Saturday, May 9, 2009
Perhaps I'll start blogging again. Because, you know, my life is so incredibly interesting and because so many people read this.
Um, no.
I did actually have a [small] following back on livejournal, so I don't exactly know why I gave that up to come here. One of life's mysteries, I suppose.
I haven't been on this site in so long...
Um, no.
I did actually have a [small] following back on livejournal, so I don't exactly know why I gave that up to come here. One of life's mysteries, I suppose.
I haven't been on this site in so long...
Monday, September 8, 2008
Maybe if I won the lottery...
This weekend:
Friday: Anna and I went to see the baby elephant at the zoo. We ended up getting in line twice, the first time because we though the elephant house was closing soon and the second time because the line was short. He was asleep the first time and was little more than a breathing grey blob in the sawdust, Rose-Tu standing over him in case any of the visitors on the other side of the glass decided to try something. The second time he had moved to another spot in the enclosure, but was again sleeping. His ear was flicking, however, from the sawdust his mother had started to throw around. It was obvious by the way she was acting and standing in front of her baby that she was getting tired of being looked at. And who wouldn't blame her? I feel sorry for the zoo animals. Yes, they are well taken care of, but all that pacing around their enclosures is a sign of going insane with boredom.
Other than that, it wasn't a terribly exciting day at the zoo. One of the hippos was swimming around and playing with a ball. She got really close to the glass so I was literally about a foot away from her at one point, which was kind of cool. As well, one of the new cougars was pacing around her cage, following a predictable pattern, which meant we got pretty close to her as well when she returned to her den (which has a glass wall in it). In said den, there was also the remains of some animal. It looked like a goat from the jaw that was about two inches from the glass.
Saturday: Mum and I went to the Street of Dreams. All of the homes were ridiculous and way over designed. That being said, our favorite was the most expensive of them at just shy of $3 million. But who could blame it with it's home theatre, indoor pool and hot tub, massage room, wet sauna, dry sauna, wine cellar, three amazing terraces with views all the way to Washinton and Mt. St. Helens, two master suites, and some 10,000 square feet. I told my mum that she could buy it and that I would happy pay rent to live in the smaller of the two master suites.
She didn't go for it.
It wasn't that she didn't want to live there--which she would happily--it's just that if we sold all of our possessions, there's no way we would be even close to being able to afford it. So, I told her that she should get one of her rich relatives to buy it instead and that we could just spend most of our time there. Surely now that my grandparent's are back down to one house, they're itching to have another?
Right. In my dreams. Maybe when I'm a rich and famous architect I can design myself an ostentatious house and live myself an ostentatious life. Or maybe if I marry myself an heir from Vermont I can design that house. Or if I suddenly come into a ridiculous amount of money and choose to thumb my nose at my humble beginnings.
Because, you know, those are all feasible options.
Friday: Anna and I went to see the baby elephant at the zoo. We ended up getting in line twice, the first time because we though the elephant house was closing soon and the second time because the line was short. He was asleep the first time and was little more than a breathing grey blob in the sawdust, Rose-Tu standing over him in case any of the visitors on the other side of the glass decided to try something. The second time he had moved to another spot in the enclosure, but was again sleeping. His ear was flicking, however, from the sawdust his mother had started to throw around. It was obvious by the way she was acting and standing in front of her baby that she was getting tired of being looked at. And who wouldn't blame her? I feel sorry for the zoo animals. Yes, they are well taken care of, but all that pacing around their enclosures is a sign of going insane with boredom.
Other than that, it wasn't a terribly exciting day at the zoo. One of the hippos was swimming around and playing with a ball. She got really close to the glass so I was literally about a foot away from her at one point, which was kind of cool. As well, one of the new cougars was pacing around her cage, following a predictable pattern, which meant we got pretty close to her as well when she returned to her den (which has a glass wall in it). In said den, there was also the remains of some animal. It looked like a goat from the jaw that was about two inches from the glass.
Saturday: Mum and I went to the Street of Dreams. All of the homes were ridiculous and way over designed. That being said, our favorite was the most expensive of them at just shy of $3 million. But who could blame it with it's home theatre, indoor pool and hot tub, massage room, wet sauna, dry sauna, wine cellar, three amazing terraces with views all the way to Washinton and Mt. St. Helens, two master suites, and some 10,000 square feet. I told my mum that she could buy it and that I would happy pay rent to live in the smaller of the two master suites.
