30 April, 2013

Ze Frank

Almost exactly one year ago, give or take less than a week, I found myself wholly frustrated with my life, ennui levels higher than they'd ever been, and ready to throw in the towel at school. Being a courteous chap, I went around to my teachers to give them the news. I went to my English 101 professor first, because he was my favorite that semester, and he sat me down to give me a lecture I had braced myself to receive four different versions of.

Instead, he said that he was feeling pretty much the same, but had to keep going, as he liked keeping his house, whereas I was but a student and could afford to take some time off. Before I did, though, he asked, would I be so willing to let him show me a video on the intertubes? He said it helped him quite a lot, and if he and I were as similar as he thought we were, I might get something out of it, too.

The video he wound up showing me half of before realizing it was the wrong video was of Ze Frank talking about writing on his "truly inverted" nipples with Sharpies. For a brief second, I thought my professor was coming on to me, and I wondered what relevance this guy's nipples had to helping me out of a funk.

I'll admit, I did get a good laugh about it, so that helped in the moment, but once the guy in the video started talking about catching slow-moving bullets with butterfly nets in the middle of a war zone, my professor quickly closed out the video. He brought up another one, the right one this time, and hit play. The resulting video changed me.

It was Ze Frank's "Invocation for Beginnings."

This guy was incredible! Hilarious and endearing, all at the same time. I wound up not droping out of college because of that one video. I did a little digging on the intertubes later on, discovering that he had a year-long video blog back in 2006-2007 that he did every weekday, covering the news events. I watched them all. Several times.

Then I watched all of his new vlog. All of maybe three videos he had up at the time. I bookended by downloading the entirety of the original show, and watching them again.

(In case you can't figure it out by now, I have a tendency of getting fixated on things I think are awesome.)

As I watched the original vlog, and kept up with the new one as he posted new videos, I began thinking about starting my own vlog channel on the Youtubes. Here was this guy, who I felt was an older version of me, being awesome and connecting people. In a sense, he was doing what I wanted to do: create a community by drawing so many different people together, and getting them to interact and be awesome.

I kept putting my vlog channel idea, in which I would tell stories mostly in the video diary format, with some acting from myself and some friends I could possibly rope into it. It scared me very much, putting myself out there simply by talking to my video camera, so I would tell myself that I'd start next week, or next month, because it was better to start at the beginning of the time-counting cycle than in the middle.

Or whatever it was that I had said to convince myself I would be bad at it. Either way, this mindset went on for a few months before I created an account on Ze Frank's forum, and found-wait, I already told this story.

Either way, I think I strayed from my original point. Hang on, let me reread.

Okay, rather than wandering, I actually underlined the point I wanted to make: without Ze Frank, and the chain of events he (well, technically my English professor) started, I would not be writing this blog. I wouldn't have created the Twitter account to promote Perfect Strangers, and I wouldn't have met the Hot Mom Writer's Guild, and I wouldn't have been pushed into writing.

I'm bad at staying on topic, apparently. I should have just written about light, warm breezes or Sumerian temples, or something....

Next!: Wait, I've completed (-ish) the A-to-Z Challenge! Uhh, I had something for this...oh yeah! Next: Ich bin ein Liebster winner.

29 April, 2013

YOLO ('Carpe Diem,' but for Stupid People)

If you're on the internet at all, and I'm assuming you are (unless you're reading my mind as I write this, or something equally as awesome [enjoy THAT mental image, fucker]), you know of the acronym "YOLO," and you either say it at every available opportunity, or you wish that anyone who's even thought of saying the phrase would die a brutal, fiery death.

Personally, I have always reserved judgment on the phrase, and its users, because I do recognize the wisdom hidden (deep) within it. It's true, you DO only live once, so why not take risks and do things you wouldn't otherwise do? I mean, I've seen it used in some pretty dumb situations, and I've even said it myself a couple times. Mostly after things like going up for fourths at the buffet or at the club.

There was also an occasion in which there was a dodgy website that was streaming Doctor Who, and I just whispered it to myself with as much gravitas as I could muster.

In an effort to try and decipher a point from all this, I don't see the point in hating someone for saying yolo. Yeah, it's a strange word, but imagine how stupid the guy who said 'hemorrhoid' for the first time sounded. Or 'phlebotomist'. And what the fuck does 'gaumless' mean?

Anyway, hating someone based on this kind of phrase seems kind of dumb to me. However, I do find it interesting at the same time. I see it splitting people in half. Not literally, but in the sense of creating two groups: the morons that say it, and the intellectual elitists who hate the first group because of what makes them the first group.

Then there's me. (Sigh.)

Next!: Where I found inspiration.

27 April, 2013

Chapter 24: Xenophilia at the Gates/Xu's Castle

The wind was a brief reprieve from the heat that ravaged the dunes of the Xurian Desert. Sarissa had thought the nights would be the reinstatement of fortitude to persevere during the day, but Cecily had been proven right in that the nights, instead of the scalding heat of the day, merely sizzled.

She hadn't eaten in days, and if the trio happened to fall behind schedule by even three hours, would die of dehydration. As a serpentkin, she knew that she had an innate resistance to the baking heat, so she could scarcely imagine how Reginald was holding up as a ratkin. Cecily seemed unfazed by the heat, but then again, nothing seemed to rattle those emerald gemstone eyes.

Reginald let out a a whisper of a raspy cry just then, causing both Sarissa and Cecily to halt their mounts and turn back. Apparently, his mount had collapsed in exhaustion, throwing him face-first into the sand. Within seconds, second- and third-degree burns begain appearing on what little exposed skin he had.

"Gods damn it," hissed Cecily, hopping off her riding lizard and running to her fallen student. She scooped Reginald up in one arm and laid him on the back of Sarissa's riding lizard.

"We cannot even apply the salve until nightfall. Burns will appear faster than we can soothe them." Cecily looked around. "Five hours will he have to survive as is. Meanwhile, we'll make for that oasis in the distance."

Sarissa looked in the direction her mentor was pointing in. She didn't see anything, but Cecily's eyes, or rather the gemstones in her eye sockets, had some sort of magical capabilities that Sarissa could barely comprehend. Also, Cecily wasn't the "false hope" type.

So they did the only thing they could: ride on.

About an hour later, the oasis Cecily mentioned came into view. It had been over the horizon when Reginald had fallen, but Sarissa had managed to keep faith in Cecily and was once again rewarded. The medusa stopped and stared into the distance beyond the copse of palm trees for a few minutes, looking concerned.

"Be careful, child," Cecily warned, "for there is some kind of powerful magic at work beyond the pond. I am having difficulty identifying it." The last sentence sent a chill down Sarissa's spine, which only served to underline the gravitas of the situation, as she hadn't felt any sort of chill since before the desert.

