The Other White Meat

Moving Day!!!

2009-06-20T20:58:00.000-07:00

http:\\www.kaje.org\MrTandMe

::Mists of the Past - Prologue

2008-12-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

The wind whipped through the sparse alpines, carrying the sounds of hard labor upon its back. The normal serenity of the majestic mountain range buckled under the sweat and determination of the twelve man team. The men worked tirelessly on a patch of gently sloping rock with pickaxes and shovels piercing the thick skin of the earth. Motivating them was Thedon and Lukas, a pair of cruel taskmasters ready to chase off the idea of loafing with a crack of their whips. Four guardsmen patrolled the perimeter of the dig site in shifts, their sharp senses directed at the surrounding rock and brush.

The Dhugdhurn mountains were known to be infested with beasts, natural and, if the stories are to be believed, unnatural in origin. It was the refuge for a number of goblinoid tribes, fleeing the human scourges after the Horn God war. So far, there had been no sight or sound of any of these threats. This only made the tension greater for everyone.

It was a warm spring day despite the cool wind blowing across the range. The blaze of the afternoon sun felt good on Morris’s face. He looked over the dig site from a large jutting rock and yawned deeply. He remembered briefly the excitement he felt on his first mining survey and how gradually the excitement drained away over the past ten years.

He knew his work was important and served a higher purpose. They were employed by one of the bigger mining companies of Salex. A successful survey of a new vein of ore would determine whether hundreds of migrant workers had work for the upcoming season. Not to mention the nice bonus he received; yet he still felt as something was missing from his life.
His gaze drifted East, following the skyline the Dhugdhurn mountains made across the clear blue sky until it was abruptly severed by an enormous wall of grey mist. It was known as the Grey Wall and not much was known about it except that it predated all known history. It stretched North and South farther than anyone was brave enough to explore creating an unnatural border along the Eastern side of the continent.

This was the closest his work had ever brought him to the wall. He stood paralyzed by its unique beauty and the excitement of the unknown. It wasn’t often that surveys went this high into the mountains. Normally, the ores they were searching for were found deeper and lower in the mountain. However, more and more surveys have been finding large ore veins higher in elevation and closer to the surface the closer they moved toward the Grey Wall. This phenomenon baffled scholars and sages for decades.

“They say it’s because these peaks were not always here – they were created by a great upheaval,” Morris called down to the rest of his survey team. He imagined the great cataclysm as he overlooked the vista.

Down below, Landon nudged one of his colleagues. “They also say that the closer you get to the wall, the worse the smell of death and decay. And that if you stare into it deep enough you can see the faces of dead loved ones. But most of'em are crazy loons.”

“And here I was thinking that smell was ol’ Thedon there.” Rogen said a little louder than he expected.

Laughter erupted from the three remaining surveyors as they walked to the lunch tent. A couple of the laborers chuckled as well but were silenced quickly by scowls from Thedon and his brutal partner.

Morris looked down to Landon and his crew, shaking his head with a smirk. Landon, whom he had known since childhood, was always quick to dismiss the words and visions of sages and scholars. Morris could not fault him, it was the main reason he had requested Landon for the trip. Morris needed someone to ground him from his flights of fancy and he trusted no one more than Landon.

Morris knew not to take what he had read or heard during his youth as nothing more than legend and myth; yet seeing the Grey Wall, even at this distance, excited his sense of exploration and adventure.

So what of it that no one who has ever breached the Grey Wall has never come back? What if paradise lies beyond and they simply did not want to leave? Morris climbed down from the rock before pulling his leather gloves off to adjust his jerkin and apron and stole one last long look at the long wall of grey. It has to exist for a reason. Morris joined his colleagues who were finishing lunch despite the hysterics Landon had put them in. Morris smiled. He would let them have their fun for now.

The sun crawled to midday before the surveying team finally had enough rock samples to begin work. Immediately they became all business with their tools of trade. Landon and Rogen used compasses to triangulate their position, comparing their findings to the land charter given to them by headquarters. The charter ensured their work would not be hindered by land disputes between other mining companies. Competition was high for quality veins and disputes often turned deadly while waiting for the High Courts to pass judgment.

Morris took the remaining teammates and set upon the loads of rocks freed from the earth by the labor team testing them for the metals they searched for and the purity of the vein. Morris focused on his work and if not for the call from Thedon walking quickly towards him, he would have surely missed the commotion happening amongst the laborers. The look on the taskmasters face did not sit well with Morris. Concerned, Morris pulled himself from his alchemical lab and jogged to meet the taskmaster, who was now wheezing and wiping the sweat from his brow.

“What’s wrong, Thedon? What has all the men riled up?” He stared past the taskmaster, searching for something to cool his worry.

“The men - They found something in the earth. You should come see, Mr. Morris.” Thedon blustered nearly out of breath from the short trot.

Morris followed Thedon back to the dig site. He tried to keep himself calm, “Its probably a large vein. That always gets them going.” When he arrived, he staggered backwards, his imagination sparked alive as the other surveyors crowded around him. Landon gasped and it was then that Morris knew he was not dreaming.

The object in the earth, partially uncovered, was definitely not a vein of ore. It appeared to be some sort of worked stone or metal and large. The image generated hundreds of theories within his mind’s eye.

Eyes wild with excitement, Morris grinned, “Dig it up.”

Morris divided the laborers into shifts so they could dig through the rest of the day and through the night. With a little coaxing, a couple of his colleagues volunteered to help dig as well.

Landon pulled Morris aside, “Morris, have you gone mad? We should report this to Salex headquarters.”

“No, we report this and some scholar from Olycor will swoop in and take all the credit for the find.” Morris pulled away from Landon and stared deeply at the object which by then was beginning to take on more of a rectangular shape. “Like an altar or sarcophagus,” Morris imagined.

“Look at it, Landon. This is old – I mean really old. Look at the designs and the way it’s shaped. I wonder what it’s made of.” Morris reached out to touch it and suddenly pulled away, “We should run some tests.” Morris was a mile a minute and was already on this way to the work tent before Landon could give a retort. Landon did not like the way this was progressing.

Morris finished gathering his supplies and was heading out of the work tent when he spotted Landon entering the main surveyor tent. He desperately wanted to work on the object, but he was suspicious of the way Landon had been acting earlier. Morris moved towards the tent, “What are you up to, Landon.”

Pulling back the tent flap he saw Landon and immediately understood. His friend finished whispering to a wooden token shaped like a bird and tossed it into the air. Magically, it transformed to a living version of visage and fluttered south.

Morris felt as if his heart was trampled on, “I know you are trying to protect me, Landon. This is not Waysfair or Tenton - this is real. It’s not junk like all the others. You’ve got to know that. Why are you not supporting me on this?”

Landon’s face twisted with rage, “Support you, Morris? Do you remember how many times have I had to pull your head out of a pool of your own depression-induced-drinking-binge vomit? How many lies have I told? How many excuses I have given to cover for your ass after you crawl into that dark hole of yours after another failed ‘adventure’?” Landon pounded his fist on a nearby table. “When are you going to accept that you are a surveyor? Just as your father was and just as his father was before him? A surveyor and that’s all!” Morris clinched his fists, seething with anger but Landon continued, “Kaeruna help him, the Sisters have bewitched another poor soul with the will’o’wisps of fortune and fame.”

“I should have never asked you along, Landon. You are through here. This is my dig and I want you out. Pack your things, you leave in the morning.” Morris said bitterly as he marched out of the tent and back to the dig site.

The laborers now had the entire top and first foot of the sides uncovered. It stretched ten feet long with intricate designs and hieroglyphs etched into the stone and metal. Stone-like vines swirl across the top and sides like a real vine would creep up a tree trunk. Morris stood amazed at the level of detail and bizarreness of the hieroglyphs. He was sure given enough time he could decipher the story it was attempting to tell him. Time, however, was not something he had a lot of at the moment so he had to work fast. He dismissed the laborers for the night and set up his lab upon the top of the container. He quickly arranged his tools and was soon lost in documenting his findings.

“Damn you, Landon. Damn you all. They don’t realize what you are to me,” Morris traced the top designs with his hand sliding it down the side closest to him circling a spiral design of stone vines.

Suddenly, the design clicked and Morris quickly pulled his hand away, examining it. Blood trickled down his palm, “Cael take me. It’s trapped.” He took a step back to grab a bit cloth to bind his wound when the spiral design lashed out encircling his leg tightly. Morris attempted to cry out in hopes of alerting the evening watch. He was promptly silenced when another stone vine wrapped around his waist and throat crushing the air from his lungs. Morris struggled for freedom and air. Fear grappled him as tightly as the vines did, slowly devouring his sanity. The container’s designs began to glow a deep green, slowly melting away leaving exposed what appeared to be a humanoid made of the same material as the container itself. Morris could feel the vines tighten and tear into his flesh with razor sharp thorns, draining his life’s blood. The vines absorbed the flow of blood, strengthening the green glow of the shifting container.

As his life ebbed away he watched the glow of the container feed the glow that was now emitting from the humanoid. He thought he heard the clang of the watch bell as the humanoid sat up and stretched its body of living wood and metal. As his vision blurred and he slumped to ground, he thought he made out Landon brandishing his sword charging the thing he awakened.

Thought and fantasy began to blur together for Morris as he prayed, “Always the valiant one, Landon. A true friend to the end. Kaeruna protect us – forgive me for what I have wrought.”

Slowly the world faded to darkness.

::The Company Man

2008-07-19T07:54:00.000-07:00

The following is a composition written in a three-four sentenced paragraph rotation between Crayon, Parabolist, and myself.

All rights and stuff are ours and will freely share if asked in the right way.

His fingers fumbled for the remote, the resounding click of the television threw the room into sudden darkness. He mentally sighed, writing a list of things he wanted to accomplish the next day. It was late and he should go to bed, he thought to himself. The phone rang, shattering the peaceful still of the night. He turned towards the phone and then to the bedside clock which read two-fifteen AM.

The phone chirped again, annoyingly gargling its cacophonous tune. Two-sixteen in the morning, in a city Sam had never visited before, in a sleeze-bag motel where no one knew him or that he was staying there and it was his room receiving a middle-of-the-fucking-night phone call from Fuck-knows-who. It has to be a wrong number. The phone fell silent as the clock kicked over to two-twenty. At two-twenty-one it rang again.

He silently cursed the caller who obviously had fuck-all to do on a Sunday night, no, it was Monday now, five more hours and he would be on the road again heading further into the city to complete the tasks set before him. He imagined all the biting and sarcastic comments he wanted to say to this low-life worthless piece of whore-jizz who had taken it upon himself to annoy the ever-fucking-life out of Sam at two-twenty-two on this FINE Monday morning.

Cursing to himself, he reached for the phone. "What the hell do you want?" Sam was not about to even give this infernal wretch the decency of a hello.
Sammy, Oh God, thank God, Sammy! He's coming for me Sammy. I don't think I can get away this time. You've got to help me Sammy. Please he's - oh God, Sammy, he's- Her panicked voice echoed in Sam's head.

