Drunken Philosophies and Rantings

The Halftime Report

2009-01-19T13:04:00.001-05:00

Moving Day

2009-01-19T13:00:00.003-05:00

The Interview

2009-01-19T12:24:00.002-05:00

Humanitas

2008-07-28T23:56:00.004-04:00

Some of them love

Most of them hate

Some of them die

Before they’re awake

Many covet

Some donate

Most get caught

Before they take

Some may dream

Some can fly

Though in fields

Everyone lies

Many shall live

All will die

No one makes it

To the other side

Some of them love

Everyone hates

Too many die

Before they’re awake

Dues Lupus de Professio II

2008-03-25T18:09:00.002-04:00

Dues Lupus de Professio

2008-03-23T05:04:00.003-04:00

an excuse for imagery

2008-01-17T03:44:00.002-05:00

Nathanæl sat under the shower and wore the water like a teary crown. He believed he could last forever in the warm, wet cocoon until he died of pruning. He could just see the headline in Monday’s early edition:

Nathanæl almost cried with hysterical laughter at the thought. After a few moments of wondering laughter he turned off the shower, dried off, and started his evening convolutions. Before he laid his head upon the pillow, he revisited the thought and chuckled his way into a light slumber, where his dreams took him to forward in the morbid fantasy’s progression. His dream was like watching a collage of nightly television news clips about his own demise.

Hell is other people...

2007-12-16T23:01:00.000-05:00

At shopping malls...

During Christmas time...

So, here's to you psycho soccer mom, who pushed me out of the way to get your prize... I didn't realize that we were competing in American Gladiators... You win the last Wii game... congratulations...

bitch...

Random Thought In My Head Today

2007-11-12T20:05:00.000-05:00

I thought the below thought while working on an invoice today. I thought it was pretty funny and would perhaps give insight.

"I want to kill your onion soup!"

These kinds of randomly slung together sentences are constantly interrupting my daily thoughts. Most of them are really out there, but this one was pretty funny and I'd thought I'd share.

-sib

2007-08-07T00:00:00.000-04:00

Witness end of beginning

Looking foreword

And callous yet

Bystand till tomorrow

Breathing for what

Want taken back

Nevertheless never less

2007-06-26T03:33:00.000-04:00

A precocious birth celebrated in a quip acrid death. This is how I want to be remembered.

A quip acrid death? What the fuck are you talking about? You want a humored, unpleasant death?

Yup.

Really…?

What?

That’s all you’re going to say is “yup.”

Yup. What else is there?

Well, for starters, you could tell us exactly what you believe is a quip acrid death.

Nah, that’ll spoil the surprise… [and who is us?]

Surprise? [nevermind the us… tell me…]

Yeah. It’s a surprise. You won’t think it so funny if you know what’s going to happen ahead of time…

I won’t, huh?

Nope.

So, my bet’s down on death via autoerotic asphyxiation…

[Ha. Ha. Ha…] I got to admit that would be pretty funny, but the unpleasant part is debatable… seeing as one would only do so to get off…

Ah… good point… Um—well—at the very least—no one is going to believe you as ever in your life being precocious.

…

Well, you know what, you’re—you’re—just a big ball of prick… That’s what you are…

A big ball of prick, huh?

Yup.

You’re a dumbass…All in all, none of it really makes sense anyhow...

2007-06-03T22:30:00.000-04:00

i-Tunes U (U-tunes) on i-Tunes fucking kicks ass! Especially since it is free (for now)… I found that listening to them on long road trips is very enjoyable, just like listening to book on tape. Now, I suppose much of the visual part of the lecture is lost, but I still found the topics I chose (most dealing with either the social sciences or natural sciences, but a few on literary topics) quite informative and interesting.

-sib

Addicted to Cinnamon Sticks

2007-05-07T03:23:00.000-04:00

I actually think I might quit this time...
It’s been about four days and no real panic/anxiety/nicotine-what-ever-the-fuck-attacks...
I am trying out a new drug called Chatix...
it works pretty well... it keeps me from enjoying the cigarettes even if I smoke them...
I can even drink and not feel the pangs and wants for a cigarette...
(Well, except for Pepsi... had to give it up for awhile... it's one of my biggest triggers... for the best really...)
Perhaps it really is the medicine (it really is)... but just to be difficult, what has also helped me along is a little something for curbing nicotine cravings I picked up from a friend back in high school. My friend told me that while his dad was trying to quit smoking (cold turkey... as all the prescription drugs had not been invented yet) he used to chew on cinnamon sticks... the kind you buy at the grocery store, in the produce department... My friend, Dan, said that though his dad gave up smoking, he never gave up the habit of chewing on those sticks... Now I can see why...
They are addicting...
Besides the cinnamon/barkish flavor that these nico-free treats provide, they also provide me with an essential means to keep my fingers busy...
So, I suppose I am here to not only to promote the good of Chantix, but also that, for those who may not be able to afford it, a substitute, a secret, cinnamon sticks do the trick...
I just hope the Surgeon General doesn't come out with a warning about cinnamon now...

Happy @&*%$^! Easter Everyone...

2007-04-08T05:31:00.000-04:00

Oh if complaints worked the same way as wishes do in a fairy tail, I'd still complain I didn't have enough wishes...

2007-03-07T02:53:00.000-05:00

I used to have a theory, used to being the key phrase, about space, time, and the whole sha-bang. “Sha-bang” being the very sound the universe made when it decided to just appear out of nothing (instead of the widely-believed tiny *pop* like two lips smacking together). Yes, you increasingly intelligent folks, I was just talking about the Big Bang.

Hmm… what’s that? Increasingly intelligent… what did I mean by this? Well, you guys are reading my blog, and that has got to increase your intelligence by some margin.

Oh… wait… it appears that the nominal increase is only due to an accidental delusion of intelligence between the two of us. It happens when anyone is near me. It is one of the universe's fundamental natural laws. If one stands next to an idiot, they naturally appear smarter. The same reason pretty girls travel in packs of mediocre ones. It accents them within the crowd. It seems that this rule applies to reading as well. If one reads unintelligent prattle, then this will easily make them appear brighter.

So, this is a great reason to continue on reading after I get off this particular diatribe. After all, an illusion of gained intelligence is better than not. It boosts the self-esteem. And lord knows, even if you stumbled onto my site or you are a frequent click-by, your self esteem could use some boosting if you’re reading other peoples private journals instead of getting outside and living your life. That said I shall regress to what I wanted to say before my snide comment…

As I was saying before, I had this particular theory about the universe that I wanted to share. It’s no great secret that the universe exploded on the scene about 15 billion years ago and has been expanding (and even gaining speed) ever since. Nor is it a great secret that some scientist believed that it would perhaps collapse in on itself again eventually (the it being the universe not the scientists, silly). Some scientist even believed that this had happened many times over.

Expand, collapse, expand, collapse, expand and so on…

There are an absolute infinite number of times the universe could have preformed the oh-so-great “appearing and disappearing” act. And every time an infinite number of possibilities and probabilities could have taken place. Even Earth, as we know it, may have been before and gone, once upon another universal life-time ago. Some believe that we as humans may have even been before (or some other intelligent creature). The possibilities are infinitely imaginable. Though this train of thought is so absolutely abstract and obtuse, it is fun to play with.

Everyone has heard of the cliché, “History repeats itself.” Or at the very least I hope they have. Well, the theory I am about to present is nothing short of the ultimate use of that cliché. Imagine, hypothetically, assuming that the universe expands and collapses unto itself every-so-often (in universal time-line terms), that because the natural laws of physics, ones that we know and do not yet know, the universe will always explode, expand, and ultimately collapse always in the same fashion every time. Imagine that the Earth as we know it is always within the universe’s grand equation. Though chaotic as it may seem in the looking at the progression of something so innately transcendent as this in its total scale, when one takes a snap-shot of a snap-shot of a snap-shot of the accidental collisions and riffraff floating through space, the organization of natural laws/physics/mathematics is present.

Because negatively charged dust particle A always collided with particle B and its brothers, because a star was born, and because eventually the gravity of this star slingshot Asteroid XP39-2 always into some lonely moon scattering its particles into space, one millennium away, a new, medium sized star grew in a spiral galaxy and held itself, via gravity, nine planets of its own. And just the same, because the third barren planet, perfectly formed and was gravitationally held both close and away, tilted (due to another collision with another planet on the same orbital pattern) just the right way, it always produced life that eventually always became us. And due to natural social laws and animal behavior, a natural selection process that constantly produced the same outcome; we, you and I have always had this very same interaction.

Now, though the notion is quite one of want, it is quite improbable. Yet, it could help to explain the paranormal. It could give some credence to psychics, ghosts, and perhaps even deja vu. But again, this theory is one of incredible improbability. For anyone who has stepped within some sort of lab or at least participated in some sort of experiment, then one would know that there are many different variables that can change the results of the simplest of experiments. Also too, a fallacy stated above, that in natural selection, never does it always produce the same results, even in a restrictive, static environment. Nature just wouldn’t allow it to be so. Though nature can appear quite organized under a microscope, looking into a field from far away we can easily see it to be wild.

There is also another reason my hypothetical explanation could never be. Like always, anal as I am about being correct about all things, I researched a bit before I sat down to write out this entry (just by doing so completely transformed this essay). I found out that most astronomers believe now that the universe is flat. And because it is flat, they have their magical minds and mathematics as proof, it means that the universe is extremely unlikely to collapse in upon itself. Don't ask me how I know this, just take my word or research it yourself if your so great with Greek-lettered physics (the website I visited had the actual equations with the explanation).

So, though the thought and delusion I once held seems like a delectable treat for my imagination, and I might use it as a vehicle one day in one of my fictional stories, the idea is totally bunk. If this were Discovery Channel show, then a big metallic image would stamp itself across my site saying the words, “Busted” right about now. But as it’s not, I’ll rely on the old Saturday morning public announcement star to shine bright instead .

2007-02-20T16:24:00.000-05:00

Winter Walk

Symmes Creek

2007-02-19T14:50:00.000-05:00

Symmes Creek, originally uploaded by superinsignificantboy.

Bought a new camera...
It's a digital camera
DV Recorder
Mp3 Player
and Digital Recorder...
he he he
Anyway, this is a picture I took of the creek behind our house...

Steven and David

2007-02-19T14:47:00.000-05:00

Steven and David, originally uploaded by superinsignificantboy.

You might wanna turn up the volume for this...

2007-01-25T15:32:00.000-05:00

2007-01-18T17:30:00.000-05:00

The History of the Earth

I wish I had read this before shilling out 7 bucks for that terrible dribble

2006-12-18T00:06:00.000-05:00

Eragon Reviews

Save yourself if you haven't seen this movie and planed on going...
read the reviews...

My god that was an awful adaptation of a fun book...

2006-12-05T20:18:00.000-05:00

Look what I did while I was at work today...

I'm so deep that I can hear an echo when I'm thinking...

2006-11-29T00:58:00.000-05:00

*sigh*

2006-10-25T02:43:00.003-04:00

I’ve had a revelation.
—And you’re just gonna share it with us all aren’t you…
Yes, yes I am.
—Great—just great—I just can’t wait to hear this. Is there any way I could convince you from sharing every dithered thought that enters your brain?
Nope—‘fraid not.
—Well, damn. Get on with it I suppose…

Anyway, like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, is that I have had a revalat—
—Um… Sorry, but you do know that no one is going to listen, right?
Er… I guess I figured as much.
—And you don’t care?
No, not really. I figured that no one has ever before, so why stop now.
—But you could save a whole lot of trouble by just keeping it to yourself…
I could, but I won’t. Because—
—Because this is too damn important, right?
Yes.
—No.
No?
—No. What ever it is that you have figured out, your so-called “revelation,” is probably—odds are—nothing much more than what someone else has already figured out and written, spoke, or articulated about in some sort of medium throughout the ages way before you have. And, mind you, it was articulated in a manner better than you could have ever touched upon. Chances are that your “common sense” has probably resonated throughout the ages, in every hall and mind, before there was a spit of your essence in your father’s eye.
This may be true.
—And…
And nothing.
—So, you still have the wherewithal to continue on with your useless realization?
Yes. You know, no one really uses the phrase/word “wherewithal” anymore do they?
—No they don’t—well—except rednecks I suppose. But then, when it’s pronounced and used, I doubt it is said correctly or in the right use. Yet, back to the point a hand. I was asking if you’re still going to continue on with your report even though no one may read or care about it.
Yes.
—So, are you?
Of course.
—Why?
Why not? I mean, besides being because I am just stubborn, it’s not really whether or not I can communicate with others my understandings, or whether or not they care. It’s not even whether or not they read what I have to say, because all that matters is that I wrote it down, I put my thoughts into words.
—But what would be the point? I don’t get it. The thoughts are already in your head. Why waste the time writing it down, when you could better yourself by reading or at the very least killing what brain cells you have left—um—so these kind of conversations quit happening.
Of course you don’t. You—like me—are naturally a cynic. You’re a person who believes that people only react to selfish motivations in any form of human interaction. You don’t believe in any form of altruistic actions or points of view without bias. The bias being, of course, me-first and the gimmie-gimmies… I write these notions, no matter how silly, for me and me alone. I know that no one is really out there reading them, if or when I post them, but it really doesn’t matter.
—Why not?
Because when I articulate my thoughts, which for the most part are so fractured and fractioned inside my skull, when I put it to paper, it helps me to assemble the jumble clearly.
—So, if the writing, or whatever you do, is just for you, then why do you post them—especially if you know that no one is really going to read them or even understand your extrinsic ranting(s)?

Maybe someone will, maybe someone does. This posting thing is nothing but a twenty-first century version of a journal anyway. Sure it’s in a public sphere, but what exactly isn’t these days. It’s not really, like you said, like I am solving any world delemas or anything with what I have discovered or write about, and it’s not exactly anything to personal that I share within the sphere. This is why I don’t write my post directly on the site, but on Word, where I can save the hard copy to my computer. I just place a copy after the fact online if I am up to it. Lately, as you may know, I haven’t been quite up to it.
—Why, what has changed? You were previously putting up crap before, and now—all of a sudden—you are against it? OH THANK GOD!
Erm… no, I still like putting crap out there. The only difference is that now that I deal with computers all damn day long, I never seem that interested in following through with taking that extra step forward and placing them online.
—I hope that never changes…
Thanks…
—Oh, go on then—whatever… Put whatever it is that you have found out, crappy as it may be, online where no one will ever read it.
I will…
—Okay then…

…

—Do it…

…

—Well, are you or are you not going to enlighten us all with your so-called great “revelation?”
Um… Well, I—ugh—I guess I could—
—But…
But, after all this talking, I forgot what I was going to say…

…
…

—Good! Mission accomplished!
What!
—You heard me. You’re pathetic
You know you’re a jerk, right?
—Who doesn’t.

...
...

