Baby's First Basketball Game

I was fortunate enough to receive two tickets from my work for the opening night of the Lakers vs. Rockets game on Tuesday. Having never been to a basketball game, this was an amazing experience to see the game I love to play being played just 11 rows away from me by players I root for all the time.

Snape Kissed Dumbledore!

I’m sure many of you have either heard about or read one of the many articles concerning J.K. Rowling’s publicity stunt where she “came out” and proclaimed in all of her authorial splendor that Headmaster Dumbledore, a fictional character in her incredibly popular Harry Potter series, is actually a flaming homosexual. I bet Fawkes was his secret lover.

It’s too bad there’s one small problem with this revelation: there is no direct literary proof. I don’t care who the author is – you cannot dictate anything about your characters that isn’t somehow alluded to in the book. Rowling does cite an obscure reference to Dumbledore’s childhood which she claims to be circumstantial proof that Dumbledore is gay, when in fact the rest of Dumbledore’s literary behavior and character devolpment is completely heterosexual and normal. The way I read it, Dumbledore is written as a heterosexual father figure who is the last person ever to be suspected as gay, and if it weren’t for the advances of the gay movement to infiltrate every aspect of society with their lies and filthy lifestyle and have the audacity to pass it off as normal, there wouldn’t even be a discussion about this.

Rowling cannot interpret the story she wrote for her readers. That is what is dynamic and engaging about fictional literature: it can be interpreted in many different ways by many different people, and in the end, there may be several different correct ways to interpret any given story, as long as the interpretation is built on the solid foundation of literary proof. But you cannot make up an interpretation without sufficient literary proof. And as an author, you cannot tell your readers how to interpret your book if there is more than one way to interpret it.

Seeing as Rowling’s evidence for accusing Dumbledore of being gay is overshadowed by the complete lack of homosexuality in the rest of his character development throughout the seven-book series, coupled with the fact that sexuality as a whole is completely absent from the series due to the fact that Harry Potter was written as a children’s book, I see no other conclusion than this is just another fictional interpretation of a character, and a weakly supported one at that. If she were a literary critic making this remark, (in a sane world, mind you) she would be laughed at for making such a preposterously unsubstantiated claim. So in no way does Rowling have the right as author to tell us that her interpretation is right when it was clearly not in the story.

Barbara Kay, a woman who has written articles about this authorial overstepping of bounds, has a great quote that sums up what is wrong with Rowling’s statement. She said “Once the books are written, the gates of the fictional characters’ lives and their world clang shut. Any post-publication pronouncements she makes about her characters are superfluous and inadmissible, except as a personal self-indulgence on her part, and likely a bid to appear tolerant and liberal.”

She goes on to say that “whatever Rowling is as a person, and whatever her sympathies are for gays in the real world, they are irrelevant to Hogwarts, since she failed to include that component in the stories as written. She is an author of fiction, not a social worker. In a literary work, the characters must be true to the parameters of the fictional landscape in which they find themselves, and in Hogwarts there is – or was - no adult sexuality.”

So what can we learn from this? Well, the fact that Rowling is a sellout to the gay rights movement is overwhelming. It also seems evident to those who know the facts about this story that she has lost her respectability as an author with most people who wish to keep their loved ones away from the destructive and morally degrading homosexual lifestyle which is currently trying to be passed off as societally normal, when in fact it is largely both a cover for attacking Christians and those with strong traditional values and morals as well as an attempt to legitimize and normalize any sort of promiscuity or obscene fetish while at the same time making heterosexual monogamy and the traditional Christian family out to be obsolete and intolerant.

Okay, I know I’ve been pretty hard with the facts so far, so I want to return to the sort of jocular banter I started with in the first paragraph of this blog. I’d like to offer some literary examples that for some reason J.K. Rowling chose not to use during her press conference to back up her defamation of the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or “The Top Four Reasons Why Dumbledore Was Gay!”.

4. He kept his Pensieve out in plain view in his office in the hopes that Harry would fulfill his fantasy by accidentally snooping in the wrong memory, like that one lonely night at “Wizarding Whizbangs and other Magical Erotica”.

3. Maybe someone cast the lesser known Fourth Unforgivable Curse, “Homo Inexplicus” on him.

2. Why else was he called the Headmaster?

1. No wonder he kept Snape around for so long.

Religious Operation

I thought I'd share a tidbit of conversation I heard at work a few weeks ago. A guy (whom I will refer to as "Chuck") and a girl (whom I will refer to as "Ginger") who sit in adjacent cubicles to me and who typically jabber back and forth to the point where my ears actually fold in on themselves and retract back into my head through a process I don't even want to understand - were shooting the bullet-ridden breeze.

I was busy working, minding my boss' business, when my curious ears must have crept out in their own accord (lousy ears drive a better car than I do) because they caught a few words that made them floor the pedal in haste to reach the headcliff of attentiveness.

