Tiny Cities Made of Ashes (If Only She Knew)

I just discovered that Modest Mouse will be in concert July 26th at the Filmore (I saw Train there last summer, and it's a pretty cool venue). Unfortunately, that's the day that we leave for our family reunion. AGH! What terrible luck. I mentioned it to my Mom, hoping that perhaps she would say, "oh, you can go to the concert then meet us in Estes Park the next day!" She told me that I need to save money for a new car, tuition, and other expenses, and that I can't miss any of the reunion. Oh well. Someday I'll be autonomous . . . I hope. At least I'll get to see O.A.R. on Saturday the 24th (insert screams of joy here).

News, News . . . and More News

Disjointed, disconnected, discontinuous, disordered, displaced, disunited, divided . . . and any other "di" words you can think up perfectly describe this post. Prepare for extreme confusion:

I currently have a goatee, and I've been growing it since last week. As many of you can attest, I often do this to annoy my family and friends. Yesterday at work Dianne, my boss, called everyone together to celebrate the birthday of one of our long-time volunteers. We had cake and talked about the weather. It's always awkward when we're all together in a social setting, because we don't really know what to say, and we don't know how soon we should break up the party and get back to work. In addition, I'm the only male shelver at the library, and all of the other shelvers in the afternoons are over the age of forty (a few are over seventy. I know I'll at least be retired by that age, if not dead). Dianne, doubtlessly groping for anything to talk about, brought up the subject of my goatee. "So, what's this?" she asked and pointed to her chin. I'm sure I must have blushed and looked like a complete fool. I hate social gatherings of that type even when I'm not the center of attention. Everyone began inspecting me as I attempted to formulate an appropriate response (the first thing that came to mind was "none of your business!" but that's not a good way to talk to your boss, after all). I mumbled something about how I like to grow it every few months. One of the other shelvers began talking about how her son grows a beard every now and then as well. Everyone agreed that young men grow facial hair to look more mature and just to experiment and find their "look." The subject switched to wrinkle cream, and all of the ladies discussed the brands that they have used and the results. I don't think I could have felt more out of place if they had been talking about tampons.

Mark and Traci have been putting up drywall in our garage (they are very nice people). I was taking an afternoon nap in my room when my fan suddenly went off. I jumped out of bed and hit the lightswitch, but the power was out. My computer was turned on, I realized, so I reached to shut it down, but right then my UPS failed (what happened to the 20 minute back-up battery it's supposed to have?!). I went into the garage and found Traci messing with the circuit breakers for some utterly inexplicable reason. When she noticed me, she said, "Hmmm, I must have bumped something." I was so mad, haha! My Dad came into the garage and I explained that all of the power was off downstairs. He flipped all of the switches off, then back on. Everything was fine. And I'm not mad anymore.

My Dad continually surprises me. A few nights ago he was sitting on my brother's bed playing the bass part to Dazed and Confused, by Led Zeppelin. He used to be a big rock & roll fan, and he actually saw Led Zeppelin in concert a few times. That fact officially makes him a very cool person.

I went to church with Jennifer on Sunday. We had a good time. Yes. She has a boyfriend who's unemployed, pierced in numerous places, and thirty years old. Yes. Next, please . . .

Of Modest Mice and Bitter Men

When I was seven years old, my Dad did something that forever changed my perception of life. One afternoon I heard frenzied squealing coming from my little sister's room. I ran to investigate, and I discovered a tiny mouse caught in a mousetrap under her dresser. My Dad came into the room and placed the mouse, trap and all, into a brown paper bag. I followed him outside, and I recall feeling happy that we were going to set the mouse free. But my Dad didn't set him free. He placed the sack on the porch and dropped a large rock onto it a few times. I began crying and ran inside. Why did this mouse have to die? What had it done to deserve such a gruesome demise? He was just an innocent little guy! It was then that I knew that the world was a terrible, violent place. I knew that there was no hope for humanity, a race of decadent animal slaughterers.

This morning I was heading for the shower when I noticed something moving in my window well. On closer inspection I saw that it was a mouse; it must have fallen into the window well somehow and become trapped. I grabbed a pair of gloves and an old tupperwear container and went outside. After a few minutes of chasing him around I managed to get him into the container. I released him into the wilds behind our house, where he is free to make many babies and most likely be eaten by a house cat. I have decided to name him Saint Morvanius, for obvious reasons.


Saint Morvanius ponders the mysteries of life


Saint Morvanius demonstrates his supernatural abilities


Saint Morvanius, you are a hero . . . and a good friend

The mouse that my Dad mercilessly bludgeoned has now been avenged by my act of kindness. Let this be a warning to all slayers of small creatures: you may think that your humanity gives you the right to maim and dismember at will, but I will find you, and then you will be the one in the paper bag! (Tongue in cheek my friends, I have no intention of ever joining PETA!)