"Muriel? What? Who?" God, he had not seen nor heard from her in five - no, ten years. "Muriel?" Only breathing - breathing or static; Sam could not be sure. "Muriel?!" The line was dead, an agonizing beeping filled the silence of the room. Sam jumped when the clock clicked loudly to two-twenty-five.

Muriel - oh how he had pined away for Muriel all those fifteen years while living in Brooklyn. He almost hated his brother for finding her first, it was jealousy at first but he had slowly convinced himself that his brother, Jonas, had purposefully paraded Muriel around Sam to provoke him, to make him fall in love with her only to marry her away from Sam. It was what convinced him to join the company and the extensive travel it advertised.

Dial tone quickly gave way to the touch tones of his mothers phone number. He knew it was late but she would get over it and this was important. It rang a few times, the waiting seemed endless. There was no choice though. He knew there was no way to trace teh call from the motel. Who is this calling at this time of night? his mother always did get straight to the point. "Its Samuel, mom, listen I don't have time to explain." Sam? Is something wrong? Are you locked up again? Sam winced, "Mom, just listen. Jonas - I need his number - I think he's going to hurt her!" Hurt who? What? Muriel you mean? Honey you are out of it, didn't you hear? Muriel was in a car crash, she's been in a coma for two months now!
"What? No, no, mom, I mean I just - I just talked to her."
Sammy, you had a nightmare or you've been drinking. Shush now. Where are you?
"Listen to me Mom. Jonas is going to hurt her, Mom. You have to listen to me!"
Jonas is dead Sammy, you know that. When are you going to stop with your hurtful games? Sam cringed as his mother hung up the phone.

The memories slowly crept out of the cornders of his mind, his mother was right about Jonas - he had been dead for ten years now. The last time he saw Muriel was at his funeral. He had thought about staying in town to help console her and maybe catch up but it was too soon and just a little creepy. Besides I had company work to do on the West coast, he reminded himself.

This did nothing to shake the feeling he had of Jonas hurting Muriel, whom he just found out has been in a coma for the past two months. The thought of it all made his head spin with questions.

Sam collapsed against the cigarette smoke stained wall in the cheap dand room. Maybe he was having some sort of waking dream - maybe this 'life' was taking its toll. He started to rationalize the phone didn't really ring, it was simply not possible. He arighted himself and went to the small dirty bathroom to wash his face. The faucet flowed with cool water which he splashed on his face, and then the phone rang.

Sam cringed and quickly patted his face dry. He charged at the hone, leaing across the bed ad snatching it from the receiver.

"Muriel!" he gasped.

Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, rasped a cold but familiar voice. Tingling lanced up and down Sam's back. He threw down the phone, backing away slowly. Crimson covered the receiver.

Sam recognized Jonas's voice immediately but in that same instance he realized how impossible it was for it to be his brother. Jonas was dead, he attended his funeral, saw him in the casket, the whole kit and kaboodle. Sam focused on the bleeding receiver, then down to his hands which were the same crimson of the phone. Horror drained him of color as he absent-mindedly wiped his hands on his denim jeans, tripping over an arm chair on his way back to the dingy bathroom, scattering roaches and other nocturnal insects at his staggered approach.

Flipping on the light switch his body wracked with incoherent sobs, there ws no evidene of the blood but he stripped down anyway and crawled into the rusty bathtub and showered, scrubbing and sobbing.

Sam soaked up the water with a hopefully clean towel He stumbled toward the bed, jarring in mid-stride toward the tiny circular table near the curtained window. His to-do list rested with his pen next to a cheap bottle of Scotch. One drink would take the edge off. Just one drink. The burn was delicious, spreading down his throat, releasing the tension. Sam glanced at the list.

Item 1: Kill Muriel
Item 2: Kill Muriel
Item 3: Kill Muriel

Sam gagged as he read line after line, the same repetitious horror.

Sam sank into an armchair next to the table, staring at the list with disbelief. He hadn't remembered writing those words but he could not disput that the lettering was in his own handwriting.
"What is happening to me," he thought aloud, raking a free han through his thinning hair; the table side clock erupted in sound as its numbers annouced the coming hour - 3:00.

The old clock's numbers then continued flipping, loudly, pulsing like thunder in his skull. All at once he found himself, sweat drenched, underneath a vehicle, blade in hand, brake line about to be severed. He could still hear the clock, the violent clip-clapping of one number being discarded as another number crashed on top of it.

The numbers clicked over again and again. The cool smooth tube was pinched between his fingers. The pen knife blade rested against it, digging in. Drip. Sam blinked and his eyes were filled with sunlight. He held the knife for the wedding cake. Jonas reached for the knife. A drop of rain splattered against Sam's forehead. He sat up quickly as simultaneously the clock clicked to 3:01 and the phone rang again.

The ringing echoed in Sam's mind, distant at first slowly growing louder reverberating like church bells. Sam reluctantly let Jonas take the knife shaking off thoughts of plunging it deep into his brother's chest. He didn't want to answer the phone but he knew he had no choice.
"No choice at all" he murmurred picking up the reciever.

Finish what you started, Sammy, was the only reply.

::The Last Mile

2008-07-17T06:43:00.000-07:00

My submission (#46) to Jason's writing contest.

The Last Mile
by Karlan T

Lenny was using all cylinders as he throttled down the highway. Like most
that ran this stretch, he had a long way to go and a short time to get
there. The heat of the highway radiated unbearably even at the witching
hour.

He scanned the horizon under the moon, searching for the landmark that would
tell him he was nearly home.The trio of plateaus was a beacon haloed by the starlit
sky but the obnoxious flashing neon lights of a gas station grabbed his attention.
Nothing would be better than home, but now the uncomfortable call of nature
gnawed at his mind.

The journey is almost over, one last rest stop won't kill me, he decided.

Suddenly, lights flooded the air around Lenny. He panicked, glancing back
to see headlights bearing down on him. Some insane instinct, beyond
rationalization, compelled him to donut around and run head long into the
paired beams of light.

Breaking free of the siren song, Lenny leaned into the last mile before the
station. He strained to not look back. Behind, the growing thunder
heightened his fear. The fear snapped his head around. A flash of
reflective chrome grill was all he saw before everything went black.

The thunderous roar pulled into the gas station, rolling to a stop. Its
engine idled with a guttural growl. "Damn Bugs," it muttered as it pulled
Lenny from its chrome capped teeth.

::Ug, Man Build

2007-08-27T19:30:00.001-07:00

Man measure wood

Man cut wood

Man get Manfriend help hammer wood

Man and Manfriend find that Man not cut so well. Man not care so much. Wood go together good.

Man get Woman take picture of wood thing.

Man think of dancing round fire beating chest.

Woman remind Man of Great HOA god that no like big fire in village.

Man see netfriend next time. Man build table for Woman.

More cut, more hammer, more man beating on chest.

::History of Me

2007-08-23T05:16:00.001-07:00

I was born a poor white child in the bayous of Lake Charles, Louisiana approximately thirty-three years ago. My lineage dates back to the original colonists on both sides of my family. When I was younger, history didn't mean a lot to me and thusly didn't hold a lot of my attention. This of course did nothing to stop my older relatives from giving me an earful of folktales and readings from the family memoirs.

The Talkingtons and The Chances both left England for reasons I have yet to discover to begin a new live in the savage lands of America. My father's grandmother's on several occasions claimed Sir Francis Drake was her great-beyond-great uncle. The evidence to this was in that her maiden name was "Drake", so make of that what you will. Beyond that I know from family records that both families moved south after the Revolutionary War. The Chances were awarded parcels of land in Georgia while The Talkingtons ended up in North Carolina. The Civil War prompted another story from the Talkington annals. My father's mother told a story of her grandfather who fought in the Civil War. He fought for the South and his brother fought for the North. Blood proved thicker than anything else in the world when they would meet each night to share coffee and food with one another.

After the Civil War, the stories and memories seem to be lost until the Second World War. My father was named after an uncle he never met. His uncle was shot down by German anti-aircraft artillery while performing bombing runs over the African Coast. My mother's father lived up to his surname a couple of times during WWII. He was present at Mussolini's execution when they strung him upside down to let him bleed to death. This was after nearly being killed when a mortar shell exploded beside him leaving him unharmed but killing the guy next to him. His most extraordinary story to date is of a German incursion with his infantry regiment. His regiment was stalemated against a regiment of Germans. Both sides were cut off from supplies, and the waiting game began. Days went by until finally his group had run out of ammo. The Germans, tired and hungry, didn't notice or care as they raised their white flag in surrender. A charmed life indeed, and coincidentally his nickname back home was "Little Boy".

My father's father missed the war luckily due to him taking up the calling just as four generations of Talkingtons had done before him. Casting off his career as an up and coming minor league baseball player, he joined the ranks of a different army. He was an ordained minister, a soldier for God. He served his country and his congregation through ministry, keeping hope and faith alive in America. My father's mother did her part as well by working as a general worker building schools and sweating as a factory worker just as "Rosy the Riveter" asked of all women during that time.

As I grew up and began to put these stories into their proper context, history became more personal to me. History was still boring but I at least felt more a part of it. Now I find myself reconnecting to my country's founders through the writings of Thomas Jefferson and the unsung patriot, Thomas Paine. I am discovering that history, as cheesy as it might sound, is more a part of me and who I am than I had ever given it credit for. I look forward to exploring more of my past through family stories and examining how they fit into the bigger picture of American History.

::Queen of Rock

2007-08-20T19:18:00.001-07:00

Last night I fulfilled the dreams of not one but two princesses.

Yes, I am THAT good.

I took them to see the Queen of Rock, Pat Benatar.
She's still pretty hot and can still wail!

It was an awesome show. The opening act was Lennon, who played her music on piano beautifully despite being a metal act.

I think the best part was sharing it with my daughter. She was SO excited to see "Benatar" and Lennon she screamed for because she thought the piano was great!
We danced and sang along, it was a blast.

My son was a little bored with the concert but he managed through it.

We are looking forward to INXS at the end of the month, maybe he'll enjoy them more.

Overall, it was a great time and it was truly fantastic to be able to fulfill the childhood dreams of both my beautiful princesses.

::Mr. T Presents: Playing with Wood

2007-08-20T18:01:00.001-07:00

I am a self-professed Jack of Trades. I had a pretty decent southern upbringing; just short of seasonal hunting trips, I was taught by my dad to be self sufficient when it came to home repair. I can install a ceiling fan, install a toilet and sink complete with plumbing, wire an electrical outlet and can even float dry wall. I amaze my wife on a regular basis with what I can do. *nudge nudge* *wink wink* On occasion, I wow my land lord who thinks its a godsend to have a tenant that doesn't need to call out for a repairman for every little thing. "Imagine all the money I'm saving," I can hear him think when I tell him I fixed this and that. I'm ok with that because otherwise I would have to wait for him to call someone, then take a day off of work to meet with the guy. It just saves everyone a lot of hassle in the end.