It was another two hours before they arrived, and all the while, Sarissa had tried to calm her friend's whimpers by lightly singing one of their favorite songs, but her voice turned to a rasp and gave out after the first hour after his fall, so she resorted to whispering words of strength to him until her throat strained with a dry ache.

Sarissa wordlessly laid Reginald down in the shade of the trees, in a spot that was hidden from the sun throughout its whole trek across the sky, while Cecily had the giant lizards tied to the tree closest to the pond. There, they sat and drank before dozing off.

Cecily unpacked their gear and handed the glass jar with the burn salve to Sarissa. She watched her pupil apply it with a tenderness she thought Sarissa didn't even know she had, and turned her thoughts toward dinner. Based on how she was feeling, and watching her charges, it seemed like it would be a liquid dinner.

As they rested, the sun crawled closer to the horizon, bringing with it the promise of a restoration of sanity. All of their empty jugs, bottles, and vials, whatever they had that could carry water, were filled. Sarissa dove head-first into the improbable spring, opened her mouth and just drank.

Once she had drank her fill, she surfaced to check on Reginald, but was hesitant to fully remove herself from the water. It was just too comfortable, too welcoming, after trekking through the desert the gods forgot for little more than a week.

While Reginald rested and Sarissa cavorted in the water, Cecily stood at the edge of the oasis and stared outward, trying to decipher what she was seeing. It was an incredible weave of magic, seemingly too ornate to be naturally occurring, and in the middle of nowhere.

"Right, then," she said to herself, "as soon as we're rested and rejuvenated, we'll check it out." Cecily then put it out of her mind and focused on setting up camp.

Sleep came easy for them that night, being road-weary and almost continuously sleepy from the heat. It was a restful sleep, filled with dreams of what each considered a place called home, where no one would hound them or chase them out of town.

The next morning, despite finding it to be slightly more difficult than it should have been, the trio left their shelter in the middle of the desert to go explore the intricate magics that lay ahead.

Reginald rode on the back of Sarissa's lizard, less indignant about riding second to a woman than he'd have been had he not been forcibly evicted from his throne two years ago. The idea still didn't sit right with him, but this was his life now, and Sarissa had given him a home when none other, even his own subjects, would.

They rode in silence, each lost in his or her own head, dreams lingering in their minds. So absorbed their thoughts were they, that when a castle the size of a city shimmered into view before them, they almost missed it. The riding lizards reared up, almost throwing their riders into the scalding sand, but they were quickly subdued.

Both Sarissa and Reginald's jaws hung slack in awe of the sight. The only expression Cecily showed was a widening of her eyes as the veils of the illusion, and of the construction of the spells, were parted. There was a vague path before them, heading to a guard tower.

"Shall we go, then?" Cecily asked with a smile. Sarissa just nodded, still awe-struck. They rode for no more than ten minutes before approaching the tower. As they drew close, five guards came filing out, ready to inspect the travelers. They appeared to be human, save for two very obvious differences: each guard possessed two sets of arms, one above the other, and once close, Sarissa could see small lines resembling tattoos all over their bare skin, which didn't seem to mind the sun, in the shape of scales. She dared to get her hopes up. Could they be serpentkin?

"Halt, travelers! State your names, destination, and alliance!" barked a guard, the leader, Sarissa assumed. He was the mosf decorated, anyway. She also noted that his tone was not angry or assuming, but inquisitive and curious. Cecily cleared her throat and spoke.

"I am Cecily Aspdottir, and these are my charges, Sarissa Aspdottir, and Reginald Sloan, the third, ex-prince of the kingdom of Stahl, to the south. Our destination is the port city of Masthead, on the other side of this desert, and we have no allegiance to anyone other than ourselves and our deities, The Serpent Lady, goddess of snakes, Lyca Moonbeam, goddess of lycanthropes, and Curtana, lady of the blade, respectively."

"Why are you deposed, young ex-prince? And why such a peculiar pantheon between the three of you? I've not heard of the first two." The guard looked uneasy, having to ask the questions.

Reginald swallowed hard. He looked to Cecily for support, and received a nod of encouragement.

"I was chased from my kingdom while I was leading a troupe of soldiers to clear out a dire rat infestation. I wasn't careful enough, and I received a curse when one bit me. I now belong to Lyca Moonbeam, but pledge myself to Curtana out of my twenty-odd years of loyalty."

"Lycanthropes? You mean shifters, were-creatures? I thought they were the stuff of myths!" The other guards began murmuring to themselves, and Sarissa felt a lump forming in her throat. They were going to have to run, she was sure of it.

"I assure you, soldier, they are quite real," began Cecily. "We also mean you no harm. We were just passing through when we detected a great source of magic, and decided to inspect it."

At that, the guard's demeanor changed from merely inquisitive to quite happy. He turned to the others and told them to inform the sultan of the guests.

"Come, my weary travelers! It is indeed a joy to have you join us! We have never had guests like you in Xu's Castle! He will be overjoyed to see you."

"Uh..what?" asked Reginald, dumbfounded.

"We thrive on being a melting pot here, Xu says we need to welcome all kinds of folk into the castle, as the many different forms that life takes is all sacred, and to have you here is joyous, indeed, as who else can say that they have the most diverse culture on the planet?"

"What is going on here?" Reginald asked again. "How do you stay safe with such an open-door policy? This doesn't make any sense!"

Sarissa turned back to face her friend. "Do you want them to run us out or something? This is amazing! Being welcomed because of our differences! Ha ha, I never thought I'd see the day."

"Yes, Reginald," started Cecily, "let us take this at face value until the people here prove otherwise. I do not detect any deception at current, so I shall enjoy the hospitality of our gracious host, Xu."

The wererat raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I shall reserve judgment until we meet this 'Xu' person." Sarissa just sighed in exasperation, and looked to the guards.

"We accept your offer, dear guard. Take us to Xu, if you please."

"Right this way, m'ladies and sir."

And with that, the gates opened.

(To be continued...)

26 April, 2013

Werecreatures: My Lifelong Fascination

Ahhh, the ability to transform into a wolf by the light of the full moon. What an amazing feat. Despite the fact that lycanthropes are always portrayed as pitiful souls whose only goal is to rid themselves of their "terrible" curse, I have always found the very notion to be...exciting? Interesting? The chance of a lifetime?

Especially if you stray from the classic mythos. People transforming into wolves at will? How awesome is that?

"I think I'll go for a light jog today..." ~transforms into a wolf with the speed and stamina of a freight train~ "...three states over!"

Once you start drifting from the classic "woe is me" mythos to at-will transformations, you arrive in the realm of shifting into animals other than a wolf. There are, to my unresearched knowledge, two schools of thought about this. You can either shift into (only one) animal of your choosing, or you shift into an animal that is representative of your character. How easy it would be to pick friends if you could easily tell they would deceive you by turning into a serpent!

