDOS has encountered an unexpected predicition fault at Line 0501070908.

(A)bort, (R)etry, (I)gnore, (F)ail? r...

Like The Moment When The Brakes Lock...

Tue, 17 Apr 2007 19:01:27 GMT

Part of this post stemmed from a comment I made on Protoclown's journal earlier this morning. This particular entry was friend's only, but the general gist is that he was having to deal with people who commented on yesterday's shooting at Virginia Tech as being a crime that is a result of the shooter's ethnic background and not taking into account that the person responsible was almost assuredly a "disturbed and troubled individual."

I will start here by reposting the comment I made on his post as well as adding more of my own recent thoughts:

"Those in Austin remember all too well Charles Whitman and his senseless rampage at the University of Texas tower over 40 years ago. It saddens me to know that yesterday's spree at Viginia Tech replaced Whitman as the country's worst school rampage in our history.

The thing that surprises me just as it has a friend of mine who pointed this out to me this morning. From the responses that he has been getting is that people pointed to racial stereotypes about yesterday's shooting BEFORE considering the possibility that the gunman was most likely suffering from a psychological disorder. Psychological disorders are not limited to "Islamic tehrrrrorissts," and that is something that has been especially ignored conveniently.

I cite as examples:

Charles Whitman, The Manson Family, The DC Snipers, Timothy McVeigh, George Henard, Adolf Hitler, Josef Stalin, Jeffrey Dahmer, David Koresh, Jim Jones...

Point is that there is a ton of ignorance in this world that states that differences in race, religion, financial status, gender matter. In the Grand Scheme, they don't. Or at least, they shouldn't. Too much emphasis is placed in society (by the media, governments, entertainment outlets and by the individual choices that people make) on dividing us by what makes us "different" instead of uniting us by our common Human bond and celebrating what makes us different.

In some cases, it's subtle, in most cases it's not. We've been fighting amongst ourselves over these things for thousands of years and realistically none of that will ever end. The only hope we have left in this world is for people to start reaching out to their communities and start making choices towards building global cohesion and friendship, not forging hate and ignorance."

To continue my thoughts, this kind of cooperation is seemingly not likely on a global scale.

We are a species that is capable of so much good and enlightenment but, as a species, more often choose the path that leads to such horror and destruction. We Americans spend more on defence annually than we do on educating our children, funding scientific and medical advancements over a four year period.

Think about that for a moment. According to the 2007 budget, our government currently spends 460+/- Billion a year on defence. We spend a combined total of around 114+/- Billion on education, science and technology. If these numbers hold reasonably steady, four years of defence spending would equal SIXTEEN years of spending on education, science and technology.

Am I suggesting that defence isn't important? No, of course not. The world is a tough place and we need to safeguard our citizens and our country from enemies foreign and domestic. Since our country has a proven history of meddling in other people's affairs (and rightly so in certain bonafide cases regarding the interests of promoting world freedom and protecting our nation), we've made ourself a target over the years. It'd be foolish to not be prepared.

We have this general overwhelming sense that as long as American Idol is on this week and that we know once and for all who was the second party who uploaded Anna Nicole's baby's DNA onto the World People Server, all is right in the world. Why should we waste money on going into space when we have Bin Laden to hunt? Why should we properly fund our schools when teachers "make enough money as it is?"

Why should we study history or geography when it "doesn't apply to anything I need to know?"

Our nation has lost general focus on what is important in life. If we are to survive as a species, we must start working together. We focus too much on "entertainment" or unimportant "fluff" issues that the media kindly spoonfeeds us instead of research, education, science, building friendships, promoting cultural togetherness, mending the rift of gender inequality, events and viewpoints in other nations, social cohesion.

Events like the VT shooting are tragic, but that does not give good cause or reason to start lining up the nearest group of people of a race that is different than the one you happen to belong to just because you think they "look funny." It's attitudes like this that fired the ovens of Auschwitz, set the churches aflame in Mississippi and brought down the Twin Towers.

Think I'm being a little overdramatic?

Study a little history.

Or are you sheeple just too obsessed with finding out if they finally managed to kick Sanjaya off American Idol yet?

A Response In C-Minor...

Fri, 16 Mar 2007 18:40:58 GMT

Read this post on Wonko's Corner before you read the rest of this post.

Back now? Good. Anyway, here's my reply. It was a little lengthy to post on his comments section, but keep reading. Things get out of hand, I promise...

1) $1,000 Pizza.

As a former pizza transportation and customer service professional, I'd like to say that not only will I happily provide this delightful item but as an added bonus if you act now, I will also include ONE FREE swift kick to your beanbag that you can keep as my special gift to you.

Call in the next ten minutes and I'll also include free steel toe bootage to the face, that's right, absolutely FREE!

$1,000 pizza. Jesus.

2) The Donald Vs. The O'Donnell.

Donald Trump and Rosie O'Donnell are both class AAAAA attention whores. The arrogant attitudes of both really grate on my nerves.

How 'bout we hold an eating contest to see how many $1,000 pizzas they can eat in an hour?

Think about it! We can award a kick to the beanbag of the winner! We can then also award a kick to the beanbag of the loser!

Think about the publicity! It'll be stellar, man.

Seriously, they both need to shut up and get back to work.

3) Heather Mills.

It is the idea that someone thought her important enough to extend an invitation.

Seriously?

I was thinking that it was a miracle that they hadn't asked Wink Martindale & Tonya Harding to be on the show. It'd be awesome.

