Friday, December 21, 2001: Thursday, December 20, 2001: Wednesday, December 19, 2001: Tuesday, December 18, 2001: Monday, December 17, 2001: Thursday, December 13, 2001: Wednesday, December 12, 2001: Tuesday, December 11, 2001: Friday, December 7, 2001: Wednesday, December 5, 2001: Tuesday, December 4, 2001: Monday, December 3, 2001: Thursday, November 29, 2001: Wednesday, November 28, 2001: Tuesday, November 27, 2001: Monday, November 26, 2001: Sunday, November 25, 2001: Monday, November 19, 2001: Sunday, November 18, 2001: Thursday, November 15, 2001: Wednesday, November 14, 2001: Tuesday, November 13, 2001: Monday, November 12, 2001: Sunday, November 11, 2001: Thursday, November 8, 2001: Thursday, November 8, 2001: Wednesday, November 7, 2001: Tuesday, November 6, 2001: Monday, November 5, 2001: Monday, November 5, 2001:
WHOO! This just in: 3.8 overall GPR for this semester, when I was expecting a 3.1 at the most! WHOO! Final exams aren't that bad when you fret about them for a week straight, making them your life; eating, bleeding, and sweating your notes, until the day comes, and in a nauseated state you begin to fill in questions you memorized more than learned. Hoorah.
Ok, I'm not going to flip out, and go into a trance, and tell you that my life has changed because of a movie, because it hasn't--but I did get a warm fuzzy feeling from going to see Lord of the Rings. The funny thing though, is that the fuzzy feeling kicked in before the movie even began. The previews were rolling, and a "screw it, let's give away the whole plot--It's a love story, and he's not supposed to love her, but he does, and then this guy gets mad, and there's a *BOOM* and this guy goes *whoosh*, and, oh yeah, Ewan McGregor..." trailer for Star Wars 2 came and went, and these guys down front whooped... if that's an actual word. A blink of time went by, if that's an actual increment, and as I was thinking of booing really loudly, Stephanie did (I went to the movie with my girlfriend. Yes--she wanted to see it.) and I joined in. Some people laughed, and the guys down front yelled out some curse words. It was great. Anyway, a Spider-man preview came on, and, being a fan of Spider-man, I let out a "whoop" (I think Stephanie either did too, or just said how cool the movie was going to be..), and the guys down front booed and cursed. Later, some really stupid preview came on, and someone else "whooped" and then I think both I, and the guys down front booed. They cursed. Being one of the target demographic, which I've never conciously been for anything before, I got this weird sense of community from this silly pre-movie interaction. I mean, if I had thought about it really hard, I probably would have felt more icky than fuzzy, but with just passing acknowledgement, the fact that I was in a room full of people more or less like myself felt kind of cool. The fact that my girlfriend actually wanted to see the movie was probably the main source of the warm fuzzy feeling though. It's rare that we geeks (did I really lose my claim by not going at midnight?) actually find a girl that doesn't roll her eyes at our interests, be they computer or movie oriented. She's a keeper.
Anyway, on to the movie. I rambled some time ago when talking about a certain monster movie by Pixar, talking about suspension of disbelief, and establishing a world for the plot to unfold in, and so on. This movie did those pretty decently because, no big surprise here, it's based on thousands of pages of text that describe the world, and its inhabitants, and every nuance of every language (written and spoken) and culture of every single inhabitant in that world. Whoo. The movie WAS slow, and FELT longer than three hours. I thought it had been three hours already after only an hour or so. But, i didn't particularly care, and I'm not quite sure I can tell you why.
It was something about the way everything came together. The actors didn't seem like actors, and you couldn't tell the special effects were special effects, and it kind of slipped my mind for a little while that it's kind of impropable that a ring would exist with the power to enslave the world in darkness, only able to be destroyed by the fires from which it was forged. Those elements of movie-making that I praised Monster's Inc for were, perhaps because I'm horribly biased, hundreds of times better in this movie, and I just accepted everything the movie threw at me. After watching critically for a while, trying to see a badly digitized frame or something, I accepted the fact that Elijah Wood is only four feet tall. Examining one of the orcs for a while, trying to figure out what make-up or editing they did to create such a beast, I figured they must have just hired an orc for the role. When they zoomed in on the hobbit crying, I wondered for an instant if the actor had to imagine his dog dying to squeeze out those tears, but then I realized that he probably was actually sad because of what just happened to his friend and all. You know me. I'm critical. I TRIED to find a fault with the movie, or to at least watch it from a stoic point of view in some parts or something, but I was overcome, and found myself watching as though it were a window into actual life in another place somewhere. I think that's why I didn't care that it was slow in some parts, and repetitive in others, and such. It seemed so REAL, that the slow parts just seemed to make sense. After all, real life is usually slow. You can't be fighting a mountain troll every minute of the day.
That said, three more things:
1: Anyone that says Harry Potter is "better" needs to be kicked somewhere sensitive, because Tolkien invented fantasy, and what's-her-name just cashed in on it.
2: My girlfriend now has a "thang" for woodland elves, due to the amazing (probably computer generated) archery techniques of one of the characters in the movie.
3: Bilbo Baggins made me pee in my pants.
Man. Lord of the Rings has been out for a whole ten hours now, and I've yet to see it. My plan is a viewing before 6:00 PM, but I think I've already lost any claim to a geek standing that I might have retained had I scrambled to the midnight showing last night. Peter invited me to attend, but I declined. I had trouble following the plot of Episode 1 when I did the opening minute thing a few years ago. You can understand my reservations about hurrying off to see a THREE HOUR, or around there, movie at midnight.
The only review I've read so far said that the pace of the movie is numbingly slow, despite the amazing creativity and storytelling ability of the work as a whole. Numbingly slow. And I was supposed to see it at midnight.
Only like... five more days left to shop. You knew that, but I've always wanted to say that on some form of media that announces it like it's important news.
Briefly stating Ayn Rand's opinion about leaders (squeezing down into a few sentences what she felt the need to write mass amounts of pages to explain), she believed there are, or were, two general types--the brutes, and the voodoo doctors. The first rules through force, the second, by preaching religious mumbo jumbo. The voodoo doctor in particular has the effect of making his subjects feel that they have no individual worth; that for any one of them to be of any importance, they must sacrifice themselves for the greater good. One's personal happiness means nothing--give what you earn to those that have it not, give your life so that others may have better lives. Such thinking really pissed Ayn Rand off, and it should piss off anyone with the capacity to think about the society of leeches that such policy breeds.