I rest somewhere in the middle of all of these theories. I've never truly sat down and put any serious thought into it before, but when I ran a D20 World of Darkness tabletop RPG, I let the lycanthropes of the group pick their animal. If I could choose, I think I would like to shift into a tiger. It's my Chinese zodiac animal, and I just think it would be wholly nonstop awesomeness.

However, I have had, in my head, a story about a wereserpent woman who tries to show that her nature, as both of lycanthrope (and a wereserpent in particular), doesn't dictate her behavior. For some reason, despite not beinv overly fond of snakes, the wereserpent sounds the like the best animal for the story.

Her name is Sarissa, a name easily spoken by those of serpentkind, and her support structure does her no favors in trying to boost her position in the world, no matter how much they try. There is Reginald, a once-prince who was abandoned as a child when he contracted lycanthropy from a rat bite, making him a wererat, and Cecily, a medusa, and Sarissa's mentor.

When Sarissa finds Reginald half-beaten to death, she convinces Cecily to take him under her wing also.

I think it would make a good D&D campaign, or a novel, but that's just me. One thing I can promise you is that May will see Sarissa's story, or some of it anyway, on this blog.

Next!: another short story

25 April, 2013

Videos, Violent Illness, and Vehicle Issues (a blog in three parts)

Act I: Videos

(Ed. note: This was supposed to be a blog solely about my videos, but the other two acts will describe their own existence.)

Back on Day P, I said that I was a part of a video blog project, entitled Perfect Strangers. Today, I'm going to put up some of my favorite videos (of mine), with a little blurb about each.

First up on the docket is a video I did for a punishment. Punishments are reserved for when one of the members either fails to put up a video on their respective day, or exceeds the five minute maximum length. The whole process of punishments has gotten kind of confusing, since we're all owed at least one, and...well, it's just a mess. Anyway, of the all the videos I have put up, this one is particularly my favorite, because it introduces the character of my twin sister, Candy, and she pretends to know what she's talking about. Also, I look good in drag. Hah!

Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the lovely Candy Saturday.

This one is memorable to me because I had only just recently discovered that our little group had a fan. Now, I'm not talking about one of our friends who we showed our videos to and then they continued watching, this is a girl who found out about us on her own. She started following me on Twitter, and when I followed back (mostly because hers is a private account and I was just curious), we got to talking and I got an idea to interview her, to show that we do care about the (rumored) people who watch our vlogs.

Here's her interview:

Next up, we had a challenge way back when. A karaoke challenge. It's exactly what it sounds like. This is my entry, suitably titled "Dy butchers a Spice Girls song." It's for a good cause, though.

And finally for Act One, the video on the whole channel with the highest amount of views for some reason unknown to me. I just don't get it. I think it's just the Youtube generation. Apparently it's awesome to watch a guy eat a hot dog. I don't know, you be the judge.

Act II: Violent Illness

This is the reason I'm currently missing days T and U, but don't worry. As soon as I'm done with this post, I'll get to work on the two of them. As soon as I got home Monday night, I vomited. It was beyond gross. Then I slept for approximately 25 hours, woke up, and vomited again. I'm still feeling a little queasy, but I'm much better than I was (I can keep food down and I have energy), so that's good.

My...that was a quick act. Onto the finale, then.

Act III: Vehicle Issues

This part makes me sad. At roughly this time last year, I was having very severe issues with my car. Namely, the right rear wheel was a hair's breadth from falling off. I'm not done paying off the loan I had to take to fix it. So, imagine my surprise when I notice some odd sounds coming from the car (affectionately named "The Blueberry," yes, it's a Psych reference) and I take it to my friend, The Mechanic, and he finds that the same exact issue that plagued me one year ago is occurring once more, only on the opposite side. The left rear wheel is in the beginning stages of what cost me so very much to fix last year.

Le sigh.

Anyone know of a decently-priced, gas-economical car for sale in the southern Maine region? Any suggestions on what I should get for my next car?

Next!: Lycanthropy!

22 April, 2013


On Saturday, I said that we would be talking about my namesake today, and now I shall provide you with how the family line came into existence, as well as the very day of Satursay.

It's time for me to provide the synopsis of a story that has been passed down from generation to generation. I say only a synopsis because it is not my 27th birthday yet, and the reason that is relevant is because, as the eldest male child of my father, I have the first twenty-seven years of my life to collect familial information, and the second twenty-seven years to re-transcribe the story into an epic to present to the matriarch of the Saturday family on my 54th birthday.

I think I have all the information, but there are a few things that still don't make sense. I have to visit the family vault by 4 June of this year, as that's when I'll be turning twenty-seven.

(Ed. note: for those not in the know, twenty-seven years is how long Saturn takes to revolve around the sun.)

Here are (some of) the facts I've been able to gather thus far:

Saeternesdaeg, the matriarch of the whole Saturday line, was born out of time. She was unable to communicate directly with the outside world, but could influence ever so slightly. After 729 years of 6-day weeks, a man came in to her non-life and he was capable of manipulating energy like none other.

She extended his life while whispering to him, so that he could tug the strings of the fabric of reality, and along with his apprentices, the five of them managed to arrest the halt of time, allowing Saeternesdaeg to coexist with the man she had grown to love.

In this non-time, she became celebrated by his people as a deity, but soon they longed to rejoin their ancestors in the afterlife, so the original five had to start time back up again.

Little did Saeternesdaeg, her lover, and his five apprentices know, but she carried so much psychic weight with her into existence that it weighed the planet down, slowing it's orbit around the sun. There were now SEVEN days in a week! What to do?

This started a holy war, as the patrons of the other days became furious! A seven-day week? DISGUSTING! Saeternesdaeg's lover managed to rally an army together, of beasts and monsters, mostly, but they were eliminated after a while. All of Saeternesdaeg's associates and children, save one, were slaughtered. And that one, eventually grew into a man, and petitioned the rest of the days to show their victory by naming the new day after his mother.

He was also saddled with the job of being the Saturnal patron.

And there you have it! The 100% true synopsis of the origin of Saturday and my family line. My father says that the auspices of my birth indicate that I am the reincarnation of Saeternesdaeg herself, which could mean some pretty big things in time.

Next!: Mr. Halpenny's biography

20 April, 2013

Redacted Poetry (and Reader Participation)

One of my favorite hobbies is defacing books. Part of me also wants to start every blog post with an inflammatory sentence like that. Despite being a writer, I'm not much of a poet. I wrote one poem in my last Creative Writing class, and it turned out very...meh. In light of that, I recently decided that the only way I could truly appreciate the art is if I dove deeper into it, submersed myself in it. Learn how to live and breathe it, and most of the things I found took my breath away.

One practice, of note, is redacted poetry. The whole concept I found utterly fascinating (not to mention that I get to sniff Sharpies while I work), and it requires far more forethought than I had initially anticipated. If you're too lazy or too unmotivated to click the link (or if you'll get to it when you're done reading), I'll explain it here.

