Ember

 Is it dark already? The forest seems very quiet.

Too quiet...

Almost as if the trees dare not disturb the blanket of calm retrospective contemplation of this moment. The last evidence of a season full of color, hopes, of sadness, suspense, some boredom, but mostly surprise, laughs, and much joy lies slowly glowing with the fleeting heat of what had been a bustling blaze.  

I wish I could say that this ember was the beginning. Many fires start with an ember just like this one. The start of something bright and hot. Something that reaches high and licks the air with the flick of its dangerous tongue. Oh! to feel that heat at this moment! There are no flames now. No blast of warmth that pushes you away with its rough jocularity, and then pulls you right back. It was like the beating heart of giant beast comprised of plasma. This ember is a neat little package of what was. A portrait of the plasma beast, where the beast herself once stood. But this ember is not the beginning.

Speaking of portraits, they say that a picture is worth a thousand words. The truth is the picture has no worth of its own. It certainly has no words to give you. Even the most fascinating, inspiring, emotionally moving image has no intrinsic power. But then, how are they able to invoke feelings? How do they change minds, influence others? How do they tell you the story that the artist means to tell you? I suppose the magic is not so much magic. It's not a secret, I think images must have arms. I know, this sounds a bit odd, but I think it must be true! Pictures reach into my mind, take my experiences, and things I already knew. They pluck the experiences like piano strings. Ting, Twongwongwong, Buh-Bong. I get an idea of what another person or moment meant to convey. I hear the music, but it's music played on the piano of my mind. The music is still my music. If you were to see this ember, you would hear the music too, but it would not be the same as being here to hear it yourself moments ago when it was real and tangible and loud. I wonder if that makes any sense. This ember, glowing so faintly, can provoke images in your mind of what was here moments ago. But unless you were sitting here with me next to it, you can't really know this particular fire. This blaze. I guess what I am trying to say is that you had to be there.. 

Maybe you feel that all flames are flames. Every big blaze is like every other big blaze. Maybe you don't understand why I care so much about this fire. I hear you saying "Just make another! This is trivial!" 

Maybe..

Maybe..

Maybe you are right. But.. But this one.. This fire. These flames. They were here! They were so warm! They were bright and proud and full of excitement! They were glorious and they flourished. But more than anything else they were mine. I lit the first match. I sheltered the fledgling flames from the wind that sought to devour them. They did the work. They grew. I just made sure they were fed. This was my fire. It warmed me. There will be other fires, but never will there be another one exactly like this. 

As the heat and light from that blaze diminished, I will admit that I felt a profound sense of loss. I felt the cold edging back in from where it had been hiding behind the trees from my plasma monster. I know that the fire must go out. This camp has served me well, but it's time to move on. Nothing is forever, which is why things like this mean so much. They are a page in the book of adventures that I carry. There are many other pages, but the importance of this page is not diluted by the existence of other pages in the book. The book isn't the same without this page.

The ember's glow is now almost imperceptible. The ember fades, like a little orange eye closing slowly for a much needed slumber. There is now nothing but ash and the memories in my mind left as proof of anything happening here.

Everything has been packed. It's time to go. I will remember these moments. I will record them into my adventure book. I am satiated. This was a good season. Maybe I will return to this spot. Maybe another fire will play with the air again right here. Maybe.. Yes, I think there will be another flame to warm and entertain. I hope to be sitting nearby when that happens. For now I roll the last little item over in my hand. It is a matchbox. I smile as I put it into my pocket. This is my matchbox. I am embraced by the warmth of knowing that there are still a few matches left inside.

--

Thanks for reading. As I wrote this post I listened to music from this channel: jazzijazzful

Cute is the new stupid.

Hi. Sorry I haven't written anything for a while, Elesa. Anyway, it's just because blogging is stupid, and I haven't wanted to do it ever again, until now.

Ok, blackberry. I have really liked your phones and been a really big fan. My pearl was so cool!! I always told people how cool you were. Until now. Now I have one word for you: SHUT UP.

I get so sick of companies like blackberry that think they are so freaking innovative when they try to reinvent something that already exists and affix their name to it somehow. If I hear blackberry talk about their BBMs, I am going to send them an actual BBM. It's a text. The word is "Text" or more specifically "Text Message."

