Boxhead

Don't ask me why he misspells tired.

I had a period when I was young where I realized that if you smashed up a certain berry we had growing around the house (it had a white flesh) and some fake blood, you could make something that looked like a horrific flesh trauma on your G.I. Joe dolls. Gut shots were particularly suited to this. So for a while there (I'm sure it was around Halloween) all my make believe battles would have horrible corpses strewn around after the end (including amputees. You could disassemble a G.I. Joe, it was just a rubber band connecting the parts. Then you could theoretically put them back together, but their hips were always a little loose after that. It wasn't the favorites that had their legs blown off usually)

When I used to play with cars, they'd race around for a while then inevitably get into huge fiery crashes. After the BWOOSH explosion noise I would always have a time where the wind would blow mournfully over the twisted metal remains and obviously mangled and burnt beyond all recognition bodies of the imaginary drivers.

At one point I was in a doctor's office and I saw a kid do the exact same thing. I felt a kinship.

Nothing new, but I figure if any of my friends haven't seen this I'm doing a disservice.

In defense, I ask what if you were documented at 19?

So, the girlfriend's son, as part of his creative writing endeavors, is vaguely involved with a high school literary magazine, called Aerie. Cool. So they had a little get together poetry reading to raise money. Cool. I'm expected to go. Not so cool.

Don't get me wrong. I like poetry (check a few posts back, when I stuck a few poems of mine on here). It's just that watching local poetry readings fills me with a level of cringe I didn't know I was capable of. My girlfriend kept asking me if I was all right cause I guess I kept making involuntary faces or I would be holding my head in my hands and looking very intently at the ground.

High school poetry reading. Oh god, how earnest we were then. We all felt we had the world to say. Really I think it was the earnestness of everyone that was killing me. The high school girl who had never left Missoula reading her poem about Africa with accompanying bongo. Much effusive description. Sensual description of flowing rivers equaling women's hips. Dark jungles. High school girls LOVE the sensual poem I've learned. Erotic imagery left and right. Yay for discovering you got them urges.

I've never particularly liked poetry about things you don't know. Of course, with high school kids in Missoula that's gonna be a lot. I liked the poem by the high school girl discussing swimming at the local water hole and realizing she had the boys wrapped around her finger. Stupid levels of awareness in her. She scares me.

The poem about massacres in Darfur? Ow, ow, ow, ow.

The poem about cinnamon toast cooking in the kitchen. Fine, if a little sweet. (heh)

Also, please stop the sing-song cadence of reading poetry. Up and down, loud then soft. The Creative Writing director of UofM (A transplant from NEW YORK CITY) read her poetry in that exact same way. You couldn't tell when the poem was over cause every phrase ended the exact same trailing off way. It was always a strange wait after the end and before applause started.

Oh well, I'm sure the teachers kept saying to the kids, "Write about what you know!" And the kids kept saying to themselves, "I hate my stupid boring normal life. Why would I write about that. That's for MySpace."

And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods — the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.
—H. P. Lovecraft, Nyarlathotep

So, Team Fortress 2. Huuuuuuuge fun. I think I've logged in like 90 hours on it total. A FPS that you can feel like you're contributing to even if you're not a person who plays 5 hours a day, every day. Much about team tactics, holding down choke points, etc. If you just can't seem to get a cross-hair on a fool to save your life, play an engineer or a medic. (play the medic. too many people play the engineers.) Also the Orange box it comes in (though I think now they're selling them seperately?) has Portal. I think you've heard of that one.

So here is a horribly, horribly cute YouTube about a non-FPS'r playing TF 2. It is funnier if you've played a little TF2 so as to catch a couple of the more subtle cute-isms. But I think it's fairly universal.




I particularly like it when she apologizes for killing people.

Well, I got to see Obama at his rally here in Missoula this morning. Yay. I gotta admit, I eat up pretty much everything he says. If you wish to hear a point by point cap of how I agree on his policies, feel free to email me.

Anyways, he has humble personality to spare. A fairly charismatic but not slick speaker. One of my favorite points in the speech was when he was discussing how he was willing to talk to evil, evil countries.

"So, when I said this.. Congress and the media and everyone was all in a tizzy, saying 'You can't do that!' And I said 'Yes, I can.'"

Imagine it delivered perfectly.

The line was hugely long. Get 8000 people or so all lined up and it looks like this:

From the Adams Center..


Curving around the Music Building and doubling up again on the and then curving back again..


Down past the Gallagher Business Building...


And down to Arthur Ave.


It then curved around one more time past the Business Building to 6th Street. Fairly happy people all around.

Inside, I made a bad choice of my seating. Originally I was sat around the back of the podium. I said to myself, "Hell I don't want to just see the back of his head.." But I would have been really close. I could have gotten a super nice shot as he walked in. Instead I wandered around to the front. Nice and centered , but a lot of people had the same idea and I ended way further back than my lens was happy with. Anyways, the two half-assed pictures I did get.