All you need is a book, and a Sharpie. Some imagination, also. I thought it would be obvious, but you never can tell with some people. Anyway, read the book first, to preserve it in your mind. Upon completion, obtain a second copy. At this point, sniff the Sharpie a few times to get yourself in the poem-writing mindset. This is essential, as poetry is magical and requires a sublime mind.

Awww, yeah. That's the good stuff, right there.

After that, get an image of what sort of poem you feel emanating from the book. This part, I've found, is the most time-consumingly difficult aspect. There are so many things you could say by eliminating the unnecessary words in the original book. Also, one slip of the marker changes the entire poem.

And by that, I mean it is (almost) literally impossible to make a redacted poem without the blacking-out of the words you don't want in your poem. Since you cannot rearrange the words on the page, you have to choose where to start rather cautiously. If I had more readers, or a more-active readership, I'd...forget it, I'll ask anyway.

What I want from you, the reader, is to print out this blog post and create a redacted poem from it, then scan it (or take a picture of it) and send me the link. My e-mail is in the profile. I'll do it, too, and we can reconvene on 2 May, to solve yesterday's windmill.

And now, an inspirational quote I found while researching redacted poetry:

"A bystander asked an equestrian sculptor how he did it. The sculptor replied, 'I just chip away everything that doesn't look like a horse.' - Unknown"

Next!: My namesake!

19 April, 2013

Quixote: Man, Myth, My Future?

Don Quixote is a fictional character, first and foremost, and that's not even his real name. It's Alonso Quijano, and he has read so many chivalric novels that he gets it in his head that it's up to him to revive chivalry itself, under the name Don Quixote. It could also be said that his is a story of dementia. Either way, he's one of those characters I hold to be a hero, which, in and of itself, probably says more than I'd like about my own mindset. Stop judging.

So, long story short, he reads one too many romance novels (but really, is there such a thing?) and deems himself a knight-errant. Labeling his next door neighbor his squire, he dons a suit of armor and hijinks ensue, from beating the crap out of a couple of friars, to a hilarious misadventure that begins with traveling for a time with some goatherds, and ends with his horse trying to mate.

I don't know, that sounded better in my head.

In any event, the hint I gave yesterday ("We all have our windmills.") was referencing Quixote's first adventure, and, quite possibly, his most famous, in which he and his trusty squire charged into battle with what he thought were ferocious giants. In reality, they turned out to be...windmills. This brings up three things I want to mention, so first one, then the other, then the last.

Thing the first: A transcription of the passage.

    Just then they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that rise from that plain. And no sooner did Don Quixote see them that he said to his squire, "Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished. Do you see over yonder, friend Sancho, thirty or forty hulking giants? I intend to do battle with them and slay them. With their spoils we shall begin to be rich for this is a righteous war and the removal of so foul a brood from off the face of the earth is a service God will bless."
              "What giants?" asked Sancho Panza.

    "Those you see over there," replied his master, "with their long arms. Some of them have arms well nigh two leagues in length."

    "Take care, sir," cried Sancho. "Those over there are not giants but windmills. Those things that seem to be their arms are sails which, when they are whirled around by the wind, turn the millstone."
    —Part 1, Chapter VIII. Of the valourous Don Quixote's success in the dreadful and never before imagined Adventure of the Windmills, with other events worthy of happy record.

Thing 2: Although I could not tell you where, I have seen my hint used as a metaphor throughout most of my literate life. (Take out "literate" and it would still be true.) I remember having to figure out what it meant on my own, at a young age. I've looked up the proper metaphor since then ("tilting at windmills"), but haven't bothered to change my own internal dictionary, as I managed to get rather close.

When one sees giants when looking at windmills, that means there is some sort of whimsy going on around the person, meaning that they're not necessarily over-exaggerating their problems, but they seem to be more grandiose than they actually are. An example of one of my windmills: writing. I'm scared to death that I'm not going to be able to come up with the next day's blog. At least with the A-to-Z Challenge, I have some sort of guidance, some sort of structure. What about the blog for 1 May? (Well, I won a Liebster award [thanks, J], so that's going up 1 May.) So...what about 2 May?

I'm scared to death that I've used up all of my good ideas. The problem isn't really as grandiose as I'm making it out to be. Yes, I'm out of ideas, but I've been able to come up with something to blog about every single day so far, and it's been pretty much by the seat of my pants. (KIBOSH. Need to wrap up. More later. [Hmmm. A meta-solution to my problem!])

Thing...C? Yeah. C: Don Quixote is not supposed to be an idiot. He's a very intelligent man, but for you D&D nerds out there, his intelligence is high, but wisdom is a dump stat. If you didn't get that reference, well, it's fairly self-explanatory, so tough. He is an avid reader, as made obvious in the second part of the first book, in which his library is sealed up and most of his books on chivalry burned.

So yeah, he's intelligent and reads, but he just never left the world of his writings. Can't really say that I blame him.

Oh! The "My Future" bit in the title? A post for later, I suppose.

Next!: P███o██████e██████Tr███████████y████

18 April, 2013

Perfect Strangers

Back in July, almost six months before I started this blog, I was searching the forums for Ze Frank's video blog when I saw a post about starting a country-wide video blog, where we talk to each other via our videos and get to know each other that way. It sounded amazing, as I had been thinking about starting up my own vlog, as they're called, but more on that for Day V.

The idea for the project had stipulations, in that there had to be at least one state between each participant. The guy who started it lives in Pennsylvania, so no one from any of the states directly touching PA (or anyone in PA, for that matter) could sign up to be a part of it. I thought that it was the coolest idea ever, as I have always been about making connections with people and wanting to get to know anybody and everybody I could.

By the time I happened upon the post, there were six people signed up for the project, including the guy who made the original posting. Luckily for me, I signed up in the nick of time. After everybody added each other on Facebook, we were all assigned days. As you might be able to tell by my moniker, I was assigned Saturday (thank the goddess, as Saturday is my favorite day to say). All seven of us had a different day, and the rules were that we could only upload a video (no longer than five minutes) on our day.

(Ed. note: I find it absolutely hilarious that the day that P falls on is the same day as the guy who created the project has to upload his videos.)

In any event, the first video went up on 29 July, and we've had a video up (more or less) every single day since then, despite losing two people and gaining a new one. I have no idea if any of them are going to do anything for the anniversary, but it falls on a Monday this year, so it's out of my hands. And it will be for quite a number of years, assuming we last that long. I certainly hope we do, as we just seem to be starting to find our feet. (Yes, nine months later. Shut up.)

(Next: We all have our windmills.)

In the hopes of getting you, fair reader, interested, I shall now post our first videos. We started our week on Monday, so her video is up first.

Next up is our original Tuesday.

And here I'll also put our new (and current) Tuesday.





And Sunday, our other dropout.

