X-MAS

Ah, Christmas time. Even through my persevering lack of Christianity, I do enjoy X-Mas. This year was my first Christmas away from home, which was sad. It was made easier, however, by spending time with my fabulous friend and roommate, Tiffany. I wasn't bombarded with the constant, "feel sorry for me, I hate X-Mas, I need to ruin everything" negativity I had to deal with in L.A. last season. We made fun little plans and had Tiffany's uncle and his friend over for the holiday.

Tiffany and I made a turkey, which turned out wonderfully! We also made mashed potatoes, artichoke dip, salad and white chocolate peppermint cheesecake. Tiff's uncle brought homemade Mac and Cheese.

We decorated the apartment with stockings and lights. This table cloth we got on sale at Target added 5 years (in a good way) to our apartment. Even with the sun streaming through the window and the lack of snow there were moments when you did realize the fact that it was the end of December; a cold month.

I've been cold. But it shames me to mention it.

My family had a nice X-Mas it seems. They had 25 people over and did their traditional gift exchange. I've been promised pictures.

Other than that, things have been fine. We shoot our webisode the 11^th. Fernando insists there is a way to make it an actual TV-show, but I still have yet to see that. Not because I don't like it… I don't know. Short little bits, short and tasty little bits is the way I always saw it, so it's hard to change my view.

Again, things are good here. Still waiting for some things to come in the mail, but that is pretty common this time of year.

Me, online

Woe is me and possibly you…

Why such a down and dramatic title? Ah, pity me, pity me. This is how I do seek your attention for I have nothing else to offer other than my tragedy.

No. That's not moi…

I'm basically moved. There were some snags; things that shan't be mentioned. The new place is gorgeous and this makes me smile. The muscles that work a smile are sore from lack of use. You can fake it but sincere ones use more than half smiles partly pulled up with fingers.

If I say to the doctor, "I am not pregnant" and they still make me take a pregnancy test, should I be offended? I think so. I'm pissed. I want revenge.

Wood floors are wonderful. Sunlight is great. I think Angel the vampire was suffering from Seasonal Affective Disorder because he couldn't go outside. He should have bought one of those lamps that make the fake sunlight. Poor guy; his brooding could have been stopped.

I'm not pregnant, happy to say. I knew this already. Could have saved the lab some time…

The end.

Have you seen this girl?

Last seen in Van Wert, Ohio in 1994.
Some witnesses speculate that Taryn was abducted - only to discover she was actually home. Others believe her love of video games encouraged her to move under the earth to beat the Zelda and Final Fantasy series without interruption.
Still, the most common theory is that she was deemed "too beautiful to look upon" by the out-of-work gods of Greek mythology and taken up.
The most outlandish claims place her in L.A., in the land of "beautiful people". These witnesses were given a tox screen...

Eugene and the Sun Tanned Dragons

Or, more conveniently abbreviated to "The STD's" as Robert pointed out. Thanks Robert.

My band.

This band was started in Minnesota in my 17^th/18^th year of life. It has never actually performed… with me in it. Matt stole the name once and had the nerve to invite me to the show.
The plan originally was to perform at the talent show. I invited in Staubs, Asli, Nicole and Caroline I think. Oh, and Becky and Amy. They all invited in more friends until the band reached around 17 people… I then disbanded the band. The purposely hideous lyrics I had written were not meant to be sung by a chorus; it would have been like too many people telling a joke and then the joke gets lost and gets irritating. No, Caroline, myself and Asli were going to sing, Staubs would do the drums, Becky on the trumpet, Amy on the flute, Caroline doing some guitar as well, and Nicole was going to stand in between two cardboard cut outs of dragons and represent the male name of Eugene. Terrible, but in a good way.

Now the thought is to bring back the STD's with Robert, Matt and me. Robert would like his stage name to be "Flameshine Syphilis". I don't know what mine will be, Moonpower Crabs? I'll let Matt come up with his own, though I like "Starbright Chlamydia".

I've already picked out the album cover:

What genre of music are we going to perform? Why can't we tackle them all? Tackle them all and mush them together in a body bag.

Things are swell

I haven't posted here in a bit...

I am excited to report that I have a new place to live and a new roommate. We move in December 1^st to the lovely land of Sherman Oaks. We've got wood floors, ample closet space, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, air conditioner in each room and living room, brand new stove, dishwasher and built in microwave… all for more than my mother pays on her house. Ah, California. If we are allowed to paint then I am going to paint; grand, grand plans.

I signed for this myself, which was a big deal considering mother has been managing student loans and other expenses since I was a wee one. Sure, I got the place on my own in Duluth… but that is Duluth. The L.A. area is not as friendly and not as inclined to give you a place based on your vibe. I got this based on credit, more concrete than my vibe. The sites to check credit are more reliable, you don't run across many apartment complexes with a staff palm reader.

Tiffany, my roommate to be, has been getting me out more. I went to a great party with Middle Eastern food last night. There was fun music with some Jewish folk dances. I danced, good for me. Tiffany told me I had to dance because I "looked like those people". This is also why I am going to start taking Spanish lessons because I occasionally "look like some of those people too"?

My current book is moving along well. Things are rather positive here. My mom may fly out for the next weekend to help me pack and get ready. It will be nice to see her again, especially since I am not sure if I will have time home for X-Mas if I switch jobs.

Right, personal update blogs always seem so clumsy to me. I've fulfilled my obligations of talking about me. I promise to post something completely unrelated next.