Basically, the conversation went like this:

Ginger: "I found a new church."

Chuck: "Oh yeah? What is it?"

Ginger: "It's called the eppis coh pull* church."

*pronounced eppis (like epic with a "s" instead of a "c"), coh (like "co" from the word "code"), pull (like "pull" from the word "pull")

Chuck: "You mean Episcopal?"

Ginger: "Is that how you say it?"

Chuck: (laughs) "You're going there and you don't even know how to pronounce it?"

Ginger: "Well, I don't know. I guess eppis coh pull sounds like a doctor term...like 'Nurse, please pass the eppis coh pull."


Later...


Chuck: "Why'd you leave your old church?"

Ginger: "Well, I feel like I have to put on make-up to go to church when I don't normally wear make-up - it just seemed too 'OC'. That's why I started going to the 'Episcopal' church."


I don't think any further comment is needed, except...

God Bless the Orthodox Church!

Tagged

Thanks to Aaron, I have something to write about. But I'll be darned if I'm gonna go and play blogtag with other people. Especially if there are tagbacks. Besides, I'm sure between Aaron, Grace, and Erica, most of the people I know have already been tagged.

-Post eight random facts/habits about yourself.


1. I have 47 icons in my room (not including crosses, pins, the church calendar, and pictures of Patmos...diptychs and triptychs count as one).


2. I am currently reading two books (The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett, and On the Divine Liturgy by St. Germanus of Constantinople), and I have 7 books waiting on my dresser to be read (6 Terry Pratchett books and 1 Dean Koontz book). Can you tell I'm in a reading mood this summer?


3. I often fall asleep on top of my covers, with at least one light on in my room. I get a special bonus prize from my mom if I leave the TV on (and blaring at volume 20+, mind you). She loves it!

...this particular prize appears to be a boney fist n' jaw sandwich.

I think my all-time conk-out record is three lights, the TV, and a book open on the bed, all while still fully clothed.


4. I can juggle. And make weird snapping noises with my ears and fingers.


5. I got a new job as an accounting assistant at an advertising business that is about one minute's driving distance from my house, give or take 5 seconds.


6. I wore one black sock and one white sock yesterday.


7. One of my favorite snacks is a bowl full of various berries (straw, blue, rasp, black, etc...) and grape tomatoes. Also, if there are cherries in the house, I will turn into a veritable semi-automatic seed rifle.


8. I think Harry Potter is going to die in the 7th book.

CtrlAltDelete

This was one of the last poems I wrote for my Poetry 406 class last semester. It has gone through one edit so far, but I'm sure it could use another. Any suggestions, comments, or questions are welcome.

CtrlAltDelete

I will die a gruesome death, on a Monday
or maybe a Wednesday, whichever is
convenient.

My fingernails will be peeled backwards
with a stylus, and my eyes burned with a laser
mouse.

I will be stoned by writing blocks, pummeled
by keystrokes, and backspacing my way out,
I will avoid paying my tab.

I will be beaten in paragraph form, double spaced.
I will be berated by punctuation, the colon
of their jokes:

What did the semi-colon say to the colon?
Mine’s longer than yours.

My head will undergo rigorous testing
to determine the impact durability of keyboards.
iwhneg weewf!

I will bring new meaning to the saying
“This homework will be the death of me”
Poemicide.

It’s Times New Roman like these that
Perpetuates the feeling of Impact there can be
on Poor Richard’s creativity.

There’s nothing quite like being stuffed
inside a 17” monitor and left to die.
Alone, with your blocks.

Kawhy?

Before you read on, be warned that this blog is a shameless attempt at discerning whether or not I am still capable of writing now that I have graduated from college. It will most likely lack direction, be overly wordy and comprised largely of sarcasm, and will exploit the English language for the purpose of humor (or a vain facimile thereof). So if your face hasn't dropped with boredom like a pigeon hit by a history textbook, read on. After all, it can't get worse, right?

As readers of Erica’s blog know by now, we recently got back from a trip to Kaua’i, in Hawaii. This was all made possible by Erica’s grandma, who paid for the plane tickets for 27 other family members, including a fiancé (Ivan) and a boyfriend (me). (THANK YOU AGAIN ELLIE!!) The families were split up into several different condos, and fortunately, Ivan and I had one all to ourselves.

Fortunately, that is, until we opened the door.

Sure, the condo itself was posh enough with its stained sofa cushions, slanted balcony (so the water from the occasional and non-fatal torrential storms can run off), flushing toilet, and two unmarked VHS tapes underneath the TV which the prospect of watching was more frightening than the freakishly huge brown spider hiding in the closet which Ivan broke a broom clean in half while trying to kill – that’s right, our condo was the height of luxury.

