Have you ever found yourself wondering why people do certain things? As in, something seems so weird that you can't help but wonder what the heck the point of it all really is? Recently, I found myself in such a situation.

It all started Saturday afternoon, when I was out and about, wandering around town, and ended up stopping at Target to pick up a few things. Everything seemed normal, and as usual I enjoyed the people watching more than the shopping itself.

It was at the checkout counter that I saw her. She was young, probably late twenties or early thirties, and something about her face caught my eye. For some reason, it didn't look right. I found myself staring, the detective in me sifting through the clues and trying to figure out what was off.

Suddenly, she arched her eyebrows, and then it struck me. She didn't have any! Okay, I figured, she was in some sort of accident or had some medical condition, which explains it. I've never heard of such a thing, but the idea seemed plausible.

Of course, upon further inspection, I noticed that her face was caked with makeup, and I also got a good look at the "eyebrow" lines she had drawn (or whatever the word is for drawing in the eyebrows). The lines were unnaturally long, seeming to nearly reach her ear. Odd.

Before I knew it, she whirled around and stared at me, eyebrows arched. I gasped as I saw little muscle lines move, while her stenciled-in eyebrows remained still. To say the least, it was a bit odd to take it all in, and the image is still imprinted in my mind (hence why I'm writing this entry).

I'm afraid I have no grasp of modern fashion, and this case escapes me even further.

Okay, okay, I'll fess up. The whole spectacle had me in fits of laughter, and now I'm unsure whether to feel guilty about it (what if it's not something she can help, so she's covering it up as best she can?) or whether to just let loose and laugh in good fun, with as little true meanness as possible.

I'm torn. So in the interest of fairness, I'll put it to a vote, and you can help me decide.

What are these mysterious eyebrows? (results in parentheses)

I've heard of that, it's a medical problem, called Eyebrow Absentia, or something like that. (5)

She plucked them and drew in new ones. It's a fashion statement. (23)

She's really some kind of extra-terrestrial, or alien, if you will. (16)

It is time once again for advice from the infamous and semi-world renowned Yo Phil. This week's question comes from Jeff, California blogger and all around great guy. The question he poses was asked in a rather serious context, which can be found here. For the sake of good advice, however, Yo Phil will approach this question entirely out of context, not only for a deeper look at what implications the question poses, but also to ensure that you, the reader, do not take this advice to be in any way insensitive to the topic that brought this question to light. And now, without further chit-chat, let's bring on the advice.

Yo Phil,

Are men (male gender) born inherently violent or is violence a socialized/taught behavior?

-Jeff

Jeff,

No doubt this question has been on people's minds for many years now. And, in all honesty, it is a perplexing question. Let us first take a look at what happens with a male baby:

The baby boy is born, and the parents are ecstatic! The little guy is so cute, he coos and blows bubbles. He has big eyes that eagerly watch everything around him. Oh, and he loves to play little games and be tickled. In all that baby fat and puffy cheek splendor, there is little doubt that that little guy is not violent at all.

All goes well, until one day, the little tyke discovers that the friendly family dog makes both a good pillow and a decent punching bag. The child quickly learns that this violence is unacceptable, and is taught this lesson by a swat on the behind.

The rugrat learns his lesson, and is no longer such a punk. Things return to normal, and everything becomes cute and innocent once again. Things are hunky dory, until the kid learns how to say "no" and becomes obstinate, cranky, and contradictory. Once past the age of two, things look up once again, and preschool looms on the horizon.

Innocent games are played in preschool, and the impressionable young boy loves going to school and playing with his buddies. It's all about stacking blocks and playing on the playground. Please note here that if Teletubbies are introduced to your child at any point, your child will be scarred for life, and no doubt will have violent tendencies. This is not due to any purportedly "gay" characters, but the fact that the show is so mind-numbing that the only reasonable response is to want to destroy things.