She didn't go for it.
It wasn't that she didn't want to live there--which she would happily--it's just that if we sold all of our possessions, there's no way we would be even close to being able to afford it. So, I told her that she should get one of her rich relatives to buy it instead and that we could just spend most of our time there. Surely now that my grandparent's are back down to one house, they're itching to have another?
Right. In my dreams. Maybe when I'm a rich and famous architect I can design myself an ostentatious house and live myself an ostentatious life. Or maybe if I marry myself an heir from Vermont I can design that house. Or if I suddenly come into a ridiculous amount of money and choose to thumb my nose at my humble beginnings.
Because, you know, those are all feasible options.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Brain dead
I don't feel like thinking, but I feel like posting, so here is some thinking I did last week some time. It's an exerpt from a [terrible] KOTOR (Knights of the Old Republic--a video game...) parody I'm working on in my free time. If y'all hadn't figured it out by now, I am a terrible geek and also something of a nerd. Still, I can't believe I'm posting this. It must be my ego getting the better of me.
An Exerpt from How to Save the Galaxy, Vol. One:
When Thane entered the cockpit, the viewport was filled with the idyllic blue sky and green grass of Dannon. Though he couldn’t make out details at this height, Thane knew there were packs of probiotics wandering around down there in the grasslands, hunting down unwary travelers, praying on lactose deer, and swimming in trugoy bogs. The air outside smelled of fruit and dairy due to the fields of invasive blackberry and the herds of cows that spotted the landscape.
Millenia ago, Dannon had been conquered and re-settled by large blonde warriors from the land of the midnight sun where the hot springs blow in the Northern Reaches of the galaxy (which lay just beyond the Rhineland Sector in the Outer Limits; the hammer of the gods). They brought to Dannon their particular sense of dress (mainly fur and horns), their culture of trade (“I’ll give you a strapping blonde baby if you give me your village and all your valuables”), and the strange probiotic hound whose spittle was filled with nutrients. The fur and horn look had been outlawed some years ago by young and idealistic animal rights activists, but the probiotics had flourished in the trugoy and the trading tradition now persisted in the form of other-worldly merchants who only conquered (unless you considered their prices a form of wallet-rape.).
Thane knew he had been to Dannon before—especially now that he was looking at it—but he couldn’t for the life of him figure when or why. It certainly didn’t seem like the kind of place he would willingly come to. There were too many rolling hills and groves of trees for the likes of him. Still, there was that niggling little voice in the back of his mind that told him he had grown up here. It was the same voice that told him what the Jedi tattoo on his arm meant, so he promptly ignored it.
Well, that and the floor suddenly fell out from under him leaving Thane to grapple for the back of Garth’s seat in order to not end up in a heap on the floor.
Damn inertia.
The Velour Pigeon rocked in a cloud of coolant and engine exhaust as Garth came to a jerking halt on the landing pad. The tall duracrete walls blocked out the rolling hills and groves of trees and Thane could almost pretend he was in the middle of some greasy city instead of on a grassy planet. Still, there was all that fresh air out there that sparkled in the sunlight rather than the processed air inside the ship or the polluted stuff on the worlds Thane liked to occupy, so suffocation would be a key thing to avoid. Thane made a mental note of it.
Once the boat had stopped rocking and vomiting gaseous bile, Thane smacked Garth up one side the head and down the other.
“Nice one.”
“We’re all in one piece, aren’t we?”
CRASH!!
“Well, almost,” Thane said. “But I was talking about bringing me to a sparsely populated planet. If the fresh air doesn’t get me, the lack of attention will. Or maybe the sunlight. I’m kind of a mole.”
Brazilla turned to look at him. “You really are unbelievable. I don’t think I have ever met someone who complains quite so much as you.” She then frowned and looked at Garth. “What was that crashing noise?”
“I think it was the port side stabilizer,” Garth responded. Everyone seemed far too nonchalant, all things considered.
“We need that,” said Thane, stating the obvious.
Garth gave him a parental Look. “I’ll put someone on it.”
“I don’t think that’ll help much. What’s he gonna do? Stand there and twiddle his thumbs? Have a little rest when he really should be reattaching it to the ship?”
