It must be my Birthday!

Well, actually it was yesterday, June 30. But I did have most of this post "written" yesterday, so I say it's still good to go.

Last night was a blast. We all got together at my apartment and celebrated my birthday the only way we knew how.

By watching Gymkata while under the influence.

I could never express to you how awesomely and amazingly bad Gymkata is. So I won't. Instead I'll just say you have to watch it.

And let me just say there's a great twist near the end involving a man in a white cloak that you will never expect coming.
At least I hope you'll never expect it coming.
Gosh this movie is great.

But best part of all? Imagine watching it while getting to wear THIS:

Beth crocheted it for me!
Which means that the gift I gave her has officially been reduced to "embarrassingly Gymkata-bad." Still, I hope my gift to her beats a LAN cable, which I did happen to receive as a collective gift from my friends Robert, Cory and Randall.
I'll meet them later in the parking lot when I'm dressed as this:

That's actually my crime fighting outfit.


Sparks Flew

Dinner with the Massie family was fantastic. We had the meal at BJ's, a great pizza place in Huntington Beach. The only downside was that I kept checking my clock/phone to make sure I wasn't running short on time. Beth and I had made plans earlier to go see Wall*E and I had already pushed it back from the 6:30 showing to the 9:00 so that Anthony and his girlfriend could see it too. Dinner was running slow and I found myself in a situation where I didn't want to rush things, but kind of did anyways because, let's face it, I really wanted to rush things and get to the movie on time.

So the Massie's dropped us off back at the apartment. We were in the middle of saying goodbye, when we started to hear a deafening scratching sound approach us. It was a sound not unlike a fighter jet being flown directly through a cheese-grater.
Immediately our conversation drops and I turn my head.

That very moment, a massive pick-up truck sped by, missing a wheel, and shooting from under it a fountain of a million sparks.

Without a questioning it, we ran towards the direction the vehicle passed, reaching the end of the driveway just in time to see a cop car rush past and halt at the stoplight where the truck ceased to move.

The smell of the burning rubber and metal was thick and by no means healthy. We looked at the truck as it smoldered and a small crowd of people already started to gather. With us was a man on a bicycle who laughed.
The policeman began to get out of his vehicle, and the man on the bicycle said it out loud before any of us could. "Go."

Violently the truck rumbled and jolted itself forward, once again starting the fireworks show rocking at full force underneath it's metal carcass. Surprisingly, the truck still went pretty fast down the road, with the cop car close behind.
Within seconds more cops came rushing past.

We thought the show was over, so we went inside as the Massie's pulled their car away.
Within minutes however, they called again, noting that the truck was now engulfed in flames.

Not ones to miss a show, Anthony, Micah and I hopped in the Honda and drove the mile up the street to see it's extinguished remains as the driver was being looked over by paramedics. By this point I realized there was no way Anthony or his girlfriend Sarah would be going to see Wall*E that night, considering that Sarah had been sick and there was no way to pull Anthony away from anything involving car's and fire, so I shook my head and left.

I texted Beth to say we better make it the 9:50 showing, and I actually made it.

The movie was breathtaking. Just beautiful. And to top off the evening we got some food after the movie as well.

I felt a little bad about it though, my delays.
Sure, it's not often you get to see someone get "four stars" Grand Theft Auto Style in real life, but it's not often you get to share an Island Fizz at Denny's with a girl either. Really, when it comes down to it, I think I'd prefer the latter of the two.

I suppose it isn't really a choice, but at least that night I managed to get both.


New Housemate

Well, Anthony's brother John arrived last night along with my new housemate, John's huge TV.

Right now the black behemoth towers over me, claiming half of the living room for it's own. I'm afraid to look directly into it.
It does seem to fit in well here, although waking up to find it can often be a surreal ordeal.

Still, if there's a better way to watch re-runs of "How It's Made," I have yet to discover it.

Imagine watching that, but much larger and a little bit louder.

Yeah. That's what I said.


The News

Best news of the day:


Ninja Sightings!

Apparently a school in New Jersey was momentarily shut down because someone saw THIS in the woods:

The article has this to say,

"Turns out the ninja was actually a camp counselor dressed in black karate garb and carrying a plastic sword.

