Blogger's FTP Shutdown...

Just saw the little note on my dashboard that read:

"FTP publishing will no longer be available after May 1, 2010
You currently have blogs that are published using FTP. You must migrate your blogs to a new custom domain URL or a blogspot URL. To learn more, see our dedicated blog and help documentation."

Um, how about no?

I have to do some speedy catchup reading on this, but that message right there is a huge red flag. Anytime I read "custom" attached to anything, that usually informs me that going forward involves spending more money.

Thanks to some irresponsible porn-surfing fecking gobshite they fired recently here at work, they turned a lovely web filter on us so I can't read the damn information at the moment. It's a miracle that I can even post a blog, let alone visit any.

It comes down to the reason why I publish to my own website is because I wish to better control the content I post. Blogger to me is a simple, easy to use tool that saves me coding time. To thank Google for continuing to provide such a valuable tool, I allow the Blogger logo and link to remain where it is.

I seriously doubt that the less than three hundred kilobytes in monthly file transfers FTP'd to my site is a blip on the radar. I realize that when you factor in several hundred thousand other FTP-centered blogs that this could amount to a lot more bandwidth, but it still defies logic as to why you would want to alienate an established section of your client base in this fashion?

Like I said, I have some reading to do. I'll post a followup once I've had a chance to digest the information!

Trap Door Sprang Open...

Random thought I had for the day was this:

If one was to scream in a vacuum, would there be cows in Antarctica?

Moving on to my next thought of the day, I finally heard of Jon & Kate Gosselin and immediately wanted to smack my face with a hammer. We really need to stop caring about people who become celebrities based purely on the fact that they are raising an orchard full of crotchfruit.

Naturally, the station that broadcasts their trainwreck, The Learning Channel, also airs a program centered around the goings on of the Duggar family, a large family living in Arkansas. I think that last I heard they had 18 kids and were hoping for number 19?

I'm all for people having kids. As long as they take care of them, love them, raise them with good character and are not a financial burden on the taxpayer, more power to you.

The issue I have is this glorification of it. Eighteen kids is quite a milestone, but not something that deserves constant media attention.

Indeed, I found myself taking umbrage with the network's name. "The Learning Channel" seems a bit disingenious to me. Checking on their schedule, it seemed like hour after hour of the Gosselins, the Duggars, pregnancy, being obese and pregnant, being impoverished/rich/middle class and pregnant, and the delivery of newborn children.

I believe that they should drop the facade and change their name to something else. For example:

"The Learning About The Various Stages of Pregnancy, Delivery and the Raising of Multiple Children Channel"

Or, to shorten that a bit, why not call it the "Crotchfruit Orchard Channel?" I can just imagine the Beavis and Butthead response to that one.

Huhhuhhuhhuh, that shortens to COC.
Hehheheheh, yeah! You said "coc."

Alright, if that last one sounds a bit crass, I offer to you the simple and more 'family friendly' moniker, "The Knocked Up Channel."

The other thing that gets me is the "WE" channel, or "Women's Entertainment" as it is formally addressed. I do not poke at the channel itself, per se, just that it boggles my mind that one really needs sixteen hours of wedding shows per scheduled day with the occasional 'Movie of the Week' thrown in to keep things real.

Seems like most of the girlfriends and gay friends that I've ever had were absolutely transfixed by this channel, which, if this is a fair scientific sample of the populace at large, explains the success of this channel. Not my personal cup of tea, but I've had to sit through several shows over the years thanks to said girlfriends past.

Getting to the heart of the matter, I would rather watch shows about cattle grazing than WE's fare. I'm not a violent man by nature, but I found myself wanting to punch each Bridezilla out - Buzz Aldrin style.

It's like reliving 75% of the weddings I ever shot, edited or attended. It's the "Bride's Special Day" so naturally she has to act like a complete selfish bulldog brat and make everyone within a five mile radius completely miserable.

Seriously, why give them a show? I can see the "laughing at their unruly behaviour" angle, but why encourage this type of behaviour by showcasing it?

Not for me, friends. Instead of "Platinum Spoiled Rich Weddings," I'm quite happy watching with "Ice Road Truckers" (even though I have no fucking clue what the hell THAT show is doing on the HISTORY channel).

One thing I'd like to see would be one of the Bridezillas, fully dressed in their gowns, hauling pipe to Deadhorse, Alaska in -40 degree ice storms. That would be bloody awesome.

Spam Monkeys Can Burn In Hell...

Fuckers snatched up the old "quality-television.com" url and apparently want $400 to buy it back. Assholes only paid $8 for it.

I hope they burn in Hell.

That is all.

The Avalanche Awaits...

Got my first bill from last month's fiasco. And it appears that the Big Bill from the hospital was the NINTH claim to hit the insurance. What does this mean, friends?

It means that I owe $5,000. I knew that already, I was prepared. What it means is that instead of owing $5,000 to ONE source, I owe $5,000 to EIGHT different sources.

Eight different mouths to feed and they sure as fuck don't want just $25 per month, because they've been bitching about it when I called them. That's $200, folks. I can't afford to pay out more than that per month, I assure you of this.

Plus, there's ol' Gerald to think of. He needs a engine repair and that costs money as well. Can't get to work if my car's fucked up.

If it sounds like I'm going total negative on things, fear not. I was pissed that the hospital didn't come to Insurance to collect first, but what is done is done.

I have a plan.

I'll pay the big ones $25 per month equally at first. They don't like it, they can kiss my ass. As long as you pay them *something*, they can't legally unleash the hounds.

I'll concentrate on trying to scrounge up a little more for the smallest bills. One for $32? No problem. One for $64? No problem, I think.

Heh.

I figure if I pay the little guys off first, I can then take the money I'm not spending on those and throw that towards the bigger fish. I pay off the $32 lab work one this month, I can budget $25 to start throwing at the anesthesiologist starting the next month, for example.

I'm just glad I had insurance. I could be forced to pay the (so far) amount of $32,630. Wouldn't that be fun?

The truly awesome news is that summer is approaching. Plenty of time to enjoy life outside again! Yaaaaaaay! :)

Summer Dies Hard...

They call it "Der Bahn."

Loosely, and very half-assededly translated from my faint memory of German classes that I took fifteen years ago, "Der Bahn" means "The Road." Built in 1989 as part of Schlitterbahn New Braunfels' 10 year anniversary celebration, this hundred+ foot ride provides a fast downhill ride as you can race two other people to the bottom.

It's fast, it's a classic and it's easily my favourite ride in the park.

It's been a month since I last had the opportunity to ride Der Bahn and I've got the shakes worse than ever. I miss the heat mixed in with the brisk coolness of the water cascading over me as I hydroplane speedily down the steep track to the bottom.

I miss the rush of getting to the bottom of the ride and then hiking back to the top again. It is fairly possible that I am addicted to it, but I don't really care.

I've always hated the end of Summer. Having to put the inner tube away for the Winter just doesn't set with me, especially here in Central Tejas where Winter is a hilarious joke for Northerners to cluck their tongues at us for shutting down the state infrastructure because of a few snowflakes.

It's a little over 6 months from now when it'll all will really start coming back, so I have to get used to letting that part of me go into hibernation. With the exception of Halloween and St. Patrick's day, I'd be content to sleep the whole Winter away if I could.

I remember when I was a kid when I actually looked forward to Winter. The cold, the holidays, the food, I loved 'em all. Not so much anymore.

Sucks that it happens this way. You keep thinking that you're doing alright if you're around those who care about you and love you, but what do you do if still feel like shit about things?

Sure, you can feel lucky that you have people who love and care for you, but you have to truly understand the mindset of a depressive in order to understand what the hell they are saying. I get down this time of year because I hate it. I hate the holiday shopping rush, I hate how people treat each other this time of year (those who start acting like assholes/psychotic bitches over stupid shit and take it out on innocent bystanders), I hate the same fucking carols being sung apathetically.

I hate how tired and exhausted I feel every day from October to December from pulling late shifts, stressing out, etc. at work. I hate New Years now because it's bullshit. People making bullshit resolutions they'll never keep, feeling like they could "start fresh" simply because the year moved up one on life's odometer.

Just an excuse to drink and making fuck with your significant other or a perfect stranger if that is to your liking. Next day, you wake up to the same problems you had the day before. Nothing really changes.

