Cowboys AND Aliens? I'm not sure if I could ask for more.
...Maybe time travel and velociraptors? One can dream I suppose. One can dream...
11.17.2010
11.16.2010
Cinderella Man
Although I still have yet to hear back from any of the jobs I have applied to, I have managed to start off this week by auditioning for the local production of Cinderella. I was a bit disappointed to hear that this version of the tale has neither the cute mice of the Disney version nor the disturbing foot-binding of the Chinese version, yet I gladly got to read the part for Prince Charming a few times (The role I was born to play!). I'll let you know how it all turns out.
In the meantime, cherish these pretty pictures Beth took when we visited Yosemite. A magical place that I can only usually pronounce as Yoseemeaty, or Yusemetay.
Nothing says mountain man like a leopard backpack.
I really really like her.
I mean, really like like her.
Brotha's.
Beth has many more very pretty pictures that she's still editing together on my very slow laptop that shuts down if the cord so much as wiggles a tad too far from the wall (which kind of defeats the purpose of a laptop), so I'll let her reveal all the majestic splendor herself later. I have to say, the fresh air was something I never realized I really craved. After many years I'm starting to realize that I'm a nature guy after all. I like it.
In the meantime, cherish these pretty pictures Beth took when we visited Yosemite. A magical place that I can only usually pronounce as Yoseemeaty, or Yusemetay.
Nothing says mountain man like a leopard backpack.
I really really like her.
I mean, really like like her.
Brotha's.
Beth has many more very pretty pictures that she's still editing together on my very slow laptop that shuts down if the cord so much as wiggles a tad too far from the wall (which kind of defeats the purpose of a laptop), so I'll let her reveal all the majestic splendor herself later. I have to say, the fresh air was something I never realized I really craved. After many years I'm starting to realize that I'm a nature guy after all. I like it.
11.12.2010
Sickness and Such
Thanks a lot, Children. You managed to get me sick again. Aren't you happy with yourself? I hope you are. Jerks. Then again, I can't blame you. You're cute, cuddly, and easy to entertain if you like being held upside down from your ankles.
Luckily it was only an over-night fever that knocked me unconscious, but after being unemployed for several weeks and having my food stamps on hold for some reason, I thought I already had enough sick days to relax and managed to get out of bed long enough to drop off another web design application.
My sweet wife meanwhile has been feeling down and out lately after also getting sick from said children and suffering from chest pain and headaches. She made it out to visit the doctor last week who quickly ordered tests of all sorts, including blood samples, an EKG, an X-Ray, and, most dreadful of all, a stool sample. Considering that I pass-out from any sort of blood loss, I was thankfully not there to witness any of these. I did however have the task of delivering the stool samples to the doctors office.
Now, I'm not sure if you've ever taken a stool sample before. Lord knows I haven't. But I'm fairly certain you've never taken someone else's stool sample to turn in to the doctor for them. Since I was going out anyway to job hunt I figured I could knock out two birds with one stone and spare my wife the embarrassment of saying "Here is my poop" to some nurse.
As I carried the sample into the office I thought that on some not-too-distant level it was basically the same as leaving a paper bag of flaming dog poo on someone's front porch in the middle of the night. Except in this case it's the middle of the day, the person is right there to take it, it's your poo, and they actually thank you for it afterwards. In some ways it was kind of the greatest prank of all.
(This image was all I could find when Igoogle image searched "Flaming bag poop." It makes me think that Martha Stewart is one sick lady.)
I brought the samples to the nurse in a plastic grocery bag, since the idea of walking into a room with two test tubes of poop in each hand just didn't seem right to me. What I didn't expect was the nurse to be accompanied by another woman who was in the process of having her blood taken.
In fear of passing out, I quickly placed the test tubes onto the counter and ran away.
At least I knew that the drop-off was complete. Am I a good husband? Maybe. I probably lose some points for writing about it online. But I tried. And now if you'll excuse me, I have to delete this story from my Facebook newsfeed.
Luckily it was only an over-night fever that knocked me unconscious, but after being unemployed for several weeks and having my food stamps on hold for some reason, I thought I already had enough sick days to relax and managed to get out of bed long enough to drop off another web design application.
My sweet wife meanwhile has been feeling down and out lately after also getting sick from said children and suffering from chest pain and headaches. She made it out to visit the doctor last week who quickly ordered tests of all sorts, including blood samples, an EKG, an X-Ray, and, most dreadful of all, a stool sample. Considering that I pass-out from any sort of blood loss, I was thankfully not there to witness any of these. I did however have the task of delivering the stool samples to the doctors office.
Now, I'm not sure if you've ever taken a stool sample before. Lord knows I haven't. But I'm fairly certain you've never taken someone else's stool sample to turn in to the doctor for them. Since I was going out anyway to job hunt I figured I could knock out two birds with one stone and spare my wife the embarrassment of saying "Here is my poop" to some nurse.
As I carried the sample into the office I thought that on some not-too-distant level it was basically the same as leaving a paper bag of flaming dog poo on someone's front porch in the middle of the night. Except in this case it's the middle of the day, the person is right there to take it, it's your poo, and they actually thank you for it afterwards. In some ways it was kind of the greatest prank of all.