Police tell the Asbury Park Press the man was late to a costume-themed day at a nearby middle school."

Well, there you go.


I'm not a fan of it.

I went to Biola University today to see how much of college I actually have left and the general consensus is two years. These are mostly Bible and left-over film major courses, which basically means I'd spend the next two years divided between people who I can't get drunk with and people who are already drunk but mostly off of their own self confidence.
I hate film majors.

Apart from two years of my life, I will have the added benefit of paying for it. Or, rather, not in my life ever being able to pay for it since I'm technically an out of state student because I lived in Bethesda to take tons of community college classes that apparently didn't stop me from still re-entering Biola as a Junior instead of a Senior.

Also I get to go to 30 chapels AND 8 mission conferences each semester. Which means over two years I'll get to "attend" a total of 152 of them.
I'd offer to get them out the way all at once by spending an entire week inside of a dark church non-stop while singing "Blind Man," but somehow I doubt admissions will go for it.

I also get to have the uncertainty of whether I'll actually have a job afterwards, which means I'll be in a similar situation that I am now, but with the slight added benefit of a degree but the disadvantage of having no money at all.

Oh yeah, and I have no idea if I'll be able to pass all these classes in the first place. I still have a third year of French left and the only reason I passed last time was because the majority of my class was failing.

Or, I could just stay in school for another two years after these ones and become a doctor.

Basically, the only plus side is that my parents will stop nagging me about a degree and start nagging me more about getting married or having kids or moving back home to their basement.

To summarize, I hate college, and film majors, and French class. DC still haunts my nightmares. Suck it Mr. Darcy.

Dear me, I have turned this into every other blog ever made, where I complain about my over-privileged life.

I'm sorry.

here's a picture of Eddie Murphy's giant head on a highway.


Can-did Camera

I lost five soda's yesterday.

It was a tragedy.

I was at Vans across the street from my apartment grabbing groceries for our "New Episode of Top Gear" celebration, when I realized what our refrigerator was running low on. This realization was of course in respect to the sweet nectar of the gods we refer to as Coca-cola.

I drink the stuff like an alcoholic would drink Jack and Coke, except only Coke all the time. If it's possible I'll overdose on the stuff, and I should say "WHEN" it's possible, because I'm going to do it no matter what.

I went to the soda isle and checked the prices.
I usually judge the state of our economy by the fluctuating price adjustments to twelve packs of soda. When there's no sale, you know there has to be a line of guys waiting to jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.
Luckily for me, Coke's were at buy two, get two free.
Unluckily, they were heavy. So I tossed them into a shopping cart and took it to the check-out.

Now, I don't like to say I'm a lazy person, but I will say that I avoid lifting just about anything.
So instead of lifting all the soda packs and having the guy scan each of them, I lifted up one and let him scan it four times. It saved us both some work. However, I realized that he wouldn't bag them. Realizing I had to carry these back to my apartment, I asked for a couple extra bags. He gave me three.

The sun was high and the temperature was even higher. Outside, I lifted two packs of Coke and placed them in a single bag. I did the same with the other two.
Immediately, one bag broke, and a case of Coke loudly careened into the ground. On impact, a single Coke can exploded, sending carbonated napalm in all directions.

Realizing that the bags weren't going to work, and desperately trying to leave the area that I just covered in Coke, I tucked the remaining cases under my arm and started for the street. The case still leaked it's syrupy mixture, leaving a trail behind me. A homeless man nearby looked at me and helpfully muttered in a drunken stupor, "You're leaking buddy."
I said, "Thanks," and kept moving.

The cross-walk was too far away, and the weight of the cases was bearing down on me. The woman jogging next to me was going to jay-walk, and I agreed that seemed like a good decision.
With her at my side, I began running. Exactly halfway, the other bag broke along with one of the boxes. Suddenly bright red metallic cans were scattered across Springdale street, glittering in the sun. The woman next to me kindly stopped, but with traffic approaching I told her, "leave them!"
I tucked the remains of the cases under my arms and sprinted to the apartment.

Was it worth it?
You bet your sweet can it was.


Nice Guys and Modern Women

My brother in law Chris was kind enough to post a link on my Facebook profile to a recent article by April Masini entitled "Dating Secret Exposed: Why Nice Guys Finish Last," I assume because it relates to me.

