23 March 2009

02/27/04 

Everyone should learn at least one lesson per day, if not more.  The lesson for me yesterday was this: never try to learn PHP and implement it into your Web site 30 minutes before you go to bed.  If you do, you'll end up with a defunct link and empty promises.

Best Buy.  I visited my very favorite store again tonight, Thursdays are very rewarding days because I can take the car wherever I please.  I wandered over toward the video games section to check out the new James Bond game.  It's supposed to be different because not only does it use the real actor's names, it uses their voices and personage.

The title of this new game is "Everything Or Nothing".  Yeah, that's good, and I suppose that it'll suit the game just nicely.  But aren't the titles of Bond movies supposed to be a little more self-defeating?  Why not, "Everything Is Nothing". 
Yes, that sounds much better.  Ten times more obscurity in that sentence. 

That's it for now.  I have mind-numbing fatigue washing over me.  See you again tomorrow.

02/26/04

I've got Ben Folds playing in the background, the latest beta test is downloading slowly, so let us begin.

I'm not going to beat around the bush.  GREATEST COMMERCIAL EVER.

And just what is the greatest commercial, you ask?  None other than Quizno's strange spong monkey spots. If you haven't yet viewed these, you may view them both here.  The basic premise is fairly standard; these small furry mysteries attempt to get you talking about their commercial.

It begins with one furry creature singing a crazy song about their subs, a bowler hat atop his (her?) head, while their friend is in the upper corner with an 18th century sailor's hat plucking away at a guitar. 

Sure, the voice is funny.  Yes, the little creatures are  amusing.  But the greatest part of this commercial, the part that absolutely makes me double over laughing on the floor, it the part where there is a longer pause, followed by the line "They got a pepper bar!"

I don't know what a pepper bar is, I don't really care, but this commercial has me sold.  I'm going, first chance I get.

And by the way, just in case you're wondering what a "spong monkey" is, it's a creation from the United Kingdom that appeared on the Net a little while ago and became a pop culture icon there.

And yes, either you love this commercial, or you hate it.  But I belong to the former group.  I have to give this ad an "A".  I think that they should market a stuffed animal.

In other news:  I've decided to do something drastic to get my daily visits up.  I haven't decided just what that's going to be, but there's been quite a drop off in visits this month.  Sure, I could attribute that to the fact that I haven't been writing, but I'll be naive and just assume that everyone is bored with the same old.

Will it be music?  Will it be pictures?  A new story? Let's take a vote.

02/25/04

On a personal note: Happy Birthday, Adam.  How does number 35 feel?  Much like 34 and 33, I presume?  Well, congratulations on making it this far.  Six kids, a fantastic wife, and a legacy of fine living.  I hope this year marks the beginning of many good things for you.

Hmm... my brother's birthday is here, which means that mine is fast approaching.  Nothing is needed, thank you.  The discounted car insurance will be fine enough for me. 

Many things today. In fact, I have so many ideas in my head that I'm debating whether or not to save some of these wonders for another day.  You've seen my history lately, so you should understand my desire to space things out, right?  Nevertheless, I tread on.

Over the weekend, while visiting my parents house, we broke out the old super 8mm projector.  As I have very few baby pictures, my wife really wanted to see what I looked like and this was pretty much the only valid option.  It was a little overwhelming at first, when at first I saw the old projector and heard the familiar clicks, I will admit that I was taken back by more than a few years.  After wading through 300+ reels and jury-rigging the projector, we managed to view a few of the first moments of my life.

And I still don't believe that anyone realizes what an impact that this made on me.  I had never seem myself like this before, so small and new.  It was me, yet it was not.  The small personage in the movies who was writhing around and begging for attention did not bring even the slightest bit of remembrance to mind.  We viewed reel after reel and I was amazed ever more with each passing moment. 

There we were, my entire family, but so much younger.  Like the Wonder Years, I tried to give context to the scene before me, but simply couldn't.  Instead, I watched with amazement as I watched my life unfold before my eyes.  I viewed myself at only a year old, being woken up in my own crib on my birthday.  I seemed happy enough.  Then, on to my first attempts at walking.  My elder brother, who I spoke of earlier, would hold a blue balloon just out of my grasp, and I would clap and try so hard to grab it.  I would fall each time, only to be picked up again by my father, smiling and ready to give it a go all over again.

I saw myself at eight years old, just before my baptism into the Church.  There was a darkened film of my birthday party.  The faces only drew brief recognition, as many of their names have long been forgotten.  However, one face that I was indeed looking for struck me.  My best friend Jimmy, a ghost from the past, was hitting me over the head with my present in some bizarre birthday ritual.  In another scene, we were simply talking and laughing about something.  It both healed and wounded me so much to see his face again, as I haven't seen him in over seven years.  He passed away from leukemia when he was only 17 years old. 

I basically stopped there, because I didn't want emotional overload or because the hour was late, I know not.  But it was an experience that I will never forget, and hope to experience again.

Alrighty, that's enough for today.  Surely there will be more tomorrow.  Come back for a free prize.  OK, I lied.  Come back for more blather.  But that's always free.

And free is a good thing.

02/24/04

32.  My favorite number.  Karl Malone's jersey number. 

The number of weeks that my wife is pregnant.

I keep disappearing.  Yeah, I know.  Last weekend, I went camping with some buddies of mine.  I could tell immediately that this venture wouldn't be the most organized event, but that was A-OK with me, as I'm not much for planning.  But we did manage to procure the main necessities for the campout, such as food, water, warm clothes and sleeping bags.  

We also obtained some firewood, as we were going to barbeque our steaks once we got there.  We were set, and we took off.  When we were about two thirds of the way there, my wife called to check on our status.  Seems we also forgot the wood.  Doh!

Not a problem, my buddy says.  There's a gas station nearby the campsite where we can purchase some more wood.  After another 10 minutes, we park our car and go into this gas station.

As this station is in a very affluent area of Rio Verde, the place is spotless and the clientele is such that you would not suspect that much firewood is required.  The young girl behind the counter, who appears more apt to be found at a Saturday night rave party, mumbles that they have no firewood to speak of.   Harrumph. 

So, off to Walgreens.  One more try.  Does Walgreens sell firewood?  I think we both know the answer to that question.  But they do sell duraflame logs!  Wonderful, waxy, crackly duraflame logs!

We bought them without so much as a second thought, and pursued our course onward to the campsite.  I had the terrible feeling afterward in my head that cooking over saw dust might be bad, but I was with my boys, and no sense acting like the crazy worried married guy.  Besides, I had already ruined my tough guy reputation with my ramblings about shopping at DSW and how much fun I had there. 

Wait for the flame to go down.  We were a bit hungry.  Moreover, we were very impatient.  Shortly after the duraflames were lit, we plopped our steaks on the grill.  The fire rose steadily to the sky, charring every bit of meat that we had.  Lesson learned, and good thing too, because we still had five pounds of meat left.  Side note:  We also learned that A-1 sauce is the savior of burnt meat.  End of story.

Baby.  Like I said, 32 weeks along means eight weeks left.  Eight small weeks that pass like days.  Eight weeks means less than two months.  I won't calculate that in days, hours or minutes, as I would probably lose a great deal of apex hair in the process.  Time's doing its job well enough in that instance, I'm afraid.

Good night.  Time to fold up this parachute.








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