But, if I wanted to preach about that, it would take... mass amounts of pages. What I wanted to do is to point out a perfect example of extreme "voodoo" at work--the influx of suicide bombings in the Israel/Palestine region, as well as the ones on our own soil. People gladly give up their lives--what more can one possibly give?--to rulers and causes that are supposedly greater than themselves; Kind of sad. But, at least they're rewarded with a magical afterlife filled with milk and honey, right? *fffttt*
One last thing--all you morons that suddenly decided to be patriotic after certain events this fall, without having any previous experience in the proper treatment of the American flag, you're supposed to take the thing DOWN when hurricane force storms are raging, flooding your front yard. I believe you're supposed to take it down when there's anything more than a drizzle, but don't quote me on that. Some of my neighbors' flags need to be ceremonially burnt to be put to rest, but if I did that they'd probably start calling me a terrorist or something and throw bricks at my head.
Of course they'd probably be justified if I "forgot" to detach the flag from their house first.
Post-test calculator calculations have led me to believe that I will recieve a 93 or lower on my Calculus final today, due to a mistake of unknown origin. We had three hours to complete said exam, I took a little less than an hour, and spent an hour combing through it trying to catch mistakes. The one aforementioned was made AGAIN while reiterating my work on the problems, but a few others were caught. At 8 points a pop, missing a question is kind of disheartening, but not as bad as the other tests were one measely mistake drops you to a D.
I'm going to the mall. I'm done with this semester. WHOO. Seeya.
I hope everyone likes the logo. I'm freaking out now, because I've realized that my exam is tomorrow afternoon, and that it is on Chemistry, and I hate Chemistry, and no amount of studying will ease my troubled mind. ARRRRRG! Perhaps some sort of comfort food would soothe my nerves, but I'm not too experienced in that area, and I'm kind of lacking on choices, and something tells me stale Goldfish don't fit the bill. I'm sure I'll do fine, seeing as how I've ate, slept, breathed, and had casual pillow talk with Chemistry for the past seventy-two hours or whatever,but still. Perhaps it's because I've asked Chemistry majors to explain some of the things on the practice exam to me, and they go, "Um... what the hell is that?" Apparently my teacher is insane, and assigns concepts that (yes, I've checked up on this) aren't in the book, and aren't covered by other classes.
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
*gasp* *pant* *cough* *breathe* *inhale*
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The plus side is that after tomorrow I can forget that mankind even discovered the atom, and redox theory, and such, and pretend that the smallest indivisible piece of matter is the popsicle stick, or some other item entirely unrelated to what I'm studying right now.
Oh well, break's over.
Are you ready for some bitching?
It's 3:41pm, and I have have yet to study today. Yet, I have not stopped moving since I woke up at 10am this morning. That wouldn't be all that bad of a thing if this day hadn't have been relatively unproductive, despite all that work.
I woke up at 10:00, and started making phone calls. I basically need to have a military ID made before Dec. 13, because the temporary one I have essentially expires at that point, so I was calling around trying to find where to go, what their number was, and so on. Anyway, after an hour or so of phone tag, I found the number of a NAVY Reserve Center not to far from here, and called them up.
A computerized voice told me to choose the number 2 if I wanted a military ID, which I did, so I did, and some cranky old lady answered. She asked if I was active duty, and I explained that I kind of was, and told her about the NAVY Cash program. She hung up. I called back again, and said that I was active duty, and just didn't mention the Cash program, and she gave me a choice of times that I could sign up to have the ID made. I chose a time, and she asked who I was under. I told her that I guess that would be Petty Officer Reaves, as my current post is a college, and I don't really have a commanding officer persay, and she hung up. I called back again, got all the way through again, lied about who I was under, and she asked me if I was shipping out within the next week or so. I said no, and her voice trailed off and got annoyed, like it did every other time before she hung up. Before she managed to disconnect me, I rather bruntly told her that I need an ID, and that I would appreciate her pointing me towards someone that would actually do their job. She coughed out a couple of places quickly before hanging up on me... one in Virginia somewhere, and another in Fayetteville.
So, having completely wasted all my time in that little task, I started to work trying to figure out where to send my college transcript, so that the NAVY gets it, and decides I'm too good of a student to be shipped to Afganistan. I went through similar hellish colored tape to get that privillaged information, and my answer was--here's a guy that is taking over the job of the guy you're supposed to talk to, but can't reach. So, I had to have my dad call the guy, because he's out of my area code and I don't have long distance here, to get the guy to ask the guy I'm supposed to talk to, but can't, what I'm supposed to do. Then, I still need to get a fee waiver for the transcript so that I don't have to pay $10 every semester for this kind of thing. (If you're military, you don't have to pay full price for a lot of stuff. The hard part just seems to be getting the paperwork or ID to prove it.)
Anyway, while I was going through that session of phone tag, I found the name of some center for the National Guard around here, which I later found the number to, and eventually made an appointment to have an ID made on Monday right after my last exam. *WHOO*
Add all that hell to the fact that my VERY slack English teacher didn't hand back the rough drafts of some papers on the last day of class (Friday), so I had to travel a mile and a half across campus to get mine, enabling me to type up a final, and travel the whole damn distance again just to turn them in. Also, he was supposed to be there at 12, I showed up at 12:50, and a sign on his door said he wouldn't be in until 1. So, I waited until 1:20, and bumped into him on the way out.
Now I get to spend the rest of the day studying, with perhaps a little bit of work on that logo I made last night, but lost due to Photoshop crashing when I chose the save option. This has been a "[t]errible, horrible, no good, very bad day" (Viorst 1).
Works Cited
*Viorst, Judith. Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Penguin Press: NewYork NY. 1983.
I haven't felt like writing the past couple of days, and continue that trend today. However, as a means of relaxation, I think I may work on a new logo for a little while before going to bed, and waking up in a busy tomorrow. (I have decided to not give myself a minute of free time from now until Friday evening, filling my class-less days with nothing but productivity, although I will likely slip up a couple of times and update so as to keep my loyal fans happy.) As for now, I am going to go slam my fist against the wall and curse about the NAVY officer in charge of me being too damned lazy to respond to any form of communication whatsoever. Ciao!
Bwhahahahahahahaha. So this page isn't usually updated over the weekend, and most likely, it won't ever be updated over the weekend again, but just for you, the lucky reader that thought, "Hey, he says he never updates over the weekend, he never does update over the weekend, but hell, I'll check anyway", this one is for you! However, I would like to inform everyone that this isn't him. You know, the guy that usually updates. No sir, this is some other guy that by my 3L33t hax0r skills was able to obtain access to this website... I mean I asked his girlfriend for the password.