Anyway, continue on to elementary school, where more mature games are played, such as battleship, monopoly, and risk. Battleship promotes the destruction of war (I love that game), Monopoly encourages unfair business practices and high interest rates (I love this game too), and Risk promotes all-out warfare, albeit at a fun level of merely rolling dice (this game is also fun).

Having read this, you might think that, whoah, Phil is probably a pretty violent guy. I assure you that I anything but. However, please never say that "Phil would never harm a fly," because it's simply not true. I've been known to swat those little beasts with a vengeance, and cockroaches and mosquitoes are terminated with equal gusto.

Still, I do not have any urges to go pick a random fight and try to break some guy's jaw. I don't fantasize about different battle plans and strategic spots to drop missiles and/or bombs.

I attribute much of my lack of violent tendencies to my overall nature, but also to the environment in which I was raised. Despite all the crap I got in school growing up, I still had a very caring family and those friends that I had were always good friends. I never aimed to be popular, and never felt compelled to seriously compete and compare myself to others. I figure this is due to those in my life knowing that just allowing me to be me was all that was needed to keep me happy.

And so, to answer this question more specifically, it seems that violence has the potential to be a part of each of us, but it is quite possibly the result of the environments in which we find ourselves that has the greatest effect on us. I grew up with my share of violence from society, and yet I remain harmless, for the most part.

That is, unless you push my buttons, in which case I'll kick your ass.

-Phil

*If you wish to ask Yo Phil a question, simply leave a comment or send him a message (be sure to write "Yo Phil" in the message). Yo Phil is a registered trademark of Phil's Blog, "All Things Phil," 2005-2006.

It's spring. In my recent blog dedicated to spring, I mentioned a variety of things that this season has to offer, both positive and negative. One of those positive things really hit town here yesterday: beautiful weather. It turned out to be a mostly cloudless day with plenty of shine, and just the right amount of warmth, reaching only about 80 degrees Fahrenheit. To sum the day up into one word, it was perfect.

And on this perfect day, take a wild guess what yours truly could not resist doing. Though I had lots to do and even had class and such, I still managed to stay out in the sun for more than two hours all at once. I had lunch in the sun, I people-watched on campus, visited with a couple of friends, and almost managed to actually get some work done outside. I tell you, it was a dream come true.

Spring is a magical season, and despite the amount of responsibility I bear, it still manages to make me forget my worries and just relax and enjoy life. I love it.

Of course, I am convinced that I am only alloted a certain amount of good karma, and while I am enjoying said karma, the bad karma gets its payback. Once again, you guessed it. I am now Lobster Man. The amount of time I spent in the sun exposed me to vast amounts of direct sunlight and ultraviolet rays, and I am now quite sunburn.

After enjoying my time outside, I had continued about my day normally, happily doing my own thing. It was not until several hours later, when I was washing my hands in the bathroom, that I got a glimpse of my face in the mirror. My nose, cheeks, and forehead had all turned a rosy shade of red, and when I looked down at my arms, I noticed that they too were red.

Yes indeed, this is the first official sunburn of the year. And despite what I know is coming, the constant feeling of warmth, the possibly peeling skin, the possible fever, I can honestly say that it was 100% worth it. I had such a great time enjoying the outdoors that I refuse to regret it.

And next time, I'll wear a hat and some sunscreen.

*Oh, and if anyone asks, I've decided to tell them I obtained this lovely "tan" while visiting the Sphinx in Egypt, as you can see in the photograph above. The Sphinx looks smaller than it actually is, mainly due to the peculiar angle at which this photograph was taken.

It is time now to pay homage to what have been one of the greatest pairs of sunglasses I have ever owned. Yes indeed, my favorite pair of sunglasses has finally met its demise.

A little over a year ago, it was spring break and I was headed to the airport, on my way to St. Louis to visit a friend. I realized after having already left the house that I had forgotten to bring my sunglasses, and so on our way to the airport, my brother and I stopped at Target. We rushed inside, and quickly made our ways to the jewelry section, where the sunglasses are kept.