“I meant that I’ll get someone to fix it. If I can find anyone to fix it. Dannon might be fresh out of mechanics and all of the tools it would take to fix the stabilizer. There’s no way we in this lonely band of travelers would be able to do it with the lack of tools we have. And even if we did manage to fix it, exiting the atmosphere would be just too much for the majestic Pigeon to handle and we would start falling apart, piece by piece, broken heart by—”
Thane noticed the guitar beneath the dash for the first time as the Republic soldier, country-western star wannabe reached for it, no doubt to pick a heartrending tune to accompany his lyric.
“They had better fix it quick, then,” he said, cutting Garth off. The other man’s hand snatched back from the bridge of the instrument, disappointment painting his features like a lonely sunset that spilled out over a vast and empty plain, hailing the dark, cold night that would follow—two lovers destined never to meet…
Everyone in the cockpit frowned, especially Garth for being outdone.
“I have a feeling we’ll need to get out of here quickly,” Thane said, getting back to the topic on hand. He seemed to be looking at a spot several inches beyond the plane of the viewport, but when he blinked, it was gone. Garth figured it was either his secret Jedi training getting the best of him or a growing concussion. The weal on the devastatingly handsome, would-be smuggler’s forehead told more than Thane would ever admit to.
“You’re not afraid of a few probiotics, are you?”
“I barbeque probiotics,” Thane said with a snort. “And eat their fuzzy little puppies. Those hounds are nothing. Less than nothing. No. I just have a bad feeling about this. And I don’t get bad feelings. It’s not in my genetic make-up.”
“I suppose you’re made of sunshine, too?” Garth said, standing.
“I am. And sunshine people don’t get bad feelings.” Thane gave them a single, resolute nod. It showed that he was unyielding, unwavering, and even unbendable on the subject. Thane Sunrider, Alcohol Consumer of Lore and Conqueror of Virginity never got bad feelings. It was a definite and stanch fact, one that he was firm and stubborn about it.
--
And if you care to read more, my ego is telling me to direct you HERE. Erm, yeah ...awkward self promotion...
An Exerpt from How to Save the Galaxy, Vol. One:
When Thane entered the cockpit, the viewport was filled with the idyllic blue sky and green grass of Dannon. Though he couldn’t make out details at this height, Thane knew there were packs of probiotics wandering around down there in the grasslands, hunting down unwary travelers, praying on lactose deer, and swimming in trugoy bogs. The air outside smelled of fruit and dairy due to the fields of invasive blackberry and the herds of cows that spotted the landscape.
Millenia ago, Dannon had been conquered and re-settled by large blonde warriors from the land of the midnight sun where the hot springs blow in the Northern Reaches of the galaxy (which lay just beyond the Rhineland Sector in the Outer Limits; the hammer of the gods). They brought to Dannon their particular sense of dress (mainly fur and horns), their culture of trade (“I’ll give you a strapping blonde baby if you give me your village and all your valuables”), and the strange probiotic hound whose spittle was filled with nutrients. The fur and horn look had been outlawed some years ago by young and idealistic animal rights activists, but the probiotics had flourished in the trugoy and the trading tradition now persisted in the form of other-worldly merchants who only conquered (unless you considered their prices a form of wallet-rape.).
Thane knew he had been to Dannon before—especially now that he was looking at it—but he couldn’t for the life of him figure when or why. It certainly didn’t seem like the kind of place he would willingly come to. There were too many rolling hills and groves of trees for the likes of him. Still, there was that niggling little voice in the back of his mind that told him he had grown up here. It was the same voice that told him what the Jedi tattoo on his arm meant, so he promptly ignored it.
Well, that and the floor suddenly fell out from under him leaving Thane to grapple for the back of Garth’s seat in order to not end up in a heap on the floor.
Damn inertia.
The Velour Pigeon rocked in a cloud of coolant and engine exhaust as Garth came to a jerking halt on the landing pad. The tall duracrete walls blocked out the rolling hills and groves of trees and Thane could almost pretend he was in the middle of some greasy city instead of on a grassy planet. Still, there was all that fresh air out there that sparkled in the sunlight rather than the processed air inside the ship or the polluted stuff on the worlds Thane liked to occupy, so suffocation would be a key thing to avoid. Thane made a mental note of it.
Once the boat had stopped rocking and vomiting gaseous bile, Thane smacked Garth up one side the head and down the other.
“Nice one.”
“We’re all in one piece, aren’t we?”
CRASH!!