Don't even get me started on Valentine's Day, a day I hate with the passion of the Christ. Everyone I've "celebrated" in recent years has been a disaster or a disappointment. Even if I am with someone I care about, I hate the fucking day. It's a bullshit holiday because if you love someone, you shouldn't choose ONE or TWO days out of the year to show it. Choose any day, or everyday how about, to show them ya care.

I thought about it and I think my utter contempt for Winter and the holidays therein is quite likely because I can't go swimming in the river or take my aggressions out on Der Bahn. I can't do a lot of my favourite things because it's cold and I'm too goddamned poor that I can't get on a plane and stay in the Southern Hemisphere for the next six months. Hell, I can barely afford to eat as it is.

I just simply don't have the same comfort in the Winter like I do in the Summer. I might be onto a breakthrough here... (makes notes to discuss with therapist...)

Anyway, thanks for reading. I needed to whine and bitch for a bit...

Arrrrrrrrrrant Corner...

First off, ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! AHOY THERE, IT BE TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! Don't be a square and wuss out. You're working today and you know how boring as hell it can get on a Friday.

Talking like a pirate is good for you, so get out there and strike yer colours!

Now, it's been a while since I last had access to the Internets so I figured it was time to pop in and casually explain myself. Or, rather, to give you a good honest, classically tuned rant for your enjoyment.

I present to you, dear readers, this installment of Robert's Rant Corner!

*bows*

I hate poor craftsmanship.

It is because of poor craftsmanship that I had to pack all my shit, scramble to find a place, haggle over rents, maintain a high level of diplomacy that I simply didn't feel I should have bothered with, move all my shit and attempt to do all this within the span of a week and also before a category two hurricane was (or was not) coming right for me. I also hate long, run on sentences and awkwardly composed paragraphs, but that's a matter for a different entry.

By some miracle, the roof at the old place didn't collapse in on my head. It wanted to, I could tell. When you can look up through the gaping Hellmouth that has opened in the sheetrock above your head and can clearly see the sky peering in amongst the rafters above in such a way that you believe that you are in the MacDonald Observatory, you're the victim of shoddy craftsmanship.

I believe if the storm had hit, it wouldn't have taken more than a mouse fart for the entire mess to come down. Moving was required and further encouraged by the strongly, yet politely, worded letter tacked on my front door one day.

I picture the parish father opening the door to the church and seeing the letter posted by Martin Luther and I am so deadly curious what his response was. He probably sensed things were afoot, yet I'm sure somewhere in his mind he heard a little voice saying, "awww geez, not this shiat again..."

Moving sucks, but I did it once again and somehow I've lived to tell the tale. What really gives me the red ass about it is that so far during this process, I have sustained six bruises, three abrasions, had to perform minor surgery on myself to remove broken glass particles (thanks to a clumsy maneuver involving yours truly, gravity and five shot glasses), four puncture wounds and a lovely long gash on the driver's side forehead. This was achieved thanks to some clumsy maneuvering around the kitchen as I was putting things away in the cabinets.

Pretty much from the hairline to the eyebrow. Dug myself a lovely Frankenstein-esque Marianas trench to remind me over the next two weeks of my epic failure to maintain proper spatial relationships between myself and inanimate objects. Good times.

Naturally, the work crowd found it most amusing. I had a big assed (and extremely red and itchy skin since I'm allergic to latex rubber) band-aid on my forehead all day today and it became instant comedy to those cretins.

I would quip something about sustaining the injury on their mother's headboard while I was playing "I'm going to be your step-daddy" with their mom or that I broke five hundred inch-thick panes of stacked glass with my forehead to impress my sensei so that I could finally get my quadruple black belt. All of it indefensible and unfettered bullshit, true, but it did make me feel better spinning such yarns than having to say, "I done lost yon fight with yon kitchen cabinet door."

Truth is, I'm a gorram clutz. Not twelve hours later, I counted two nearly brutal trip falls into concrete, a charley horse sustained while moving my elbows on my desk and yet ANOTHER broken glass which luckily didn't cut me this time.

All this because of shoddy craftsmanship. Avast!

I also hate people who come begging me for money. They're goddamned everywhere, especially in the Austin area.

Times are tough, I know that well. While I may have a roof over my head and ramen noodles to eat, I'm barely keeping my head above water these days.

Now, I'll kick a buck or a smoke on rare occasions, but the person begging me for it had either A) Be telling the honest to Zeus truth about what their situation or need for the money is or B) If they are going to lie to me, they'd sure as hell better entertain me.

As a general rule, I am wise to their tactics. I can recognize the conversation attempt signal on their faces and my brain is already in defense mode.

"I do not know them, they do not 'know my brother or cousin,' we didn't serve in the Army together, if they ran out of gas then why is their car running, they never were my friend or distant relative, aliens are likely not giving them hand jobs at night while stealing their wallets and they are most certainly NOT going to pay me back."

Happens every fucking time I'm pissed off about something unrelated to begin with and they usually always start with a variation of the same spiel. At HEB, on the street corner, Downtown, in the country, at the electric company offices. They stand there, just waiting to piss me off more.

Not that I dare act rudely. No, I am quite polite, apologetic and emphatic to their situation 99.9% of the time. I know how it sucks to be broke and I'm not going to be disrespectful to someone just because I consider them to be a pain in my ass.

I rarely carry cash anymore for partly this reason though. I talk a lot of shit here, but deep inside, I'm a damned sucker for hard luck cases. I learned how to say no to the tired routines, but I have tipped a couple with a buck or two for making me laugh.

Such as the guy who had a sign that read, "Need money for a burger, six pack of beer and a hand job." How can anyone resist such blatant honesty?

Actually, I'm a goddamn liar. I didn't give that guy a dime. I thought about it for a minute before I realized that there were a group of firemen doing their "Fill the Boot" campaign for Jerry's Kids at the next stoplight.

Helping Jerry's Kids or helping some junkie blow his load. Not a difficult decision to make, my friends. Helping kids with nasty diseases = a Good Thing. The bum can simply take care of his "need" by himself.

I understand the plight of the needy, don't get me wrong. I've been living on the Line for over ten years now, lost one place to fire and another to storm damage and realize full well how utterly screwed I'd be if my job dried up. I'm a paycheck away from disaster and I know this well.

I also have pride, though, and know I'd be busting my ass off from sunrise to sunset to find my ass a job, whether it be in the field I'm in or even if I had to flip sandwiches at Arby's for the time being. I've seen a ton of shit in my life and know I can survive a hell of a lot. Giving up isn't an option.

I guess what I'm saying is this...

You're down on your luck and legitimately need help, fine. I'd be happy to help you if you are willing to work on helping yourself.

If you're simply out to waste my time with some bullshit story that has no basis in truth or is lacking in entertainment or intellectual value whatsoever because you feel that this is so much better than actually applying yourself to something, good luck to you.

When you think about it, is this really something that's too much to ask?

We Crossed The Line...

I've been clearing out some mental debris this past weekend in yet another attempt to realign my thinking.

It started when I was driving home after work on Friday and U2's So Cruel starting playing on my trusty iPod's "Assorted" playlist. The album it comes from, Achtung Baby, was one of those albums that reminds me a lot of high school.

Happy memories, mostly, but it is also the song I have queued up to help put things in perspective whenever I remember Her.

Some of you know all too well whenever I refer to "She Who Must Not Be Named." I now name to her as "Bad Wolf" now because typing out a dozen "She Who Must Not Be Named" is ridiculously labourious, plus it is a term more commonly recognized to people who aren't just Doctor Who or JK Rowling fans.

I played that song on the night I told her to get out of my parents house on the night she stopped by to ask me to go back with her. I was well through with our relationship and wanted nothing else to do with her. She was so quick to play music to me whenever she had a point she had to get across and that night, so did I.

It's a scene, like many others in my life, that just sticks out. It bothers me that this one song is forever tainted and therefore an entire album is also tainted, but there it is.

Just as "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" and "I Will Survive," favourites of hers, makes me cringe, so it is with "So Cruel." I hate that.

I hate it and I want my song back. I want them all back. All the songs out there that I connect with certain people and with bad memories, I want them fucking back.

I want my life back.

Alright, dude, keep it together. We have a lot to get done today so let's just tuck in and keep things on track today.

The Pile beckoned. I knew I had a few things to get done today, so I didn't hesitate in diving in. I grabbed the first three orders due by tomorrow and eased myself into my office chair.