Omnia mors aequat

I lost a friend today. I am aware that this friend was a bad influence, but it doesn't make the pain any less. It was my choice to put caffeinated grinds in there, I could have gone the decaf route, I did not want to. My pal here paid for my overuse.
I love you. There is no doubt in my mind that I loved you and still love you.
I love you.

Dreams

My dreams reveal so much to me. I am the powerful sorceress my ego tells me I am, just only while unconscious.

Last night, I spoke with dragons, gold dragons and their red brother. Some of you know that red dragons are evil but this brother hadn't been told that and thought he just looked a bit different. The dragons were the last line of defense against golems and wraiths. They were the last line of defense… along with me. My brother Matt was there to punch the baddies, but he apparently does not have the magical abilities that I have. The dragons and I chilled in a cave while Matt fought for his life. They were good times.

My fingers and toes do tingle quite a bit during the day, I thought they were just falling asleep, but in reality they are recharging for another night of battling evil.

Not a Martyr

There is this overdramatic breed of woman that just turns my stomach and causes me to feel anxiety. Everything is a tragedy, everything is a big deal, every act they do takes them one step closer to martyrdom. Please… get there… and shut up.

So, without my coffee or Rockstar, I do get a bit on the lackadaisical side. Yes, sometimes I scurry about full of unease… but these are special times. What is the lifespan of these women mentioned above? They'll bemoan this fact too, but they won't seek to change it because it would give them something less to complain about.

Woe, woe is the day they are not pitied or paid some mind to because these are the days we all pity ourselves for having to hear it.

A sacrifice is not a sacrifice if you sing out the details loud enough for everyone to try and come to your aid. "Poor me! Poor me!" is not the battle cry of the hero you claim to be.

Pain over Mask of the Betrayer

For those of you who don't want details of Mask of the Betrayer revealed to you then do not read this entry:

I feel loss. After journeying from level 1 to level 20 with several special friends I had hoped to continue a long relationship with them. Sure, the ending of Neverwinter Nights 2 was sad… the roof collapsed… everyone presumed dead – but I still had HOPE! That hope was destroyed upon playing the expansion.

They're dead. They are dead. Yeah, I know. Ammon lives… Khelgar lives… Neeshka, maybe? Sand, maybe? Grobnar – GONE. My love interest, Cassivir, broke his back, DEAD. Others, M.I.A – presumed dead. 40 some hours of game play causes you to get attached to people. It wasn't even their fight, it was my fight.

My survivor's guilt has really got a stranglehold at the moment.

I would have preferred their company to the new batch of NPCs I was forced to journey with in MOTB. Just because you go epic doesn't mean you have to lose all fun. The few bits of humor actually came from mention of the original NPCs. My character is going through a difficult time, fatally cursed, and she's not given her trusty support group?! No one understands her pain; she's got to waste game time to explain past history! At least in BG2 you've got friends from the first game who are there at your side to help you through your journey of self discovery and possible self loathing, imagine if Minsc and Boo had not been there? Nothing here. I had to start from scratch and that wasn't fair, that's stressful. And at the end, sure, the originals are mentioned again, briefly, but we get no movies with them! They don't talk to us; there is no emotional reunion with my character's foster father. So unsatisfying.

I want to send out some love to my former companions since my in game character seemed to airbrush them from her memory! Sand, you were my favorite, thanks for the wit and proving me innocent at my murder trial. Shandra, thank you for bleeding to death in order to free the demons and devils so we could defeat Ammon and ultimately have him replace you. Grobnar, thanks for the songs, thanks for your spunk, the Wendersnaven, thanks for building that golem. Bishop, thanks for your cruel honesty; sometimes we all have to make hard decisions. Zhaeve, thanks for being a good listener and knowing so much. Elanee, you were pretty dull but I thank you for being so because it balanced out the party. Neeshka, you were so much more than a tiefling – you were a rogue too. Khelgar, thanks for your loyalty, thanks for being the stereotypical dwarf we all come to expect. Qara, what can I say except I actually forgot to mention you in here the first time I wrote it. Ammon, thanks for hastening Shandra's death, it made the moment more poignant. Cassivir, thank you for being chivalrous and hopefully a good lay for my character, Gann in MOTB wasn't as dear to me as you – even though my character married him; he caught me on the rebound.

All the best my friends. All the best.

What could be more lame?

Look what I have done with PAINT. Oh! I have had so much fun. A pity I don't have more pictures of Mike and Eamonn so I can elf-ify them.

Fernando is a vampire, I think he looks quite dashing!!!!!!!!!!

And me.

Adjust your ability scores accordingly, I am now much more dexterous but not as hardy. Fernando can no longer go out during the day or he will burst into flame... But it is a small price to pay for how cool we now look.

The Star-Spangled Banner

I say this as delicately as possible… there is no room for woodwinds or strings in the Star-Spangled Banner.

I firmly believe that this is a brass, snare, and bass drum song.

It's a shame, this is a nation that would like to boast itself founded on equality, yet we have a national anthem that cannot function on that principle. I am in no way advocating changing the national anthem to "America the Beautiful" like my mother and so many others. Bah! I would move if we changed national anthems, especially to "America the Beautiful".

I am saying we simply need to restrict the instruments who participate in saluting our country. Yes, this is cruel but it is just.

