Because my mind is all a jumble, I have decided to start a post that I can use continuously as I see fit. I've seen it done before with different numbers, and so I have arbitrarily chosen the number 33. Hence the "33 Things" title. Basically, it's going to consist of 33 things I find amusing, sad, interesting, or whatever, that I feel like writing about.

#1

Yesterday I saw one of the funniest things I've seen in a long time. On a trip to Party City for browsing around and gawking at all the over-priced Halloween garbage they have for sale, I bore witness to whoopie cushion in the hands of a child. Sure, not all that out of the ordinary. Except that said child was a girl, and she was probably around 4 years old. An age at which, I thought, was fairly innocent. And maybe she was innocent, I'm not judging. Anyway, she would hold the whoopie cushion to her chest and then bend forward so that her chest would come in contact with her thighs. Incidentally, the whoopie cushion just happened to be in the way, and the sound emitted as she crouched down. This caused her to shriek with laughter, and she proceeded to repeat the whole exercise. It was all I could do to not fall over laughing in the middle of the aisle.

#2

I was recently perusing The Facebook, a website designed as a friend network amongst college students. I primarily use it to keep in touch with friends who are out of state, but mostly only those I've met and or maintained friendships with through college. Occasionally, I run across a page of someone I remember from middle school or high school. Sometimes it's interesting to see how people have grown. Most times, though, what I see just reinforces my reasons for no longer hanging out with these people. For instance, a guy I knew from middle school has become a body-builder. He has listed, as one of his accomplishments (of which he is no doubt extraordinarily proud), winning the #5 best college body in the nation. Apparently, he's become one of those types you only expect to see in those muscle magazines. Indeed, one of those people that you always thought were fake, but it turns out they're actually real. I don't imagine that the combination of steroids, creatine, and obsessive dieting will lend itself to longevity. Still, I have to admit, looking at all the pictures with that smug grin of his sure was funny.

Due to a serious lack of sleep, an unusual amount of things occupying most of my free time, and upcoming midterms (read: impending doom), I haven't had much time to squeeze in writing. Consequently, I'm behind on a number of really fun blog entries I have planned, including (but not limited to) a menu (Dave's idea), a Finding Your Voice entry, an entry involving my latest area of expertise, and a word or two about some local lawyers. In the meantime, though, I have today's entry, which rocks.

My friend Charli posted a great entry called Life's Soundtrack. Imagine your life (in this case it's mine) is really a movie, and for each scene you need a song for background music. Here's how it works:

1. Open your music library (iTunes, Windows Media Player, iPod, etc.)
2. Put it on SHUFFLE.
3. Press PLAY.
4. For every question, type the song that's playing.
5. When you go to a new question, press the NEXT button.
6. Remember, take them in order, NO skipping/jumping.

SOUNDTRACK TO PHIL'S LIFE

• Opening Credits: Giants by Sponge

  Credits roll as something clearly phenomenal is about to begin. My name flashes across the screen, and it is evident that my presence is awe-inspiring. "It's like giants..." Yes indeed.

• Waking Up: Breathing by Yellowcard

  As I open my eyes, getting ready to start a new day, the violin kicks in with the melodic punk rock, and suddenly life is upon me. As I notice my own breathing, the weight of all that is going on in my life returns.

• First Day At School: Astounded by Tantric

  It's the start of something new, as evidenced by the bad-ass guitar work. I walk the halls humming as the words "all you stupid fuckers walk around astounded..." plays in the montage.

• Falling In Love: Late Redemption by Angra

  A change of seasons, as a mellow mood suddenly envelops me. The melancholy strikes a philosophical moment, and peace overwhelms me.

• Fight Song: The Songs of Anu: i) For the Glory of Enki ii) Of the Ashes of Ur iii) Return of the Nephilim by Derek Sherinian

  Life is tough, a struggle of wills to fight for what is right. This instrumental number is just right, exerting force and energy and boosting my own drive in all aspects of life.

• Breaking Up: Rumors Of My Demise Have Been Greatly Exaggerated by Rise Against

  Despite even my own sense of defeat, I realize that the fight is not over yet. I am still very much alive. "It's not the end that I fear with each breath, it's life that scares me to death..."

• Life's OK: Rainin' by Sponge

  Suddenly, everything seems clear to me. All I thought I had figured out, I learned was not quite what it seemed. "You got what you wished for, is that what you really wanted....it's rainin', it's rainin' in my house..." So life happens, and there's nothing I can do but roll with it.

• Mental Breakdown: Applachian Snowfall by The Trans-Siberian Orchestra

  I can no longer handle all that life has thrown at me. And yet, as evidenced by the music, I experience a reawakening. Something inside me suddenly brightens, and everything seems so clear!

• Driving: I Don't Want To Get Over You by The Magnetic Fields

  After a sense of failure, I realize that I don't ever want to look back. The time has come to move on, to remember what I learned from past mistakes, and to live my life for a change.

• Flashback: Wings of Reality by Angra

  Remembering all that I have experienced, introspection and reflection is only appropriate with a touch of reality. Not to mention a new sense of adventure and a new outlook on things. "Wings of reality take me higher and higher, show me the way to be..."

• Getting Back Together: Demonheart by Luca Turilli

  Bitterness remains the most difficult aspect of life to overcome. Especially when it comes to past, primarily unpleasant, experiences.

• Wedding: Shadow Stabbing by Cake

  A happy occasion! "Outside, outside the world, out there you don't hear the echos and calls..." As if I can't believe it's happening, I true sense of contentment consumes me.

• Birth of Child: Sorrow by Pink Floyd

  A new life. Fragile, amazing, destined for possiblity. With sad overtones, hope fills my soul. "The sweet smell of the great sorrow lies over there....one word, one soul, time pass, river roll..."

• Final Battle: Crazy by Nine Days

  Looking back on everything, it's hard to see just how much things have changed, and how much I've grown. "...it's not the same, while everything has changed..."

• Death Scene: Better Off Alone by Alice Deejay

  With a cruel sense of irony, death becomes a celebrated inevitability. It is something I recognize as a part of life, and there is nothing I can do about it.

• Funeral Song: Overrated by Three Days Grace

  Life itself seems to be much less than all it's cracked up to be. Truly, it is overrated. I feel no sorrow, only anger and bitterness.

• End Credits: Blood and Whiskey by Dropkick Murphys

  A spectacular ending in which I realize that life is all about the journey, and that you'd best have fun along the way. That's better than any happy ending ever.

And so there you have it, the soundtrack to my life. The little notes indicating montages and such are not, in fact, true. Instead, they're made up to more or less fit the mood of the soundtrack. That is all.

Yesterday, I got to do something completely out of the ordinary. It was something exciting and new to me, and I had a lot of fun. To some, this might seem mundane and/or fantastically trivial, but as a regular commuter, it was fun for me. Granted, I've done it before, but I've never used this particular service.

I had to head downtown in the middle of the day, so because parking is so expensive during the day, and because I was up for an adventure, I took the bus! Actually, the bus I took is a special one called Rapid Ride. It's like a city bus, except the route is much more restricted, and the buses have a cool feature that allows them to manipulate traffic lights so that they hit mostly green lights. The result is a fairly quick ride to wherever it is you're headed.

The nice part was that it cost a grand total of $2 to get downtown and back, compared to the at least $8 I would have had to pay to park. And besides saving money, I got to see a huge variety of people. If you ever want to be exposed to true diversity, ride the bus. There are so many people from so many different walks of life that ride them. It's literally a culture all its own.

Getting to see the guy sleeping in the seat behind me, the nervous guy who thought everyone was staring at him funny, the woman who cringed when I asked if she was getting off at a certain stop (she said "No! Why?", and the only reason I had asked was to make sure I let her go first; she was relieved, though, when I explained myself), and the drunk was certainly an eye-opening experience.

I may just have to do this again sometime.