(This image was all I could find when Igoogle image searched "Flaming bag poop." It makes me think that Martha Stewart is one sick lady.)I brought the samples to the nurse in a plastic grocery bag, since the idea of walking into a room with two test tubes of poop in each hand just didn't seem right to me. What I didn't expect was the nurse to be accompanied by another woman who was in the process of having her blood taken.
In fear of passing out, I quickly placed the test tubes onto the counter and ran away.
At least I knew that the drop-off was complete. Am I a good husband? Maybe. I probably lose some points for writing about it online. But I tried. And now if you'll excuse me, I have to delete this story from my Facebook newsfeed.
11.08.2010
Frozen - Movie Review
Frozen
view trailer
***--
You can't help but give Frozen an "A" for effort. This is a good movie, and it's good precisely because it's something you haven't seen before onscreen, but have certainly thought about on those family ski trips from long ago. It takes an understated fear and then highlights it, and although on some level it may be like taking someone's fear of getting their shoelace stuck in an escalator and then stretching it out for a feature length film, on another level Frozen manages to throw together enough elements to keep us interested.
At first Joe isn't so excited to have Dan's girlfriend Parker tag along for a Sunday afternoon ski trip, but when she manages to bribe three lift tickets out of a somewhat sleazy resort employee, Joe starts to come around. It isn't until the three sneak on the lift for one last run that the weekend escape makes a turn for the worse. The somewhat sleazy employee leaves his post, the new guy mistakes three other skiers for the three he was told to wait for. He hits the off switch, kills the lights, and Dan, Joe, and Parker are left swinging on the lift far above nature. This wouldn't be so bad, if there wasn't a blizzard approaching and the resort wasn't only open on the weekends, but as it happens that's the case. They have an entire week to look forward to.
It's a great "what would you do?" situation. One thought is to drop. Another is to perform a quick high-wire act and make way to one of the support poles. Of course, all these might be a little bit more complicated if wolves were involved.
If only MacGyver were here. I had assumed that Parker's smoking habit might have proved useful since she has a lighter, or that some secondary uses could have come in handy for the team's ski gear, or maybe that the phone number they tried so hard to remember might come into play. Unfortunately there aren't a lot of improvised inventions to come in handy. Then again, it seems that most of their equipment is thrown off into the snowy abyss in vain attempts to gather attention.
Great films often require characters to come face-to-face with apparent dead-ends. In these situations you can either have those characters use a tool they picked up earlier on, have them crawl through the dead end with nothing but their fingers, have a magical happening to show them another way out, or just watch them squirm. Frozen has one dead-end, but uses just about all of these to keep us interested.
If only it wasn't so frustrating to watch these characters reminisce about childhood memories when what they should be doing is getting off the freaking ski lift they're trapped on. These people seriously need to get their priorities straight.
Frozen is often intense, sometimes quite gross, but very much different and entertaining. I must say that the variety of deaths (even with the few deaths involved) in the end lacked a sort of creativity. But maybe I was thinking this was another Final Destination. Still, it was worth watching, and even better, I'm sure I'll be thinking about it on my next ski trip.
11.02.2010
How We Do Halloween
After purchasing a large quantity of womens clothing from Salvation Army, my Willy Wonka costume was complete.
Beth meanwhile struck Halloween gold with her costume as the chocolate river.
Together, I think it was magic.
Luckily, the jacket hid the shoulder pads.
If anyone wants to join us, we also managed to gather together an entire Oompa Loompa costume that has yet to be used.
As for our pumpkins, this year we celebrated the two most important things in our life: our cat Georgie Fruit and the 1982 feature film E.T. The Extraterrestrial.
The Georgie Fruit pumpkin I designed turned out to be a little "too hot for TV," so we kept it inside. But I must say I'm very pleased with the results:
The inspiration:
Meanwhile, the E.T. that Beth carved pretty much blew my mind:
Now on to the next hoiday!
Beth meanwhile struck Halloween gold with her costume as the chocolate river.
Together, I think it was magic.
Luckily, the jacket hid the shoulder pads.
If anyone wants to join us, we also managed to gather together an entire Oompa Loompa costume that has yet to be used.
As for our pumpkins, this year we celebrated the two most important things in our life: our cat Georgie Fruit and the 1982 feature film E.T. The Extraterrestrial.
The Georgie Fruit pumpkin I designed turned out to be a little "too hot for TV," so we kept it inside. But I must say I'm very pleased with the results:
The inspiration:
Meanwhile, the E.T. that Beth carved pretty much blew my mind:
Now on to the next hoiday!
10.30.2010
10.28.2010
A Chihuahua On Main Street
I had once won a small spelling contest in a creative writing class with the word Chihuahua, but apart from that I can't say I have a great respect for the breed. They are small, yappy, extremely active, and often result in The Dog Whisperer slapping his head in frustration. But yet, the Chihuahua is still considered a dog, and as such it only seems right to help one when it is in need.
As Beth and I drove down Main Street of Visalia, we saw one such Chihuahua dive in and out of traffic repeatedly. We drove slowly by as it wandered aimlessly and frightened down the sidewalk. There was no apparent owner in sight.