Everyone knows what a BM is. It's a very personal thing that I will not discuss here, since this blog is known for its sensitivity and class... Poop. It's poop. Specifically a bodily function that moves the poop from inside a person to ... not inside them. BBM is a very LARGE version of this. Probably most notably those of elephants, or hippos.

Ok, I feel much better now...

The tooth is out there

So I have been watching X-Files. It's cool. It's about this guy who runs around almost finding aliens, and then being really dramatic about everything. As you can tell, this post is probably not about the X-Files, but rather about another subject entirely: A tooth.

Not just any tooth. There was a time when I was free like a bird. An overweight bird without any wings, and with an allergy to sunflower seeds, but a bird nonetheless. Nonetheless? Um, actually alottheless. Anyway, this bird (me) had a dream. A dream to eat things without the sharp, bitter hand of suppression covering his small little beak, trying to stop the little bird from ever being happy again. The little bird tried to realize his simple little happy dream, but could not. For each time he stretched out his beak to savor the softness of an ice cream cone, or chomp on the crunchediness of a corn nut, his joy was thwarted by an icy jet of pain. A pain enough to make a bounty hunter cry. The suspect? The instigator? The villain? None other than a tooth, a spy. An "inside" job.

So what did I do about it? I'll tell you! I hired a master of one of the most ancient and darkest arts known to this part of the universe. A wizard wielding a power that makes grown men crumble. The power of dentistry. dun dun dun!!!!

Do you want to know what happens to a traitor in my employ? Well, first: He is stabbed multiple times where he lives and filled with an injection that paralyzes him. Makes him numb, unable to feel. Then, his insides are ground down from his head to his toes and beyond. Then he is filled with special plastic rods, and cement. After that, a special crown is placed upon his head, and he has no other recourse but to conform, and be still.

Creepy enough? Well, It's the honest tooth.

Apostrophe Catastrophe

I like apostrophes. I really do. I think they are great, and I find the rules regarding them easy enough to remember. However, as we know from spiderman, with great power comes great propensity for stupidity. or something like that.

I think properly used apostrophes are a beautiful thing. Equally, there is nothing that says "Hi, I live up in them hills with my banjo, my 50 cats, and my 2 teeth" like the blatant misuse of the apostrophe.

Let's take the apostrophe blunder that really gets my goat: Using an apostrophe to pluralize a word. PEOPLE!! If you use an apostrophe to make a word plural, I will come to your house and pull your toenails out through your nose!!!!!! Here are some examples: CD's for sale. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!n CDs CDs do you spell boxes like this: box's? or Pony's? How about Idiot's? NO YOU DON'T, unless your brain is made of kitty litter. Another example: (this one I actually saw on the side of a homeland security trailer) "Participating Agency's: Springville, Spanish Fork..." etc. AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!! I knew the government was kinda slow, but COME ON!!! If you have more than one agency, an apostrophe isn't helping you. The word is actually Agencies. No wonder it took FEMA so long to get to New Orleans. That was harsh, but not as harsh as I am going to be with the amoeba that made the graphic for the side of that trailer.

Here is my new rule: "When in doubt, just leave it out!" I promise you will look much less like a feeble minded rock-biter if you accidentally leave an apostrophe out than if you put one where it just doesn't belong.

In closing, I would just like to say this: I probably make plenty of punctuation mistakes, but I don't care. This isn't about me, this is about apostrophes. Stay focused, moron.

I'm just not afraid of ghosts anymore. I used to be terrified, but I just can't be afraid of them anymore. Here's the problem: I have never ever heard of a ghost attacking ANYBODY. I mean, sure, there are scary ghost movies where the ghosts get people, but in real life nobody has ever claimed ghost attack. I know what you are thinking: "How long has it been since I have had a cookie? Has it been long enough for me to have another one without guilt?" Well, STOP THINKING THAT!! We are talking about ghost attacks here!! Or rather, we are talking about the non-existence of ghost attacks.