The first few hours progressed rather quickly. I loaded up the assorted videotapes into the appropriate machines and prepped some 8mm film footage for transfer. Everything seemed to be progressing smoothly until...

*plop*

Ah, damnit, that was smooth, mate. You dropped one.

I had accidentally dropped a reel on the floor just as I was preparing to load it into the 8mm transfer rig. Dropping a reel doesn't damage 8mm film whatsoever, but it is a pain whenever it happens because it usually falls beneath the table that the 8mm machine rests on. This usually results in having to get out of my chair and crouching down to retrieve said wayward footage which isn't usually a difficult or risky proposition...

*Riiiiiiiiiipppppppp!*

Ah, bloody hell! Did I do what I thought I just did?

A cursory examination of the fabric covering my lower posterior was rather revealing. Literally.

"FUCKING HELL!" I swore disgustedly as I stood and turned my head to get a better view of the situation, "Hellbollocksshitfecker!"

A muffled voice, that of a fellow co-worker, queried from the adjacent room, "You alive in there?"

"Yeah," I grumbled, "but I done ripped my fuckin' britches!"

*silence*

"You done what?" my co-worker asked from beyond the safety of my editing cave.

"My pants! I ripped the damn things."

I could instantly hear a muffled peal of laughter through the wall.

Apparently, my shame was of instant comedic value. Rightly so. Ripping one's pants, while embarrassing, can be really damned hilarious in certain situations. He was right to laugh, so no faults there.

"Suck it, assnut," I fired back, "it's not that funny!"

Co-worker coughed briefly between guffaws, "Yeah, IT IS that funny!"

Good point. I started to chuckle a bit before joining him in a hearty chuckalicious laughing fit.

Finally, the laughter died down and my co-worker decided that he'd had his fill of jocularity this morning and he decided to be helpful.

"What do you need?" he queried.

I considered this for a minute. What I really needed was a new pair of pants, a beer and a steak, but I needed to be practical. The nearest pair of work pants that I have was fairly far away and my schedule was rather busy today, so I knew that some speedy ingenuity and improvisation was required.

*thinkthinkthinkthinkthinkthink*

"Want me to grab you a lab coat?" he asked kindly.

"Yeah," I sighed as I resigned myself to my fate, "that'll work! Lemme find something in here to temporarily cover my ass because I have no idea which of those fits well enough to pull this off."

Another chuckle. "Ok, just don't come out of there naked or anything. Don't think anyone wants to lose their lunch today from such a ghastly vision."

Ever so helpful, my co-workers. Didn't help that for the remainder of the day, people kept calling me "Doctor."

Heh.

Alpha Omega...

A strange post today, folks. Saturday was actually kind of nice, but Sunday was a raging horror. I wish to take the opportunity to warn you that Sunday is most certainly not safe for work OR for your breakfast. If you aren't comfortable with death and all that goes with that, I'd advise just reading Saturday's portion of this entry!

SATURDAY, 3 MAY

Spent this past weekend in Dallas shooting a wedding as a favour for a friend of mine. I was originally supposed to be a guest and maybe take a couple of pictures, but it turned quickly into my being the official photographer for the whole event.

So, for the price of dinner, couple tanks of gas and a few Dr. Peppers, I shot a wedding. Heh.

Funny how the old training kicks in. Almost instinctual, one might say. I totally forgot to actually enjoy myself at the event but it's hard as hell to switch off the Job.

What was nice about this event was that I think I had more fun shooting this wedding than I had in forever. I suppose a lot of that was due to the fact that I was pretty much free to take pictures of whatever I wanted and how I wanted.

Usually, you see, there is a List.

Lists come down from the bride and the bride's mother and they are frequently very rigid and specific as to the who, what, where and when in regards to the photography. There is rarely any wiggle room on the List and any deviation from the List results in Unpleasantness.

You have a set time to take said pictures in or there will be Unpleasantness.

If you FAIL on a particular still picture, there will be Unpleasantness.

If you so much as make a mouse fart when Captain Hadley's walking the cell block there will be Unpleasantness.

Wait... A Shawshank Redemption reference?!? Ah, I digress...

I believe that the Unpleasantness is a lot of the reason why I avoid doing still pictures at weddings. Video is a lot easier because I can edit the video any way I want, fix any oopsies in Post Production and tell a story without having to have every minute detail in perfection.

Stills? Not so much.

I tend to like to fart around with techniques, angles, lighting, etc. when I'm shooting stills, which is not always conducive to such a fast paced environment such as weddings. I also prefer to shoot inanimate objects or nature over humans to begin with.

So, it was a refreshing fun adventure. I took a metric assload of pictures and had a refreshingly Pleasant time to boot! Little did I know that was going to change overnight.

The overnight adventure was a little more spooky. A lot more spooky actually. Herein lies...

SUNDAY, 4th May

I stayed with a friend of mine at their apartment in East Dallas. I had detected a hint of a certain aroma when I first walked into the building (the place is a converted house with inside-opening apartments), but I wasn't quite yet sure as to what the fuck that was. Reminded me of food that had been left in the fridge for too long. The hallway had a smell, but my friend's place didn't inside their apartment, so I didn't think anything further about it.

At OMGWTFBBQIT'SEARLYINTHEMORNINGTIME, I am awakened to the sound of sirens. Loud, wailing klaxons that announced the arrival of the Dallas Police and Fire departments.

Now, East Dallas isn't necessarily the safest part of town, so sirens are not uncommon here. These were screaming to a halt right in front of the building, however, so that woke us all up. My friend, another friend of theirs and I went to go see what the commotion was about.

As it turned out, my friend's direct upstairs neighbor, a lady in her mid 60's, had died.

On Thursday.

Yes, you read this correctly. It was now early Sunday morning when this was discovered.

The old lady lived by herself, no real friends to speak of who'd come to visit. It seems that her sister kept trying to call her since Thursday and finally got worried about her and drove down from Oklahoma to come check on her. The neighbor had been experiencing heart trouble due to her obesity and a heart attack was considered the likely cause of death.

So, after arriving in quick fashion, the cops and firemen did their thing. The firemen broke down the door. The cops verified that, yes, she had shuffled off this mortal coil, most likely late Thursday/Early Friday, and filled out some paperwork. They then gave the sister the name of a local funeral home and the Dallas County Medical Examiner to help make arrangements.

The sister didn't have but $50 to her name and the deceased didn't have any money beyond her monthly SSN checks, so the sister decided to have the Coroner take the body for a pauper's funeral. It was the best she could probably arrange at this point.

As it turned out, the Dallas Medical Examiner, except in extreme emergencies like a murder, horrific accident or other situations that could result in criminal investigations, doesn't do courtesy remain pickups on Sunday. Yes, that is exactly what the cops and firemen said. The ME would send someone to fetch the body on Monday. Sometime.

The police opened a window, stuck a fan in it and left the apartment saying that they should have the landlord fix the door ASAP.

To interject for a moment with prayer, dear lords, please let me not expire in East Dallas.

If this had been Highland Park or University Park (Dallas' rich part of town), this wouldn't have happened. The complete lack of respect for those of lesser means is appalling. The basic health concerns alone to the other tenants was enough to fill one with contempt. "Sorry, y'all, but that three-day-dead person is going to have to "keep" for another day until someone comes to get her.

Plus, they left the door busted wide open, further exposing the rest of the building to the delightful aroma and potential danger. Keep in mind that this isn't the best part of Dallas to begin with, so leaving your door wide open also bears the risk of having your place broken into.

The landlord lives in Houston and couldn't be bothered, so we decided to be helpful and fix the door frame for her. Bought some basic wood and supplies and got to work on fixing the door frame a bit. I am not a carpenter by any means, but we were able to jury rig a crude frame to at least hold a door and close it.

My pals pooled together their resources and ponied up some cash for gas and hotel money for the sister. After that, we retired back to my friend's apartment to attempt a nap before I had to return back to Austin.

Had a hard time sleeping last night, so, I'm crafted a few kindly worded missives to send to the City and County of Dallas to let them know what I thought about the situation. Overall, I am appalled at how someone of lesser means can be treated like that. Whatever happened to basic human respect and courtesy?

Truth Hits Everybody - Pt. 10

Like the moment when the brakes lock
And you swerve towards a big truck
You spend the frozen moments with your fears...