That is, it would have been, had Ivan and I not been two firmly straight men with significant others. In other words, the sight which made the greatest impression on us as we walked in the door for the first time, and which we had been afraid of for days before the trip, was the single queen-size bed which welcomed us with open sheets.

Needless to say, I spent a nice relaxing week sleeping on the luxurious pull-out sofa bed - which made loud clanging sounds as if it were stuffed with rusty cans, when any delicate amount of weight was placed on it. Like my spine. Though oddly enough, it was quite comfortable. Plus, I don't think I'll ever need to go to a chiropractor for a readjustment again.

However, the view outside on the balcony – spectacular. I’ve never seen such a beautiful adjacent condo before in my life. And the obstructively dense trees which prevented any sight past fifty feet – gorgeous. And the forsaken roosters who woke me up at five in the morning every day – vastly underappreciated without a gun nearby.

Perhaps a loosely accurate dialogue which Erica recommended I share would help to understand this better...

Erica says to Ivan (seriously): So I hear you have a nice view?
Ivan: A view of what?
Erica: Well, don't you have a pretty view from your balcony?
Ivan: Well, yeah - we have a very pretty view of a bush.


Speaking of fun, many of us went on a Zodiac tour along the western shore of the island. In order to kill two birds with one stone (splat…splat), allow me to show a picture of a Zodiac raft to both inform anyone who doesn’t know what a Zodiac is as well as to illustrate what it was like to ride one.





Please find it in your heart to forgive my elementary Paint skills. But that picture basically sums it up. Most of the younger-aged people in the family went on the Zodiac raft tour, which really is a lot of fun if you aren’t planning on using any part of your back for the next week.

Basically, the Zodiac involves sitting on the side of the raft and holding onto two sturdily attached (ha ha ha) pieces of rope. One of them sits underneath your thighs and you have to grab onto it between your legs, and one of them lies behind you and you have to twist your arm and most of your body around to grab it. There is also an extra rope to drape over your feet so that you won't be automatically plunged into the depths in case the other two ropes spontaneously break. This way you'll just be hanging humiliatingly halfway out of the boat - your face lovingly embracing the waves as they give a new and painful meaning to the term "Ocean Spray".

Provided you manage to avoid falling out and being devoured alive by flesh-eating sea turtles, you end up sitting in this semi-pretzeled position for about three hours, wondering which of your limbs is going to snap in half first.

But the trip is definitely worth it – because the final destination of the tour is a gigantic reef (a lesser known archaic translation of reef is “ocean hangout for hungry fish with a hankering for pasty-white tourists”). Amongst this reef, we all went snorkeling, which was one of my favorite parts of the trip because you get to float over schools of fish that look like they were left alone in a room with a three-year old and a box of phosphorescent crayons.

All humor aside for a moment, one of the more memorable moments of the trip was when we got to see a full rainbow from end to end, and actually got to see it touch the sandy beach outside of our car. However, I didn’t see any leprechauns, pots o’ gold, or Lucky Charms. Lousy false advertising.



And of course, arguably my favorite part of the trip was seeing the sea turtles. Just ask Erica – she’ll tell you I took about 67,362 pictures of them. We saw tons of them throughout the trip, and we got anywhere from just over a few feet away above the surface of the water in the Zodiac to standing on some lava rocks where waves were breaking and we were able to overlook them swimming in the current right next to the face of the rock.







Here is a picture of one of them giving me the turtle equivalent of the finger.


“Whatcha lookin’ at, punk?”

Here's a picture I have to include because I caught it just at the right time, as this gecko was strutting its stuff, doing pushups on a palm tree just outside the girls' balcony.



We also went on a long and rainy hike that most of the group disliked, probably because it turned more into a muddy Slip n’ Slide than an ascent. Actually, let me clarify that. Most of the GIRLS disliked it. For us guys, we had fun reverting back to the carefree and coincidentally dirtier days of childhood, mucking and sliding our way along. Plus, it gave me an excuse to throw away an old pair of sneakers.


Left Shoe


Right Shoe


The great thing about this trip was that no matter how much fun I make of such insignificant details as the bedding situation or the Zodiac trip (which was worth it just for the turtles alone) or the killer spider that proved firemen don't necessarily have to be fearless about everything (just kidding Ivan), it doesn't change how much fun Hawaii was. It was a total blast. Just ask this happy looking couple:

I actually learned something at school!

My technical writing teacher told me this during one of his tangents, and I did some research on it myself - even though I should have been doing my homework...but anyway...


The Tooth About Mouthwash

When originally invented, mouthwash had no alcohol in it, and therefore, did not burn the inside of your mouth when used.

It was unpopular, because people didn't feel anything happening, therefore, they were convinced that it must not be working. Due to this, it didn't sell.

So someone came up with the brilliant idea to add an extra inactive ingredient that would cause some sort of reaction and fool people into thinking the product was working.