Jerk…

2006-10-18T16:46:00.000-04:00

So, I have been away for quite some time, huh? I have an excuse. I swear. It’s signed by Epstein’s mother. No really, it’s valid. If you want an explanation just read on, but I got to warn you—it’s a real doozy. To be honest, I have been away from you all for so long because I have been in Africa. Africa is God’s country—and well-he can keep it. Yup, that’s right. I traveled to Africa.
I traveled with only one other person. It was my bosom companion, my trusty sidekick, my collaborator in chaos, my friend Jason “Rusty” Bedlam (the III). His father, Jay Jr. is some sort of wealthy-to-do businessman, who has been away for so many years in Europe, or so it always seemed, is now home again and makes up all the lost time by substituting it monetarily. We all know this cliché of family bonding through bonds. It was actually Jason who invited me along with him, and more than likely, it is I who is the sidekick rather than the said above opposite. Whether I was Ward to his West or he was my Jay Silverheels to my Clayton Moore, we were both equal accomplices in anarchy, and it was an easy quick decision to go along with him.
We left the city, drunk and early, on the morning of September 23. After about fifteen hours in the air and six more in the plane, we arrived at the airport in some oddly named city. We at once proceeded 300 miles into the heart of the jungle, where I shot a polar bear. This bear was six feet and seven inches tall, with stocking feet, and it had shoes on…
What you don’t believe polar bears live in Africa? Well, normally they don’t, but this bear was anemic and couldn’t stand the cold climate. You see, he was a rich bear and could afford to get away from his natural habitat. And if you don’t believe that—well—how about this, you take care of your animals and I’ll take care of mine.
From the day of our arrival, we led an active life… Why, the very first morning saw us up at six. We had breakfast and were back in bed by seven. This was our routine for the first ten days. After that we managed to remain awake until seven-thirty.
One morning I was sitting in front of the cabin smoking some meat… I was smoking meat ‘cause there wasn’t a 7-11 anywhere in sight to buy more cigarettes… Anyway, there I was sitting in front of our cabin when I bagged six tigers. That’s right, six. No, sure there were six, and I bagged them and bagged them to go away all morning but they wouldn’t budge. They hung around all afternoon. They were the most persistent tigers I ever knew.
*cough*
The principle animals inhabiting the jungle are moose and elks. Of course you all know what a moose is… that’s big game. The second day I shot two bucks, that was the biggest game we had…
As I said, you all know what a moose is? For those of you who do not know, a moose runs around on the floor, eats cheese, and is chased by the cats. The elks, on the other hand, live up in the hills. In the spring they come down for their annual convention. It is very interesting to see them gather around the water-hole, and you should see them run when they find it. After all, it is only a water-hole, what they were looking for is an alcohol…
On our second to last day there, on a hike into the thick, we ran into one of the local tribes and they invited us back to their camp. None of them wore any clothes. There was a group of teenage girls idly standing on the outskirts of the huts. Jason and I took many pictures. They weren’t developed yet, but we promised ourselves to go back there in a couple months.
After the adventure with the natives, a huge chunk of time edited out for the kiddies, we returned home and for the most part I have been doing nothing but resting from the adventure. Jason caught malaria and died two days ago. The funeral is tonight, but I think I might wash my hair. Other than that, I have done nothing much of interest. Though I left for a few weeks, when I got back, my bosses missed me so much, they gave me a raise. Even now, I am at work with nothing going on. Speaking of which, I ought to get back to my important idle time. You guys really aren’t worth the time I could be spending twiddling my thumbs. Twiddling one’s thumbs is an art. It takes years of practice to master. And spending it doing this is really cutting into the valuable time I have left. Adios people…
-sib

(fyi—most of this was paraphrased and just plain stolen from one of my heroes, Groucho Marx, from the movie Animal Crackers)

2006-09-18T00:05:00.000-04:00

I started this paragraph previously with simply the starter, “There’s only one part of my body that is not sore right now…,” but before I sat down to write anything else, I thought it a clever time to take a brief moment and pause, before I got started, and waddle my way down the hall to fetch a beer.
I waddle because my feet are aching. Right now, my calves feel like they are on fire. I believe the only words for how my back is feeling right now starts with the letter F and ends with something even a white-trash mechanic (if one were so present to hear my thoughts) would blush at the sound of hearing. I paused to grab a beer, waddled my way up and down the corridor, let out a grating sigh as I leaned down into the fridge and grab a beer. And as quickly as the sound erupted from within, like a flash of lightning (the way these thoughts come streaming into my mind), the thought occurred to me and the once quick blurb of an update that was to be was quickly transformed into the following discourse.
As I was saying, I think that the only part of my body that is not sore is the very tip of my nose. But this soreness is not to be chided. It is a good pain. It is a pain not unlike being beaten to a pulp by an enemy, but the difference is that the enemy is none other than yours truly. It is I, who tortured my being unto this point of ill-contorted stiffness. It is the same pain an athlete feels after a long arduous workout. I stiffly walk, huddle and hunch over in agony, but I feel much better about it than I would if I were attacked by group of ruthless thugs. This is perhaps because our body’s, when we exercise, shoot endorphins into the bloodstream (or so I’ve heard).
No, I did not go jogging or any other such nonsense or do some typical workout. I hurt, because I took a weekend away from the hustle and bustle of my normal existence. This weekend I was only on call to the sound of crickets as they chirped madly away in the cool summer night. I was only on call, as I turned off both of my phones, to the crackling and hissing sound of damp wood as I placed another log onto the flames. It was a weekend of sheer joy, a weekend of mental relaxation, a weekend away.
If you hadn’t guessed it yet, and I feel truly sorry for those of you who haven’t, I went camping over the weekend (Lord knows I have the bug bites to prove it). Chris and I traveled to nowhere exotic this weekend, as we have many times in the past, or at least to an area which you may have heard of before. We didn’t need to. As long as there is open sky, a place to set up tent and camp, enough to start a fire, and good conversation, then I am satisfied. And this is what occurred. Luckily, we had all the above (perhaps not the conversation—ha-ha) and enough beauty to visit to keep us entertained during the moment when there is daylight, daylight being a time when the magic of the campfire is ineffective (I find). It is because of this trip out there, plus the additional beginning of the trip sleeping on Chris’ loveseat that I am so sore right now.
Like I said before, what I am feeling right now is a good pain. And a good pain is something that can wake us and reevaluate our course without causing too much destruction, something which a harmful pain can bare upon us. It is something worth reflecting upon further.
Pain breathes the very essence of living. As humans, we measure our existence in divisions of pain. It often seems that we are only aware of our existence when we can reflect upon its’ sourness. When times are hunky-dory, no one reflects upon how fortunate they are, they live mindlessly as robots, programmed to continue on that same path that has brought them such fortune until a circumstance (a painful moment), often out of their control, reawakes them to rethink, to reflect upon, and change their present course to another in which they may fly on autopilot once again. When one induces that pain, like a doctor induces labor in a pregnant woman, the body, the mind reawakes on it’s own terms and out of that slumber a person can find themselves once again. Perhaps, like Rip Van Wrinkle, they find themselves a person who is a hundred years away from what they used to be the last time they awoke, the last time they were cut off autopilot. This is probably why so many men go through mid-life crises. Is it a coincidence that men, when they reach a certain age, are told to start exercising by their physicians (because they are not as young as they used to be), all of a sudden reemerge new selves after that first stretch of highway they trot down? Or perhaps women, who seem to be constantly aware of themselves, are such because society demands that they start training and working out (for aesthetic purposes) at so young an age?
There has to be some direct connection here, something worth diving into. Yet, as I look to the clock, a tool which I seldom used this weekend, it has rotated back into focus and it is late. The hustle-bustle world is once again calling for me, and I have accordingly turned my phone back on once again. As painful as it is, my body including, I know that once again I am slave to the beating rhythm of the minute hand that hypnotizes us into submission. It is the white noise we listen to in order to fall asleep. Yet, I also know true that the sooner I fall asleep once again the pain will abate. And so, perhaps sleep could do me some good as I am awfully tired and too sore to care whether or not I stay awake once again.

-sib-

2006-09-09T23:21:00.000-04:00

Could you exist if you didn't know of your existence? If you were not aware that you were alive, would you be?

2006-08-28T18:45:00.000-04:00

I was too damn busy to write this weekend. Besides, it's not like anyone really cares anyhow. Other than that update, I wanted to share that I was thinking about giving goob a new title. I was going to call him the "Guardian of Misused and Broken Condoms," but oddly enough, the title was already taken--So, I just got nothin' now...
Mr. and Mrs. Barron, I am just joking...
Chris, I really am not...
*snicker*

-sib

Epilogue... or Epilepsy? so far...

2006-08-21T01:02:00.000-04:00

Epilogue:

The television was on too loud again and Roger crawled out of bed, made an exasperated noise as his feet touched the cold hard wood floor. It was quite annoying to him that he was sent to bed so early, nine o’clock, earlier than any of the kids he knew, probably all children around the world got to stay up later than he did, just to be tortured by the loud echoes of the television reverberating over the entire house. It did not seem fair to him to be shut away, only to sit awake for hours, his attention diverted from falling asleep in the cold nook he called his room. Really, his room was nothing more than a crawlspace on the second floor, but it was his choice to move in there. If he had not, then he would still be sharing a room with his two younger twin brothers, who were five years younger than Roger and five years too annoying for him. So, the cold, cold winters and the desperately humid and hot summers were bearable to him as long as he did not have to spend one more minute cooped up with those two terrors any longer. In fact, his little space he called home would be quite acceptable if he could only convince his father to lay some carpet in there to block out the noises between nine and twelve at night, until his father finally shuffled off to bed.
Roger made his way down the steps. As always, at ten o’clock, his father switched over from whatever he was watching to the early edition news. And unlike any other night, when Roger entered the family room, sure enough, it was Jack Northerly, the cheshire anchorman, enameled as always, cheerfully deliberating death and destruction to his public. Cheerful of course because the more death and destruction there was in the world, the more secure Jack Northerly’s job was. And it seemed to Roger that Jack-too-many-teeth was never, ever dour. And unlike what Roger’s grandfather always said, “No news is good news…,” Roger believed that Jack would probably forever disagree.
Roger decided to stand back and watch a little of the evening spectacle before making his presence and problem know to his father. Tonight, Jack and his co-anchor, Tisha “tight-shirt” McGraw, were laughing at the acrobatic antics of a waterskiing rodent, as they tried to pawn off the lighter side of the news as more entertaining than it really was. Roger thought to himself that it must have been a slow day to have this story so close to the beginning of the show, but then the tone of Trisha turned a more serious one as she began a new story. Evidently that day, three men died at a gas and go as a botched robbery took place. Roger figured it was time to get going, otherwise if he watched anymore, he would have horrible nightmares. Those nightmares wouldn’t involve any botched robbers killing or rampaging, but it would be a recurring one where the two anchors and their botoxed faces, their shiny, inhuman teeth chattered away and did social commentary on Roger’s own insignificant boring life.
Roger unglued his eyes from the screen and cornered around the couch to confront his father only to find him asleep, beer and cozy still in hand, and his neck and head arched back and rolled on to his left shoulder. Roger didn’t know if he should be upset at the fact the television was left needlessly on or happy that he had the chance to commandeer the television to watch one of science channels he loved. The ones on at night were always a little bit more risqué, but they were definitely better than rehashed ones during the day. Just before he was about to change the channel, Jack interrupted his partner with breaking news.

“I’m sorry Trisha, but this was just handed to me. It seems that we have been just been given information on totally bizarre case and our producer has said we just have to share this. It seems that the teacher at Karl Marsh Elementary, Mr. Walters, Jim, who has been missing for over a week now. We brought you that breaking story last Thursday. It seems that there is footage of his disappearance, and we have it for you. And when we come back from the break, we’ll have it ready to roll.”

Mr. Walters? Thought Roger, and he froze with the remote hanging straight forward pointing out as an extension of his arm as an automotive repair commercial came on screen. That was Roger’s favorite teacher from the previous year. He taught social studies and he actually made it interesting unlike so many unsuccessful teachers before him. He was a favorite among Karl Marsh alumni and it was no different in this household. But Roger was somewhere near shock as this was the first it had reached his ears, a week or no week. How could that be possible? Before he could answer himself the news popped back on.

“And we’re back. Tisha, you and I took a look at this video of his disappearance during the break, and I think we can both agree that this footage can only be described as nothing less than amazing as indescribable. And taken at an ATM machine no less—”
“Yet it is not just amazing, Jack. It is completely terrible and tragic, no matter how incredible it seems.”
“Yes, yes, of course, it’s tragic and terrible Tish. But astonishing none the less… just watch…”

And there on the television screen appeared Mr. Walters in green tint, a stop time stamped video footage placing his ATM card into the machine. He looked no different from the last time Roger saw him about a year ago in class.

“As you can see..” said Jack. “It is a simple transaction that Mr. Walters is making. He pushes a few buttons, takes his money, and begins to turn around. He takes a few steps and heads right toward Main Street. And then…”

Just at that point, the Mr. Walters on screen, the man who has been supposedly missing for a week, just evaporated. Nothing slow like dissipating smoke, Mr. Walters just disappeared. Poof! Gone. There was no trace whatsoever of him left. One second here, the next he just was not.

“…he just disappears. Abracadabra. We have tried contacting the police to see if they have ascertained any theories involving this case, but it seems that the deputy chief was unavailable for questioning at this time. We’ll show it again, but again, we have no further information at this point regarding this. But be sure as the story unfolds, we at Channel 10 are sure to bring you the action first. But here again is that disturbing, yet dumbfounding image one more time.”

And they showed it. Actually, the news team showed it twice more because their man Jack just couldn’t get over the fact that he could replay his voice over and over again while doing this seemingly rehearsed surprised voiceover as the video played. Sure, it was quite unbelievable, but seeing more than twice seemed to take away some of it’s shock value and Roger turned off the television halfway during the third time through, just as Mr. Watson was tugging out a few twenties from the machine again, he pushed the power button and the television made a shwoosh noise, which woke his father up. Why is it that a marching band can pass through his family room, and like all dad’s, they won’t awake until the shwoosh of the television powers down? Is it something innate in all males that lays dormant until they reach the age of thirty or so? Thought Roger.
For quite a bit, all his father could do was stair at his son as the father began to deduce that this was not now a dream. And Roger could see it all across his forehead, as a scowl appeared, that the usual “What are you doing up?” was about to slip from his father’s mouth. And sure enough, as soon as the thought had crossed his mind, his father predictably said those exact words.
Roger wanted to shift the subject away to the amazing incident that just happened on the screen, but a high whine only came out and he cringed under it as he said, “Buh-but the TV—too loud… I couldn’t sleep.”
His father didn’t even dignify a response, but simply pointed in the direction of the stairs and gave Ryan the crooked eyebrow response. Roger let out a frustrated huff and did about-face and marched away from his father. Roger just knew that he was a disappointment to his father. The crooked eyebrow was just one more confirmation of the fact. He sluggishly dragged his feet up each step.
Mr. Lilienthal, Roger’s father, was one of those fathers who were heavy into sports as a child, playing them throughout his youth, excelling at any one he was apart. From tennis to football, Mr. Lilienthal was good at them all naturally. When his knees grew weak and his back began to give out, Rick Lilienthal’s playing days turned into days of vicariously living through other players on the television, and when Rick had his first child, and it was a boy, (this being the real reason that Roger believed his father even wanted children) he wished to live vicariously through him. But not only did Roger do poorly at every sport, he thought they were quite silly to watch too.
This is why Roger felt that his father, though he seemed to despise children in general, did not give up after just one. No, he kept trying and this time he succeeded with not only one son to be proud of, but two identical boys, Parker and Peyton, who incidentally loved and were brilliant at all sports like their father. Parker was named after his father’s favorite baseball player, Dave Parker, and Peyton after a not so famous quarterback you’ve never heard of. Roger of course was named after another famous person, but much to his father’s chagrin (even though he wouldn’t admit it) not a famous sports athlete. Roger was actually named after a famous mathematician Roger Cotes, who was an associate of Isaac Newton and an innovator in trigonometry. This was his mother’s choice after giving birth to boy for her husband. If this doesn’t give you any insight into Roger’s positive attributes, stick around for it is sure to come up again somewhere further on.