I'm stuck here in a dorm room on the college campus of UNC-Greensboro, not allowed to leave the room, on threat of getting my girlfriend, Emily, in trouble for not watching after me every second I'm here. I guess I shouldn't have run up and down the halls a minute ago annoucing to all the girls that along with the quiet hours that are now in effect, naked hours coincide and any clothes seen will be confiscated... hrrmm...
And I'd like to comment on the real Sickmonkey's last post and little pet peeve, those God signs. One saved me precious moments of my life last night. I was driving to Greensboro, or rather, all around, over and under Greensboro, and was completely lost. I thought to myself, "I would need a miracle to be able to find the dorm." And just over the horizon, a large blue sign comes into view.
Jesus Christo...
El Salvador de mundo!
And right there I knew where to turn. Thank you Jesus!
Note: The writer of this post was not the "Sickmonkey" we all know and love. No hate mail to him. Unless it's funny, or really mean. Then go ahead and send it. Oh, and if you really liked the post, then send him some hate mail.
A while ago I wrote an entry raving about the pointlessness and decommercialization of road signs in modern society. I saw another one of those God signs that pissed me off again:
"Keep using my name in vain, and I'll make rush hour last even longer." --God
What in the hell is that supposed to mean? Who does these things? Has the standard religous fear tactic of an eternal damnation in the flesh-melting pits of Lucifer's domain worn off, so someone decided to use a threat that would strike a little closer to home? Is this billboard intended to make me a Christian? Is this some sort of wide-spread Christian funded advertising campaign not intended to alter my religious beliefs, but to simply attempt the easier task of modifying my vocabulary? Did God, Himself, actually get bored with the whole sitting back and not interfering with human lives thing, and decide to take up the hobby of licensing out billboards and quoting himself on them? Does he get a special rate?
Christ I hate those signs.
...Whoops.
Anyway, today was Freshman design day, where we fire off our catapult and whatnot, so it was my job to run around like a chicken with his head cut off, or whatever, to ensure that everyone (and the catapult) arrived before our testing time. Why did I have this duty? Because I'm the group member with the car.
You can see the problem we had to overcome with this whimsical creation right... about... here
Anyway, the way we chose to go about firing the thing was to have a string attached to the arm (you with me so far?) that had a loop in it, that would go between two eye-bolts on the base. A nail was then put through the eyes of the eye-bolts, and, consequently, the loop, effectively holding the string down, and, therefore, the arm. To release the arm, one simply had to pull out the nail, which we chose to do through a system of hydrollics so as to show off.
So, we actually start the testing, and everyone there is amazed with our design. I mean, these judges and students have been standing there for two hours already, looking at NOTHING but catapult designs, and they see ours and actually get excited. I'm not sure exactly what they liked about it, but ours was a hell of a lot bigger than everyone elses (while still within the limits), and was actually adjustable, due to our group's expert knot tier being able to move the loop up and down the rope, varying the amount the arm was pulled back.
So, we fire. First shot--a foot and a half away. I considered it pretty bad, but apparently most people were happy if they were getting within a foot. Second shot--seven inches away. Third shot--within two inches. So the judge, all excited and such, said that if we kept up this accuracy with the next target, we would be the best catapult, and we would be showered with fame and fortune or whatever. Well, perhaps it was the pressure caused by this statement, or perhaps it was the fact that we used marks on the rope to determine where to make the loop, and all our test marks blended in with the final mark so that we couldn't tell which mark meant "perfect accuracy" and which meant "oops," but our first shot slammed right into the four foot wall. So, apparently we used the "slam into the #*$#@(& wall" loop instead of the correct one. We fixed this problem on the next two shots, but the damage was already done, as if you hit the wall they automatically say you were SIXTY inches away from the target. When one is going for the lowest score, determined by the formula (Distance away from target 1 + Distance away 2 + Distance 3 + Distance 4 + Distance 5 + Distance 6), and the current leader had a score of 40, a distance 4 of SIXTY kind of puts you out of the running. Oh well, it doesn't count for anything, but I'd just like to state for the record that if we had a practice shot, we would have won the competition, and I'd be wallowing in a mountain of gold right now. Later.
Tonight's entry is a 38 meg download located: here!
It's the new music video from the Gorillaz, and my eyes basically popped out of my head when I saw it. Of course, I don't really remember anything from the song (other than the catchy foreign part with subtitles) or anything, but it looks SO damn cool that everyone (even you 56kbs'ers out there) should spend the time to download and partake in this eye candy feast. This entry comes to you via Steph, as she's the one that pointed this video out to me. :)
Oh, speaking of Steph, and downloads, and music and the like, Steph sent her computer off with Best Buy to have them install a new video card and such (it's under warranty or whatnot). After a few weeks, it finally came back, and we went to pick it up, turned it on, and even though it actually (you know) DISPLAYED something, it did so ridiculously slow. It took a few minutes to even open internet explorer, on a computer that usually does it as fast as one's nimble digits are able to click the icon. We knew something wasn't right, obviously, but we put it off as being a problem with the network or something. We also noticed that the icons of her .MP3 files were faded, signalling, as I didn't think of at the time, that they were marked as "hidden." (I had previously set her computer to show all hidden files).
Today she pointed out to me that there were "copies" of the .MP3 files, with the extention .vbs, indicating that they were visual basic scripts or something along those lines. After running a few searches on google for mp3, vbs, and problems, I came to the conclusion that Stephanie's computer was infected with the "I love you virus" which I thought has been out of circulation for a while, but I guess I was wrong. Anyway, I followed instructions on the internet to get rid of the damn thing, so now the computer's running as fast as it originally did, with the only side effect being the permanent removal of all .jpg files.
The actual virus isn't really the interesting thing. The interesting thing is that before the computer went off to Best Buy, the only problem was the video card, and the moment we turned it on after it came back, it was infected. Steph says she didn't open any emails that fit the descriptions of the copycats or original... so I figure that it HAD to have been some freak at Best Buy that decided to screw up Steph's computer for some reason or another. Interesting huh? Let's boycott them, or throw blood on their coats or something.