I am sure that you think I am just being silly, but I assure you that I am not. I know that you think that just because no one has claimed it, doesn't mean it hasn't happened. Well, I'm sorry that you think that. You must be pretty dumb. I am obviously right, just by virtue that I know a LOT about ghosts. Let's make a little comparison here: Aliens. That's right! I said it!! Aliens. Nobody can even agree about whether they exist or not, and how many people claim that they have been abducted?! Like a million. A million people every year claim to have been abducted by aliens and taken to their spaceship and had tea with their leader. Now I ask you again, how many people have claimed ghost attack?

The answer is: none. That's right, Paraclese, none.

The truth is that ghosts DO exist, as opposed to aliens, who don't. Ghosts simply don't care about the living. And why would they? You don't have anything they want. They don't need to eat or buy things or talk on the telephone. They probably spend most of their time break-dancing, or going to movies.

You know, I just had a thought: Maybe ghosts ARE aliens???? Maybe when you die, you turn into an alien.. That would explain a lot.

Why am I still typing, I need to find a panda.

Another Sydneyism

Today on the way down to the Payson Pool, Ethan and Sydney were having a little discussion about what they wanted to be for halloween. At one point I distinctly heard Sydney say "Well, I am NOT going to be a poundpire for halloween, they are TOO scary!"

I am not sure what a poundpire is. Maybe it is the guy that guards the dog pound? Or.... nope, that is the only thing it could possibly be.

In other news, I have been involved in this play called "Bells are Ringing." It's a play about a mobster who is trying to get money from this dude. Ok, it isn't about that really, that's just a small part of it. But along with doing lights and sound, I play the mobster, so obviously, it's the only part that matters. I am having some fun with it. I get to use my vast acting experience to deliver lines like: "Is Sandor around?" and "shut up." Oh and my favorite line: "shut up!" Fun times.

Have you ever started something and then got tired of it halfway through and just de

Pitter Patter

This stream of consciousness is going to work out!  I just know it.  I am pretty dang sure that I can sit down to this computer and just type, and no matter what I type it will be awesome!!

Ok, now I am out of ideas.  Oh!  How about another poem?

Pitter-patter little mouse
sneaking all around my house
Fae caught you once inside her closet
While she made a shirt deposit

Pitter-patter little mouse
Fae doesn't want you near her blouse!
so I sent Ethan for my broom
(I keep it in the other room)

My eyes stayed fast upon your spot
A way to pass me filled your thoughts!
Oh where's the broom!  Hey look! It's here!
and then you knew the end was near.

The curtains closing, things looked bleak.
Your chances slim, your position weak.
And just when things were at their worst
When with fear you thought you'd burst
a tiny flash of hope and chance
told you that you might pass Lance
without being hit by my large broom
maybe you could skip your doom.

So up you sprang!
Out toward the door!
My broom, I swang
down toward the floor!

I did not get you on that day
You jumped and zagged and got away

But heed my words, for this I swear
If I see your mousy hair
Even though It cause me strain
I'll whack you hard right on your brain!

Frantically patient, softly furious.

 I guess what I am saying is:

I really do need oxygen, I just don't need it pumped into my lungs for me. You feel me, frog?

In quiet times I like to find a dim corner.  I slowly raise a plastic colander to wear as a hat on my head. Then I sing sweetly until forest animals begin to gather near me with soft looks of curious wonder.  When all of the stresses of life have settled and I am at one with nature, I pull out my air-horn..

Listen, I haven't written in this blog for awhile.  I don't know why.  I can't remember how to write stuff.  I sit down at the computer, and all that comes out is.... RELEASE THE HARPSICHORD QUEEN!!!!

Poetry is the wind from which we seek to establish the foundation of our base upon.  All writers of every genre seek that magical moment when a string of letters forms into words, and those words form into word-strings, and those word-strings form into word-string-clusters.  That's where the magic really happens!

You know what the real problem with blogging is?  You can't do a clip-show when you don't feel like recording a full episode!!  That would be cool.  Well, for the author, not for the reader.

I could be like:  2009 was really full of fascinating fine literature.  We all remember the moment when the Sadbot....

I won't though.  Although, now that I think of it, I really should write a Sadquel.  I know that everyone has been pining for more about that big metal heartless cutey-pie!!

Ok, well my pen is out of ink..

Hippo Man

I have been trying really hard lately to lose weight.  I mean, I have done everything under the sun.  I have walked up and down the stairs a few times, I have done sit-ups (well, I did ONE sit up, to reach the remote.)  I have also cried a lot about how fat I am, shouldn't that count for something?