They'd start dancing, Wink and his partner would win a round, setting Tonya off into a full on bloodrage. Tonya punches Wink in the beanbag, and quickly grabs Heather's fake leg and breaks Heather's other leg with it.

A tussle ensues and Wink, after taking a few recovering breaths, pulls out some tricks of his own by casting the Game Show Host Hair Of The Infinite spell, which knocks Tonya out like a sucker on Celebrity Boxing.

Seeing her opportunity to knock out another competitor, Heather casts Ex-Beatle Wife of Unlimited Income, temporarily incapacitating Wink with a mighty law suit.

Wink somehow manages to recover by some fancy legal footwork and cuts off Heather's next attack by casting X Blocks The Square, shielding him and also shooting hot piles of pork products back at her in the process.

Unfortunately for Heather, she didn't throw a good enough defense roll so she drowns underneath a pile of bacon bits and porkchops.

As Wink surveys Heather's gruesome, yet tasty, demise, Tonya regains consciousness and pounces on Wink, shouting about how "it was unfair, my shoelace broke" and "gimmie another chance, judges!"

They struggle on the ground for a few moments before Ian Zierling, who had been sitting on the sidelines wishing that Aaron Spelling was still around to give him a job, joins the fracas.

Ian reaches within his fancy coat and pulls out his "Steve Sanders Sword of Slicing" and quickly seperates Tonya's head from her torso, George Lucas style. He helps the weakened Wink to his feet and they both stand and observe the carnage.

Wink turns to Ian. "Thanks, kid, you saved my life!"

Ian dusts himself off and cocks one of his famous toothy grins. "No problem, Mr. Martindale, I was happy to help!"

"I bet you are, kid," Wink chuckles as he suddenly thrusts his hand right through Ian's chest and rips out his heart, "I bet you are."

Ian looks at his own heart in shock for a second before falling over dead. With all the other competitors dead, Wink was now assured of being the grand prize winner.

"After all," Wink chuckled wickedly as he watched Ian's heart slow to a stop, "there can be only one..."

---+---

Oh, wait, sorry, what? You mean Dancing With The Stars is about DANCING?!?

*sigh*

Alpha

Wed, 14 Mar 2007 16:35:02 GMT

It starts with a downward glance.

A failure to acknowledge or an attempt to hide one's soul from someone's direct eyesight. You hurt. You know you hurt but feel that you can bear that weight just *that* much longer without asking for help.

After all, to show such emotions to other people makes one weaker, right?

You spend the first few days trying to figure things out for yourself. The task ahead is daunting and you meditate way longer on these issues then you intended to.

Days turn into weeks turn into months and sooner or later you are at war with yourself. You withdraw behind mental bars of titanium steel, locked safely away from the world in your reinforced bunker. Occasionally, you stick your head outside to sniff the air and survey the damage outside your lair. The air smells fresh, but you can hear perceived danger approaching from outside your battlements.

Years pass and you have fortified yourself behind thicker walls. You fake emotions now. After the years pass, you've learned how to fake being happy just for the comfort of those around you. Inwardly, you writhe in agony.

You want to shout against the injustices of the world, about bad relationships, lack of true job security, wars fought in distant lands that are actually closer now than ever before, thanks to technological advances that as little as 100 years ago were just some poor sucker's pipe dream that would never work. Such ideas.

You struggle through the daily grind, hoping to find some validation for your very existence. You surround yourself with those you can tolerate, promising friendship on the outside yet listening to the ever-present ticking of the internal chronometer.

Ten years have now passed since this began and you are now even more lost than before. You struggle to find inner meaning but find nothing. The kid who dreamed of being an astronaut is now an automaton, lost in a career that was chosen out of college as a stepping stone but ended up as a thick patch of swampland instead.

Now you can't even remember how this even started, let alone explain it to someone else. Your life, once filled with promise and hope, has been replaced by a mortgage, a wife who you married so that you just wouldn't be alone anymore and a lot of sleepless nights because you feel guilty about it.

You contemplated suicide for 2.6 seconds a few years ago, but quickly decided against it. You put the kibosh on those thoughts because then your life really was a total waste and you realize also that the pain you'd leave behind is infinitely worse than any trivial pains that you are going through now.

Besides, you know in your heart that you can turn your life around; if you weren't having such a enjoyable time being miserable that is. You just wish that the solution would present itself because you are just too full of excuses and bullshit to take charge of it yourself.

And then one day, it does...

24: Aqua Teen Hunger Force

Thu, 08 Feb 2007 19:32:38 GMT

Stumbled across this one from National Lampoon earlier. Good to see all the hype being turned to good use!

Here Comes Dr. Tran!

Tue, 24 Oct 2006 15:56:54 GMT

For those who aren't familiar with Spike & Mike's Sick & Twisted Festival of Animation, you may have missed this little gem.

I saw this for the first time a few years ago with my friend Bill and we just about died laughing. So, prepare for the action of Dr. Tran!!!

NSFW, so watch at home and chase the kids out of the room...

May Teh Farce Be With You...

Fri, 20 Oct 2006 21:18:24 GMT

This takes me back.

If you've never seen "Hardware Wars" before, now's your chance. It spoofed the original Star Wars and while time hasn't necessarily been kind to it, I still found myself laughing at it just as I did when I was a kid.

Enjoy!

Thu, 12 Oct 2006 17:29:50 GMT

Katy
4/25/00 - 10/11/06

It's hard to describe to non-pet owners about how it feels to lose a pet. Most pet owners would say it was like losing a best friend or family member.