I couldn't update last night due to the temporary non-existance of my page. It was out of my hands. Peter's Page seems to be having a hard time with that sort of thing as well, at least at the time I'm typing this anyway. But, the following is what I probably would have typed, should I have been able:
I thought a lot on my way home from Stephanie's last night--that somewhat lengthy traverse over uneven pavement, with too short of a cement barrier dividing me from the oncoming traffic to have any real effect when it comes to blocking their headlights. That's probably not what the barrier's intended for anyway, but it'd be nice not to have to stare into a constant flow of lights for an hour. Oh well. I listened to the Braveheart soundtrack on the way home.
My thought pattern started with the realization that this particular CD explores my limited range of emotion like none other, bringing me to the verge of tears in some places, stretching my face into a beaming smile at others, and inbetween, prompting an excited measurement of the time signature with my clasped fist. You do these kind of things when you're tired, and driving alone, but I began to think about why I got so excited over this particular CD...
Around four years ago I used to listen to this CD non-stop, taking it in my discman with me on long car trips, playing it at home, picking out my favorite tracks; my favorite parts of those tracks; my favorite chords within those parts. I memorized every note in the whole CD, attempting to disect its structure to figure out how it works (like I tend to do with everything). I had intentions of turning what I heard into a concert band arrangement, without any help or training in theory; an effort that would far surpass my previous attempts at arranging (modifying the notes and rythms of a midi skeleton). I never really got started, because I realized that even if I finished, no one would ever play it. My music teacher promised to have the band I was in play some of my previous attempts... He lied a lot. I think a lot of my aspiration for being a musician died with that realization.
So then I started thinking about music, and a flood of emotions slapped me upside the face. They came too fast and plentiful to accurately portray here... I'll attempt, and effectively remove any meaning one might have found. I switched to baritone horn from trumpet because of a naive trust in my weasely band teacher. He refused to give me lessons on this strange instrument, so I worked my ass off, hours a day, just trying to get a sound out of the damn spit-leaking hunk of metal the school lent me. I mean, I could get sounds out, but I wanted some that didn't so closely resemble... hell. I worked my ass off, and eventually was able to make beautiful music with that piece of junk, amazingly, and became one of the best baritone players in the state. My parents went in with me on a beautiful silver baritone, my weasel of a band teacher actually nominated me for a thing called Governor's School (you basically have to play an abnormally good solo to get in for instrumental music). I spent months concentrating on nothing but that solo, and got in. That was my peak.
Before I went to Governor's School, I had a theory--there are two types of musicians--the amazingly technical, and those that make things sound pretty. Sure, you can train yourself to cross over, and there's a gray area, but from the start a musician usually can either read the notes on the page, or make something sound absolutely wonderful without any idea of where the beat is. I was the latter. (My GOD I could play some beautiful notes... of course that's what happens when you spend hours at the door of the bathroom, playing into the tile so that you can adjust your sound to be the optimum.) Anyway, EVERYONE else at Governor's School was the former, and they ridiculed the hell out of me for not knowing any music theory (no one had ever been available to teach me... certainly not my band teacher), or how to sight read a simple piece of music, or for not knowing my F sharp minor scale, or whatnot. Back at my school, another person was chosen as Drum Major (a position reserved in band, supposedly, for the most qualified and dedicated student). My weasely band teacher stopped having our band play anything, and suddenly sitting down for hours to play my instrument just... wasn't fun anymore. I couldn't see a goal anymore. What would I improve for? To sit in a band class for an hour without touching an instrument? My whole concept of music soured... My concept of the people involved in it soured... and my love for the art was gone. It just wasn't... fun anymore. And so, my brief flirtation with possibly choosing music as a career turned to somewhat of a strong distaste; a part of my soul is now tarnishing away its silver in the corner of my bedroom.
Such thoughts led to the decisions of my friends when it came to music (one actually sort of became inspired to be a better teacher due to my teacher's lack of proficiancy, and another gave music up like myself, and now uses keyboard and synthesizer to try to get his music fix), and thoughts on music turned to VERY similar parallels to religion, and my friends' decisions on that matter...
I could write several novels on what I thought about last night, not that anyone would read them, but they would still be good novels, or at least decently thick (the kind you use for propping up a wobbly table). But, the only medium I have to express them is this little website that people will stop reading if the entries are too long. So, some of the thoughts aren't even discussed, and the ones that are seem superficial due to their being stripped to the "bare bones" if you will. Oh well. I felt like talking about it. Maybe I'll be silly in the next entry.
As I have realized yesterday's entry to be... well, humongous and rather boring, today's entry will be short and peppy, so as to even things out. Then, I'll take a break until Monday, and I can start anew. Agreed? Alrighty then.
I hope everyone likes my new logo. I'm waiting for some hate mail from someone for choosing to do a Japanese themed logo instead of doing a logo to prove that I'm a PATRIOTIC AMERICAN(tm)(c)(R), which it appears to be the fad to be right now, but to those people I am set to say, "It's a #$#@ silly, cynical little logo, *#*@#*!" Perhaps I will do an American logo later, after Christmas or something, when everyone has forgotten that they're supposed to be patriotic, and it will fire them up again. That would make me proud. Me? I'm going to be patriotic for at least the next seven and a half years. Go NAVY! Whoo. *cough*
I feel this extremely page is appropriate today.
Only one person bothered messaging me about the whole teleportation thing, and I know her, so she really shouldn't count, but I'm going to post her suggestion as I promised I would. (She wanted a T-Shirt or something, but I had to remind her that such a prize is only to be awarded to someone who actually ACCOMPLISHES teleportation, not just theorizes about it.) Anyway, here we go.
irishred310: about your website-what about a kinda black hole thing-like on event horizon where they made a wormhole that bypassed space & time-so you'd just have to walk into a tunnel & there you'd be on the other side?
...
irishred310: outside of watching the occasional cheesy sci-fi movie & having spare time though, I really have no idea if that's even plausable...
*pause*
irishred310: plus I guess there'd probably be some kinda consaquences to curving the time & space between you & your destination
Thank you for your input Kelly. I'll see all of you on Monday!
Sometimes when I have a long way to walk, with little time to spare, such as when I'm trying to use every possible minute to study for an oncoming exam, I sometimes wish I could teleport.
I seriously think to myself, "Things would be so much easier if I could teleport," in such a way that one would think I was having an ingenious revelation or whatnot--much in the same way that, without fail, one player during a Monopoly game always makes the brilliant discovery that, "it would be great if this money was real." (So as not to offend anyone, I admit that I too have been the player that said that statement--that job is assigned at the begining of the game just like banker and land-holder.)