After scrambling to try on pair after pair after pair, I finally found a pair that seemed to both fit my face and that actually seemed to shade the sun nicely (it's hard to guess about these things indoors sometimes). They also had 100% UV protection. They were made by Speedo, interestingly enough, and they cost a whopping $15.

Normally, I buy the least expensive sunglasses I can, considering I have a serious tendency to destroy them in a matter of months. Given that fact, I generally find that Oakleys are not my brand of choice. If I had that kind of taste, I'd practically have to take out a loan each year to allot the money to pay for them.

Anyway, I quickly found that the Speedo sunglasses were incredible. No matter how much of a beating I subjected them to, those sunglasses always seemed to spring right back, ready for more. I knew I had a special pair of glasses. They were always so effective and reliable!

Everyday use began to take its toll, and my sunglasses began to loosen and fade. First one ear piece, and then the next, loosening a bit more with each folding motion. Finally, they reached the limit yesterday, when the left ear piece snapped off completely when I folded it closed.

It was the beginning of the day, and I was left without a backup pair, and even if I had backups, there was no way I would abandon my faithful pair of Speedo sunglasses. That's right, I put them right back on when I went outside, and despite that I half-way resembled Morpheus from The Matrix, I boldly wore my sunglasses.

I had no doubt that they would continue to serve me well, and I was not disappointed. My sunglasses, while half the sunglasses they once were, will still continue to work, and I simply cannot replace them until they fully give out. I have never had such a devoted and long-lasting pair of sunglasses, and out of respect for them, I must continue to use them until I can no longer do so.

Only then will I lay them to rest and move on. Yes, only then.

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of going out to lunch with a friend. I have been a bit under the weather for the past couple of days, and when my friend called Sunday morning at quarter to 11 (I was still asleep, mind you), I was a bit groggy, to say the least. But when she suggested a favorite local New Mexican (you read that right, New Mexican) restaurant, I couldn't resist.

In my semi-ill state, I admit I was somewhat reluctant to go out to eat. My friend even pointed out that we could just take a rain check until next weekend, or something. However, once my mind kicked into gear, there was no stopping it, and it was bound and determined to rationalize going to the restaurant today. Here are some of the things it came up with:

1. New Mexican food rules.

2. New Mexican food rules.

3. Green chile is packed with vitamin c, so it's really good for you.

4. Green chile will help clear my sinuses, because it's hot (translation for non-New Mexico English speakers: "spicy).

5. New Mexican food rules.

At this point, allow me to clarify one point. Many people see the word "chile" and think of "chili," the soupy stuff with meat in it. [Note: this next line is for Missy, a la Dan Brown] That's a common misconception. Chile with an 'e' is not only a country in South America, but also a form of pepper. In New Mexico, the native chile is green, and hence it is called "green chile."

Now, on with the story. I managed to come to, and as I got ready to start the day, the thought of lunch actually helped me to start feeling better. By the time I arrived at the restaurant, I was feeling a thousand times better. After being seated, our server went to get us water as well as chips and salsa. Enthralled, we attacked the chips with gusto. The salsa was a red salsa, with all variety of small peppers chopped up inside, and was a welcome snack.

We ordered our food, waited a bit, then it came, and we proceeded to inhale it. It was wonderful. After gorging ourselves, we relaxed and ate our sopapillas and drank our water. We continued for a long time after, reveling in our meal. It was bliss.

Anyway, while we were relaxing and chatting, a middle-aged couple was seated at the table next to us. They were, for the most part, uninteresting, so I paid them no mind. That is, until, as luck would have it, a hilarious situation started playing out before our very eyes.

Our server, who was extremely attentive and very nice, did not happen to be present in the man's time of dire need. Apparently, the big guy was not what you would call "cultured" to the ways of New Mexico. By this, I mean he didn't take kindly to the hot (spicy) food. To my utter delight and amusement, the guy drained his entire glass of tea in hopes of putting the fire out.