The title is somewhat of a dead give-away, but if you feel as though the short essay is a tad too wordy to actually read I'll offer up this tasty quote:

"The nice guy cares too much, too soon. He has made the woman too important and too valuable and it shows in everything he says and does. He is too available, too eager to please, too accommodating, and he gives too much -- all without getting anything in return."

The article essentially explains that the most common problem with men, other than how they commonly act like womanizers, is that they don't act nearly enough like womanizers. Woman want to be treated poorly. They're into that, apparently.

All this time, men across the globe have been striving to become better people, when in fact the secret is there right in front of them. All they have to do is become an even bigger douche-bag. The job is practically done for us already.
In ancient China, this is a concept known as Wu-wei, in which the greatest action is no action at all. A tree "acts" as a tree without meaning to, the planet's "move" without meaning to move. In this fashion, emperors were meant to rule their lands by simply facing the correct direction. In the same fashion we can all become douche-bags and get sweet poontang just by fulfilling the male stereotype.

All this time we thought women wanted men like THIS:

Suck It Mr. Darcy

When in reality they want THIS:

Mr. Douchey

Which is the same thing, but with class rings, visors, and layered polos with popped collars. Jane Austin was actually on to something. Had she lived a tad longer she would've lived to see a world where the ideal man rides a Segway and get's tazed. If only she hadn't drowned herself or whatever actually happened to her.

So I've decided to improve myself in the form of a list.

-holding doors open
-complimenting women
-being myself
-being sober most of the time

-close doors
-act indifferent
-want the exact opposite of what she wants
-be insulting
-stand against railings/walls/doors
-smoke more and talk about getting drunk
-play ultimate Frisbee
-wear polo's
-star in How To Lose A Guy In Ten Days and Failure To Launch

In no time I'll have women literally crawling all over me, like insects, because that's what they are.
Man I'm going to be awesome at this. Thank you April Masini. I now truly am the ideal man.

In no time at all my transformation will be complete in what NASA scientists refer to as the "Matthew McConaughey Effect." It's only a matter of time before I ruin the movie Contact, again, somehow.

But I don't know.
I just don't know.
I'm terrible at Ultimate Frisbee. I find Croc's uncomfortable and morally insulting. Visors just make me sweaty and sometimes, when I actually do listen, I like what I hear.

I think I'd make a terrible, terrible-man.
I'd much rather be so nice it's sick, like I open so many doors for women that I get crazy muscular and can open any door, even really heavy ones. Or I get so good at giving compliments that women actually feel good about themselves. I guess I wouldn't get much in return, but neither does Batman, although he is a billionaire playboy by night.
I guess what I'm trying to say here is that I want to wear a batsuit and fight crime.

No, that can't be right.

....I'm going to play videogames now.


More Mega 64 Hilariousness

I love these guys.

All The Time In The World

Leaning ourselves against the edge of the pool, we calmingly sipped our lemonade while letting our legs float freely behind us. It was well into the afternoon and Anthony and I decided it the day was too perfect to not take a swim.
After a few minutes we both realized neither of us had said a single thing.
"We desperately need jobs," Anthony said, breaking the silence.
I nodded, "Yes. Yes we do."
We continued to sip.

With no job on my hands, I took the time between handing out resumes and pool swims to write a little short story. This one's a science fiction one, so it might be a tad strange. I'm still tinkering with it, but since I had nothing else to post for today, why not?

The only downside for you is that the format is kind of important. I couldn't just cut and paste it, also my PDF converter was angry at my computer and refused to work, so you'll have to clicky below.


I Searched A Long Time For This

I actually did.

I saw this on Cartoon Network years ago and thought it was so awesome.

quicktime version

Makes me want a hot dog.


The Happiest Place On Earth

Guess where I got to go today!
No! I got to go to Disneyland!

I went along with my brother, his wife, my nephew Silas, and my new niece Eden. It was a momentous occasion.

When we approached Tomorrowland, Silas was of course enraptured by the presence of the giant rocket ships circling the Astro Orbitors. I must admit, although I worked at Disneyland for a spell, I never actually had a chance to ride the rockets, even though I really wanted to. The reasoning for this was that the rockets, as an attraction, are essentially the same ride as Dumbo, except without Elephants and more rockets. There really isn't any reason to ride them.
So, naturally, I was excited to have the opportunity to hop on board with Silas and my big brother Ben.