The pain I am caused when I hear "And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air" played by clarinets and flutes is nearly unbearable. It's laughable, what sort of bombs are these that are represented by the upper register? 4^th of July firecrackers? PATHETIC! Shameful little bottle rockets, we have nuclear weapons for Christ's sake!

LOW BRASS. LOW BRASS AND BASS DRUM. This should be the core of the Star Spangled Banner.

Fuck woodwinds.

Do you think woodwinds command respect? No, they do not, not from me anyway.

What America needs is respect, we've lost this.

Low brass can help us bring it back. Low brass with a healthy sprinkling of trumpet.

Go red, white, and blue!

Ah, Hugh Jackman

For a time there I had thought myself devoid of all passion. No naughty dreams of forbidden trysts helped me pass the 8 hours of recommended sleep time. My nights were dull, both in reality and imaginary.

Then, on Perez Hilton's blog, I saw posted a picture of the most beautiful but still manly creature that inhabits this planet – Hugh Jackman. The broad shoulders, those arms, that face… THE CHEST HAIR.

-Oh my God! The chest hair!

Allow me to curl my fingers in it and I would have touched something more fine than spun gold.

-Oh my God!

But I shall not, for Hugh is married with a family. Such a happy thing for him causes such pain for me. I would not seek to break up that union because that would crush the gentlemanly view I have of Hugh. I can only sigh and think - had I been but born earlier and born in Australia that man could have been mine.

-Oh my God!

Blood does not pump through Hugh's veins – Testosterone does.

Hugh should be given much orange juice and sent to the blood bank weekly… he would save so many men.

Tragedy

Know your lakes and rivers, maybe there is a reason you don't get any bites. Take the time to interview the wild life, what are their likes and dislikes? You don't make dinner before asking your guest what they want - you shouldn't kill dinner for your guest before asking your prey what sounds good to them. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Yes...

I am working on it again.

Wonderful to hear

Fernando said something that was so simple... yet so beautiful at the same time,

"I promise you, that guy will never get laid again, by any girl, for as long as he lives."

That would give me more satisfaction than I ever got in the past.

Who knows phone numbers anymore?

How many times a day do I text or call Marg or Fernando? A lot. So often, I only have to press one number. Intimate. Or is it?

I don't know their phone numbers.

I have to wonder, does this failure to commit their digits to memory indicate a lack of commitment on my part? Is that same level of devotion there when you make the call if you didn't really physically have to make the call?

I wonder.

If everyone's SIM cards were erased would we still be a functioning society? We'd be wracking our brains trying to remember if Mom's number was 9735 or 9375. I don't know work's number. I don't know your number.

I'm going to try though, but I will start slow - 20 numbers to begin with.

Margherite and Fernando, I am memorizing your phone numbers. Know the next time I call that I put in more effort than the average person.

A writing group takes shape...???

Good news for me and the world; part of the class is reuniting... maybe.
Talks of a writing group are underway. I am excited, so excited. There are no exclamation points, but trust me, the high emotion is there in spirit.
The proposed group at the moment consists of Marg, Mike, Fernando, Eamonn and myself.
I'm going to be so bold as to talk about The Beatles here for a moment. I liked The Beatles as the The Beatles... individually however, I liked them less. Talent needs to be kept in check. Talent needs people looking out for it. Sure, John, Paul, George and Ringo had some hits after but not as consistently as they did when they were a family. Sure, Mike may write some good shit in the next few years - but wouldn't it be better with my input?
(The arrogance here is meant to be comedic.)
But I look forward to this! I've missed my friends ripping apart my projects. I've missed returning the favor.
Much love.

Plato said: "Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something."

There are people who are seemingly experts on everything. They talk… and they talk… and they talk about things they know very little about – but they're often good talkers so people don't catch on. The worst part is they often believe they are correct, they believe so strongly their thoughts can work a magic, (sort of like that mutant in X2 who had Xavier fooled with his illusionary world), and the weak minded or ignorant say, "Oh yes, you are so smart." And, often the smart are also polite and so they don't correct, they just stand there in awkward silence and silently think about how this person is a moron… but that person never knows because the smart often don't have the special powers that mutant possessed to get that fact across without speaking.

A pity.

Sometimes too, the smart realize that the "incorrect expert" has major self esteem issues and to constantly point out their many blunders would harm this person. Sometimes the smart also have self esteem issues and so they don't know if they can overpower this person who believes they are above the facts.

No one is above the facts.

Occasionally too, the incorrect expert uses a family member's position to bolster the bullshit in their long-winded mistakes. It's a shame because, "My mother, the doctor" certainly wouldn't want you telling people that women age worse than men because they "put a lot of stuff on their face". It's the hormones, dipshit.

Silence is golden, and when you're in the presence of one of these people, silence is like a rare blue diamond you wish would occur in nature more often.

The 10th of September

A little over a year ago I was fortunate enough to begin class and school with some wonderful people… Some of them are still wonderful.
For the people that remained wonderful, I give them permission to treat themselves to something I would approve of…
Video games, swimming, taking the time to pet a cat – these are approved treats; after a year they should know the approved list. I don't like vodka, I don't like tequila, no "Friends" marathons – icky icky icky.
Everyone should take pride in their talent. We are an eccentric bunch, people are going to look at us oddly, and people are going to question our ambitions, motives, and perceived realities. Don't take it to heart – because, if you're being honest with yourself at the moment, you know that the people who shake their heads at you are the same people you normally view as idiots... and call idiots, under your breath.

There are so many idiots.

Best of luck to all of my friends.