Yes that man on the stage is Obama, not some strange fire wisp in a suit.


It was a good time, an hour went by in a flash. I got all happy, clapped, felt that 'by God, this man may change things'. He's getting my vote. Hope some of his promises come through.

Good webcomic...

Here's the start: The Abominable Charles Christopher

Let yourself go at least 5 in to get the feel of it.

I'll just post music videos I like..




Nicely caters to my Jesus and Mary Chain fix I've been needing, for, uh, years.

I never said it was going to be the newest of stuff. You get it as I get it.

Welp, I've been thinking of restarting the ol' Livejournal as of late. But every time I tried to think of a good start I failed. It all sounded too Dear Diary. Anyways, something worthy of blogging is happening. Obama is going to be coming to Missoula this Saturday and I hope to be there watching him. It's a little early for this bear.. doors open at 8:00 AM. Speechifying starts at 10:00 AM. I'm hearing rumors of some co-workers planning on camping out starting at 5:00 AM. 

There was a ticketing system sort of set up, but it's an e-mail to you saying "You have a ticket!"  so I can see it being abused. Oh well, here's hoping I get in. (but not hoping enough to stand outside for three hours.)

I have to admit I get a little giddy. There's something about politicians that trigger a switch in my head. When I was in high school the history class traveled by bus to see Bill Clinton stumping when he was running for President. So he shook hands with the line, and the ones of us that bothered to try and get into the line (liberal geeks)  got a handshake. We all got a fame contact-high I think and gushed about it afterwards. The farm boys in the class (not Clinton fans) were suitably disparaging of our man-crushes.

The writerly bug has struck me again and I thought I would return to filling out the occasional journal entry on this, the most voyeuristic form of introspection you can find.

To do a quick recap of my life from the last journal entry,

Went to Hawaii for 3 months. Found no jobs in the software industry on the Big Island of Hawaii. Did however cement my ability to stay withdrawn in even the most beautiful of climates with very friendly people. Of course the thing I found with people living in Hawaii is they're willing to be surface friendly with you but seem to keep a bit of themselves back in the anticipation that you will be leaving in under 6 months most likely. Hawaii supports its current working population, to find a very profitable new niche requires some work. And entrepenurial creativity. I did get a little better at boogie boarding though. This is known as surfing lite to everyone on the island. Don't expect much respect over 13 unless you're really pushing it with your board.

Came back to Missoula, to my nice little in house tech and programming job for a business. Databases,
Access and webpages. It's a living while I ride out my chemo. Excellent health benefits as it's a University job.

coasting.

So, on December 6, i'll be taking a plane to hawaii.. to be staying there for an undetermined amount of time.

No job planned, nothing like that.. just the fact that my parents bought me a ticket to Hawaii for graduation and i want a change.

And that last post, companions, is why friends don't let friends blog drunk.

I shall keep it there as a testament to myself to not be such a damn pussy.

So it seems to me that what every one wants is to meet other people, yet it also seems that every one tries their damndest to keep this from happening. I met a girl at the laundromat. noticed she was reading C.S. Lewis and started a conversation with her in this regard. I then said said (after my laundry was done) that I enjoyed talking with her and would she liek to see a movie or hike or somesuch She said sure and gave me her phone number. I also gave her mine. I have since called her three times and not recieved a phone call back or been able to get through to her.

My roommate threw a party tonight, giving out fliers to (i guess) cute freshmen girls.. Judging by the fact that he got home before i did, the party did not go so well.

So what is the deal. Am I so horribly ugly that I can't even get a girl to go to coffee with me? This isn't even counting my leukemia. If you combine everything, I honestly feel that my chance of having a relationship (i.e. they are interested and feel that i am a worthwhile enough person to have sex with) with a member of the opposite sex is roughly impossible.


Fuck it all.

Mary: But I suppose life has made him like that, and he can't help it. None of us can help the things life has done to us. They're done before you realize it, and once they're done they make you do other things until at last everything comes between you and what you'd like to be, and you've lost your true self forever.

Eugene O'Neill - Long Day's Journey Into Night

So, watched this movie last night.. interesting, perhaps a little too ambitious. However one thing did really stick with me.


(spoiler)







Johnny Depp's 3-armed blind CIA character stuck with me strongly as a walking talking metaphor for the CIA. In fact, he went beyond metaphor and through being blind and having 3 arms becomes almost a mythological figure, like an ogre or a god that can't see its victims so listens to where they are to kill them.