Okay, I guess I'll keep at this one, but so far I haven't had anytime to even sleep let alone write. Hopefully, I will be able to find time now over the weekends, but we shall see... This is just the intro to the parallel universe story, but stick around and perhaps one day this will finally go somewhere...
-sib

2006-08-14T17:10:00.000-04:00

So, who is the person from Seattle, Washington, who keeps check out my site?
They use Comcast internet...
and no, not my friend Andrea...
who are you person who frequents my page?

A Long Silence Abated?

2006-08-13T04:23:00.000-04:00

I almost stayed at home, saved some money, payed off my loans, but a opportunity came for me to move away from my schizophrenic family and I jumped.
I almost finished my work this week and didn't have to work on the weekend, all weekend long, but thanks to bacteria and a sly ill-placed frog, I have no choice.
I almost got drunk and had some fun with my friends on Friday, but then halfway through my first beer, the Mason cops set up a sobriety check point outside of the bar.
I almost gained the courage to ask a girl out this week, but then was embarrassingly saved the eventual disappointing rejection when I dripped chili down my shirt.
I almost came back from my long sabbatical with a thrilling update upon what has been going on this week, but was too inconvenienced, too incontinent to even attempt such a tedious task.

2006-08-04T08:22:00.000-04:00

I am quiet because I have yet to get the internet at my new apartment and I really haven't much to say that is interesting enough anyway...

2006-07-25T17:58:00.000-04:00

Menagerie of Meretricious Metaphysics
Mumbled Mannered Me

X Graduate from college

X Buy a new car

X Get a job

X Move away from home

___ …Um I got nothin’… get my hair cut, perhaps?

So, it seems that my check list is almost complete. I have accomplished (or will at least next week) the short term goals I set out for myself a few months ago. But now I guess my dilemma is that I have no new short term goals left in mind, not to mention long term ones. I guess it would be truthful to say too that I never have had any long term insight about what I saw my self doing in five, ten, twenty years from now. I guess I always assumed I would be dead by the age of twenty-five and never gave it much thought.

But here I am, twenty-five, and I have at least a good ten years left in me. What do I do now? I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stop smoking and exercise a bit, lose my gut, and see if I can’t stay around a few more years. Yet, I cannot really think of any great reason to even do so.

It’s not really that I hate life or mine in particular (otherwise I would have off’ed myself or at the very least, you a long time ago). It’s just that we all have to go eventually. Some go sooner than others, some keep on it for quite awhile, but most (if not all) go before they are ready. Do you know why we go clinging to every breath that they can possibly cling? Why we hook ourselves up to so cold and sterile machines? Why do we have those indifferent aseptic nurses keep resuscitating the life back into us? It is because we have generally and regrettably not lived our lives to the fullest? Were we too busy trying to extend our lives, too busy to take the time to sit back and really enjoy it? Are we too busy trying to secure our old age with wealth that by the time we are ready to enjoy the comfort cushioned, we are too frail and tired to actually enjoy it? The answer it seems, for the most part, is yes it is.

I am not implying that I by any stretch of the imagination that I have lived myself silly or anything like it. But I do admit to enjoying the simplistic and naughty vices here and there. If my life were put into a music disk, I’d have an anthology of songs sung about black lungs, dead brain cells, loose women/morals, and many songs of misplaced nights.

Basically, it would be much like any rock and roll album out there today. Yet, I have not lived the life of a rock star by far. Nor have I lived life running toward danger. I am not stupid. Like I said before, I don’t hate my life. I am kind of fond of it actually. There’s a difference between living life to the fullest and just throwing one’s life away frivolously. And this is why I will be able to justify such actions as smoking throughout my youth, drinking banefully till I can’t remember how to feel, or at the very least the lack of exercise when I am upon my deathbed. There will be no pleading to some unknown for a reprieve to be granted. When we die, we die. To think otherwise would only hinder one’s capability to be free from the limitations of conventional thinking. Traditional ideologies and religious notions over saturated with certain base beliefs and fallacies about the value of life and what it actually means to live.

I do not believe in reincarnation or any mumbo-jumbo like it, nor do I believe in anything as silly as an after-life. I believe we have one life to lead and then we basically disappear. It is as simplistic as that. This may scare some people, but it does not frighten me. At the very least I know there is an end. Otherwise, life would be somewhat pointless. POINTLESS? Yes, pointless… Let me explain.

Let us say, for the sake of argument, that there is such a thing as reincarnation or an afterlife. Then life could and would, via strict laws of religious imagination interpreted by yours truly, go on infinitely, yes? Either on a Heavenly plane or an Earthly one (unless the Sun explodes and eventually kills all life on the planet—and then the life perhaps would be transported somewhere else) life would continue on forever. Well, if one lives forever, then what kind of significance does the span of 40-80 years have on us? I suppose not much at all. It much the same as looking into anything infinite, forty to eighty, even ninety years is nothing short of a drop of water in the ocean (Hell, all seven oceans—all oceans around the universe). We cannot possibly fathom how insignificant that span is because it is so meaningless.

So this brings me back to the very start upon which I began this discourse. What exactly should I shoot for as a good goal to achieve if I only have a fraction—a meaningless blip of time in which I can pursue it? So far the only thing I have is on a list below.

___ ~~Stop waisting time writing philosophies that no one will read and you yourself will not follow.~~

___ Buy more soda when I go to the store

___ Pay my bills on time

X Take a nap after I finish this damn list

Okay, so this updated list is pretty pathetic, but what about my life (and yours… don’t even try to exclude yourself if you have just taken the time to read this) isn’t pathetic? Well, screw you guys for not disagreeing with me… I am taking off to see if I can’t really accomplish the last goal on the list…
Peace out peoples,
-sib-

Public Service Announcement

2006-07-17T23:14:00.000-04:00

This here’s about that mountain chap
Ya know the man as Jacky Strap
People—his mountain’s just a small hill

He said he were one rough neck guy
Throw ya a punch an spit in yer eye
Yet I ain’t seen him throw one still

Ya just know when there comes that night
And you and he have got to fight
I place my dollar on yer bill

It’s not that yer so damn tough
Or on the fact that yer hot stuff
It’s just his name should be Jill

I saw him in a Texan town
Where they lay the whisky down
Local spot where I drowned my fill

Jack was in a ring game of stud
When a man walked in from the mud
And start to flirt with “his” girl, Lill

Doncha right know a fight broke out
And all the men began to shout
So thrilling to witness the kill

Must have been something Jacky saw
All of a sudden he didn’t want to brawl
An’ ‘fore the draw—he lost his will

Quickly he off’ed an’ disapeared
Before the dust had all but cleared
The crowded laughter were so shrill

As I now think of what I saw
The tale I tell you ain’t that tall
You can trust against yer will

In his or yer fear you shall lave
Take a stand, men or dig yer grave
Giving in is a move made ill

Shake yer head and doubt what I say
Seen it like it were yesterday
But you dont believe—even still

So, you just go on yer own way
Hunker down and pay his pay
And I recon you always will

Happy Endings

2006-07-16T02:45:00.000-04:00

Tonight as I was lounging around after eating a hearty “traditional meal” (steak, potatoes, and something green) with my family, I recalled an event that occurred sometime around the time I was ten or so. It was a summer evening, just after supper, at my grandparent’s house. My Grandfather and I were sitting on the back stoop listening to crickets and pondering the growth of grass as our stomachs digested my grandmother’s cooking.
There was minimal conversation, as there ever is after such meals. After fifteen minutes of this my Grandfather interrupted the silence with a hacking cough. It was one of those terrible smoker's coughs that come after too many years of smoking unfiltered cigarettes.
With tears rolling in his eyes from pain he looked at me and tried to smile. He could probably see the worry on my face. Before I could warn him of the dangers of smoking, the ones I learned in school, he decided to cut me off and teach me one of his many life lessons instead. I could tell it was coming just by the curl of the right of his lip before he smiled. His eyes would smugly set on the horizon just as he always would start off, "Listen young man, did you know..."
Like most things out of my grandfather’s mouth, this lesson was nothing short of crude. It was and is the reason I looked up to that old man. His crotchety old mouth always taught me such colorful words and phrases I could never hear at home. And what ten year old boy didn’t want to be the first to use such rude banter at school? What glories were brought to the kid who taught the others, as they gathered around in the back of the school bus, the naughty new things they can call each other? Lord knows I did.
That night, my grandpa decided to vulgarly compare life and living it to the act of having sex. A subject somewhat taboo to a ten year old, but something still which was magically drawing and elusive just a boy just the same. My ears perked right up, and I can even remember how I nervously leaned in. Here it was. Finally, here was an adult who was going to let on to one of the basic secrets shared within the hallowed halls of manhood. Someone was finally going to indulge me with what it was all about, with the only subject that the other boys at school seemed to surpass my knowledge on.
He started off saying bluntly, and right to the point, that he knew those who took to life like they did a loose woman, giving it to her hard and finishing so very quickly. Of course, with this, I was totally confused and didn't know where he was going at the time. Then he said, much like the above, that there were those who took it easy and made sweet love to that woman the whole night through. Of these two, Grandpa would said the latter had it right and one should always strive to be that guy. Finally, after he inhaled the rest of his smoke, smudged it out on the arm of the wooden patio lounge chair, and concluded his crude metaphor by saying that there were those who lived life like prison inmates. He told me that these guys always settling to take it up the rear. “Don’t be an ass fucked queer…” he’d say, “don’t let no one stick it to you—or in you for that matter…”
I blushed and laughed awkwardly at this, embarrassed for the both of us, though hardly knowing exactly what he meant. And then he was quite for the rest of the evening as he let the bottle take a sip of him now and again.
Now that I look back upon it, I guess in a way he was correct, especially since I do know of what he means. Yet, I don’t think that it is so cut and dry like he believed it to be. I think, like all things, that life is greyer than black and white (like my grandfather believed everything to be).
Life and those who live it do not always play specific roles. Collectively, we all take our share of being screwed and screwing. We take things fast and hard and sometimes we take it slow and easy. For the most part, since everything is principled on the balance and moderation of things (such as diets, alcohol, and just about all things), I think life can, and should be, the same.
Let’s not compare life then so crudely as my grandfather did to sex, but instead a relationship. A healthy relationship is where both partners give and take with equality. It is a relationship of sacrifice on both fronts. So, to speak as rude as my Grandfather once did, it is sometimes taking the screwing, as in other times, it is the giving of it.
For the most part, I think that’s true with life. Without the unhappy parts (the getting screwed) how would, could, we ever appreciate the happy parts of life (screwing???). We couldn’t, plain and simple. It’s not I think—therefore I am, but I feel—therefore I am. And without a feeling to compare and contrast upon, one feeling is just not enough to sustain a healthy livelihood. After all, there are those who have it all, taking life by the horns and all that, who are successful, who are not happy. Just like there are those which are raped by life cruelly, who equally do not enjoy it. They are just two differing variants of un-enjoyment. Those who live mathematically meanly will probably get the most out of life, because as bad as it can get, we must still appreciate, learn, and perhaps laugh upon later, the bad stretches (no matter how awful) in our lives. No matter what, at the end of life, unlike with some sexual partners, we still get to finish, no matter how beautiful, exhilarating, lame, or awkward that life might have been. There will be Happy Endings for all… I promise…

2006-07-15T02:42:00.000-04:00

The world can be so lonely when you are incapable of sharing your personal thoughts articulately…

2006-07-11T23:24:00.000-04:00

Pantry told me tonight that Virgin Oil is actually a dirty little slut...
that even that reconstructive surgery wouldn't put things right with her...
of course Pantry is an old gossiping fool, so who really knows the truth...
not me...

2006-07-11T01:12:00.000-04:00

Yup, took a page out of Abs' playbook and put a poll in the sidebar. You see the thing is, that when I first saw that she had one, oh so long ago, I grew jealous and wanted one for my own. But the problem was that I couldn't think of anything to poll. Lately, it has occurred to me that I have been writing a many start to stories, but I have yet to finish them or even start upon them because I have grown indecisive about which one should get my attention. To me, all of them are great premise ideas. So, I figured I'd throw this up there and see what happens. I suppose it is necessary to say that there is only one vote per day and at the end of this week I'll see what has favor over the others. Then, hopefully I'll actually sit down and write for a bit and see where I end up. Okay, I guess I'll mosey off to bed now (seeing as I have to get up in a few hours).
Peace out peoples,
-sib-

A Man’s Work is Never Done…

2006-07-07T08:18:00.000-04:00

A man’s work is never done—Now where did my pogo stick get to?
Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

A man’s work is never done—And climbing these steps up to my bed is killin’ me…

A man’s work is never done—So you’re going to have to be a man and work my shift today, ‘cause I’m calling off sick…

-sib-

2006-07-05T11:02:00.000-04:00

Nothing going on at work yet, so my boss has given me new software specifically for web design. It's kinda cool but a little out of my league as well. We'll see. She wants to see something preliminary by noon, and so far I have a decent template layout, but without any pictures or decent photo-shop on my work computer, I cannot make anything too complex and it kind of stinks. Meh...
Anyway, I had a pretty decent holiday weekend. For the most part I hung out with Goober on Saturday, Sunday, and part of Monday. We went to the Reds game on Sunday afternoon and baked in the blistering sun for three hours only to see our Reds lose again. That's alright, I suppose. I am now six and three when it comes to winning home stand visits. With the Reds record at home this year, this isn't too bad, as they have a losing record at home this year (how sad is that?) The rest of the time Goober and I pretty much hung out, watched a few movies, and visited BP for a bit.
On Monday night, I went out with Steven to a block party where we saw a neighborhood firework display, which was incredibly impressive, near his parents house. The hodge podge of fireworks brought by those in attendance (people who came from all over just threw their fireworks into a community pile and a few of the drunkards set them up with timers and etc.) had a price range of ten thousand dollars or so. These people went ridiculous with their spending I think, especially for only about ten - twenty minutes of loud explosions. But I didn't spend a dime and the show was quite good, so why should I care, right? Well, it was the first time in a while where I got really drunk, and nothing says "Happy Birthday America" like killing many brain cells, right? He he he
Other than that, it was pretty all around relaxing this weekend. For the most part, since it was a four day holiday for me, it seems that my vacation is just now finally over after two weeks. Ah well, it was a good run. Well, I better get back to it.
-sib-