Anyway to the point of all this. I wanted to share a glimpse into where I've been hiding myself the past few days.

In addition to being a novice-class handyman, I am also a self-professed member of Geekapollooza. And one of the most coveted items that a coterie can have bragging rights to is The Ultimate Gaming Table!! Of course there are several out there claiming to be the ultimate but thus far, NO ONE has beat this design.

Building such a table would require several heavenly bodies to align themselves just so and until I can master the powers of the universe to make this happen, I will have to settle for a smaller design.

One of those "heavenly" bodies would be my wife who has a list of items she would like built before I set my sights on the table of adventure and splendor. A coffee table and a curio cabinet top the list.

Also, building such an artifact of dorkish proportions would require tools of the carpentry trade, time to build it and a workspace away from little children.

As you can see the table has become a long and arduous journey likened to that of a certain ring carried by a certain young man with hairy feet.

So with the help of Parabolist, my Sam to his Frodo, we took up the task of creating a workshop to build all these wonders in the hopes of ushering a new age, aligning that heavens as we could.

First on the list was the workspace. I needed a place to work and put all the tools needed. Scouring the webbed lands of the internet, I came across this handy handyman's site with a design that seemed to scream, "BUILD ME...!!!" And with a failed Will save I am doing just that.

The design presented above was to fit into a 16 ft. garage, nearly twice the space that I have in my current garage, so we had to scale it back some. I decided to go with a 9 ft. tablespace and keep the other variables (depth and height) the same to save me some sanity.

Parabolist being the CAD whiz that he is came up with this:

And so, I'm turning this:

with these:

into this:

Results May Vary...

::Thar Be Booty Har

2007-08-03T09:03:00.001-07:00

A few days ago in an enchanted land far far away, a group of adventurous pirate princes and pirate princesses gathered on the Dread Pirate King's ship, The Mini Pearl, to celebrate his daughter's fifth year on the open seas.

At the climax of this celebration, the Dreaded Pirate King presented to his princess his most valued possession outside of his lovely children and his Queen. A map of their island and marked upon it, the location of riches beyond their imaginations.

The "X" was coffin rock, a well known spot to his children as they spent many days watching the sunset there.
Before they leave, they retire to the royal palace to prepare for their adventurous journey.

Coffin Rock
"Within My Tomb, Lies A Pirates Boon. Free It From My Deathly Grip By Going On A Daring Trip.
Search the Land Far And Wide For the Keys Numbering Five
Seek Ye First A Pirate Curst. Play His Game To Set Him Free And For Your Prize, A Skeleton's Key. ~ YAAARGH"

Upon reaching coffin rock, the adventurers scoured the area for clues to the location of the treasure.
Finally, the first mate came across an etching in the rock accompanied by five keyholes.
After digesting the riddle, the group eyed each other with excitement and wonder.
A cursed pirate held their first key. "Only one pirate I know of that fits that bill," The first mate declared. With a wave of his arm, "To the Mini Pearl!"

The Mini Pearl

Aboard the Mini Pearl, the first mate took them to the brig. Dark and dank and smelling of rotten fish, the brig was empty. The pirate princesses bravely stepped forward into the darkness. Suddenly a ghastly visage appeared to them. It was the Pirate Curst! "Play my game or join me here forever!" he cackled.

Frightened at the thought of spending their days in this smelly brig, the group cheered each other on as they mastered his game of ring toss.
Victorious, the group was given their first key.
But not without a few words of gratitude from the Pirate Curst.

The Pirate Curst

"Lads and Lasses, Thank Ye For Lifting The Curse To Free Me.
Now Here My Tale of Woe. The Captain's Key I Stole And Hide It I Did In a Clock. Swallowed Whole By a Wicked Ol' Croc, Off He Swam Without a Trace To His Home; A Boggy Place"

Looking at the map, they find only one place where this Croc with the Clock could reside. The foulest place on the island, Black Bog.

"Ewww," cry the princesses but they trudge on for the greater good. They can buy new dresses with the treasure that lies in wait for them.

The stench of the bog was only slightly overwhelmed by the vast swarms of mosquitoes, flies and other bugs. Sloping through the bog, the group searched for the Wicked Ol' Croc.

"This is hopeless, we are never going to find anything in this mess." One princess said slinging off a clump of swamp from her feet. As if on queue, the growl of a crocodile was heard in the darkness accented by the tic tock of a clock. "ITS HIM!" they all whispered loudly. Creeping closer to the sound of the Ol' Croc, they find it stretched out on a bed of moss and peat. Its yellow eyes scanning the bog for its next meal. Hoping it didn't spot them, the group hid behind a log. Finally, it slid off into the swamp in search for dinner.

Quickly, they search the Ol' Croc's bedding for the key. "Got it," one of them whispers. Wrapped in a cocoon of moss, they find the key secured to a piece of parchment.

"Brave Must Ye Be, In Search of the Next Key. Along the Coast of Shipwreck Shore, Enter Ye Must Through Death's Door. Your Fear Ye Will Face For In Davey Jones' Locker, Yer Hand Ye Must Place."

Shipwreck Shore

Off to Shipwreck Shore they set, to the two spiraling spires named Death's Door.
At the foot of these spires is a swirling pool of black. The local legends say this is only one of many "portholes" to the land of the dead.
Bravely they each stick their hands into the pool
searching for the key.

The color drains from each of them as Davey Jones sucks the life from them. "Be Brave" they say to one another scrambling to find the key.
A boy dressed in green and goes by Peter Pan jerks his hand up out of the water. A tentacle is wrapped around his arm but in his grasp is the KEY!
They make short work of the tentacle with their magic wands and dirks.
And examine the key for another clue.
While they look, A ghostly voice echoes from the pool.

"At Table Rock Collect Your Debt.
To Find The Key, A Wager Ye'll Bet.
Throw the Bones With Davey Jones.
Three Changes to Stay Alive.
Win the Game, Roll a Five.
~ARRRGH"

"Last Key to Find in a Ballroom Divine.
A Princess Bride Full of Dread
Her Greatest Fear Ne'er to Wed.
Without Her Slipper Made of Glass
The Prince's Test She'll Not Pass.
With Closed Eye Numbering Two
Make This Princess' Dream Come True"

Off they set for Table Rock and the fourth key.
After a short climb they reach the top of Table Rock and find a feast waiting for them along with a sealed box and a pair of bony dice.
"I have a bad feeling about this." The first mate says as he chomps down on a piece of cake.
While they eat, they each take a turn at the bones. Three rounds go by and soon they begin to worry if this is the end.
The Dread Pirate's daughter makes a wish and with the final throw of the dice.... a five!
The seal on the box cracks and inside is the fourth key and a parchment.

Finishing their feast, they cry in unison, "The Royal Palace!"
After a quick march down the rock and to the palace, they slowly enter the ballroom not sure what to expect.
In the center of the ballroom is a Prince at the feet of a beautiful Princess frozen in time.
Several slippers of glass and shiny quartz lay around them. Closing their eyes they each pick up a slipper and try to place it on her foot. With uncanny accuracy Princess T slipped her slipper on the princess.

The Royal Palace - Ballroom

The Prince and Princess released from their spell thanked the brave pirates and gave them their final key.

"Back to COFFIN ROCK!!" they sprinted. The princesses remembering their manners stopped to curtsey on their way out.

Each of them took a key and inserted it into the keyhole. With a grinding turn, the sound of a lock opening could be heard.
With the final key, the Princess E opened the final lock.
Together they lifted the coffin opened and peered inside.

"A TREASURE CHEST!!"
they screamed with excitement.
The Dread Pirate King and his first mate lifted the chest out.

The glittering of gold and jewels was blinding.
The treasure was legendary.

"We should take this back to the palace to split it up."

They all agreed and headed back to the palace...

Where they enjoyed the rewards of working together, facing their fears and overcoming great obstacles.

Happy Treasure Hunting
and Happy Birthday!!
Princess E!!

Special Thanks to the Curst Pirate for assisting on creating this magical day. I think we had just about as much fun building the adventure as the kids did running through it.

Creative design by
Mr. T (The Dread Pirate King)
Mrs. T (His Queen)
Parabolist (The Curst Pirate)

Map work by
Parabolist (The Curst Pirate)

::Happiness is a Warm Gun

2007-08-02T20:36:00.001-07:00

The last rays of the day glinted off the polished barrel of the Smith
& Wesson .45 revolver Gary held securely to his temple. Gary licked
his lips. The tear-salted taste mentally reinforced him of his resolve
to pull the trigger.

"Soon, this would all be over. I'll finally be free," he reassured himself.

Gary tensed his index finger gently applying pressure to the trigger.
He listened anxiously for the inviting click of the hammer of the gun
but instead the grating shrill of the phone was all that he heard.

Grimacing at the interruption, Gary tried to ignore the relentless ringing.

"I should have unplugged the phone from the wall," though he seemed to remember he had.

Begrudgingly, Gary released the hammer on the pistol and set it on the table. The tarp he had laid out crunched beneath his feet like dried dead leaves as he walked across the room to rectify his forgotten task. As he reached for the phone, something inside of him urged him to answer it.

"Curiosity?" he thought. "More like sadist intentions to endure yet
another 'generous' caller wanting to save me loads of money on long
distance."

"Inconsiderate pricks," the words reverberated through the bare
kitchen. "I'll give them something to remember me by," and yanked the receiver from the cradle of the phone.

"Listen here you miserable FUCK! I don't want whatever you are
selling. After today I won't be much in the market from much of
anything short of a mop, a bucket, and a pine box. And I already have
two of the three."

He was answered with silence. He stood puzzled for a moment, almost taken back. He hadn't meant to be so abrasive but the swell of emotion took over and erupted from his insides. He suddenly felt guilty.

"Hello?" he squeaked. "Didn't mean to give you both barrels."

Still the reply was dead air. He slowly hung up the phone and a
chuckle bubbled up inside of him which escaped through his nose in a
snort.

"Both barrels," he smiled at his own joke, "I'd be happy to be getting back to my one."

He walked back over to the table straightening a crease in the tarp as
he went. He wanted this moment more than anything but he was not
inconsiderate of others. He had planned this event out with a
meticulous mind ensuring that his actions would not cause whomever found him a lot of work in cleaning up. He had set out a large blue tarp on the floor of his kitchen and even hung an orange tarp on the wall opposing his chair to catch any bone or brain matter that might explode from his head in the next few minutes. A mop and bucket were set next to the back door with a gallon of bleach and a hose. A box of rubber kitchen gloves completed the ensemble. He was generally a tidy person and he wanted to be sure that he provided the means to keep his home clean after he was done fulfilling his destiny.

He sat at the table and picked up the pistol. He felt the weight of
the piece in his hand. He particularly like the way the pistol molded
in his grip, reassuring him that he was on the right path. He felt at
ease. Placing the barrel against his right temple, he rejoiced at the
coldness of its touch.