-Roger Waters
"Two Suns In The Sunset"
The Final Cut

Tomorrow is the anniversary of my birthing.

It's been a very tough year for me since my last birthday, but it's not like I couldn't be doing a whole hell of a lot worse. From all sides of me, things have been a mixture of frustrating to annoying to downright depressing.

I'm staring down the barrel of another year and I am left to wonder why I feel this way. There's been tons of talk these past five years of making changes, but realistically, there's been little progress.

There's no need to wonder who's fault this is, almost like I have a psychological desire to thrive in the throes of depression. The hard part I find is in breaking this cycle. To find the things that make me happiest in life and to set my course for those things straight and true until I reach said Promised Land.

A good friend and colleague of mine stated to me the other day that he was growing concerned over my state of mind. I asked him if he thought that I was sliding into dementia, slowly going mad due to the large sized rut that I find myself in.

He replied that he noticed that I've been rather on a gradual slide over the past eighteen months and he really hoped that I could find that *one thing* that will pull me out of my funk. If not, I'd either keep going insane and withdrawn and become a mad genius Syd Barrett style, or I would end up a complete burnout.

He does raise a valid point.

Each of us needs something in life to keep the juice flowing. Whether it be something artistically, creating a family, success in career or financial and cultural standing, travel, conquest, achieving a stronger relationship with the religion of our choice, helping our fellow humans or, for some, criminal success.

It's as basic to us as having food, shelter, water and clothing. We seek validation in our own way to justify our basic existence on this planet, whether we admit it to ourselves or not.

After pondering this last night over a few beers, I am still as ever, over all, committed to the belief that my justification for existence in life lies within the confines of creativity. Perhaps this is why I feel so frustrated.

Perhaps this is still why I write lengthy missives about this. I'm not depressed about being loved, I'm not even depressed about being broke. I'm depressed because I can't put pen to paper, fingers to keyboard, film to camera.

I lack inspiration. I lack drive and discipline. I lack a muse. I lack a direction.

I ask the thin air for guidance. Give me the power to create new worlds again, just like the old days. Let me be quick witted and cunning. Let me not dread coming home to the same goddamned routine of eating, watching TV, screwing around on the computer and going to sleep.

Give me something...

I Feel...

...like crap.

As I stay at home for an impromptu holiday to improve my health, I find myself utterly and completely bored. VERY. BORED.

That is all...

An E-Mail to Co-Workers...

Date: Mon, 5 Nov 2007 17:33:38 [05:33:38 PM CST]
From: Robert ****************
To: *** Staff
Subject: An Important Message That You Must Read.

Fellow Co-Workers,

I have been rather appalled by the recent state of both the break area and restroom facilities. After what I witnessed today, it would not entirely surprise me to discover that one or possibly two members of our staff were indeed raised by wolves.

First of all, let us discuss the topic of community food. Today I discovered three pieces of pizza in a box that had three neat bites taken out of them as if someone had claimed them and left them behind with a personal mark to protect their lunch instead of wrapping the pizza up in foil or putting it on a plate marked with their name.

It's this simple: whenever the business is either provided with or is providing food to you and your fellow employees, that carries with it an unspoken social contract between yourself and your co-workers. While most regard this contract in layman's terms as simply observing proper etiquette (or table manners), there is actually a serious health and safety issue reason behind it.

For example, if you are either attempting to reserve a set number of food items for yourself or disposing of uneaten food, please have the common courtesy to not put your half eaten food back in the original tins/boxes/containers so that they touch or mix with the untouched food. Use a plate, a paper towel or perhaps encase your chow within a sheet of our helpful metal friend, aluminum foil.

That is unless you actually WERE raised by jackals and enjoy sharing the contents of your disease-infested mouth with the forty-three other people who work here. Lord knows we'll ALL cherish that.

Secondly, whomever keeps refilling their water bottles at the water cooler, please have the common courtesy to NOT do so. Don't be an uncultured barbarian. Get a clean glass or a disposable cup. That's what they are for.

I also pray to all that's sacred that no one is foolish enough to stick their mouth under the water cooler tap although I have my suspicions. No one is personally interested in either seeing a lipstick coating on the water cooler spout, or inheriting your illnesses. Again, please keep your germy mouth away from the water cooler at all times.

Next we will discuss proper bathroom etiquette.

It should be common sense for people to clean up after themselves in the restroom, but apparently in some cases, this needs spelling out in excruciating detail.

1) If you use up the last roll of toilet paper, put another roll on the spindle. There are at least fifty spare rolls on the shelf in the bathroom. Make that extra effort to grab one and load it on the spindle. It won't hurt you to do so, I assure you.

2) Flush when you have transacted your business with the toilet. Do not let any waste linger as a special hidden treasure for the next employee to discover and marvel at. Trust me, we are in no way impressed with the length, width, colour, aroma or texture of your personal waste products.

Before you leave that restroom, FLUSH IT DOWN. When in doubt, FLUSH AGAIN. Briefly inspect the interior of the bowl and leave NOTHING lingering behind as evidence.

Ask yourself, "Have I performed my patriotic duty to the fullest extent by giving the toilet a good and proper flushing?"

If this means that you have to spray the Lysol to cover up the embarrassing odor, you'd better damned well do it.

If the bowl needs emergency sanitary care, tend to it yourself. Do NOT leave the bowl looking like Chernobyl for that is simply against the rules of a decent society.

Your co-workers should not have to don Haz-Mat suits or surplus personal gas masks in order to use the bathroom.

3) If you use all the soap, replenish the supply by refilling the dispenser with more soap. The extra soap container is right next to the toilet paper. Yes, they are still both on the same shelf in the restroom as they have been for years, standing quiet vigil in the corner of the restroom.

If you leave the restroom and someone finds the dispenser empty as you vacate the facility, it's fairly obvious to the person coming in after you that you are a filthy individual who doesn't wash their hands between using the restroom and using shared equipment or potentially shaking hands with a client. That, my friend, is just nasty.

If that person described above is you, what's wrong with you?!?! Were you seriously raised by lions? WASH YOUR HANDS. REFILL THE SOAP DISPENSER IF NECESSARY.

Refill the paper towel dispenser as well if it requires it. Would you like to guess where the paper towels are located?

That's right! ON THE SAME SHELF AS THE EXTRA HAND SOAP AND THE TOILET PAPER.

4) Double check the area to ensure that you have properly FLUSHED, replenished NEEDED SUPPLIES, cleaned up any trash/mess that you may have left and WASHED YOUR HANDS.

5) Then, and ONLY THEN, may you leave the restroom.

I hope this little guide is of use to the unwashed heathens here who cannot think of others as well as themselves. To everyone else who follows proper bathroom / break area etiquette, thank you for putting up with me for a few moments.

Remember kids, WHEN IN DOUBT, FLUSH.

Thanks,

-Robert

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, Hotel?

Seriously, Hollywood, stop ruining each and every cherished childhood memory...

First Transformers and now GI Joe. If Michael Bay directs this one as well...

Prepare for the Apocalypse. Heh.

Oh, Sinner Do Not Stray...

This.

I'm going to start by saying that I'm not one bit surprised. Is it just me or do televangelism and scandal seem go together like water and oil. The "Message of Salvation & Eternal Truth" is often buried by the slick of corruption and greed:

* Jim Bakker and PTL

* Jimmy Swaggart's Crusade of Hypocrisy (namely going after his fellow TV pastors while he was busy blessing prostitutes with his own personal Holy Water.)

* Oral Roberts' "The Lord commanded me to raise $8 Million or else he'll call me home" adventure.

* Jerry Falwell and opening his mouth.

I've railed enough on the subject before, but I just don't see how so many people are so willing to hitch their eternal wagons to these holy rollers.

Yaaawwwwnnnnn, Pt. Deaux - The Saga Continues...

Alright, so last night was a little rough for me.

In a weak moment, I went to Chili's last night with a friend. I usually try to avoid the place like the plague because 90% of what is served is drenched in a cocoon of grease and fat and also because it bothers me to think that the same type of meal that I am currently eating has been ordered and eaten at thousands of locations across the country/world.

I dig on unique dining because it's been my general experience that people who own a local place are more inclined to serve good food and provide good service because if they don't, they're history in a short period of time. This isn't a guarantee and I've been burned by some local eateries, sure, but overall I'd say that my theory is justified.

