I've been too busy to blog, but really it was bejeweled blitz.

I was gonna make up an excuse for not blogging in a while but really it was Bejeweled Blitz. That game is so addictive. I think I will play only a couple quick games, but then like two hours later I'm still sitting there lininG up stupid gems like it's gonna pay off big. It's not. Blogging isn't the only thing that has suffered. Sure, I may have missed a few appointments, a party or two, my wedding. It's not like I can't see those people anytime. Except my exfiance, she won't return my calls. I can only assume she is playing bejeweled Blitz.

Spacey type things

Every time I see a show about space is on I have to watch it. There is so much wonder and sights to behold. Everytime I see the earth-rise picture from the moon I get chills. Everytime I hear the quote "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind." I just about fucking cry. The profound beauty of the universe is so fuckin mind blowing. The endless diversity and possibility. The complexity and simplicity all lying heavy on the event horizon of the human mind.
Shit...


I tried to get all artsy with my writing there. I'll try not to do that again.

This weekend

I'm having a birthday party this weekend. It is inspired by Douglas Adams. It is also some asshole's idea that the world will end. I will incorporate this as a Restraunt At The End Of The Universe omen. Done and done. If you would like to stop in, please feel free.

If you take a badger to school...

If you take a badger to school it will probably bite someone and you will be sued.  Seriously,  why would you take a badger to school? Things badgers don't do: cuddle, smile, not bite, smell good. Badgers are mean and hateful animals.
No good comes from badgers.  None. Evil. Grrrr.

That time I burned that house down.

I am on my way home from work. I am taking a particularly curvy back road home. It is always less traffic and rarely any police on it. I enjoy corners. There are people who buy cars that go fast and that is fine. Fine for the kind of person who thinks pushing down hard with the right foot makes for a good driver. I am a corners type of driver. I don't care how a car handles or how fast it goes. I will work with what I have and make it. a challenge. I always take the curvy road even if it takes me longer to get someplace. The hazards are always a bit greater. I am hitting a 30mph corner at almost sixty-five. I am pushing the envelope even for me. My tires are squealing at a deafening pitch. I can feel it starting to break free. My water bottle rolls off the seat and under my feet. My front left tire hits a discarded aluminum can on the road. As it crushes under the weight of the car, the tire loses it's traction. The slip causes me to slide into the oncoming lane.
I had said that there were fewer police, I did not say none. Today would be one of the few times I encounter a police car on this road. The look on his face as I am screaming across his path is priceless. I do only what I can do in this situation. I flip him the double barrel birds. A bit of good luck is that instead of hitting a curb, I skidded up a driveway and into a parking lot. The bit of bad luck being the only two ways out of the parking lot are past the cop who was currently doing a u-turn to come after me, or down a pedestrian path along an old set of railroad tracks that run along the far side of the lot. Now when I say pedestrian path, what I mean is a walking trail. Beggars can't be choosers I guess.
My car is obviously not made for driving through tall grass. It is not fast and I can see in my rear view mirror police cars do pretty well especially after someone has pushed most of the grass down for them. I turn hard left and the car rolls up over the tracks. It jerks hard and the bottom scrapes but I make it over. I am pushing grass on the other side now and am coming to a bridge. The cop stayed on the other side probably not wanting to risk the damage and everyone knows, radios are faster than cars. There will be a lot of police bearing down on me soon. I decide to drop down the embankment onto the road below. The good bot of luck is that there are no cars coming, the bad bit of luck is the retaining wall that holds half o the embankment up. I turn hard left hoping for I'm not sure what. My right wheels hit the top edge of the retaining wall and barrel rolls over the edge and somehow my car lands on it's wheels. In my rear-view mirror I can see the officer's surprised face as he is looking at me and going nose first into the pavement. His face is quickly clouded by the expanding airbag and smoke. My car does not escape unscathed. As I'm driving away it is pulling to the left and has a hard time turning right. I can hear sirens approaching. I turn right into a neighborhood and look for an alley. I hang a left into an alley with some difficulty and some interesting grinding noises. I spy an open garage and pull in. I jump out and close the garage door. I slink between the houses and peer into the front yard. A for sale sign and foreclosure notice on the window. Several police cars fly by.
I decide to play it safe. I kick in the back door and walk to the front door. I wait for the street to empty and quickly gather a bunch of the old newspapers off the front porch. I place them in the middle of the living room carpet and light them on fire. I walk to where the stove used to be and turn on the gas. When people are forced out they rarely switch off the gas. The gas company doesn't care who's name it's in if no one is using gas. My luck holds and I can smell the acrid eggy smell immediately. I close all the doors I can between the gas and the fire. I can smell the crappy carpet catching on fire already and quickly vacate. I open the garage door and listen for police cars. I don't hear any so either they are patrolling quietly or have given up. I drive my car to the end of the alley. I quickly cross into the next ally and find an empty driveway. I back in behind the garage and wait.
Twenty minutes go by before I hear the muffled thud and feel the ground shake. Within seconds I hear sirens again. Lots of them. I wait for another five and hear the fire trucks pulling up. Now is my chance. I roll out of the spot and drive slowly away from the plume of smoke. I hit the street and drive off as if nothing happened.