2006-07-01T01:16:00.000-04:00

While ornithological pathologists were to pecking away at the study of viruses connected with the avian flu from birds and entomological pathologist were pestering around with diseases spread from nasty little mosquitoes, little attention was paid to the real threat to humanity. But perhaps if they had a closer inspection of the insect called Photuris lucicrescens, then they could have saved us all. And why would they? It was after all a common insect that man had lived with for centuries without any incident or warning of such a threat could be possible.
Artists and poets had been using their beautiful nature on their respective canvases for as long as art has been produced. Little children, on hot summer evenings, would spend hours of their formative years catching them in little manufactured homes of made of jelly jars, punching holes into the lid for breathing beforehand, just to watch them glow their little abdomens off for hours until they finally died. There was no harm in them it seemed. And there wasn’t. But that was then and this is now, as they, who ever they are, supposedly say.
That’s right, and for those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, this is for you. The carriers of man’s demise were nothing more than the common firefly (a.k.a. the “lightening bug” as they are known around here). But that still does not explain the reason our top scientists were not able to see it, to prevent it. Earlier I posed a simple question to this, ‘Why would they?’ And the answer is quite simple. Because the firefly is not a sexy enough bug to study. No, not sexy as in procreative attraction, but sexy as in glamorous and appealing in the means of grant money. To be blunt, there was no real future in the study of the creature. Not when too many people died of heart disease, cancer, influenza, and etcetera.
It is the politics of scientific research. Like politicians who raise money for their political campaigns have to follow what their constituencies want of them, scientists too have their own constituencies. The media spread hysteric stories of flu-like viruses spreading to humans, wiping out billions, from other likely transmitting carriers such as mosquitoes and whatnot. And since one of the greatest pandemics in our history happened less than a century ago, this of the Spanish flu (which killed more people in one year than the black plague did in four across Europe), it is a threat that strikes fear in our populous. This fear demands acting upon and the politicians of government and other wealthy benefactors grant the means for scientists to look into these specific ailments as others are swept to the side.
But who could know? Certainly not any respective person, who was once ten years old, could ever think such nonsense. It is just one of those things that seem to just happen. Like the crude saying goes, “shit happens.” No one could have foreseen the outcome of man’s extinction caused by something as insignificant as a lightening bug. Well, that is save one. One man tried to warn the world, but like any other raving person, he was shoved to the side, discarded like the foil wrap in a cigarette package out the window of a speeding automobile. And Gerald Boivin, resident entomologist and certifiable wack-job, of the small town of Highland, New Mexico could have (and would have to if allowed) saved us all. For instead of “shit happens,” as the saying goes, Gerry (as he liked to be called) would fashion the saying in a different light. He would always be telling his students of Highland High, “Evolution happens…” And that is just what did happen.
You see, the small town of Highland is cropped somewhere in between Roswell and Carrizozo, New Mexico, and it happens to be somewhat close to many places where eerie and perhaps random events have occurred numerously over the past sixty years. And if someone who was smart enough (like Gerry is) sat down and plotted all of these events down chronologically and geographically (like Gerry eventually did), they would find a bulls eye pattern leading to the start of it all. Gerry believed that many of the events surrounding this area were all tied somehow into an event that occurred in 1945. Some were silly and often harmless, like the crash that supposedly happed two years later in Roswell, but it was what happened here with the lightning bugs that we are concerned with (or should be). It is here where Gerald believed our beloved nighttime insect evolved into the terrifying mass murderer it is today. This story is not about Gerry or his discovery. Perhaps we shall get to him a little bit later. We should instead focus a little further back in time and introduce two souls who would eventually meet in these ruinous times and possibly save humanity, or not. For after all, this is their story.

2006-06-26T00:07:00.000-04:00

So, yes, I went out west as you all know... and I took so many goddamn pictures... it took me about four hours just to shrink them all down and clean them up... I am only going to put a few teasers on here today and try to get a bunch more up Wednesday after work (as i am now leaving for an area outside of Columbus for a few days of training for my new job... woot! road trip!)...

2006-06-26T00:04:00.000-04:00

Garden of the Gods

2006-06-26T00:03:00.000-04:00

2006-06-26T00:02:00.000-04:00

half way up Pikes Peak, CO

2006-06-26T00:01:00.000-04:00

Hanging Lake, CO... This was fucking beautiful and you gotta see all of these pictures...

2006-06-26T00:00:00.000-04:00

Colorado River running through Glenwood Caynon

2006-06-25T23:59:00.000-04:00

A hidden lake somewhere on the Loveland Pass road... it was a beauty, eh?

2006-06-25T23:58:00.000-04:00

of course, there will be me playing on rocks and pictures of rocks and what is going on in this crazy geologic muck-up called the Rocky's... I bought's me a book just so I knew exactly what was going on everywhere I went in New Mexico and Colorado...

By the way... I did throw some more pics up on my flickr site... not all of them (because I ran out of space... and none have descriptions yet, but again... When I get back into town on Wed, I'll try my best to get some infor up there...
just click on one of the pics up there in the show box at the top right of the sidebar to access my flickr site or click here

home.... finally...

2006-06-25T13:04:00.000-04:00

Well, after twenty-four hours on the road back home, I have finally made it back safely... I have wasted the last of my savings and pulled into my driveway on fumes because of it... he he he... good thing I start work again tomorrow... I think I might go rest a bit, but in the meantime I am currently downloading all two hundred odd pictures I took and will post some of them later after I can rifle through them and pick out the good ones...
-sib-

Insentient

2006-06-16T01:08:00.000-04:00

Everyone needs something to wake up for. Whether it is a woman or a man, respectfully, that makes a person want to get up in the morning, or it is God, everybody clings to one thing or another in order to make it through their day. Often in life these reasons, these priorities, these clinging’s shift and adjust to the individuals’ present situation. To be sure, I want to explain that when one has a reason to awake, this doesn’t necessarily mean that because he or she does not, want to not live. It is just that living in general becomes a tedious affair. And like any sexual affair, eventually the flame dies out and the partners move on or they suffocate and separation becomes so much more a painful process.
For example, let’s take the average boy in his life span. At first, life is new and he hasn’t really much need for clinging, because life itself is pretty novel and just waking up everyday hasn’t become a chore. The only responsibility burdened upon him is just that—to wake up. Later after more and more is piled upon his pallet, eventually things begin to change. School becomes one of the primary institutions or causes and or reasons that boy awakes. But this is still yet premature because it is basically still what his parent’s desire and thus basically he awakes for the sake of his parents, for that is all he thus far knows. As the burdens of responsibilities are weighed heavier upon his shoulders, the reasons alter to new prospective and perspective outcomes and desires. For instance, a boy becomes a young man and finds love somewhere outside the influential ring of school and his parents. It then becomes some other form of love. Whether it is a love for a woman or job, the man finds something to hold onto. Much later, let us assume that in a normal lifespan, where a man eventually gets married, the next step is children. And even if he still holds the same value or not in his wife, he now has another love that keeps him respectable and responsible. And even after that, if it hasn’t been so already previously, eventually the man can hold onto a “higher being” a “god” in his old age to help him through the tremendously tedious and often quite dull happenstance, which is life.
I have been waiting to wake up for awhile now. I have had all the preliminary reasons for waking every morning, and had my elementary crushes on life; such as school, my parents, girlfriends here and there, friends in general, crappy jobs, college, etcetera and etcetera. They all compile my long list of reasons to be awake and to awake, but lately my life has been somewhat been postponed. I haven’t one now, at least none that I can recognize clearly. And though I am thinking I may be too desperate to not only find one, but I am to believe and hope that one will come up soon.
And this may be why I have been so desperate to escape lately. I have been seeking the mountains to the west ever since I left them there the first time. It has been one of the very few places, people, or things, that has left me in want of waking, of want of making it back there someday. It was one of the very reasons I wanted to work out there to begin with. Ever since I was nine, I have dreamed of living in the woods, near the woods, near scenic landscapes which can induce me out of this insomnious slumber. But besides this form of real escape, I have taken over the past few years, many other forms of escape. I watch movies and read books at an alarming rate, idling away the countless hours until the time when I could finally take myself really away.
This time has finally come again, and this time I go in search of what is out there alone. I don’t know what exactly I am to find or even what I hope to find in the wonted wilderness, but I hope to at the very least succumb the itch enough to settle down and welcome my new life when I come back. But as it is with everything and anything, one and all, including me, I shall have to wait and see on that one. But until then, and until the time I come back, you all have fun. Perhaps, you could bless yourselves if lucky enough that you can recognize your own reasons to wake every morning.

-sib-

2006-06-12T11:27:00.000-04:00

And so I have a job now…
I am a report writer for an environmental firm. Not an exciting venture, but it is a start. I start in two weeks, so before that day, I have decided to take a vacation out west.

2006-06-08T18:09:00.000-04:00

one red towel... 3 dollars
one gift card to Blockbuster Video... 5 dollars
one Cincinnati Reds t-shirt... 10 dollars
getting drunk alone in my basement on Tuesday...
worthless...

wǒ de shēng rì bèi wú shòu miàn, Baat poh!

2006-06-06T00:00:00.000-04:00

2006-06-05T01:21:00.000-04:00

On the topic of my parallel universe, you know that our life, our universe, is quite a sad one (or at least it can be). In the (or my as I see it) parallel universe, this sadness still exists, but it is different.

Just imagine any situation that has been painful for you, something you regret (even if it is something you don’t admit regretting), take a deep look at it. In retrospect, think about all causations leading up to that said point. Now, just imagine, as we all must have at some certain point in our lives (especially when we were the saddest) and that in a parallel universe, much like our own, one that’s effects can only be seen and felt on Fridays, that situation worked out for the best. Imagine how much different our lives would be. A wise man once said that there was no such thing as luck, but just better timing.

So, for example, let us pretend that in our universe, Universe A, one of our parents just died in a automobile accident because some jerk ran a red light. In the alter-universe, Universe B, this never happened, because in Universe B, our parent left work a minute early. The reason they were able to leave work early was because in Universe B, Universe B’s parental unit did not get stopped by their boss on the way out the door with an extra workload. Thus in Universe B, they were not running late and in that split second of time before starting off across the street, when the light turned green, the split second one should always take to make sure traffic has completely stopped, and then were not in fact side-swiped by a drunk mechanic in a white, two-ton pick-up truck with the name StevO sewn on his shirt. Imagine how different life would be for the children and family of Universe B if this were true. Timing is everything.

I could plop one hundred dollars in a slot machine, win nothing, and when I run off to get more money to throw in the slot, a little old lady plops in a half dollar and wins a bazillion dollars. In Universe B, this little old lady could have either died already or whatnot, and in Universe B, I would have won that jackpot. It is all down to chance yes, but it is all inevitable too. This is why there really is not luck. Eventually in a game of chance, because there is a chance, one will eventually win, this is all pendent upon timing of the situation. Eventually it becomes a sure thing when there is sufficient time involved.

Forget games of chance or even death, and take relationships for example. This happens everyday. There are too many people claiming too many missed opportunities in life. Many of them are the missed opportunities just to talk to specific people, just to initiate one conversation. There are plenty who always say, and regret, and stew over the fact that they never did talk to that such and such girl. And in that alter-verse, perhaps our alterselves did. What indeed happened to our alterselves? Perhaps they married the guy or girl, perhaps it was just a long romance, perhaps it was a short fling, or perhaps it was just a conversation. But if at the very least, the alterself in Universe B would not spend the rest of his short life saying “what if” in that specific situation.

As I wrote, “specific situation,” I must admit that it is true that the guy or girl in Verse B would too have regrets. They are too human and fallible to make mistakes and too suffer the consequences of missed opportunities, bad timing, as well as they suffer the good. They too lose parents, money, friends, lovers, because their own unique lives similar to our own were off-timed. They too have their sadness as they have their happiness. Fleeting as it may be in both verses, our lives are affected by the simple, yet complex weave of time as we know it. Should or can we really be jealous of that unknown alter life?

So then, what should we make of it all? If it were all true, and by saying such we have made it true, or it does not matter either which way, which Verse would you rather live in? Does it at all matter? If all things past are consequential for all things in the future, then do we dare even do anything at all? But even doing nothing at all has its consequences, which in turn can cause an unfortunate event. So where should we stand? One thing we can learn from the very least of it is that there are many things in life we cannot control due to timing, but of those that we can, at the very least we can do something about those. Of those, at the very least we will not have to regret our indecisions. At least we can hold off on some of the “what if” questions we ponder to ourselves every now and again.

And so, I now leave you all to it. Good timing everyone, and if not, then don’t sweat it too hard. It was probably not your fault anyway. Because Abraham Lincoln sneezed into the face of an immigrant worker, who would have killed the person’s, who made it all bad for you, great grandfather, died of a cold back in 1864.

P.S. — If you do decide to comment, please don’t mention anything about the movie Sliding Doors (which was, yes, very good), because I may scream. Though the movie was good, it is not really the same thing, for both of Helen Quilley’s split alter-character’s started out from the same point in life. Though perhaps this could be true in altering verses—seeing as they are so similar, in the movie, the characters played by Gwyneth eventually spun back into place. They ended in the same role once again, which in a universe full of completely random choices, opportunities, causes, and effects, this is entirely improbable and quite pointless. Either way, I will definitely scream if the movie is mentioned. So please don’t.

2006-06-03T04:27:00.000-04:00

Sorry, but I just had a moment where I was jealous of myself...
Oh, you didn't think that was possible?
Well, it is... So, go figure...

2006-06-02T02:16:00.000-04:00

There is a private driveway in our side yard which leads back to the house of an older woman. She is in her seventies and the land our neighborhood was built upon was at one time her family’s farm. All that is left of her farm is the acre or so she lives on now and the rest has been sold away and separated into 101 lots. Her lot makes the count 102. Of the 102 family homes in our neighborhood, 101 of them have their trash day on Wednesday mornings. The only one who does not is the older woman who lives behind us. For some reason she places her trash out for Friday pickup, and every Friday, another dump truck comes to pick up her trash. I guess I never really thought about it too much before last week, but how and why on earth would this be happening? It is the same trash company, the same recycling company that picks up her trash as the rest of us. I cannot help but to believe that the truth of the matter lies somewhere on the edge of reason. I believe she lives in an ulterior universe which parallels our own for one day a week, Friday. Tonight, I have decided to test this theory out and see if our trash can too be picked up later this morning. Seeing as our trash was just picked up the day before yesterday, I am only putting one can with one bag in it out on the curb, but if it is gone tomorrow, then I may be one step closer to the truth.
I know what you are thinking, if I just asked someone, especially Mrs. Cornett, and then perhaps I would easily find the answer I am so desperate to know. But this could lead to many more problems. What if she really does live in an ulterior, whether anterior or posterior or right-on-top-ior, universe and she doesn’t want anyone to know about it? That play would be too rash and could endanger myself. No, I’ll try this one little experiment first before I draw any further conclusions and ideas of what to do next. Until then, I am going to be hiding in the bushes until the trash man cometh…

2006-06-01T04:05:00.000-04:00

“Hey there [Generic name]!”
[Generic name] looked up from his desk to see a portly man of forty hovering outside his door. It was Samuel Rosenblatt the court’s temporary stenographer, who was filling in for Marie. Marie, the usual stenographer, had taken off a few weeks ago due to her eventual delivery of her forth child. It had only taken two short conversations with the rotund replacement for [Generic name] to know that any further exchanges with this man would be needlessly annoying. And much like anything that is needlessly annoying in life, Samuel Rosenblatt always seemed to be lurking behind every corner, waiting to pop out and irritate him. Having a conversation with Sam was like being stuck driving a manual transmission in traffic, while your dentist preformed a root canal on all of your molars. [Generic name] kept his head down and started scribbling madly on the report in front of him, hoping to ignore the situation and pretend to not have heard the man. But it seemed that today Samuel R. was in the mood for a conversation and he walked right into [Generic name’s] office anyway.
“Terrible day to be stuck in some office, wouldn’t ya say there [Generic name]?” asked Sam.
Forced with the decision of being either terribly rude and continue to ignore the man or facing another dull bantering battle of nitwit-dom with Sam, [Generic name] sighed and politely looked up from his desk to reply, “I’m sorry, what was that?”
Sam made that horrible shrill sound he often made, which [Generic name] had only assumed up to this point was laughter (if it could be even called that), and repeated himself. “I asked you [Generic name], if you thought it was a terrible day to be stuck in some office… So, wouldn’t ya say that it’s a horrible day for that?”
[Generic name] forced a curt smile. “Gee Sam, I hadn’t noticed what kind of day it was being that I am so busy…”

Often when I read the dialogue of novels and short stories (especially short stories) I come across a fictional phenomena that really bothers me, and this is when I read the names of the characters spoken by the said characters in dialogue. It just doesn’t seem like it is a natural way of communicating with anyone, let alone someone a character knows and trusts (like a friend or loved one). But even in a formal situation like the one above, where co-workers are involved, the dialogue is somewhat forced when an author adds the names of his characters in there.
I know that it is just a tool for an author to use in order that his audience may not get confused upon who is currently speaking, but I resent the fact that the author has decided his audience is too obtuse to follow along in a simple conversation. It is as annoying as the character, Samuel Rosenblatt, I newly contrived to iterate my point, or as irritating to read as my [Generic name], which crops up so often in distracting opposing colors. When I read names being dropped with such frequency, I heedlessly lose comprehension of what is actually taking place within the detail of the story. Much like anything needlessly annoying in life that same [Generic name] just keeps popping up out of nowhere...