I do reserve judgement on a few chains, especially since there aren't a ton of moderately priced restaurants near where I work. When it's lunchtime, Chipotle hasn't steered me wrong yet, nor has Zen. I dig a good In-N-Out, Steak & Shake or Carl's Jr. burger when I can get them. Apart from that I am at a loss to find a good chain restaurant that either tastes like mass-produced fare or results in a long, stomach-pain-fueled night spent catching up on my reading.

When I go out for dinner, I always choose the local place over the chain unless I am with others who overrule me. It's just how I roll.

I was speaking with a college chum of mine who still lives near the campus. He informed me that the Joe's Crab Shack next to the University was going out of business.

I was most amused because I hated the fact that Joe's took over the location from a locally owned restaurant that had been on hard times thanks to the building of several theme chain eateries along the Interstate. This place was cheap, the food was pretty decent and they were right next to the University, so it was easy to get to.

Joe's (owned by Landry's) offered a goodly sum to the local owners and they quietly made their exit to make way for yet another chain location. That, my friends, made me a very sad panda.

Quite honestly, the food at Joe's was rather meh when I've eaten there. It's pretty much a pre-manufactured experience. Lots of decor, waitstaff dressed like buffoons with obnoxious t-shirts that look like they were leftover from the reject pile at a Bob Marley festival. The pricing for this experience? Rather steepish.

I was pleased when my pal first related the news. Could it be that someone would decide to open a local eatery in the place again?

Nope. Scuttlebutt is that the place is going to be a Saltgrass in the near future.

Saltgrass. As in another chain location of a rather not so moderately priced steakhouse. Now WHY they think that placing a pricey establishment next to a goddamned UNIVERSITY was a good idea escapes me.

Lord knows that students who rarely tip the pizza guy will just be oh so happy to drop $40 for dinner, right?

It is a sad state of affairs in these modern times that we Americans, lovers of all things food and fat grams, queue up for the homogenized dining experience far and above supporting our local eateries. Our society is trending towards forgoing the true experience and enjoyment of food and gravitating towards the comfort of familiar signs, similar decoration and uniform menus that the chains offer us.

There was a visitor from another country I spoke with many years ago about their first impressions of America. He jokingly observed that the first thing he noticed was that there was a McDonalds at nearly every exit off the freeway. He finished by saying that "our cultural identity will be one of the strip mall, our legacy will be the Big Mac."

Was he so far off?

Aw, Jeez, Not This Shite Again...

Hey, everybody, GUESS WHAT?!?!

No, really, GUESS!

Yep, that's right! It's time to elect a new President of the United States!

wellnotreallyuntil'08butstillwhyaren'tyoupeopleexcitedyet?!?

But don't let the media hear how disinterested you are! When there's not a missing white girl, a pop star on the verge of celebuicide, a senator getting caught for some wacky bathroom hijinks or actual news to report, you can bet that as sure as you woke up today, there's going to be wall to wall coverage of the Presidential feeding frenzy.

So, why are YOU not caught up in the fervor? Why haven't you sent in tens, no, hundreds, no, thousands, NO, YOUR ENTIRE LIFE SAVINGS111!!!111!!ONEONE!! to the candidate of your choosing?

Do you hate America or somethin'? Fish out that credit card, purge the kids' college funds, sink yourself completely into hock for eternity. Your candidate needs YOUR help, so rush out NOW. Not later today. Not later next week. Rush NOW and back your favourite horse.

Because when they're not stroking the sychophantic cocks of the special interests for that orgasmic rush of millions of dollars spewing into their coffers, they're relying on YOU to feed the coal into the fire. That's right, YOU.

Prepare yourself for 24 hour, non-stop coverage of your candidate as well, providing that they belong to a major party that has quietly and long since abandoned the values of the voting public. Enjoy every dinner, every long-winded soliloquy, every ego-stroking, bullshit speech prepared by lobbyists and professional image doctors.

Watch them shake hands, kiss asses, decry the actions of the current administration, make pie crust promises that are sure to be broken as easily as washing one's hands. Watch as the media defies their false sense of fair reporting and support the one candidate that they are backing by minimizing their faults while exaggerating those of the other candidates.

Watch as the candidates quote Lincoln, invoke the wisdom of Washington, or urge their "Fellow Americans" to buck up and fear not ala Franklin Delano Roosevelt. The wisdom of such leadership has faded long ago, but the words spoken remain as fuel for the Political Machine.

Watch them throw catch phrases, abbreviations, sound bytes or fancy acronyms into the ether to see if they stick to the collective unconsciousness of we U.S. Americans. BOHICA, my fellow citizens, or rather, Bend Over, Here It Comes Again.

Just one thing. Whatever you do, don't have the audacity to do ANY research into your candidate. Libraries are for losers, Bub, so JOIN THE WINNING TEAM! The Media's there to instruct you on who to vote for and if you aren't one for watching the news, don't worry, your candidate is bound to appear on MTV sooner or later...

Merde...

So, I decided to play around with iWeb earlier, right?

I wanted to frig with the ol' site and make it look spiffier, especially in regards to making the QTV blog easier to post to and browse. It was going to be, in one word, awesome. After hours and hours of work, the one thing on my mind is...

...thank deus for backups. We now return to the website and blog as it was in the early part of this morning!

I Love To Drive And It Shows...

What surprises me the most is that people actually still fly Delta, American or any of the "upscale carriers." Just about every time that I've ever had to pick anyone up who flew Delta (or American in particular), their flight was a minimum of two hours late.

I wish that I could say that I am exaggerating, but I'd be hard pressed to do so. The notion that the airliners seem to foster about their customers being little more than "cargo that eats" is quite apparent in this clip alone.

When I have to fly, I choose Southwest. Typically, the staff are more friendly and the flights are rarely late in my experience. The only problem I have with SW is the feeling that they are packing in people like tinned salmon. Suppose they are less expensive for a reason. Heh.

Forget It, I'm On Un-vacation...

It's been an interesting week.

Starting off, I had an ear infection that really pissed me the fuck off royally. (We're off to a good start with today's blog, aren't we?)

Since I'm poor and doctors cost money, I tried to do the best I could to stave off the eventual visit to my friendly health care professional. I tried cleansing my ears with OTC products, drinking lots of fluids and attempting to eat decently and finally resorted to letting my friend set my head on fire.

Yep, you read that right. Basically, you roll a few sheets of newspaper into a conical shape, stick the small end of the paper cone in your earhole and then you sets tha' other end on FIRES!

The basic principle is that the fire will suck air and waxy buildup out of your ear, since fire, by it's very nature, sucks. Believe it or not... It actually worked. For awhile. Yay, home remedies.

The dizziness abated and I was fine for a bit before it started coming back a few days later and I knew damned well I'd have to go to the doctor.

So, quite honestly, I wasn't a lot of fun for awhile. Hard time working, didn't feel like doing much around the house or online, so I think it could be said that I was a little crotchety.

Now, I'm back at work, feeling pretty much 98.6.

It's good to have you back again...

Your Honor Student Isn't Better Than Anyone Else...

Things That Pissed Me Off Last Week
A Requiem For The Post Cereal Dream
by Robert

1) The people who ask me, "What the hell is this crap that you're listening to?"

Simply put, the world is not all about Hip Hop, kids. Look, I'll be quite honest with you. I hate hip hop. No, I absolutely loathe hip hop. I find a problem with music that requires the artist to not only have their name utilized as background harmony in a majority of their catalogue, but also the issue that they either have to constantly "feature" another artist or at least feature another artist's music within their own without having the courtesy of making such a acknowledgment.

I don't have as much of an issue with the few hip hop artists that actually have a message and demonstrate true originality and talent in their work. I can respect those types of artists for their work, even if I just can't go along with the groove.

Quite honestly, hip hop drives me up the wall. I tolerate it and I won't tell you to stop playing it (as long as it's at a reasonable volume for the time of day or night).

I'll listen to something neutral, but otherwise if I have to hear your music at an unreasonable volume in your car, you can listen to my music at a completely reasonable volume in mine. Just be sure to shut your gob about it if all the constructive commentary that you have to offer is, "what the hell is this crap? Your music sucks!" It's my music and I do not give a damn if you've never heard of the band, the song or if there is a different sound than the usual *thump thump thump thump* that you're accustomed to.

Remember that in my car, you are cargo.