The only problem was that these type of rides weren't really imagineered to fit two full-sized adults (my brother and I) along with a child (my nephew). Although it's certainly capable of doing so, it's anatomically difficult to manage. Also it looks kind of gay. Not that I'm afraid of looking gay or anything. In fact, we were about to manage it anyway, but the woman buckling in passengers yelled to me, "There's another rocket on the other side!"

I made a split second decision, and as a result I ended up flying this rocket solo.


On the one hand, I had the joy of knowing that because of me a rocket-less child would have to wait in line five more minutes. On the other hand I faced the depressing realization of how much easier it would be for me to reach the control stick had there been someone else sitting with me.

Yes, outer-space is a cold merciless frontier, a lonely place devoid of life. I discovered this as I sailed through the sky over the Buzz-Lightyear attraction. But what can you do but enjoy the ride?

I'm not sure exactly why I keep ending up on these lone voyages. It certainly isn't on purpose, I don't think. I guess in the meantime all I can do is hope that someday this Astronaut will find a partner to explore the unknown reaches of the Universe.

Until that time though I'll just have to make due with random trips to Arby's.

Arby's and the Great Big Universe

Tonight I tried taking my parents to the Griffith Observatory, but by the time we made to to the 5 Highway we realized it wasn't meant to be and instead decided to go to Arby's.
In turn we decided this:


was MORE worth our time than this:

The Universe

And I stand by that choice.

We did, after all, get turnovers. On what other planet can YOU get turnovers?
That's right, none. Because moons don't count.

I spent this morning trying to search for jobs online while my roommates watched House episodes online, which eventually turned into me just watching House episodes without job searching. It was wonderful. Also a little frustrating because they kept watching after I left and now I'm behind.
But get this. Right after I left the apartment, when I got into my car, the House theme song was playing on the radio.
It was destiny.

Also a baby bird landed on Anthony's shoe today while we were outside. He tried shaking it off, but it held on tight and squawked repeatedly at him. Eventually it got bored and fluttered away.

I also had numerous dreams last night where I was fighting zombies.


Beach Day and Cantaloupes

Today I went to the beach.

Then I got a phone call from my mother and ended up buying ten cantaloupes from the grocery store.

Somehow those two stories are probably related, but I'm too sunburned and tired to explain. I mean, it might just be me, but ten cantaloupes seems like a lot. Especially when you have to carry them back from the grocery store and up three flights of stairs to your apartment. That really is enough cantaloupes to start your own business. A thought which occurring to me would probably be a bad idea, considering that I'm imagining myself wearing a monocle and a top hat while tossing cantaloupes from a Rolls-Royce with a look of sheer bliss across my face.
It'll happen someday.

Here is a photo of the beach.

Here's a rather unattractive photo of me at the beach.

Here's a VERY attractive photo of my roommates Anthony and Micah at the beach.

Here's a photo of Anthony's girlfriend being forced against her will to apply sun-tan lotion to Anthony. At the beach.

And that was our day at the beach.
We also had sandwiches, saw seagulls and pelicans, climbed around the rocks, and I managed to be the only one to get soaked by a wave. It was a risk I was willing to take.



So I'm watching Escape From New York because we have cable now and I don't have anything better to do on a Friday night but watch Escape From New York alone in my apartment, and I took notice of this one part where a group of scientists slap a wristwatch onto Kurt Russell. It seems normal, except this particular wristwatch is counting down from 22 hours, at which point Kurt Russells head will explode or something. I don't know, I'm actually watching the movie right now.

What I realized though, is that I WANT a countdown wristwatch. It doesn't have to be for anything in particular, maybe even just dinner or bedtime. The important thing is that it would look important, maybe even give the rest of my day a sense of urgency. The check-out clerk at the dollar store across the street would look at my wrist and say, "I better get all these discounted dragon canes and cacti rung up before this guy's head explodes." And I'd be there with an eye-patch and a cigarette hanging out of my mouth and say, "Don't f%$# with me I have to find the president and I have to find him NOW!"

Hey. Check this out.