2006-05-30T00:48:00.000-04:00

Imagine your favorite puzzle that you used over and over again (if you have one), where eventually many of the pieces are lost along the way. Though you, the jigsaw enthusiast you collectively all must be for the sake of this imagination exercise, believes he or she may be able to recall what the picture once imaged, in time the figure is either lost altogether or misremembered and altered in the mind. So, let us now imagine that this is the time when you finally realize that the true picture of the puzzle (when it has been finally pieced together) and the image you hold so dearly in your mind are not the same. What do you do then? Does one simply begin afresh and try to find a new favorite puzzle? Does one adjust the image of their puzzle in their mind’s eye (holes and all), and then continue to play with their favorite toy in hopes of not losing another piece? Or does one simply give up puzzles altogether and neatly place the box back on the shelf, knowing that in doing so, guarantees no more missing potential crosspieces? If the latter is the case, and we are assuming that we are now all jigsaw enthusiasts, then how could we ever rest knowing that our favorite image is pocked and riddled with errors? How could one of us live our lives without the security held from constructing and deconstructing our favorite puzzle? Personally, I do not know why I am even asking these questions. I abhor puzzles. I’d much rather go for a game of Mouse-trap or Operation any day. Find me missing the breastbone or the funny bone in that game, you’ll find a very happy gamer. One who incidentally doesn’t have to hear the squealing whine of the patient when the metal apparatus breaks upon his skin…

2006-05-26T04:39:00.000-04:00

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.

-T.S. Eliot
from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Yup... Some more Red's game photographs...

2006-05-24T00:32:00.000-04:00

This was taken on our long trek to the ballpark (I park for free quite a bit away... not paying 7-12 bucks to park my car for three hours)... I took Danny down to the game for his Birthday. His birthday was two weeks ago, but due to his busy schedule and the Reds home schedule, this was our first opportunity to get down there... he he he he... good thing too, because the Reds really knocked the Brewers around on Monday...

Last year, when I took Danny to a game for his Birthday, the Reds played the Cards and were up 9-3 until the last inning where the Reds bullpen then gave up 7 or eight runs to lose the game... I think Dan likes it better when they win... So far Dan and I are 2 and 0 when it comes to seeing the Reds this year (I am 4-1... I know I am not the bad luck... he he he)...

Oh... and we were on TV three times... he he he... much thanks to 2 of the three home runs hit by the outfielders on Monday, and one of course thanks to Hall's HR in the ninth... Freel gave the fan next to us (who was also celebrating his birthday at the game) the ball...

2006-05-24T00:26:00.000-04:00

Got to the park really early so Danny could get a great spot in order to get an autograph before the game... He patiently stood next to the dugout for about an hour (plus) and was finally rewarded 3 minutes before game time... That's Scott Hatteberg's name on that ball... He's the guy who replaced Sean Casey at first... Not too shabby...

2006-05-24T00:23:00.001-04:00

What a fucking giant!

There were obnoxious drunken fans in the stands next to us harrassing the future Hall-of-famer, telling him that he needed to be traded... He made the rest of us laugh when he turned around and yelled back at the said fans and we cheered him... later that inning when the Reds came up to bat (in the first) he knocked a homer right to us... was it intentional? I dunno... all I got is that he has (including tonight's game) hit three home runs in the past four games, and all of them scored at least 3 RBI's... He's on fire and our club just isnt the same without him in the line-up...

2006-05-24T00:22:00.000-04:00

Kerns' Homerun in the 1st

After Griffey's 3 HR in the 1st, a few batters later Austin Kerns hit a 2 run shot out to right field as well... He, like the rest of our offense, had a great night...

2006-05-24T00:18:00.001-04:00

Lopez at the plate...

He had a decent night... went 1 for 4... but he did score 3 times... I believe his hitting streak (including tonight) is at 18 games...

2006-05-24T00:18:00.000-04:00

Diving catch by Brandon Phillips... on this play they recorded the necessary out and saved Arroyo from another run added to his ERA...

2006-05-24T00:17:00.000-04:00

Brandon Phillips at the plate...

What a trade this was, eh?
Brandon had a career high 4 for 5 night... He scored 3 times and batted in one RBI...

2006-05-24T00:16:00.001-04:00

he he he

2006-05-24T00:16:00.000-04:00

Lopez on second after he and Brandon Phillips hit back to back singles... Griffey is coming to the plate...

2006-05-24T00:15:00.000-04:00

Dunn's three run home run in the 6th...

He went 1 for 3 on monday night... but scored twice and had three RBI's...

2006-05-24T00:13:00.000-04:00

Hatteberg at the plate...

2006-05-24T00:12:00.000-04:00

Hatteberg gets a walk... he went 2 for three... 2 hits, one walk, a strikeout, 1 RBI, and scored twice... good night for him... we were pleased... perhaps it had something to do with the autograph he gave Danny...

2006-05-24T00:09:00.000-04:00

talk on the mound and replacing the pitcher... this happened quite a lot on Monday night... he he he

2006-05-24T00:08:00.001-04:00

I believe that is Lopez on first...

2006-05-24T00:08:00.000-04:00

Ryan Freel came into the game in the eighth inning for Griffey... He's my favorite player even if he's in a slump right now...

2006-05-24T00:07:00.001-04:00

2006-05-24T00:07:00.000-04:00

yup... 13-1 back in the 7th before our bullpen let the Brewers make the game somewhat respectable...

2006-05-24T00:06:00.000-04:00

Arroyo pitched 7 excelent innings...

He had 6 strikeouts; there were 6 hits against him; and now he has 6 wins...
bum bum bum!
oh, he also has a career low in his ERA which has fallen to 2.29 now...
Woot! What a trade... can anyone tell me what Pena is doing for the Sox? he he he... not much I hear...

2006-05-24T00:05:00.002-04:00

Dunn running off after the top of the 7th

2006-05-24T00:05:00.001-04:00

2006-05-24T00:05:00.000-04:00

Freel warming up in the ninth

2006-05-24T00:04:00.001-04:00

Lopez fielding a grounder

2006-05-24T00:04:00.000-04:00

2006-05-24T00:03:00.000-04:00

A happy fan gets a great birthday present...

A fucking 15-5 win!
Oh... plus he got to stay out way past his bedtime... he liked that a bit too...

2006-05-22T03:09:00.000-04:00

It is weird (my dreams that is). I have very weird dreams. Yes, everyone has weird dreams (though some perhaps not as fucked up as mine, but weird nonetheless). But I am not talking about the content of my dreams, but the way I dream. Some say that you dream in black and white, but I find that complete jargon. I am pretty sure I dream in color, unless my memory supplies color automatically in remembrance. At the very least, if it is in black and white, I may know that even though the color of a girl's hair is grey in my dream that I actually think and believe while I am dreaming it is actually strawberry blonde.
Yet, this is not the weird aspect of my dreams. I believe everyone dreams in color, or at least believe that they do. What’s weird about when I dream is that the people, including myself, who are represented in my dream, never reflect their true images. For instance, last night, while I slept so comfortably on Goob’s loveseat couch (he he he) I had a dream where I was an everyday-agent. This is much like a show business agent, except I represented the everyday Joe in ordinary experiences and situations (this is not an actual occupation mind you). To top it off, I wasn’t a very good one and most people just seemed to not like me. But all of my friends felt bad for me and still kept me on as their agent even though I befuddled everything I did for them. My friends, of course, didn’t let me take on anything to serious, but paid me to do remedial stuff like talk to the grocer and talk to their mother-in-laws when they called. It was remedial everyday stuff like that.
This is a funny notion and is why I decided to share it, but I need to get back on point; and that is that all of my friends were not imaged as themselves in my dream, but as other people and other faces along with their names and personalities. I myself wasn’t even myself. I forget now who I may have looked like, or what the other’s (Chris, the Earls, Steve, Isaac, Josh, etc.) looked like. I believe it was no one famous, because the faces are never famous. They are just random faces. Faces that may or may not exist, chances are they do, but what does it matter? They are not the faces which belong to their rightful owners.
Now if it were just I that had a different image, this would be quite easy to psychoanalyze. It would probably mean that I had an identity issue with myself. As it is all faces and not just in one dream, but all of them, this becomes a little bit trickier to understand. Frankly, I have nothing except if one is one, why not all? And by that I mean that I have a problem identifying everyone, including myself? Upon asking this, I asked myself what on earth it could mean. What does it exactly mean to identify them? I really couldn’t begin to answer that question and now I am stuck once again. At the furthest reaches of my mind, where my mind usually hides, I thought perhaps it led down to trust. Where I could identify people by how I trust them, perhaps? I don’t know, either way, when you analyze that statement, I trust no one, especially myself. Which honestly could be true, but I would hate to think it.
Anyway, I think someone really smart once said not to put too much faith in the interpretation of dreams. Or perhaps that was a dream and I made that up. Either way, perhaps I should follow that advice and think about happier topics such as war, pestilence, death, and bunny rabbits! At the very least, I know one thing. It is weird.

Everything’s Eventual

2006-05-21T17:31:00.000-04:00

It was bound to happen I guess. It seems that I always out welcome my stay in my own house if I live there long enough. That’s right, I have been officially been asked to move out by my dear old dad once again. At the very least this time he has given me enough grace period to search properly for a new residence than the last few times (where it was only a day or two). We did not argue about evolution or something a little sillier than that. Quite simply, I have worn out my welcome in this family, in this house, because I am twenty-four (and will be twenty-five) and should not be living at home. Honestly, I believe, whether this is true or only just in my head, that it is because I am not really part of the family (like the other kids). My father’s exact words were, “Michael, you just don’t fit here…” Of course this only offers a new line of inquiry, on which I am not anxious to share over the internet, so I shall digress.
Anyway, he has given me until June 15th, which is exactly six months after I graduated, to leave. No argument on my end really. It’s not that I haven’t wanted to leave this dreadful house time and time again. But I have stayed on because I know it was necessary. I have stayed on because I have not situated myself with a career yet. I did not want to move out, sign a lease, and then get a job which was located somewhere out of state. So, what do I do now (a rhetorical question)? Anyone need a roomate? he he he

Been denied more times than Jesus this week

2006-05-19T15:47:00.000-04:00

Hell, today even...

2006-05-19T03:16:00.000-04:00

I have been watching a lot of episodic programming lately in place of my normal amount of movies. Perhaps it is because the selection and quality of movies haven't been so great. But I find that even when a good movie that I am anxious to see hits the stores that I still take my time to see them after completing the said seasons of what show I am currently watching at the time. Right now, a HBO series titled, Carnivale, is in my DVD drive and I cannot for the life of me function or focus on anything else until this show is over. It's not anything spetacularly special or anything. The character development and storyline is well written and the plot premise is very unique. It is oddly enough somewhat similar to a story I have been wanting to write for so very long (those of you who read this probably know of which one). Even though it is not exactly the same, the whole good versus evil, one person per generation for each side bit is dead on. This seems to always be the case with my briliant plots. And like I said when I saw Jacob's Ladder for the first time, I will say it again, "BASTARDS!" Well, at the very least I can admit that the creators and writers for this show are probably better at conveying a story than I am. Anyway, to get back on point, I am not exactly sure what is chasing me to watch these shows such as Carnivale, Nip/Tuck, Lost, Sopranos, Rescue Me, Deadwood, etc, etc... honestly, try as I have, I cannot glimpse any reason for my preference these days for this over a good ole movie, which is why I am bringing it up here. I thought that perhaps if any of you two readers of mine had any insights or ideas, it could perhaps get the ball rolling in my own head so I could psychoanalyze it to death (like I do everything else) and finally be done with the notion.
-sib
(oh... sorry goober... S.I.B.)

ba·thos ( P ) (bths, -thôs)n.

2006-05-18T04:41:00.000-04:00

1. a. An abrupt, unintended transition in style from the exalted to the commonplace, producing a ludicrous effect.
b. An anticlimax.
2. a. Insincere or grossly sentimental pathos: “a richly textured man who... can be... sentimental to the brink of bathos” (Kenneth L. Woodward).
b. Banality; triteness.

Sometimes Being an Evil Genius Isn't All it's Cracked Up to Be...

2006-05-16T05:20:00.000-04:00

I can feel the flushing heat from my cheeks sinking deeper into the skin, sending oozing hot magmatic liquid flashing through my veins, where it is now gathering in deep pools of red behind my eyes. And the tendons in my neck have been replaced by cheap steel rods of rebar, which allow only minimal flexibility, almost none at all. I look at the clock up on my wall. One hand is on the four the other halfway between five and six. I cannot sleep though. I must not sleep. Not until my evil genius plan to take over the world has come to fruition may I then rest my weary eyes.
But wait…
If I were to take over the world with the evil secret plan I have now, then I most definitely would not be able to then rest my eyes once it was completed. I’d have too many enemies at that point, and from strict and rigorous sleep deprivation, I would be too paranoid to sleep…
Oh crap on a stick! What the hell am I supposed to do then?
It looks like I need to start over on a new secret plan that involves this very factor within it this time. Well, it looks like there is going to be no sleep for me this year either.
*sigh*

Sib by Any Other Name…

2006-05-15T02:39:00.000-04:00

Yet another person has come and beckoned why on earth I feel insignificant or why my nickname is a contradiction or where the name originated. And since I am somewhat tired of repeatedly retyping this story and explanation over and over again in emails and messages on myspace and instant messenger, I thought that I would make one final draft and just send this link or story anytime someone was interested in my moniker.
Of course “sib” is not my Christian name, as any fool who actually admits they know me, it is Michael. But for those of you who do not know me and were always wondering what either the acronym, which is pronounced as such and not like “sib” in sibling (though, it is so much easier that way… right goober?), stands for and where it originates, perhaps you are in for a treat (though the thought has crossed my mind that the subject could be absolutely tedious). This is the first part of this essay and you may not have to read any further than the first three or four paragraphs. But if you are interested in why I still refer to myself with the contradictive nickname, you will have to read further on to understand.
About, let’s see (‘cause Goob may have to correct me on this), sometime when I was seventeen, Chris (had just either started to become attached to his own moniker), our friend Buck (who’s real name was Becky and was Goob’s either future or current girlfriend at the time), and I were all at our miserable little home of Pizza Hut, where we all worked. The night in question, probably a weekend evening after everything slowed way down and we all had time to mess around, I thought it would be great fun to use the MRD labels (big, white, expiration labels we put on food products) as nametags. Instead of using my Christian name, I decided that I needed to have a nickname as well, because I felt left out. I made up quite a few, but nothing was funnier than that of the one I have used to this day.
Hey Chris, as I reminisce, remember me always hiding under the A6? God, I haven’t thought about those days in ages… Anyway, this leads me to the justification of keeping the name to this day. Besides the obvious that it is still funny, I justify keeping it with the explanation to follow.
Let us look at the name itself now, Super Insignificant Boy, what obviously stands out is the oxymoron. Obviously one can not be both super and insignificant at the same time, correct? Perhaps that assumption is correct, but then it wouldn’t be mine. As far as I see it, it starts with how vastly huge this universe is. If anyone has read the brilliant works of fiction by the late Mr. Douglas Adams, which I strongly recommend, you may know where I am going with this next part. In fact, I’ll go ahead and quote his work, as it is funnier than and I cannot possibly add or make it any better.