But, then I started thinking about the down sides to teleportation, and figured that it would probably just be more trouble than it was worth. For instance, the general idea of what teleportation would be involves the breaking up of one's body into simple particles, which would be reassembled at the destination of the given traveler. Assuming this process is painless, and one's particles manage to come back together with some amount of accuracy, one still has to worry about arrival. Any spec of dust, or any matter... for that matter, at the destination site, would likely interfere in horrible ways with the return of the traveler to a solid form. A fly could be permanently fused into one's skin, (which would be easily correctable through cosmetic surgery) or one's foot might become permanently lodged into a large rock (less easily remedied). I believe that both the Simpsons and X-files have covered these possibilities. Having the particles of one's body mixed in a homogenous manner with some random object can't be too pleasant. So, how would one have to prevent this from happening?
Essentially there would have to be somewhat of an explosion, an instant before the traveller reformed, forcing all matter away from the destination position, eliminating anything from being caught inside the guy once he appears. The draw-back to this method would be that the explosion would have to force things away at somewhere around the speed of light, (likely... you might be able to get away with less speed, but then you'd have to worry about the following implosion bringing matter back before the traveler finished forming) which would probably do some damage to whatever is being moved. (Voltswagon, bird bath, someone's neck...) Then, of course, since air is not present for an instant after forming, the traveler would experience slight discomfort before all sorts of things rush towards his body to fill the vacumm around him.
This is all assuming quantum leap behavior of the particles, allowing them to pass through matter, as teleportation would be even more difficult if one's matter was simply accelerated to the speed of light. There's no telling what might happen to objects between the start and destination points when the traveler's body, turned to pure energy, slams full force into it. Even if no damage was done to the obstruction, a few particles would likely get lost, leaving the poor traveler without a thumb, or something a little worse.
Personally teleportation would probably never work. The only way I could imagine teleportation being possible would be for it to take the form of public transportation, using designated booths. The starting booth would close, and everything inside (air and all) would be transmited across a superconductor kept at approximately absolute zero, and would be deposited in a booth identical booth to the first (except that this one would be completely devoid of internal matter). There. That's what I think about while I'm walking between classes. If anyone out there with a little more insight into teleportation than I (I.e. you've researched it, unlike me, or taken anything higher than basic physics, unlike me, or something), feel free to write me. Of course, I'll be bored of this subject by tomorrow morning, so you better hurry.
Next semester I have a class on Time Travel. Ooooh.
I had a Chemistry exam today, and despite hours upon hours of intense studying, I don't think I did too well. The only concept I truly didn't grasp was how to tell whether or not something is a strong electrolyte, and he made a HUGE portion of the exam about that very minor subject. I seriously tried to understand it too, but the most I could get out of the book or online text was, "a strong electrolyte dissolves into ions in water, and makes the bulb glow." For some reason, that didn't help me decide if Na(SO4) fits that definition. Oh well, at least I killed the E115 exam.
I worked a related rates problem in Calculus today involving some dude walking away from a lamppost, and you're supposed to tell how fast his shadow is moving or whatnot.
The entire class today, which I felt a rather strong urge to sleep through and not attend at all, ended up just being a time for him to assign us problems to work. Essentially, he gave us homework from the book, and we were supposed to sit there and work them. I would be annoyed enough that I walked across campus for such drivel, but I also failed to bring my book--as we have yet to use it thus far. I stared blankly for a little while, sipping my espresso soup (I'll figure out how to make a decent cup one day), and about three minutes after he assigned the problems, someone started whining about the first one. A chorus followed the whiner, saying how hard the problem was, and how the teacher should work it out. The teacher wrote the problem up on the board, the details of which I will not bore you with, and stared at it in much the same way that I was staring at nothing in particular at that point.
He proceded to draw stick figures, and hypotenuses, and dotted lines, and curly-cues, and something that looked like a pineapple if you squinted just right, but to no avail. The man could simply not solve the problem, and the class yelled out frustrated hints about how one might go about finding such a mystical thing as the speed of the tip of one's shadow. Essentially, he spent the entire hour-long class period pulling out his hair, trying to solve one of the first related-rates problem in the book, failing miserably, only arriving at an answer right before dismissing us. I just recieved an email from him that the answer he found was wrong.
I, on the other hand, grew bored of watching him fidget about five minutes into the class period, and asked to borrow someone's book. I wrote down the information from the problem, used similar triangles to solve for the length of the shadow, used addition (*gasp*) to find the position of the shadow's tip relative to the lamp post, and used a little magic thing called the derivative to mix it all together. What I ended up with was the correct answer, after only a minute's worth of work, when the teacher of the course himself failed to come anywhere near it.
At the end of class I walked up and handed him my work, and left to go to raquetball. His email says that I devised an ingenious approach to the problem or something like that. I just think he's kind of stupid... In any case, I'm really looking forward to this exam on Friday.
I just have to make it through the two tomorrow first... :(
Just overheard, and entertaining enough to take a five minute break from work and type out:
"Damn, people just want to shut themselves up and suffocate in these dorm rooms."
"Close the door, all those ladybugs keep coming in here."
"Why? What does it matter? They're ladybugs. What are they going to do? They don't eat anything. They don't eat flesh; they're not going to riddle your body with holes. They're not going to eat your clothes or anything. They just kind of sit there. Geeze. BUT, to appease the masses...
*sound of door closing*
Alright, I'm "back." But, due to a complete lack of motivation on my part to update this thing, I'm... not really going to update. That's logical enough right?
Perhaps I'll take time to update tomorrow. Perhaps I won't. I'm busy as hell all week, so whatever you get is a bonus over what you should. Think of it that way, and you will kiss my feet for bothering to do THIS much. Now I'm going to spin the wheel-o-assignments and begin work on the lucky winner.
Okay, perhaps the Disney thing didn't turn out as well as I had hoped. They're full during my planned visit, so I can't stay in the wonderous deluxe resort. They did, however, hook me up with a lowered price on the cheapo resorts--$88 a night with tax. It's still good, because the normal price on those things is over a hundred a night, but it's still more expensive than the deluxe accomidations we would have had if I had thought about all of this earlier. Oh well. We still get the reduced ticket prices.
I'm leaving tomorrow for my Thanksgiving break, which means you probably won't hear from me until Sunday night. I mean, I'm not telling you not to log in and see if I manage to update before then--I very well may. But, I wouldn't hold my breath. Speaking of that, I'm not sure about many circumstances where I WOULD hold my breath, but I guess that's another topic altogether.