Why can't the weight just lose itself?  I just don't think I should be responsible for every little....  Hold on a sec, I just got a hankerin' for a ham sandwich.

Ok, I'm back.  I haven't written a poem for awhile, so here is one that has been passed down through generations and generations... and then thrown away, but I snagged it out of the garbage:

Harold
-------------------
Harold was a lonely old man
and a sorry old man was he,
In winter winds through thick and thin
he ate til half past three.

This was a practice set in stone
and never would he budge,
But did this practice served him well?
I'll let you be the judge.

For on one blustery winter night
a stranger came to call,
But hunger forced that sad old man
to pay no mind at all.

The stranger, in a heated rage
set fire upon the spot
and turned and left the dumpy house
to turn from cold to hot.

If Harold felt the fire's sting
we'll prob'ly never know
for Harold sat and ate his food,
he loved his dinner so!

The point which I am making here
is one of loud forewarning,
if you eat too much at night,
you'll be sorry in the morning!

Life is like a roller coaster. It seems really scary until you summon up the courage to try it.  You have to really dig down deep, trusting that the experience could actually be fun once you get the hang of it.  And then, as you hear the last few clicks of the coaster car reaching the top of the first hill, and feel the awesome power of gravity as it begins to pull that car back to earth; It is at that moment that you realize what a horribly terrible mistake you have made.

No, it isn't your fault.  How could you have known?  I mean, yes, you read that brochure that another angel handed you describing the difficulties and seriousness of gaining a body.  But there isn't any way you could actually know what it was going to be like.  And just like the roller coaster, once you are on it, there is really only one way to get off early, and it isn't pleasant!

Now this may sound dismal and depressing, and it is.  But guess what!  There is a silver cloud to every lining.  And the silver here is: Silver!  What if you find a nickel on the roller coaster?  That would be pretty cool!

Let the lesson be this, lads and ladies: The less information in the brochure, the more questions you should be asking about the ride.

I wear a helmet, I wield a shovel.

Don't think of me as a hero. Just know that I am one, and that I am awesome. My staggering amount of moxie and class doesn't necessarily fall in with the actual feel and point of this post, I just think that it is something we should all be aware of. I am truly a beacon of truth-piercing hope wrapped in a milk chocolate cocoon of spectacular superness. There, I said it.

I may not be some jet-setting thousandaire, but when it comes to having an opinion about things, I really bring home the back-fat. I guess you could say that I am bringing back-fat back. Eat that JT.

I am reminded of a time when a telephone was just a telephone, and people weren't able to tell who you were if you prank-called them. But the caller-id ruined all of that. I think that technology in all of its greatness brings its own baggage with it. Fortunately, that baggage is a techy bag of wonders, oozing convenience and happiness. Technology is 150% super-radical, and has been proven to positively effect every single entity that is fortunate enough to be graced by its techy yumness.

If you are concerned by the stupidness of this post, I would like to take the opportunity to remind you that all of my posts are stupid. (except the last one about my grandma, she is pretty awesome)