Dear Skittles,

I am writing with regard to one of your more recent products within the last couple of years. I'm not talking about your disgusting ice cream flavored Skittles, no. I'm talking about your Skittles Gum. Whoever gave you the idea that a gum form of Skittles would be a smash hit should be lynched. Contrary to what you seem to think, Skittles gum is not, in fact, a good idea. It is just the opposite: very, very bad.

For the sake of simplicity, I have outlined a list of reasons explaining exactly why Skittles Gum needs to have all production ceased immediately.

• You make candy. Trying out another form of the market is a huge mistake, especially when you shape your gum product exactly like your patented Skittles candy. It sends mixed messages, people. You have customers who see the gum and want to swallow it and grab more. Sure, you say that people see the package and are perfectly aware that it's not to be swallowed. But honestly, you can't beat the subconscious, and the subconscious wants to swallow those little rainbow-colored candies.
• Your gum tastes almost exactly like your candy. So I implore you, what's the point in wanting to chew it for so much longer, especially when, as with most gums, the gum loses its flavor pretty damn quickly. Honestly, there's really no incentive.
• Your pieces of gum are very tiny. Though they're actually slightly larger than your candy version (or the real Skittles, as I like to call them), they're not as large as a normal stick of gum. Even Trident manufactures larger pieces of gum. What does this mean to you? It means that you have to pop approximately 6-8 "pieces" of Skittles gum into your mouth in order to actually have enough to chew like real gum. The one tiny piece just makes you want to swallow the thing that much more.
• The consistency of your gum is still very much like candy. In other words, its quality as a gum is pretty low-grade. Try blowing a bubble with a half-dozen pieces in your mouth, and you'll see what I'm saying.
• No one really needs your super-sweet gum. Plus, if we really want sugary gum, there's always Bubblicious or the classic Fruit Stripe Gum.

I urge you to stop making Skittles Gum as soon as possible. You'll keep your faithful Skittle-loving fans and they'll be overjoyed to still be able to eat Skittles. Drop the gum and stick to what you're good at. Do it.

Yours truly,

Phil

In accord with the unspoken rules of salesmanship, I broke someone's heart yesterday. And unreasonable as it may seem, I feel like a terrible person for it. Guilt has enveloped my very soul in a manner I have as yet never, until now, had to experience.

It started out as an ordinary day. I went to school. I went to work. I went home. Then I decided to go to the mall, not so much to shop but to take in the sights and more or less just browse around. All was going according to plan, and I was perfectly content. That is, until a saleswoman jumped in front of me and changed everything.

I was walking the mall, staring blankly around me, when all at once this woman barked at me:

Her: Hi! Are you interested in [item being sold]?
Me: Um, maybe. I guess so. Uh, sure.
Her: Great! Now I'm going to launch into a full 30-minute demonstration/explanation of everything on the kiosk, then I'll ask you what you want to buy, then if you say you're just looking I'll point out that you spent all this time here and are clearly interested in everything I'm selling, and therefore you should buy it all immediately, and if you don't buy anything I'm going to be super disappointed in you and I'll make this known to you by making you feel really, really guilty. Okay?

Well, maybe the conversation didn't play out quite like that, but it was really darn close. I entertained a mild curiosity about the items up for sale, and boy did I pay the price. First it was one demonstration, then a second, a third, and so on. You get the picture.

With each demonstration, the woman explained everything in great detail, most of which (maybe 75% or so) I actually paid attention to, while alternately getting distracted and/or zoning out. I was a good listener, and smiled and nodded and said "oh wow, that really is amazing" at all the right times.

Apparently, I'm too good for my own benefit. Once the demonstration was nearing completion, the subject of prices and purchase arose. I mentioned that I was just looking. Shopping around, if you will. It was then that I realized the various sales tactics being employed upon me, the unsuspecting victim (or customer, as some might prefer to say).

The discussion of prices and purchase was my cue to escape as soon as possible. The only problem was that, were I to do that, I would probably be sacked by one of those elite mall police officers, as I was fitted with several of the items used in demonstration. One such item required the help of another person to remove, so I was doubly trapped.

When I again repeated that I was only looking, the woman took offense and pointed out that I had spent all that time listening.

Her: You just spent all that time listening. You obviously want to buy our entire line of products. And if you don't, you should.
Me: Yeah, but it wasn't me who sought out you. I only agreed to listen, and I hadn't counted on your taking up half my evening. Plus, I don't have that much money to throw around.

This went on for a while, and she even offered to give me fantastic deals to "save" me lots of money. And while the thought crossed my mind that she was offering some actually very nice deals, I also realized that I wouldn't actually be saving any money, considering I would be buying something I had had no intention of buying in the first place. Wow! She was good.

Once this brilliant reasoning had entered my head, the saleswoman knew she would have to change tactics. And change she did. Suddenly, she shifted gears and put the pressure on me.

Her: Tell me why you do not want to buy any of our products? What is it about us that makes you not want to buy?
Me: Geez! What makes you think it's you?
Her: Well, I really want to know! Tell me, because I want you to be happy, and to buy all this stuff.

Did I mention she was good? I hadn't seen the guilt trip ploy coming. But hit it did, and it hit me hard. I argued with her for nearly ten minutes, and finally just had to make it clear that I wanted, more than anything else in the world, to get the heck away from there. Immediately.

She seemed to sense this, and so upped the pressure and the guilt. A true battle of wills, from which I am proud to announce I emerged victorious. I pulled an old trick out of the Pathetic Excuses That Are Obviously Lies bag: false hope. I said I needed to walk around the store and think about it, and that I would come back in an hour for sure and make my decision.

Anyone who has worked in sales knows this ruse. It tells the salesperson, without saying it outright, that the customer has zero interest in actually making a purchase. Even when I myself worked sales, I knew that once the false hope trick was thrown in, I might as well stop wasting my time.

This woman, however, was sales to the core. She did not give up, much to my disappointment. She at last resigned herself to the fact that I wasn't biting, but that didn't stop her from making the saddest face she could possibly muster, and then stare at me with said expression as I walked away. All the while, it was all I could do to push the image of her face from my mind.

Now I'm afraid that if I ever go back to the mall, I run the risk of seeing her again, and the guilt will suddenly return. I have to face the facts. I'm doomed.

*Disclaimer: If you or anyone close to you happens to be a supporter of that activity known as dance aerobics, or happens to like mornings in general, and/or possess little or no sense of humor, you would do best to read no further. If you choose to read further, you do so at your own risk. Consider yourself warned.

The question of the century is: why the heck do dance exercise aerobic fanatics like to blast really bad music really, really loud? You're probably thinking that this whole issue is moot, irrelevant, and not worth spending time pondering. I disagree.

This semester for school, I decided to try something new, and have taken up a Yoga class. That's right, I'm learning how to contort myself into all sorts of odd postures, stretching to and fro, breathing deeply, and performing all varieties of moves, all involving the names of animals ranging from mammals to reptiles to arthropods. It's pretty cool.

But that's not the point. The point is that my Yoga class has a special Yoga classroom in the gym. It's a nice little spot, actually. And even the atmosphere is comforting. That is, until the dance aerobic crazies decide to start their morning routine. It's 8 o'clock in the morning, and we who are not crazy morning people are relaxing and doing our Yoga thing.

But ambience is not important to those dance aerobics-ers. In the midst of our Shavasna (I have no idea how to spell that), where we're lying flat on our backs and working to become the epitome of calm, relieved of all stress, obnoxious beats suddenly emanate from the room next door. I'm talking hard-core pop beats (if there is such a thing) that invade your brain and then never leave.

And of course you hear the instructor, equipped with a headset microphone (as all hip aerobics instructors are), shouting out commands over the muzak. "Okay go, on one, two, three...and four..."