Unfortunately for him, but fortunately for me, this did not do the trick. He began sputtering words, and suddenly couldn't seem to sit still. His wife looked nervously around for any wait staff. Meanwhile, I had lost all track of conversation with my friend, unable to take my eyes off the spectacle. Fortunately for me, my friend also had noticed, and she too was eyeing the situation with an amused grin on her face.

It was in his moment of dire need that the big guy proved to us what a total jerk he was. He waved down one of the managers and demanded a new server, saying quite loudly that he felt the current server was neglecting him. After the manager left to find our server, I had a good mind to tell this guy to mind his damn manners, and be a man, but before I had a chance to, he started to turn really red and looked so much more pathetic, that I burst out laughing.

I'm sorry, but I have little sympathy when people who are jerks get themselves into situations like this. It's poetic justice at its best. Now, whether or not the big guy learns anything from this experience does not matter. I am fairly certain that this does not change his attitude or his ways, and he will most likely continue treating people badly. But just this one moment of comeuppance was worth it. Aaaaaahhhhhh.

It is time once again for the infamous Yo Phil column. This time, however, the question is of a more serious nature. I ask that you, the reader, supply the fun today. Your input is greatly appreciated.

Todays question comes from Morbie, a lovely blogger with a wonderful sense of humor and an all-around nice person. She writes:

Yo Phil,

I have had my fill of the Owen thing, and I tried the forgive and forget, mean while he was telling me that someone still wanted to meet him, but he was going to meet her and really try to hurt her feelings or make a fool out of her... should I tell her? She seems to be a great girl, dumb if she still wants to be with him, but yet still a great girl...

-Morbie

Morbie,

Your concern is most certainly well founded. In the interest of full disclosure, this girl has a right to know what all has happened, from all sides. She has a right to know how so many others have been hurt by Owen. Though I myself was more or less uninvolved, since I never really got to know the guy all that well, my opinion is irrelevant. However, I have read a large number of the blogs about the lies he spread and how much they hurt. I do not believe that so many people could feel so terrible out of coincidence.

On the other hand, this girl also has a right to see how Owen himself responded to the whole situation. After all, we're all human, and he himself was affected. Whether the effect was positive, negative, or somewhere in between remains to be seen.

Now that I have elaborated on feelings, allow me to offer a nice plan of attack. Casually hint that he's not sincere, and actually intends to hurt her. If that doesn't work, perhaps saying it outright will. Or if, as I suspect, this girl might think you're just trying to talk her out of meeting someone in whom she's interested, try a new approach.

First, if she's traveling, make sure she books a hotel. When meeting in real life someone you've met online, it is a very good idea to have your own lodging. That way, should something go awry, you have your own place to stay safely, and can make the most of the rest of your trip. I am fully aware of what went on with the last Owen fiasco, and that is further proof that this is a good idea. Yes, sometimes we have to learn the hard way, but that's life. We live, we learn, we move on and don't make the same mistakes anymore. That said, if said Owen is going to be traveling to visit, be sure to direct him to an online hotel directory or something.

I realize that this advice column so far consists of mostly sound advice, not the usual humor contained therein. I did this for a number of reasons. First, the person in question is not someone to joke about, due to the fact that he seriously hurt a lot of people. Second, meeting someone you've only ever met online can go a variety of ways: it can be great, as we all hope we've met people who are real and sincere; it can go okay, where maybe someone doesn't look like the person they've presented themselves as, but are otherwise the same; or it can be a complete fiasco, meaning that everything was lies.

That's only two reasons, but two is still a number, so you can't fault me for that one. Okay, end of seriousness.