I spoke some time ago of the day we met. Myself, the struggling photographer stuck in Houston for a summer who just happened to drive by one day, Katy the sleepy golden puppy who seemed to have not one care in the world.

The polar ice cap surrounding my heart melted as I stared into those sweet brown eyes that day. I knew that we were going to be best pals through thick and thin.

Flash forward 6.5 years later.

I received a frantic phone call last night as I was attempting to finish an order that I had due out early today. "Get here quick," the voice pleaded between sobs, "Katy's been hit by a car. I think... I think she's dead."

It was one of those moments when time stops. The only things you are aware of is your breathing as the primal instinct of protecting your loved ones takes over. The car runs on automatic, using only the small part of your brain that is not otherwise occupied.

I arrived to find my little girl in the trunk of a car. She had been moved from the scene of the accident the only way that the person who called me could. The police had come and gone and I briefly recall myself asking why no one had tried CPR on her, forgetting briefly that I was talking about a dog and not a human.

I opened the trunk and there she was, still warm yet limp and lifeless. Her eyes were opened slightly and I could see from the lack of any movement and by the condition of her rib cage as I picked her up that she was indeed gone.

The next thing I can remember is cleaning my garage. Somehow I had moved her from the trunk to my truck to the garage without even realizing how long it took.

I had fetched her bed and laid her on it, having gently wrapped her up in her favorite blanket. It was then, as I stared at her when I finally lost it. She looked like she was just taking a nap, that she would hear my voice and would somehow spring to life again.

Since it was late, the vet was closed. I had to make arrangements for her... Funeral? Burial? What, I didn't know.

I rent, so I knew right away that I couldn't just pick out a nice spot in the back yard for her. I had briefly thought about asking my folks if I could bury her on their property, but a part of me knew fairly well that they probably wouldn't be amused by such a request. They might grudgingly agree, but I just don't think it was worth the drama.

I called the emergency number of the vet and contacted the local shelter. My choices were few. No one could take her in until 8 AM the next day for the purposes of cremation and the only other option that the people who answered the phone gave me was to take her to the shelter and place her in the dumpster they use for animal body disposal.

Dump my Katydid in a dumpster? I think the words "fuck" and "no" seemed to follow one another in rapid succession.

So, I did the only thing that I could do. I had a few beers and a big cry.

The place was littered with little reminders of her everywhere. A picture here, a tennis ball there, her leash hanging silently from the peg on the wall.

I don't remember sleeping more than an hour or two last night. I had a long talk with my brother, who above all I knew would understand. I chatted with my friend Trystera on teh Internets well into the wee hours until I finally managed to pass out, going out to the garage one last time to wish Katy a good night's sleep. As ridiculous as that may sound to some, it's hard to break the habits of 6.5 years. Anyone stupid enough to tell me that I'm nuts for that can go die in a fire.

Also, the assholes in this world who smack into beloved family pets and don't even bother to either move the animal or attempt to call the owner by looking at the tags on their collars can ALSO die in a fire. The hear it correctly, the fucknut didn't even bother to stop. Just *thump* and "What was that? Oh well..." hit and run dickshittery.

Harsh? You're absolutely goddamned right. I'm grieving, so suck it.

Somehow, 7 AM creeped upon me and I rose to get ready for the unwelcome task ahead. I put on my grubby housework clothes and walked into the garage.

"Morning, Kate," I choked back a few tears when I realized that she wasn't jumping up to see me, tail wagging all the time, "it's time to get ready to go for one last ride in the truck."

I snipped a few hairs from her fluffy tail. I thought I'd wrap a little ribbon around them and put the bunch in with a picture I had taken of her a year back. I got the idea from after my grandmother died. The funeral home had clipped a few hairs from my grandma and placed the lock of hair inside a little picture frame after her cremation. I thought the idea was sweet.

After that, I wrapped another blanket around her. It needed to be done, let's just leave it at that.

With one big heave, I lifted her, dog bed and all, into the back of my truck. The ride to the vet was a short one. The people were very kind and helped me to bring her inside.

They placed her on an exam table and it was time to say my goodbyes. The vet left me alone with her for a few more minutes and I scratched her gently behind the ear one last time.

Goodbye, Katybelle. I will always love you, my fluffy friend...

Since the day we first met, Katy and I have seen quite a few times, both good and bad. We've survived a house fire, we've chased tennis balls like there was no tomorrow, been there during the trials and emotional upsets that life throws at you and we've gone on more rides in my truck than I can recall.

You know the thing I loved most about the Kate?

The fact that no matter how horrible a day I had, no matter who I had pissed off or offended in some way or another, whenever I walked into the house, she was always there to greet me. She was always genuinely happy to see me. She was loyal, always happy to lend an ear (providing I scratched it, of course :) ) and just the sweetest dog you'd ever meet.

I always felt loved when Katy was around, even if my pitching arm grew tired of lobbing tennis balls hither and yon. She was happiest when we were together and I just couldn't foresee a time when we wouldn't be. Six point five years was too goddamned short.

I will miss my fluffy golden, more than anyone could understand. If there truly is a dog heaven, may she have all the bones and steak that she can eat, chase all the tennis balls that she wants and swim in the big, blue river in the sky.

G'night, my dear. I hope that wherever you are, you're happy.

The Whole Moon Became as Blood...

Thu, 12 Oct 2006 00:41:33 GMT

I've seen some corporate lock-step videos in my day, but this just begs for earplugs & eyebleach...

Can You Hear Me?