What gets me wondering is why exactly the music has to be so fucking loud. As if loud music really gets the blood flowing in any place but your poor ears, which are forced to work overtime to protect your precious hearing. And don't even try to tell me that those overemphasized beats actually help everyone get all the moves in perfect rhythm. It never works that way.

Plus, I mean really, the room is clearly small enough that psychotically loud music is obviously unnecessary. Screw giant hanging speakers with built-in subwoofers. A simple boom box should do nicely. It's 8 in the morning, who has that much energy, anyway? You're in college for crying out loud.

Come on dance aerobics-ers, get lazy already.

Wednesday was a rather interesting day, to say the least. While it started out just like any other day, the moment I stepped off the bus I knew I was in for something different. That something was an avalanche of men dressed in suits with nicely parted hair and glasses. Indeed, it was the Gideons!

If you have never encountered the Gideons, allow me to describe the experience:

You're walking along your normal route, a heavily trafficked area of campus. You suddenly spy a couple of well-dressed (i.e. in suit and tie) men with a stack of books in their respective hands. They also have a large box full of their [presumably abridged] Holy Bibles. At each strategic location, there are at least two men present (I've never before seen a female Gideon). The idea is that, with two of them present, they'll be able to reach more disparate souls, statistically speaking.

You walk by, not about to let them disrupt your routine. Suddenly, a hand stretches out to hand you a Bible, only at first you think it's about to strike you, and so you rapidly jump backwards into your perfect Tai Kwan Do stance and karate chop with all your might the arm to which the hand is attached. Mere milliseconds before your karate chop strikes, you realize that you are in fact safe; that the Gideon means you no harm, only good. Thank goodness for lightning quick reflexes.

Okay, so it's not exactly like that. But the point is, you get a little book shoved in your face. The Gideons mean well, and are very interested in saving all the nearly hopeless souls on the college campus. Especially the likes of yours truly, who has several strikes against him thanks to those who (ahem) draw his attention, as well as a religious conviction that involves only an earlier edition to said text.

The real kicker is that the Gideons like to hit not just one, but all (or as many as they can) of the busy spots on campus. So if, like me, you had to run all over campus on that particular day (which would be unfortunate timing, to say the least), and your general destinations all involved fairly populous areas of campus, you would find yourself encountering the suited men repeatedly. Like ten times. And each time, you get asked if you want the little book by not one, but both or all three or four of the Gideons at each station.

Needless to say, it grows tiresome, and one can only say "no" with so much sincerity and creativity a finite (read: minimal) number of times. Before long, all you can say is "Hi" and keep your head pointed directly to the ground to actually make it through.

But beware, you might get certain comments in passing, as I did. One Gideon commented on my shirt in an effort to strike up a dialogue: "Dream Theater." It just so happened that I was wearing a Dream Theater t-shirt at the time. I gave him props for trying, but not enough that I actually responded. Sorry, Gideon.

So should you ever come across these fine folks (they really are nice people), you'll know who they are (that is, if you don't already) and what to expect from them. For my part, I thank them for breaking my routine as well as for providing me (unbeknownst to them) with some blog material.

Here's to you, Gideons.

Over the weekend, I was reeducated about what it means to be a true control freak. The key word there is "freak." As in one who is so over-the-top that it's very near impossible to consider that one human. I'm not even close to kidding.

As fortune would have it, I had to take the GRE on Saturday. I can't tell you how much of a privilege that was. I got to take it at a special testing center, believe it or not. (The one good thing I have to say is that it was on the computer, which is way better than having to fill in those dreadful bubble sheets.)

These days, testing is considered so important that you practically have to test naked to comply with all the regulations they have. You're not allowed to have anything in your pockets. You can't bring food. You can't bring a jacket just in case it gets cold (you have to wear it throughout the duration of the test or not wear it at all). You can't wear a digital watch. You can't even bring your own pencil or pen to write with.

But what takes the cake, I learned, was that you can't even bring your own tissues. I've been suffering a lot from allergies lately, and so naturally I've been carrying around some Kleenex brand tissues with me everywhere I go. I knew that the Test Nazis wouldn't like me digging in my pockets (they were scrutinizing my every move by way of the camera placed above my little work station), and so I did the only sensible thing I could: I removed the tissues from my pocket and placed them on the desk.

Clearly, I thought, having them in plain view would tell the people that I suffer from allergies, and that I was not, in any way, shape, or form, trying to cheat. But, as always seems the case when reason and common sense is involved, I thought wrong.

In the middle of my test, one of the "proctors" approached me, having spotted my little pile of new and used Kleenexes:

Him: You're not allowed to have your own tissues.

Me: You have got to be kidding me.

Him: Nope. If you need tissue, you have to ask us permission, and we'll let you use our own testing-approved tissues. Oh, and you're only allowed to have three of them.

Me: [Silent in utter disbelief.]

I mean really, what possible harm could come from my using my own tissues? And why on earth are you only allowed three? But it gets worse. After having put said tissues to use, I was not allowed to throw them away in normal trash can. Oh no, I had to place them in the tiny black bin approved for use by the testing center.

Naturally, my mind springs into action and thinks up possible scenarios for exactly why such ridiculous rules exist:

• They think someone will shove the answers up their nose somehow, and they extract whatever medium it is they used by blowing their nose. Or using the tissue to pick their nose and pull it out.
• They think mucous (a.k.a. snot) can be instrumental in telling answers to the randomly selected questions on the computer.
• By analyzing exactly how much snot covers the tissue, and how dry said snot is, they can figure out if you're cheating.

These are but a few possibilities. And we may never know the real answer (odds are we don't want to, either). But the next time you think someone is being anal retentive, just think of this story. You'll be glad you did.

As much as everyone whines about how much they hate spam, I've come to notice that there's a certain amount of brilliance involved in it. I'm not saying that there's a lot (of brilliance, that is; I probably get enough spam to outnumber the total number of utters on cows in the whole world, and I'm only one person), I'm just saying that I have lately become rather fascinated by it.

In order to make this simpler, I'll break it down by style. For the sake of convenience, each type I discuss will also have a title. It's just easier that way.

• Give Me All Your Money Spam

  Perhaps the most annoying, these spam messages tend to show up from people like Haakimiabu Budjuki, Yoshigoma Turkenipu, or occasionally Larry Mitchell (just to keep you guessing). Some sort of crisis is involved, say the slaughter of a family's cattle, the ill-fated marriage of a half-sister, or even a plea to free one from the shackles of prison (conveniently enough, prison with internet access). Whatever the situation, exorbitant amounts of money are involved, somehow. And it's always some figure at, or nearly at, the billion dollar mark.

• Illiterate Porn Spam

  Aptly named, this is the spam directed at normal people, probably simply for shock factor. Of course, these spam were not originally illiterate, per se. So what happened? Well, spam filters got clever and caught on to repeated words (all of which you already know, so I'll refrain from listing them). Thus the spammers had to get creative. The result was a lot of poorly spelled words. When in doubt, add a few letters to those words, and you'll have something that's humorous, if anything. For instance, a certain spam message I receive on a semi-regular basis begins with the line: "Hi, Not very good erecxction? You are welcome..." Damn, that's clever.

• Random Story-Telling Spam

  Just as it sounds, this spam takes as many random words as possible and throws them into a jumble of sentences. They're actually pretty interesting, too. Take this one, titled "Mincemeat", which I got the other day: "Binch, said Elmer, how do you count your converts? Want to go out and spank a bald man on the head." Like I said, fascinating. A part of me thinks these particular spam messages were inspired by Noam Chomsky, ever famous for his totally grammatical nonsense sentence, "Colorless green ideas sleep furiously."

• Obscure Words Spam

  This is the final form of spam that is in any way amusing. For example, I got a message titled "petrificate your manhood." While at first I figured petrificate was simply a made-up word (I still have my suspicions), it is apparently, according to some sources, a real word: it means "to petrify." Which makes sense, I guess. But if that's the case, then I suppose I definitely don't want to. That's gross.