Family Night Sucks

Last night was the first official Family Night since . . . well, it's been a long time. It started out interestingly enough: Joe was on the phone with his girlfriend (who called from Hawaii), and my Dad made him cut the call short so we could leave. Joe was understandably angry and refused to speak to anyone for the duration of Family Night. We all got in the van and my Dad began telling us about our plans for the night and the fact that every Monday night at 8 PM will be reserved for Family Night. He should have been looking behind him, because he backed into a parked trailer. Everyone started yelling, and my Mom and Dad jumped out to check the damage. The collision only resulted in a small scratch, but our new neighbors witnessed the whole accident. We haven't even met them yet, and now they'll probably hide from us. We drove down the street, my Dad trying to apologize to my brother, my brother ignoring him, and my Mom attempting to defend my Dad. I remained silent and wished that I could be somewhere else. We pulled into a shopping center and my Dad said, "so, who wants ice cream?" No one wanted any. That started a debate on why we even decided to leave the house in the first place. Ahhhh . . . Family Night.

Warning! All prosecutors will be violated!

The landscaping company began working on our yard today. They've been moving dirt, planting trees, arranging rocks, and the yard is looking quite nice so far. All of the workers are Mexicans, and early this morning my Dad bought them all Starbucks coffee and Krispy Cream donuts. I wish I could be as nice as my Dad. They had to take down a section of our fence so that they could move a Bobcat into the backyard. Earlier this evening my Mom took the dogs out to pee, and after Spanky did her business, she bolted out of the gap in the fence (Spanky, not my Mom). My Mom ran inside screaming, "Spanky ran away! Go get her!" I raced outside and saw Spanky a few houses away sniffing at a dumpster. I called her and she came (I'm still amazed that she obeyed me . . . that has to be the first time ever).

Canine Psychology

I am constantly amazed by the intelligence that my dogs display. Every dog owner is convinced that their dog is a prodigy among canines, I’ve heard, so I suppose that I’m no different. Rascal, my oldest dog, acts like a two or three year old human child (without the ability to speak, of course). Tonight, for example, I came downstairs and found him on the couch. He knows from years of experience that the couches are off-limits. When he noticed me, he immediately hopped off the couch and ran to my side, tail between his legs and head bowed in supplication. I didn’t even say a word to him at all. He obviously knew that he had done something wrong, and he realized that he had been caught in the act. Do dogs have a conscience? Can they feel guilt? I need to call my pet psychologist and see what’s going on in his little mind.


Rascal (the good dog)

Hiking?

On Thursday, Josh and I had planned to go hiking (again), but our plans didn’t work out (again). This time it’s the weather’s fault. He’s already gone back to Golden, and he won’t be back until Christmas. I guess I’ll have to wait until the end of July to get my backpacking fix (and I’ll probably get more than I want, the way my plans are looking now). I’m saving some money to buy more gear so I can be completely self-sufficient. Last summer we had to borrow most of our gear from the church (Joe and my Dad will have to do the same this year . . . I’ve told them to save some money, but they didn’t). We bought my Dad an R.E.I. gift card for Father’s Day, so he’ll be forced to buy some stuff. We went to R.E.I. tonight, and I think he’s going to buy a backpack and a Camelbak Unbottle. He wants to think about it for a few days before he buys anything.

My Uncle Chuck called a couple of nights ago and we talked for awhile about our backpacking trips this summer. He just bought a new tent, backpack, and a few other things. We’re going to have a family reunion for my Mom’s side of the family in Estes Park July 26th – 30th. It will be great to see all of my relatives (including an uncle and aunt I haven’t seen since I was about five). We rented a few cabins and we plan to do all kinds of cool stuff: hiking, fishing, rafting, and we’ll even try to get my cousin Tanner to come to a concert with us. We’ve decided to climb three fourteeners: Mount of the Holy Cross, Gray’s Peak, and Torrie’s Peak. Holy Cross will be different from anything we’ve attempted before; for most of the trip, we’ll be on a narrow ridge the width of a street 12,000 ft. up. The wind will be unbearable, I’m sure. Gray’s and Torrie’s are connected by a ridge, so we can hit both summits in one day. I’ve heard from friends who have climbed them that they’re not extremely difficult. The only problem is that three of my girl cousins will be with us (all under 16 years old). I really hope that we don't make it halfway and then have to turn back because of them. We'll see . . .

I Love Colorado Weather

It does not feel like summer here. For the past five days its been raining, foggy, and under 50 degrees (last night it dropped to 40). I haven’t even been able to see the mountains. It’s eerie and depressing: just the way I like it. I suddenly feel like reading something by Poe or Kafka . . .