Tue, 05 Sep 2006 16:50:25 GMT

I can show you
That when it starts to rain
Everything's the same...

-The Beatles, Rain

On the day that rain returned to Texas, I found myself almost successfully suppressing the urge to dance in it.

I dressed, took the Golden Retriever out for her morning constitutional and walked slowly to my car. I walked slowly to feel the rain dance on my skin, to feel each blob of dihydrogen oxide impact on my hair with a rather ungraceful splatter.

I stood before the car and stared upward into the sky, admiring the simple beauty of nature's smattering of grayscale artistry. Neighbors around me darted to their cars and houses as quickly as they were able. Not three days ago, I talked with one of them about how they wished that the rain would return.

Rain brings a welcome break from the Texas heat. Rain brings life to grass that has been dying a slow, painful death during the heat of July and August. Rain increases the flow and volume of the area's lakes and streams. Rain restores hope to farmers who had just about given up.

Rain equals life's careful balance at its finest.

I lingered a bit longer, letting the rain soak into my shirt. I welcomed the coldness of precipitation. It caressed my face, depositing gentle and frequent kisses on it like those from a lover long separated from.

"I missed you," I whispered into the rain, "What took you so long to come back to me?"

The rain didn't answer back, just kept kissing me with a gentle intensity. Expecting an answer from the rain always leaves one unfulfilled.

"That's ok, ol' girl, you don't have to explain anything to me," I smiled as I tilted my head skyward to let the rain kiss my neck, "you're always welcome here."

I stood there for few more minutes before I finally permitted myself the privilege of dancing a short jig to celebrate the day rain returned to Texas.

Beans Are An Excellent Source of Protein...

Fri, 04 Aug 2006 16:52:38 GMT

So, the Texas Governor walks into work the other day...

No, I'm being serious, he actually did. Ramblin' Rick Perry himself. The big cheese of the second biggest state in the Union, which deserves a "HA! HA!" graphic of it's own since no matter how big the sense of state pride gets in this state, Texas will always be number two in size.

Texas has an interesting governmental system, mostly due to the fact that the Lt. Governor actually wields greater power in his/her role of President of the Senate than does the Governor him/herself, with a few notable exceptions. The state legislature only meets for 140 days every other year, unless called into special session by the Governor, so it is safe to assume that the Governor does indeed have some downtime if he wants it.

The thing about Perry is that he likes to blend in with The People whenever he can. Since Austin is the state capitol, it is not unusual for the Gov to be spotted from time to time eating a burger or tearing ass around the Hill Country on his motorcycle.

I didn't believe that he was in the building when one of my co-workers charged into my office and announced his presence but sure enough, there he was talking with another of my co-workers. I stood there and kept watch, attempting to pick up any bits of conversation to no avail.

Finally, his business concluded and he made his way towards the exit. He shook a few of our hands with the customary farewells that he had probably uttered a couple hundred thousand times during his career, "good to see ya!" and "nice to meet ya!"

I didn't realize it at first after he shook my hand, but my hands subconsciously moved into the pose of the Buddy Christ (a curious gesture that I had adopted after watching the Kevin Smith movie, Dogma, earlier in the week) and my mouth uttered the phrase, "see ya later, Guvnah!" It was strange to reply in that fashion, like we went bowling last week or something.

It would be the equivalent of unleashing a mighty fajita-burrito-fueled fart in the presence of royalty, but I don't really care. The man's been recently pushing a major regional toll road project that I'm not at all happy about, so I can fart if I want to.

Not that he noticed. He was pretty much out the door at that point. My co-workers did notice and have been chuckling over it for the past few days. Overall, it was a rather odd experience that was capped off by having to go back and edit some guy's wedding footage and finish transferring some 8mm film that was in a box titled "Muffins Of Doom."

I can't say that my job lacks randomness.

Wed, 02 Aug 2006 04:26:04 GMT

Hail and well met, fair reader!

Hark now to the tale of the Unprepared Heathen and the Line of Devastation...

The journey to the supermarket was much like any other had been in the past. A list of necessary provisions was written, containing everything that a bachelor and his faithful canine sidekick would need. From the selection of meat to dog food to the ever important suitcase of beer, I loaded the cart with a speed not witnessed in many a day.

After all, the grocery store is a place of commerce that does not rank high on my personal list of entertaining things to do after work. Navigating through the throngs of families, blue-haired grandmothers and the odd assortment of people who go shopping in their pajamas - at seven o'clock in the evening.

Still, the grocery store is a necessary evil. One cannot live on Arby's alone, at least that's what they tell me at McDonalds.

I surged ahead through the aisles, chucking food items and other merchandise into the cart's gaping maw. As I rounded the last corner I reviewed the list one last time. Woe to me if I had forgotten anything and had to make another trip.

Meat? Check.
Rice? Check.
Pasta? Dr. Pepper? Frozen Pizzas? Check, check and check.

My next task was to choose a line. From my experience, the shorter lines are usually short for a very good reason.

Usually a short line means a slow cashier or that the person at the head of the line is a troublemaker. Troublemakers mean waits for the customer service manager. Troublemakers mean coupons or screaming children who are beyond pissed because Mom or Dad failed to buy them the candy or treat of their choice.

Frankly, who could blame the parents? It's not like the kid deserves it by behaving like a total jackass. Let them eat apples, I say.

But I digress.

I passed checkout line after checkout line, much like a snipe hunter stalking his quarry. Whichever line I chose was bound to take a long time and while my search may once again prove fruitless I would at least be comforted by the fact that I had tried.