Now that all is said, I will conclude only by saying that you should not do as I have just done unless you are a trained professional. Reading spam can be very dangerous indeed, and if you're not careful, you might be drawn into these spam messages like a moth to flame. And you can't say I didn't warn you.

As you may or may not know, I recently had the golden opportunity to see Lostprophets in concert. Lostprophets started out as a band who simply caugt me attention with a catchy tune on the radio called "Shinobi Vs. Dragon Ninja" (based on a popular video game, oddly enough). It was downhill from there, buying their CD and getting lost in the unusual riffs and surprisingly thought-provoking lyrics. (By the way, picture courtesy of Dragon Ninja.

It was only too fitting, then, that I should jump at the chance to finally see them in concert. I called up a friend of mine who also happens to love live music, and he quickly agreed to come along. And thus my experience began for one heck of a Tuesday night (that Tuesday being September 5, 2006). I will recount here, in only mildly proper sequence, the night that unfolded.

• Lining up to wait for doors to open about 40 minutes before they were to open (to get choice seats in the bar area), we wound up behind a rather unique group of people. Directly in front of us were two teenaged girls, accompanied by their mom. The girls were all decked out in black, with dyed black hair, and one of the girls even had black horn-rimmed glasses. Yikes. And in front of them were four guys, all dressed in a combination of all black or black and white. They were sporting tattoos and were a rather rowdy bunch, the sort of people who desperately want to be funny and loved by everyone for being so funny, and yet failing miserably to actually be funny. They tried to put off a 'tough guy' image, and yet were each of them drooling when a few members of the Lostprophets walked by. Still, despite the chain-smoking and repetitive behavior from this group, the fact that they made things at least mildly interesting was nice.
• Once the show finally got underway, we were sitting happily at a table we had snagged in the bar area. We had a great view, we actually got to sit to enjoy the show, and best of all, we were set apart from the mosh pit fools. While I love to dance or jump or what have you, I hate being right at the front, where people shove you every which way, and where a bunch of really immature and possibly drunk idiots are running around trying to hurt people. It's just not my cup of tea.

  Anyway, the opening band comes on, and instantly we're drown in to the sounds of The Rasmus, a rock band from Finland. They played an astounding forty minute set, completely blowing us away. That was a most unexpected and pleasant surprise, as I had never heard of them before, and wasn't sure how good they would be. I was not disappointed. They were nothing short of amazing.

• The second band who was supposed to play, Kill Hannah, never made it, as their van broke down. That was a bummer, I'd heard they were pretty good.
• And so then, it was time for Lostprophets! We had to wait another forty minutes for them to set up the stage, but once they finally started, I knew I was in for a treat. The band has so much energy, and everyone on stage had so much fun playing, that it was impossible not to get utterly caught up in the show. They did not have huge distracting light displays, or anything of the sort. They just went out onstage and played their hearts out. But I do have one gripe, and I have to direct it to the incompetent sound technician:

  When you have a band with six members (two guitars, bass, keyboard, drums, and vocals), it's generally really, really stupid to have every single sound feed at full blast. Especially when said band has complicated music, in which each instrument adds its own unique piece to make for fucking amazing music. And when you have everything up full blast, the result is that individual sounds cannot be differentiated, and thus all we hear is a horribly drowned out version of music many of us devoted fans know quite well. I'd also like to add that, when you have anything turned up full blast, you tend to not only ruin your speakers, but also you make sound that is perfectly fine at even appropriately loud volumes sound tinny and unimpressive. Not to mention deafeningly loud. Loudest isn't best, jackass.

  And now that I have my rant completed, let me add that the band was fantastic. It's amazing to watch people who get together and want to play good music, and also want the whole crowd to sing along. There's something unifying about it, and save for all the jerks moshing (I mean, really, who pays good money to completely ignore a show in favor of shoving other people around?) and not paying the least bit of attention to the splendor on stage, it was incredible.

• Lastly, I ran into some guys I knew back in high school, who were each of them pissed off and sputtering about how much they hated the show, to my amusement. They complained that the band didn't play enough off the first CD, which in their opinion was their best. Never mind the fact that they just released a new CD barely two months ago and are touring in support of it. Apparently, the new stuff to them is not as good, and they would rather have the band simply reusing old riffs with new lyrics, or something of that sort. But given that these guys haven't changed one bit since I knew them in high school, I suppose their opinions sort of make sense. Sort of.

Needless to say, though, I had a fantastic time, and will gladly go seem them again next time I get the chance. And if I have to, I'll even jump in and take over the sound board.

Tune in, music fans! It's time now for a fun game involving music. My friend Cameron assigned me the letter H, and I will proceed to list ten songs beginning with the letter H, momentarily. If you'd like to play along, let me know in a comment and I'll assign you a letter.

Here I go, then, on the quest of the musical H-ness.

1. Hey You - Pink Floyd

I'm a Pink Floyd fanatic, and am one of those that finds just about every song they've ever made to be utterly brilliant. "Hey You" of course is among my favorites. Every time I hear it, I get chills down my spine as I listen to the rhythm and the lyrics. It's a cry for help I feel many of us have experienced, at some point in our lives, and am always fascinated by how our perceptions change over time, giving the lyrics more and newer meaning. (Read the lyrics here.)

2. Hello Again - Lostprophets; Neil Diamond

Both Lostprophets and Neil Diamond do a song called "Hello Again," so I figured I'd only count it as one song, even though they're both completely different songs. Lostprophets are one of my favorite bands of all time, and this song truly explains why. Excellent musicianship meets powerful lyrics and strong melody. The song is about starting over, and I like the idea that no matter where we are in life, there's more places we can go and more things we can do. "Just say when, and you'll stop the pain of your life, bring it to an end; Just say when, and you could make amends; Just say hello, say hello again". (Read the full lyrics here.)

Neil Diamond's song is about friendship. Or something like that. It's got piano, and Neil sings beautifully, of course. This song is featured in the classic comedy film Saving Silverman. (Read the lyrics here.)

3. Hey Jealousy - Gin Blossoms

Classic tune of my own generation. I love the peppy beat and the lyrics are good. I don't read too much into the song, but take it as more of a "live for the moment" kind of tune. It's good stuff. (Ready the lyrics here.)

4. Hollow Years - Dream Theater

Dream Theater is one of the most amazing bounds I've ever heard. This song is just another that epitomizes their brilliance: profound lyrics and astounding musicality. "Once the stone you're crawling under, has lifted off your shoulders; once the cloud that's raining over your head disappears, the noise that you'll hear is the crashing down of hollow years." I can't do justice describing this song any further. It's one of those that mesmerizes me when I listen to it. (Read the lyrics here.)

5. Home From Home - Millencolin

Swedish punk rockers Millencolin were one of the bands I got into when I first got into punk rock. I like this song for its pace, and of course for the ideas of home presented within the lyrics. It's good stuff. (Read the lyrics here.)

6. Hotel California - The Eagles

No H list would be complete without this song. Classic rock champions the Eagles rock the world with this masterpiece. Cool and unusual lyrics meet incredible riffs, putting together a winning combination that everyone must sing along to. (Read the lyrics here.)

7. Hanukkah Song - Adam Sandler

"Put on your yalmulka, here comes Hanukkah." Does it get any better than that? A tasteful and fun look at celebrities who are Jewish from none other than actor and Saturday Night Live star Adam Sandler. (Read the lyrics here.)

8. Halfway Decent - Audio Karate

Quasi-punk group Audio Karate rocks out with this song, a catchy and fun song to listen to. I like this song because it reminds me to keep hope, and to keep on keeping on. If that makes any sense. Let's just leave it there, and I'll end by noting that it's a great song. (Check out the lyrics here.)