Enter alcohol. Many mouthwash brands have 20-25%+ alcohol, while most vodka has 40%. Once mouthwash had this extra kick added in, it caught on and became a hot seller. People believed it was working because they could feel their mouths burning as they used it - even though the addition of alcohol was completely unnecessary and added no benefit to the effectiveness of the product.

Contrary to what many people think, alcohol in mouthwash doesn't kill germs better, nor does it make your breath fresher. It actually causes more germs and makes your breath worse!

Alcohol dries out your mouth, causing bad breath. The germs that cause bad breath are anaerobic, meaning "without oxygen". They thrive where there is no oxygen, and saliva naturally contains oxygen, so a drier mouth means less oxygen, which means more germs, which means bad breath.

So the brilliant addition of alcohol to a mouth-germ killer actually makes it less effective than it was before, back when people were convinced it didn't work - when it actually worked better than it does today.

Now, since some people don't like setting their mouth on fire, many brands have began to offer "Better tasting" and "Mild on sensitive teeth and gums" types of mouthwash. Guess what? They have less alcohol in them.

A normal bottle of Listerine has 26.9% alcohol. The Natural Citrus flavor that was advertised as being "Less Intense" has 21.6% alcohol in it, as well as SUGAR, another bad breath mongol.

Some companies even offer a breakthrough in mouthwash technology. "Alcohol-free Mouthwash". Amazingly, they have managed to maintain the same germ-killing power of regular mouthwash, without the nasty alcohol burn. They must be geniuses! I bet somebody made a lot of money off of that patent. And I bet those same companies charge more for this "New and Advanced Formula", because people these days are actually ignorant enough to fall for it.

Funny. First, people were ignorant by not believing that it worked, because they couldn't feel it work. Now, we've become accustomed to the burn, been indoctrinated to believe that alcohol is one of the active ingredients, valiantly slaying all bad breath in its path, and that the pain experienced is "burning away the bad breath". These same types of companies that had the novel idea to add a counterproductive ingredient into their product are now profiting from their deceitful marketing technique by being able to charge a couple extra bucks per bottle for this "kid-friendly", "burn-free" formula. And yes, once again, we are ignorant enough to fall for it.

Heck, I'll admit it. I thought the same thing. When I've used mouthwash, I thought the burning was killing the germs, like the commercials want you to believe. "You can handle it, just a little longer, your mouth will thank you once you're done, okay, you're done - BLECH! Whew!" These types of deceptive advertisements fooled me - that's why this made such an impression on me when my teacher told me - I just had to research it myself and pass the info along.

Makes you wonder what else we're falling for by blindly absorbing such ads.

My Personality (No Shocker Here)

You Are An ISTJ

The Duty Fulfiller You are responsible, reliable, and hardworking - you get the job done. You prefer productive hobbies, like woodworking or knittings. Quiet and serious, you are well prepared for whatever life hands you. Conservative and down-to-earth, you hardly ever do anything crazy. You would make a great business executive, accountant, or lawyer.

What's Your Personality Type?

How they managed to pinpoint my secret love of woodworking and knittings I'll never know.

One of the FUNNIEST videos I've ever seen

Seriously.

I've watched it 8 or 9 times in a row, and I laugh harder each time. I even woke my mom up. She loved that!


It's 24 seconds long, rated sub-G, and you owe it to yourself to watch it at least once to give yourself a well-earned laugh.


Funny Video on YouTube

Need Money? Quit Your Job!

That's right! Not only am I saying something that you're probably scoffing at right now, I'm also boldly back on the blogging scene! I missed all you bloggers and blurkers so much that I just couldn't bear to be away any longer. Plus, I don't have anything better to do.

So about my absurd statement...I just quit my job at Home Depot this last Sunday. Today, I went to sign the last batch of paperwork and "cash out" for the ~10 hours of work from the previous week which I hadn't been paid for yet. As the manager was preparing the paperwork, I noticed an envelope on the table with my name on it, and a number written on the top right corner that was a lot bigger than 10 hours would warrant. I immediately figured my eyes were playing tricks on me and that the decimal point was just mocking me, but deep within myself the hopeful eyes inside my heart sproinged out of their sockets.

You know what they did?

They paid me for ALL of my unused sick/personal and vacation time. They gave me an official "cash voucher" that explained exactly what I was getting. I received payment for 9.5 hours of regular work, 30.01 hours of vacation time, and 8 hours of sick time. In other words, they paid me for 38 hours that I never even had to work. You know, there are a lot of things that I didn't like about working for Home Depot, but the benefits were never one of them. In fact, just one week ago, I finally got my tuition reimbursement that I had been waiting over a month for. I had been waiting eagerly for it to come, because I had told myself that once it came, I would quit. And I did.