2) Faceless Landlords

While I'm making friends today, let me take a moment to fire a shot across the bow of those who rent out property, give a lot of customer no-service and raise the gorram rent above and beyond what decent, low-earning type folk can pay.

Yes, you are in a business. Yes, a good capitalist realizes the value of profit and makes steps toward that end.

But...

That doesn't give one license to treat one's tenants like they are a cash cow nor does it give one the right to neglect the tenant's maintenance requests until the place is literally falling apart. Treat your tenants like customers not inmates.

What gets me is the poor general level of customer service here in Austin. I can spin many yarns of the slumlord mentality and I know full well that Austin isn't alone in this phenomenon.

Look, it's this simple. If someone pays their rent on time, in full, every month and doesn't turn the apartment/house/condo into a complete and utter biochemical wasteland, why treat them like something you scraped off your shoe after riding the NYC subway?

If you treat good standing tenants like garbage, you have no business being a landlord. Period.

3) Toll Roads.

It appears that the Trans-Texas Horroridor is on hold for the moment. It seems that the Lege finally got the hint that they hadn't exactly thought the Governor's cunning plan all the way through.

Let's hope to Franklin Delano Roosevelt that they scrap the plan altogether in the next session and push for better accountability in regards to the funds that are supposed to go to highway improvements instead of being diverted to other areas of the budget. Double tax roadways make baby Lucifer squeal in delight.

We Can't Stop Here, It's Bat Country...

There are times in my life where extremely obnoxious things happen for unexplained reasons. Call it kismet, karma, divine intervention, yes, you could even luck. Myself, I call it a typical ordinary day...

It started with a invite from a friend who wanted to go hang out with me Friday evening. I was to join friend and friend's friend for some food and a little boozing. I figured, "hey, what else do I have to do on a Friday night? Pack my worldly possessions for my upcoming move to god knows where since I haven't found a new apartment that I can afford on a decent side of town yet? Pffff... Naaaaah."

The initial meetup began by noticing that my truck tire was slowly going flat.

As a side note, I will pay to the order the amount of: one crispy bean and cheese taco and thirty-eight/.00 cents--------------------- to the person who invents a tire polymer that can withstand not only being pierced by a nail but can also survive nuclear annihilation, being eaten by wolves and being poked with sporks. I seem to be running over a ton of nails these days and I'm sick to death of having to sit in the fucking tire shop for 1.25 hours at a time waiting for the tire to be fixed.

If there is anything in this world that I truly hate, it is that I hate tires, tire shops, changing tires, rotating tires, tire warranties and tire disposal fees. Hate hate hate, tire tire tire, die die die.

But, I digress. We were discussing Friday, were we not?

So, yon tire was flat. Forsooth! Found a pump and charged it full of air again, thinking it was just a slow leak from yet another nail. I could deal with it later.

We made our way downtown to the festival that we agreed to meet at. It is then that my friend's friend recognizes that she can't bring her blue heeler/collie mixed beast into the festival. Those who are used to Austin are used to Austin's outdoor festivals allowing dogs to be admitted, one and all. So, it was a logical assumption to expect that this gal's dog would be totally legal.

Nope.

Well, my friend offers to keep the dog at their house. Ok, no problem. Friend of friend needed to stay so that other friends would know where to meet, so I drove my friend and the dog to my friend's house.

Just stop me if this confuses you any. Lord knows I have no idea where I'm at at this point.

Anyway, we arrive at my friend's house. Just as we open the door to my vehicle, the dog bolts off faster than, well, a really fast dog. Hey, if you want farm-fresh crazy metaphors, similes and homonyms, I'm all fresh out.

So, here we are, chasing this dog up and down the street, yelling "SKY! SKY! C'Mere, SKY!" which is probably as useful as writing a letter of intent to arrest said dog on parchment and having USPS attempt to deliver to the address "3810 No Way In Hell St., Poughkeepsie, NY" and having then send a reply back via rhesus monkey.

It just wasn't going to happen.

Our best bet was to attempt to corral the dog into a corner than coax him out with a snausage or a severed limb or something. We might get lucky. Or not.

My friend went to go retrieve some dog treats from the house while I attempted to locate Sky's whereabouts. I saw the dog bolting out from between two houses. I shouted after the dog when I heard, "IS THIS YOUR DOG?!?!" coming from the side door of one of the houses.

I peered into the darkness and saw a lady standing inside her door with a phone to her ear.

"No, ma'am, this is my friend's dog. I'm just attempting to wrangle him."

"Well, I'm calling the police. I found that dog inside my house and since I just got home, someone obviously broke in here to let him in!"

What?!?!?! I was beside myself.

"Ma'am, I can assure you that we've only been out here chasing that dog for the past ten minutes."

She closed her door.

Goddamnit.

I went to find my friend to tell said friend to call their friend to get her over here to deal with HER dog. Just in time for the law to arrive.

Now, it has been only six months since my dog had been flattened by a passing motorist, so I was feeling guilty as hell for this dog getting loose on my watch. True, I couldn't have prevented it, but I'd much rather not have to deal with puppy pancakes. And I sure as hell didn't want to deal with the Law, but there you have it.

The attending law enforcement professional pointed me to the curb with a gruff "Wait here."

Visions of Perry Mason court dramas filled my head as I feared the possibility of ending up in the hoosegow for being an accomplice to the dog's B&E rap. Or a ticket at the very least.

A few minutes pass and the dog is by now long gone. By this time a large storm was starting to slowly creep into the area which will soon pelt the city with heavy rain, hail and a weak tornado or two.

Finally, just as the officer emerges from the house, the owner of the dog arrives and rushes up to claim responsibility. Thank deus.

The officer's final analysis of the "scene" was that the lady had been unloading groceries into the house and since the door had been open, the dog had sneaked inside undetected until she closed the door behind her. Thank deus, part deaux.

Spoke with both the officer and the lady for a few minutes. Mostly glad that everything was ok, nothing broken or missing. The Law promised that while he had to go back on patrol, he'd keep an eye out.

I say my farewells and then my friend and friend of friend split up to look for the missing Sky. I should mention that at this point, finding Sky was going to be difficult since the sky opened up with a fury of rain, wind and hail.

I searched around for a good twenty minutes before the rain finally tapered off. By this point, we had each completed two circuits of the neighborhood and I began to patrol the streets of an adjacent neighborhood.

Slowly, I drove down the street, shining my flashlight under bushes and trees. I was in my truck with the headlights and flashers on.

As I passed one house, I noticed a lady in her living room window just staring straight at me. She had this look of concentration and I muttered to myself "1:1 she's on the phone with teh fuzz about me."

Still, I continued down the street before meeting up with my friend at the set rendezvous point. Our next plan was to drive by the local elementary school since it had plenty of trees, overhangs and covered porches that would be perfect places to shelter oneself from the rain.

Sure enough, we found Sky walking away from the school in our direction. Sky's owner jumped from her car and shouted her name. A happy reunion that was more of a big relief to me than anything.

We corralled the dog and returned to my friend's house. Our next plan was to drop Sky off in my friend's house and then fetch some tacos. Seemed like a plan to me. I'd have a few tacos to calm down first and then I'd casually exit, stage right.

Just as we pulled into Taco Bell, the officer from earlier called Sky's owner, who put it on speaker.

"Did you find your dog?"

Yes.

"Good news! By the way, were you prowling around in a white truck earlier? Some lady called us twice to report it..."

I sank quietly in my seat, knowing full well that I had called that one dead on. The Owner spoke to the cop for a moment and then pulled out a pipe from her pocket.

I recognized the pipe for what it was but wasn't about to shout, "HEY, don't smoke your damned weed in my truck, biatch!" Not with a deputized peace officer in earshot. So, I just rolled down the windows and glared at her, hoping she'd get the hint.

My friend stared at her too, my friend's jaw set in disbelief. What kind of benighted twit smokes a bowl in someone else, let alone a stranger's car?

My attitude about weed has always been that it's not for me. Since I have worked with a ton of potheads over the years, I'm less inclined to be morally offended about something that's really a personal choice. I won't stop people from doing it or bitch about it as long as it's not hurting myself, other people or seriously getting themselves into trouble with other things. It's been my experience to worry more about the raging alcoholic than the occassional potsmoker.

Still, what kind of fucking moron smokes a bowl in someone else's car while speaking to the local constabulary? If you're going to burn one, do it in the comfort of your own home and not in a situation where you can put people's lives and freedom in danger.