Procrastination

This has to be some sort of illness. It causes irritability, perceived fatigue, OCD like behavior, distractibility… It targets no specific race, gender or age group – it likes to gut us all of our ambition.

Where is my stomach for this hard work in front of me?

Ah, it is on the floor.

Alas.

Shorts, Webisodes, Screenplays, Musicals, Novels…

…And video games – playing them. This is what I've had my hands doing lately. It's no surprise that the progress on each has been slow. These projects need a bit of monogamy and I apparently lack the maturity or devotion to give it to them. Thankfully, none of them have left me yet.

I figured it was perhaps time to write a blog about what I've been doing; something that relates to my actual life instead of sporadic Britney support and an imaginary war.

We finish filming on one of my shorts tomorrow. I'm excited to see how it turns out. I think it is well cast, my dialog isn't easy to spit out and they spit it out without it being disgusting. Bravo. So many screenwriters have mentioned that people new to the trade neglect getting a reel together, they seem to think it's only necessary for actors, directors, and producers. I suppose it does make sense for a writer to prove that their work is actually filmable.

After this I hope to get the long put off Webisodes completed. Fernando seems impatient as Fernando often does. It's a good crew with friends Karen and Aaron on board. Karen is not your typical director as she lacks an ego and is open to suggestions. Fernando and Aaron both were graced with beautiful eyes… something that doesn't really play into the webiside… but I thought about them none-the-less. We have discussed ways in which to make use of the beautiful eyes, Karen and I, something that seems to make Fernando and Aaron a bit embarrassed, maybe it's the wording – "Beautiful", "lovely", "and gorgeous". I'm sorry; their eyes do not encourage the masculine equivalents to roll off my tongue.

After the webisodes I have another short idea, likely with Fernando again in a starring role. Karen again will likely direct or DP or something. It's an exclusive club, this filmmaking group I hang with. Membership requires you to have weekends open… every now and then.

Shorts however, do not make money. They can get you attention with the hope that the attention will bring you money, but they themselves are sort of money pits. This is why I must finish my feature length screenplays. But damn - this is easier said than done; which is a shame as I have people interested in reading my finished screenplays. If I could light a fire under my own feet I would, but my soles are much less flammable after escaping MN winters and I haven't the motivation to find the correct kindling.

Then of course, there is the musical… which is mainly a distraction. Get stuck on a sequence - work on the musical. But don't really work on the musical, simply pound out a few passable melodies, declare them shit and wonder how three hours passed. Sigh.

The novel. The novel is something that I have been working on sincerely. I did major changes, major rewrites to avoid any future problems down the road in case it is ever published. You don't want people demanding credit for your work, even if you simply bounced ideas off of them.

My mind has been more active than it has been in years. It's a fabulous experience to wake up after a long period of hibernation. You still wonder what you did during those years, where the extra weight came from, but it's nice to be up. I'm up, I'm happy.

Yes, I do feel let down.

I can't say I was moved by Brit-Brit's VMA performance last night - maybe because Britney hardly moved? I was confused after all of the reports that there would be MAGIC! Britney's past VMAs plus MAGIC! seemed to imply there would be a fun time for all. For a comeback after major trials you would want there to be fun for all.

It was fun for no one, except perhaps Britney haters, a category I myself often fall into. Not last night though, I was genuinely disappointed. Whatever illusion Britney hoped to cast herself, in her sequined bikini - she no longer had the skill, or the confidence. I think Britney's previous fame was largely due to her confidence. In normal photos Brit was never the prettiest of the bunch, her singing ability was never where it should be for one of her stardom, but on stage she could grab you with this drive and this energy that made you watch. Regardless of whether you thought her good or not - you watched. I would watch and then bitch afterwards.

She was bad last night. This was a high school talent show – without the talent – opening that was to symbolize the megastars who get our money in exchange for entertainment. She did not represent, she has invited more resentment from the public and fellow performers. Does she deserve this? Maybe, if the reports of her partying out until 3am the morning of the show are true. Maybe, if one considers the undeserved hype created by the promise of MAGIC! Maybe, if one considers how long she's been dancing and performing.

Britney is not Britney anymore. Maybe she's Brittany? I don't know. She has a divorce and an annulment under her belt now. She has two children. She has a breakdown, possible substance abuse problem to deal with. She isn't Britney Spears. The woman is not fat, not any way close to fat like the gossip columns cruelly stated, but does she look like she devotes the needed time to dancing and performing that she used to? No.

She needs to. She's not a singer, she is a performer. She did not perform. She did not deliver a comeback; she delivered us more reasons to question her past fame.

Did she kill her career? I don't know if that is possible in America; with so many people there is no accounting for taste and no way to enforce good taste. If she wanted to she could likely return, but I don't know if any person has the strength to return after so many public humiliations. Maybe beneath this drugged – possibly manic character there is a reservoir of determination that has been cut off.

If she taps into it she will have my respect. I will never say she's a good singer, but I will say she has more courage than most.

The battle part 7

This is a development I did not expect... love? Love. The winged small dog and the pink puffy fluffy ballet dancing thing are in love. It's sincere - you can tell from the clouds. Though, the grey color may spell doom. No, it doesn't, I can't quite shape the hearts in such a way to spell it - but 4 clouds, 4 letters.

What's to be done? Surely this cliche event will have some sort of part in the death and destruction to come. I would hope. A battlefield proposal? A romantic desertion? We'll see. Stay tuned...