But of course I wouldn't just quit my job for no good reason. In fact, for the last four weeks, I've been working at Oakley doing data entry as a pricing specialist in the sales department. My main duties include creating and maintaining pricing for all sorts of Oakley product for their consumers around the world. So far, the job is great. I work three days a week for a total of about 25 hours, they are completely flexible with my school and church schedules, and I have weekends off! What this all means is I now make more money at Oakley while working fewer hours, 2 less days, better hours, and in a nicer environment than Home Depot.

I can't say I'll miss Home Depot really, but it's only fitting to offer a final farewell to what has been my job for the last 15 months. So I guess I'll just have to throw in my favorite as well as my last Home Depot story, ever.


A few months back, while working at Returns, an Asian gentleman strolls in. He brings in a full box of 12 high theft tubes of building adhesive, which sell for over $25 each. I am immediately suspicious, but I still greet him like everyone else, though he does not return my greeting. I ask if he has a receipt, and he says "no, no receipt." I wasn't surprised. Most stores don't issue receipts for stolen goods.

Anyway, I enter in the items into the computer as having no receipt, therefore making them eligible for a store credit return only, as is the policy without a receipt. After that, I ask him for his ID, as we cannot issue store credit without a valid driver's license.

He hands me a Korean passport, complete with his name and picture on it, which does not qualify as a valid ID, because the driver's license number is actually the required piece of information on the ID - as it is used to track a customer's returns with no receipt.

While I am holding the Korean passport, he takes out a yellow piece of paper from his jacket, unfolds it, and hands it to me.

It is a Court Summons for a DUI, as well as an official revokal of his driver's license. It has his license number as well as his name on it, and he stands there, pointing expectantly, trying to get me to compare the name and face on his passport with his own face, and then compare the name on the DUI papers with the passport and use the suspended license number to issue his refund of over $300.

Shya. Right. So I tell him I'll be right back, and I go call the manager on duty: Dave. I tell him the story real quick over the phone, and he responds with "I've got warm fuzzy feelings about his guy already!" and comes over. Dave asks Mr. DUI where his ID is and where he originally bought the items he is trying to return, and suddenly he is unable to speak English. He stammers for a few seconds, looks around desperately, laughs nervously while trying to speak, while Dave is asking him a second and third time where he bought the merchandise. The man utters a few unintelligible words in English, and Dave responds by logging his return attempt into the computer, and tells the man that he will not be able to return these items at any Home Depot.

Good riddance to a stupid criminal.

What?

Tonight, as we were in the car coming to my house, Erica and I were about to pick up where we left off in a book for Orthodox Christian couples that we've been reading together. I was driving, and Erica opened the book to where she had marked our spot.


Erica: "Well, we finished the chapter on communication."

Sean: "What?"

Erica: "What?"


We're working on it.

I Wonder How Well This Will Work

Well, I usually don't go for those meme things all that often, but this one struck my interest, since I love music. I'm a little doubtful at how well it will describe my life, since most of the music on my itunes/ipod consists of varying styles of metal. But we'll see how it goes. Heck, if it sucks too much, I'll just delete it, and you will never read these words.

WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK TO YOUR LIFE BE?
(taken originally after surfing to Annie's blog, from Sara's blog.

This is how it's done:
1. Open your music library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every prompt that follows, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new prompt, press the next button (I skipped one song entitled track 10, for obvious reasons)

Voila! The Soundtrack to your Life.


Let's try it!

Opening Credits: Warheart by Children of Bodom (Yeah, I'm a fighter alright...)

Waking Up: Elizabeth: Fall From Grace by Kamelot (Well, I do stumble and fall out of bed I guess)

First Day at School: Holiday for Strings by Spike Jones & His City Slickers (Ha! Some holiday...)

Falling in Love: Draw Me by Sonata Arctica (Oh geez, this isn't good. It's a sad song about failed love. Yikes.)

Fight Song: Beyond the Ice by Blind Guardian (An instrumental song. Hmm. Well, that's a much more fitting and peaceful description of me than a Children of Bodom song)

Breaking Up: Miracles by Dark Moor (You call that a miracle?)

Prom: Painful Mind Contradiction by Crimson Moonlight (Hmm, well, I never went to prom, so I guess that's a contradiction. This is the "Christian" band that Paige, Eddie, Tim, and Matt saw at the Cornerstone thingy...with the guy covered in blood. His voice sounds like Gollum from Lord of the Rings. Weird stuff.)

Life: On the Coldest Winter Night by Kamelot (Brrrrr!)

Career: Artifacts of the Black Rain by In Flames (I have no idea what this song is about. Just like I have no idea what I'll do with my career. Ooooh, saved that one.)

Mental Breakdown: Hero in a Dream by Ensiferum (What kind of a person do they think I am? Mental breakdown? Seriously? That's just silly-I like cheeseooogaboogarawaRRGGHHH!!!)