“Well, almost,” Thane said. “But I was talking about bringing me to a sparsely populated planet. If the fresh air doesn’t get me, the lack of attention will. Or maybe the sunlight. I’m kind of a mole.”
Brazilla turned to look at him. “You really are unbelievable. I don’t think I have ever met someone who complains quite so much as you.” She then frowned and looked at Garth. “What was that crashing noise?”
“I think it was the port side stabilizer,” Garth responded. Everyone seemed far too nonchalant, all things considered.
“We need that,” said Thane, stating the obvious.
Garth gave him a parental Look. “I’ll put someone on it.”
“I don’t think that’ll help much. What’s he gonna do? Stand there and twiddle his thumbs? Have a little rest when he really should be reattaching it to the ship?”
“I meant that I’ll get someone to fix it. If I can find anyone to fix it. Dannon might be fresh out of mechanics and all of the tools it would take to fix the stabilizer. There’s no way we in this lonely band of travelers would be able to do it with the lack of tools we have. And even if we did manage to fix it, exiting the atmosphere would be just too much for the majestic Pigeon to handle and we would start falling apart, piece by piece, broken heart by—”
Thane noticed the guitar beneath the dash for the first time as the Republic soldier, country-western star wannabe reached for it, no doubt to pick a heartrending tune to accompany his lyric.
“They had better fix it quick, then,” he said, cutting Garth off. The other man’s hand snatched back from the bridge of the instrument, disappointment painting his features like a lonely sunset that spilled out over a vast and empty plain, hailing the dark, cold night that would follow—two lovers destined never to meet…
Everyone in the cockpit frowned, especially Garth for being outdone.
“I have a feeling we’ll need to get out of here quickly,” Thane said, getting back to the topic on hand. He seemed to be looking at a spot several inches beyond the plane of the viewport, but when he blinked, it was gone. Garth figured it was either his secret Jedi training getting the best of him or a growing concussion. The weal on the devastatingly handsome, would-be smuggler’s forehead told more than Thane would ever admit to.
“You’re not afraid of a few probiotics, are you?”
“I barbeque probiotics,” Thane said with a snort. “And eat their fuzzy little puppies. Those hounds are nothing. Less than nothing. No. I just have a bad feeling about this. And I don’t get bad feelings. It’s not in my genetic make-up.”
“I suppose you’re made of sunshine, too?” Garth said, standing.
“I am. And sunshine people don’t get bad feelings.” Thane gave them a single, resolute nod. It showed that he was unyielding, unwavering, and even unbendable on the subject. Thane Sunrider, Alcohol Consumer of Lore and Conqueror of Virginity never got bad feelings. It was a definite and stanch fact, one that he was firm and stubborn about it.
--
And if you care to read more, my ego is telling me to direct you HERE. Erm, yeah ...awkward self promotion...
Monday, August 18, 2008
Weather
I have been in thunder/lightning storms both here and at the coast this weekend (well, yesterday and today), which is awesome. I love electric storms even though we don't get anything near the caliber of the storms we get out in Colorado (or maybe they get since the longest I've ever lived there is three months). Still, it's fun watching people's reactions who aren't used to the storms.
Though, last month when we got one of these storms in the middle of the night, I sort of freaked out. I think it's because I had been watching something about ghosts and ghost hunting and because of the way my mind works, I immediately thought of slasher movies. So, I stuck my head under the covers and refused to turn towards the sliding door to the back yard in fear that the sillouette of an axe-murderer would suddenly appear in one of the flashes. I even went to dig out my John "The Sheep" Sheppard stuffed sheep because, you know, stuffed animals can save you when an axe murderer comes a-callin'.
Boy, is my mind a chunk of pure logic or what.
Though for the storm that is currently underway, all I can hear is the thunder since I'm surrounded by managers who are (obviously) hogging the windows. And I'm in a half-cube with 5-foot walls. Still, when I got the chance to look outside, it was all rather ominous looking and the Nanaggedon song from the Mighty Boosh sprang to mind. More than anything, though, it brought a smile to my face just thinking of Julian Barrett and Noel Fielding in granny drag. One of the best episodes, in my opinion.
Okay. Back to work...
Though, last month when we got one of these storms in the middle of the night, I sort of freaked out. I think it's because I had been watching something about ghosts and ghost hunting and because of the way my mind works, I immediately thought of slasher movies. So, I stuck my head under the covers and refused to turn towards the sliding door to the back yard in fear that the sillouette of an axe-murderer would suddenly appear in one of the flashes. I even went to dig out my John "The Sheep" Sheppard stuffed sheep because, you know, stuffed animals can save you when an axe murderer comes a-callin'.
