Sheep Go To Heaven, Goats Faint Face Forwards

This weekend I watched a short segment on the National Geographic channel about Myotonic Goats, more commonly known as the "fainting goat."

Suddenly I realized what my life had been missing up to this point.



Sometimes God made animals to put man in his place, examples of these are crickets, spiders, bigger spiders, and giant coconut crabs.

What's that? You said that giant crab on the trash can was real? Oh, good. I've been meaning to soil myself.

Seeing something reminiscent of the head exploding insect monsters from Cloverfield is always entertaining, but finding out that a slightly similar version of them exists in real life somehow turns this world into a much, much, more terrible place.

On the other hand, sometimes God made animals with no other purpose but to be laughed at. In this case, we're talking about goats that not only faint abruptly when startled, but have a tendency to faint face forward into the dirt.



This next video is rather beautiful, as a woman attempts to provide the goats with an ounce of respect while footage is played depicting her relatives chasing down those very same goats with an an over-sized umbrella.



It's a beautiful thing.

Pokemon. They are real. FINALLY REAL.

Finally.



20 of these babies were just sold for $925 million dollars. Yes. That's right. 925.
That is 925 million stacks of one million dollar bills.

If you need me I'll be at the pet store painting turtles neon-blue.

.

Disappearing Act

On hole 16 of the Boomers Mini-Golf she hit her ball into a hole in which it disappeared entirely.

We spent a short time standing over the tiny abyss attempting to peer through the darkness for any hint of a small pink ball. There was nothing.

Prodding the suspicious opening with my putter, I briefly bent down and considered whether or not it would be a good idea to reach my hand into a hole from which there was apparently no return.
We looked at eachother and collectively decided against it.

It was clear that the hole must have led into a tunnel which led to another part of the course. We decided to take a look around for any other possible exit areas. The most obvious was the little circular patch of torn astro-turf only a few feet away. There were three holes for the ball to escape from, yet there was no evidence of it's presence. We walked around the perimiter of the small course and surveyed any other possible options, such as the miniature Eiffel Tower not far away.

The most likely reason for the ball's disappearance was that it had somehow lodged itself in the vast underground tunnels of Boomers.

We both stood back near the miniature Eiffel Tower as a family behind us played their way through the same course. It was clear that they were putt-putt pro's, as none of their balls even came close to the same hole we encountered and instead rolled their way up the ramp and into another hole further away.

While this was good for the family, considering that they wouldn't have to deal with an insant game-over, for us the mystery of the black hole on the Boomers miniature golf course looked like it would never be solved.

The good news however, was that we both realized neither of us actually liked miniature golf that much.

It was our second choice after my idea of ice skating was foiled by odd closing hours. This was another mystery that wouldn't be solved that night due to the fact that the only person we could ask was a foreign street sweeper. When I asked him "What time does the ice rink close?" He replied with a helpful, "Eet's closed." and then continued to sweep the rest of the abandoned parking lot.

So we continued putting our way through Boomers and their disturbingly complex mini-golf layout. This time we continued with one ball, and having long ago discarded any urge to keep score we hit the ball back and forth, often getting stuck on steep ramps.

I believe it was on hole 19 that we found ourselves putting endlessly over a small mound of turf, and I didn't just feel content, I felt something more than that.

I leaned in to her while on the couch and I said exactly what I had been so scared to ask, whether or not I could put my arm around her.
She hummed a yes, and I twisted my arm in the air, surprising myself in how much it was unintentionally similar to the way guys do it in the movies. It was an awkward movement. My arm reached high above me until my elbow passed her head, and it lowered comfortably behind her.

All throughout dinner with her, all I could think about was how much I just wanted to hold her close to me. She was sitting with her familiar yellow jacket talking about her family, and all I wanted to do was be closer to her. I wanted her to know that if there's one thing in this world that anyone did right it was helping her become who she is today,

With my head leaning over hers, her soft hair tucked underneath my chin, I realized I knew it far better than any words could describe.

On hole 16 that ball disappeared into a strange abyss where it would apparently remain lost forever, but in that very moment, I never felt more comfortable about where I was.

Yep, all out of things to post...

I apologise for my lack of posting within the past couple days. But I promise I'll make up for it.

If it's at all comforting, my reason is that I have just gotten a gig writing a humor column on my school's campus paper. WORD. If you're anywhere near Biola university you best represent.

In the meantime, here.
Take this video of a crazy Japanese music video.



No. I don't know if their dudes either. But their ambiguous chest-bulges say otherwise.

This is what I do when I have nothing interesting to post. I just keep posting strange Japanese findings.

here's a Japanese commercial with numerous pelvic thrusts.



Wow.

Here, Japanese and miniature robots. What the crap.



Here's one with a disturbing midget toy doll machine.



Hey, ever seen this one? It's been one of my favorites for a while now, ever since sophomore year.



I actually memorized that dance.

I'm not joking.

I seriously tried to learn it.