“Space is big. You just won't believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it's a long way down the road to the chemist's, but that's just peanuts to space…It is known that there is an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the product of a deranged imagination.” Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Series

In other words, in this vast universe and not so vast one we call, Earth, our lives, our little worlds we create in our mind are so absolutely futile and insignificant in the greater scheme of things. But there are some that still believe that in this tremendously big universe and dementia (I mean dimensia?) we live in, we are indeed significant because we are children of the almighty creator. They justify their significance on the hopes of some ultimate being, which by perchance solely cares about some tiny speck in the great spectrum. What wishful thinking is this? I mean come on, even if there was this so-called being, and if the universe is too big to really comprehend, with the ba-zillions of star systems, each with their own tiny little insignificant planets (or not), why on earth would such a poor pathetic slob of yourself have any more significance than an atom of hydrogen in the galaxy properly named, NGC1433 (which is one of so damn many that we have discovered that we have run out of names and just started using positions in the sky) to this ultimate being? I cannot think of any logical reason to believe such nonsense, unless of course one mentioned “because we are the only living beings in the universe,” which is itself equally asinine but perhaps possible. But in this vast universe, chances are that we are not. Hell, they are finding signs of life as close as Mars, why not all over the universe?
This should have justifiably explained well enough that we are all insignificant in this lonely universe of ours. There is just too much to really hold on to false hopes otherwise. So then, on to what we can each do about it and hence the whole “super” contradictive nature to my self given nickname.
If we are so insignificant and meaningless, why don’t we just all end it quickly, as there is probably no point to life? We may be alone and insignificant in this universe, but that does not stop us from living our daily lives and just giving up. We live life simply for that, living. Living, experiencing, connecting with others who suffer as we do, is all the significance that we live for. Our routines help us to forget, and we choose to forget, choose denial, for the chance to succeed in perhaps living a life less depressing.

“It is a very damn depressing thought. Everything I do and not do has no real consequences. In the end I and you do not matter in the grand scheme of things. So what is to look forward to in this material world of disconnected menial monotony? Well, for some there is religion. Some rely on beliefs that can fill the void of that feeling deep in the pits of our psyche, the feeling of complete worthlessness and idleness. gOD can give significance to those who believe that this earthly plain is not the end, but a bitter start to a more rewarding and beautiful immortality.
But for those of us who do not put our trust in the juvenile academia of theology, what are we supposed to do? Well there are two options: either a) go fucking shoot yourself quick and lessen the amount of traffic and bone heads on the road, or b) make the best of what you have here. Pay no attention to the mundane, but soak in as much of the trivial… I think that is an oxymoron. What I mean to say is go live your damn life. Try to make simple connections with people (isn’t what this, blogging, ultimately is?), but do not rely heavily upon them. Be your own person, but standing too far outside of the crowd and they will ostracize you. This is ultimately worse because we need human contact, as we are social creatures. Stop complaining because it will not do a damn thing. If you do complain, make sure you get your way, because it is all about me first, and the gimmy gimmies… No, scratch that. Be as utilitarian as you can be whilst looking out for number one. Be your own Super Insignificant Person.
Remember that societies will always die, and ours is destined for the same. Nothing you leave upon this plain will go with you to another (if you believe in heaven *snicker*). And no legacy will really last after you are dead. Societies all have had a beginning, middle, decline, and death. Then a new one replaces it. It is a cycle of life and everything living. Three simple phases: Birth, stuff in the middle, Death. Societies can do nothing but follow that rule too, being made up of beings that do.” - Me on April 15th

So, in other words, that are also my own, I believe myself, selfishly, to be the center of my own universe that I create in my head. Everyone creates their own little universes, has their own unique issues and moments of bliss. I choose and chose to make mine the center of my universe. Again this may be something selfish, but it is all that I can really rely on drawing from for in the end, it is natural to be self centered and self promoting in this Darwinistic life, but this is an all together different topic of discussion and perhaps I shall save it for another rainy day. As for right now, I am tired of typing and if this doesn’t sufficiently address my nickname, then I don’t know what will.
Peace out peoples,
-sib

Sometimes the wind blows westward because the wind blows west...

2006-05-13T20:20:00.000-04:00

2006-05-08T23:12:00.000-04:00

My new car...

So, a lot has happened this past weekend. Well, not so much on Friday or Saturday (on Friday night I went out with Steve and Andy to the movies and saw An American Haunting, which totally sucked ass, and on Saturday night I went to the bar with Steve to watch the Reds lose to the Diamondbacks, which totally sucked ass). Sunday was quite eventful though. First off, on Sunday morning through afternoon, I went car shopping (by myself) and bought myself a new car. That's right; I bought a new car and will no longer be driving the eyesore rust-hole pick-up any longer. I bought a 2000 dark metallic grey Toyota Camry LE (pics up probably tomorrow). It is very, very nice with all the bells and whistles. I am a bit thrown off by the car though, because it is just too nice. It is an "adult" car as my mother put it, and that pretty much sums it up nicely. I feel like I am driving a really nice renter. Hopefully when the novelty wears off a bit, I will begin to believe that I actually own the car.
So, after I bought my car I headed directly to a friend of mine's house, who is in from Colorado, for her sister's graduation party. I had a great time catching up and drinking up with Andrea and her friends. We played lots of drinking games, like flip-cup, with the young and old of the party. There's nothing like chugging beer alongside forty and fifty year olds (against the twenty year old newly graduates). But before all the drinking got started at the party, well—before much of the drinking was underway, Andrea received a call from her friend Pam, who was on her way down to the party. Apparently her drive down from Columbus, her car broke down on the side of the interstate outside of Kings Island, stranding her and her little child. Since Andrea didn't have her car with her (as she flew in) I and her friend Christy were charged to go pick her up and possibly get her car started (Pam didn't know what was wrong with it). Of course this is all the way on the other side of town, which I didn't mind too much, because I had my brand new car. Evidently, after we finally got there and learned what happened, Pam was driving and her car started to smoke. Instead of pulling over immediately, she kept on driving for quite some time, until her car simply just stopped working. She over heated her car and blew a hose or two (I assumed, as the radiator was leaking very badly all over the road). Long story short, her car was not going to go anywhere without a tow truck. I took her and her little one back to the party and then volunteered (the gentleman as I am) to take her back up to Columbus today. And that is what I did (and let me tell you that little screaming kids pissed off in car seats are quite annoying).
But at least I had the available option of swinging by my friend Goober's house today after I dropped Pam and her kid off. We had fun playing down by the river (the pics can be found on Goob's flicker site), and when it grew dark, we head back to his house and grilled up some hamburgers. Mmmmm Angus beef... *drools*
Anyway, it's been eventful and I have to shove off to bed for another fun filled day tomorrow. After I take care of all the paperwork with my cars, I get to go see my Reds beat the Nationals with Isaac, Andrea, and her friend Christy from the party. It shall be a good time. Since all the driving around has tuckered me out completely and I am tired of sharin', here's where I leave you.
Peace out peoples,
-sib

HELP!

2006-05-06T03:46:00.000-04:00

I'm trapped inside some kind of prison...
It's some kind of paper bag...
I tried to talk the guard at the front into letting me out but he just told me to get lost...
and now I am...
and it's starting to rain now...
the bag is getting all wet...
and I am lost...
you know...
in a wet paper bag...
um...
that I couldn't talk my way out of...
*cough*

Nurse... I need the size 15 Exculpation [Paragraphs]

2006-05-03T00:12:00.000-04:00

Do you know the greatest thing about quitting smoking? I do. If you were a smoker or are a smoker, ask yourself this very question. Could it be the smug sense of self satisfaction that we can parade because we beat the most addictive drug in the known world? No. Is it the fact that we stop reeking so horribly, and all of the other unattractive characteristics that follow eventually dissipate? No. Could it be that we can eventually master the stairs again without breathing so heavily? No. Then what is it you may ask. Well, Ill tell you. The greatest thing about quitting smoking is those forbidden cigarettes one inhales ever so depravedly often in shame and secrecy.

Oh the repercussions of those forbidden fruits are awful indeed, often tearing away the very foundation of reconstruction one has been steadily been rebuilding since the beginning of the torment satiated quitting process. But oh how that first breath of the toxicant seems to fill every pocket of the lung, burning and pleasuring all the way down the trachea, alleviating the stress and the pressure from the rest of the body as it passes through the bronchi and bronchioles until it fills and settles easily into all the millions of tiny, little alveoli, where the smoke flows in as if wanting to tickle our very souls. The very feeling of the nicotine heavenly high, something that we may have not felt since we were teenagers, is worth that very deconstruction. Toss in, perhaps, a little of that same teenage angst from not wanting to be caught into the mix and you can find a perfectly seductive reason for wanting to start all over again. And the memories of those first days you ever picked up those cigarettes begin to flood in as quicker than the second hit from your prostration to the very miasma you previously pledged to discard like a spent butt out a car window. Those memories of how smoking and a little rectangle shape bulge in the jeans pocket used to be part of your very identity all come creeping back. Whether it was just the identification of being "cool" as some of the pathetic anti-smoking commercials would advertise or just the fact that it was simply a large part of your life (admit it a pack a day, on average five to seven minutes per smoke thats an hour and a half to two hours a day spent smoking a cigarette). They all flood back in, even if it has been years since that last cigarette, they come back as all memories and their triggers do.

As I sat on my deck, deconstructing myself, I couldnt help to wonder what was stronger. Was it the nicotine, the mental habit of smoking, or was it the appeal of my former youth that drew me up to the deck tonight? Was it in fact the sneaking around and smoking, though I knew there would be no real trouble if anyone saw me, only disapproval and disappointment by my folks, the threat of that disappointment kicked in my rebellious nature, thus instigating my lapse in judgment? I would hate to think so. But the idea is as deliciously tempting as buying that pack of cigarettes tonight. And if indeed so, then I am worse of then I feared previously. For that is not one habit I can pick up on again, on and off, up and down like some cheap ride at a fair. I cannot steal away and regain my youth. For the years will still rain down unstoppable and no matter how much I try and recapture those misspent days, my veracious hunger for them can never be expired until the day I die.

If that is not depressing enough, I thought then that if I was forever to live in torment from my addiction to my juvenile life, then why expand my ever suffering any longer than it would be? Quitting smoking would only prolong that suffering wouldnt it? Indeed it would. Or I could be a nihilistic defeatist that only wants to find justification for my omission because I am weak. You can decide or not. Your judgments based on preconceived notions and morals regarding the value of life and etcetera are all valueless when it comes to me caring what you or a man in Kansas, named Ike, believe. The only one who matters at all is the one I am trying to convince, and so far this writing exercise has done nothing but make me want to deconstruct myself some more outside as I contemplate the issue awhile longer.

2006-05-02T15:14:00.000-04:00

HELLS YEAH!
MY REDS SWEPT THE
CARDS!!!
mawahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahasdflsdfkjsdflksjdff;lkjsdlfkjsdlfkjjsadlfkjdlgkkdsfkjhsadfljisldfkjslfdjsdklfhskdjfhskdjhfskdfh
tppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppttttt...............

There’s No Cure for What Ails Ya…

2006-05-02T11:51:00.000-04:00

But I Hear Goob Will Kick You in the Nuts for Free…
That’ll Curb the Pain Somewhat Won’t It?

So, the question that’s been scorching feverishly in your brains like a bad case of meningitis attacking your spinal cord is, “What’s new with Mikey.” I know, of course, because I am omnipotent. And much like the disease, your pains and suffering are similar. Your curiosity is causing paralysis in the ocular muscles and inflammation will not settle until said veracious hunger is abated. And like an old person waiting for the pharmacy to open their doors, you have been patiently waiting, checking out my site, and learning for quite sometime now that nothing new has come to save your affliction. The medicine never seems to be made. Oh sure you can quite your problems with a few over-the-counter drugs which line the shelves, like photographs and other cheap gimmicks. But they are never close to the real deal, the medicine you so strongly need. Let your ailment, your craving end today.
Okay, enough with all that holier than thou—I’m a god damn savior bull-crap—be put to rest, thank you for indulging me this far. Ha! I knew you were addicted. Seriously though folks, it’s just the sugar coating that’s really brings you back. The rest, well, that’s a placebo. Shhhh… don’t tell anyone.
For starters, I have been given the ultimatum of buying a new car by the end of the week by my father, yesterday (I know, I know, my car right?). And though his argument is weak at best for my brother needing the car so badly, I am going through and finally getting off my duff and buying a car. I’ve been looking at two cars as of late. One is a really nice 1999 Honda Civic SI. It is electric blue, has all the works, bells, and whistles, and drives like my old lude. Only problem with this car is the asking price. Now I got the guy to knock it down five hundred more dollars, but the price is still pretty high (ten grand). But I looked it up on the internet (Kelly Blue Book) and for the miles and for what’s included, the asking price is actually cheaper. Only a little bit though. So, for this to happen, I have to take out a bigger loan than I thought I would have had to (which I already applied for—eight thousand dollars—find out results tomorrow or Wednesday). The other car which I have been looking at for even longer, but have been hesitant about is the Toyota Echo. Actually, the one I was looking at was just recently sold (this made me sad, ‘cause it looked like a really fun car to drive) at seven and a half grand. Now, the only ones left available, used, are much the same as the sold one, but they are now all automatics (which I can’t go back to). So, it’s pretty much down to the Civic now, but I am going to keep my eye open for the next week, especially if I get the entire loan out.
As far as the job search is concerned, there is nothing new or exciting happening in that department yet. And since I am tired of having this conversation with aunts and uncles, cousins, other relatives, my parents, my friends, my friend’s parents, co-workers, my parent’s co-workers, strangers on the street, strangers in my head, I will not elaborate on this subject any further. And since my relationship life is as equally lifeless, I will not elaborate on that either. Except for to say, do not worry about that because I do not.
Okay, let us look at the lighter side of the news shall we? You know, it’s the stuff that really matters. How about them Reds? My Reds won again tonight, climbing back into the seat as the solo first place team in the National League. Who would believe two months ago that the Reds would have the best record in baseball right now if I told them? Reluctantly, I wouldn’t have. Josh’s pessimism about the new management and their poor choices (i.e. Dave Williams/Sean Casey deal) wore me down early on. Plus the high from the previous football season hadn’t quite subsided yet.
It just goes to show you how good my Reds are when the next two teams in the lead for the most wins are in our division. I have always said that the Central League is the toughest in baseball, and here it shows to be true. Of course the same can be said about our football league as well. But enough bragging, and on to what’s really important about the Reds this year. And of course that concerns my visits to see them play.
Tomorrow, I am supposed to take off work (or at least early) and head on down to the ballpark with my little brother (and Godson—I know can you believe it???) Daniel. You see, it is his eleventh birthday next Wednesday, and like last year, his present was the game. We are supposed to see the Cardinals play once again, just like last year. But instead of last year’s horrific defeat in the ninth inning, after the Reds had the lead 9-3 only to have it stolen away (with two outs even), when the Cards rang up ten more runs, we were going to watch these new Reds demolish them in revenge. Good plan, eh? Well, not really. Not only did work have it out for me, it seems that the weather and the Reds themselves did too.
As far as work is concerned, my boss left me in charge this week as he is out of town bowling in a tournament (in Texas). I was to keep up the pace with the condo’s downtown and the school up in Sharonville, making sure the knuckle-heads stayed in line. All according to plan, I was to stay a few hours late today and get ahead of it all to skip out tomorrow. Then the general contractor informed me this afternoon that one of the ceilings we built now has to be redone. Something went wrong and the ceiling height is off, so they need it to be raised by the end of tomorrow. That’s one.
Next is the weather. Looking at the storm coming in, the forecast is said to be stormy all morning and perhaps taper off into the afternoon. But that is an iffy kind of situation. In normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care, but that is not the last factor against me tomorrow.
The last, is the most concerning to me. Luck of the draw I suppose, but the scheduled pitcher for tomorrow night also just happens to be the worst the Reds have. Yes, the fiasco, Dave Williams is scheduled to pitch. I just cannot risk taking Danny down to the park with that guy on the mound. Not against the Cards anyway. I couldn’t bare being miserable from the stress of work, the ominous high humidity, and the horrible pitching and inevitable loss. And I couldn’t let Danny witness the same for a birthday present again. So, though he had his heart set on the day game (so he could get an autograph with his new ball… not many little ones there to do the same… ‘cause they’re all supposed to be in school) and he had his heart set on vicariously getting his revenge, we have moved our date back to the following Tuesday night, when the Reds are back in town with the dismal Nationals. “Hey,” I told him, “at least you and I have never gotten the chance to see the Nationals play before…” (they just started up again last year).
Well, it’s getting late now and I have oodles to do at work tomorrow. Yay me! Besides, I am tired of sharing anyway. You people (total of two) need to get your fix somewhere else now if you’re still jonesin’ (Ha, like you’ve even made it this far… You know if you did, you skipped over quite a bit of it… admit it… I know it, you know it…)
Peace out peoples,
-sib