I chose a line that only had two people in it. The customer at the front was finishing their transaction, which was a good sign. The customer right before me was a youngish guy, with brownish hair stuffed beneath a hat that had a silhouette of a lounging girl. The kind of lounging girl that reminded me of some of the mudflaps that I've seen on several eighteen wheelers.

Most young guys, especially those who are the type to wear silhouettes of lounging females, usually don't put up much of a fuss at the grocery store. The number one goal of such guys was to get in and out of there as quickly and with as little fuss as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, this was not one of these guys.

I stared blankly at the rows and rows of chewing gum as the cashier uttered a friendly word of greeting. The guy muttered an unintelligible reply and began to stare closely at the register's monitor as the cashier began to drag items across the barcode scanner.

Eggs *beep*
Bacon *beep*
Toilet Paper *beep*
Condoms *beep*
Swiffer Pads *beep*

"Now wait just a minute!" he protested suddenly, "those things were only $4.95 a box over there, not $4.99!"

I looked over briefly at the guy to see if what was going on was what I thought it was and quickly lost interest as I began to seethe in silence. 'Shit, here we go,' I thought to myself as I returned to staring at the assortment of candy and gum, 'another time-consuming haggle over $0.04. Fantastic.'

The cashier cleared her throat slightly. "You sure, sir?" she asked, with a look of discomfort on her face. That was odd. Usually you didn't see cashiers get a look of discomfort on their faces whenever a customer disputes the scanned price. Usually, they adopt a look of polite loathing.

Then I looked up to see what item that the fuss was about. It may be just me but usually one tends to be a little more discrete about purchasing "protection." Needless to say, I was floored at the guy's rather cavalier attitude. One usually looked away or adopted an innocent look on ones' face as the box of Trojans slides across the conveyor belt, not to go on an all-out hissy fit over $0.04.

The guy set his jaw in a stern look that had a vague resemblance to someone who had just eaten a rather large stick that was bound to eventually lodge itself firmly inside their arse.

"Yeah, I'm quite sure, maaaa'mm" he replied gruffly, sarcastically stretching out the honorific for effect, "I bought the same box for the four cents cheaper yesterday."

Well, I was impressed. Impressed at how much of a jackass that this particular jackass was. 'Just pay the four cents and leave, dude,' I prayed to myself. I felt sorry for whatever girl saddled up with this star.

On second thought, he probably just bought them because he was a psychotic clown murderer at night. That thought frightened me, so I directed my pity towards the cashier who was obviously not impressed.

"Whatever," she muttered as she punched the keypad, deducting the four cents. Her hands seemed to have doubled in speed, flying across the scanner as quickly as she grabbed another item. She wanted this guy out of her line as quickly as possible.

She flipped her hair and glared at the guy. "That'll be $140.38, sir," she said flatly, all business now.

"Oh, wait, I've got coupons!" he chirruped as he jammed his hand in his right pocket and produced a thick wad of ragged coupons from within. 'Of course you do,' I sighed quietly as I shook my head slightly in disgust.

Another few minutes passed as the cashier silently scanned her way through the pile. By this time, the line behind us had grown by another four people. I suffered in silence as the neighboring lines moved along with speedy precision. I had all the luck.

"WAIT!" he protested, "I thought that coupon was 'buy two get one free' on those pot pies!"

An audible sigh came from behind me as the other customers began to grow restless. We would all benefit if this guy was suddenly whisked away by a band of trained ninjas. If only the grocery chains of the world would employ such personnel for times just like these.

The cashier began to sort through the pile before pulling the coupon out that was in question. "No, sir, the coupon only says one dollar off any pot pie. See?"

She passed the coupon over for inspection. The guy studied it as if it were an ancient text of cultural significance. "Yep, you're right. My bad."

The cashier finished the pile and stabbed the 'enter' key on her keypad. "That'll be $136.59," she said flatly.

"Oh, wait! I need a book of stamps!" he growled, "and a pack of Marlboro Reds, if you've got any."

She retrieved the cigarettes and stamps and scanned them as well. "$146.23," was all she said as she stabbed the 'enter' key a little more aggressively than before.

The guy fished in his pocket again. He was looking for something and couldn't find it. He mashed his hands into his other pockets, also without success. "Um," he sighed, "I left my checkbook in the car."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" spat a rather annoyed voice from behind me. Good to know I wasn't the only one considering violence at this point.

"I'll be back in a minute, I swear!" he barked as he began to sprint towards the door, "it's in the car!"

We stood in silence. The cashier offered us a look that said, "Sorry, but you see what I have to put up with?"

She glanced at the time again. At precisely one minute, she turned to me and grinned devilishly, "Well, a minute has come and gone. He swore he'd be back in a minute and, well, he didn't keep his promise now did he?"

"I find no fault with that logic," I grinned back, "for someone as precise as that you'd think he'd be a little more timely."

A few muted chuckles rose from the rest of the line. She casually moved his purchases to the side and began to scan mine as quickly as she could. What had taken the guy ahead of me a total of twelve minutes only took me three.

As I loaded up my car, I could see that the guy had returned and was apparently not amused. I could see through the window that he was informing the manager that it would be a cold day in Hell before he ever shopped at THIS store again.

Ah, if only that was true.

Communique

Mon, 31 Jul 2006 19:34:57 GMT

"Sir, we've got a major problem down here," the Overseer for Mental Creativity's voice said bluntly through the intercom system.