Your last point left me thinking. If Owen has any intention of hurting your friend, I recommend your friend, if she still insists on meeting the guy, come up with a killer plan of her own as a means of counterattack. That way, should he try to make a fool of her, she will be equally prepared to make a fool of him. This can involve anything creative, such as breaking out a whoopi cushion for him to sit on in public, to embarrassing him in public. These are but a few suggestions. I encourage readers of this blog to post in the comments section their own ideas for fun ways to get back at the guy, should he try anything. Perhaps, with the variety of everyone's suggestions, a killer plan can come to life.

Hope that helps.

-Phil

*If you wish to ask Yo Phil a question, simply leave a comment or send him a message (be sure to write "Yo Phil" in the message). Yo Phil is a registered trademark of Phil's Blog, "All Things Phil," 2005-2006.

My friend Lia did a really cool blog yesterday about poetry, and also mentioned that April is poetry month. I don't think I've ever posted anything poetic, short of some limerick's for Javacat's Limerick Challenge.

So today, I decided it would be fun for me to step up and try something new. Please forgive the poor quality of the poem you see below. Also, please keep in mind that the poem is far from profound. It was actually inspired by a choice few people from whom I've received invites lately, who obviously knew that their actions (well, pictures) speak louder than words.

Shake Your Stuff

I have yet to fully comprehend
Exactly why I should be your friend
I check my email and what should I see
But a butt-ugly face and a white booty

With a name like 'Oh So Sexy Beast'
Or 'I'll Make You Rise Better Than Yeast'
How can I possibly turn you away
Oh, my heart is so deeply swayed

Here's to you, o amateur porn star
I can tell, in life, you will go far
You're god's great gift to the world of sex
Your hand is stacked with a full deck

I'm sure everyone digs your leather and lace
And the smug expression plastered on your face
And what's not to love about your blog
With all the latest about you and your dog

But do us a favor, and please stop writing
About how much you fancy biting
And stop filling out gross questionnaires
And I beg you, say no more about pubic hairs

"But Phil, you can't say no!" you say
Well guess what darling, that's right, I'm gay
And I'm not into that crap anyway

So please, just do us all a favor
Believe me, you will thank us later
Enjoy your sex, and/or amour
Behind the confines of a closed door

Thank you.

Though spring is in the air, and I certainly do enjoy it, there are some aspects of spring I find particularly frustrating and/or downright annoying. I'll describe these in no particular order, just more or less in whatever direction my mind takes.

1. One of the best things about spring is that it starts to warm up, and everything outside suddenly changes. Trees start budding, grass turns green (or greener, as it were). The time changes (arrgh), but the days get longer, so that's always nice. As the weather warms up, I find myself wanting to stay outside all day and take naps in the grass. Spring makes me lazy.

2. Along with the new life returning to nature, the bugs come along with it. Now, I don't mind the bugs, but I would prefer they keep to themselves. There's no need for them to fly in my face or buzz around me. I hate chasing bugs through the house, or discovering at some point that some jerk bug decided to lay eggs somewhere in the house, and suddenly there's a bajillion of the little beasts flying and crawling all over the place.

3. Allergies. No need to elaborate there.

4. Ambiguous weather. Sometimes it's hard to predict whether you'll actually end up needing a jacket. It may be warm and sunny in the morning, and suddenly, without warning, clouds will pour in and it gets cold. It's always such a pain in the butt to decide whether to bring the coat and risk the extra carrying weight, or to chance and freeze your butt off.

5. While I generally enjoy the smell in the air of budding trees (despite the pollen that makes me sneeze), there are some trees that could kill a dead horse with their stench. At my school, there are a lot of one particular form of tree that, while pleasant when in full bloom, stinks to high heaven when it starts budding. Every time I walk by them, I have to pull my shirt over my nose and run. I have no idea why it is that they reek, as there is no label on what kind of tree this is, and so know not where it tends to grow, and google wasn't very helpful when I did a search for "foul-smelling tree."