Pictured Above: Artists Rendering
Here I was struck with the dilemma of either helping a dog, or aiding in the evolution of the rest of species by letting it get wiped out of existence. Unfortunately my conscience resolved that an annoying yappy dog alive was at least better than a silent ugly dog dead, and so I stopped the car on the side of the road and attempted a quick rescue.
What I soon learned is that Chihuahua's are incredibly sensitive, and although it was a safe half-block away, it would repeatedly stop in its tracks and stare vacantly in my direction until I made any sort of movement, at which point the runt would shoot off in a full sprint down the street. I attempted a variety of approaches; whistling, saying "here doggie!" in a high voice, and making ticking noises with my tongue, but all I managed to do was gather more confused onlookers.
A group of business men outside of a bank eventually asked me after my first cycle around the block if the dog was mine. At first I was a little shocked and briefly considered asking if I looked like the sort of guy who would own a mangy chihuahua.
In fear of the answer I just said no.
After I had followed the dog four times down the same street a strange idea began to form in my head. I asked myself, "Am I, a human, faster than a Chihuahua?" After all, I am a man. A hunter, even. I imagined that thousands of years ago I would be hunting Chihuahua's in the African plains, steadying my spear until I would suddenly pounce, wrestling said Chihuahua into the ground. I would possibly even eat it right there. Raw.
Suddenly disturbed by the mental image, I pushed it out of my mind and began running.
The Chihuahua, meanwhile, turned at this moment to see me barreling towards him. Terrified, he turned and ran.
The chase was on.
I of course realized at this moment that my previous jobs have been web design opportunities, and I actually hadn't ran in several months, if not a year. Suddenly I was confused as to how exactly it was done. My legs seemed to be moving just fine, but what about the arms? I began mechanically moving them up and down, not unlike I was repeatedly pulling levers.
"Would it be better if I ran like the T-1000 from Terminator 2?" I thought.
My wife gazed at me while I flailed my body at the highest speed it was capable of, which is, as it happens, less than one third the speed of a Chihuahua.
As I rounded the corner it was gone, leaving behind only a vagabond tumbleweed blowing aimlessly in the wind.
Beth and I hopped back in the car and returned home.
A few nights later I was driving to the grocery store when I saw him again, the same Chihuahua staring at me from a lonely street corner, illuminated only by one single fluorescent light. From behind the wheel of Beth's Toyota my eyes met his, and between us we shared the same bit of knowledge:
The chase isn't over.
As Beth and I drove down Main Street of Visalia, we saw one such Chihuahua dive in and out of traffic repeatedly. We drove slowly by as it wandered aimlessly and frightened down the sidewalk. There was no apparent owner in sight.
Pictured Above: Artists RenderingHere I was struck with the dilemma of either helping a dog, or aiding in the evolution of the rest of species by letting it get wiped out of existence. Unfortunately my conscience resolved that an annoying yappy dog alive was at least better than a silent ugly dog dead, and so I stopped the car on the side of the road and attempted a quick rescue.
What I soon learned is that Chihuahua's are incredibly sensitive, and although it was a safe half-block away, it would repeatedly stop in its tracks and stare vacantly in my direction until I made any sort of movement, at which point the runt would shoot off in a full sprint down the street. I attempted a variety of approaches; whistling, saying "here doggie!" in a high voice, and making ticking noises with my tongue, but all I managed to do was gather more confused onlookers.
A group of business men outside of a bank eventually asked me after my first cycle around the block if the dog was mine. At first I was a little shocked and briefly considered asking if I looked like the sort of guy who would own a mangy chihuahua.
In fear of the answer I just said no.
After I had followed the dog four times down the same street a strange idea began to form in my head. I asked myself, "Am I, a human, faster than a Chihuahua?" After all, I am a man. A hunter, even. I imagined that thousands of years ago I would be hunting Chihuahua's in the African plains, steadying my spear until I would suddenly pounce, wrestling said Chihuahua into the ground. I would possibly even eat it right there. Raw.
Suddenly disturbed by the mental image, I pushed it out of my mind and began running.
The Chihuahua, meanwhile, turned at this moment to see me barreling towards him. Terrified, he turned and ran.
The chase was on.
I of course realized at this moment that my previous jobs have been web design opportunities, and I actually hadn't ran in several months, if not a year. Suddenly I was confused as to how exactly it was done. My legs seemed to be moving just fine, but what about the arms? I began mechanically moving them up and down, not unlike I was repeatedly pulling levers.
"Would it be better if I ran like the T-1000 from Terminator 2?" I thought.
My wife gazed at me while I flailed my body at the highest speed it was capable of, which is, as it happens, less than one third the speed of a Chihuahua.
As I rounded the corner it was gone, leaving behind only a vagabond tumbleweed blowing aimlessly in the wind.
Beth and I hopped back in the car and returned home.
A few nights later I was driving to the grocery store when I saw him again, the same Chihuahua staring at me from a lonely street corner, illuminated only by one single fluorescent light. From behind the wheel of Beth's Toyota my eyes met his, and between us we shared the same bit of knowledge:
The chase isn't over.
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