9. Heavy Metal Drummer - Wilco

Yet another catchy tune. Every time I hear this song, I have to turn up the sound and sing along. It's a fairly reminiscent song, when you think about it, but one that's always fun. (Lyrics are here.)

10. Home - Breaking Benjamin

Alternative power house Breaking Benjamin sings the story of Dorothy, a girl who wanders down a certain yellow brick road. That's right. Directly off their debut album, these guys take on The Wizard of Oz. It's a really great song, and the way the lyric are written is really cool. I highly recommend checking them out here.

So there you have it, my list of ten H songs. I hope I lived up to the challenge.

The Wise Man in me (Inner Wise Man?) wants to say that you should not let things get to you. That life is surely too short to dwell on things that could possibly be considered annoying in any way, shape, or form. That letting something get to you is the worst form of allowing things get the best of you. (No doubt you will read that last sentence and question its redundancy.)

Most times, I find I'm pretty good at following my own advice. I say 'most times' because that's not always the case. For instance, one thing I always try to keep in mind is that, if I'm late, I'm late. At least I made it to wherever or whatever I was going to. No sense in taking risks by driving recklessly, too fast, etc. In other words, don't flip out when things aren't going perfectly smoothly.

One would think, then, that I'm pretty well adjusted, and that I have a very healthy outlook on life in this respect. I would agree, that most times I'm all right. But the other day, I was having a rough morning. Not one thing seemed to be going in my favor.

That is, until I was heading to the shuttle (a regular old bus that takes you to the parking lot). At last! The shuttle was waiting there for me, and I was nearly there. Indeed, it was perfect timing, seeing as I had to hurry off to work. I really should have known better to get my hopes up. I watched, the smile on my face washed away by the closing of the doors and the gunning of the engine.

I stood there and stared as it took off, resigned to the fact that I'd have to wait until the next shuttle came around. As luck would have it (why is luck always so darn consistent, especially when it's of the less than favorable kind?), I had to wait nearly ten minutes for the next shuttle to show up.

Finally! I knew then that that was it. My lousy morning would finally be redeemed for a better afternoon. But, no! As I was climbing aboard the bus, I heard the sound of a voice that makes me shudder. Not because of the voice quality, but because of the pretentious shit that spews forth from said voice's mouth.

"Oooh, nice longboard, man. What kind of bearings do you use?"
"Wow, cool shirt. I thought about designing one like that, but it looks like someone else beat me to it."
"Gee, pig tails are still in, huh?"

Fantastic. It had to be the creepy bus driver whose glasses were too big and horn-rimmed for his face, and who despite his wavy hair tried to grow a mullet. As if that's not enough, he makes some kind of crack (for which he undoubtedly thinks he's wildly clever) to each and every person that climbs onto his shuttle.

It's way too much to handle on an ordinary day, and given that this was no ordinary day, that surely tested my limits. I was very tempted to run screaming, but I really had to get to work. So I climbed aboard, glaring at the man in what I hoped would be a statement that I was in no mood for his commentary.

Apparently, it worked (were one to judge by his silence; of course, the possibility remains that he just had nothing to say (if only that were true!); for my own sake, I consider it a victory on my part, and will not be convinced otherwise), and I went along my not-so-merry way.

I know that, most times, I feel pretty right that my life is headed in the right direction. That I'm in school studying what I want to be studying, and that because I have so much fun learning, clearly I'm on the right track. Pretty idealistic, I know, and recently that ideology has been thrown a curve ball.

Unfortunately, I've had to do a lot of driving lately. I say "unfortunately" not because I don't like driving (I really enjoy it, actually), but rather because it has been draining so much of my time, especially my fun time: chilling, reading books and blogs, and writing.

While cruising the streets on my way to some irrelevant location, I noticed a brand new Toyota Camry drive past me. As I watched it speed ahead, I tried to figure out what was different about this brand new model, compared to its predecessor.

Here it is, 2007, and this car hardly looks different from the model of ten years ago. The only real differences are that the chassis has gotten larger, and now the "curvaceous" look is in, rather than the old boxy look.

It struck me that designing new models for cars could very well be one of the single most rewarding careers of all time. And what a cinch! Look at last year's model and add two curves to the back, add one or two more plastic cup holders, and maybe change the shape of the plastic that covers the headlights.

And let's not forget that with every new model that comes out and looks almost exactly like the old one, you'd get to crush everyone's dreams!!! Yes, we all dream of futuristic cars that are sleek, sexy, and can possibly even fly. Indeed, like the guy who shattered everyone's hope for a cool new futuristic vehicle (read: one that either hovers or flies) by patenting and selling that worthless P.O.S. known as Segway, so too could one completely spoil ideas of a really cool look for things in our now (I'm referring to "the future," that time is now, it is ours!).

Also consider how, rather than each year hoping and waiting that things somehow change drastically, and everything suddenly looks cool, you could cease that agonizing waiting game and instead take part in the system that disappoints. What better way to beat that waiting game by becoming a part of that force that holds it back?

Finally, the biggest bonus of the job would be that you really only have to work once a year, to get that year's design all set and ready for production. You could still work year-round, and just bill the company for hours worked in "creativity and collaboration" on up and coming models. Of course, you'll get paid for the time, when in fact you were just scheming to make similar changes as you did to the previous model. It's a piece of cake.

Yep, that'd be the life. Seriously.

I must admit that I'm not the best in the world at ranting, though I do like to do so from time to time. The topic of this entry was actually started as a rant, believe it or not. But, as my mind spun and thought, it became much less a rant, and transformed itself into something completely unexpected, trivial, and completely original: an article. To protect identities of those involved in the article, real names have been replaced with fake ones. (Image courtesy of The Spider Awards.)

Free-Rolling Shopping Carts Plague Society

ALBUQUERQUE - A disturbing trend in shopping districts shows a sharp increase in the number of shopping carts left to their own devices once shoppers are done using them. Reports state that shopping cars are simply discarded by cars' sides. Patrons, in their frenzy to keep up with the "hustle and flow" of life in the twenty-first century, simply jump in their cars and drive away.

The result of this irresponsible behavior is nothing short of sheer bedlam. Shopping carts simply roll away without being pushed. As gravity and physics (inertia, force, friction, and various other properties) act upon the carts, they roll away unchecked by shoppers. Store employees stated that catching carts is a difficult task, namely because they're busy scoping the parking lot in their little carts and cannot be bothered with the monumental responsibility of catching the renegade shopping carts.

As this phenomenon has arisen, so too has its study from a scientific perspective. Byron Gulperson, a geologist and physicist from the city government, said that the free-rolling shopping carts are not only challenging current understanding of physics, but they are also affecting the geography of the land around them.

"What we're seeing is that parking lots that were once perfectly horizontal, thus having no possible way for gravity to act upon unmoving objects, are now in fact becoming increasingly hilly. Each time a shopping cart rolls away, the grade of the hill is increased by approximately 1/1000 of a degree. Such a steep increase in the grade can only lead to disaster."

Customers oblivious to this trend are, obviously, indifferent to it and the far-reaching effects it will surely have. Other customers, however, have been hurt by this trend.

Phil, a good citizen and author of a blog known as All Things Phil, said that he has noticed this trend and is quite disturbed. "I was at Target when I first noticed it. As I was walking through the parking lot toward the store, one of those renegade carts rolled right in front of me, nearly plowing me over. Then, when I was at the grocery, one of those damned carts actually hit my car. It's getting out of control."

The Chief of Police, Allen Brugertoni, issued a press release saying that they are doing everything they can to rectify the situation. "It will take time," he said, "but we are confident that shoppers will get their act together. At least we hope so." Needless to say, only time will tell.

Despite the fact that I am by nature very laid back and easy going, occasionally there are certain things that get on my nerves. It's true that very little does actually get to me, but when something does get to me, look out.

My latest pet peeve regards DVDs. An unlikely one, I know, but that's what it is. I love movies. I love DVDs. But I don't love giant companies who decide that DVDs I purchase should contain heinous propaganda. That's not what I pay for when I buy a movie.