The end

Grandma Whitaker

Arloa Orwin Whitaker St. George, UT Arloa Orwin Whitaker passed away on Monday, September 7, 2009 in St. George, Utah at the Dixie Regional Medical Center.Arloa was born on May 6, 1927 in Long Beach, CA. She was raised in Brigham City, Utah by Sadie and Will Barnard and graduated from Box Elder High School in 1945. Arloa was noticed by Darwin while she was walking down Main Street in Brigham City after his return from military service in the Pacific. She and Darwin began dating while she attended Brigham Young University and Darwin attended the University of Utah. They were married in the Logan, Utah Temple on March 21, 1947. After Darwin's graduation from the University of Utah, his profession took their young family from Utah, to Idaho, to Colorado, to Texas and back to Utah, where Darwin later retired. Retirement was short lived as Arloa and Darwin were called to serve a full time mission in the Singapore Asia Mission from 1989 to 1991. Arloa and Darwin moved to St. George, Utah in 1993. She loved her days in St. George with her many dear friends at Meadow Creek Senior Community. Arloa was an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Later-day Saints and served in many callings and capacities. She is and was known for her unwavering compassion and care of all those she knew and served. Her life was a life of service to others. Arloa loved the outdoors and enjoyed spending many happy hours at the family's cabin east of Park City, Utah. She loved the family reunions held at the cabin and the time spent with her grandchildren and great grandchildren doing crafts and watching the deer and hummingbirds. It was a little bit of heaven on earth to her. Arloa is survived by her husband of 62 years and five children: Suzan (Dr. Gary Strobel, Bozeman, MT), Barry (Beth Whitaker, Spanish Fork, UT), Lee Ann (Richard Starnes, Highland, UT), Brian (Becky Whitaker, Las Vegas, NV) and Brent (Marisa Whitaker, Rancho Santa Margarita, CA). She leaves behind 18 grandchildren, 19 great-grandchildren, her beloved sister, Sue Zundel, of Fallbrook, CA, and a legacy that will not be forgotten. The Whitaker Family would like to express their appreciation to all those who provided care and support to Arloa at the Dixie Regional Medical Center and Red Cliffs' Care and Rehabilitation Center. Your kindness did not pass without notice. Funeral services will be held Friday, September 11, 2009 at 11:00 a.m. at the Foremaster Drive LDS Chapel, 1740 E. Foremaster Drive, St. George, UT. Visitations will be held Thursday, September 10th from 6:00 to 7:30 p.m. at Metcalf Mortuary, 288 W. St. George Blvd., St. George, UT and on Friday from 9:30 to 10:30 a.m. at the chapel, prior to services. A short graveside service will be held Saturday, September 12, 2009 at 10:00 a.m. at the Brigham City Cemetery, Brigham City, UT. Arrangements entrusted to Metcalf Mortuary, 435-673-4221.

The following post was brought to you in part by: the German language.

Thus I that it would be interesting thought, for writing a Blogpfosten and for translating the whole thing into German and then back into English. Over that is, which this blog is whole. I do not have an idea, how she will fail, but I hope that, if nothing else, to read it is pleasing.

I received the idea, because I thought on, how learning English must seem to those, which learn her as the second language. Isn't it interesting, like our spoken source language the basis is real for, as we think internally in addition. I am surprised, how deeply that really goes?

I heard that average humans over 800 thoughts have a quintillion per unit of the time measure. O.k., let' s see, what comes out.

Hi all-y'allz. I haven't written in my blog for a LOOONG time. I'm not apologizing, just stating a statement. Truth is, I have never actually written in my blog. I have typed in it though, and I say 'close but YES cigar!'

So, recently Anne (some lady that keeps showing up to our family get-togethers) told me that I should never judge a book by it's cover, but by how thick it is, which she later admitted was her way of telling me to lose a few thousand pounds. Yes, Anne, I do own an exercise bike. What? No, of course I don't actually use it for anything. I don't think that I should have to actually exert any kind of effort or force in order to lose weight. I just think that I should be able to burn enough calories by the chewing motion that I make when I eat my food. I really don't think that is too much to ask, and I am the kind of person that believes in standing for a principle. Well... sitting / standing, they are both the same thing really. I also have to lift a fork or spoon from the plate or bowl to my face, and typically that spoon or fork (or spork) is heavy with some delectable delight, so I'm burning more calories right there. Come on mother nature, we don't have to fight like this. I care about you, and I know you care about me, so let's just stop the cycle of hurt (and the cycle of exercycling).

Anyway.. ANyway, I digress. I think.... I have never really understood that word. So, my real point is this: DO judge a book by its cover! If the author was too lazy, or stupid, to make the cover look ok, what would make me believe that he or she took any extra care with the contents of the book? Every author knows that the cover is the most prominent marketing real estate they will ever get in promoting their inane rantings that they have collected and spewed onto paper. If they have any hope of getting us people to buy their garbage, they have to sell us!! I make it a rule to NEVER purchase a book that doesn't have a great cover. I usually look for subtle clues that tell me that my time wont be wasted reading the book. Things like: A picture of a really sweet car or monster truck; A comical title printed in comic sans; Catchy clip-art of money; An ominous question mark. These are just a few of the things I look for. You might find additional things to add to your list. Here's the skinny: You get in and out of the library or bookstore WAY faster if you learn how to judge a book by its cover. And you save countless hours of reading stupid books that should have been avoided had you known what to look for.

