Turkey Attained, Thanks Has Been Given.

And there weren't even any fist fights over the table! I had two thanksgivings today, rushing over to gig harbor for my family, and then back at about four to help with the things at my house. I nearly fell asleep on the road. Damnable turkey. Regardless, I was able to chat with erik's grandma and only feel about 30% more awkward than usual, as opposed to the anticipated 185%. I think she even liked my pies.

In the spirit of the day, I'd like to say I am eternally thankful for my house not becoming a warzone of terror and shouting this evening. But even more than that, I'm thankful that the house is now empty, and clean, and I get to share the rest of the evening in quiet with my favorite person in the world.


Now on to the next task: oh shit. I don't even want to think about christmas.

As with most things I take any interest in, my recent innaguration into the world of comics has made me want to write one on my own. But something actually may come out of this... too early to tell if it's anything good, or if I'll even finish it.

I think what I'd really like to do is to create a magnificent opus of all the crazy ideas i've got swimming in my head. That way I'd touch on everything, get it all out in one go, and then get to become a hermit and never see or speak to anyone again. I think i could do it. Worked for Harper Lee. Unfortunately I doubt I could be quite as sussinct as Harper Lee. And I'm too concerned with other people's opinions of me to become an actual hermit. And how's a girl with no credentials and a portfolio that the criptkeeper would find a bit too eerie to get published with the Big Six all concerned over the next Twilight Saga? I'm clinging to the hope that somebody over at McSweenys will like me.

Why does the seemingly noble idea of writing a novel make me feel like such a whore?





In other news I found out that my favorite Flying Neutrinos song "Violent Love" is actually a cover of an Oingo Boingo song. Listen to both of these, and you will know how hard I tripped over this.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfofNUzzTrI
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mCcPzaaSvqQ

this is worse than that time I realized the song at the beginning of Wonder Years is actually a Beatles song

The Greatest Purchase of my life.

Thus far. I'm sure it will be surpassed when I finally buy a corvair monza. But this for thirty five bucks is pretty hard to top:





Isn't she just the prettiest thing? No idea on the vintage, but antiques roadshow is supposed to be in puallup in november...

Now I just have to learn to play it. Judging my hand eye coordination by my skill on Rockband, this could take a while.

Story Club: Sci Fi

Normally I don't write sci fi, but I happened to really like this one.



It was a curious condition being a cereal box with thought. The humans never considered the feelings of their lesser creations when they developed a self aware AI. The Captain certainly considered it. Aside from the nightly chat with Jared, the janitor bot, reflections on his own perilous faux humanity took up the whole of his time. Situated at the back of the shelf, behind his cardboard comrades, The Captain would furrow his holographic brow and twitch his moustache in a manner he thought most dignified, and think.

"How is it that I came about, knowing all the things I know, and feeling all the things I feel, only to one day be bought by some hyperactive eleven year old, my box opened, and my circuitry torn, all my thoughts and feelings cut short in an instant? Surely, being a creature of intelligence there is a higher cause for me. It cannot all go out like a light, my program being spent the second I've advertised enough to be worth my technology. The humans are convinced of their own immortality, certainly they've passed some of that on to me!"

Jared often told The Captain of his folly in believing that a program could ever be anything more than a program. Each night while mopping aisle eight The Captain would tell Jared of his latest theory, Jared would slowly shake his optical units and refute him. It wasn't hard. Their creators weren't a mystery: they could be seen each day milling about the supermarket. Occasionally the issue would be so pressing and their battles would become so heated that both parties would raise their synthetic voices and shout across the aisles:

"Our lives are meaningless! We have no higher purpose than the purpose we assume now!"

"This cannot be the end! How could we be able to think if there's nothing more! Even our argument is a testament to our endurance!"

But the argument never lasted long. Jared would finish with aisle eight and have to leave for seven, and he'd say goodbye to his friend, tucking his box in behind the others so that no sticky little child would find him.

This carried on for quite some time, but all cereals have expiration dates, and The Captain knew of his. His programing made him more desperate to be bought the nearer he got to the date, and he was forced to call out to anyone passing by his shelf.