Mammals – Treachery since the Dawn of Time

Recently, there was an article about the cause of the meteorite that ended the lives of our friends, the dinosaurs. RIP brothers and sisters. If you want to check it out there's the link, otherwise, the gist is two asteroids collided between Mars and Jupiter. They made a big mess and some of their pieces made their way to your… our home planet of Earth.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20070905/sc_nm/asteroid_dinosaurs_dc

It seems straight forward enough - the cosmos wreaked havoc upon our fragile little ecosystem. Open and shut case, the perfect murder. Does anyone else wonder if this space collision was a little too convenient?

Since the days of Tonya Harding there has been a special way to deal with competition that proves to be too much competition for you. Damage a knee cap, cut some brake lines, a bit of poison in a cup… maybe even a well placed meteorite?! I don't want to jump to any conclusions, I'm just thinking out loud.

You've got the dinosaurs hanging around for 165 million years. They're hot shit, life is great for them, and they've got the advantage of size and strength. Mammals, what do they do? They scurry about, little, hairy. There's no pride among their ranks, no cool names like Tyrannosaurus Rex, Shuvuuia, Bambiraptor, or Chinshakiangosaurus. Do we squeal with delight upon seeing the skeleton of an early mammal? No, we squint to try and make out all the tiny bones and then move on to the dinosaur exhibit. It's a shame, but that's how it is. That's how it was. The mammals knew there was little chance of usurping the thunder lizards – with their superior brains - they knew this. What were they to do, launch a massive ankle biting campaign of irritation? They didn't have the resources for that.

On a starry night a group of early mammals gathered together, pooled their brain power, (thankfully they reproduced quickly so there were many brains), and, harnessing the power from a nearby volcano, launched into space an object that looked much like a squirrel of today. Much like drivers of today who are loath to run over small creatures, asteroids are no different. An asteroid swerved to avoid the squirrel and ran into another asteroid.

Kaboom.

It wasn't just the luck of being warm blooded and smaller that let the mammals survive, it was ADVANCED WARNING. They had stockpiled food, planned escape routes, set up ancient Red Cross tents to make it through this planned tragedy. There was no chance for the dinos; survivors were turned away from mammal run hospitals on account of race issues. Mammal doctors claimed to not understand T-Rex anatomy, they could offer no aid. Death.

A pity. A shame. Can we even make amends? What would we say? I'm open to suggestions there about in what way to present this apology. A simple "I'm sorry" Hallmark card will not work, I'd be embarrassed to even mail it.

So, should we sweep this under the rug like so many issues we all care not to address? For the time being, perhaps. I think the time limit on apologies has run out here, and for one, I'm not about to take responsibility for something relatives who have made such little effort to get to know me have done.

Do I?

No, I can't say that I do. Did I? I did not.

How can I say that?

Just a lucky communication between brain, lungs, vocal chords and tongue I suppose – that is how I can say that. It's not too hard; try it out.

I rarely admit to anything of a serious nature but that does not mean you should take my declarations any less seriously.

So - I don't think so.

That means "no" in a half assed sort of way.

With some people, in-between statements like, "I don't know", "We'll see", etc. are more solid answers than "Yes" and "No". Nobody wants to hurt anyone's feelings and definitive answers always make you think, make you feel, make you second guess more than, "Maybe", which usually means "no".

No.

Oh, now I feel bad. Shit. I guess I'll do it.

It's me... and Nick

Oh yeah, here's a picture of me from a few days ago when Nick and my mother and Bill visited me out in Cali. I can't get the photo editor profile thing to work. I've followed the rules, it won't work. I might try to follow the rules not at 5am in a few days, see if that goes better. Really, this place still sort of baffles me, locating people, uploading some stuff, but I think it's because I attempt all of those things at inappropriate times.

The hole in the wall

Look, there behind my dear Fernando's head - a hole. How did this hole get there? I didn't do it. Fernando didn't do it. Margherite didn't do it. My mother said to me, "It looks like a fist". You're right Mom, it sure does. Who put their fist through this wall? Perhaps there is a clue on the T.V? Fernando is giving a thumbs-up sign, I am on the right track.

A space man on the Little Europe set!!!??? Is Europe a clue? Fernando's thumbs-up lead me to believe... YES. This further clears Fernando's name from the list of suspects because Fernando is Mexican and last I checked Mexico was not in Europe.
Thumbs-up, I'm still right. Good work, Claire.

I feel like there are more clues here if we just look harder. I'm going to send this out to the lab and see what they make of it all.

Here, it's back.

On closer inspection there appears to have been a flag drawn on the front of the T.V. This is not the U.S. flag I believe.

Fernando backs me up on this; we are not green, white, and orange.

I can only assume this was a foreign act of aggression on my patriotic American walls. Damn those terrorists and their offensive sayings like "Coolaboola"!

Coolaboola, green, white and orange, that's England right?

No... Fernando's thumbs seem less enthusiastic.
Scotland? I think I saw the thumbs dip an inch.

Ireland? Yes, Fernando says yes!

I was close, they're all the same place.

I'm going to send this back to the lab one more time, see if they can find anything else. All I know right now was it was likely an Irishman from Europe and that doesn't give me much to go on.

Look hard:

You're kidding me. "I did it. - Eamonn". I didn't even know that was an Irish name, I'm shocked.
Fernando from Mexico agrees, he's shocked.