This is over.

P.S. Mother nature, call me later, we can work this out.

New Poll

Ok, it's time to weigh in! Who would win in a wizard's duel? Gandalf or Dumbledore?

vote over there on the side --->

Re: Hired Help

Cameo is a person that I know by way of having been introduced to her and now I work with her and talk to her. Oh, and there is some family connection somewhere.

She wrote this post: http://c4m3o.blogspot.com/2009/02/hired-help.html

I was going to comment on her post, but I thought it would be more confusing, and thus more fun if I wrote my own post explaining my choice: This is that post: And here is another colon for good measure: I wanted to put a colon-cleansing joke in here but they were all horrible, or stupid, or horribly stupid:::

I would absolutely, without a moments hesitation, hire a wizard. White or Gray, I'll take whatever I can get. Ya, a cook would be nice, a maid would be great. But at the end of the day I can cook for myself. I mean, how hard is it to pour a bowl of marshmallow mateys, or microwave some popcorn. Also, I can clean. I don't. But I could if I wanted to. Stop rolling your eyes, you don't clean either. But using the same logic that Dwight Schrute has used: I can't summon my own army of boulder hurling trees, or tell a moth to bring me a large eagle to fly away on. I can barely begin to imagine my productivity if I had a quick quotes quill, but I don't. But a wizard could do that stuff for me.

I just realized. I really like Harry Potter, but when you compare him to Gandalf, Harry seems more like the Luke Skywalker of wizardry. Kind of whiny and overall not very useful. Gandalf would be like a mix between Yoda and Obi-wan. I mean, If I were in a dark alley, I could probably handle Harry, but I would run at the site of Gandalf. Although to be fair, Voldemort would have probably wet himself at the site of Gandalf. I know that's a little.. over the top, but hey, it's the truth man! Let's be honest here. That's probably why they don't talk about Gandalf much in the HP books. He just would have made everyone else seem lame.

Edit: Although I bet Gandalf and Dumbledore would have been pals. Which is the inspiration for a poll!! Yay, a poll!

Just some thoughts

I keep thinking about this. I hope it doesn't come across crude, but Why aren't there pregnancy tests for men? I mean, you always hear men saying things like "We're pregnant!" Which bugs the crap out of me, because either those men are really stupid, or I am missing something. I have only had 2 kids, but they both were carried by Fae. I am sure that she was always the pregnant one, I don't think I took a turn being pregnant for even a moment. Was I supposed to? Crap! Support and togetherness in the decision and the responsibility of the baby doesn't mean that both people are pregnant. Unless they are..??.. But then I come back to the original question, if men can be pregnant, where are the tests for us?

Now that I think about it, I don't think it specifically says anything about it being only for women on the package.... Oh shoot, my whole world is turning in on itself...

Hi

Sting is my favorite musical artist whose name is a verb. I mean there are other cool verbicians, but Sting!.. I mean... Ok, think about it this way: If you were trapped in a dark alley with some teenage hooligans closing in on you, or a evil biker gang bearing down on you, who would you want to see stepping out of the shadows to rescue you? The fray? What are they going to do, start messing up the edges of the bad guys' leather jackets? Heck No!! I mean it isn't very scary to hear "Watch out guys, the Fray! the Fray!!!!" The Fray. They are just one letter away from the Fairy. If I was a bad guy and one of my buddies shouted "Hey, it's Sting! He's gonna put the hurt on us!" I would probably lay my harley down and hot foot it out of the area, stat.

haha! I was just thinking about this one: "Oh no! Everybody get outta here! It's Oingo Boingo!! Theyz gonna bounce us up on outta here!!"

I don't pity the fools, but I respect those that do. One question though: Who invented the marshmallow. How do you even come up with something like that?

Back to Sting. Sting is pretty. Why can't I be pretty? Can't men be pretty? I want to be pretty. I don't want to be pretty like David Bowie though. Oh wait, I must be confusing freaky with pretty.

The last appeal for 2008

Goodbye old friend. You are almost dead. I will never forget you 2008, until I do.