I have a Chemistry exam right after I get back from break. As I've mentioned before, Chemistry is my arch-nemisis. The only way I've managed to pass the other two exams is by studying a practice exam for half a week before the exam. Today was the last class before Thanksgiving break, and Mr. "slack-ass-teachus-nothin" has failed to produce such a practice exam, leaving me in a rather bad situation. I went up to the front of the class and asked him when he planned to give us the practice exam, to which he responded, "Wednes.. oh wait." So, after a little debate, I convinced him to make up a practice exam, and leave it outside his office tomorrow morning for us to pick up at liesure. Of course, he won't put it out until "10 o' clock at earliest" which is the time I leave tomorrow, and what he really means is--about 6 P.M. ARRRRRRGHHHHH!!!! Oh well, it's only about twenty percent of my final grade. *gulps*
I'M GOING TO DISNEY WORLD! WHOOOOOOOO!
Well, sure, it's not like I'm going anytime soon, and I'm going to pay for every last bit of it out of my own pocket, but I decided to go, and that's reason enough to get all giggly. Steph and I, in the mist of a GLORIOUS weekend (whos wonders weigh in about the same as my previous "magical" weekend at home, but in a very different way if that can be understood) stopped into the Disney(TM)(R)(c) Store on one of two trips to the mall. I guess all the subliminal advertising and false implanted childhood memories that store reeks of fired up one or both of our brains with the idea that a trip to Disneyworld, together, would be a nice thing to do. After an hour or so in her room comparing school schedules and the like, we decided that the only logical time to make such a trip would be Spring Break (yes, I know it's crowded as hell during mid march, but our Christmas breaks don't really mesh well enough for us to go in the slow days of January, or any other slow days for that matter.) The whole trip was kind of tentative up until that point, as we were still approaching it in a half-joking manner, until we looked up pricing for the resorts. "$365 for four nights is a $#$*#*# price-saver special????!?!?," I found myself saying on several occasions through our little information hunt, which prompted Stephanie to tell me to look for military discounts. BINGO. I'm in the military, active, NAVY, doing absolutely nothing right now to serve my country, but with the law-given right to claim that I am. And, after a little bit of probing, I found out that our wonderful government has provided its military personel with this beauty. The price? About $70 a night for one of Disney's deluxe resorts with all types of amenities. I get discounts on park passes too. YEY.
(Anyway, to raise money for this little excursion, I'm accepting bribes. For a small fee, I'll claim that I met you on my spring break vacation, and that you're a really nice person, and that all guys and girls should jump you because of some reason or another. That reason will vary depending on how much you give me.)
Oh, and we went to see Harry Potter too. As critical as I am with movies, searching for some sort of artistic style, or deep message, I really should rip this thing apart. But, no one expects Harry Potter to be good in any way, as it was just thrown together to get large sums of money. I think the main thing I could stab at it for is that it's not traditional fantasy (unlike a lot of people enjoy arguing). It's some sort of Halloween witch, Greek mythology, random bit of creativity mix. Anyway, it's pretty entertaining and funny, whatever it is. So, if you don't go in taking it seriously, you'll enjoy it. That's right. I found Harry Potter entertaining because I didn't take it seriously, and expected it to be horrible. You'll find that if you watch the Mummy movies with the same mindset, you'll be awe stricken at the amazing quality of them. *shrugs* I'm going to bed.
COLLEGE EXPERIENCE #000062:
One can effectively lock a person into his dwelling by shoving a stack of eight or nine pennies between said person's door and the frame at two strategic points--one above and below the knob. The force of the door constantly being pushed inward by the now maliciously used coinage puts pressure on the lock mechanism, disallowing the turning motion of the doorknob. Essentially, a screwdriver used a chisel on the offending pennies FROM THE OUTSIDE is the only way for the victim to relocate to a different surrounding.
Ever have one of those days where you can feel your precious life force--the sands of time remaining in your finate little life--seeping away second by second? In a bewildered depression you stare at the face on your wrist, as its features contort, signaling to you the seconds; the minutes; the hours. Each tick draws you closer to your inevitable death, or rather, measures out your remaining time on the mortal coil--slowly marching onward dispite your protests. Time alters not its progress for the likes of thee, your life that has been lived, has been lived, and is forever gone.
And you just spent a huge chunk of it staring at your watch.
I stared at my watch for roughly 2 hours and 27 minutes today, in the dark, thanks to the nifty neon green back-light feature on Stephanie's watch. (Yeah, I'm wearing hers. I shattered the face of mine into pieces a week or so ago in another rather nasty racquetball incident.) I happen to be in a thing called the Scholars Program, whos major focus is to beat enlightenment into our brows by requiring us to attend all types of boring little events. I have to attend 12 this semester, and with only four weeks remaining, I was only able to reach number eight tonight. It was some foreign documentary on how the Germans own all the coffee plantations and such in Guatemala, and how they're rich and poor respectively. For a little bit of spice they added the Indians into the mix, so you got to hear them bitching about wanting the country back because Spain took it from their ancestors. Essentially the documentary was people speaking one after the other, in foreign languages, with third-grader-esque written English translation, and ten seconds of musical interlude between each bitching session. The movie lasted two hours and ten minutes in this fashion, with one person talking, a brief artistic break, then another person talking, the entire movie heading in no sort of direction, so that any ten minute section taken from the film was a carbon copy of any other ten minute section taken out of the film. You just don't know how long two hours and ten minutes is until you have to spend that long listening to people tell you something you don't care about in the first place, in a foreign language nonetheless. To top it off there was a discussion about the movie for 17 minutes beforehand, and another at the end--which I ran out on in a panic-striken nature.
I paid for next semester today, as well as cutting a tiny check for the loan on the current semester, leaving me with the bare minimum I need to survive until my next pay-day. Luckily that pay day is the first of December-only a few weeks away. The bad news is that I'm only going to have any real Christmas fundage freed up the last ten days before Christmas, leaving me with no other option but to shop late. I HATE shopping late. I've usually got Christmas covered by like... late March. Oh well. Maybe I'll go for plastic like everyone else.
(Hit refresh if you didn't see a new logo today.)
COLLEGE EXPERIENCE #00024:
Roommate calling me over to watch a German Shepard do rather naughty things to a naked woman on his computer screen.
*gag*
There are new Thinman Greetings available to be sent to your friends and enemies for free, along with new background colors of poo and puke, to get that complete style you want. There have actually been eight cards sent out thus far, and assuming that Peter and myself only sent about three of those, five lucky people out there were horrified to find our atrocities in their inbox. I suggest that all of you click that little link up at the top there and send your pal a Thinman Greeting, complete with one of several provided eerily cheerful midi files. Eat your heart out Bluemountain.com!!!