But recently, I've been subjected to this "message" far too often for my taste (admittedly, my taste would be such that I never see said message). I buy a new DVD, excitedly rip it open once I'm home, and gear up to watch a movie. And suddenly, I see no menu, I see no previews.

I am instead subjected to bad music recorded at levels too high, and dull and bright flashes blare before me. Words like "You wouldn't steal a car" suddenly shine on screen, and I have to cover my eyes with both hands to keep from being blinded. "Downloading movies is stealing," I'm warned.

It is at this point that I cry out in anguish, this message having very nearly ruined my movie experience. I hate that I have to see the thing repeatedly. I hate that I can't skip to the menu because of some stupid code built into the disc that disables the DVD player.

And of course I have to stop and wonder why, in the name of [enter chosen noun/name/adjective/deity here], companies decide that the ones who actually pay for movies should be the ones who have to watch that nonsense. Although I suppose, judging from a corporate point of view (assuming, as I am in this case, that said viewpoint is the opposite of reality), that clearly makes the most sense.

But I feel justified in saying that movie companies should not be surprised if downloading fails to magically cease. Call it a hunch.

It's been one of those days. Or weeks. Or whatever. In a short time, I have managed to confuse, confound, befuddle, and generally overturn whatever sense I had managed to hold onto in the blogosphere. I think I'll attribute it to blog rustiness (thanks for the term Sucka, it's so true).

If you've found yourself confused by my recent post and/or blasts, you're surely not the only one. I've probably been twice as lost. But have no fear, for this shall pass. Perhaps once life returns to a state of semi-normalcy (my life is rarely, if ever, normal), or some sort of routine is established, then I'll be in a better swing of things.

So for now, apologies for the confusing circumstances, and cheers to better blog skills in the [immediate] future. Thanks. That is all.

Max Stout drove casually back to town, the hint of a grin across his face. He could not help but feel that he was brilliant, an Einstein compared to everyone in that small town. And Mary! She was so much more than a simple store owner (well, coffee shop owner). He had no idea that getting involved with her might make him filthy rich.

To ensure that the diversion worked, Max and Mary had first changed the tire on the car. Next, they pointed the car straight down the long, seemingly endless stretch of highway. They attached The Club to keep the steering wheel in place. Finally, they took a large rock they had found and placed it on the gas pedal, as they had seen done in a Lifetime movie. It was the perfect plan.

Mary then jumped into the trunk of Max's squad car, and then they turned and headed back to town. After all, they reasoned, nobody would hunt someone down whom they believed to be running away, in their own backyard. Yes, yes! The plan was flawless!

Unfortunately for Mary and Max, however, their hubris taxes were overdue. And just as all good things must come to an end, especially if one defaults on payment, so it was that Mary and Max were in for a surprise.

That surprise was Greg Hurnley, the Town Geezer.

Sometimes I wonder if those things purported to be common sense need to be specifically taught to certain people. I mean, sometimes we take for granted what we like to think is common courtesy and/or decency--or, for lack of a more perfect term, common sense.

But lo and behold, I'm forever surprised by people. I have two superb examples to illustrate this point. And by superb, I don't mean good.

• The woman at the grocery store today who felt that she should take up the entire entryway on her way out of the store. Clearly, who wouldn't want to be stuck behind her, unable to pass because others were entering the store and were themselves nearly bulldozed by this woman in the process. And lets not forget that, were one to (hypothetically) try passing from the other side, one would run the risk of being flattened against the wall by the huge swinging arms. I suppose this whole scenario wouldn't be so terrifying if, say, said woman were to have been walking at something even slightly speedier than the snail's crawl at which she strolled. Honestly.
• The woman at that red light today who, for some crazy reason, decided that when the light turned green, she was supposed to inch forward just to be in the middle of the intersection and then not to drive any further. When we honked at her (clearly, this course of action on our part was inevitable), she threw up her hands and started doing the chatty chicken dance (the usual chicken dance, but with hands flapping like a mouth). Um, yeah.

These are but two examples of a myriad to which I've been a witness. Seriously, though, it's getting out of hand. Perhaps these fine folks need more education (Ms. Manners style!), or else I'm tempted to open my own school for them. My program would make it a point to inform each student that, while he or she was once a blithering idiot, by the time they graduate, that will no longer be the case. I'd be willing to bet that there would be no prouder graduates on the face of the earth.

And I would have made one heck of a contribution to society.

Good news, blog fans! It is official, I am now back from my hiatus. I've had a great summer, full of stories, some of which you already know. However, I'm thrilled to be back. *Cue loud boisterous music*

Since my return, I have not resumed blogging right away for the simple reason that I'm in the midst of trying to get my life back in order. So much to do, and so little time. So I've slowly but surely been adapting back to my normal life.

As I've done so, I've discovered something new about myself. With all I've had to be doing as of late, I've found that not only am I learning a great deal, I'm also enjoying myself. I've relaxed a great deal, and as I've learned to roll with the punches, a new sense of confidence has overtaken me.

This sense of confidence can be deadly, though, as I discovered the other day. I had an early meeting for my new job, one that went over policy, regulations, benefits, etc. The meeting lasted for about two hours. At its conclusion, I was more than ready to flee, but had to stop to use the restroom on the way out.

Upon reaching said destination, I found, to my horror, that my fly had been unzipped the entire time. How could this be?!! All had gone so well, and everything had been taken care of. It was a slap in the face. My mind raced, trying to figure out who had noticed. I wondered if anyone had, and if they had, would they have had the courtesy to inform me (somehow I doubt it).

That sense of confidence I had felt had long since passed, and I felt like the biggest goober on the planet. Fortunately, rational thought eventually returned. How often do people stare at random strangers' crotches? Especially when, at 8:30 in the morning, all anyone can think about is food or coffee.

Plus, thanks to a dizzying bout of heat rash from which I'd been recovering, I had unprofessionally (but very healthily) chosen not to tuck in my shirt. Go me.

So when you're feeling confident in life, remember that you can still royally screw up, without actually knowing it. To avoid this, I'd recommend, at the very least, to remember to zip up your fly.

Welcome to this, the third entry of my summer hiatus. It is 100% true, and it happened to me about a week ago. Part of why I couldn't type this sooner lies in something resulting from this incident, which you'll soon see. Should you feel the urge to laugh, grin, or show any indication that what you read is in any way entertaining, then now might be a time for a little self-reflection. Only I am allowed to laugh. Now, no more sense in beating around the bush. Here goes:

Despite my 22 years spent on this earth, I am full of signs and indications that I'm still just a really big kid. Unlike others my age, I do not need to be entertained, but rather find entertainment. While I'm a fan of technology (e.g. computers, stereos, television, and battery-operated hands-free can openers), I'm also easily amused. I won't expound any further.

So when I went to a lake and visited a public beach, it was only natural that the swing sets there should attract me like a moth to a fluorescent bug zapper. I have always loved swings. Something about that seat suspended by two chains, regardless of whether or not you burn your butt from it because it's been roasting all day in the hot sun, is simply irresistable to yours truly. I love just sitting there, letting it rock as I sit down, and then starting to swing my legs.

Every second is sheer pleasure as the ground becomes blurry because I'm moving too fast to actually see it clearly. And the higher I go, the more I feel I'm breaking free of the thoughts and feelings that are otherwise ever-present. In seconds, the only thing that matters is that I'm defying gravity, and every time it tries to pull me back, I defy it again. That simple back and forth movement is so liberating. All thoughts fade away and the only thing that matters is that you feel. You feel alive, happy, excited, free.

And so it was that I climbed onto the swing, and I set myself free. I climbed higher and higher into the air, forgetting the ground beneath me. Before long, I was as high as could be, and felt like nothing could spoil my fun.