I turned on the AC at this point while my friend attempted to get Dumbass Dog Owner to stop by a series of hand gestures and dirty looks. Dumbass thought the situation was hilarious and began to flirt with the cop while fighting my friend's attempt to seize the pipe and lighter.

Thankfully, the ride was very short. I stopped in front of the door and let them both out. I told my friend that I had enough fun for one night and that I needed to get up early the next morning, so... See ya.

I pulled over at the nearest gas station and stepped outside for some calming quiet. I cannot remember the last time I had been this frustrated with people and their lack of common sense. Here I am, 31 years old, and I'm dealing with people who are my age but still acting like goddamned teenagers.

I stared at my truck for a moment and noticed that the tire was now quickly losing pressure. I'd have to change it. In the rain. At 10:00 at night. At a not very well lit gas station.

Feck it all. And people wonder why I don't socialize very often...

General Bitchfest

Item 1:

OMGWTFBBQ!!!1111!!!!oneone!!!

Larry Birkhead is the 1 who uploaded his baby batter unto 1 Anna Nicole Smith and made teh babie!!111!!!oneone!!! OMG! She downloaded HIS child k0not th lawyer's!

Next person who tells me that gets a cold, calculating stare in their general direction. Possibly a snide remark or two. Or a punch in the potato salad.

Item 2:

OMG, WHY ARE WE IN IRAQ? WE SHOULD PULL OUT NOW!!oneone!!111!

First of all, it's too late to simply pull out. This one's knocked up and there is nothing that can be accomplished by cutting and running.

I'm not a big fan of how we got there, but for fuck's sake can we please let our soldiers do their jobs and provide them the tools and funding that they need to truly accomplish the "mission" and get out as safely and as wisely as possible?

True, I was not alive then, but are we forgetting the lessons of Vietnam THAT quickly?

I Don't Believe In Kennedy...

Give me something to believe in, folks.

Rules:

Something not involving religion (organized or otherwise)or atheism/agnosticism.
Something not involving personal self discovery or homeopathic remedies/procedures.
Something not involving medicinal or pyschological assistance.
Something not involving mandated governmental protocols or policies.
Something not involving the mainstream press, gossip outlets or pundits.
Something not involving self-help books, catchphrases or political correctness.
Something not involving scientific analysis, statistical analysis or theory.
Something not involving war, countries, flags, race, colour, leadership or the workings of the "common man."
Something not involving love, hate, feelings of any sort.

Give me something real. Something that can stand the test of time and can survive detailed scrutiny. Something that can justify exactly why it is that I am feeling so damned tired of everybody's bullshit these days.

Winner gets a high five and a hearty handshake for a job well done!

You Can't Always Get What You Want...

Previously, on Mental Scar Craptacular...

The Who played in San Antonio last night.

The Styx & Foreigner played last night at the same venue in Austin.

Pete Townshend and his girlfriend were hanging around SXSW in Austin last weekend. Just out in public, waltzing around.

And I missed all of it. The levels of pissed that I am feeling are indescribable.

I really need to start allowing myself to go to big events by myself. If I can go to a movie by myself, surely I can go to a concert by myself.

Otherwise, I sit here on my arse feeling sorry for myself because I couldn't find a single soul to go with me to anything last night. Somehow, watching The Sopranos on HBO: On Demand for the tenth time just doesn't seem to match up to the same level of "teh awesome" that I seek.

Have today off from work and since I have nothing really interesting to report and nothing else better to do, I'm going to see if Tony recovers from his coma.

Again.

For the 10th time.

/Whine
//and cheese
///Violins?
////Slashie!

I've Got Blisters On My Fingers...

If there is anything more frustrating in this computering world than to try to get two PC's to talk to one another for easy data transfers and sharing, I'd be impressed.

That is all.

Moral Centralia...

*Annoyingly Boldfaced Warning*

The following post contains excessively vulgar language and concepts that are not for the faint of heart or the easily offended. Read further at your own risk.

GAS PRICES!!!

Hey, don't say I didn't warn you.

If you are still with me, then I compliment you on having a strong constitution thus far. But wait, gentle readers, I'm just getting started...

I'm willing to bet that the oil industry is quite likely having quite a large boner over the upcoming summer price hikes. Yes, I said "BONER."

In fact, we're not just talking about any kind of boner, no sirree. We're talking about the King of Boners. The combined height of the mega tower that would result if we took both of the Patronus Towers, converted them to oil derricks and stood one on top of another. And then take that tower and keep building it with the "tons of carbon" that Al Gore keeps talking about.

I bet the erection of such a tower could be witnessed from space. It would be mammoth. An oil derrick that reached as far into space as possible.

Might even poke the Moon's eye out, that's how big we're talking about.

I'm not totally against capitalism, far from it. But when I read in the news about "record-breaking profits" in the oil industry seemingly every quarter, it gives me a little pause.

We haven't built a refinery in this country for over 30 years. Our capacity for refining gasoline is dropping below the demand for it. New discoveries and production of oil is slowly on the decline.

And quite honestly, that's the way they like it. Basic law of supply and demand.

Why build a refinery when they can pull in more cash and not have to squander it on construction costs, meeting environmental standards, etc.?

Nope. Keep it restricted as much as possible. After all, if their end point customers are willing to pay, why back off?

Speaking about fattening their own pockets instead of really getting to work on the problems of an increasing worldwide population and the slowly dwindling supply of natural resources on this planet...

Oh, what, you saw what I did there?

Heh. Think about it for a sec.

Isn't the purpose of the Strategic National Reserve to help stabilize in times of supply disruptions? To help prevent sudden price hikes when disaster strikes?

Alright, let's think about that for a minute. When Hurricane Katrina (and Rita to a lesser extent) smacked the Gulf Coast, prices at the pump almost doubled over the course of the next couple of months. The damage across the Gulf was fairly substantial, but when the prices shot up so we were mostly assured that they would head back to normal after things calmed down.

Ok. Take a look for a moment at where the current SNR storage facilities are located.

From Wikipedia:

Bryan Mound - located near Freeport, Texas. Has a capacity of 226 million barrels (36,000,000 m³).
Big Hill - located near Winnie, Texas. Has a capacity of 160 million barrels (25,000,000 m³).
West Hackberry - located near Lake Charles, Louisiana. Has a capacity of 219 million barrels (35,000,000 m³).
Bayou Choctaw - located near Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Has a capacity of 72 million barrels (11,000,000 m³).

All locations are rather damned close to the Gulf. Winnie & Lake Charles located near Rita's path, Baton Rouge being west of Katrina's.

Since the Gulf is a major source of domestic oil as well as containing key ports, oil and gas refineries, it makes sense to keep the oil close at hand to the middle of the country so that it could be distributed where needed.

So, it's a 50/50 proposition. As long as the hurricanes stay away, there's no reason things won't be hunky dory again really soon in the next couple of years, right?

Wrong.

The situation is this. The President has ordered an increase of the SNR to over a BILLION barrels of stored oil, up from the current 727 million barrel capacity.

This means that the government will likely be drawing around 100,000 barrels off the market every day to meet this new storage target.

That means less oil on the daily market that could be converted into gas, folks. Supply and demand.

Other factors that tie into the price of oil:

* Trading in oil futures & speculation.
* Production end issues, supply, transportation to refineries.
* Political instability, diplomatic issues between nations, war.
* Price fixing by major oil producing countries and corporations.
* Lack of serious alternative energy implementation.
* Forgetting the lessons of the late 70's, where America drove huge, gas guzzling bastard machines and traded them in during the 80's for more fuel efficient vehicles, cars slowly again became larger and more gas wasteful. It gets to the point where you seriously do want to cock punch the guy in the H2 and kick his 10 MPG driving ass.
* God and his witty sense of humor.

We've heard so much talk about researching into alternative fuels, global climate change, our "carbon footprints." The sad irony is that it is more how the money in our bank account is affected rather than the effect that we are supposedly making on the environment with our tomfoolery that is even driving this discussion.

Flash back two decades and one year ago. The Chernobyl nuclear facility, thanks to the efficiency and grand progressive design of the plant courtesy of the USSR, had a little problem. One that essentially has resulted in the virtual shut down of surrounding miles and miles of territory. Territory that was now going to "glow in the dark" for a few centuries.