Regular summer day view from our backyard / Today


Spanky warns the fog to go away


Life with Spanky

I called Spanky into my room and she jumped on my bed and immediately threw up all over my blanket. Every time that she drinks too much water, she throws up (as the carpet in our old house can prove). I folded it to keep the chunks from falling on the carpet and took it upstairs to show my Mom and my sister. My Mom suggested that I take the blanket into the backyard and shake it. Since I didn’t have any better ideas, I went outside (Spanky was at my heels, of course, no doubt greatly entertained by my revulsion). I let the chunks fall onto the dirt, then I gave the blanket a strong shake. Unfortunately, I had the throw-up side facing me, and all of her remaining (stuff) sprayed me in the face. And yes, before any of you ask, my mouth was indeed open at the time, as were my eyes. If you’ve never had a dog’s warm lunch covering your face before, let me educate you: dog throw-up is quite similar to human throw-up, only it smells much worse (I’m afraid to even guess what my dogs have been eating out of the trash). That’s enough . . . my stomach’s feeling funny now.

Finally, the Ladies Learn to Appreciate Me . . . Sort of

A girl asked me out today. Well, alright, let me qualify that: she didn’t ask me out exactly, it was, um, well . . . you see, it was more of a . . . you know, one of those . . . let me start over. So, I was talking to a girl I work with about churches in town, and she asked me if I wanted to try a new one with her next Sunday. I said yes, of course. I mean, how often is it that a girl asks me to do anything? Ahhh . . . church . . . the most romantic of places. Maybe she’ll even share a hymnal with me! God, I’m pathetic.

**Note: if Jared Wheeler comments at all on this post, Tough William will be glad to demonstrate some fascinating Mayan torture techniques for him**

What Are You Talking About?

A friend of mine told me that they read on this very site that I've decided to form a new band. I honesty have no idea where that fallacious idea came from. A band? Ridiculous! I have enough to do already without having to write music. So, let the rumor die here: there is no band. If anyone even mentions this again, I'll send Tough William over to your house to help clear things up. Now, let's all just move on and forget about this nonsense, alright?

Movie News

It is impossible for me to watch excellent movies and remain silent. I must review, even briefly! I must!

One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest
(Jack Nicholson, Louise Fletcher) 1975: 85%

Convict R.P. McMurphy (Nicholson) has gone from one prison to the next for years because he is "difficult." Finally, he ends up in a state mental hospital. It is clear from the beginning that R.P. is not as ill as the other patients (if he is even ill at all), and he becomes a leader/savior for the others. It’s a drama, but it has numerous sequences that are absolutely hilarious. For example, R.P. commandeers a bus and takes all of the patients on an impromptu fishing trip. When asked by the dockmaster who he and all of his friends are, R.P. replies that they are doctors from a mental hospital, and he proceeds to introduce all of the patients as "Dr.--." Quite funny. The acting is superb, but the cinematography seemed a little poor. Overall, a great movie with a wonderfully disturbing ending.

Gentleman's Agreement
(Gregory Peck, John Garfield, Dorothy McGuire) 1947: 84%

Philip Schuyler Green (Peck) is a famous writer who moves to New York with his mother and son to work for a magazine. His first assignment is particularly challenging and socially volatile: he has to write an in-depth article on anti-Semitism. The trick is that his boss wants a "new angle," something that has never been done before. Philip soon has the idea to pose as a Jew to experience anti-Semitism first-hand. Since he's new in town, he lets everyone he meets know that he's Jewish. I'm surprised that this movie was even made to begin with; anti-Semitism is such a controversial topic (especially so soon after World War II). But perhaps that's exactly why it was made. The film did not attempt to downplay it or make it seem less of a problem than it is. It pointed out that the main reason that anti-Semitism is so prevalent is because the "good" people have learned to tolerate its existence and not fight it. This film reminds me of the book Black Like Me in many ways (although I enjoyed this much more). Gregory Peck is my hero.

Key Largo
(Humphrey Bogart, Edward G. Robinson, Lauren Bacall) 1948: 90%

War veteran Frank McCloud stops by a hotel in Key Largo, Florida to visit the widow and father of a soldier who died under his command in World War II. A hurricane hits the Keys, and everyone is stuck at the hotel for the night. Unfortunately, Johnny Rocco (Robinson) and a bunch of his thugs are guests. Rocco is infuriated because he was supposed to catch a boat for Cuba, and he takes everyone in the hotel hostage until the storm ends. Bogart & Robinson (two of my favorite actors of all time) are entertaining in this film. I loved the dialogue: It's fascinating to see what happens when characters who are complete opposites are forced to sit around together for hours under the stress of a natural disaster. This would make an awesome play (and perhaps it was one originally). It perfectly adheres to Aristotle's Unities . . .