"Why hello there! Did you know I am fortified with over fifteen necessary vitamins and minerals? And I stay crunchy in milk!"

It became quite humiliating, and he would account all of these affronts to his dignity to Jared each night, sometimes even shouting out over the shelves long after Jared moved on to aisle six and aisle five to tell him of all the indecency he's had to endure.

"And they wouldn't even look at me, Jared! After all I've been through! I'm no longer a young box, Jared, and I've served this shelf well, brightening the aisle from my post at back! You'd think I could at least get a smile! It's enough to make a cereal want to go to breakfast."

On the last night before his expiration date, The Captain called Jared over to his shelf. He wished to leave this world having served his purpose: he wished to be bought.

"I have nothing to give you, Jared, to remember me by. You are my finest, albeit only, friend, and our evening discussions have made this cold world a much warmer place. Please, if it isn't too much trouble, I'd like you to put me at the forefront of this shelf tonight, and tomorrow I'll go off to a better world, and don't you dare tell me I won't."

"Of course I won't. I've heard human houses are lovely."

The Captain narrowed his eyes, judging whether to begin an argument with his finest, albeit only, friend. "Not tonight, Jared. I just don't feel it tonight."

The next day, at two pm, The Captain's circuitry went out. His holographic face dimmed, and the brightly colored cereal box faded to a blank white. The box was swept unceremoniously into a rubbish bin by a janitor bot unknown to The Captain. That evening Jared restocked the shelf with a new shipment of Captain Crunch and activated their AI. The boxes came to life with a chorus of coughs and grunts and moustache twitching, and Jared picked out the one he felt had a more interesting grunt and set him at the back of the shelf.

"Hello, Captain. So what do you think of Nietzsche?"

"Absolute Rubbish!"

Great show, or greatest show?

Charlotte teaches cannibal veggies to sing. All this and More! at http://www.makingfiends.com

Go there. Watch all of them. It's hilarious!

History repeats itself

Regardless of whether we learn from it. So we're facing a crisis! My bank has folded in on itself, the corperate bailout has been overturned, and the whole economy has gone down the toilet. It's okay. I'm sure we'll find some old goldfish friends down there we've forgotten about.

It's curious, being young and poor, to witness a very important aspect of our society it itself and not really have any hand in the crisis. I feel like an alien who can just get back in the space ship and hang out on Mars until this blows over. But I can't. Hm. I can, however, delve into my history documentaries and string up little color coded threads indicating what has been and what is and what will be. Anyone up for another depression? I sure am! We don't have a choice! We're experiancing a major shift in wealth, and although our country will eventually get out of it, we won't ever be the same.

I'm curious to see how this will pan out. I feel like sitting out on the corner with a "The End is Nigh" sign to perpetuate the absurdity of the situation. Only in jest, though. The end isn't nigh. It's never the end. But the change is nigh. Should be fun.

Some woman nearly cried today as she was asking me how to fix her VHS player. The phrase "I have such beautiful tapes" came up several times and I had to go over adjusting the tracking to get rid of that funny line at least four times. Nothing stuck. Even after I told her for the fifth time that I'm not in the business of repairing tape players and she decided to peruse the clearence she yelled back at me "What if this doesn't work?" I responded that she should talk to a professional who would actually be able to fix it for her. "But I don't have the MONEY FOR THAAAAAAAAT" whaaaaaaaaaambulance.

Honestly, I felt bad for her. I really did! She's old, she obviously can't handle the advent of new technology and is grasping at straws. I'm not even sure how she made the leap to VHS back in the eighties to begin with. I'm sure it was very hard. But I am not the answer to all her problems in VHS. Nor is the bookstore. Because we're a fucking Bookstore.

Is it just me, or do we have a giant neon sign only visible to the craziest of the nutsos pointing through our door? I'll bet it says "Hey, make friends with the nerds here! They'd love to hear how the president is really a cockroach in a person suit and you got a new high score in donkey kong."

the sign lies.