Well, at least for now, that's about all that I can think of. Dare I ask what your favorite or least favorite aspect of spring is?

Today, I decided to write a post in honor of what seems to be sucking the life out of me like some ugly leech that sucks the life out of a person. Okay, well maybe it's not that extreme, but sometimes that's certainly what it feels like.

You might find yourself wide-eyed and thinking frantically, "What could possibly be that bad??!!!!" To which I answer, essays and research articles, that's what.

Don't get me wrong, essays and research articles certainly have their merits. Who doesn't want to become more educated and get totally juiced with brain power? Knowledge is most definitely a good thing. But what I want to know is why everything has to be so bloody boring!

Much of what you learn in school is fascinating, but the great land of Academia has a propensity for taking something really cool and making it fantastically dull. But I will not bore you with a rant about this. Instead, I wanted to offer up a few examples of what it is I am talking about.

Example #1

ACADEMIA STYLE:

It is in the mysterious Death Valley of California where there are found a minimum of twenty-three formations of sedimentary units. In addition, two major gaps called unconformities are present, as well as perhaps one distinct related formation, termed groups.

PHIL STYLE:

Death Valley, a popular tourist spot in California named for its intense heat and known for its astounding lack of elevation, has some badass rock formations. In fact, there are twenty-three different formations of sedimentary units. In other words, Death Valley is really freakin' old. Death Valley also contains unconformities, or buried erosions gaps between rocks, which make dating certain parts of the rock difficult because the erosion has brought together parts of rock that formed at different times. The rest is just details.

*Note: I do not claim to know anything about geology, but honestly, which of the above paragraphs is more interesting?

Example #2

ACADEMIA STYLE:

One very interesting insect is the dragonfly. The dragonfly, order Odonata, suborder Epiprocta, is known for its elongated body, its multifaceted eyes, and its transparent wings. The diet of the dragonfly varies, but commonly consists of mosquitoes, flies, bees, and other small insects. Habitats at which dragonflies prefer to inhabit are those areas with water present, including lakes and wetlands. This is because their larvae are aquatic.

PHIL STYLE:

Dragonflies are a form of insect, names as such for their resemblance to the mythical creatures known as dragons, crossed with their insect cousins known as flies. Dragonflies come in all shapes and colors, and are in fact quite aggressive, fighting amongst themselves over territory and, among the males, female mates. They tend to hang out around water, mostly because their larvae are aquatic). Though some people fear dragonflies will bite, they in fact do not sting or bite humans, and can even be considered helpful because they help control various insect populations, including those that can be harmful to humans. That's pretty slick.

*Note: Again, I am no expert on dragonflies, but all my information is accurate and, in my humble opinion, far more riveting.

Well, that concludes your tour through the world of academic writing. I hope you have found it informative, and perhaps even entertaining. Should you wish to leave a note in the guest book below, feel free to do so at this time. Thank you, and come again!

Ths wll b shrt bcs I hv s mch jnk t d tdy. I dd nt pst ystrdy fr prl fls bcs I ws gn ll dy. Nw I m pyng th prc wth ll th hmwrk I hv. Bt ystrdy I ws tlkng t my frnd nd w wr tlkng abt lngg, nd I rlzd tht w dnt rlly nd ll ths psky vwls to cmprhnd smthng tht's wrttn dwn. Cn y ndrstnd ths blg? S tht's ll fr tdy, tmrrw's pst wll b mch bttr, I prms.

Hi and welcome to the fifth installment of "Destination Anywhere," a story written chapter by chapter by a variety of 360 bloggers, and started by our fearless leader Scott. Mine is chapter five. Follow the links below to read the rest of the story thus far, and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Chapter 1 - Scott

Chapter 2 - Steve

Chapter 3 - Hyiidra

Chapter 4 - Karen (MCH)

Chapter 5

Questions swirled in my head. My mind raced back over the past few minutes, hardly able to comprehend what had just happened. As we had filed off the bus, I found myself wondering how the heck I would get to the diner. If the bus and diner were stopped on nothing, how was I expected to walk? I allowed Marti to lead, not only because that was the gentlemanly thing to do, but also because I knew next to nothing about this place, and I thought it best to let her lead the way.