"Death's finger upon my brow.. Sweet darkness take me now." He had practiced the cheesy lines many times and now that he was speaking them at the moment of truth, he felt reinforced.

"Did you unplug the phone? Did you check?" The random thought jarred him from his daydream of quietus.

He snarled and placed the gun down on the table once more and trotted over to the phone. He followed the cord of the phone to the jack. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the phone blared into his ear. Catching his breath, he ignored the ringing and continued his search for the end of the cord.

"Not this time, mother fucker," he grumbled as he followed the cord to its end. He pulled the cord quickly through one hand and stood erect as he reached the plug. Holding the plug in his hand he turned and eyed the still ringing phone.

::Cogs of Capitalism

2007-07-16T10:45:00.001-07:00

Today is my daughter's birthday. She is five going on fifteen and as per tradition, the clan took her out to IHOP for breakfast. At this particular IHOP, memorabilia from IHOP days past hang on the wall. One such piece of history is a menu from 1966 where a plate of pancakes will cost $1.20 (currently $5.29) and a soda $0.25 ($1.50). I find this stuff fascinating in a bizarre way and say as such. Suddenly, I am beseeched by my son of ten years with a simple question, "How come things cost so much now?"

I begin to answer simply with one word, "Inflation". My son is very bright and hungers for knowledge constantly so I know I will not get by with such a simplistic answer. Quickly thinking of how best to describe the machinations of our economy and the idea behind capitalism.

I begin with a simple definition of "inflation". As wages increase, the value of the buying power of the dollar increases, thus supply and demand vary increasingly the price of goods and services. If wages become stagnant and the price of goods and services continues to rise, this is a recession. He understands this as his class discuss the Great Depression in history class in school. I'm impressed and continue, filling in gaps and confirming his recitation of the details of the Great Depression. I am reminded by FDR and want very much to go into detail about the wonders of this man but continue with the lesson in Capitalism.

Next I explain what I call the "Cogs of Capitalism". Its made up of three cogs of varying size. The smaller of the three is the upper class/big business. Next in size is the poor/lower class. These two cogs sit on either side of the bigger cog, the middle class. The fuel to turn these cogs is money/supply and demand/trade. As the upper cog invests in business based on the needs of the middle cog, the machine begins to turn. As the middle cog turns more, the upper cog turns faster and eventually the lower cog begins to turn. The more and more the machine turns the faster the cogs turn. I explain it this way to show the importance of our society, our democracy, our economy for the middle class to be strong.

Without a strong middle class, to say that if the middle cog was missing prongs, the machine would not run as smoothly. This could cause the lower cog to slow down and the upper cog would pull back on its contribution to the machine, hoarding in the fear of recession. This only breaks the machine further until it collapses.

Simple terms for a complex problem. I avoid the political intonations sparking in my head to keep myself on track. He is ten after all and should be worrying about being a kid, not have the world's problems hoisted on his shoulders.

"So are we lower class," my son asks. "By no means," I reply. But then even though demographically I could be considered upper middle class its hard to draw those lines these days. Signs that the Middle Cog is weakening.

A Thomas Paine quote has always resounded with me:
"If there must be trouble, let it be in my day, that my child may have peace."

Seeing my son with his hunger for the unknown and my daughter eating the chocolate chips from her IHOP "Happy Face", it rings all the more loudly with me.

I will take this trouble head on so they may live in peace. I invite anyone who reads this to join me, if not for your children's peace of mind then your own.

::Lost Memories

2007-07-08T08:40:00.001-07:00

Locked boxes,

each a fragment of time,

float in a vast sea of etched metallic keys,

not a one a mate of the other.

::State of the Union

2007-06-27T13:46:00.001-07:00

Jackson sat on the park bench, its paint peeling and cracked from years of neglect. Wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, Jackson took in the scenery of the park. For the most part it was like any other park he'd been to in the fifty-plus years duration of his life. The green grass carpeted the rolling hills and fields that made up the park. Tall, thick oaks were scattered amongst several elms and sycamores. Plush shrubbery lined the walking path that stretched from one end of the park to the other, winding around two playgrounds. Jackson watched the neighborhood children play on the playgrounds, their youthful peals of excitement and joy reminding him of his own youth. "Only difference," he remarked to himself, "we didn't have product placement shoved down our throats. We were thought of kids and not future consumers." The squawk of a pre-recorded message from the "make believe" McDonald's drive-thru only accentuated his thoughts. "Would you like fries with that?"

The thought of how much had changed during his years growing up only put him in a bitter mood. "All in the name of progress, I suppose." The thought didn't brighten his mood any, if nothing else, it made it worse. He thought of the long trek that was ahead of him to the local Social Security office. The office had contacted him about a denial of benefits for his wife's medicare. There was no public transportation available to get him close enough to the office so he was forced to walk the several miles to the office. He typically enjoys walking anywhere he goes but today he was not feeling up to snuff. He had to cut back on his heart medication due to the rising costs of his prescriptions. Now they were going to cut his wife off completely. "This is not the America I fought for in the Second World War. This is not the America FDR envisioned when he pulled this country out of the Depression. This is not the America our Founders sacrificed their lives for."

Wiping his forehead again, Jackson mustered what strength he had to lift himself from the park bench. Straightening himself, he began the final leg of his journey.

::Words to live by (Signs of the times)

2007-06-12T08:48:00.000-07:00

These are the times that try men's souls.
~Thomas Paine

Our enemies...never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.
~George W. Bush

Patriotism means to stand by the country. It does not mean to stand by the president or any other public official...
~Theodore Roosevelt

The greatest menace to freedom is an inert people.
~Supreme Court Justice Louis D. Brandeis

::The Journey down the World of Darkness Trail

2006-05-26T07:02:00.000-07:00

I commuted to work today via my slick new Trek 7200 bicycle. The ride was nice, it was like exploring a new part of the world.. you almost forget you are in the middle of a group of towns. You get the chance to get a breath of fresh air. Like I said the ride was nice.. its when the ride is over that the world come slamming down on you.

I'll admit I'm out of shape and probably could have done the ride a little faster.. maybe as I go it will get better.. but for now my ass hurts... not so much the ass but the crouch area. Saddle sore I guess you'd call it.

I'm definitely glad to have done it though... I'll be saving shitloads of money on gas. And I feel like I'm giving a big Fuck You to the oil companies! And yeah, I'll be in better shape maybe. I like the Fuck You better as an incentive.

:: Speaking of Zombies

2006-03-23T17:15:00.000-08:00

The smell of weeks buried underground exhumes from the languid stalks that were once arms and legs. The bloated midsection squirms with the pulsating movements of unknown numbers of maggots, a few occasionally dropping to the ground. Fingers creak from unaccustomed movements across the keyboard, a whisper of a breath sends dust motes scattering. Dust bunnies scurry into dark corners for safety. Dry cracked lips part and with a raspy moan, a voice escapes from the hollows of long deflated lungs... "I pity the fool".

:: The Lullaby - a start?

2005-12-09T20:06:00.000-08:00

Sam had never really been afraid of the dark before. She distinctly remembers tackling that fear at an early age. With a father like hers it was out of necessity as it was her only savior from the drunken evil that stumbled outside her door. She slipped out of her window and welcomed the solitude the night provided. Out here, he wouldn't find her and when he was finally passed out from his nightly intoxication she returned. She embraced the darkness like a friend so why is it she finds herself so terrified in the company of her old friend? Sam pulled the covers up around her, "What the fuck? This is crazy, I'm a grown woman after all." It was the nightmares, the shadowed face she continued to see night after night looking in on her in her dreams. "I need to stop staying up so late." She pulled herself together enough to get out of bed and pad across the bedroom to fetch herself a glass of water. She flipped the light switch on in the bathroom but the sudden flicker of light still startled her. "Get a grip, Sam, it's just a dream" The tap water in her neighborhood was horrible but the coolness of it was refreshing. She filled the sink and washed her face. The bags under her eyes were clear indications that the week long repetition of the dreams were taking their toll on her. "Maybe I should go see a shrink?" She splash her face again. "Yeah, let's go down that road again, Sam. Remember the last time you spilled your soul to a quack?" She quickly dismissed the memory and padded back to bed. She rolled over to check the time. "Five o'clock in the morning, UGH, why can't it interrupt my sleep earlier in the night?" She lay there motionless for several minutes pondering whether to just get up or shoot for those couple extra hours of sleep and hope them to be free of any more visions of shadowy men.

:: Cowboy Fan - Born And Raised

2005-11-15T16:28:00.000-08:00

You wouldn't guess it looking at me now (mostly because I'm hidden behind the anonymity of the internet) but I'm a Dallas Cowboys fan. I'm not even a fan of football but deep down I have instinctual link to the boys in Silver and Blue. I don't watch football except on Thanksgiving to watch the Cowboys play. And if I happen across a game... no matter who's playing I'm rooting for the Cowboys.

For the longest time I couldn't understand why... then I came across these pictures. As you can see at an early age I was indoctrinated into the life of a cowboy fan and even now the memories slowly make themselves whole in the fog of obscurity. Thanksgiving games mostly, just after the parade at my grandparents house. The occassional weekend stay at the cousins. Even though my house was not very into sports, my extended family was.. and they were Cowboy fans. Even now, as I said before.. not much of a football fan, give me REAL football (soccer to us Americans) anyday but American football just doesn't do it for me. But even when a friend of mine "suckered" me into a fantasy football league, I filled with Dallas Defense (THey ROCK!!) and a mix of packers and oakland. Dallas has yet to let me down as I'm currently in third (not bad for a non football fan)... is it all due to the BOys? In Reality? Maybe not.. To me though, its all about the Boys from Dallas.

:: The American Dream

2005-10-21T17:58:00.000-07:00

What is it exactly?

Wife, kids, house with the white picket fence?

For some its easier to experience than most. Some are born with a silver spoon, ten of us are lucky enough to have NOT used the numbers from LOST and woke up with 34 million dollars waiting for them. For most of us, we have to work for it, HARD.

Take Terry for instance. While on our way across this great nation of ours, I found Terry. He's the hardest working man in America. He works SO hard that one state cannot contain him. In Nevada, just past Reno, he runs "Terry's Rent-a-Toilet" a fine establishment with a very worthy cause... Fulfilling our nature's call when we need it most... after a case of Pabst's and watching "Grave Digger" mash up a few cars. A quick laugh and Terry was quickly forgotten. That is until he resurfaced in Wyoming as "Terry's Towing". Again serving the public, man this Terry is helpful and gets around. Just a coincidence I said and had another quick laugh. That is until we stopped in Nebraska for lunch... and was served lunch by... you guessed it, Terry. How does he do it? He so helpful and has a hold on at least two of man's daily needs, Food and the Call of Nature. He's got to be rollin' in bank.