Driving: Taken by Pagan's Mind (This would have been good for the Falling in Love prompt)

Flashback: The Real You by Vanishing Point (So, am I flashing back to see the real me, or before I was the real me, or...owww, my head hurts)

Getting Back Together: I Like Marijuana by Mojo Nixon & the Toadliquors (Wow, I really have nothing to add. *backs away nervously*)

Wedding: Dreamspace by Stratovarius (Well, that would be like a dream come true...)

Birth of Child: Planet Hell by Nightwish (Hey! I like kids!...That's pretty funny though)

Midlife Crisis: Can't Stand Losing You by The Police (I can't stand losing my youth either. Waaah.)

Final Battle: Solitude Within by Evergrey (Oh ho! We're getting deep here. My final battle will be one of inner turmoil and isolation. At least I have something to look forward to now...*shakes head*)

Death Scene: Beneath These Waves by Demons and Wizards (No! I don't want to go that way!)

Funeral Song: Devil and the Deep Dark Ocean by Nightwish (Uhhh, this isn't getting better guys!!!)

End Credits: Cinco De Mayo by Reverend Horton Heat (What the heck? You guys are celebrating now that I'm gone? Sheesh. Thanks a lot.)


Final Thoughts: Hmm. A few funny ones. None of my favorite songs got picked at all though. I wouldn't think to play any of the songs that were chosen when I pick up my ipod for a quick listen at the gym. Of course, I have about 1500 songs, so I'm bound to get a few stinkers here and there.

No Boston, no Dragonforce, no Dream Theater, no Edguy, no Fleetwood Mac, no Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, no Iron Maiden, no Metallica, no Queen, only one Sonata Arctica, man. itunes, you've failed me again.

Time to Waste

I shall say nothing else save that this is my first elegy (a poem about loss) ever written.



Time to Waste

As I struggle to keep the tears within
I know I cannot hold on much longer
The inevitable soon shall come

A little piece of me is lost
Once again, as always before
And each time you leave me
I find it becomes harder to cope

As I strain to keep you with me
I know I will feel better once you leave
But the struggle within flushes my strength
And leaves me feeling empty again

And when you are relieved
To abandon me
You find solace
Within the depths
floating
until you go, washed away
forever

But I shall not despair, no
There will be others like you again
Though I hope next time
I can savor the moment and relax
I didn’t even get a chance to read my book

Don't You Wonder

I don't have anything else in mind to blog about right now, so I'd like to post my second favorite poem that I've written this semester in my poetry class: "Don't You Wonder".



Don’t You Wonder


Whatever happens when you go to a Mexican
restaurant and they give you chips
and you don’t eat them all
what do they do

Do they throw them away?
Do they feed the birds?
Do they reuse them?
What if they reuse them?

What if someone sneezed on them?
What if someone touched them?
What if someone licked them?
What if that someone was sick?

Maybe they fell on the ground
for longer than five seconds
and got dirty and were stale
so they were put in the toilet to be rehydrated

Or maybe a fat guy was getting hot
and sweaty and all his napkins were
dripping so he used the chips to wipe off
and put them back because he was allergic to flour

Whatever happens when you go to a Mexican
restaurant and they give you chips
Don’t you wonder

Fishy Business

I'm sure FedEx is a good shipping company. I'm sure they are fast and accurate and careful with their deliveries. But their slogan definitely needs some rethinking, especially for the store in Tustin where, well, I'll let the slightly altered slogan I've come up with speak for itself.

FedEx - "Our service is so bad, you absolutely positively have to stay overnight."


Erica and I went to FedEx with the express purpose of laminating some small index cards, as well as a larger sheet of paper for her school project. Little did we know it would end up being close to an hour long experience.

First of all, the person "helping" us didn't know what in the world he was doing. Personally, I assume that most people are trained to do their job before setting foot on the floor, but I guess that isn't always a fair assumption. It took him over 20 minutes just to figure out how much it was going to cost. At first, he was scanning barcodes tentatively, trying to mask the fact that he had no idea how to charge us for laminating something - as if it was an archaic service that no one ever requests - like ordering a Filet o' Fish sandwich at McDonald's.

"Hi, I'd like one Filet o' Fish please."

"AAAIIIEEEEE! UN PESCADO!!!! VAMANOS AMIGOS!!!"

*frantic scrambling is heard through the microphone as several of the employees search for their fishing rods*

"Uh, it's gonna be like 3 days for that to be ready sir, could you please park around on the other side and wait?"


Then the FedEx guy asks some qualifying questions to make it seem like he knows what he's doing.

"Do you want the cold or hot laminate?"
"Do you want the glossy or non-glossy?"
"Do you want the gold plating or the platinum plating?"

To all of which we replied, "Whichever is cheapest."

Finally, the FedEx guy finds a barcode that seems to satisfy him, though he still appears to be utterly confused. He tells us that it is going to cost $53.

