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03 February 2011 @ 12:31 am
Day One,


Not only has my youth been stolen away, but my preciously familiar genitals have gone missing as well. I find myself a squat matron of a woman, ravaged by the passage of time and five decades of farming rocks. Proud, stoic, and bitterly prejudiced, I make this journey across Oregon for reasons unknown.

Why? Why have I fled my homestead to battle cholera and snakebites? To walk across this barren wasteland of a state. Yes, I said walk. An old woman with fallen arches and a bad back, leaping from rock to rock, marching to the grim death toll of our braying oxen. We have a wagon you know. One that is so brittle and worn that it can't support the weight of one old woman. I walk alongside it, envying all of my dead friends, and guarding the treasures within from threats unknown. Of course the exact nature of the treasures I guard has not been made clear to me. Our expedition's leader, Miss Lindsay, keeps us shrouded in ignorance. "Where are we going?", we ask. "When will we get there?", we cry. "Haven't we passed this same rock fifty times?!?", we scream.

The answer is always the same, "Shut up and keep walking, I want to make thirty experience points by tonight!"

This shotgun I have been entrusted with feels good in my calloused, peasant hands. It feels right. Perhaps I will use it on one of these lanky, blue-dress wearing strumpets this godforsaken country seems overrun with. I've seen how they eye my sweet Henry, gentle brainless soul that he is. Come to think of it, I haven't seen Henry since this morning when he received that snakebite. Miss Lindsay felt it more appropriate to wait and see how things would turn out, rather than having a doctor treat him. I'm sure he's fine. In Lindsay we have placed our lives and our trust. I am certain she will not lead us awry.

Day Two,


I have contracted a terrible fever. The desert sun bakes down on us from above, and I am beginning to hallucinate. My Henry beckons me from afar, calling me to cross over to him. Cross over to where? When will this vomiting end? It is difficult to keep pace with the oxen while hunched over, bile and hard tack gushing from my mouth as I stagger along the trail. My gun, the only thing affording me any respect in this group of brainwashed trail-blazing automatons, drags and bounces through the dust. I clutch it desperately in the one hand not being used to wipe the vomit splatter from my eyes as we walk to what will certainly be our deaths.

Day Three,

Still vomiting. The women behind me have begun to complain of the continuing damage and stains their footwear accumlates from trodding through my voided stomach contents. They're just lucky I don't have dysentery, yet. I don't remember having eaten anything in the last three days. Where is all of this vomit coming from!?!

Miss Jessica has come down with scurvy, twice. I have been told that citrus fruit is not among the supplies we carry in our wagon. I'm starting to harbor suspicions that our wagon is little more than a prop in a sick game. It lacks food. It lacks shelter. It is incapable of acting as transportation for naught but air and oxen sweat. It doesn't even hold a bucket for one old woman to catch her never-ending vomit with.

Day Four,


Great. That's just great. This trail contains exactly three things. Cholera virus, snakes, and the same three piles of rock over and over and over again. Oh, and a continuous trail of vomit running from Platte River Crossing to Fort Boise.

I tried turning my shotgun on myself today, but my arms and legs are far too short and stubby to manage the task. Perhaps the next snakebite will finish the job.

Day Five,

Our wagon has broken, and two of our expedition's members are dead. I had hoped for a rest, but as I was hunched over in a ditch yarking up the remains of a dead bird I found, Lindsay had the team set the wagon axle atop my back as a propping to repair the wheel. I now appreciate the complete lack of supplies we have stored within.

I have named my shotgun Sue. Sue has begun to speak to me in quiet yet urgent tones. Perhaps Lindsay's role as the leader of our little party has come to an end...
21 January 2011 @ 08:15 pm

1 - Go to wikipedia and hit random. The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.
2 - Go to quotationspage.com and hit random. The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.
3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days” Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
4 - Use photoshop or similar (picnik.com is a free online photo editor) to put it all together.
15 January 2011 @ 09:41 pm
Are you people all insane?!? Haven't you seen the movie Sneakers?

LiveJournal (and possibly Robert Redford) is just using this meme to capture your voices and the specific codewords that grant access to your top secret military employers... the ones pretending to run a harmless toy company.

They're trying to be coy about it too, "* What do you call gym shoes?" C'mon!

I should use audio editor to blackmail the lot of you. Either $5000 will be mailed to me by next Wednesday, or your local police department will receive a tape with your voice saying the following...

"Hello. My name is [****]. I. caught. -ma. aunt. -on. fire. I. may-. probably. d-ew. -et. again. I. wash. -ma. grandma and grandpa. -in. oil. and. fire. Route. -in. hell-. -u-. P-ee-g-s.

P. -s. I. spit. -in. -yru-. coffee. "
13 January 2011 @ 01:39 pm
Just a reminder, TurboTax offers free federal and state tax returns online if your annual income is below a certain amount, which mine certainly is. The program will be available mid-January at http://turbotax.intuit.com/taxfreedom/turnaway.jsp
09 January 2011 @ 10:06 pm

A surgical light akin to this one is sitting in the basement of the clinic, unused. I covet it. I covet it more than anything I have coveted in my life. It would look so beautiful mounted from the ceiling in the garage, positioned to hang over the hoods of the cars. I dream of changing spark plugs with every plane and surface brilliantly lit from above. Beautiful.
26 November 2010 @ 08:31 pm
A brief update.