If I didn't know any better I'd say Eamonn, an authentic Irishman, punched through my wall.
... If you say so, Fernando, let's not be too hasty.

But maybe I'm reading this wrong. Maybe this wasn't a terrorist attack and "coolaboola" isn't terrorist lingo. Maybe this is artistic expression, sort of a rejection of rectangular framed, colorful paintings; instead, we have this concave, round, hole of blackness. Yes, it's art, which would explain why Eamonn signed his name in such bold green letters. He's proud. I'm proud too to have it in my wall. I won't take it down because I can't take it down. I'll let it remain; a monument to a good-natured friend who is probably feeling a bit pissed off right now, but maybe feels a bit more manly as he pats his fists of steel. ARTIST.

Fernando agrees.

A most thoughtful package

My dear brother Matt was kind enough to put together for me a package of much care and creativity, complete with "Clare, patron saint of T.V" and Tallulah, a hopping bug that sticks to windows if you so desire. Also, a Pat Robertson and friends coloring book... should I make Jesus a blonde? It seems like it'd be appropriate for this book.

That my bro took the time to find these little oddities along with nice jewelry, a cool chest, as well as exotic and magical liquor is touching. I don't know if I've ever had a gift as cool as this before.

I can't even find something sarcastic to say about it. Matt, you've reduced me to sincerity. Thank you. I love you.

Queen

I've begun listening to Queen again. I took a break after all of the music on my last computer was erased after a freak mother accident. All of my albums… deleted… why hold on to hard copies when they're all safely stowed away in the digital land? The barriers between this world and that are not as strong as we'd like to believe, I know this now.

Anyway, Queen. Lyrically weak… weak… weak. Musically too sometimes, in terms of overall continuity… occasionally they faltered, not weak - just, lapses in judgment. I love them, don't get me wrong. I love them, but loving without being realistic and acknowledging flaws is an unhealthy love.

They all said they hated writing lyrics but they didn't want anyone else to do it. I get it. I understand. They're committed to their musical children from first note to last refrain, it's noble… but, it takes a village to raise a child. Where were social services?

I guess it makes sense that Queen was so popular in non-English speaking countries. Ooo, forgive me. If you have only a basic understanding of English and then you're introduced to the power of Freddie Mercury's voice along with the skill Queen had when playing their instruments you can forgive lyrics like:

One day you'll be a Sergeant Major
Oh you'll be so proud
Screaming out your bloody orders
Hey but not too loud
Polish all your shiny buttons
Dressed as lamb instead of mutton
But you never had to try
To stand out from the crowd

You can forgive it if English isn't your first language. If it is then no, you can't forgive, you can just ignore/be in denial. This one too:

Ooh, music is playing in the darkness
And a lantern goes swinging by
Shadows flickering
My heart's jittering
Just you and I

Not tonight
Come tomorrow
When everything's sunny and bright (sunny and bright)
No no no
Come tomorrow
'Cos then we'll be waiting for the moonlight

Yeah, don't know about that one either.

But then I sort of like:

I wonder when we're gonna make it
I wonder when we're gonna shake it
Rock me baby rock me
C'mon you can shock me
Let's catch on to the groove
Make it move, make it move
Yeah, you know how to shake that thing
We'll work it, work it, work it
You and I can play ball baby
You and me got staying power yeah yeah
Yeah, you and me we got staying power

Which Nick might tell you are crap… maybe Nick likes the other crap previous to this, I don't know. Do you like that other crap, Nick? Maybe it's just the funk.

Regardless, Queen got away with these lyrics thanks to the vocal powers, yes, powers, of Freddie Mercury and the kick assery of Brian May's guitar playing, Roger Taylor's blonde hair and drum pounding, and John Deacon's steady bass. They were basically an athlete who muscled their way through the competition because technically they were a bit weak. Yeah, I agree with that.

It's unfair for me to say, "They should have done this, and maybe tweaked this, and certainly not said this." But I still say it. The good part about Queen was that even when they lacked in one area of a song there was always an outstanding quality to pick it up. "You Take My Breath Away" lyrically - eh, vocally – outstanding. "Death on Two Legs" lyrically – eh, vocally – okay, musically – pretty cool. When Freddie was on who cared what came out of his mouth as long as it was high pitched and heartfelt and possesed that rare quality of sort of being neither male nor female. My mother has a tactic when she doesn't know the lyrics perfectly to a song; she replaces every word with "Bum bum." Could Cheryl be right in this approach?

Let's see how that works for "Don't Try So Hard":

Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum, bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum bum
Bum bum bum bum bum bum

Bridge… more bum bums… then

OHHHHHHH, don't try so hard
OHHHHHHH, don't take it all to heart.
It's only fools, they make these rules
Don't try so hard
Don't try so hard
Don't try so hard.

Big improvement. See, if they simply had taken their own advice and not tried so hard on lyrics and used the "bum bum" method I think I would have understood more often, they wouldn't have had to worry about lyrics and the non-English speakers would have still been happy. Win win. Nice work Mom.

The battle part 6

The colorful tortoises new undead army has certainly backfired. Religious insects have heard about the unholy abominations and have taken up the crusade to the side of the pink puffy fluffy ballet dancing things. They arrived just in the nick of time too, the goldfish with large knives gave their all on the way to the war - martyrs... heroes... let's have a moment of silence for the goldfish with large knives.
Insects are good at bringing devastation to crops and ruining camping trips but can they really tip the balance of the war that will soon happen in maybe three more drawings? Stay tuned...