Here's to you Terry the toilet man, Terry the tow truck operator, Terry the food server... The Hardest Working Man in America, you are definitely deserving of the American Dream.

:: And with a wince he put on the shackles...

2005-10-14T20:54:00.000-07:00

of Corporate life. The new job will probably get better once I'm doing something other than reading docs and slowly testing my limits on what I can install on my laptop and what I can browse via the internet. The good and bad of corporate life is that its so big you can probably skirt by without getting noticed or on the other hand they can come down on you with the wrath of nanotech and ban you from Homestar Runner forever... so I bide my time and wait for the projects with which to bury myself in and slowly stretch my wings to see what gives.

I miss the Cali weather already... its been nothing but miserable weather-wise. But I'm definitely liking the space we have with the new home... definitely liking the idea that even though we live in an expensive part of Virginia.. its pennies comparatively to California. Sad isn't it? I'm NOT liking the fact that the only HSI I can get is Adelphia and they are blocking port 80!! How the bleeding hell am I suppose to run my own server if they block port 80? Sure I can port map but its just not the same. Anyone got some rackspace for a cobalt RAQ4 and a WINTEL server?
Sigh.. A friend of mine told me that if I can get 10 neighbors to call Verizon and request Fiber to the Home (FOTH) that they'll expedite the area on their "to do" list. I'm thinking that might be a good idea.

This post is mostly me rambling but its late and its friday and my work week felt like two... so deal with it, I am.

:: Missing Cali but only because its dark

2005-10-06T03:39:00.000-07:00

Monday was crazy for everyone. And I missed getting a post out so here is one from the road. Gotta love wifi internet from the hotel.

We left as soon as I got home from work.. a grand send off topped with a few parting gifts from the team. One of which included my first cubicle toy.. a dancing hula homer. He sings "tiny bubbles" and is the best thing EVER!
We managed to avoid the afternoon rush and made good time through Sacramento. We passed through the Sierra Nevada and near freezing tempatures in the middle of the dark. The one thing we love about California and we missed it due to lack of solar lighting. *Sigh*

We stopped off in Reno and had a wonderful DelTaco breakfast before starting off again... we have several stories to share and we are only a little more than half way through our adventure. Stay tuned, there much more to come.

:: Saying Goodbye

2005-09-21T13:17:00.000-07:00

This is Super Bug.

This is Scorpion.

Bitter rivals from the day they were conceived. And I'm sure they are at each other's thoraxes when the lights go out. With scorpion's biddy evil red eyes and Superbug's enormous head, I'm sure those battles are epic in porportion.

But by day's break they put away their enmity and begin their vigil watch over my desk.

Inherited from their creator nearly 2.5 years ago, they have watched over and protected my desk with only an occasional squabble or two. (Which usually resolves with me putting Superbug's fragile hands back together. You'd think that big head was his soft spot but no.. his achille's heel is his hands.) Their service to me is near its end and soon another desk will be in much needed help of securing its borders against such enemies as (to name a couple):

The Office Collector - This villian pops his head up once and a while stealing money from the locals to pay for its festive rituals and forces us to sign away our souls on pieces of decorative paper
MIS - The law of the oppressed. They enforce the totalitarian view against outside IM and the seeking of data via the collective BitTorrent.

They will have their work cut out for them as we move into a more open arena. They will have to be ever vigilant. I wish them well and pray they can keep their pincers off of one another. The safety of the team depends on their paper thin friendship.

May God Have Mercy On Us!

:: Crap and suck!! I've been tagged

2005-09-20T07:50:00.000-07:00

KHHAAAAAAAAANNNNN!!

This whole thing with tagging bloggers is right up there with those darn questionaire emails that usually end up in my inbox only because my wife likes to torture me. I hate chain letters. I think its mainly that I'm someone who likes to keep personal things close to the vest. It keeps me safe. So why have a blog in the first place? Hmm.. check my archives, I'm sure I've answered that one already.

To sate my wife and because I was tagged from the most unexpected of places, here are my: (drum roll please)

Seven Answers to Seven Questions

Seven Things I Plan To Do Before I Die

Retire to Scotland (A most beautiful place unlike any other)
Create a legacy for my children (enough that they will never want but not enough to spoil them)
Publish something (A novel, short story, SOMETHING.. I want my name in the library of congress ;) )
Build my own home (and if possible a place nestled in the hills on the bonny banks of Loch Lomond)
Refurbish the coffee table and end table for the Mrs. (she put this one on her's but we all know who's going to end up doing it :P)
Watch the FIFA World Cup Finals LIVE and in person.
Find the question to 42.

Seven Things I Can Do

Script in PHP
Be a ToysRuS kid
Make an awesome banana milkshake
Do my own handyman work
Be a diplomat (even when I don't agree with the situation)
Make my wife laugh
Make fun of myself

Seven Things I Cannot Do

Tolerate ignorance
Play the guitar (though I'd like to)
Find my faith
Change the Past (can only make up for it, and I do everyday)
Accept failure in myself
Find enough time in the day to do all I want
Dance to save my life

Seven Things That Attract Me To Another Person

Intelligence
Confidence
Nice Smile
Not afraid to laugh (even at one's self)
Hints of a devious side
Comfortable in their own skin (not hung up on what other's think about them)
Loyalty

Seven Things I Say Most Often

Shite
Whatever
Cheers
Great googly moogly
Crap and Suck (inherited from my wife who inherited from Reagan)
But uh... Like I said (one for the Ethan Bebo crowd!)
Bollocks

Seven Celebrity Crushes

Christian Bale (not a crush but you gotta love a guy who can save the Batman Franchise and starve himself for a role)
William Shatner (again not really a crush but a deep admiration)
Angelina Jolie (a temptress)
Amy Wynn Pastor (Trading Spaces Carpenter, just something about a girl who can handle wood)
Scarlet Johansson (She's got classical beauty)
Evangeline Lilly (Kate from LOST, I love freckles and LOST... a perfect pairing)
Amy Lee (Evanescence front, my semi gothic love... and I seem to have a thing for Amy's)

Seven Bloggers I Tag

Ok, call me a party pooper but this is where I draw the line.. I've played along and answered the questions.. but I cannot bring myself to pass this along and tag other people.

:: The Death Blow Has Been Dealt

2005-09-14T21:06:00.000-07:00

Today, I announced my resignation to my team. They took it as well as I thought they would. They are a great group of engineers and they expressed their sorrow and then went back to work. I'm sure its all being internalized and I hope it doesn't lead to further fall out within the group.
So I begin the countdown to the exit date and attempt to keep the boat afloat until the changing of the guard.
Meanwhile, I wait for realtors to give us the go ahead on our new address. As I watch the boxes of STUFF collect in the garage and den, its hitting me.. I'm moving to VIRGINIA.

WOW.

:: Been a crazy few weeks

2005-09-08T08:23:00.000-07:00

Sorry for being away. Its been a very hairy few weeks. I've taken a job on the other side of the country and I'm having to tell my friends/team/co-workers that I'm leaving.
I don't know if this happens often but it happens often enough to me that I get to work with such great people that over time they become almost family. Its almost heartbreaking to separate from these people. The company itself has nothing to do with it. Its corporate, so its easier to leave; but the team is more than that. They are people... people I've had to share ups and downs with. I will miss them terribly.

Then comes "we can't lose you" speech from management. How can I make them understand that they basically uprooted me in the most dissmal period in the job market and moved me to the most astronomically unreachable standard of living in the US, all for chump change. It was bound to happen some time. Hell, I'm surprised we lasted as long as we did. All I can say is that we've been blessed. I'm thankful for it. But now its time to move on... with or without my current company, though I would be pleased if I could work something out. I just don't think its likely.

I just want to be out of California with as few ripples in my life as possible, is that too much to ask?

:: She Whispered (Alternate #1)

2005-08-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

She whispered softly into his ear. The smell of his aftershave flooded her with memories of her few memorable moments with her father. He would lather up and coat his five o'clock shadow with soap which always brought out a giggle from her even when she was trying desperately to stay hidden for fear of being discovered. Her father ritual of shaving was a deep fascination for her. "You look like an old man, daddy" she would say. He invited her into the bathroom with a grin. "Want to give it a try?" he said lathering up again for her first faux shave. Eagerly she climb upon the counter and tilted her head back, ready to receive her own white soapy beard. Together they shaved, he with his razor, her with her imaginary razor played by her index finger. She loved this time with her father, it was one of the rare moments that she had him to herself. He worked long hours at the mill and was usually too tired afterwards to give her the attention she needed. What she loved best was his big finish, the facial bathing of old spice. The smell wasn't all that pleasing to her but it was his signature smell.. that smell was her dad.
Eventually as she started getting older their time together became shorter and shorter. He took on more responsibilities at work in hopes of making more opportunities for his family. She knew he did it all for her and her mother but a part of her hated her father for not being there. The school dances, the first boyfriend, recitals... all the things that little girls want to share with their fathers.
Years flew by and his little girl became a woman with her own life. Her mother confided to her that her father's heart broke the night she left. She tried hard to believe that but it just seemed unheard of for her father to have any emotions. He was a hard man and hard men had hearts of stone, invulnerable to life's heart aches.
A nurse enters the room bringing her back to the present. The sheet covering his now frail body is stained with her mascara-tinted tears. "Are you ready?" the nurse states very matter-of-factly. She nods as the nurse places a bowl, safety razor and lathering soap at his side. She fills the bowl with warm water and begins to lather. She wipes a stray tear on the arm of her blouse not caring about the streak she leaves behind. She proceeds to coat his five o'clock shadow. He sees her daddy again for a brief moment as she gently shaves his thin fragile neck and face.
After putting the finishing touches to his stubble, she puts away the bowl and opens a small container of aftershave. With the ritual complete, she leans over and plants a kiss on his forehead. "Good bye, Daddy... See you tomorrow." Only the slowly but steady beat of the heart monitor is his reply.

:: She Whispered Lightly

2005-08-19T19:37:00.000-07:00

She whispered lightly into his ear. The soft brushing of her thin pale lips sent the cackles of his neck to attention. Who he was didn't hold much importance to her, it rarely did. Her only drive was what she could get from him; the quicker the better.
"Please tell me again in full detail. I want the when's, who's, and where's. The less fabrication, the better..." She played gingerly with the remaining fingers of his left hand as a reminder of the price he paid for his previous transgressions. "I'm only thinking of you."
She hated this part of her work. She despised the way she so easily fell into the role of "Femme Fatale", the pain giver. Why couldn't they just cooperate for once the first time around? She knew it was a pointless question. Its human nature to try to preserve one's health. Little do they realize that in the one question she poses they hold that very preservation in the balance. She wondered if her small frame, the fragility of her appearance was an unfair hazard. A trap that was always sprung when she would corner her next lead. Requiring her to don the mask of the maiden of pain.
She was always impressed at how long they maintained their obfuscations, at how well trained they were at keeping his secrets. But eventually they all cracked, giving up the smallest of details which she fed back to her benefactor.
Another part of her work that she regretted. Trapped in a warped Pavlovian game of cat and mouse. Salivating for her prize whether she was successful with the retrieval or not as she rarely failed at attaining what her benefactor bid her for. All so she could get what she wanted, her prize. It was something so small and insignificant that most people take it for granted, but to her it was her life's blood. Silence is all she ever wanted. Silence from the faceless victims that had suffered at her hands much like the man that sat before her.
A mad paradox, she would jest, to be driven so deeply by the promise of silence that to achieve it she had to partake in the very act that was the source of the need of it.
The faint rasp of his voice brought her back to focus. The bloodied spittle hanging from his split lip, the glazed look in his eyes, the near fingerless maw strapped to the chair. This one is about ready she thinks.