This is Kurt Russell in Escape From New York as the character "SNAKE."

And this is Snake from Metal Gear Solid.

See any similarities?
If you were watching it you'd definitely hear a similarity in their tone of voices.

Check this out.
In Metal Gear Solid 2, Snake hides his identity by calling himself Plisken.

In Escape From New York, Kurt Russell's character has the full name of "Snake Plissken."

Yeah. I know. You should've been wearing a wristwatch because I just made your head explode.



Animal Planet

I think you'd like this.

Internets Has Arrival

My apartment officially has internet, kind of. We have one ethernet cable right now that we share between our three laptops.
Things can get pretty nasty here when Anthony wants to watch the "Pork and Beans" music video at the same time Micah wants to watch episodes of The Hills, but we manage.

Unfortunately this means our apartment productivity has greatly decreased. Greatly.

The good news is that I got to watch Keith Schofield's new music video:


Unicorns Are a Whole Lot Real-er

Heck yes.

Deer Unicorns. They're here.

Further West - A little less funky

Here's another version of further west, minus that additional, funky, layer of vocals.

Further West - A Little Less Strange (and the correct file this time)

Better? Worse? Same?
How about this, how about I give you individual versions of different layers of the song itself? Interesting, no?

No? Well, I'll probably just end up re-recording the whole dealy anyways, but now you can remix it with Daft Punk or whoever you kids are listening to these days.


Finally A New Song - Further West

Well, it's been just about a month since my last tune and I apologize. To be fair, I have a really great reason. I've been lazy. Also, I wanted this one to sound better.
That's why this time I experimented with a little electric guitar and sound editing.
That's right. This time I actually used more than one audio track to record on. And if you think recording vocals separately is easy, let me tell you, having to explain why exactly you've singing by yourself to your roommate in the middle of the night is a lot harder.

So I think this one sounds different, but I think it also sounds better. Whatever the case, let me know what you think.

Further West - Zack Newcott and the Chemical Cow

Further West

They call you a coward
because you ran away
but if you had someone left
you'd be willing to stay
You never felt so alone
You had never felt so alone

So into the West
you began to sail
and the mountains were covered
by a velvet vail
and you never felt so alive
and you never felt so alive

Any further West you go
You will surely drown
But if you stay here
they all know
sinking sand will pull you down.

The mountains turn to trees
and the trees to sand
and you're not quite a boy
but you're not a man
you're just out there on your own
you're just out there on your own

The Hula girl dances
but she doesn't feel
and the girl you think is waiting
well she's no more real
she lives inside your mind
she just lives inside your heart

Any further West you go
You will surely drown
But if you stay here
they all know
sinking sand will pull you down.

You will find no answers
out on the road
because the question is
all you need to know
How far do you need to go?

The horizon's pretty far
but it's within reach
it's just a couple miles
until you hit the beach
You're living on the line
you're living on the line.

And when the sun sets
you will be right there
your feet in the water
and your hands in the air
and life will love you back
and life will love you back

Any further West you go
you will surely drown
But if you follow the current's flow
you will soon hit solid ground.


Sweeney Todd - A (very) Delayed Review

Sweeney Todd

There was a screener copy of Sweeney Todd sitting on top of my parents television for the past four months, yet I never had the chance to watch it. The reason for the delay is that every time I suggested a viewing it was turned down, along with the reason that it was "too bloody."

Now I'm a child of video games. I played through Max Payne four times while listening to the soundtrack to 42nd Street. I'm serious. I tried to time my slow-motion kills to the music. Violence and music to me run through my blood. So when I first heard that Sweeney Todd was both a musical and practically blood-soaked, I was excited. Very excited. Probably too excited.

So I finally got to watching Sweeney Todd, the film adaptation of the infamous Broadway musical, this time directed by Tim Burton. The main attractive selling point here is the big names. Johnny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, Alan Rickman, and some other British kid who I found more creepy than the rest of them, they all line the halls of this Victorian tale of murder and unintentional cannibalism. It's an unlikely cast for a musical, especially since it's hard to imagine Professor Snape singing about "pretty women," but it works. And it works extraordinarily well. The performances are expectedly top-notch and are perfectly in synch with the music, as they should be.