We're about 95% finished in moving into the Mckinley house. Just got hooked back into the internet today, though the process was incredibly frustrating due to windows 7 flipping its shit with the wireless router. So to summarize...

The good:
The house is gorgeous. Our old apartment can just about fit in the new living room, and the only challenge now is filling the space with our currently limited furniture. The tight budget restrains me from rushing out to collecting more furniture to match our sole seating, the sage green loveseat. Everything is so spacious and open in comparison, even the kitchen window makes me feel like I could fall out into the backyard if I get too overzealous in cleaning the dishes. There's so little work to actually be done with the house, it's really nice. Having all the appliances included simplified life too.

The two car garage barn with loft... I can't begin to explain how awesome it is.

The Job Lot down the street is so vastly different from the one in Wakefield. It's actually clean, smells nice, and I don't worry about the shelving collapsing and killing me beneath an avalanche of ceramic pots and extension cords.

There's more, but Lindsay is hungry, and sulky, and growing more so the longer I wait to make dinner, so...

The bad:
Our yard is buried in oak leaves. Fortunately the town provides yard waste disposal, but we learned this after it rained, so ours shall remain the only yard on the street buried in a foot of foliage. I can feel the judging eyes of the neighbors upon us, though they probably took advantage of the empty house by dumping their leaves here.

That's pretty much it. Uneditted and rushed.
04 November 2010 @ 12:29 am
Does anyone else find it annoying that the red bars of the Livejournal Poll of the Day don't accurately reflect the percentages they supposedly represent?

It's a relatively minor issue I guess, but when I see the extreme difference in the yes/no answers I find myself more curious as to what the question actually is. Then I find the ratio to be 1:3, and not 1:95.

This looks more like 5% and 95%. It bothers me enough to make a pointless post about it.
19 October 2010 @ 12:35 am
I've never made Rice Krispie Squares before, and since my coworker's birthday is tomorrow, and she's a fiend for these sticky treats, I figured I'd give it a try. I was actually very excited at the prospect of making such a beautifully simple snack. It's so easy. You just melt and stir. A monkey could do it, albeit with a good helping of monkey hair mixed in.

Lindsay was kind enough to go out for the supplies.

Lindsay brought me... Crispy Rice.

Crispy Rice is NOT Rice Krispies. It doesn't even come close.

First of all it looks NOTHING like Rice Krispies. Rice Krispies are individually perfect, hand-formed by old world artisans on miniature spinning wheels. Crispy Rice looks like somebody smashed up and flattened a bunch of already rejected Rice Krispies, and then spit upon them for good measure.

Secondly, it sounds NOTHING like Rice Krispies. It doesn't snap, crackle, OR pop! It emits a strangely unsettling sound not unlike the slow burn of a child's crib. It is a desolate sound. One that drills mercilessly into your skull, reverberating and growing in strength until you go quite mad, and then the Crispy Rice instructs you to kill.


This is a Rice Krispie Square...

And this is a homemade Crispy Rice Square...

13 October 2010 @ 11:24 pm
Today is grocery day, so Lindsay and I found ourselves at Walmart yet again.

Are any of you fans of Hyperbole and a Half? It's brilliant. There is one post in particular which concerns running into people you know at the supermarket, and the subsequently incredibly awkward followup meetings as you repeatedly pass each other in the aisles time and time again. You run out of small talk rather quickly, and soon find excuses to politely not notice the other person to spare yourself said awkwardness. Cereal boxes become very fascinating. Freezers become places to hide in...

We weren't even fully out of the car when the gentleman parked next to us began openly staring at me, swaying back and forth with the breeze. He didn't say anything for about twenty seconds while Lindsay and I retrieved our items from the back of the Subaru, and as we took off for the storefront he staggered ahead to lead us for about twenty feet. He then abruptly turned and said, "Remember me? You helped to put down my dog on Sunday."

Unfortunately he was a new client and a fairly nondescript one at that, so I hadn't recognized him up until he spoke. I'm terrible with faces regardless, so it was no hard trick to feign immediate recognition. We chatted amiably for all of five seconds and then he was lost amidst the frenzy of aged Walmart greeters.

The point of all this is I found myself wary of running into this man time and time again in the store, so I forced Lindsay to stand in the seasonal section while I scrutinized several large flat screen televisions. We admired their general flatness, and largeness, and then an elderly woman wandered by, pointed at the 56" model, and told me, "You should buy that one."

So we did. Well, we bought the one next to it. A 40" Sony Bravia that was both on sale and 40% off for being a display model. All well and good except it didn't have the typically included table-top stand since the geniuses at Walmart had attached the television to a separate stand model, and threw out the original pedestal. One clerk assured me we could easily get a replacement stand, and I found myself believing that a two pound piece of plastic would be a pretty cheap purchase.

I can hear you chortling even now.

After a fruitless search online I finally called Sony directly, and a cheerful rep checked on the availability and price of the stand that would have been included in the box. It is a four part piece. The first part, the base, was available for $48. The second part, the neck, was available for $98. The third part, a clear protective cover for the stand was available for $120. The bolts, at 98 cents, were not available at this time. Would I like to order any additional supplies?

After uttering a certain three syllable expletive I dragged Lindsay to Home Depot to build a stand on my own.

One cutting board, $12. One fence post bracket, $10. One bag bolts, one bag wood screws, $2. This is my $24 stand. I used part of a chicken enchilada box to properly size the interior attachment point in the television, obtaining the spacing for the four metal locking tabs and the bolt holes. I'll likely paint the neck a matte black.