:: Will Return After The Dust Settles

2005-08-19T14:25:00.000-07:00

I'm finding myself with very little time to write or enjoy the writings of others these days. Sometimes I can only manage a quick read or two and that's it.

So if anyone has a Time Extrapolator handy, I would gladly pay you tuesday for a timeshare of it today.

Will be back soon...

:: The Surge (or My Wife and Her Short Stint With The X-Men)

2005-08-12T13:06:00.000-07:00

Its not easy being married to a crime fighting superhero. Living in the shadow of someone with supernatural powers can be quiet humbling. No longer are you the top of the food chain so to speak. Sure I'm the bread winner with my thankless 9-5 gig but she's the one who secretly gets all the glory. "Look at me, I'm a crime fighter... oh la la!"

No, stop, we talked about this in marriage counsel. "She is not the enemy. It is not her fault she has abilities unexplained by science. Must be supportive of her differences. Her anchor." I think our shrink is on Mr. Xavier's payroll.

All this talk of being supportive and setting up sessions at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters to help her control her abilities. Isn't she a little old to be going to a school for kids? Have to admit the light bulbs have been popping less often since she started. And I can finally set the VCR clock.

But the idea of her fighting crime? What's a school have to do with that? Its like they are some secret department like the CIA setting up a fake college setup to recruit new spies. I mean really, what is it they expect her to do? Short out the villian's Lazer Beam? Besides, she's not the fighting type. And I can just imagine the drama that comes from them trying to tell her she has to wear those skin tight outfits. Not that she couldn't but she her self-conciousness will simply not allow it. No, I just don't see that working out at all. Must be supportive.

She's been on "patrols" for about a week now and... Ok, I think I hear her coming in now.

"Hi, dear... how was your day of fighting crime?"
"What do you mean they fired you?" "Cerebro? What's that?"
"Well shouldn't they have something like that shielded.. I mean if its THAT important. And what about tape backups?"
"Oh, well, I don't see how you could held responsible for their lack of forethought. Really... What did they expect from someone who's uncanny ability is to short out any and every electronic device in your proximity. I mean, really.. Amateurs."
"Come, come... its not that bad... you are a GREAT superhero. There are other supergroups out there.. here, I found this ad in the paper while looking for a cheap refrigerator to replace the one you.. uh, nevermind.. here look..."

"Got superpowers? Want to fight evil? Then JOIN US and let's PARTY HEARTY! Beer! Burgers! Babes!"

"This looks promising... right?"

:: Geekapollooza

2005-08-08T08:27:00.000-07:00

Every Wednesday night (and the occassional Sunday) I entertain a small group of friends to a night of storytelling. Each have a part in telling the story. Its not much different from the online forums where you read the first leg of the story and the next person continues it. There is a plotline to adhere to but the path to it can take any number of creative twists and turns. Its only limitations are those of the persons involved. The stories are set in a world far removed from our own where magic is the core of all that exists and wealth is found typically in the clutches of greedy dragons. The story is mine, the game its based on is Dungeons and Dragons. The flagship of the RolePlaying geekdom. Some of you may scoff and judge.. that's your prerogative. My wife was very much like those people, until she tried it. Some say its a form of devil worship, to that I say "fiddlesticks". Or that its just a form of escapism, which to that I say, "you are correct. But its no more worse than watching TV to escape, or reading a book, or any other pasttime that takes your mind off of everyday things". The stigma that comes from this genre is from the stories of those that abuse it. The troubled kids who run around killing their parents because they believe they are vampires. Or explore a sewer line and whack off an arm because in their game his character lost an arm. Yes, these stories are true. But are rare nuggets of fanaticism that comes with life. These games didn't create the mental stability, it was already there and unfortunately was used as an outlet. A movie that really captured the slow mental unravelling and how it can be attached to RP is "Mazes and Monsters" starring a young Tom Hanks.
I grew up with a very active imagination. My brother, two years my younger, and I would re-enact great wars with our action figures. The dirt mounds my dad would have brought in to level out the back "40" were staging areas for the evil geniuses. Even when the idea of GI Joe faded that didn't stop us. With a bit of paint, cloth, glue and imagination we had our version of the Justice League or X-Men (whoever was cooler to us at the time). I started into the "world" of table roleplaying when I was around 13 when my parents bought me the "Basic Edition" version of Dungeons & Dragons. This intrigued me a bit but with no one in the neighborhood really into sitting at a table for a couple hours when they could be exploring the wilderness that was our backyard, I shelved the game. A few years later when I could drive and took my brother to the local comic store, a whole new world opened to me and courted the angst in me.. I found "Vampire: The Masquerade" and a group of fellow imaginists.
We would meet every Saturday night at this guy's house and delve into the gothic punk world of darkess. This was action figures in first person perspective and I loved it. We never believed we were real vampires, never really drank blood.. it was an innocent way to tap into that primal spirit and be something else for one night. To be fair, I have met with gamers that probably should have been institutionalized a long time ago. The ones who live and breathe the game, day and night. The ones who come to the games dressed as their character and transform their entire persona to match their character for that night (or even permanently). The ones that become filled with REAL anguish at the demise of their character. "Dude, its just a game.. lighten up." I continued with this group for a while until the storyteller up and left his wife. That was rough as he always painted her as a bitch and she's really a pretty wonderful person. She's been a good friend ever since that day. A few of us in the group didn't want to break ties so we took root elsewhere and moved to "Star Wars" by West End Games (Now owned by WoTC). Being one of the fortunate to have grown up with Star Wars this was a wonderful way to continue the story after Luke, Han and Leia. This continued on for many years off and on in between the many spurts of real life butting in. Eventually I got a job away from home and had to say goodbye to my Roleplaying buddies.
We stay in touch and trade stories.
While in TX, I found a group that was into Impromptu Theatre or Live Action Role Play based on Vampire: The Masquerade and while the group as a whole was on the freakish side even for me, there was a small splinter group that was pretty decent. Now this experience was even better... it took the action figure first person perspective and gave an almost real (or 3D) twist to it. I was (am) also very interested in acting and directing which made it all that more appealing. Eventually this group split and formed its out Troupe and it was here that I found a great group of Storytellers. But real life again reared its evil head and I was forced to pack up my family and move to CA.
Moving into a new area always means having to look for a new group which can be pretty scary and tedious. You have to weed through the weirdos and fanatics and yet find someone who can share in the creative work of storytelling. I've been lucky enough to find great sets of people both here in CA and in TX. I still trade stories with the group in TX and occasionally will collaborate on stories together.
Anyway, Good times and friends were had.. and many fond memories and not one of us ate the heads of bats, murdered our parents, or mutilated our bodies (except for the occassional non-game piercings). If you've interested or not, I would like to invite you all to participate in your local World Game Day and join in on the Geekapollooza!!

:: Nature's Revenge

2005-08-03T09:11:00.000-07:00

I can't really blame Mother Nature. I mean if someone tried to kill someone close to me I think I would want to exact some form of revenge on them too.
But I would at least attempt to ensure only the person involved was getting theirs, so to speak. Mother Nature isn't so precise or nice about it I guess.

Its not that my wife went out of her way to kill the tree and technically its not dead (yet). She, in her need for cleanliness and to make that is black or green white again, decided to bleach the front walk way. This involved pure bleach to be pour along the walk away, a little scrubbing and hosing the bleach away. The innocent bystander in this drama is the poor mulberry (at least I think its a mulberry, I'm no arborist) who not really knowing the difference in rain water and chlorine rich water drank it up like a Jimmy Jones follower with koolaid. Little did he know he was drinking himself to death. When signs began to show of the tree's demise, paramedics were called in to attempt to resuscitate via two week treatment of thorough watering and feeding of plant food. Its current state is still in question as its still deathly brown but there are shoots of new growth appearing.

Regardless of its condition, the reason for the condition soon fell upon the ears of Mother Nature herself. She examined the circumstances and enacted her justice in the form of the most annoying flock of birds to ever to perch on a branch. Not only are they loud and obnoxious but they are loud and obnoxious at NIGHT! These birds have been charged to sleep all day and wake up and chatter as long and loudly as possible from dusk to dawn. I'm just glad it was one tree as I can only imagine what we would have received for a forest.

I've thought about putting a hose to the birds to chase them off but they are obviously smarter than that... recently they have been holding off on their blaring chattering until the Mrs. and I are snuggled in our bed and drifting to sleep. There has to be some sort of appeals process I can protest to in order to lessen the sentence. She planted flowers out back and though she nearly killed them too, she's been working very hard on keeping them both healthy. That's got to count for something, right? If not for her sake, do it for me, Mother Nature... I'm the one who has to get up at dawn to get ready for work. Sure it makes Mrs. T crabby but she can nap if the kids are allowing.

Guess the only thing I can say is to stay on the good side of Mother Nature, otherwise she's a spiteful bitch.

:: Ode to Bruiser

2005-08-01T12:37:00.000-07:00

We each got our pick of the small litter, one pup to call our own. My brother picked and named his pup and like any boy/dog relationship, they were inseparable. It hard to tell if he was really going to be a big dog or not, especially when we were not sure who the "father" was. The only clues we had were the fact that he was the biggest of the litter, showed the most lab features and was a steam roller when it came to feeding time. He was the third and last survivor of a litter of nine due to the severe weather we had been having in our small town of SW Louisiana. His brother and sister were given away after they were weened from their mother mostly because financial reasons and because one of them took a snip at passerby (which I am positive was antagonizing the dogs on a regular basis but had no proof).

The boy grew to a young man and the pup seemed to have grown into his namesake, at least physically, filling out to be a very large golden lab mix. Beautiful dog as far as mutts go. And his mannerism was anything but having the most gentle disposition of the three. He was probably the dumbest, but he was as lovable as a dog can get. The boy and hisdog's relationship only grew and so did everyone else who crossed paths with this dog.