Unlike the Phantom of the Opera adaptation, which apparently had actors casted because they seemed to "look" the part, the characters in Sweeney Todd are fully realized through their performers.

When I think about it, there's hardly anything "wrong" with Sweeney Todd, I mean, apart from the complete lack of concern regarding to other people's lives. Visually, it's striking. Musically, it's very appealing and actually hummable. The script is surprisingly clever and has enough turns to constantly keep you interested.

Somehow though, there's this strange emptiness afterwards. There's a feeling that says, "that was great, but now what?" You feel a void as deep as Mr. Todd's morals, but somehow you're still humming.

The bottom line though is this, Sweeney Todd is entertaining. It's well worth renting, and if it strikes the artery you fancy, maybe even worth buying. See it.


More Japanese Craziness and Cute Panda's

While on the job prowl I've taken the time to tend to much dire personal needs. Such as tracking down adorable video's of Red Panda's.

Awwww man is that adorable.

Oh my gosh. I want one.

I always though nature was supposed to be cruel and unforgiving. How the crap did these fluffy creatures come to be? Is this some evolutionary adaptation to the environment, in which Red Panda's have mutated so far as to render their opponents paralyzed in the presence of such an adorable and cuddle-friendly fiend? Perhaps nature truly is cruel, considering that I can't hold a Red Panda right now.

In other news, Japan has blown my mind by introducing an ice-cream flavor which goes beyond the definition of "abomination."


Yes, that may look like a regular ice-cream cone, but don't be a fool.
Remember. This is Japan we're talking about. The land of bathroom "noise makers," such as THIS, the invention seriously referred to as the "Magical Water Princess."

Yeah, I could write a whole book about that one, but let's get back to that ice-cream I was talking about.
It looks normal.
It looks tasty.
In our land, the land of Pink Berry, Golden Spoon, and Yogurt Land, soft serve ice-cream has found a delightful place within our hearts. It is a symbol which encompasses our childhood summer day's, as we lazily licked the melting drips of dairy.

But now Japan has gone ahead and blown us all away.

This, my friend, is Salmon flavored ice-cream.
It's made with powdered Salmon.

Yeah, I just threw up all over my keyboard.
But the good news is that the Japanese are probably making that into an ice-cream flavor as well. I think it's called "Magical Vomit Princess Squid Heart Power Star" flavor.
And it's only a matter of time until it hits the states.


Working On Finding Work to Work

Not that I haven't been working hard lately, but it's about time I got a job. One that pays money.
I hear the hardest part is just deciding what kind of job you want to get.
So I'm making lists.

What I'm Good At:

-Looking Good
-Writering words
-Pretending to pay attention
-Not getting a job
-Getting Distracted Online

Jobs I'd Like:

Professional Writerer of Words
Professional Time Traveler
Crime Fighter (low pay)
Professional Reader of Written Words
People Helper Person

Since it looks like Time Traveling and Writering both require college degree's, I might be out of luck. When I say out of luck I mean I'm on a crash course to a minimum wage position at the Springdale Country Novelty Hat and Hummel Store across the street from my apartment. And I think they'll turn me down on the basis of myself being a male and not over the age of fifty.
I think I mostly want a job involving interaction with other people and doesn't involve selling or making food. My problem is that I'm not sure a job like that really exists. It's a toss up.
Let me know if you have any ideas.


Inner Child

So I walked into the Hospital yesterday with my parents to visit my brother's new baby but we had to first be allowed inside by security.
The security in this case was a slightly old lady at a desk.
My father quickly told her our names and who we were visiting and she gave us the go ahead, but before doing so she quickly looked at me and said "Hold on." The old lady then turned to a group of nurses behind her and asked "What are the current visiting hours for children?"

It took me a couple seconds to realize she was talking about me.

Now, I know I may not be the most mature guy on the planet. After all, just the word titmouse makes me giggle like a schoolgirl. But I couldn't help but question this entire scenario.

1. Why is the person in charge of security asking for the visitation hours?

2. If she doesn't know the protocol for children, what about the protocol for baby-taking?

3. How could I use this to my advantage/can I take a baby?

4. Why would this same individual consider a guy, aka myself, a twenty year old sporting a minor goatee and long hair, to be a child?