Back then, the prevailing view was that nuclear plants were the Devil. True, the impact of a potential nuclear disaster was quite daunting, but the more learned truth behind the situation was that nuclear power was, over the long term, more efficient and cost effective. As long as the facility didn't explode, we were in for cheaper power and a cleaner environment.

Well, a cleaner overall environment except for certain underground vaults located in the southwestern United States that will contain the severely radioactive waste products for hopefully thousands of undisturbed years.

Nuclear plants were built, but the nation still primarily relied on fossil fuels for power. Some effort was made into tapping into solar, wind and geothermal energy, but not enough to offset the increasing demands for more power.

So far, I've been pointing a lot of fingers in every direction. Truth is, I'm just as much a part of the problem as everyone else is.

I drive a small pickup, while it does get fairly reasonable gas milage, it doesn't get as much as my old Saturn did. I need the pickup for work purposes, so I can justify its usefulness.

The problem I face is that I work in a city that has a housing market that is on its way to rivaling Southern California's. The cost of living in this town is such that I literally cannot afford to live close to where I work based on my salary. I currently have a roommate, but even then I have a 14.2 mile commute to work every morning.

This is better than the 32 mile one way trip I used to have when I lived south of the city, but it still hits the wallet every time I stop at the gas station.

My chosen career path is one where there aren't too many places that I can go to for a job that is closer to home. So, I have to commute.

Public transportation in this town is a fucking joke. To get to work by taking the bus, I'd literally be sitting on a series of buses for around two hours in the morning and two hours in the evening. I cannot bike to work since I live that far away and there isn't anyone to rideshare with.

My point is with this that I still make the choice to go to work every day. I love what I do, but if I had to, sure I could find something else that is closer.

Meanwhile, I'm sucking down 28 gallons of gas a week going to work, running errands, meeting up with friends who live across town and what not. I'm just as much to blame as anyone else.

If we're going to get serious about finding ways to get off oil, then we should stop bitching about it and fucking do it already. The prices are only going to go up, especially once we hit global Peak oil. There is a finite amount of resources on this planet, kids, and that is a fact.

It's only a matter of time.

If The Song Is "Shiny Happy People," Then Why Am I So Damned Sad?

On the way to work this morning, I picked up my little girl at the vet.

She wasn't really there, of course, just the contents of what she had been encased in a porcelein urn. Where she really was at the moment is a subject of debate in the realm of theologians or those more highly trained in the psychic arts than I.

It's a strange thing, cremation. Cremation is a process, whereby an individual is reduced to the basic elements in a matter of a few minutes. Just a close of a door, push of a button, *whoosh* and that's it.

I didn't actually know how I would feel when I picked up Katy. The wait for her return seemed to drag on for a painful stretch of time. I had thought that perhaps I would have been able to move beyond the grief or the pain, but I realized just this morning that I had denied myself the basic truth that I hadn't fully let go.

I had stopped being angry about the circumstances already, but the feeling of lonliness had lingered. Compounding the feeling I was having was the recent revelation that one of my best friends (and Quality Television co-conspiritor) was seriously considering a move out of state with his girlfriend and also is considering hanging up our collaborative creative efforts altogether.

Granted, we hadn't done as much with QTV this year as we should have. We both looked at how events in our lives this past year have prevented that.

At least his reasons are ones that he chose in the path to happiness that he is on. I cannot fault my pal for his decision to be happy, nor would I attempt to throw a stumbling block in his way. If he's ready to move on to other things then so be it.

Seeing him with his girlfriend just really throws into light how extra squishy happy in love he is. I'm happy for him, sure, but at the same time I feel a little like one of the other Beatles when Yoko arrived on the scene. Maybe not to that degree, but I do admit that I feel a bit like Ringo sometimes.

Apart from this single post, I keep my mouth shut around the house about how I'm feeling. What would be the point otherwise?

I've been learning a lot about letting things slide off my back. I try not to stack up a lot of emotional baggage, but sometimes the conveyor belt runs a little faster than I can move to throw each new piece of luggage onto a connecting one-way flight to Anchorage.

I spoke months ago about how my personal Phoenix was going through the rebirth process. I thought I had just about figured through that and was enacting a new plan when I find out now that even THAT plan has altered substantially.

Life is funny like that.

Even the newborn Phoenix is apt to go up in flames, so it seems. Good thing there is another rebirth that follows!

I drove to work listening to REM's "Out Of Time" album. While one of my favorites of long ago, this album inevitibly drags out memories of when I was a sophmore in high school. Oddly enough, I usually skip "Losing My Religion" and "Shiny Happy People" and just headed straight for the deeper cuts of the album.

The first was simply played out too much in my brain, the second ... just too happy for its own good. Too goddamned "Shiny Happy" for my tastes.

And yet this trip in to work I listened to Shiny Happy at least three or four times. I don't know why, I just did.

Perhaps it was my brain trying to cheer me up because of the 'passenger' in the seat next to me.

Perhaps it was my emotional nerve center trying to inject some happiness in my skull to prevent me from drifting into the realm of one of those whiny emokids that you hear so much about. The ones who thrive on drama because it gives them a boost to their self esteem to be so depressed and break into tears because someone dipped their long hair in an inkwell in the third grade. (Heh. Not a bit likely.)

Or, just perhaps, it was my brain trying to tell me to just shut up and enjoy the song. Let the world sort itself out for awhile and savor the moment. You may not exactly enjoy hearing the happy annoying tune, but it sure is a whole hell of a lot better than sitting here alone in the silence.

The Dream Is Over... Or Has It Just Begun?

Well, it's been quite a month, hasn't it friends?

Went from extrasuperhappyCaliforniaadventuregoodness to whatthehellamIdoingwithmylifeomgIlostmybestfriendandIamsickofnevergettingaheadinlifeandIhatefeelingliketehsuckbadness. I also realized that the previous sentence could have used a lot better spacing since the comedy is somewhat lost behind the not so thin veil of grammatical murder writ large.

Meh. Them's the brakes, kousin.

Anyway, let's start with the basic SitRep for today.

1) The weather hasn't made up it's damn mind yet. It went from 45 to 89 today. Tomorrow is supposed to be hot then the temp is due to drop another 30 degrees on Sunday.

Therefore, my allergies are running rampant (thanks also to all the surrounding molds, ragweed and whatsis that is in the air) and that is evil.

2) I'm just about flat broke. This isn't likely to change anytime soon, but I would gladly pay anyone Tuesday for a hamburger today. It's depressing for I have positioned myself in a situation where I cannot make more money in my career without going out on my own, and I can't go out on my own without making more money. Equipment costs money and sadly that money is pretty much going to bills at this point with little left over.

What frustrates me the most is that Austin is supposed to be this "Third Coast" hotbed of video and film production. It's a falsehood. A lie that they tell the rest of Texas so that Austin maintains the ideal that it is the nexus point of creative film endeavours.

Apart from Robert Rodriguez, there just isn't much else besides art school films and independent (read: work for cheap as free) films. Hollywood imports their own.

Grrrr... I would just love to be proven wrong.

3) I'm bitching a lot to myself about my situation, but bitch out loud to only a select few. I need to bitch less because while I do enjoy the orgasmic release of hurling a few well crafted complaints into the air and shooting them down with .45 caliber colorful metaphors, oaths and slogans, it's not solving a thing. Bitching in the old blog doesn't solve much either and...

Oh. Never mind.

Happy news, happy news... Hmmm...

4) I'm Photoshopping again, as you may have guessed from the picture above! I'm also writing and while I may not be writing a lot of happy fun stuff lately, I'm at least back on the horse again. That feels good.

5) I'm digging the new season of Galactica. It'll be sweet to see how they get off New Caprica. What a fine mess!

6) I had crackers & cheese for lunch today. That may seem simple; that's because it is. I'll take my victories where I can! Heh.

7) I dusted off my copy of Jeff Wayne's War of The Worlds for this year. Joy! I so less than three that album and I am so happy to note the arriving Halloween season with another tradition observed! Huzzah!

Other than that, sun has come up and is about to go down. I'm just waiting for The Call so I can go pick up my little girl from the vet. It's hard to believe that it's been a week and two days. Time doth fly when you're having... Whatever.

And that's it for now. Be sure to visit my previous post to view an old Star Wars parody that still brings a smile! Until next time, have a spiffy weekend.