The battle part 5

So the pot-bellied, baseball cap wearing snake discovered the ancient ritual of summoning Jack-0-lanterns with guns, I had thought that power had been lost over the centuries; I guess he looked in a different public library than I did.

One tortoise celebrates along with Mike the Mouse and a winged dog who has the ability to create rainbows - a nasty trick. Their celebrations are premature however. Jack-o-lanterns with guns may seem deadly... maybe more deadly than goldfish with large knives, but let's examine the opposing troops...

Fish can swim - hollowed out pumpkins cannot, they may float for a time but eventually water will splash into their hollow mouths and noses and they get too heavy and sink.

Jack-o-lanterns are comfortable with fire... maybe even masters - fish rarely encounter fire as they are under the water which is not fire friendly.

Fish can breath in water - jack-o-lanterns don't have to breath... in fact... I just realized something -

Jack-o-lanterns are pumpkins off the vine... they are dead. We are dealing with a new regiment of undead soldiers!!! The tortoises have enlisted unsavory new allies... I have a feeling this may tip the balance in the marauding pink puffy fluffy ballet dancing things favor. Stay tuned.

Battle part 4

I knew that pot-bellied, baseball cap wearing snake had something up his sleeve! We see now that the cohorts of the colorful tortoises are doing a special, magical dance to summon some sort of powerful beast. The flightless crows are decked out in fancy hats and beads, Mike the Mouse plays a drum, a winged dog drops an offering of booze into the enchanted fire and the pot-bellied snake offers up an ancient song to request aid from the world beyond this one. The bad part... corn has increased from $5 to $7.50. Who knows when they will have time to return to the fields, so I agree with this price increase. Savor the corn, it could be their last meal... Stay tuned.

Dreams

I guess I'm afraid of elephants. I said it. People know.

Two nights ago, in a dream, elephants burned down my apartment with my family inside. I think we escaped through a trap door, I think. We couldn't get off by the roof because the elephants had teamed up with Harpies and they were waiting for us.

I didn't like that. I guess if there is an animal that could handle fire it would be an elephant. Their trunk can hold the flame a safe distance from their body, their ears can fan out and keep the snuffing power of the wind at bay. Why hadn't I realized this before? I was too focused on nature shows I had seen where elephant handlers were thrown or had their heads ripped off by their elephant students. Don't know why I was so focused on that; I was limiting myself.

I know now though, that they could rip apart my body and then set it on fire if they got the urge.

Babar and Dumbo - stay away.

Lessons Learned From Oblivion

I picked up a new video game a while back to relieve stress. There is something satisfying about coming home after a bad day of work and just sticking your longsword into a group of bandits. I don't know what they stole, whom they robbed or violated but they're titled "bandit" when I run my cursor over them and for this they deserve death. I'm playing Oblivion, sequel to the popular Morrowind. I thought for a long time that I was simply wasting time by playing but I had a change of heart one day when I considered the "Hints" that popped up on screen as a new setting loaded. These hints for the game also provided me with hints for everyday life, things I have put into practice and have benefitted from.

"People don't like it when you talk to them with your weapon drawn."

Damn. I had no idea. I don't carry around a longsword and shield in real life - but I do carry a large war-axe. I took note of the hint and the next day I shoved as much of the axe blade as possible into my purse when I approached a person for a chat. The chat went well, I'd say there was a 20% improvement over the last chat I had. I now carry around a cover for my blade, like one of those things you slip over the top of golf clubs, mine looks like Catbert from the Dilbert comics. People respond better to Catbert than the axe.

"People like you less when you make them an offer they refuse."

I put too much faith in the maturity of the masses. You can't get everything you want, agree to disagree, and all that jazz. If I offer you the chance to buy me dinner, be glad that I thought you might have the money. Don't be angry I expected you to shell out the money. It's the thought that counts and you're focusing on the wrong thought I had; it was the other, more positive one. So I've stopped making "offers" and have switched completely to threats and demands. People respond a lot faster and there's no more fear about them liking me less for petty reasons, now they have justification.

"People don't like it when you take their things, watch what you pick up."

Now I'm told. What's the point of having things but to show them off and you can't show them off by keeping them to yourself. When I was younger and I complained about my brothers "borrowing" something I was told, "Well then, keep it in your room next time." It should still apply today. The teachings of childhood should carry over. This is where we should have our parents' code of morality beat into our heads, (though, I've heard some Christians thank Jesus for teaching them "right from wrong" during their confirmation, around 13 or 14 years old, filthy little thieves all of them before Jesus.) Keep your things in your bedroom. I gave Oblivion's advice a shot however, I didn't take the laptop in front of the woman in the library, I didn't take the roll of receipt paper from the clerk in the store, and you know what… nobody noticed. Nobody thanked me for not taking things. I'd be even more upset and discouraged if it wasn't an improvement over being arrested. This one I'm not so sure about but the other two worked.

All in all, my life has been enriched. Besides these life lessons, I've learned how to respect and interact with people of other races, Orcs, Dunmer, Bosmer, the list goes on. Venison and Aloe Vera can be combined to make potions of healing, I was in the woods last night gathering my own ingredients and this new hobby will supplement my income nicely.

So enjoy and don't scoff at my pastime. I've found ways to improve my life as I waste my life in front of a computer screen. It all balances out.