That and the hologram pot leaf buckle is keen. I'm impressed they were able to get the reflection so well done considering they were using film lighting. Maybe it was added in digitally later. :P

So yesterday I got a shot of chemotherapy, which means I had to go to the chemo lounge. What this basically is in hospitals is an area where everyone who's just getting their chemo for a day goes and it has a bunch of La-Z-Boys and similar comfortable chairs along with usually a selection of hard candies and coffee machines. The candy and coffee is because chemo often leaves a bad taste in your both so you want something to mask the taste on your tongue. I remember one chemo that tasted exactly like a truck stop bathroom smelled.. you know, kinda cleaner agent mixed with old urine type thing.

It was a particularly bad day for having a bunch of old folks hanging around. Most cancer patients are 60+ it seems. And usually after having gotten chemo they've gotten pretty dessicated and dried out. I mean, your body has enough trouble rejuvenating at that age to start with, then you add on a substance that kills off all quickly rejuvenating cells.

So there I am and I'm looking around and basically thinking what a perverse concept this primate need for survival is. I mean, a few of these people looked ready to drop off right there, but they were sitting in the chair taking their shot of poison so that they could do it again for another day. It reminded me of bugs and reptiles, basically chugging along this earth on sheer hind-brain power.

These are probably not proper thoughts for a Cancer Survivor to have.

So my description of my trip out to Seattle has become a bit of a chore at this point. I want to write about things that are happening currently, but now that I've begun the full length description I feel that I need to finish it off. And it's a bit more of a chore because I have the nasty feeling that the only people reading my live journal are people that were on the damn trip with me. Oh well, I've been accused of not following through with things to their ends, so, dammit, we're getting this baby done.

The next two days were Bumbershoot, a music festival type thing in Seattle. It was all right. Generally speaking though it was a lot of standing in lines or wlaking around the grounds to get to a spot where you could listen to a live band that may or may not be any good. I didn't catch any lesser known bands that became my new favorite, but I enjoyed De La Soul well enough, it brought me back to jr. high. This was on Sunday. On monday we all went back again, for roughly the same experience (though I brought my hat this time, to protect my delicate, freshly shaven head) This time, we checked out a 'zine exhibit where I picked up a poetry book. The stand where I got the poetry book was manned by a fairly obese guy (I'd say 280-300) and a guy with muscular dystrophy perhaps. They were shilling the book they had contributed to.. which when I opened it was filled with generally political poetry.. very revolutionary style action. This isn't really what I was into though and when I mentioned this they offered the book I got, saying that it had love poems in it.

Personally I foudn it kind of wierd that they lumped the world of poetry into activism poetry and love poetry.. me I tend to go more for the observational style poetry. All my love poetry I write tends towards the unrequited style though...

Anyways, the poet's name is Jeffrey McDaniel and here's an example of his poetry that I liked. It's also his shortest one and I'm feeling lazy..


Trust

Who do I believe
now that the footprints
have been spun to face
one another - here
where night comes
and disassembles
her outfit of stars?


Monday night the big shows were Wilco and R.E.M. I really enjoyed the Wilco concert, getting a big kick out of how much they incorporated noise into their live show. It was like an Industrial-noise/country-pop band was up there. Wilco was my personal high point of Bumbershoot. After that came R.E.M., who were exciting to me just cause they were such a big name.. and it was nice hearing those old songs again live through amplified sound originating from the actual throat and vocal chords of Michael Stipe.

Of course at one point Stipe yells,

"Are you happy to see us Seattle?!?" *crowd cheers* "You should be, we had to come through Montana to get here!!"

sniffle

And Missoula was just voted one of the 5 top Counter-Culture spots by High Times this year.

Oh well.

Oh yeah, I also got to watch some breakdancing.. wich was like watching profesionally trained gymnasts.. but funky and cool and shit. Why couldn't I have had that kind of drive at 13 so that at 18 I could be all pop and locking it and spinning and doing 1-handed head stands.

Tuesday, my last day in, I had a sushi lunch and went to the museum. I had been told that the main exhibit was an Indian art exhibit and was thinking Native American Indian.. so I was spleasantly surprised when it was actually India/Pakistan. It was mainly a historical exhibition, dealing with the court style paintings in India until the advent of photography, with a couple of modern Indian artists thrown in.

Wow, they were so damn intriciate. And knowing what the artists had to do in order to create these different hues, the sheer colorfulness and delicate shading apparent in the photographs is mind-boggling. Of course all the art is done to the specific style (changing slightly by region) of Indian court painting, but I decided that was a formal limitation like iambic pentameter. A little structure on the art flow makes it interesting.

The other big impression I got was how damn sensual it all was. In any painting where women were involved, there was a real sense to me of 'being nude underneath their clothes'. Since many of these paintings were of mythological love scenes it makes sense. Whatever, I know sexy when I see it, and it was sexy.

There was of course, much more art.. lbut like always, too much at once and the brain is overwhelmed.

The next day I drove back.

And that was my trip, Yay!