Boy, is my mind a chunk of pure logic or what.
Though for the storm that is currently underway, all I can hear is the thunder since I'm surrounded by managers who are (obviously) hogging the windows. And I'm in a half-cube with 5-foot walls. Still, when I got the chance to look outside, it was all rather ominous looking and the Nanaggedon song from the Mighty Boosh sprang to mind. More than anything, though, it brought a smile to my face just thinking of Julian Barrett and Noel Fielding in granny drag. One of the best episodes, in my opinion.
Okay. Back to work...
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Stuff
I haven't much to say, so I don't really even know why I'm wriing. Maybe to waste some time while I wait for something to plot off. Or to just waste time. Whatever.
Lately I've been working on my KOTOR parody because it's fun and it's one of my few successful humor pieces. Now, it takes about six months between chapters to get back into the mood, but that was mostly because school depressed me. I'm not saying the work won't depress me, but since there isn't much of an outpouring of creativity in the life of a CAD monkey/Intern, all that juice might go towards a story. Maybe even a real one that is all of my own creation. Lots o' words are just sitting around in my head, waiting to be put down on paper.
Wow. I must sound like such a nerd.
I love it.
Lately I've been working on my KOTOR parody because it's fun and it's one of my few successful humor pieces. Now, it takes about six months between chapters to get back into the mood, but that was mostly because school depressed me. I'm not saying the work won't depress me, but since there isn't much of an outpouring of creativity in the life of a CAD monkey/Intern, all that juice might go towards a story. Maybe even a real one that is all of my own creation. Lots o' words are just sitting around in my head, waiting to be put down on paper.
Wow. I must sound like such a nerd.
I love it.
Monday, August 4, 2008
New Home
So, even though I know basically no one on this site, I've decided to move here from LJ. I don't know what prompted the move, but here I am on a blog that was originally created for a media class. Whoop-dee-do.
So, this isn't going to be important like one of my friends who basically gets paid to blog over near the Big Apple. It's just sort of a place to let my inner dialogue loose on the general population. Maybe it should come with a label: Warning, crazy person.
I don't know, I don't know. Maybe when I go off and travel the world and build schools for children in Africa before heading to grad school for a couple of years this thing will get interesting. Still not important, but interesting.
Last summer, I ran an experiment that I never reported the results of. Basically, I found that by writing everyday at about the same time, the writing production and quality of my creative pieces went up some tenfold. Because I was forcing myself to write something, anything, every day (except, usually, the weekends), when I sat down to work on one of my stories, words flowed a little easier. And when I stopped blogging every day, my writing production quickly went into a tailspin. Now, of course, there is the whole variable of school to take into account, and once I started my terminal studio, I barely had the time to write even a oneshot. And now that I have to find hobbies or else go insane, I think turning off the TV and writing at least a oneshot (fanfiction, geeky, I know) or a scene every day will help me get back up to that production level I was at last summer.
Architecture is still what I want to do with my life, but I can't quite imagine living without creating a world, some people, and what they say to each other in text.
So, this isn't going to be important like one of my friends who basically gets paid to blog over near the Big Apple. It's just sort of a place to let my inner dialogue loose on the general population. Maybe it should come with a label: Warning, crazy person.
I don't know, I don't know. Maybe when I go off and travel the world and build schools for children in Africa before heading to grad school for a couple of years this thing will get interesting. Still not important, but interesting.
Last summer, I ran an experiment that I never reported the results of. Basically, I found that by writing everyday at about the same time, the writing production and quality of my creative pieces went up some tenfold. Because I was forcing myself to write something, anything, every day (except, usually, the weekends), when I sat down to work on one of my stories, words flowed a little easier. And when I stopped blogging every day, my writing production quickly went into a tailspin. Now, of course, there is the whole variable of school to take into account, and once I started my terminal studio, I barely had the time to write even a oneshot. And now that I have to find hobbies or else go insane, I think turning off the TV and writing at least a oneshot (fanfiction, geeky, I know) or a scene every day will help me get back up to that production level I was at last summer.
Architecture is still what I want to do with my life, but I can't quite imagine living without creating a world, some people, and what they say to each other in text.
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