The end of the Mayan calender.

December 12, 2012 a missile was detonated.
It was the end of the Mayan calender and the end times prophecy were not coming true but the realization why the Mayans ha picked this date became apparent. A comet was approaching. It was big and would pass between the earth and the sun. It would cause an eclipse that would be brighter than anything ever seen. A near planet sized comet that would be brighter than the sun and causing a halo that would surely blind everything looking at it. A decision was made to attempt an alteration of the path of the comet to see if it could be done in the event a comet would be close to impacting the earth at some time in the future.
December 12, 2012 a missile was detonated diverting the path of the comet by .00163 degrees.

Two thousand years later...
Ochet looked up and cursed the sky in anger. He had neither cursed nor really felt this much anger in his 1200 Celion years. His world was in ruins and it was due to one thing. The comet. For nearly six hundred thousand years the comet had passed their planet and it was the instigator for their science based peaceful existence. All eyes turned to the comet looking for explanation of what it was. It took thousands of years of work to get a close look at it and to understand astronomy and physics. Now their world was falling apart. No comet. The explanations turned to speculation and now different beliefs were dissolving into conflict. A rise of superstition and fanaticism. Violence. Ochet wept for his race. Silently mourning.

Out into the ice flow.

So has anyone else noticed that Regis Philbin is even more irritating than regular? He is getting that old age unfunnyness. He is like John Madden now. Rambling on and on. I mean more so than usual. Here is what I don't get, a woman get old and she gets booted off the news or a talkshow. A stroke vctim can call a season of football and people call it noble. Harry Carey called a season of baseball and people called it 'his due'. I call it irritating. Don't get me wrong, I know people who have suffered a stroke and it can be heart wrenching, but I can't sit through a football game called by a person who is having trouble with putting together a coherent sentence.
Not to be too hard on John Madden because he is old, but he was cucking irritating before. Unfortunately Chris Collinsworth has taken up the role of 'Shut the fuck up' football announcer.

There is this party...

So there is a party I go to whenever the invite hits my inbox. I wish I could say it's a big, fun, party. It is not. It is a sad party. Imagine if a shut-in had a party. It is that kind of party. Total invite list equals ten. Number that show up equals four. The same four that show up every time.
The conversation is light. The beer is good and we are wrapping up by 10:30. Unfortunately, it is a very tiring three hours of trying not to out do the hosts stories by talking of adventures of my own life. Like that time I went to that bar to see that band. Otlr the time I went to the zoo. Or went out to eat at a place that costs more than ten dollars each. Or that time I went out to a bar. Or walked around the block. Or left the house on a weekend. Shit.
The opposite of this is the parties that I go to that make ME feel like a shut in. The party with the two live bands, one of which gets airplay on the good local stations. The party where half the people are from a foreign country or lived in a foreign country. The party where the pro rugby player is talking to the pro skier about knee surgeries. The party where my story seems too lame to finish about half way through and I keep going hoping someone will say something other than "Yeah..." at the end.
I don't know which is worse.