I was working for my dad doing onsite tech support for his Computer Systems firm and was pretty good at it. Good enough in fact that he felt he could go on a week holiday and leave me in charge. This thrill my eighteen year old self to great extent. The week went on pretty well, had all the clients taken care of and all was looking good for the weekend. The friday before our parents' return, a storm blew in... a bad one. The dogs were uncannily frightened of bad weather. It think it was mostly due to their past experiences with them. The mother and pup had both almost drown while giving birth so whenever it thundered they went hiding. You would usually find them under the dog house we created for them and usually hide together. I was running late for my only appointment on that Saturday and luckily the rain let up a little. I rushed outside did a quick check for the dogs and saw momma dog under her house as usual and assumed Bruiser to be with her. I started my car and quickly backed out of the carport only to hear the yelp of a dog. I quickly opened my door to see what had happened and saw Bruiser attempting to get out from under my car... terrified, I jumped out to help only to have the car roll by itself as I had forgot to put it in park. Further yelps and cries... I was mortified at what I had done, I quickly turn off the car. At this point it hits me that the crunching noise in my head was not me or the dog but my car door as it had rammed into the carport post. Further mortification sets in... but I focused on the life or death situation at hand.

Bruiser managed to get himself out but was dragging his backside.. not a good sign. I try to help him but in his state of mind he's not having it and snips at me. I know that I have to get him to the vet but have no way of putting him in the car. I comtemplate my options... "This is going to kill my brother..." I phone the vet only to be told they don't do house calls nor can they do surgery. Damn this backwater town. You'd figure with the number of farms and the like in the area they would have such a place.. I'm left one a last option.. one that I continue to live with this day. We only had one gun in the house and it was locked away to be used only in defense of the home. I ran inside and nearly ran into my brother. "What's going on?" he asked. As I swallowed back tears, I explained to him what happened. "I'm sorry, but I backed over Bruiser... I'm so very sorry." I think he knew one of the dogs were injured when he asked but to hear it was HIS dog.. I might as well have punched in the gut. "That's not the worst part, bro" I sadly thought to myself. "Let's call the vet," he scurried for a phone. "I already did.. there's nothing they can do for him. He's in a lot of pain. You know what we have to do." He just hung his head, "I know" "Do you want to do it?" I asked. "No, you do.. I don't think I could." And he walked back into his room silently sobbing.

I loaded the gun forcing back the river of tears trying to escape. Outside, Bruiser just laid there whimpering and yelling. He had inched his way out of the gravel driveway near the house. I stood before him and cocked a shell into the chamber of the 12 gauge, the rain has started again. Looking at him there forced a flood of tears and memories to hit me with such intensity I wasn't sure I could do it myself. The despair in his face and the yelps of pain help me resolve myself. I wiped the mixture of tears and rain, took aim and released him from his pain. I looked away from the mess to find my brother standing at the doorway watching the whole thing. I knew then that neither of us would be the same.

:: This Feels Brown

2005-07-26T10:56:00.000-07:00

I was laying next to Mrs T last night in the dark caressing her hair and had the sudden thought..
"This feels brown."
Suddenly my logical half, we'll call him Mr. Right, springs to action.
"What do you mean this 'feels brown'," he asked, "how could you possibly feel a color?"
"Just what I said, it feels brown. I'm laying here in the dark and everything is black but feeling her hair I can see it being brown."
Mr. Right scoffed. "Perposterous, her hair could be any color and it would feel the same." He was determined to set me straight.
"I don't know, I think if it were blonde or even black it would feel different. Have a different texture. I've even tried to imagine her hair blonde to see if I could fool myself even before making the statement Mr. Right and the result was the same... brown."
He fumed, "You are simply taking what you know to be true and applying it to a sense."
"Yeah, that may be true, but it still feels brown."
Flabbergasted, Mr. Right bid me good night and mumbled something about not letting me stay up so late anymore.

:: Killer Banana Milk Shakes

2005-07-25T11:48:00.000-07:00

Not that I want to give away my trade secrets or anything... but considering I'm not in the professional Milkshake Making business.. I can make an exception here.

I've been told by my fans (primarily my wife and two kids) that my Banana milkshake is "totally awesome". And while I would certainly like to pride myself on this culinary delight, I can't really take the credit for it. I got the recipe from my wife's grandmother by way of my 8 year old son. You see, he asked me to make him and his sister a banana milkshake "like gramma makes them" on one decidely hot CA day. A day where it actually hit 105 in the partial shade. I thought it was a splendid idea but had no idea how to make them like "gramma" so I asked him, "Just how does Gramma make them?" Which he replied with a seriously perplexed look on his face, "With bananas, duh!" How stupid of me.. of COURSE... BANANAS go in banana milkshakes.. it amazes me at how simple the universe can be at times. We preceded to discuss how to properly make this milkshake to Gramma's specifications and decided on the following procedures:

1 banana per person (minus the peel)
2 scoops per person of Breyer's Natural Vanilla (the vanilla beans are essential!!)
1/2 cup milk per person (more or less depending on how thick you want it)

Blend to your heart's content but I have to warn you. It MUST be Breyer's Natural vanilla. I accidentally used normal vanilla and was meet with great disdain for changing the recipe. And remember if its not Breyer's is not ice cream.*

*This is not a paid advertisement for Breyers, in fact you don't have to use Breyers but Gramma does and Gramma's typically know their shit about food. Just make sure its Natural Vanilla with the vanilla bean specks.

:: Dawn of the Weird

2005-07-20T11:10:00.000-07:00

Ok, first let me start off with some history.

Finally watched the remake of Dawn of the Dead. Very creepy, seems this type of horror is the only thing that can get my skin crawling... End of the world, hopeless, killer viruses, zombie movies (28 days later freaked me out, no joke).

There is a weapon testing lab just east of where I live (approx 10-20 miles).

There was a grass fire moving dangerously close to said lab.

I don't typically remember my dreams when I wake so remembering them is freaking in its own right

Don't remember eating anything unsettling before bed time.

Ok, now to my story.

I'm on a con call with a customer (several employees of customer actually) and a few guys from development and support discussing the current hot issue with customer. I am half way listening as its boring and my engineers are dropping in for quick questions about this and that. The conversation perks my interest when they start speaking about Zombies. Why? I guess because zombies don't usually come up in topics and because of point one above and the dream I had last night. In their context they were speaking about processes being zombied, which is where a process will appear to be running but its really just sitting there (maybe waiting for another process to come by so it can eat the innocent passerby). In my mind, I immediately replay the spotted memory of the dream I had last night (or this morning which would explain why I actually can remember most of it).

The fire spreads uncontrollably, greedily gobbling up the grassy fields of the country side.. over the hill stands the Weapons Testing Lab of Neverwhere. People scramble to fight the fire but its hopeless, in a matter of minutes the lab and last remains of the non-evacuated employees are consumed. Like all good horror flicks the supposedly impossible becomes possible. The frantic employee in charge of securing the lab's secret bioweapon facility forgets to lock down subject X43123 (Z virus). The heat and destruction releases the virus from its containment and is released. Luckily its localized to the lab. Unluckily, there is a survivor who is found and rushed to the local medical facility. Virus is then unleashed savagely upon the unaware public in a matter of hours.. meanwhile, the T family are resting cozily in their beds. For some reason I'm not there, or at least not in scene. I'm aware of it all but from a "director's" point of view. Oddly enough the kids are older, by 5-6 years. Maybe its the future and I'm dead? Anyway. Zombies flood the nearby neighborhood creating chaos... a few attack the house, immediately waking the kids and Mrs. T There are few close calls and when all seems lost, zombies breaking through the barricaded front door... a skylight appears in the ceiling and is broken through by a man dressed in a black hardshell suit.. darn it if it doesn't look like batman only not as buff.. and his mask if off showing off a head of fro-like curls.
Ok this is going from horrific to just plain weird. The stranger does a few ninja like moves and pulls out a set of nunchukas and then turns... its Napoleon Dynamite dress like batman saving my family (where I seem to be absent) from a horde of zombies.
Why I dreamed this I do not know. Any analysis would be welcome.. I can only guess that I've had a lot on my mind and these few items were on the fore front due to their proximity in my timeline of recent events. Either way, I found it very odd to not only have dreamed this but to have remembered it as well.

:: Womanese, a brief translation

2005-07-18T14:59:00.000-07:00

As I continue to explore the finer points of intercommunication, I have stumbled across what might be the biggest discovery since ebonics. There is a hidden language being used by the female gender of H. Sapiens. A language so secret that their male counterparts for centuries have yet to completely understand it. I, for the sake of this article, have dubbed it... womanese.

Here are few snippets from my journal that I have been able to translate:

"Honey, can you help me with this?"
"Honey, Can you do this for me as I'm too busy and important to belittle myself with this task."
"Are you going to the kitchen?"
"Go to the kitchen and bring me some water."
"Honey, I'm out of ideas for dinner. What would you like?"
"Take me out to dinner as the 101 things in the pantry that I could make are not doing it for me."

As you might have noticed that some speakers of womanese give hints to their secret language by prepending words of endearment to the secret message. I can only guess that this is used as a subliminal signal to the male's brain to activate the "Of Course, Dear" portion of the male's brain.

Some speakers of womanese use a different indirect approach:

"Daddy's going to give you a bath"
Give her a bath and no complaints as it was your idea
"Do you want to take her upstairs?"
Take her upstairs and make sure she rides on your back like a pony.

Here there are no markers so the listener has to be very careful to listen out for them. Typically they present themselves as suggestions on your behalf that spawn the thought: I am? Wow, she's psychic. I hadn't even had that thought yet but there she is telling it to the world. I should take her to Vegas.

I have uncovered but only the tip of this volumous discovery but by understanding even a small portion of womanese, the male gender of this species puts himself in a precarious position. He is safe if he keeps this knowledge of the language secret but runs the risk of being labeled as "understanding" his female counterpart if he uses it to his advantage. When this does occur a form of punishment is used by the female gender of this species for discovery of this knowledge. Not only is this punishment a form of torture but also serves as a method of producing memory loss. The female takes the males to a large establishment and forces the male to endure hours of walking and sitting as the female exhibits every article of merchandise in these establishments. The mind numbing effect causes a small amount of brain damage which in some cases causes memory loss of said knowledge and in most cases a pavlov effect in the male that deters him from using this knowledge to his advantage again.

With that said, please use this information with great caution and respect. The female species can be cunning, clever and ruthless if provoked. Approach with care.

:: Got a new laptop, doing a happy dance

2005-07-15T20:15:00.000-07:00

It always amazes me that for an IT company and that my department is actually revenue generating, that we always seem to get the latest hardware updates about 2-3 years too late. We get are treated like rejects even though we are the only department that meet our quarterly numbers EVERY quarter. I only got this laptop because the harddrive in my previous laptop took a dive this morning. (Right before an important conference call, to make matters worse)

So it takes me all day even after logging a critical ticket with our internal MIS first thing this morning to get this "not-quite-latest-technology-but-as-good-as-we-are-ging-to-get" laptop, but its not bad.

At least know I can sit and make a depression to match Mrs. T's on the other side of the couch.

Just thought I'd share.