I am at Boydell and Jen's house, and we are all standing idly by while a year dies. Why don't we do something about it? a WHOLE year is in peril, and we are having a party??!! What kind of twisted world is this?

Did you know that 1 out of every one years die? That's 100% fatality rate. In fact, today there is only 1 single year known to exist, and it is dying as we speak!

The Klingons have a word for year, and it is un-pronouncimable.

I refuse to celebrate new year's this year. I think we owe some respect to the current one, and actually, I am not sure why it has to go? I don't think there is anything wrong with the current one. People are fickle, and end up throwing away perfectly good things, like years.

I didn't even do anything this entire year. There is a lot of tread left on those tires. What a shame.

Apanthropinization

Sometimes hiding sounds like the best choice. People like to poke and prod and tug at my ears and my eyes. People think I should see the stuff that they see. I just see a lot of cardboard, pipe-cleaners, and paper mache........ Does anyone actually use pipe-cleaners to clean pipes? I have only ever seen them used to make hearts or flower stems or other such artaphernaliousnesses.

I like the smell of butter, and I like the taste of butter, but I REALLY don't like butter's attitude. It just sits there staring up at me saying "I'm cool, you go on and eat that bacon, I'm not going anywhere." But if you take your eyes off the butter for even the miniest moment, the butter is gone!!! I seriously do not know where it goes, and I know it was actually there and not a figment of my imagination because It leaves this buttery trail of forensics behind which I always send to the lab for analysis.... Well, I mean... Ok, I eat it. I eat the forensic evidence, but my mouth is as good as any lab, especially when it comes to butter. GOSH! I better stop talking about it or I will be up all night obsessing about how angry my fingers are at me for even bringing it up. They think I complain too much, and.... Ok, I'm sorry.

I have been told that the safest time of year is winter. Winter has an excellent hot-chocolate-to-my-face ratio. It also produces the most hyphenated terms of any season. If I live the rest of my life on hot-chocolate alone, I will be a warm and happy person. I mean... probably until I get really hungry. I get cranky when I am hungry.

I strive for one out of every poem, so here it is:

Ode of the eating
-----------------
Oh, cure of the crankies,
thou which art food for my face.
I eat thee and am full nigh unto sleeping.

I sleepeth not!

I must now clean mine house,
or suffer the sting of womanly knuckles,
against mine face.

Oh, parcel of continuance,
thou cookie of chipped chocolate!
Endure the assault of sharpened teeth.
I sharpen them according to the heart's desiring,
which now sounds kinda creepy.
I'm not a vampire.

I'm just not.
-----------------

Now I want to go to iHop. They should run iHop on linux. Or freeBSD. I mean, look. It already has the little "i" for the first letter. Now I REALLY want to go to iHop. Anyone want to come?

I decided long ago never to walk in anyone's shadows. If I fail, if I succeed..... I'm sorry people, sometimes Whitney creeps back into my conversations. I know, it happens to everyone, I'm still embarassed. What I was going to say is: I decided that I wanted to be an educator. I want to teach the truth of things via my blog, which you are now reading. To this end, I have inserted little pearls of wisdom here and there that I have learned from various people that I consider sagacious and phlyarologistic. Watch for these jewels of luminous perspicacity as they will be scattered throughout my writings. Please note, however, that many of these wise-folk dwell in a realm that I like to call "not-so-existent-or-truthful-land." It is a land of wonder, and above all, semi-accuracy.

One of the wisest sayings I have ever heard uttered is a saying that quickly and efficiently teaches us that we are all creatures of God and are all connected. It is a saying that originated in Central America, and is translated to read: "You can't have the Juan without the otter."

An old gargolomot of Gargolia, who was widened with age (yes, widened. He was as large as he was old. And he was VERY old), uh, where was I.. Oh yes, this old fatty said to me: "The duck and the monkey drink from the same pond." Which means: Even if you are awesome like a monkey, you still eventually have to talk to a duck here and there.

One of my most favoritorious of quotes is this one: "The lazy mouse sleeps within the snake." I think the meaning here is obvious. Don't be a mouse. I bet the snake never got eaten by nobody! Snakes are so much better than mice. Mice....

Well, I know that this entry was more pensive and deep and all that garbage, but I promise to write an entry later that.... I forgot what I was typing about.