random conversation

2006-04-30T21:32:00.000-04:00

So, I'm only putting this up here 'cause I'm a vain mother fucker and I think I am hillarious... also because there are a few random quips in honor of Sacreligious Sunday in there...
-sib

sib7200: so what are you doing?
delayreneel: lol guess
sib7200: building an ark only to deny every living creature aboard when it floods?
delayreneel: hahahno
delayreneel: guess again
sib7200; odd cause that's what I am doing
delayreneel: nice u like ur hammer
sib7200: talking to Enron Hubbard?
delayreneel: I'm gonna steal it and decorate it
delayreneel: no
sib7200: i don't own a hammer
sib7200: hammer-less carpenter
sib7200: I am a freak
delayreneel: your a fucking carpenter and you don't own a hammer
sib7200: yup
delayreneel: I'm buying you a hammer lol
sib7200: don't use one all that often
delayreneel: ha
sib7200: if I need one, someone else has one not in use
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: I'm fucking chuck Norris... I scare the nails into place
delayreneel: lotf
sib7200: lotf... hmmm I got nuthin
delayreneel: i was laughing fell outta my chair and was on the floor
delayreneel: i do that a lot
sib7200: need a new chair, thinks I...
I am a carpenter
sib7200: he he he
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: with no hammer... *sigh*
delayreneel: your like jesus' father Joseph
delayreneel; there's your Sunday school lesson
sib7200: nah... I don't tolerate cheating women
delayreneel: lol
delayreneel: actually Joseph is Jesus step-dad
sib7200: and Mary and Joseph were engaged when Mary fucked around on him
delayreneel: haha
sib7200; and the church has it's fascinations with protitutes...
Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of Jesus...
you know why don't you?
delayreneel: lol
delayreneel: why don't I?
sib7200: it's not because the men who wrote the bible are sexist pigs, treating all holy women as whores...
it's cause priests have to be celibate... and thus, being guys... can only think about loose women... delayreneel: lol
sib7200: okay I made that up...
sib7200: but it sounds plausible
delayreneel: yeh it does and prettty funny
sib7200: actually, early priests were allowed to marry and have children... so whatever
sib7200: so how's it goin sides it all?
delayreneel: my ribs hurt......i should just eat them with some sauce
sib7200: soy or barBQ?
delayreneel: barbq
sib7200: right
sib7200: not of fan of ribs myself
sib7200: the only pork I like is bacon
delayreneel: me either
delayreneel; im a chicken
delayreneel: eater
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: gulrgle bacon mmmmmmmm... *drool*
sib7200: chicken is the best meat there is
delayreneel: poor piggy
sib7200: callen me a pig?
sib7200: jeez
delayreneel: no cuz you eat bacon
sib7200: yesh....
sib7200: they all deserved it I swear
sib7200: they were convicted felons everyone
delayreneel: ha
sib7200: something about crime that tastes soooo goood
sib7200: okay... I got nothin
delayreneel: yeh
delayreneel: random
delayreneel: gerrrrr
sib7200: gerrrrr?
delayreneel: yeh
delayreneel: gerrr
delayreneel: im a tiger
sib7200: were you growling at me?
delayreneel: lol yeh
sib7200: ah you were... you were
sib7200: ha ha ha
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: im not guessing your type of animal
delayreneel: im a primate...we all are
sib7200: not me
delayreneel: are you a robot along with chris?
sib7200: ive been catagorized differently
sib7200: hell no
sib7200: I'm....
delayreneel: oh really
sib7200: I'm....
sib7200: I'm ... Batman!
delayreneel: snort
delayreneel: hahahhahahha
sib7200: neener neener neener neener batmat!
delayreneel: and robin
sib7200: BATMAN... batman
sib7200: fuck robinI fried 'im and ate 'im up for lunch I did
delayreneel: usuck ass i liked robin
sib7200: so did I...
...
he tasted quite good
delayreneel: psh posh
sib7200: not very filling though... [picks teeth]

delayreneel signed off at 9:00:46 PM.

delayreneel (9:03:32 PM): dumbass interent
sib7200: spshh
sib7200: no sweating the small shit
delayreneel: it gets very adjitating
sib7200: do tell
sib7200: or not... I am having an apathy attack
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: comes and goes
delayreneel: apathy attack eh
sib7200: lasts for only a minute or two
sib7200: yup
sib7200: rare disease
delayreneel: awwer u should have more lol
sib7200: more what?
delayreneel: n/m
delayreneel: awerrrrrrr
delayreneel: gerrr now im a bear
sib7200: watch out for crocodiles
sib7200: if you are standing next to open water
delayreneel: yess croc hunter is out to get me
delayreneel: i am
delayreneel: didn't u know there's a river in my house
sib7200: really...
sib7200: that's on this side of peachy
delayreneel: of course it is
sib7200: yesh... that's why I said it was
sib7200: Anthony the anteater a(e)loped along with Annie the agriculturalist in Amsterdam
delayreneel: i speak fluent namreg
sib7200: ah... well, I speak crappy Spanish
delayreneel: which is bullshit German
delayreneel: someone actually asked me if that was a language
delayreneel: i laughing and said yes of course
sib7200: isn't it?
delayreneel: on the planet Uranus
sib7200: your'anus
delayreneel: my anus ? lol
sib7200: i got nothun
delayreneel: I'm thinking of building a rocket and duct taping my pope doll to it
sib7200: as long as you send the rocket my direction, so I can have your doll, that's cool
delayreneel: no u can't have him
sib7200: then bugger off
delayreneel: he's mine
sib7200: and I will steal 'im
delayreneel: no u steal him i kick u
sib7200: today is British accent day
delayreneel: no its every Tuesday
sib7200: 'no, that's just be random to your co-workers day (official day of course)
sib7200: today is actual titled sacrilegious Sunday
delayreneel: no today is sleep....day
sib7200: the day of rest and the day of roast---ing the lord
delayreneel: ha
sib7200: I've not done anything special today though...
sib7200: just the usual
delayreneel: sleep...eat...sleep....talk online
sib7200: sitting in a park during mass and read a book
delayreneel: nice
sib7200: meh... i do what I can
sib7200: sorry, the apathy attack is back
delayreneel: yesh
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: it lasts one to two mins but it reoccurs every other five
sib7200: goob has his anxiety and I have my apathy
delayreneel: wow
delayreneel: lol
sib7200: goob's lucky, his cure comes in pill form
sib7200: mine... JESUS!
delayreneel: stop making me laugh my ribs hurrrrt
sib7200: like taking ridalin as a child... I stash jesus under my pillow until I can find a good time to dispose him

Whispered Dead

2006-04-26T01:04:00.000-04:00

He wet the bed. Sully Masterson hadn’t done that since the age of ten. Yet here he woke fifty-five years later with his backside swimming in his own unique pool of piss. There was no rush to change and hide the soiled sheets, anxiety kicking it into overdrive, pumping adrenaline throughout his whole system with the fear that his parents would find out what their little man had done. They have been gone and dead for twenty years now. There was no one to chide him and call him a disgusting little pig now. He thanked God that Johanna, his wife, was also deceased these past two months now and did not have to witness his embarrassment. And even though the wetness of his pajama bottoms chilled the very skin they clung to, he still did not rise. He just lay there in the predawn darkness of his bedroom basting, too tired to care or get up.
He felt sorry for himself, he felt depressed, and he felt angry. He was mostly angry. Some of his anger was focused inward at himself for acting so damned sorry for himself. Some of his anger was directed toward his late wife and her audacity to die and leave him so helpless without her. But most the anger stemmed from the whispers. The whispers were everywhere.
He had heard the whispers making their circuit around town, in the church gossip circles, his neighbors, even his children talking about his now inevitable demise since Johanna had gone. There were whispers discussing and deciding his own future, a future which he seemed to have no say. It wasn’t the ghost of his late wife or the seemingly haunting memories they shared that came to him at all hours of the day that bothered Sully, it was those damnable whispers. They were like the resumed animated corpses of a sci-fi B movie chasing him everywhere he went. No matter where he turned, those ghastly whispers were always right behind him, in front of him, beside him, within him. And the whispers didn’t even wait till his Johanna was in the ground before they started in on him, ostensibly caring but in reality they seemed to really want to devour his flesh, his brain, his soul. It wasn’t the fact that his wife had left him, the oldness of his age, or even his failing kidneys that was slowly killing him. It was those damn whispers.

“It’s only a matter of time now that mom’s gone,” he heard his oldest son Charlie saying to his wife from the next room. It was late afternoon and Sully was lying on the couch in the living room, pretending to be asleep, but only pretending so that he would not have to talk to anybody. Charlie and his wife Kelly had brought him home from the hospital about an hour ago. An hour after she passed away. He lied to them and himself when he told them he would be fine to drive home himself, but they would not hear any of it. So, there they were, an hour later in his kitchen discussing his future like he wasn’t even there.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“Well, studies show that men have a mortality rate of fifty-three percent during the first month after his spouse dies,” Charlie said softly.
“Really? That’s awful,” replied his wife and Sully rolled his eyes. Her and her poignant concern could go to Hell for all he cared. He knew deep down that it was all as real as the breasts of those women you see now on the television.
Sully did not approve of Charlie’s marriage and never had. From the first day that his little boy brought that woman home, he had always been cold and dead set against Charlie’s future wife. Johanna, on the other hand, took to this girl right away and blessed the relationship from the get go. He had no real reason to dislike her, or at least no valid one not to (as Johanna constantly pointed out). But Charlie’s wife had just always rubbed him the wrong way. He believed he sensed something off about her, something he could never put a finger on. It was like she was artificial. She wasn’t the genuine article. Perhaps it was her smile. Her smile just seemed too faux, like a salesman’s smile. But Johanna had long ago declared the issue dead and Sully was forbidden to act or say anything against the girl.
Reluctantly Sully agreed and bit his tongue, but from that moment on, to keep his sanity he decided that he would never use Charlie’s wife name in her presence. He would always refer to her as Charlie’s wife, his wife, or the wife. And in this, he felt it was a small victory won in the war for what he thought was his duty to ensure his son’s happiness.
“Yup. And even if he doesn’t pass on, the studies show that at the very least he is likely to be hospitalized within the next few months,” said Charlie.
“You mean he’ll get sick—from what?” she spat out, raising her voice from the whisper that was.
“I suppose, I really don’t know from what, really. Old people just tend to catch a lot of sickness when they’re old. Something simple like the flu can send an aged person to the hospital quite easily. It’s their immune system. It kinda quits working, or at least it becomes too worn down to fight off all the normal threats we face everyday to stop simple illnesses from turning into something worse, like pneumonia or something,” replied Charlie. Sully could hear the strain in his son’s voice to keep himself and his wife quite. “Keep it down. I don’t want to wake Dad. He’s had a really tough day already. Hell, a really tough week.”
“And what about you Charlie? You’re week, your day, hasn’t that been tough too? Plus all that’s to come? Maybe you should lie down as well.” asked Kelly.
“Don’t worry about me hon, I guess we’ve really been expecting this for quite some time now and I got time to grieve later.”
“So then, what are going to do now?” she asked.
“Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to start on the funeral arrangements and I already called Sissy and her husband. Maggie’s flying in tonight and her plane arrives at seven. She said she’d take care of writing the obit on the plane and then call the paper in the morning. Peter is off calling everyone and the meeting with the director isn’t until tomorrow. So, for the time being—I guess we just sit and wait a bit. Dad’ll be up in a bit and like it or not, he’s gonna need some company…”
There was a pause in the conversation and he heard the kitchen chair scuff against the floor followed by footsteps walking toward the stove. From the clumping sound the shoes made, Sully assumed that it was his son doing the walking. He heard the fridge pop open and then the rustling of a couple of bottles. He’s stealing one of my beers, damn him, thought Sully.
The thought made him grin a little. Ever since Charlie was old enough to know what alcohol was, he had been stealing his father’s beer from the fridge. When he was younger, Sully had to punish the boy for his thievery, even though somewhere deep within, Sully felt proud of his boy. On the day Charlie turned eighteen, Sully’s pride for his son led him to the decision of welcoming his son into manhood by letting him help himself to his stock whenever he wished. Of course he regretted that decision a few months later when more often than not Sully came home to find his fridge raided of both his food and spirits. Sully began a sort of inside joke between his wife and son that year. From then on, every time he saw his son he would claim that his son, “Chucky” was not only eating, but drinking Sully “out of house and home.” Secretly, he would not have it any other way.
Sully all of a sudden felt awful for letting himself grin. He rolled over on his side with his back facing the kitchen. Not today, he thought. Today, I cannot be happy. I will not let myself feel happy today… then adding, and perhaps I will never again. He also felt suddenly ashamed for the way he had been so selfish. He was not the only one who was lost today. Here he was, the supposed man of the family, the patron, and it was his son who was being strong supporting others. Not him. Here he was sulking by himself, pretending to be asleep just so he wouldn’t have to talk or see anyone (let alone them see him) listening in on his son. Though he felt ashamed in this, he still couldn’t muster the will to let his son know he was awake. The fact that Charlie’s wife was there somewhat helped him in that decision.
“That’s not really what I meant,” she said. “What about your father?”
Charlie sighed his buying time sigh. It was the sigh he always gave right before he was about to tell a lie or when he felt awkward. Like a nervous tick some people have when they lie, Charlie always tried to buy time with a sigh before fibbing. This sigh was worn and resinously clung silent to the air. “What do you mean,” he said and there was another long pause.
“We talked about this last Sunday,” the wife said and continued, “Don’t give me you’re innocent look. You know what I mean.”
What are you talking about! Thought Sully, though for a second there, he thought he said it out loud. Yet the conversation continued on as if he didn’t and Sully still held his silence.
“Kelly, now is not the appropriate time or the place to be arguing about this—”
“No one is arguing Charles. We’re discussing it—or should be anyhow. As far as appropriateness, well, when is a good time to discuss the management of your father?”
“What! You make it sound so cold. ‘Management of my father?’ Who the hell talks like that anyhow?”
“Yes, the management of your father. It is the perfect, though it may be cold, it is the word to describe what I mean. He cannot take care of himself. He’s been relying on his wife to do that for years—probably since they were married. Before that it was probably his mother who took care of him.”
So, they were thinking—scratch that—she was thinking that she’d put me in one of those damn homes, thought Sully. And even though his temper was rising, and he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for them to get out of his house, he silently listened on.
“That’s not true… What about when Mom got sick. Who took care of her? Who took care of himself?” Charlie asked his wife.
“The nurse that you had to pay for did both and you know it. Face it. He cannot and probably will not take care of himself. Without your mother here, surely he’s going to be one of those statistics you were just going on about. He is going to need professional care.” She said. She was still speaking ever so politely, so sweetly, and it was this that bothered Sully the most. Her damned sugar-coated voice corrupting his son, feeding him like the Devil himself only could.
“Well, let’s just say you’re right—”
“I am right and the painful part is that you know it. Don’t feel bad. I know it is your father, but you have to face reality, Charles.”
”Okay, you’re right. Whatever… Then why don’t we just keep the nurse on then to help out.” He asked.
“We are not paying double the amount of money it would cost that nurse to care for him then a home would, Charlie,” she said. “We’ve wasted enough of our savings on that already.”
“Perhaps Peter and Maggie could help out with the burden if we ask them.”
“You know more than I do that they aren’t the kind of people to have the amount of money to pay even half.”
“Well then, how about he comes and lives with us?” Charlie asked.
“Out of the question,” she said and there was a quick pause before Charlie broke the silence.
“Why?” he asked.
“Well, for starters, how about because he hates me? Or better yet, because he hates me, he would never agree to it.” She responded loudly, knowing and hoping fully well that her voice would carry into the living room.
“And he’ll agree to this?”
“It’s better than living with me, right?” she said “You are just going to have to make him understand that.”
“Maybe,” said Charlie. He once again paused, sighed, and continued, “But Dad’s in the next room sleeping and this is not the time or place for this argument.” He said and this time she did not contradict him about his semantics. Not because she agreed that it was indeed an argument or had become one, but because Sully finally decided to let them know of his awareness.
“I’m awake and I do think that’s enough of that as well…” Sully cried from the couch. He thought about getting up and confronting the two conspirators, but he couldn’t seem to muster the energy for more than yelling and turning to face the kitchen side of the room once more. “Chucky, I also think it’s time you took that damn wife of yours home and leave me the hell alone.”
“Dad?” asked Charlie as he made his way out of the kitchen toward his father.
“It ain’t your mother. She’s dead, ya remember? I’m not the one dead…or deaf,” said Sully bitterly. Charlie whipped around the corner at that moment with a concerned look upon his face. He was still holding onto the bottle he took out of the fridge. His boy looked just like his mother. Charlie received the same eyes, the same nose, hair color (sandy brown) from his mother. The only thing Sully seemed to have passed on to Charlie was his strong cleft chin. It pained Sully to see Johanna reflected in that face and he looked up toward the ceiling. “But perhaps I should get busy to it. Wouldn’t want to upset those studies you’ve read now that your momma’s gone. ‘Sides, it seems that if you’re gonna try and stick me in an old folks home I’d rather be dead anyway…”
“Don’t say that Dad. It’s not fair.” Charlie said and then sighed. “We thought you were asleep and you are taking what we said out of context. I don’t want you to die and I surely don’t—”
“Save it.” Sully interrupted his son while sticking his hand out in his direction, never taking an eye off the ceiling. “Just get you and your wife out of here. Maybe I’ll see you at the funeral——that is—if I haven’t died yet.”
At some point while Sully was trying to martyr himself in front of his son, Kelly decided to join the living room. Sully was too detached to notice her presence until her face popped into view hanging over his looking down. She was smiling the same old pretentious smile of hers and it was she who spoke next not her son.
“We will leave now, Sully. Charlie and his wife are going to leave. We hope to see you at the funeral. Don’t die on us just yet.” She chuckled and continued; “Now I’m not going to pretend that you didn’t overhear us, spying as you were—”
“SPYING! IT’S MY HOUSE!”
“Well, that may be, but let’s not pretend shall we. Think about what we discussed then. We don’t want to see you—”
“Ah get the hell outta here why don’cha already and leave me the hell alone…” interrupted Sully with a tone of finality and Charlie sensing his tone took hold of his wife’s arm and led her out of the house. Finally alone, Sully broke down and cried.