I guess this means I should stop carrying a blanket and my big red firetruck toy.


Party Animals

So much has been going on, and without internets at my apartment I have to inconveniently cram all the action into minuscule posts. So I don't have a lot of space here to elaborate on big news, like my niece that was born last night, or my parents coming into town, or the dozen cacti Anthony and I bought at IKEA. I only have enough room to focus on the most important things first.

Yesterday I petted bunnies at Pet City in Whittier.

They were fluffy, small, and mixed in with the Guinea Pigs (which looked the exact same except with shorter ears). They were adorable, and they were piled up and spooning each other in a display of lovely cloud-like fluffiness.

We also saw lot's of lizards and snakes. Less fluffy, but still adorable in their own way.
Somehow I can never get over the feeling that most pet store cages don't actually have any animals in them. I tend to always just assume that there's a lizard or tarantula hiding or camouflaged in the corner. Essentially, Pet City could be filled with empty cages and I would still be entertained.

Beth and I went there after basking in burrito goodness, which probably explains the friendly attitude the dog's seemed to display when we petted them.
Usually I'm a pretty nervous guy around dogs. In fact I still kind of am. They can be big animals, and it doesn't take much for anyone to imagine one such animal taking me down in one adorable paw-swipe. Still, somehow I felt comfortable around these ones.
Maybe that's why they're a thousand dollars a piece.

I felt bad for the cheaper dogs, the other cheaper animals especially. It's kind of a strange concept that we can even pay money to own a living creature, stranger still is that a bunny is just twenty bucks.

Yeah. I get it. Companionship is priceless, and a thousand bucks for a dog is a sacrifice many are willing to make.
The problem with me is that I immediately enter a thrifty way of thinking.
For a thousand dollars I could buy FIFTY bunnies.

Or I could just buy two bunnies and wait.

Either way, it's a steal.

But then again, maybe it's not the money that matters. Maybe these dogs are just dogs, the bunnies just bunnies, the pet tarantulas just terrifying pet tarantulas. Maybe it's not just the smell of delicious burritos on my hands or even my sense of self-confidence. Maybe it's just a matter of feeling comfortable where you are. Maybe it's just who you're with.


Insane Head of Mine

I had a crazy dream last night that I was being interviewed by a girl's father. He was really eccentric and had a living room filled with his crazy inventions. To evaluate whether or not I was worthy enough to date his daughter, he had me sit across from him at a table filled with broken sowing machines and have me undergo a test.
I can't remember exactly what the test entailed, but I do remember at the end he presented me with a small wicker box. Inside, the box had a dirty empty glass and a glass salt shaker. I picked up the salt shaker and he said that the salt shaker was actually me. Almost immediately the salt shaker became too heavy for me to hold and I had to set it on the ground.
For some reason the man seemed impressed.

No. I don't get it either, but I'm sure it means something.


Moving In

Well, it took a couple days, but we're in our new place. Although the move did involve a tense refrigerator transfer up three flights of stairs and a quick trip to the Emergency Room yesterday, we did manage to sleep on our mattresses last night.

The Emergency Room trip was because our roommate Norm, whom we now are going back to calling Anthony again, accidentally cut himself while removing a zip-tie from a new batch of knives.
How ironic, I thought, as he bled profusely. He was cut by a knife while trying to cut knives free. It's a strange mixed up world we live in.

We started driving to the ER, but my TomTom GPS system apparently is programmed to send us to Hospitals that only existed ten years ago.
After arriving at an Ihop in the middle of nowhere, we had the good fortune of getting a call from Anthony/Norm's girlfriend who apparently knows the location for every hospital on the West Coast.

Eventually all four of us, Anthony, Micah, Sarah, and myself all ended up in the ER waiting room where it appears nurses just make you sit long enough until your body naturally heals itself.
In this time Anthony completed the paperwork. He made sure to write in "Atheist" under religious preferences so as to get, in his words, a "real doctor" rather than just a priest. We considered writing "Nihilist" instead, but realized that would result in a nurse bringing Anthony out to a back alley and shooting him.

Maybe if we had gone with existentialism we could have all received treatment for our shared pain. I don't know. I'm not a doctor.

P.S. there's no internet at the new place yet, so bloggings may be sparse.