My last paper in English was an assignment to summarize the life of a Roman discussed by Plutarch in his wonderously long-winded book titled Fall of the Roman Republic. That's it. Summarize the life of a Roman. The paper I am CURRENTLY working on is a 6-8 page research project requiring at least seven sources on some aspect of Rome. I was given a variety of topics to choose from, but I figured that telling what the life of an everyday Roman during the time of the Republic would be a little bit easier than watching Spartacus, Fall of the Roman Republic, and Gladiator, and then using seven or more sources to point out inaccuracies in their historical content. All I have to do is talk about how often the men used the services of prostitutes and the like. (And believe me, it was a LOT.) I've got seven books on my desk right now, and so far I've gotten through two of them.
A whole day and I've only gotten through two of them.
*sigh*
Curse words were meant to embody anger and frustration weren't they? I mean, that's what they were originally intended for at some point. They were meant to be vulgar, and to offend people, and show that since you're uttering them, you mean business, gawsh-darnit! Sure these days their use has been entirely scewed to the categlory of easy laugh/casual conversation/rap song lyric, but when you get really pissed, it's still cathartic (if that's the right word, and if it's spelled correctly) to let off a good ol' string of curse words. Isn't it an angry man's given right to curse up a storm?
But, what does one do when the person the anger is directed at is still somewhat naive, uncorrupted by the blatant casual use of such words in day to day life, and is deeply offended when said words are... said? Letting off a string of non-sensical curses along the lines of, "Piece of bitch... son of a shit... damn... ass," releases the anger of the person uttering them, but like some sort of chemical reaction that a smarter man would allude to in this discussion, the anger is transfered to the sensitive person's... person. Assuming that it is not appropriate to curse around those who dislike hearing such words, to what point should one be forgiven for slipping up in the heat of the moment? Surely one can't always be expected to make a special case of saying "fudge" when a piano is dropped on his foot, just because of the present company, and equivalent emotional damage deserves just as much leniancy (again probaly spelled wrong).
I'm not sure about you guys, but I have a lot of trouble controlling when I yell out the aforementioned offensive verbs/adjectives/blurbs. It gets me in trouble, despite concious effort from time to time to avoid it. And, for some reason, my apology that I'm "sorry damnit" just doesn't make things any better. Oh well.
Yesterday's entries used symbols that HTML code doesn't display, so if it made a little bit less sense than you thought it should have, that is the reason. I was intending to fix it, or have Stephanie fix it, but neither one panned out. It's fixed now. Hoorah.
We... completed the catapult today more or less. The more--because it is technically assembled, and can fire. The less--it's not quite making the distance, and if we add more force then every fiber of the structure is in danger of suddenly rupturing, erupting into a spray of splinters and schrapnel. (I have no idea how to spell that. Pretend.) It's simply... well... You have two triangular parallel wooden sides. The firing arm pivots around a bar between these two sides. Surgical tubing propells the arm. The arm must stop at a 45 degree angle for maximum distance. That's where the problem comes in. We use a rope stretched between the sides to slow down the arm before it slams into an oak support between the sides. The rope is pulled, the sides are pulled, and one of these days the whole damn thing is going to explode. Today we snapped the pivot arm--a hollow aluminum dowel. See... it's the pivot... so that shouldn't happen. The force should be all around the damn thing, not on it... I originally suggested a wooden dowel, and that sure as hell wouldn't have worked. Oh well. All this for one credit hour.
This weekend was (explicative) great. High school friends I haven't seen in forever, girlfriend, family, and running over innocent pedestrians and prostitutes with stolen vehicles into the wee hours of the morning. You can read a few entires back on Peter's page if you want that to make any sense. If you don't, then you can just laugh and think about how funny it sounds. I'm not even going to attempt to explain how wonderful this weekend was to me--I entirely lack the ability to portray it. I simply want to say, as the one who drove the least distance and made the least sacrifice to show up for our little reunion, I am unyieldingly thankful that you guys made the drive. It's just... being good friends with someone, practically ceasing to even speak with them (for all practical purposes) for about three or four months due to various overlapping reasons, and then picking up where things left off without so much as skipping a beat... does anyone out there know what the hell I'm talking about? Before I left for college, Peter, Eric, and myself got together for a last send-off of sorts, and played Gran Turismo for an entire day straight. It took place at my parent's house, Steph came over for bits and pieces of the day, we had a wonderful time, and eventually everyone regretfully departed. This entire weekend seemed so earily close to that day that they might as well have been one and the same, as if the past three or four months never even happened, effectively placing our farewell and reunion side by side. We all... meshed exactly the same as we did the day we left. I guess that's the mark of a goodfriendship--being able to pick up where you left off no matter what happened in the time between.
Oh, we did do other things than video games, like expensive dinners and bad movies and the like, so that's different. And, Steph was over for a longer time than on the farewell day, and seemed to enjoy herself more (I think she likes expensive dinners and bad movies more than she does Gran Turismo 3), so that's different. Oh, and Peter's become somewhat of a gun-toting redneck freako, but other than that everything was the same. Let's do it again sometime guys.
Cuter than a Chinese baby.
Guy#1 is the protagonist. He is friends with 2,3,& 4.
She came here in a matchbox
Guy#1 is double crossed by (insert random number here).
They're right. Love of Gold.
(Insert random number) double crosses (Insert random number), or (random number), or both. Repeat until all possible combinations used.
Like a flea on a dog with rabies.
Read the above at a mindnumbingly slow pace, with ample pause between major points. If you find this entry interesting or humorous, get off your ass right now and see Heist. If you find it to NOT be humorous or interesting, you're normal. Goodnight.
THIS JUST IN: ONE DRAWS, ONE WRITES, NOW AVAILABLE TO BE SENT TO YOUR LOVED ONES FOR FREE!
The 34/Sickmonkey crossover project is taking a slight bit longer than I had hoped. All of a sudden I find myself dealing with someone that must be in the MOOD, and must have INSPIRATION, and other such crazy keywords that liberal arts students throw around. I THOUGHT I WAS WORKING WITH AN ENGINEER HERE PETER! AN ENGINEER.
That outburst will set back the project a few weeks.
I'm not sure what's up with Pitas. They crashed for a long period of time this morning, and I've found it near impossible to update at any point of the day that I want to. It is only after I stop feeling like updating, and I halfheartedly check if I am able, that I am able. That may explain the poor content of the recent previous entries, or their lack of a consistant voice, or their lack of readability--just about anything negative. If there was something you liked then it was entirely my doing.