"Yes, what is?" Control asked, surprised somewhat to hear the long-silent voice of the Overseer of MC. The Overseer had been rather active during the previous year up until this past March, when the onset of another Great Crisis had placed a large drain on resources.

The Controller listened patiently as the Overseer cleared his throat. Control regarded the Overseer in a friendly mindset, mostly because of the Overseer's past endeavours which had provided times of increased productivity and great positive benefits to the Collective as a whole.

That the Overseer had been silent for so long had not gone unnoticed, but that was also to be expected. He knew the situation as well as the rest of the Collective. Crisis management came first, Collective maintenance second and creative endeavours third. The Controller had taken note that the rest of the Collective was rather tired and could stand a little diversion.

The Overseer could be heard to be sucking in a deep breath. The news he had was grave, his words having been chosen carefully for maximum impact. He was never one to beat about the bush.

"We're dead, or rather, we're dying down here," he stated flatly.

The Controller sighed to himself. This was not going to be an easy conversation. "What's your situation report?"

"Our SitRep is this, sir," the Overseer replied, "We're down 76.2% here in regards to manpower and resources. Quite frankly, the staff we do have are working practically non-stop in supporting the departments of Maintenance and Treasury."

The Controller considered this as he glanced at the Master Report and frowned slightly. "You're absolutely right on that, OMC. We've had to shunt those resources to maintain survival of the Collective. You know how it's been these past six months."

"Six months, Hell, try the past decade," the Overseer snorted, "it's not been exactly a walk in the park for us now has it?"

'He has a point there,' the Controller admitted. The Collective had been under assault from one Crisis after another throughout the past ten years, so it wasn't any wonder that this state of affairs hadn't gone unnoticed. Lately, the overall morale of the Collective had sunk to a new low. Change was needed, a distraction at the very least.

The Controller began to tap gently on his desk as he pondered possible solutions to this new situation. He was always open for suggestions though.

"What do you propose?" the Controller asked, hoping for a near miracle of sorts.

"A Great Project, Controller," the OMC chirruped grandly, "One that will harness the collaborative efforts of not only our society but those of our allies.

The Controller considered this for a moment, "Something along the lines of that Historical Preservation project we completed almost three years ago?"

"Something like that, sir," the Overseer replied, "Except this will require the cooperation of allied governments as well as those of our own."

"Go on, I'm listening," the Controller said, succumbing to his own curiosity.

The Overseer could almost be heard to be tap dancing on the line. This idea finally had merit and could possibly boost the Collective from the, well, collective funk that they had been in.

He drew a huge breath and launched into his explanation, "We contact the representatives of our related allied governments and attempt to pool our multimedia and creative resources in an attempt to create a lasting monument to the remaining Great-Ancestor, who as you know, turns 90 this year."

"What?!?" the Controller spat in disbelief, "You can't seriously be thinking of creating such a thing in time for his birthday, are you? That gives us only two months!"

"We can do it," the Overseer gruffed, "if we work together."

"I can think of one or two of our 'related allies' that quite possibly would have nothing to contribute to this project," the Controller sighed, referring to certain governments that had long since severed diplomatic ties with the Collective, "Have you talked to State about this yet?"

Silence floated across the ether. The Overseer for the Department of State was well renowned to have a stubborn streak that was famous around the world. Usually in State's mind, once ties were severed, they stayed that way until the offending government apologized. It may not be the best policy to have for a diplomat, but there were times when the only other alternative was open war.

"I ran it by him," the Overseer muttered, "He wasn't too keen on the idea, but was willing to extend a hand out for an effort of this magnitude. The worst the other government will say is 'no', right?"

"Assuming the other government replies at all," the Controller mused, "What about the Ancestor and her sister? Are they willing to support this Project?"

"I talked to Communications about that. Both have sent back replies supporting our endeavour."

"I see," the Controller nodded absently to the air, "Well, I don't see why we can't, barring any unforeseen unpleasantness, naturally."

"I'll tell the members of my department to give me a list of resources and manpower that we'll need from the Collective," the Overseer's voice was ecstatic, "We won't let you down."

The Controller chuckled "You rarely do, OMC, you rarely do. Let me know what resources you need from our allies as well and I will have State draft the appropriate communiques for me to sign as necessary."

"Will do," the Overseer agreed wholeheartedly, "It feels great to be back, sir."

"Good luck, OMC. With two months to finish this beast, you're going to need it!"

The line fell silent and the Controller reached for his scheduler. He actually found a free weekend around the time of the Great-Ancestor's birthday. Perhaps the Controller might present the completed Project to him directly. If nothing else, it'd be a good excuse to finally take a couple days off.

For now, there was a ton of work to do...

Tue, 25 Jul 2006 17:18:47 GMT

I'm actually feeling a mixture of tired and empty today. I spent the past weekend entertaining my nephew and the fun was bittersweet.

I have four nephews and one niece, divided amongst two of my brothers. Sadly, diplomatic relations have long since broken down between one of my brothers and myself, so the only time I seem to be "allowed" to see my other three nephews is during family events at the neutral zone that is my parents' house. It's not for lack of trying, though. I've called to invite my nephs up for visits, day trips to the zoo and whatnot, but this brother has never seem fit to acquiesce to my offers.

Since a Cold War of sorts has developed over the past decade between us, it is unlikely that the status quo will change anytime soon. My brother stopped inviting me to the kids' birthdays and I've stopped attempting to invite them over. It's the way things run for now.