:: It's a Very Brady Life

2005-07-12T11:07:00.000-07:00

Last week I talked about the GenX generation being the "outsiders" and "rejects" because of the awkward era we grew up in. Well, GenX'rs are taking another stab at the younger crowd. First we charged them top dollar for our old back-o'-the-closet clothing we wore when we were younger. Now we have devised the ultimate "See what we had to live with"/"Let's humiliate the young" revenge. This revenge manifests itself in a game show where a group of TRL wannabes are asked to come to a 70's styled house complete with State of the Art HiFi Record player/8 track and wall to wall shag carpet. Premise? To life in this Brady's styled home and live the life of a teenager in the 70's Sounds easy enough right? Ha! Not only is EVERY aspect of this house 70s (right down to the entertainment console that only plays PONG! JOY!;) ) you have to live, breath, TALK and DRESS 70's This is the "see what we had to live with" portion. The clincher on this show is that they take these newly made 70's cats into the world of tomorrow (actually today) and they have to keep up the 70's mindset and dress. HAHAHAHA, obviously this is the humilation part and I'm loving every moment of it. Its a must see! Finally a MTV show worth watching (outside of Viva La Bam, of course)! Tuesdays 10:30pm ET/PT Its Mondo-cool!

:: Inspiration for Story Time

2005-07-11T16:21:00.000-07:00

From my previous post about the sheep leaping off a cliff, Mrs T. commented:

" Ok, well it was sad, tragic and funny and mostly ironic.
Sad for the herders, tragic for the sheep...
Funny and Ironic because of today's topics...
What I want to know is, why'd the first one jump?"

Yes, my esteemed readers.. just why did the first sheep jump?

I think this calls for a creative game of "Why he do it?"

:: If your friends jumped off a cliff would you?

2005-07-11T10:49:00.000-07:00

First thanks to all my commenters on the advice about the job.
I think we are going to give a shot and see what transpires.

And now for something completely different:

As a tangent from the comment I made on GK's post, here is an odd tidbit:

Sheep herd leaps to its death

Unfortunate for the sheepherders but I can't help but laugh.

:: Mind the Gap

2005-07-08T08:52:00.000-07:00

I thought about doing a post on the tragedy that rocked London's Underground, then realized everyone was doing it. I think I'd rather have a moment of silence to remember the victims of the London bombing and also the victims of all the past terrorist attacks: WTC (9/11), Spain's Train blasts, Insurgent kidnappings and bombings in Iraq to name a few.

So if you will all gather 'round and join me in a moment of silence....

:: Too old and yet not old enough

2005-07-05T21:06:00.000-07:00

I always thought the early teens were the most awkward years of my life. The pimples, the unruly hair growth in places that didn't have hair just a couple of years earlier, the high-low of the pubescent voice, getting that funny feeling around girls. Yeah, they may be awkward but they have nothing on the mid-20's to mid-30's. The awkward years of being too old to be cool and hip and yet too young to hang out with anyone outside of this age group. Maybe its just my generation... we are the in-betweeners, the genX, baby busters. Can't relate to the baby boomers as we are the younger generation and the younger generation is like ANY younger generation, they react to us and anyone else older than 21.. "You're over 20.. you're OLD!!" So what are we GenX'rs supposed to do when in mixed crowds? We huddle. We huddle for survival. The youngsters ignore us with their arrogance that comes with youth and the baby boomers call us elitist. We can't win. Though some of us try to mix with the baby boomers and become prematurely old. Sitting in on the weekends and complaining about the noise from the neighbors. Going to the grocer and complaining about the high prices as we buy our starbucks frappaccinos and Ben and Jerry's ice cream. These are sad people... a lost people. What happened to the vibrance and energy that was associated with the GenXer's We were supposed to change the world. We saw the end of the Vietnam War, the WALL fall in Berlin, the crumble of the Soviet Union, birth of the Internet and the modern dysfunctional family. Nevermind, I think I see where our energy went.. maybe we did change the world and now we're tired. We're slackers for a reason damn it! Take that baby boomers and take heed you snot nosed kids... what we threw out as trash is what you kids call retro. We've been there, done that... and you're wearing our T-Shirt.

:: Jealousy, Camping, and the bug magnet

2005-07-02T07:50:00.000-07:00

So my wife's friend is going camping. I have to say I'm green with envy. Which is funny because she's *snicker* a gardener and gardeners have thumbs *snicker* that are... oh nevermind. I'm jealous. Why you ask? No really ask why? "Why would you be jealous" the collective asked. Well, I'll tell you and thanks for asking. Its not like I'm a serious camper, not even a once a year camper, heck, I can only remember camping one time in my life in an actual tent and it as miserable. Sure I'd been "camping" before.. but when you are a stone's throw from civilization and your tent is a 1000 sq foot cottage that's not camping. Camping is roughing it. Getting back to nature and the neanderthal workings of hunting for your food (fishing mostly), taking it back to your cave (tent) and cooking it over this new thing we discovered (fire). To go hiking and exploring... to survive on your instincts and most importantly to leave the world behind for a short time. No more people, work and the leashes we bear. Ah to be camping... Ok, now you're probably wondering, "If you like it so much why don't you just go already?!" A good question.

Enter the bug magnet, otherwise known as my wife. She is the only person I know that can douse herself in the strongest pesticides known to man and STILL get a bug bite. The two of us could be standing side by side, me clean of any sprays, oils, etc and she doused as usual... SHE will be target of the bloodsucking tyrants of the forest. And of course to top it off, she's just a tad bit allergic. Go figure.
So needless to say the extent of our camping experiences are in the single digits and involve lodges that are a short car ride to the nearest Piggly Wiggly. Now don't get me wrong, there are some hidden advantages to this... I get to do all the gardening (like to garden) and yard work (which may be machoismo of me but I think is a man's job anyway.) So I do get my nature fix but that's about the extent of it.
To her credit, she's been sporting the idea of actually going camping.. real camping but I think its more for my sake than her actual enjoyment of it. But I have yet to get any equipment out of fear that it will sit in the garage with the other artifacts of outdoor enjoyment. *Sigh* So now you can see why I would be envious of the Garden knitter. She is doing what I can only dream of doing. But I'm ok with that. I can live vicariously through her simply because my bug magnet is actually willing to put herself at the mercy of the "let's eat Mrs. T for dinner" bug club for the sake of allowing me one night/weekend of enjoyment. You can't look at that and not say, "Wow, that's great."

Maybe I'll take her up on her willingness one day, when the weather's right and she's recovered from her upcoming tonsilectomy. Who knows maybe she'll enjoy it despite the bugs and will want to make it a regular holiday for us. Right, and on that same day, I'll find the golden ticket to Will Wonka's chocolate factory. Wheeee!!

:: English Mother Fucker... Do You SPEAK It?

2005-06-30T14:51:00.000-07:00

Do you ever get the feeling that even though the words coming out of your mouth are english but are reaching the person your talking to in some other language. Sometimes I wonder. I thought that maybe I had a lisp or stammer or perhaps the words sounded English to me on the inside but were really coming out gibberish (there have been documented cases of such things, really) but I've heard my recorded voice... and to boot I get the same response from email/IM replies. The dumb look on their faces like a perplexed puppy... the actions that couldn't possibly come from someone that truly understood the concepts I was trying to relay. I sit and ponder it sometimes and all I can come up with is ... WTF?? It can only be one of two things... Either I'm a poor speaker or I speak above my audience. I spend a good portion of my life on the phone with customers. They seem to understand me ok but its highly technical and straight forward. So still could be either one.. my audience at work is on my level but there is very little room for deviation. Outside of work is where the confusion sets in. I talk, people listen, then I either get the puppy dog look/erratic behavior or I get a proper response and all is right in the world. Hmm.. looking a little more like its the audience at this point, but I could be biased.

Maybe it is a matter of intelligence level.. or rather the assumptions I make on people. I assume they understand English. I assume based on their appearance/age whether or not they can understand simple to complex concepts like time, weather, space, value of a warm beer, and arithmetic. I assume that based on their level of relation to me they will understand certain aspects/quirks about me and my life. I know they are not mind readers but when the sun rises to east and sets in the west every friggin' day for the past millions of years, you are safe to bet its going to do the same tomorrow. So with that I engage in conversation with these assumptions. And sure enough, there is a break down. I'm not direct enough, I am misunderstood, I am given the puppy dog look and I am astonished by it. Where is fault here?
At what point does my words turn to gibberish? Maybe someone already has told me why... and maybe all I did was cock my head to one side and gasp, "HUH?"

:: Finally get the bag of M&M's and all are left are the brown ones

2005-06-30T14:34:00.000-07:00

You know what my problem is? I try to hard to please everyone. This only starts a vicious cycle in my life... I try to please everyone, no one can agree on how to be pleased, frustration sets in, I blow up telling everyone to FUCK OFF, frustration subsides, and now we are back to the part where I stride to please everyone. I'm much better off being a hermit, or better yet Emperor of the world.. have some people looking after my daily wants and desires for a change. Now just need to find a way to become emperor of a small country. Thought about America but thanks to good ole Norton, we plugged that loophole up real nice.

I try to be selfish sometimes... to do what I want. It works sometimes, most times it blows up in my face. When the bag of M&M's is passed and finally finds its way into my hands... I'm always left with the brown ones and we all know the brown ones taste like crap.

:: This So Called Life

2005-06-29T21:45:00.000-07:00

Back in the early 90's (seems so far now) I attended college with the best of intentions to change the world for the better. No mountain moving, just doing my part. Had big ideas with motivation to back them up, or so I thought. Fate has a way of changing the course of your life much like a drop of water will careen down a window pane. Even when it seems set on its course, it never ends up where you expect it. A friend of mine once said "Life isn't a bowl of cherries, its a jar of ripe jalepeno peppers... what you do now could burn your ass later." Looking back on my life with this quip of wisdom in mind, I can certainly see where that is true. But you know, no matter how much that pepper may hurt, I'll be the first to eat another as soon as the swelling subsides.

:: What to say in a blog or the new psychotherapy for the masses

2005-06-29T21:30:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder how this blog craze got started anyhow? This mix of "getting it off one's chest" and voyeurism as a means of entertainment and possibly even therapy for the soul. To air one's deepest thoughts or random quip for all or none to see. Yeah, me neither.

:: Free Guiness Tomorrow

2005-06-29T21:19:00.000-07:00

Probably one of the best adverts I've seen on the side of a pub in a while. The promise of a warm Guiness all for the easy going price of the excercise to drag your happy arse up to the bar. Alas today is not tomorrow and we soon find out Tomorrow never comes because yesterday's tomorrow is today. Oh the vicious cycle of time. Oh Annie makes a good show of it by making it all seem like the best thing since plasma screen televisions with the sun coming out and all... but you can't escape the fact that thinking about tomorrow only makes today drag like molasses. Damned if a free guiness sure doesn't sound like heaven, right? Well, since you're there you might as well have a pint anyhow yeah? We'll try for that piece of heaven again "tomorrow". That'll be £3 please.