Battle part 3

So now the spring-legged leader has set out to hire mercenaries to increase the chance of victory. What better mercs than goldfish with large knives? They're dedicated bastards, one has already given its life for the fight and they're not even on the battlefield. Well worth the money I say.

The sun is watching too closely for my taste. The fish have a Christmas tree, but I don't know if they're Christians, they might just enjoy the holiday and gifts.

Why does the leader have springs for legs? Its race likes to make dramatic speeches on its back feet. Ancestors were faced with knee problems as they fell back to all fours. Through evolution the race developed spring-like front legs to cushion the landing.

How much money is in the sack? I'm not privy to such information. Stay tuned...

Battle part 2

We're inside the colorful tortoise castle now. A scout reports the grim news to the pot-bellied snake wearing a baseball cap. The winged small dogs and the flightless crows listen well. Mike the mouse cries a tear of woe. Corn is only $5. The baseball cap wearing snake doesn't look too worried though, either he knows something we don't or he's poorly drawn. These creatures don't look nearly as dangerous as the pink puffy fluffy ballet dancing critters. It may be a massacre... Stay tuned.

The shock of discovering your pet is not the sex you thought

This happened quite a while ago, but the surprise and shame still lingers. I think it's best to talk about it.

We, my roomie Margherite and I, found our little turtle, Leroy, in our parking space back in October. Leroy was fighting for its life in a dirty little tank where it had been left, surely to die, in its own filth. Leroy was and still is a fighter and while it was weakened from its own excrement it recovered quickly thanks to clean water and tasty turtle food.

A creature fond of biting and privacy, it was difficult to determine Leroy's true sex. Eventually, because Margherite and I are women and because my cat, Spiffy, despite her surgery, is a little woman, we decided we wanted a male influence in the apartment. Leroy was christened, "Leroy". Leroy was a man.

Many people scoffed at this choice. "The sex of an animal is not determined this way." Screw you. I think it's better than drawing choices out of a hat. Lame. Especially when you have but two options.

Finally, while having friends over for a party, one buddy of mine questioned the sex of Leroy once again. I turned to the internet to silence these irritants called, "curious bystanders". Alas, I should have just left it alone. Based on the shape of Leroy's shell and the size of its claws Leroy was in fact a woman.

How was I to know besides taking the time to be responsible and do research? I was waiting for tampon requests or tiny training bras floating in the tank. None of this ever happened. It's not my fault Leroy decided to keep her puberty a secret.

But, I can't blame all of this on the turtle. I can blame half of it on Margherite… which I will do.

The effect it has had on me has been quite profound. Even though Spiffy the cat was spayed I took the time to check her once or twice to make sure I was not deceived. I can report that Spiffy is still a girl; at least I didn't screw up there. As far as I can tell, Leroy doesn't have a lot of gender confusion. Turtles can't style hair or wear clothes that identify them as one sex or another; I picked a good animal to mess up on.

Leroy's name has been changed to Leroy Anne, I think it's pretty. It's a strong name with a feminine touch, something a guy turtle might compose a poem for. I suppose I'll be more adept at handling future problems Leroy Anne might face, and for that I am grateful her sex chromosomes came about the way they did. Everything that makes my life easier is a positive.

You have certainly improved with your sex change little Leroy Anne. Bravo.

The battle

I drew this. I am quite proud. I then scanned it into my computer and used microsoft paint to color it in because I am a marvel. It depicts a future battle between the ballet dancing pink puffy fluffy things and their duck/lobster/bunny/spring-legged/horse footed leader vs. the colorful tortoises by the castle on the far off hill. Do not trust the sun, it cries now... but that is the job of clouds. That it produces moisture is an indication of treachery.

Why are they going to battle?

I don't think the tortoises know. Maybe over the coconut trees because if you notice the fluffy things only have evergreens on their hill. It is sure to be an exciting battle, ballet dancers are quite fit and I think their leader can hold its own. Who knows what the tortoises have inside of their castle. I for one, can't wait to see how it plays out.

Get well Britney

I am not a Britney fan. I watch Britney movies/videos; listen to Britney songs/interviews to indulge my need for sadism. I am a bitch. That, I will concede. I actually have Britney/Kevin: Chaotic on my wish list on Amazon.com.

Will I still purchase it?

Likely, no.

I've decided today, after the reports of yet another Britney disaster, I am done.
I see red lights flickering, flickering, and flickering. Sanity is a delicate thing, artists, however limited, have egos, artists are eccentric. Eccentricism is a nicer word for mild madness. In fact, I don't even think it's a word, that's how mad it is. I nod and accept that term when someone applies it to me, keeping myself in check because, as an eccentric person, I invent grudges, feuds, death matches, etc.

Brit's slipped a bit. If you only believe half of what's in the tabloids you still must say, "Brit's slipped a bit".

You've slipped Brit-Brit.

There are no shoes with the appropriate tread able to help Britney catch her footing; we need a fucking harness and crane to right Britney back to at least Leaning Tower of Pisa stability.

Why should we do this?

Hell if I know. Because I've laughed at her expense and now want to be a self-righteous, "we must do the right thing" pain-in-the-ass? Yeah, that's it.

Brit, I want you to get better, part of me only wants it so I don't feel guilty for chuckling at you, a smaller part of me is a nice eccentric person who feels empathy, not topless in hot tubs with back up dancers empathy, or no panties empathy, friends with Paris Hilton empathy, young mother empathy… but… some kind and sincere form that occasionally pops out when provoked by train wrecks.

Choo choo.

SMASH!!!