It's much harder than it looks. Trust me on that one.
Especially when you're wearing ninja gear.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull - Movie Review

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Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
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I'm always a little surprised whenever I ask someone whether or not they ever saw the episode of Gilligan's Island where they actually get off the island. They think I'm joking, but I'm not. It's the last episode. They get off the island, they see how miserable their lives are off the island, and then they go back to the island again. It's really the only reasonable way to end the series (if you don't believe me, just take a look at the recent seasons of LOST). At the same time, it's incredibly depressing. The actors are old, they haven't matured, and they don't want to. The episode exists within a universe where nothing changes, no one acknowledges their age despite being noticeably restricted by it.

In many ways, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is somewhat similar to Gilligan's last voyage.
Indy has aged. That's not a bad thing at all. Harrison Ford looks fantastic. In fact, he doesn't seem affected at all despite a few charming line slurs. His hat and whip function just as beautifully as they did twenty years ago.

Somehow though, this worries me. Just take a look at video games these days. The newest Metal Gear Solid game features the central character Solid Snake as a man swiftly approaching sixty in his physical stamina. His playability is affected by this as well. In movies we have heroes such as John McLane in the recent Die Hard at least stop to catch his breath. Even the last Indiana Jones dealt with an aging Sean Connery in search of the Holy Grail, a noticeable (if not slight) commentary on age and invulnerability.

The newest Indiana Jones hardly even stops to acknowledge the fact that it has been a few years. Sure, Indy's friends are older and he's got a younger sidekick at his side, but Indy himself sprints across high beams and swings into trucks without even a pause for breath.
Sure, you might say realism has hardly been a factor for these films, and with Indy hopping into fridges in the midst of nuclear blasts it still isn't. The fact of the matter here is that Indiana Jones as a film does not acknowledge it's limitations with a wise or discerning eye. Age is a universal struggle, time itself is a force to be reckoned with, but the film neglects it and misses some wonderful opportunities.

The film cannot decide whether it wants the "Anything Goes" personality of Temple of Doom, or the introspective family interaction from the Last Crusade. As it stands, the film is jumbled, relying on chuckle inducing gimmicks or overwhelming special effects.

I was all for the nuclear blasts, the waterfall plunges, even interstellar travel, but the film itself didn't even really seem to buy into them. Maybe it's the "Myth Buster" generation of today, but the film just didn't have it's heart in the full-fledged fantasy and it's somewhat shallow character interaction wasn't nearly as charming or memorable. It needed more characters to play off of the stereotypes, more close calls. It needed to buy into it's own created universe, but it didn't.

As it stands, Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull is just a fun popcorn thriller. You won't remember it for any melting faces, chilled monkey brains, burning hearts, or rapidly aging nazi's.
Although I must say the snake-rope was just retarded enough to win me over.
It's worth a rental.

Jurassic Night

We had a Jurassic Park viewing night a couple days ago, followed shortly thereafter by another Jurassic Park viewing night, where we watched it again. We love it that much.

I think it pretty much goes without saying that if you have never seen Jurassic Park, then you never had a proper childhood, or, quite frankly, cannot claim yourself as being a complete human being. Harsh? Maybe. True? Absolutely. Short of Dumb and Dumber, the film Jurassic Park probably had the most influence upon who I am today out of any other movie.
How exactly it influenced me is more debatable.
What's really important is knowing that my brother and I could beat the Jurassic Park video game for the SEGA Genesis on Velociraptor mode in less than five minutes.



As if that wasn't enough, I had a vast Jurassic Park action figure collection, including the Jurassic Park Compound.

Best Christmas Ever.

It came complete with real "Dino-Damage" action, which in layman terms means "poorly built action figures." The top of it, along with several wall panels, would fall off pretty much every five seconds, but did that stop me from playing with it for hours at a time? No. No it did not. In fact, I probably spent days tearing that compound apart with raptors, triceratops, stegosauri, and T-rexes of all shapes and sizes.

Yes, there was a time that if something didn't have the "JP" or "Ingen" symbol emblazoned on it's side, I just wouldn't be interested.

Sadly, as an adult, my time has become overrun with more "important" tasks, such as Lego building and embroidery, but I will never forget the time I have spent tearing the arms off my Nedry figurine.



Good Times.

It's Monday Night...

Because Tuesday through Sunday are totally straight...

Monday Night IS Gay Night.

I think there comes a point in everyone's life where they just have to stand up and say, "You know what? Let's make one of these nights totally gay." We pretty much reached that point after watching Rob Schnieder's Hot Chick the other night.



If you must, take a look at the following clip at about 8:15 minutes into it. You'll see my inspiration at just about that point.



My thought process upon seeing a neon sign that said "Monday night is Gay Night" led to a number of questions. First of which being, "Why Monday?" and "Why ONLY Monday," and most importantly, "Why is this not already on my wall??"

This is my first embroidery attempt, and I must say, it's addictive. Really very addictive. And it definitely won't be the last.

Half-way through, my roommate Anthony joined in and made one that is quite frankly, equally impressive:

Oh Don Piano.

if you don't quite get that one, here's another inpirational clip:



Truly extraordinary.