17 April, 2013


No man is an island. It takes a village to raise a child. Nothing is created in a vacuum. Ugh, I hate cliches more than anything else, but the problem is that they're cliches for a reason, aren't they? They're truths that are said over and over and over again. Before I go off onto a tangent about that, I'll put the kibosh on that subject.

Today, I'm talking about the others. Those who have helped me along. People who have had the decency and the grace to be amazing with (to) me. Without them, I wouldn't be here doing this and probably feeling unfulfilled. I don't know, that's probably speculation, but it's a nice thought, eh?

First on the list of people I'm celebrating is someone who goes by the pseudonym of Sleepy Bard. I've gone and hotlinked her blog, so you can check out her progress on the A to Z Challenge. The two of us go way back, WAY back, all the way to November. Or December. You'd have to ask her, I'm rubbish with remembering things.

Yeah, okay. Not that long, but I'll be damned if there wasn't a lot that happened in the time between then and now. An e-relationship that ended, causing an ENORMOUS fissure in the social circle, but we're working on it. It's a process, but I think that we're getting the hang of it. I'm hoping so, anyway. At first, I didn't really handle it all that well, but a cease-fire has been sounded, and the troops are going home. I truly hope that things will only improve from here.

The most (relevantly) important thing she did was tell me that she loved my writing and wanted to see me write more pieces. Without her saying that, I wouldn't have started this blog, as she convinced me to open up shop here and start writing for all of you, which brings me to the next entry.

Look back up to the top. On the right-hand side of the screen there should be a black-outline box with a bunch of pictures inside of it. The label on the box states "The People I Do This For," and I mean it with every word I write here. With every person that signs up to "join this site," there is a new tacit agreement. You'll keep reading if I keep writing. As long as you keep up your end of the deal, you can bet your sweet, sweet ass I'll do the same.

So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Finally, these are people who may never read this blog, but that's okay, as it isn't for them anyway. They are my favorite writers, the people who have gone out of their way before me to write the stories I fell in love with, as without them, I probably would have been a dumb jock or something, because I'd have never been a computer nerd, I hate math.

Without their amazing, amazing, amazing worlds that just sucked me in, and turned mine on its head, there would be no parenthetical asides, no novel that I'm writing.

Just for posterity's sake, these authors include (but are not limited to) K.A. Applegate, Mark Z. Danielewski, Norton Juster, and Neil Gaiman. Thank you, to you four, for writing books I have loved for years.

And, just so it's out there: Thank you for the inspiration. I hope that someday, there is something I can do to repay my debt, but I doubt I can.

Next: "The wind and haze I'm bound for better days.It's my life and my dream, Nothing's going to stop me now." David Pomeranz - Nothing's Going to Stop Me Now

16 April, 2013

Night and the Writer

Sitting on the roof was amazing, as he could see the city proper from there. One of the many perks of having a house at the top of a hill, he always supposed. Not to mention that his little perch added a touch of character to the neighborhood. Whenever someone would drive by his house, they could quite clearly see the lawn chair he kept two stories up on the ten-by-four foot balcony he fastened to the outside of his bedroom's bay windows.

That's where he was when he saw Mrs. Krenshaw slowly drive by. The closest he could come to figuring out why she gave him nasty looks whenever she saw him up there was because he had never actually gotten around to painting it to match. The whole block was on the same color scheme, a fact he hadn't actually noticed until he lived there for a year and a half. Either way, he liked the way it looked as-is, for in a sea of homogeneity, a little difference here or there never hurt anyone.

"I'm never going to paint it," he said to himself as she drove by, glaring. He stood, smiled, and waved before settling in once again for the evening's entertainment. He grabbed his tupperware container filled with elbow macaroni, and sprinkled the final pinch of celery salt on it before someone else could come and delay his dinner-and-a-show.

This promised to be a good one. The sky was clear, and the moon shone in a manner that indicated it would be brilliant once that other light source went away. Perfectly ideal conditions, indeed.

It was a matter of seconds before the show began. Brilliant reds, vibrant oranges, and vivid yellows seemed to pour out of nowhere, filling the sky. It reminded him of dripping ink into water. Staring into the sky was, as per usual, utterly breathtaking. As the colors changed from a light blue, racing through the spectrum down to the black of night, it was as though his brain suddenly began working.

Ideas of every shape and sort poured into his head from his muse, who he was sure was a redhead, despite that being neither here nor there. As each notion entered his mind, he rocked back in awe, wondering how he had never made these connections before. Of course those two are meant for one another, just look at how they're written! He was on a roll, jotting down notation after notation. Oh, man! Wouldn't she just DIE to know this?

Laughter came from somewhere, disturbing him from his reverie. It didn't take him long to realize that it was his own voice, his own mirth. It had been quite some time since he had laughed that hard, he realized. Quickly, he looked around to see if anyone had called the police on him for disturbing the blandness of the cul-de-sac. Hearing nothing except for the wind playing in the trees, he turned back to his notebook, resting in his lap.

He began to leaf through the pages he had filled since the sunfall. Thirty handwritten pages! How incredible; this was a personal record! Thirty pages in five hours. Sure, there were arrows restructuring and bits in the margins, but it was still the largest chunk he had ever written at once. I wonder, he thought, looking skyward, if I should do this more often. Writing solely bathed in the light of the full moon.

"How romantic."

Next: "Let me remember that I am not the sole author of my victories..." - Ze Frank 

15 April, 2013

Mrs. Saturday

I'm looking for someone. Maybe you can help me. Well, I'm not actively looking right now, as the possibility of having found her exists. It's still unclear currently, but I am trying to keep an open mind. My quest may very well be over. Only the goddess knows.

I am looking for Mrs. Saturday. Let me describe her, so that if you meet her, you'll know. She's ridiculous. Hilarious. Not only does she tolerate my awful, awful puns, she makes me groan with those of her own.

She is kind, patient, and nice. She loves wholly and proudly. She knows exactly what she wants out of life, and she knows what she'll tolerate in a partner. There is a ferocity in her that gives her strength, and a tenderness to her touch which does not undermine, but underlines the strength.

She feels no need to tear down another in support of herself, and would rather display her security by building and helping others up. While she may not be the most popular or the most important in her social circle, she's fine with that.

Her intelligence will give me a run for my money, and her creativity will leave others amazed.

(Ed. note: there was more here, but I'll keep this one G-rated since I didn't sign up for the adult content label for the challenge.)

I have met someone who I mesh well enough with to give the opportunity to try and become Mrs. Saturday to. I don't know how it will turn out, but then again, all relationships are like that. She came up with her own pseudonym, which is fine with me, but I don't remember what it is, despite knowing it had the word witch in it, so she's The Witch.

It was kind of an awkward and really rather unorthodox meeting. A friend of mine, her ex-fiancee, set us up. We've been officially together for...two weeks now, maybe three? It was goth night at the club, the Asylum, in Portland. That was almost two months ago, now.