A Midsummer . . . Early Morning's Dream

I had a great dream last night: I was in my old house, my Mom was cleaning the window blinds, and my Dad was working on hanging a large whiteboard behind our couch. The phone rang and I picked it up. It was a older-sounding lady, and it was obviously a courtesy call. We talked for about a half hour before I even figured out what she wanted from me; she wanted me to become a member of her church. Gah, and I thought I had won a prize! At that point, my Dad was trying to write the word "Czech" on the whiteboard, but he was spelling it "Ckeck," which really irritated me. I threw down the phone and screamed, "C-Z-E-C-H! C-Z-E-C-H!" Then I woke up. Hmmmm . . . I'm afraid to find out what the interpretation for that one is. I'm sure someone will tell me that it means that I'm going to reject religion and become a spelling B champion.

"Life is long, and time is short," as Eddie would say

I have so many things that I want to say, but I haven't had much time to spare the past few days. Last night Joe and I saw A Perfect Circle in concert, and they were incredibly, marvelously, superbly, where's-my-freakin'-thesaurus-ly amazing. The show drained all of my energy, and today I've been trying to recuperate. I'll post a lengthy narrative of the whole experience as soon as I have a chance. I was supposed to go hiking with Josh this morning at 7:30 AM, but I called him at 6:30 (I woke up his mom, unfortunately . . . sorry Mrs. Dorr!) and told him that I couldn't go today. We rescheduled for Thursday, so hopefully that will work out.

Be Patient With Me . . .

I've decided that I need to stop and think for a full two minutes before I say anything. Tonight at dinner, my Dad said, "So, does anyone know what tomorrow is?" I quickly replied: "Just another day." My Mom and Dad laughed, and my Dad said, "No, it's Mom's birthday!" Gah. Yes, I think about two minutes of thought should be about enough time to avert mistakes of this sort.

A Note About Comments

A few people have mentioned to me that they either do not know how to comment on a post, or they do not wish to sign up with blogger just to comment. I've decided to help you all out by writing a few simple instructions on how to post comments, no blogger registration required:

1. At the bottom of each post is a link called "comments": click on it.
2. A new page loads that displays only the post that you wish to comment on.
3. Click the "post a comment" link.
4. A new page loads. Type your comment and add your name at the bottom, then select "anonymous" and click "publish your comment." That's all there is to it! Be sure to type your name in the message box so I know who is commenting.

I like to think that my friends are some of the most interesting and intelligent people around, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. Please no anti-Star Wars remarks or languages other than English, Spanish or Ghjotiasianni.

The Dark Wanderings of a Fellow . . . Literally

I didn't sleep very well last night. All night long I had strange dreams (which I can't recall), and I awoke every hour or so. This morning I noticed something surprising: my PC tower was pushed against my monitor (it normally sits about six inches away), and the lampshade on the lamp next to the desk was crushed inward, as if someone had punched it. It looked as if a struggle had taken place, but I didn't remember anyone breaking through my window in the night and wrestling with me. I may have been really tired last night, but something like that wouldn't have escaped my notice. The only explanation that I can think of is that I must have been sleepwalking. Sleepwalking runs in my family: when my Dad was a teenager, he stayed in a dorm at a university while attending a tennis competition, and that night he awoke in an elevator clad only in his Fruit of the Loom underwear. When I was a kid, I walked into the street one night and stood there for a little while, but luckily I awoke soon after and went back into my house. Another time, I walked into my parents' bedroom and put the trashcan on my head. Somnambulism frightens me, and not only because it's a pretentious, goofy-sounding word. I'm really afraid that one night I'll do something especially . . . unsavory . . . and have no control over myself. Maybe I could get my brother to lock me in a cage at night. Hmmm . . . another idea just occurred to me: perhaps I'm a lycanthrope! That would be awesome! Sleepover, anyone?

Things and Stuff

Well, the two biggest pieces of news in my world right now are that we just moved into our new house and I got my old job back at the library. I'll post more on both of those subjects once things settle down a bit.

In reading, gaming, and movie news: I've decided that I won't post a lengthy review for every book, PC game, and movie that I see. My main reason is because it takes too long.

Books:

Faust, part I, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe: 85%
Black Wolf, Dave Gross: 84%
Eyes of a Blue Dog, Gabriel Garcia Marquez: 63%

Movies:

Across the Pacific, (Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor): 90%
Fight Club, (Brad Pitt, Edward Norton): 88%
The Postman Always Rings Twice, (Lana Turner, John Garfield): 65%