When she reached the end of the flight of stairs, Marti let go of my arm and casually jumped off with both feet. "Follow me!" she yelled. I watched, awestruck, as she suddenly zipped toward the diner effortlessly. A second later, she was standing at the entrance, hand on hip, staring at me. "Come on!" she called.

Not having any other option, I gathered my courage, strengthened my resolve, and jumped. The feeling that overcame me was intense. Time suddenly seemed to stop as my body was overwhelmed with a fleeting sense of sheer density. I felt my body being yanked in a million directions, all those directions culminating in a single point of focus. Next thing I knew, I was standing right next to Marti in front of the diner.

"How the heck did this happen?!!" I asked.

"Oh come now, that's really not important, darling," Marti replied. "If we only ever considered how we get from point A to point B, we'd completely miss out on what each point has to offer. Now, let's go grab a bite to eat."

She grabbed my arm once again and we pushed open the doors. I stepped inside, and immediately froze. From my left, I heard Marti say, "Welcome to Terminal 1, Chester, your first stop on your journey to anywhere."

She then put pressure on my arm, urging me forward. I came to my senses enough to ask her the one question that bugged more than anything. "Who are you?"

Unfazed, Marti answered "Well, your tour guide, of course."

"I don't mean to be rude, but I really don't want a tour guide. The whole purpose of this trip is to be my own guide," I said, hoping that I did not offend her.

"I know, dear."

"Well, if you know, why are you my tour guide?"

Marti looked at me with an expression that told me the answer was obvious. She was patient, however, and calmly explained, "When you decided to take a trip to anywhere, nowhere was the only place you had in mind. You can't very well go nowhere when you want to go anywhere. And for that matter, you can't go anywhere when you want to go nowhere. You have to start somewhere. It's a paradox, dear."

I rolled my eyes. "I see. But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Sure it does. But that's neither here nor there. I'm famished!"

With that, she walked to the counter, still with me arm in arm. Without bothering to ask, she approached the clerk at the counter. He was small and brown, obviously akin to the Booger Folk. I realized after a second that this guy must be some sort of ear wax creature.

I found myself staring at him, and was startled to hear Marti speaking again. "Hi. I'd like one order of anything, and I'd like to get a side of nothing for Chester here. Oh, and we both want something to drink. Thanks!"

At this point, I had resigned myself to the fact that nothing seemed to make sense, and Marti the Tour Guide was not going to be of much help.

As we sat down to eat, Marti opened the conversation. "So tell me about this travel journal you're writing."

"Well," I answered, "it's simple really. I wanted to travel and write about the interesting people I see along the way. At first, it was going along great. That is, until all this weird stuff started happening. I mean, I don't even know what this place is!"

"I already told you what it is, dear. It's Terminal 1."

"But what's with all the boogers, and the ear wax? I mean, it's not like anything I've ever seen before."

Marti grinned. "Ah, you have just answered your own question."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You just said it's not like anything you've ever seen before. You see, you must not think in terms so black and white. What is and what isn't. What's past and what's present. In the case of your cowboy, what's gay and what is not gay. If you think only terms such as these, you trap yourself in a world of mirrors."

I had just about had it with this cryptical philosophical nonsense. "Look," I said, "I see you're trying to make me think outside the box, and while I appreciate it, I just want to write my journal and enjoy my travels in peace."

Satisfied that I had made my point, I looked back at Marti. To my surprise, she was grinning. "I'm afraid, Chester, that that is not possible. You see, a journal is something you cannot write. I'll show you."

Marti jumped up and grabbed my arm, leading me out of the diner. We leapt into space and were suddenly back at the bus. She lead me back to our seats. "Open your journal," she said, "and tell me what you see."