I think it would be funny if they made a Racquetball movie about someone that went up against the world champ, lost, trained really hard, and came back and won even though he was the underdog. The last shot would be a perfect rollout, and the soundtrack could be the song of the same name by Ludicrous, or The Rollout Song by Gladys Dellipizzi, or something like that. Maybe they could hire a bunch of supposed divas to work together on an original song entitled, "Bam sucka," or, "Kill shoot boogie."
I've got another one lined up about a dog that plays racquetball. THE RULES DON'T SAY "NO DOGS"!! *gasp*
*clears throat* Anyway, enough of that. I not only discovered today that Ben Fold's Rockin' the Suburbs has a music video, but that it's like number one on one of those VH1 type thingies. I'm sure most of you already know this, as I am usually behind the times with such things, but here's a link to see it if you haven't, along with some behind the scenes stuff: LINK!
Let's try this again, on the loveable Netscape-running linux thingies they have running in my E115 class where I sit, let my eyes glaze over a tad bit, and occasionally drool. My page looks ghastly on Netscape, and I almost feel inclined to apologize for that, but there's no real reason for you to be using Netscape anyway, so switch to IE and everyone will be happy. (I feel the need to repeat that hypnotically for some reason.) Anyway, on to what I basically said last night:
I didn't mean to hit it. I seriously didn't. I turned to avoid it... I hit the brakes... if it hadn't of just stood there and stared everying might have been okay. Steph was crying. It wasn't a very happy moment. For some reason Peter's assurance that it was probably evil anyway didn't help much. Guilt doesn't feel very good.
That was the low point, but there definately were high points--their source being my beautiful companion/girlfriend. One of those was a viewing of Pixar's brand spankin' new (well... maybe not that new, but whatever) Monster's Inc. HOLY #$*@#* DAMN #@%# #@#$% #*$?@ @#$##$#@'n #@$#, that was a good movie. When it comes to describing things, sometimes there just aren't enough curse words to go around.
I swear that movie had everything--Final Fantasy caliber(ish) graphics of the sort that you forget you're watching an animated movie, suspense, action, COMEDY, and moments that make your eyes kind of tear up embarassingly so that people ask, "Are you crying," and you just kind of pretend you got sand or something in your eye to save a little face. I don't remember the last time my eyes kind of teared up a little bit to the point that someone asked if I was crying and I had to pretend I got sand or something in them, but it certainly wasn't over gourd shaded polygons. (At least I don't think so..) So that's a pretty big accomplishment. They even had a little bit of tragic hero action going on.
One thing I really liked, which I believe I lack ample writing ability to describe, is the ease at which they presented an entirely fantasy based world, along with its rules and characters, in the first few minutes of the film. This is one of my major complaints with most movies, and it really amazes me when it's done well. What I mean is, well, say it's a Superman movie. They introduce the world by basically saying it's just like Earth, but Superman can fly, and shoot lazers, and blow cold breath, and crush things.
Okay, says the audience, Superman can fly, shoot lazers, blow cold breath, and crush things. They won't be alarmed, and stand up and talk about how unrealistic the movie is when he does these things, because they have been established as rules of that fantasy world. So, all of a sudden Superman's in a tight spot, there's a lot of suspense, and the audience just can't figure out what he's going to do in order to solve everything. "Oh wait," he says, "I forgot that I can turn back time and kill people with mind powers and the like. The writers must have forgotten to tell you." That's a sign of bad writing, changing the rules of the world in the middle of the damn plot. It has the effect of making any suspense or anything feel kind of cheap. What's that? Our middle-class suburban hero is surrounded by gang members? Oh, it turns out he has a black belt in karate. You just can't do that, and Monster's INC doesn't. You're presented with all the characters and the rules of the world within the first few minutes, and the rest of the movie works its jokes and plot twists off of those established standards. I know I'm probably not making any sense, but it boils down it being a damn good movie, as profanity seems to make things more understandable.
(Aside: Yes movies have rules. Ever wonder why Training Day had really suspenseful moments while Lethal Weapon 4 didn't? It's because in Training Day gun fire is established as being deadly... and loud thanks to THX sound, plus you're not sure about the well established movie rule that the good guy can't die. In Lethal Weapon 4 there are bullets galore, and everything (cardboard boxes?) explodes, but they're not deadly--even a metal pole jabbed through your rib cage isn't. Pay attention to this stuff next time you see a movie. It's fun.)
Okay, unless something magical happens like the past three times this has happened, Pitas ate another HUGE entry--a rather heartfelt and lengthy one. *sighs* I might update tomorrow. I might be smart enough to copy the entry to a text file before pressing the "done!" button.
I'm not quite sure what is up with pitas lately, but this is the second night in a row that it is refusing to let me update, erasing everything that I type in the process. Pouring one's heart out about nothing in particular, and then finding that it has to be repeated for anyone to view such a rant kind of kills anyone's will to update at all. Perhaps I'm waiting until the time of day (night?) when everyone with one of these pita pages decides to get on and whine about their day, and all the whining colaces into one huge blob that shuts down the server until the next morn, only for it to repeat the following night. Perhaps I should start waking up early in the morning to whine, giving me fairly good subject matter in the process. (Along the lines of, "I'm up so early... *nya nya whine nya whine* Damn.") Oh well.
Peter and I talked today, and I think that crossover we were discussing may happen relatively soon now in the form of a new page. I'm not going to really go into detail, partly because pitas is pissing me off, partly because I want it to be a surprise. Just know that it's mainly my idea, mainly his doing, and it's a crossover between the link I included last entry, and the silliest online service available. That said, I'm off to play a violent video game and go to bed. Hoorah for that.
I finally archived! Whoo.
I wasn't able to update last night due to technical failures on the part of pita, and I'm running late for Calculus right now, so I'll just leave you with the following:
1. I moved the pictures, about, and writings sections over to my NCSU account, making them *gasp* accessible, whereas on NBCi they... weren't.
2. I didn't realize until a few days ago that Peter had this up on his site. It's a game we played our senior year of high school during class, in order to pass those slow minutes a little faster. Basically one person takes a notecard, draws a picture with blank dialogue captions, and the other person fills it in. Fun for all. He doesn't have anywhere near all of them up there, and a lot of those are Brian's work, not mine. (Hence the mention of Brian on the titles) Oh well. If nothing else it's a great way to waste notecards.