It has been an interesting getting-to-know-you process. So far, she exhibits a few of the aforementioned traits, and time will tell for the rest. Here's to hoping.

Next: At sunfall, we write!

13 April, 2013

Loquaciousness, Lying, and Language

I demand specificity. (Trust me, it all loops back around.) If you don't tell me exactly what you want to say, am I supposed to divine your meaning? How, then, should I proceed in doing so? I haven't the desire to sift through layers upon layers of meaning for the mere purpose of figuring out what you're trying to tell me. However long it takes, tell me what you're trying to say.

I have a hard time with the fact that people don't often see my thought processes, so I have spent a significant portion of my life explaining how I arrived at point L (insert sly wink here) from point A, bypassing the letters in between due to redundancy.

These facts, coupled with my frustration with the inadequacy of language, has led to me using as many words as I can to try and explain, literally exactly, what my position is on anything.

Having always been an upfront, honest person is a result of this behavior, for I have difficulty lying. I'm a chronic overthinker as it stands already, just with trying to connect with other people, so lying would be a detractor to that. Lying would take up even more time that could be better spent trying to establish a bond with someone else. It's counterproductive, if you ask me. Not to mention the hit on my karma it would inevitably produce.

In any event, as much as I believe that language is inadequate in describing one person's views on the human condition from one to another, it can be constructed in absolutely beautiful arrangements. I have been left in awe of some truly great wordsmiths in the past.

Being privy to such brilliant speakers is one of life's hidden pleasures, for me. The ability to touch people's hearts with nothing more than the aural version of childhood crayon drawings that is language is, in your humble narrator's opinion, one of the greatest uses of the human brain. A great, divine act.

And all of that is why I originally got into writing. To touch the hearts of others. Even if only one other person ever loves my words, it will be enough for me, for hopefully, that one person is moved to the point of inspiration to do something, to go out and touch maybe only one other person's heart, but then the chain will continue, from one person to the next.

So yeah, I talk a lot, which is why I don't Twitter as much as I probably should (link-thing in the right sidebar), but it's for a good cause, even if I can come off as intense every now and then. I think that makes it even more interesting, though, cutting through the crap and the walls to get directly to the heart of another.

Hm, I really do suck at endings, so now it's time for the sneak peek!

Next: The Witch!

12 April, 2013


Ahh, the art of learning by doing. Some say it's reserved purely for the prideful, while others say it's for the creative souls among us. All I know is that it is, almost literally, the only method I know of to teach me new things.

I have to make my own mistakes, often several times over, before I catch on. It's a blessing and a curse. I get the experience of actually trying, but it frequently makes me out to be a stubborn child. And there's also the "I told you so"s afterward.

Irritating to the nth degree, those damnable, smug, holier-than-thou types.

The other two types of learning, the most popular in all of my schooling, are auditory and visual, and they're exactly what they sound like. Auditory is listening to a lecture, and visual is watching someone else do it first.

For me, auditory is crap because if I don't do what's being described, as it's being described, I have no idea if what I'm picturing is correct. Plus, lectures are ever so dreary. And visual is also crap for me because memory-imprinting doesn't occur for me if I'm not actively working.

So, I will frustrate myself to no end in order to accomplish a task, and upon completion, will feel all the more accomplished for doing so. Maybe I am more stubborn than I initially realized, upon further reflection.

Hrm. I shall think on this. Maybe this is, yet again, a topic to revisit after the challenge.

Next: I use far more, probably unnecessary, words than I realistically need to in order to (hopefully) accurately convey even the most simple of notions.

11 April, 2013

Job Hunting (a full-contact sport for the psyche)

I hate looking for a job. It's probably my least-favorite thing ever. Even more than standing in line at the DMV, or being stuck in traffic when I'm already late. There should be something in place that makes the whole process less maddening. I truly loathe looking for a new job. I think it's actually the only thing I literally hate.

I just don't understand why I get so palm-sweatingly, mind-blankingly moronic when it comes to the interview process.

"Where do you want to be in five years?"

"Anyplace where my kneecaps are!"

Ever since I told an attractive woman about the existence of my kneecaps (age 19) in an attempt to begin flirting with her, the whole subject of my kneecaps has been a go-to for me to convey nervousness.

In any event, as I've previously stated (and will most likely say again), I loathe job-hunting. The whole process of filling out an application is both tedious and mind-numbing. I think that's what hell is. The absolute worst is if you don't get hired by the first place you apply to, for then you have to fill out another application.

Similarly obnoxious is ensuring that my resume is up to date. It's not as bad as filling out an application, however, and is my preferred choice. Have an option for me to send you my resume? Kick ass, I'll do that over an application any day.

I am currently looking for a second job, because, as I said yesterday, I'm looking to move to Arizona, and I want to have as much money in the bank as I can, so I have a nice buffer. I want to be able to get to know my surroundings down there before I begin the soul-crushing experience of job-hunting in the blazing sun.

Next: Let's learn how to learn!

10 April, 2013

I, Saturday

I'm going to try and not recycle an old post (my first post, actually) of mine mostly because it was written maybe a year ago, as a Facebook status, then transplanted onto this blog when it was created. I think I'm a bit different now than I was then.

Hoo, how's that for something to dwell on? "I am not now who I once was," but I suppose that's the essence of today's letter-based challenge, differentiating between then-me and now-me. I very much enjoy the act of looking back and seeing how far I've come, but one of the things I need to learn is not to look for too long.

I want to be able to look back on this in a year and say something to the effect of "Wow, look at how much has changed since then! I can scarcely believe that this man and I are one and the same." With that in mind, I think I'll begin making the benchmark to compare.

As of this writing, I have kept up with the A-to-Z Challenge, something I didn't think I'd actually be able to do. Not only have I kept up with it, I've met some interesting people. Granted, I haven't had an opportunity to comment back, due to my phone not liking the comment process, but it's coming. I promise I will get back to everyone who has commented on my blogs so far.

As of this writing, I am scared by quite a number of things. I really do think that when I finish my book, people are going to think it's all bullshit. I know that I'm probably not going to get it all right on the first try; that nothing I do will ever be perfect, but the whole process is startlingly overwhelming. To complicate things, I don't know any writers offline. I have no one to hold me accountable to my writing.

I am also afraid that I'm not going to make enough money to move to Arizona this fall. I don't want to live through another Maine winter. I don't think I can, as I was so miserable, so cold, colder than I had ever been before, and I've lived in Maine my whole life! The best I can do to solve this one is to find ways to not spend so much money and/or find ways to earn more.

(Hah! Random interesting thought: If I were a celebrity, I could have a kickstarter. "Help Dy Saturday move to Arizona!")