I cannot fault this brother's parenting skills. He's a damn good father and loves his kids more than life itself. He may not be one graced with good social skills with the rest of the family, but I have not one bad word to say about how he takes care of his family. And as much as I don't say it very often, I respect him for that.

I'm pretty much the unofficial "fun uncle" in the family. You know, the one who lets you stay up until midnight and lets you eat ice cream until you get sick to your stomach. Maybe not to that degree, but still. I don't think of myself as bad parenting material, but this whole deal just boils down to my brother and I still fighting over the same bullshit that we fought over since we were kids. I took his place as baby of the family and he never learned to get over it.

Still, even the Berlin Wall fell eventually. If nothing else, hopefully the kids will come and see me after they reach adulthood.

Getting back to my other-brother-with-kids, we've been on pretty good terms. They've lived fairly close to where I have for years, so we saw each other a lot more regularly. Recently, this brother and his family have decided to move halfway across the country. I think it's a good move for them. They like the East coast and in just about every respect, this move will give them a lot of opportunity.

As I posted earlier, my sister-in-law and my niece have already departed Eastward. My brother and nephew leave on Tuesday, which means that my brother is running around like mad trying to get the house up to snuff for sale.

I was happy to offer to watch the kid so that my brother could get his chores done. Picked him up after work and the weekend began.

Needless to say, I spoiled the kid rotten. We went to see "Monster House," which was an enjoyable flick. I had wanted to see Pirates 2 - Dead Man's Chest, but didn't think that it was wise to keep the kid out until 1AM. Two and a half hour movies do tend to be difficult to keep a nine year old still through. Hour and a half? No worries.

The next day was a day filled with breakfast tacos, swimming, movies, playing fetch with the dog, eating fried chicken and cartoons. I introduced the kid to Futurama and he attempted to introduce me into the complicated world of Pokemon. I stand ever convinced that Pokemon was crafted purely for the ADD minded, so I was able to hang - if only by a very thin thread.

Sunday arrived and it was time to return the lad to his dad. The car ride over was dead quiet. We were both fairly tired. It was like we were attempting to cram two years worth of fun into two days, so it was completely understandable.

It was odd, seeing their house almost completely empty. My brother picked up my neph and dropped him off on one of the cots that they were sleeping on these days. I gave the kid one last hug and told him to keep his folks out of trouble, a line that I'm famous for uttering.

My brother and I regarded the pile of boxes in the garage.

"Well, this is it," I mumbled.

"Yeah," he replied as he tossed a random bit of junk into a box, "pretty much."

"How long you think it'll take?" I ask, even though he's told me how long before at least two to three times.

"Hope to be in Bangor by Friday. We'll have to see. I at least want to be out of the state by Tuesday night. I don't really care how long I have to drive to do that. We're outta this godforsaken state by Tuesday."

I chuckled. My brother's love for Texas was pretty much the same as mine. He was as ready to go as I was, except this time he was actually doing it.

I contemplated this for a moment. I had been on the verge of a cross country move a few years back myself, yet I pulled back at the last moment for a myriad of reasons that I still shake my head about to this day. I should have left. Hell, I will still leave one day. When I am ready.

"Going to be able to fit all that in the truck?" I asked, absently sizing up the space required for this last load of stuff.

"Should do it," my brother replied.

"Yep," I agreed.

Silence drifted for a few moments. I could in this very moment understand why, after a visit with our family, my grandfather always insisted on sneaking away while the grandkids were at school. Goodbyes were tough as hell.

"Well, dude, I guess I should let you get back to it. I know you still have things to do," I muttered. I knew that he was busting ass to get things done and all I felt I was doing at this point was to delay him.

He nodded and replied in a sarcastic fashion that was typical of our family, "yeah, because you KNOW I'm looking forward to doing all that." He motioned to a pile of stuff yet to be sorted.

I laughed a bit. I could tell that he'd be up late the next couple of nights finishing up, so I didn't envy the task that lay ahead of him.

"Well, this is it," I observed for lack of something more insightful to say.

"Yeah," was his reply as he stretched his arms slightly for the obligatory brief brotherly hug, "take care, dude."

"You too, man. Drive safe."

We let go and I started walking back to the car. I couldn't let my emotions go just yet. I was sad that they were leaving, but I'd be damned if I was going to open the floodgates and let my brother see me cry. We as men don't do that unless our emotional shields are way, way, way, way, way down. I had to wait until my brother disappeared in the rear view mirror before I'd let that happen.

I mean, I'm happy as hell for them. This is a good move for them. I guess it's just that while we may not visit as much as we used to, they are doing something that will make them happy. I'll miss the hell out of my neph & niece though.

Fair winds on your travels, dudes.

Take My Love, Take My Land...

Fri, 23 Jun 2006 05:00:11 GMT

Life can be tough but think of how the penguins feel...

Watched March of the Penguins today while attempting to engage my brain in activities that didn't involve stress or worry. What I ended up with was time spent contemplating the idea that no matter how bad things in life may sometimes seem, there are always people or creatures who are having a tougher time than one's self.

Take into account the Emperor penguin. Here is a creature that breeds in an environment that is harsh, barren and unforgiving. The mere fact that ANYTHING is able to reproduce in sub-zero Antarctic temperatures is a miracle in the first place, let alone what these creatures have to endure to protect themselves and their offspring.

If you haven't seen the movie, I'd recommend seeing it, at least once. Even if you are not a fan of documentaries, there are still many things in this movie to reflect on.