Of course, the first question out of my mouth is, "Why is it so much?"

I am answered with some disjointed babbling as he trails off in mid-sentence, leaving me wondering once again what in the world is so difficult to understand about the process of lamination. You stick a piece of paper in, and voila!, it comes out all shiny and purdy-lookin' - at which point you don't pay $53 for it. What's so hard to figure out?

Eventually, through the combined efforts of three other crack staff members, they realize that $53 is, get ready for this, not the correct price!!! Amazing! How did they figure that brain stumper out? They decide that the real price is actually just under $20 for all of it, which still seems to be a relatively high price to charge for sticking a piece of paper in a machine.

OH! And the clincher was that the big piece of paper that Erica needed laminated was about 4 inches too wide to fit in their machine. Get this:

They offered to cut it to size for $1.75...PER CUT! What in the whole entire universe could possibly justify them charging $1.75 per cut? Do they hire God himself to cut it? Using diamond-edged scissors made from the divine wings of angels? Frankly, I'm surprised they didn't make us put a deposit down when I borrowed their scissors to cut it myself.

So, almost an hour after arriving, and a quarter short of twenty dollars later, we left, tired and annoyed at the blatant incompetence we were subjected to, just to get something laminated for a school project. Hey, at least FedEx doesn't serve fish sandwiches, yet.

The Zipper

Since I didn't get in my first choice (Creative Writing Non-Fiction), I petitioned for and got in Creative Writing Poetry. This is the first poem I have written for the class so far this semester. Let's just say I had some inspiration to write this which was based "loosely" from a real life experience.


The Zipper


My zipper broke, it was so sad

I felt so helpless, so open

The timing of it all was bad


Standing in front of a toilet,

The zipper stuck, it would not budge

I forced it open, with a fret


No longer would the teeth line up

As much as I tried, no avail

It simply refused to go up


I jerked, I yanked, no luck

In came fellow eager pee-ers

Maybe their zippers won’t be stuck


While I squirm and pull, I can see

them staring at me, wondering

maybe There’s Something About Me


Little do they know, it’s not caught

like that, and to be honest, I

would prefer it to be open

for business than stuck in escrow

WPE! I Can Write!

Hooray! On July 8th, 2006, after over an hour of standardized testing, on a Saturday nonetheless, I participated in and satisfactorily passed the Writing Proficiency Exam which all students at CSULB are required to take at some point or another. Personally, I didn't take it until I had reached the "or another" period in time, i.e. until they put a hold on my account and prevented me from registering for my classes.

Of course, it's one of those things that's mentioned in the long and arduous orientation marathon that I attended a year or so ago when I first started CSULB. They try and freak you out by telling you all these important things to remember and dates to keep track of and tests to take and where to shovel money into their pockets. Naturally, this was one of those dronings I must have misplaced (disregarded) in my mind.

So when I got the threatening e-mail saying that I have to take the WPE or I'll be dragged out of my house in chains and forced to watch them burn all of my academic records, my future diploma, and my underwear, I finally got motivated.

After I had waded through enough red tape to make a bull keel over in a heap of enmity and overstimulation, I finally got the hold lifted from my account so I could register again, and secured a test date.

On the morning of my test, I arrived at my school, waited to be admitted into the room, had my ID checked to make sure I was me (sure don't want imposters faking someone's proficiency at writing...it's not like their teachers won't find out next semester anyway), and sat down in a room with many other students upset at the waste of their precious Saturday.

The test wasn't any sweat. I was given a topic and had to write an essay about the dangers of misinformation and having too much info localized in one spot, i.e. the internet. The hardest part was keeping from laughing at my two crack test administrators.

They were two black people, a guy and a girl. The girl was the ultimate showcase in spoken monotonism. Her sacred duty was to read the instructions of the test. The sole duty of the guy was, well, I don't really know. All I know is he sat in the front of the room in a desk which was facing us, with his back to the wall, and once the test had begun, he put on a pair of sunglasses and fell asleep.

At one point, I looked up from my furious scribbling to see him, resting his head against the wall, with his mouth totally agape. We were just lucky he didn't have Stuffed Nasal Orifices Resonating in Ears syndrome, or SNORE.

Against all odds, however, I managed to write an essay that I was happy with and with which I felt confident that I would pass without a problem.

Sure enough, a few days ago, I got a letter in the mail verifying that exact thought. I needed an 11 to pass, and I got a 14 out of a possible 18 points.

I'm now officially proficient enough in writing to meet the requirements and expectations of CSULB. Whoopee! I can write, and it's all thanks to this mandatory state examination. Now I've sufficiently proven myself to be worthy of continuing in my studies as an ENGLISH major who already has taken six English classes in two semesters at CSULB, two of them being creative writing classes and five of them being upper division.