He hadn’t stopped crying since that time, and Sully only left the house twice in those two months. The two times he had gone out was to visit Johanna at the wake and the next day at the funeral. And here he was two months, seven days, and fifteen hours later still crying while he lay in a bed of his own urine.
Maybe they were right. He thought to himself, shaking perhaps from his chilling soaked backside or from the lurking animosity he felt toward that woman of Charlie’s. And it was at this point he finally decided to sit up. I’m not going to give into that woman.
Sully slowly and achingly edged his legs over the side of the bed, grunting his old man’s grunt as he stood up and immediately began to undress in the dark. After forty years lived within the same room, the same furniture, there was no need to turn on any lights. He then walked to the master bathroom and flipped the switch. The lights blinded him and it took several moments before the haze and dizziness subsided and he could focus. He turned on the bath tap and began to look at himself in the mirror as he waited for the water to heat up and collect in the bottom of the tub.
His roman nose stuck out even more prominently. It was the only part of his face that didn’t seem to sag. Sully reached up, ran his hands through his thinning grayed hair, and then took a hunk of his cheeks in both hands and yanked backwards “There you are…” he said silently to his doppelganger makeshift facelift image. He let go and the cheeks drooped sadly down once again.
“How long have you been dead old man? When did it end for you? Is this the end then?” Sully asked his mirrored self. When no reply came, Sully waved off his reflection and shook his head. He opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out his bottle of pain relievers and an old packet of matches. He then turned his attention to the toilet and more specifically the scented candle on top and lit the wick. This had been somewhat of a tradition of Sully’s since his wife had passed on. For two months now, he had been living on for his wife vicariously by doing some of things she used to do, wearing some of the things she used to wear. From taking baths with cheesy named scented candles to wearing her one of her specific evening gowns because it carried her scent so strongly, every little bit he did, no matter how odd, he felt that it was for his Jo and his Jo was there. Though there was little comfort, at the very least he thought that it was something. It was at least something to make her live once again.
Sully added her bubble bath, some sort of berry scented concoction and before entering the tub. He checked the temperature of the water with his hand and judged it to perfection. The candle’s aroma, also strawberry flavored, dubbed simply Strawberry Sensations, draped heavily in the air and at once Sully felt at one with his wife again. As he sat in the warm water and tried to wash away both his physical and mental pains. But no matter how much he tried to let the anger, the regret, the sorrow, and those whispers slip away, the harder they clung to him like the strawberry scented lotions, soaps, and candle stuck within his nose. Everything including Charlie’s damned wife to the whispers of the little old church ladies seem to haunt him now, but his soiled sheets seemed to spoil his concentration on his wife as well.
It’s funny, he thought to himself, how life works. We people come kicking and screaming into this world. Pissing and shitting all over the goddamn place, letting others clean up our mess. And likewise he believed after waking up this morning that he would leave this world the same way. He picked up the bottle of pain relief pills and stared blankly at the label.
That’s when he heard her voice, whether it was from the back of his mind or an apparition that spoke, he heard, “There are different types of choices that confront us, hon… There are those that we make, and many that are made for us. Don’t let this be one of the choices that you think was made for you Sullivan…” Whether it was his wife (and he had no doubt that it was) or his hungered imagination for her and only his conscious mind was telling him so.
“But I can’t—not without you…” he responded. “You’re all I had left, and now you’re gone too. I just can’t make it without you, Jo.”
“You’re gonna have to, sweetheart. Perhaps after you are dead we can be together, but can you take that risk?” the voice responded.
Sully looked up from the label to try and find the discombobulated voice’s source. There was nothing there. He sighed and questioned, “What do you mean? What risk?”
“The risk that if there is an afterlife, one that has been taught to us by the Judeo-Christian churches, then to commit suicide would definitely bar us from being each other.” She said. “And that is the risk. If I am really talking to you, and am not just your subconscious schizophrenically communicating with you, then most likely the afterlife we’ve been promised for all of our lives is real. And then you must live on naturally in order to be whole with me again.”
“And if you are just my head messing with me—”
“And there is no afterlife?” she finished asking. Just like she always did. Jo had been finishing his sentences since their first date so many years ago. It was one of the reasons that he knew she was the one. A single tear broke and started to stream down his left cheek, taking its time to find all the nooks and crannies within his skin.
“Well, yeah…” he responded.
“If there is no afterlife… Well, then I don’t exist anymore and it is up to you to keep on living for the both of us, for I can only live with inside you now. You carry both of our memories together. You and only those who remember me can keep me alive, when those too who carry them pass on, then I will truly be dead. Either way, can you risk it?”
“I don’t think I am strong enough, Jo” he said releasing another tear.
“You are and you will be…” the voice said and said no more.
“I will, I will for you, Jo” Sully said softly, and then he finally let himself brake down and cry once again. Knowing it wouldn’t be the last time he did so, but it would be the last for awhile. “I’ll survive if only it is to help you survive, Johanna…” he croaked. He paused, as if he was reassuring himself or perhaps someone else he was sure was in the room with him and then added, “Kicking, screaming, mess and all!”
He then climbed out of the tub, dried himself off, dressed, and at once began to collect the sheets upon the bed in order to take them down to the laundry.

2006-04-25T16:06:00.000-04:00

The MySpace About Me Survey

-= Tell Us About Yourself =-
Name:	Michael
Birthday:	6/6/81
How old do you act:	4
Zodiac Sign:	who really cares about this shit anyhow... if you really want to know this... my birthday is right above... figure it out for yourself...
Current location:	limbo
Eye Color:	blue
Hair Color and Length:	brown and medium
Height:	5-11ish
Your Heritage:	mutt, but mostly german/irish
What’s Your Middle Name:	Patrick
Shoes You Wore Today:	blue reebocks
Your Weakness:	taking surveys
Your Fear:	the lemonade monster
Have You Ever Ridden A Mechanical Bull:	not yet...
Do You Want To:	sure...
Goal You Would Like To Achieve This Year:	finding a decent job
First Thought When You Wake Up:	fuck... I\'m not going to work today...
Best Physical Feature:	I\'ve been told my eyes too many times to think otherwise...
Best Character Feature:	unpredictability
Who Is Your Bestest Friend:	that would be goob
When Is Your Bedtime:	whenever I go to bed
Your Most Cherished Memory:	taking this survey
Pepsi or Coke:	Pespi of course...
McDonalds or Burger King:	burger king
Single or Group Dates:	um... single?
What Is The Last Song You Sang:	one I made up...
Does Playing A Guitar Make A Girl/Guy More Attractive:	meh...
What Is Your Biggest Pet Peeves:	people
Do You Drink:	yup... though not as much as I used to...
Ever Been Drunk:	dumb follow up question...
Do You Smoke:	yup... though I am trying to quit
Do You “Smoke”:	I dont want to be a granola head...
Do You Sing:	not very well
What Color Underwear Do You Have On:	[looks to check...] Whoops! I knew I forgot to do something this morning...
Do You Want To Go To College:	again??? yesh...
Have You Ever Been In Love:	only with myself
Do You Want To Get Married:	meh...
Do You Believe In Yourself:	yup
Do You Believe In Others:	not really...
Do You Like Thunderstorms:	sure...
Do You Play an Instrument:	I wouldn\'t consider it playing... but yes...
What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up:	a dump truck
What Country Would You Like To Visit:	all of \'em
How Many CD’s Do you Own:	a few
How Many DvD’s Do You Own:	a few
How Many Tattoo’s Do You Have:	none
How Many Piercings Do You Have:	none
How Many Things In You Past Do You Regret:	how many things in YOU past do you regret??? he he he dumbass... oh! um... I guess then just making fun of the person who made this survey is the only thing I regret...
-= Favorites =-
Favorite Shoes:	the ones I got on... I guess...
Favorite Radio Station:	WGRR or I guess 700WLW
Favorite Drink	Pepsi I guess... or if it is alchoholic based, then I suppose it would be some sort of rum...
Favorite Car:	my old lude
Favorite Place:	somewhere mountainous...
Favorite Song:	i dunno... how can you choose when there are just too many
Favorite Movie:	I like lots of \'em
Favorite Moment:	the moment I completed this survey
Favorite Color:	blue
Favorite Meal:	spaghetti
-= In a Guy/Girl or Man/Woman I Like… =-
Favorite Eye Color:	blue or brown
Favorite Hair Color:	definately brownish
Short Hair or Long Hair:	either
Height:	meh...
Body Type:	meh...
Does Ethnicity Matter:	nope
Piercings:	meh...
Tattoos:	meh...
-= “Bed Side Manor” =-
Do You Think You Are Attractive:	sure
Are You Attracted To Someone Who Does Not Know It:	I am attracted to lots of people who do not know it... what the fuck kinda stupid question is this???
Would You Like To Be Someone’s Fantasy:	sure... who wouldn\'t?
Hunter or Hunted:	yes...
Do You Kiss With Your Eyes Open or Closed:	yup... depends on the mood/person/etc...
Ever Kissed Someone Of The Same Sex:	nope
A Little or A Lot Of Tongue:	are we talking about kissing??? a bit of both I guess... pending...
Older or Younger:	yes please...
Top or Bottom:	yes
Lights On, Lights Off or Candle Light:	meh...
Do You Like To Cuddle After:	after what???
Do you Like To Cuddle In General:	I dunno... I guess so...
Trimmed, Shaved or Let IT Go Wild:	meh...
Him / Her First or Second:	meh...
Have You Ever Had Bad Sex:	nope... but for guys it\'s a bit different...
Have You Ever Had Sex With Someone And Regretted It:	nope
Ever Have A 3Some, 4Some or More-Some:	nope
Does Sex = Love To You:	Hell No!
-= Right Now =-
Right Now, What Is Todays Date:	4/25/06
Right Now, What Time Is It:	4:07pm
Right Now, Who Are You Thinking Of:	myself... duh... I am filling out a damn survey
Right Now, What Are You Listening To:	annoying birds outside
Right Now, Do You Love Some One:	only myself
Right Now, Does Someone Love You:	I guess my parents... but hell this question is problematic... how the hell do we really know if anyone loves us to begin with??? we really don\'t...
Right Now, Do You Know Where Your Mechanical Bull Is:	um... texas???
Right Now, Is It Raining:	on and off
Right Now, How Many MySpace Friends Do You Have:	right now the count is about 10... it will probably stay around that too...
Right Now, Are You Happy	sure...
-= Right Now, You Are Finish This Survey! =-
Tell us YOUR answers to this survey! Click HERE!
Created by davhill, taken 571 times. Created at Kwiz.biz - Kwizzes, Polls and Surveys!