Unfortunately for me, the feeling ended up being nothing close to reality. The swing, clearly out to get me (refer to above poorly written analogy involving a moth), chose that precise moment to give out on me. One second I'm flying free, then suddenly I'm moving backward, falling (and thinking it a normal part of the ride), when I hear a loud thud and I'm suddenly motionless.

I'd say there was a sound, like a CRACK!, but I don't remember hearing one. I only remember moving backward, and then not moving at all. I open my eyes, after apparently having closed them upon my fall, and let the scene come into focus. The sound of laughter meets my ears, and I turn my head to see my friend in tears, laughing at the spectacle. And I begin to laugh, finally realizing what had just happened.

Slowly, I rise to a sitting position, and then use the dangling chain to pull myself up to my feet. As I brush myself off, I pull down my shirt over my back, it having been pulled up due to the few feet I skidded upon impact. As I stare at the chain, I notice the swing still attached at the end. And I look to the other end, only to discover that it is no longer intact, having lost its screws and being torn apart. Despite my love of swings, only one thought enters my head: serves it right. Bum swing.

I then inspect myself for signs of injury, including scrapes, cuts, blood, broken bones, and bruised ego. I find nothing, save for some blood oozing from my middle finger on my left hand.

Feeling relieved that I'd escaped injury, having not even hit my head in the fall (whew), I desert the swings and head for the bathrooms. Once there, I go straight for the sink and start running cold water (no option on that one, it's the only spiget in the place). Water pours over my finger, soothing it. I put soap on my hand and scrub lightly, cleaning out all the dirt and grime so as to save myself from an infection.

As I scrub, a man walks into the bathroom and goes to the urinal. He looks at me, watching some of the blood wash away from the water, and strikes up conversation:

Man: Oh, hurt yourself, huh?

Me: Yep.

Man: What happened?

Me: I was having a little too much fun on the swings.

Man: Oh really. Well, you know, there is a minimum age on those things.

Me: What is it, three?

Man: [no response]

The man walks away (without washing his hands, mind you), clearly baffled by my last remark, no doubt thinking I'm an idiot with an IQ lower than his own. I don't take kindly to his belittling tone, and his attempt at sarcasm that hit well below the mark.

I leave the bathroom, my finger less bloody but still causing excruciating pain. Whoever imagined that fingers have so many nerved? I head to the ice chest, and borrow some ice to put on it.

As the day wears on, my finger grows exponentially more purple. Eventually, someone guesses that I've broken it, and so the search ensues for some tape to keep me from moving it. The tape seems to help, less because it has healing properties, more because it kept me from moving it and thus making the pain worse.

The next day, I go to a nurse, who encourages me to keep icing it (which I've been doing continuously) and also fits me with a fancy little splint. That lasts for one day, and the next day I go to the emergency room to get x-rays.

After a lovely 2 hour stay for the x-rays, it's established that no bones are broken. Lucky me. It's also established that I've torn the ligaments in my finger quite a bit (this is referred to as a "sprain"). Not so lucky me.

I'm fitted with a new splint, one that keeps my finger completely straight. It's wrapped with gauze to secure it in place. The resulting appearance is that, even without forming the other four fingers into a fist, I'm perptually flipping the bird. So, while inconvenient and sometimes annoying, the splint has also been the source of a fair amount of entertainment.

Given the circumstances and the amount of run-around I've had to suffer from this ordeal (not to mention the pain I've suffered as well), I feel that I might as well make the most of it. And given that I've had to endure much unwanted attention and countless people staring at my finger and asking "what happened?", I feel I have every right to be "angry" at the world, and give it the finger.

Remember, I'm not laughing. I'm angry.

While I was working on my next hiatus entry, wouldn't you know it but something else happened yesterday that took immediate precedence over whatever it was that I had had in mind. Trust me, it's for the best. Why, you ask? Simple. Because it involves the following elements all in a single story (though not in any particular order):

• A car
• Darwin's Theory of Evolution
• Monumental stupidity
• Guilt

Prepare yourself, because here comes the story.

I was driving yesterday, along a dark road in the middle of nowhere. I was driving a mere 30mph, minding my own business. First off, I want it clear that I consider myself to be a decent driver. I'd say 'good', but I don't know that that's always the case. Plus, decent implies that I'm thoughtful and considerate of others on the road. This includes rabbits.

You read right. Little bunny rabbits. I'm as much a fan of them as anyone, and I'm right there with everyone else that they're positively adorable, what with those big brown ears and fluffy white tails.

But the one I encountered yesterday, despite its cute appearance, was lacking a lot in intellect. Either that or it was just plain stubborn, which in this case I admit is a pretty stupid thing to be. Wouldn't you know it, but the rabbit wanted to share my road exactly when I was driving along it. And he wanted to share the same exact piece of concrete too. So much so that he decided to hop right into the line of fire, perfectly in line with my right tires, leaving me with only two options:

1. Continue driving at precisely the speed I was going and test the rabbit's fate.
2. Slam on my brakes and probably hit the wrectched creature anyway.

Given the lack of time I had to make this split-second decision, I opted for the former, feeling also that if I slammed on the brakes I might lose control of the car or something. No sense in us both losing our lives. Evidently, the rabbit's time had come.

Unable to change the course of events, I continued to drive. As I heard the thunk of the rabbit under-wheel, a sinking feeling of guilt overcame me. I'm not sure why, but it just did, and there was nothing I could do about it. It very nearly ruined my evening.

Eventually, however, I came to my senses and realized that rabbits procreate incredibly fast, so the one bunny that became Road Kill a la Phil was not going to be cause for a drastic change in the bunny population. Plus, Darwin always recognized survival of the fittest, and clearly this rabbit was not with the times. Cars are a beast of the world, and smarter animals should know better than to jump right in front of them. So perhaps I did my part to keep that bunny from reproducing, and thereby creating more dumb rabbits.

In any case, it's too late to change anything now. And I'm thanking my lucky stars that the damn rabbit wasn't a deer.

My summer hiatus is in full swing, and so as no doubt you can imagine, I'm having a great time. The entry you're about to read was actually inspired by time spent at the airport about a week ago. I just didn't have a chance (until now) to write it as a blog entry. I hope you enjoy.

I write this blog entry utterly convinced that airports are designed specifically for blog material. I'm serious. Take the following examples, and then try to tell me I'm wrong:

• The line to go through security. What used to be short enough to get crowded/congested/backed up has been lengthened considerably at Albuquerque's airport. Despite the minimal number of people traveling at 6:45 in the morning, all the ropes were in place, and thus we travelers had to drag our sleep-deprived asses all the way through the damn line.
• Metal detectors are no longer the only barrier things to walk through in security. Technology has become so advanced that now ou must also walk through an "air puffer." That's right. Step into the box, place your feet as indicated, and get blasted with puffs of air. Apparently, it's a way to pat you down without the use of a human being, and there are two side effects:

  1. Bad/Annoying: Jets of air are puffed into your eyes. It's slightly less than pleasant.

  2. Good/Shocking: Should you happen to be wearing somewhat baggy shorts, as I was, you might wind up feeling violated.

• Upon entering the restroom before going to my gate, I walked in on someone who clearly was not expecting anyone to walk in at that exact moment. As it turns out, he was standing in front of the mirror and flexing his "guns." If I was to judge by the look on his face before and after my arrival on the scene, I'd say he has a pretty vivid imagination.

This is but a sampling of what I experienced during my morning stint at the airport. Indeed, it is quite the adventure.

Finding Your Voice, brought to you once again by Rod. This week's theme is "Detour Ahead," and the following piece is my own creative writing on the topic. This week, I'm breaking tradition and dedicating this piece for my friend Thom. I hope you enjoy.

Detour Ahead

On the road of life, do not expect to find any detour signs. Not because there is no need, but because the road isn't paved. Expect the unexpected. That curve ahead just might prove deadly. Or that hill might be impossible to climb. And perhaps the road will narrow in certain spots, and widen in others.