There are more, but those are my two biggest fears. To make up for the fears, some things I'm impressed by include the fact that I'm keeping up with the challenge, something I thought I wouldn't be able to do; I have the love of a beautiful woman (Day M), and ideas for the novel (and it's sequels) are rapid-flowing. More on that last one on Day T. I'd give a specific day for talking about the challenge, but I suppose that's every day, right?

Here's where I become verbose, so I'll end it now. I may have to, once the challenge is over, return to some of these topics and expand upon them. I, apparently, have a lot to say.

Next: Hunting an ever-elusive prey!

09 April, 2013

Happy (another late post)

(This post is late because I fell asleep while writing it. Good morning!)

Sometimes I find myself occupied with thoughts that make me feel even more miserable than I already did before those thoughts arrived. Sometimes I find myself listless, and filled with ennui.

It is in this second category that I find myself in lately, and I'm having a difficult go at keeping positive. I just...meh.

So, whenever I feel myself sliding down into these horrible, horrible doldrums (and if I have the presence of mind to do so), I begin combatting these feelings with my happy list, a list of things that always make me happy. I will share it with you now.

-the feeling of a cat purring when sitting on your chest (as well as the sound)
-th crunching of shuffling through a pile of dead leaves
-a random, full-hearted laugh when I'm in public
-curling up next to a significant other, wrapped in my arms
-the sensation of warm air moving (out a vent, a summer breeze, etc) over my skin
-the rather sweet scent (and subsequent draining) of a cup of french vanilla coffee with five creams and five sugars
-whenever I drive either into or out of the shadow of a cloud
-being told that so far, my book sounds "really cool"
-a certain English time-travelling alien in a police box
-tapping out the drum beat and humming the melody to "Intro," by The XX
-seeing someone dressed in vivid colors

Thinking about any or all of these items has the same effect, albeit to a much lesser degree, as actually experiencing them. I'm sure there are other items I could put on the list, but I cannot think of them now, and the hour is late. (So is the post. Haw haw. --Ed.)

Since I do not work tonight, I would like to sleep at a somewhat normal time. Oh! Waking up from a dream, good or bad, is great! I love hearing stories, and a dream is like a free story, so if I can actually remember the dream, I am absolutely tickled, which is ironic as I'm not ticklish.

Anyway, next: Me, myself.

08 April, 2013

Greed, but Not.

Sort of...almost a kind of...I don't know. Screw it.

In this instance, it's the only word I can think of to describe this feeling. I am greedy, never satisfied. Greedy for experience. New things. There is so much out there and I want to know what it all entails.

As I suggested on Saturday, we are the sum of our experiences. I want to experience everything! The laughter of pure joy, the waterfall of tears of despair, the white-out blindness of fury, and everything that lives between. It is human to feel these things, and while I often joke about being a robot (or, lately, a Time Lord), I very much want to be the most human-y human alive, with stories of fiery passion and unadulterated bliss.

I want to see, hear, touch, taste, and feel everything this life has to offer up to me! The best way to get me to hang out is to offer me something I've never done before. I have absolutely no idea if I'll be good at it, but holy crap would I love to give it a whirl.

I suppose it's for the stories. I love stories. When I meet a new person, it's rare that I talk about myself, for the story of how this new (to me) person had their life sync up just right to allow them to meet me is OUTSTANDING. I absolutely adore hearing backstories.

I am feeling a sense of exhilarated elation at the mere thought of this.

In conclusion, there is so much to see, so much to do, to experience, and more people to talk to than I could realistically fit into my lifespan, but that's never stopped me from trying before, and I don't think it ever will.

Next: More emotion-based blogging!

06 April, 2013

Forgetfulness (and the art of being "meta")

I hope you'll forgive me for this late blog. I find that my reasoning for it's tardiness to be quite poetic. It originally wasn't supposed to be meta or ironic at all, but...I forgot.

My girlfriend came up from just outside of Boston for the night, and I was just so wrapped up (literally and figuratively) in all things her that writing just slipped my mind. She just left, about two and a half hours ago, and since then, I've been preparing for my video blog (like the last time I mentioned it, more on Day P, but I'll be throwing bits and pieces in intermittently throughout) interview later today.

Today's post isn't about her, so if you want more information, you'll have to wait for Day M.

We're talking about forgetfulness, and memory loss in general, on this beautiful, if a little chilly, Saturday afternoon. I am excruciatingly forgetful, but it makes me come off as more of an absent-minded professor than anything else.

I'll forget conversations immediately after they happen, names within ten seconds of introductions, directions moments after hearing them, anything. It's why I'm such a good secret-keeper. On the flip side, though, all it takes is a word or two to get me to remember. Well, usually, that is.

I don't remember how I met anyone I currently know, save for my girlfriend, but that's only because I keep getting asked how we met (Day M), and most of my childhood is gone.

Upon further reflection, so is a worringly-large portion of my adult life. This is why, back in '01, I started up my now-deleted livejournal, chronicling my misadventures through time and space. (Sometimes I confuse myself for the Doctor.) It wasn't for attention, and it wasn't (primarily) for the friends I made through it; it was just so that I could remember.

That's also why I was so eager to start up a blog again, to have written proof that yesterday existed. If we are truly made up of our past experiences, then who am I if I have no recollection of them?

Honestly, I blame it on all of the head trauma I've received over the years. Hockey pucks, the ground, door frames, baseball bats, and once, a lead pipe. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.

So...this post kind of became more serious than I was intending. I suppose I'll just end it here, then.

Monday: I want it ALL!

05 April, 2013

Editing. (One of many things I should do, but don't)

Yeah, you read the title right. I don't edit what I write. When speaking, I do put the conversation on hold from time to time in order to find the proper word choice, but when writing, I typically just write and write and write as the words come to me. I am aware that it's not the most ideal writing process, but I also feel as though it's more true to the statement I'm trying to make.

A clarification, I will insta-edit typos and grammatical errors, but those are mostly formed when I type on my phone too quickly. When I type "gh" as quickly as I normally type, my phone just inserts the word "ghost," and it has yet to be relevant, yet it's one of my most frequently typed words, which made me realize just how often that two-letter combination is used.

Anyway, that last paragraph sounds rather conceited, as I find it implies that I think it's purely my phone's fault if I make a typo. This is not the case. It's just the most likely cause of a typo.


Back on point, I am not anti-editing, I just do not believe that my blog should be edited. I highly (had to delete ghost again) doubt I'll just be discovered for my sheer talent here, so I go out of my way to get my voice across to you, the reader, by writing close (enough) to how I talk.

For my novel, I do edit that. I'll write a few pages, a scene, or a chapter, whatever I'm motivated to put out at the time, then come back to it later on (a day or two, tops), and tighten or rework almost the whole thing. Nothing that exists for the novel is what was originally written, as it has either been reworded, cut out, rearranged, or went off on a Mr. Toad's Wild Ride-esque tangent.