As I watched the film, I was struck with the notion that the bullshit I wade through every day is nowhere near what these creatures have to deal with. The human animal's life may be complex but it seems that a vast majority of the stresses and pain in our lives are self-inflicted.

While it's true that there are many things beyond our control, there are tons of things that are. These choices center around different avenues in our lives such as who we choose as our mates, what we choose for our careers, what school we choose to attend, etc. It is each of these choices that help to chart a course for our life, whether the destination is what we wanted or not.

Some choices, while they may have been good in intent, lead us down paths that result in misery. Others that may have been painful and uncertain options to pursue may lead us to happiness and content.

It's a tricky thing, walking out one's door everyday. You never know what to expect. You just get up in the morning, wash your face and hope that everything will work out for the best. Mostly, it does.

I've been trying to deal with a ton of strong and painful emotions, unresolved issues and an oddly busy workload. And that just seems like peanuts compared to a penguin.

Thu, 06 Apr 2006 19:19:06 GMT

Heh. Awesome.

Mon, 06 Mar 2006 17:54:51 GMT

"I know you will find this difficult to believe, but this time I mean you no harm."

"Like Alice, I try to believe three impossible things before breakfast."

-The Master and the Doctor, in "The Five Doctors"

I've had a lot on my mind lately.

You see, in two days time I will cease being a twenty-something and will join the ranks of the Third Age. And while staring down the loaded barrel of thirty should fill me with horror and wonderment about what lies ahead, I've discovered that I am more apathetic about turning thirty as I was about turning twenty.

Well, let me retract a small portion of that. There is a small bit of me that admits that I was not looking forward to flipping the decade number on the odometer.

I guess it started with people saying, "Oh, fuck man, you're turning thirty! That's old, man. Old."

Old?

I had no idea when I was turning twenty about where I'd be or what I'd be doing ten years from then. I had visions that my life would have been way cooler than how events actually transpired.

I never really considered thirty to be old, much in the way that seventy something's don't consider their own age to be old. One of my favorite eighty something's was once fond of saying that you're not old until you can't climb that mountain anymore. I guess that since he no longer feels that he can't climb the mountain, he feels that gives him every right in the world to declare himself to be 'old and falling apart.'

Now mind you, this comes from a man staring down the barrel of ninety, who's doctor tells him that he has the heart of a forty something. My grandfather, the pessimist. Long may he outlive us all! :)

Do I regret my twenties?

Sometimes. Truth is that I wasted a lot of years holding myself back, drifting from bad relationship to bad relationship, passing up opportunities that would could have opened a lot of doors for me. I might have been living the high life by now, or maybe not. It is insecurity and the desire to overcome the negative feelings of others and create something spiffy that is the principal driving force that motivates an artist.

Pete Townshend had that mostly right when he said something similar in his "Psychoderelict" album. The one thing he missed was that an artist secretly harbors the desire to make art that makes them happy, whether they admit it or not.

This post isn't just an attempt to vent the negative vibes that have surrounded me like the comical rain cloud. I've actually been holding back on posting my unpolished thoughts, partly because I don't know who would understand them, but mostly because I don't really understand them myself.

The twenties are actually hard to get through in some ways. One truly does spend a lot of time trying to work out for themselves about who they are and what they want out of life. Some take to this challenge as a swan in water, others more like a rock.

After some analysis, I have no real idea how I answered the call. In many ways, I spent a goodly number of years just REACTING instead of ENACTING. At a time in life where many settle down with jobs, mortgages & kids, I find myself at an impasse. Do I take the easy route and give in to what the environment and societal 'commands' surrounding me demands or do I finally strike out and stake a claim on my life?

Do I stay in the comfort of the life of an automaton, or do I swallow my pride and shine my hard shoes and get a real... Whatever.

Truth be told, I should have expected a lot more out of myself than I did this past decade. I did have some good experiences and times during my twenties, but I must play catch up and make something out of myself in my thirties.

Or languish in the day to day self made prison of doubt and regret.

Some widespread personal changes are in store and some of the immediate challenges are not going to be pretty, nor a lot of fun. But, when I look at it, I've been through a lot worse. Many people have been through a lot worse.

Someone who's wisdom I've always appreciated, but rarely do I have the chance to thank them for, said recently that life is too fucking short. One must take their own life into their own control and do choose the path that will make them happiest in the long run, no matter how much the first few steps may suck ass.

To complete this treatise, let me offer these words of advice to my fellow twenty something's that I will very shortly leave behind:

Set your own course. Don't mire yourself down in your own bullshit. If you aren't happy with where you're heading, don't let others set your course for you. Listen to your heart and your instincts.

Cherish the advice of your elders, because there will come a day when they aren't around. You may not always choose to take the advice, but those who've been around a lot longer have more than likely been in the exact situation that you have.

Rip the tag off the mattress. Take time to reach out beyond the confines of your comfort zone. Take some chances, follow some opportunities. You may not always get the best result, but that doesn't mean that you cannot change course.

Lastly, don't tell people who are about to turn thirty that turning thirty is something to be feared and loathed. That's what Hunter S. Thompson novels are for. Heh. Just kidding on that last one. Bad pun and all that.

Reach out, though it my seem impossible. Strike out a claim on life, though it may seem that you lack the proper mining gear.

Live.

Calling Earth and Still No One Has Heard...

Wed, 01 Mar 2006 06:18:32 GMT

Rise, Phoenix
Take to yonder sky
Fly away to a new dawn
Amongst the winter rye

Rise up from the ashes
Old soul, reborn.
Rise up from the earthly bonds
The morning star, adorned.