Of course, if you never drive, you will never find out one way or another. What lies up beyond that bend could remain an elusive mystery, if you so decide. Still, you could always just go take a peek. Just a glimpse. But then you might become fascinated by what you see. And of course you'll have to see more.

Expecting a 'detour ahead' sign? Unfortunately, those never made the production line. You'll just have to make do. Of course, there is one omnipresent warning: there is no telling what the road of life may bring. It may be wondrous and awe-inspiring. It may be less so.

But rest assured that the road of life promises a myriad of experiences. And if you take that chance, and venture out onto the road, buckle your seat belt. There will be bumps. There will be twists and turns.

But in the end, you will find that traveling the road has been worth it. All you have to do is believe in yourself, and driving that road will be much more than a trip: it will be an adventure.

A few announcements real quick here.

First:

Perhaps you've noticed the new look to my blog page. I hope you like it. I am still playing with it, but for the time being, I think this is pretty cool.

Next:

To those people who have sent me invites recently, I am glad to meet you, and appreciate that you like my blog. Unfortunately, I cannot accept any friends at this time, for reasons that will become clear with my next announcement.

Finally:

Friends and readers of this blog, I wanted to let you know that I will be on hiatus starting today. I will try to write when I get a chance, but will not be blogging regularly for about the next month and a half. I will be traveling, and will not have easy access to my computer.

I decided, to keep things simple, that I would go on hiatus until I return. I will write occasional posts, but will be unable to read everyone's blog on a regular basis. This I regret, as you are all talented writers whose work I love to read. But I wanted to let you know this now, rather than have you later wonder from which corner of the earth I had fallen.

For those of you who keep in touch on a more regular basis (you know who you are), I can be reached at my regular email address.

Okay, that's all the announcements. Boring writing will now cease. Thanks for reading.

Okay, so it's been a few days and I didn't post my cell phone entry right away. This had nothing to do with karma, but just that it's been a busy week and I didn't get around to it until now. So, let the cell phone story commence.

It's Tuesday afternoon. I'm running errands. I'm driving all over town. I'm going crazy with all the things I've had to do. I'm fed up. I'm driving home.

As I'm driving home, I turn onto a street in a mostly residential area, getting nearer all the time that place called home. I'm approaching a traffic light, which, to my delight, is green. I see other cars waiting for the light to change so that they may go. At least, I think they're waiting for it to change.

I'm proven wrong. I spy a white H2 Hummer. It starts to roll forward, and keep rolling, and then accelerating. I look at the obviously moronic driver: she's young (mid-20's, maybe), long blonde hair, and has her cell phone glued to her hand, which is glued to her ear. Her mouth moves, a blur as words fly into the metallic object applied to her ear.

She pulls out in front of me, while I'm mere feet away going almost 40 mph. I become one with the car as my feet slam on the clutch and brake and my right arm instinctively hits the horn. I lay on the horn for more than five seconds, hoping that Ms. Oblivious takes the hint that what she just did was not only stupid, but dangerous.

She takes no notice. She keeps driving, her mouth never having stopped its momentous verbiage. I'm left fuming, utterly pissed about the entire ordeal, while she moves on in her blissful stupor.

I had an excellent idea for a post today, involving yet another cell phone incident. But I decided blogging about cell phones two days in a row would be bad karma, and also I was tagged by none other than Marshgarsha! And so I now have blog material for today and tomorrow. So here goes.

Name six behaviors/habits that bother you in other people:

Well, my easy-going nature makes this one a bit of a challenge, so I'm instead going to mention six things that have annoyed me in the past, that I've blogged about. Click the links if you want the full details.

• Talking on cell phones in poorly chosen locations.
• Deciding that people have no morality or integrity without ever trying to get to know them.
• Being rude to wait-staff for no apparent reason.
• Boring writing, namely of the academic variety.
• Not speaking clearly or directly into the microphone, and thus making me play guessing games that could affect my entire life as I know it.
• Trying to steal the table that is so not yours.

Name six places you dream of vacationing:

• Australia and New Zealand
• Brazail
• Madagascar - To see some rain forests and maybe to meet some pirates.
• Europe
• Canada - I've never been, and I hear Vancouver rocks.
• Central America - not just for vacationing, but also to check out all the amazing historical stuff.

Name six favorite pasttimes:

• Reading a good book
• Watching movies and listening to music (sometimes simultaneously)
• Doing Sudoku puzzles
• Writing
• Hanging out with friends
• Playing card games

Name six things you would like to accomplish by next year:

• Start writing a book.
• Finish reading a substantial number of books on the growing list of books I have to read.
• Complete my chapters for 360 Audiophiles
• Sell my old student violin
• Boost my bowling average to at least 175
• Find more time to play music

Name six things people would be surprised to know about you:

• I'm a juggler. The most balls I can juggle well (all at once) is five, and I can also ride a unicycle.
• When I was little, I was not very fond of insects or anything that had a gross or slimy feel to it, and now I love nature, am fascinated by insects (especially spiders), and slimy is good.
• Though I've played guitar and violin for quite some time, I really want to be a drummer.
• About a year ago, I did not like writing, and all the stuff I did write at that point was nothing short of dreadful. Not that what I write now is any better, but the difference is, I like to write now.
• I have a hard time driving a car that's standard transmission if I'm wearing flip flops. I do it anyway, though.
• I love jumping. Give me a trampoline or a diving board, and I'm happy for hours.

Name six songs that describe your personality:

• "I Walk Alone" by Oleander - A really cool song that always reminds me that it's perfectly okay just to be me.
• "Stare at the Sun" by Thrice - A killer song that is full of hope, truth, and just life.
• "Solitary Shell" by Dream Theater - Sort of reminds me what I was like before I fully accepted myself as being who I am.
• "Far Behind" by Candlebox - Something about saying "maybe," I guess, just leaves so many possibilities open.
• "My Spirit Will Go On" by DragonForce - Sort of my mantra, not only because the lyrics are cool, but also because it all-out rocks.
• "I Don't Know" by Lostprophets - That line "I don't know how to change from being me" speaks volumes.

Name six people you will never forget:

There's obviously way more than six people to include here, so because I've been engrossed in education for quite some time now, I figured I'd list mostly various teachers I've had who've had at least some form of impact on my life.

• Mrs. B. - Sixth grade English teacher whom I drove crazy, and yet she still seemed to love me anyway. Thanks to her, I love language.
• Mrs. R. - Orchestra conductor in sixth grade, one of the funniest people ever, and her respect for us as students made her that much better as a teacher.
• Joan W. - My violin teacher for over four years, who made me realize that it's not about who you're trying to please, it's about music.
• Mrs. McD. - Junior English teacher in high school who helped break me out of my little "shy" shell my first day in her class. I got moved into her class a few weeks into school, and when I arrived she and some students were talking about the definition of 'dork' (it really is a whale penis), and that discussion spilled right over into class time. No more shyness for me, that class was a blast.
• Mr. O'G. - World history teacher, senior year in high school. One of the smartest teachers I've ever had, and he even had a sense of humor about his subject. Plus, what's not to love about celebrating Strom Thurmond's birthday just so we could have a party in class?
• Rabbi Steve Greenberg - Not a teacher, nor have I met him in person (though I have corresponded with him over email and on the phone). He's an orthodox Jewish Rabbi, and he's gay. I first stumbled upon an article he published in 1993 (I found it about two years ago; I had no idea I was gay back in 1993, considering I was all of 9 years old), and then I also read his book. It is he who made me truly realize that it is possible to be both Jewish and gay, and for that I will never forget him.

Well, that's the end of the tag. I'm supposed to tag six people, but I will instead leave it up to you if you want to be tagged. If you'd like to play along, be sure to say so in your comment so that I can be sure to go check it out.