I'm sure glad I have the security and confidence of this standardized test under my proverbial belt, so if I ever have any doubts about whether or not I am a good writer, I can just reference my score of 14 on the WPE and be instantly self-assured again. Whew.

Simon Says Yar!

I had one of those moments.

One of those experiences in life where something happens and you either find it incredibly funny or strangely bizarre and you just have write it down to clear your thoughts and also, of course, to share it with others.

I had just finished putting in my 8 hours at the Home Despot. I had clocked out, and was walking out of the employee break room (the one place in the whole store that the bigshots will actually splurge to have air conditioning in) when I came across a fellow employee who works in plumbing.

His name is Jonathan, and I just discovered a few days ago that his last name is Ray, and that he is a cousin to the Rays at St. Barnabas. He just turned 22 years old, is going into the Navy soon, and goes to church (Calvary Chapel).

So anyway, I run into him, and he begins telling me what he got for his birthday. He shows me a silver necklace holding a kite shield with a cross on the front and a Bible verse on the back, and a brand new camera which he has apparently been carrying in a hip case all day so he can "take pictures of his friends".

Noticing that he didn't take advantage of the incredibly convenient segue presented here, I politely took the hint and withstood the urge to go "afk crying", as he went on to tell me that the third and final thing he got for his birthday was a Sailor's Bible.

Maybe it's my natural seclusion from anything Evangelical that was the root cause of my ignorance, or maybe it's the fact that the difference between a regular Bible and a Sailor's Bible is obscure enough that I wouldn't automatically know how they are different - which prompted my immediate question:

"What, does it have a bunch of swearing in it or something?"


I mean really, how much different can a Bible be translated to merit the title of "The Sailor's Bible". Are the Lo's and the Behold's replaced with Yar's or something?

"Yar, and Jesus said to his disciples, 'Yar, I am with you always, even to the end of the age, Yarmen.'"


Or maybe each Bible comes with a complimentary bottle of holy rum to aid in further contemplating the higher meanings of such verses as:

"And Jesus said to them, 'Yar, follow me, and I will make you fishers of seamen.'"


Or maybe instead of the black silk page marker that comes standard in so many other Bibles, it comes with a little chain and weighted anchor to keep your place.


Another possibility is perhaps the Sailor's Bible makes minor alterations on some of Jesus' parables to make them more meaningful for sailors. For example, the one concerning the traveling man and his three servants:

"Unto one of them he gave five talents, to another two talents, and to the last, who was a sailor, he gave a boat. After this, the master went off on his journey. The first took the five talents and traded with the same, and made five talents more from them. Yar, likewise he who had received two also gained two. But he who was given the boat sailed around the world, claiming priceless treasures as well as several wenches and a solid gold compass for himself. Yar, upon the master's return, he was pleased with the success of the first two servants, but was completely overjoyed at the amazing talents of the third, making him king of the land and giving him all the rum he could possibly drink. The End."


Lastly, maybe the Sailor's Bible elaborates slightly in places where nautical information can be expanded upon.

"Yar, and Jesus got into the boat and crossed over to the other side, traveling three knots per hour, in light crosswinds, with fair sea conditions and waves reaching up to two feet. It was a majestic craft, made from pure cedar. She was easy to steer and she seemed to practically glide across the water. The decks were freshly swabbed and the air was ripe with fish."


Meh, I don't know what the difference is. Do sailors even say Yar? Or is that just pirates? I bet Pontius Pirate would know the answer.

Some Pictures From Hume Lake

Click to Enlarge!

Erica taking a picture in the car on the way home:


Me taking a couple pictures in the car on the way home:




Miss Erica and Goofy, err, I mean Ivan:


Me and 'Ca:


Teri and Ivan:


The Add-Ults:


Joey Thatcher:


The kids: (From Left to Right: Chris (Jake's friend), Me, Sabina Timothy, Teri, Gabriella Thatcher, Ivan's head, Jake Timothy, Joey Thatcher, Erica's left side, Ben (David's friend), and David Thatcher)


Me with my beard!:

How To Answer A Phone

I enjoy doing this at work when someone calls my phone. I work at Home Depot as a cashier, and each cashier station has its own phone. So I entertain myself by answering the phone with strange greetings intended to throw the person who is calling me off, such as "Ahoy ahoy", "Hi, may I take your order?", and so on.

Another such greeting I have been known to do in the past is to answer the phone and pretend to be answering the phone for another place of business. I have grown fond of one of these types of greetings after a while. This leads me to the original point of my post.

I have thought of a great name and slogan for a restaurant. Ideally, it would be a small diner situated next to a thriving truckstop where all the road warriors go to stop and peel the squirrels off their tires from their long trip.

When you enter the establishment, you would hear this friendly slogan of greeting, issued by one of the employees, preferably delivered in a thick southern drawl.


"Larry's Roadside Diner: You kill 'em, we grill 'em! How can I be of service?"