In case you couldn't infer, I am quite fond of the "stream of consciousness" style of blogging, as the twists and turns, the bends and detours and Wild Rides the brain takes in this style are wholly fascinating to me. Finding connections from one point to another or seeing if everything actually does tie together at the end is something I find incredibly intriguing.

That's that, I suppose. Tomorrow: uh...something...I think...?

04 April, 2013


If there is only one fictional person to whom I owe for helping mold my personality, it's the one man who has had eleven different personalities of his own: The Doctor. An enigmatic alien madman with a box-shaped time machine who's been everywhere (everywhen?) from the first moments of the universe to the end of all things.

He also has a tendency of picking up eye-candy to tag along with him, although they usually fulfill the role of damsel in distress. Not so much recently, but ever since the 90s, women have become much more powerful figures.

(I give credit to the Spice Girls for giving [predominantly English] women this new role.)

He has faced many harrowing foes, from a race of cyborgs intent on total universal homogeny, to a race of genetically engineered balls of hate intent on total universal extermination, to other races and individuals of varying degrees of urine-leaking fear.

And he's only died ten times in the face of such great foes! Statistically speaking, that averages out to less than one death per hundred years of life (he's 1103, if I recall correctly), which is impressive no matter how you look at it.

As a smoker, or even as just a human, I'll be lucky if I can make it to 75-80, let alone one-hundred.

His MO has always been relatively the same, in that he stole a TARDIS (Time And Relative Dimension In Space-his time machine), and has been on the run from his people, Gallifreyans, ever since, although they have caught up with him time and again to put him on trial for meddling with technologically inferior species and screwing with history.

Actually, his second death wasn't due to standing up for what's right, but rather at the hands of his own people as 1/3 of his punishment for the aforementioned meddling. The other 2/3 were being banished on Earth, and having his memory of how to operate the TARDIS wiped clean.

As you can see, I could go on and on, for quite some time, about the show, but we're supposed to be keeping these A-to-Z blogs short, so I'll cap it there. Tomorrow, we'll take a look into my creative process!

(Side-note: Despite never having done fanfiction before [those Pokemon stories from eighth grade don't count], I've been asked to do some Doctor Who fanfiction after the challenge. We'll see how it goes.)

03 April, 2013

Computers and cell phones (a misguided history)

I am probably the most half-assed blogger alive. I haven't promoted Days A or B on my Twitter, like I usually do, and I haven't promoted any posts on the Facebook page for this blog in...months? All the while, I feel like it's a struggle to maintain an online presence, even though I would have do more of the required work for it to happen.

I used to be more snappy with my work, but then the coolest excuse ever comes in to save my ass. Maybe. In the middle of last October, my laptop started spitting sparks and almost BURNED DOWN my client's home.

Well, shit. My laptop died and tried to take me with it. I became pretty existential for a while after that. Why did my laptop try to assassinate me? Was it the pterodactyl porn? Or was it some political-esque statement about my choice in music?

Whatever it's reasoning, I have strayed from the point and hopefully did not alienate anyone with my choice in...viewing materials.

The point is that it's hard to have an online presence when your one connection to the online world just catches fire. While I wasn't blogging at the time, I did (and still do) have a video blog going (more on that on Day P). All of my video editing software was gone, meaning I would have to do my videos in one take.

Just to drive the nail in deeper, I didn't realize until I was filming the next video that it didn't matter what I had filmed on the video camera, as I had nothing to transfer the footage to upload to the intertubes.

With time running out to get my video up, I did the only thing I could think of, and filmed my video with my cell phone. I've been doing it that way ever since, and I kind of like it. Don't get me wrong, I loved the editing and using the video camera, but using my phone just kind of adds another layer to it that I find to be quite enjoyable.

The only downside is that I've been Twittering and Facebooking and even blogging on my phone, too. It's a bizarre experience, as I have never relied on one item for almost all of the things I find important (I can't play Pokemon on it, so not everything important) in my life before. It's an odd feeling.

What I'm trying to say is don't go easy on me. Hold me to the same standards as everyone else. Obviously I have the ability to do all of these things from my phone, as I actually have done so since, so there's no reason for the slacking. Time to whip my ass into shape.

Tomorrow: I wish I was British....

02 April, 2013

Basiation (not what it sounds like [it's kissing])

I like to kiss. I mean, who doesn't, though? It's fun, and if you do it right, calorie-burning. The aspect I enjoy the most, however, is the expressiveness of the seemingly simple act.

Everything from a kiss on either cheek as a form of greeting to the awkward nervousness of a couple's first kiss to the unrestrained passion of newlyweds (and everything in between), the act of kissing speaks volumes. Also, despite whatever words you hear, the kiss never lies.

I think there was a song about that....

Anyway, kissing is one of my favorite things to do, the exploration of tongues and the heat generated by the friction of lips. The adoration and the intimacy. It doesn't matter if it's a stage kiss or done behind closed doors, as soon as those lips meet, there is an incredible amount of information exchanged. I find this form of nonverbal communication to be all kinds of exciting. It's enough to make me want to...uh...excuse me.

There! Satisfied. Where were we?

Right, kissing. One of my favorite kisses has to be the Gomez and Morticia, where you start at the hand, work your way up the arm, and end on the neck. The reverse GAM is good for overly dramatic partings, especially if done when the time apart is almost equal to the time spent performing the maneuver.

Another good kiss is anything that invokes the foot pop you see in movies. If there's ever a time I feel successful, it's when a kiss I give ends in the popping up of a foot. I know it's cheesy, but cheesy isn't truly a bad thing if it helps make the experience more enjoyable.

Long story short: kissing is good for you. It brightens your day, acts as a decent status report between you and the recipient, and it helps fight tooth decay.

Tomorrow: Why I write on my phone and not a computer!

01 April, 2013

A is for "Ampersand," (& that's good enough for me)

(Editor's note: This is the first in 26 semi-consecutive [excluding Sundays] posts for the A-to-Z Challenge. For more info, check the link in the sidebar.)

For as long as I can remember, ampersand has been my favorite word. I think it's because I have always enjoyed the stories of things left behind or dropped out of use. How is this relevant?

&, despite not representing a basic sound like the other 26, was the 27th letter of the alphabet. However, the ampersand only received it's moniker through human laziness, as the recitation of the english alphabet ended in "and per se and," and you can see how the laziness slurred into its current name.

The phrase "per se" means "by itself," which means that, when ending the alphabet, one would say "...x, y, z, and [a symbol, which by itself means] and."

Originally, since the scribes of the time wrote in a form of cursive handwriting, the symbol was a slur of the letters e and t, which spell the word "and" in Latin.


I probably like the ampersand a little bit more than the average word nerd. I have begun collecting (and making) art in which the subject is the ampersand. I made a finishing stamp, carved out of a rubber eraser, that is an ampersand.

I think it will always be my favorite word, as I just like the way it's pronounced. It just sounds right.

Tomorrow, we talk about kissing.