I gingerly picked up my journal from where it sat, and turned to the first page. I was stunned to find that the words I had written were no longer there. In their place were depictions of things that had gone on, written in a hand foreign to me.

"You see, Chester. You cannot write a journal, because, to put it in your black and white terms, there is no such thing as one."

"Wha--", I stammered.

"Do not try to make sense of this, dear. No question you ask, no object you see, no place you visit, will be any use. Only you can figure this out. I can, however, tell you this. That is no journal in your hands. It's a journey. Now sit down and buckle up. It's time to go."

This one goes out to Lynn, whom I promised almost two weeks ago that I would do a blog about one of my, shall we say, less than graceful moments. The idea was triggered thanks to her "Ouch" blog. So Lynn, this one's for you.

When I was in elementary school, I was a big time fan of roller skating. Every weekend, I'd hit the local roller rink with my brothers and some friends. We never could get enough of flying around the rink as fast as we could, and of course had to participate in all the games: speed skating, "jam" skating (to MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice, of course, only the top music of the day), backwards skating, and all the other goofy stuff they thought up.

We always just rented the traditional yet snazzy quad skates, but the up and coming skates of the day were Rollerblades. I remember when they came out, I was fascinated with them, and I wanted more than anything to have my own pair. To a third grader, that's a pretty powerful sense of longing.

Ever the ones for reason and practicality, my parents never allowed me to get them. It was their understanding, which is actually quite correct, that rollerblades did not offer enough ankle support. This meant that if you were still growing, the rollerblades were bad for ankles and could cause damage.

Though disappointed that I could not buy them, I waited patiently until I would be old enough to do so. After much discussion with my parents, they decided that I might be able to handle them by the time I turned 14. That was six years! And to an 8-year-old, that was far too long to wait.

But wait I did, and for quite some time, I never lost sight of that age mark, the point at which I could finally get my rollerblades.

That time came and went, however, and I did not have my skates. A few years on down the road, when I was well into high school, I wound up getting a pair of quads. They served me well, and continue to do so to this very day, but I still found myself longing for blades. I wanted to be able to use them to get around, and quads were much to hard for long distances. Blades, on the other hand, were not.

Still, I continued to wait, until finally, last year, I broke down and bought myself a pair. After waiting 13 years to buy them, I knew my time had come. I was ready.

I had saved up for quite some time (not an easy task in college), and was ready to take on the investment. I bought a nice new pair of blades, and was ready to try my hand at them. I grew up skating, and was confident that I would be just fine on them, never mind the fact that most of my experience lay within the confines of the rink (both ice and roller).

I drove out to a bike path I knew would be a safe and forgiving place to begin my first adventures at rollerblading. The path ran along a street, but was separated from the main road, and it is pretty flat.

I strapped on my new skates and was off, reveling in the newfound freedom of my blades. They were so smooth, and I moved forward with so little effort! I started out slow, and the first day was pretty reserved, as I never could stay on my feet long enough to actually get places.

Very soon, however, I was becoming more confident, and dared to add speed to my skating. I traveled along at a good clip, amazed at how quickly the skates allowed me to go. Though I was worried about bumps (I've skateboarded before and one time hit a miniscule pebble while on a long board, which sent the thing flying out from under my feet and resulted in my face-planting on the concrete), I persevered. Stopping, I knew, would also be an issue, but on my ride out, it was no problem whatsoever.

I marveled at how easy this was, and was encouraged by my success. This was too good to be true! And unfortunately, it really was too good to be true. As it turns out, the path had a very subtle incline, which had worked in favor for the use of stopping on my way out.

When I turned around to head back, however, I was in for a surprise. Blades happen to be equipped with excellent bearings, which enables them to have great spin, and so as I took off back to the car, the hill naturally allowed me to pick up even more speed. I took off, gathering speed as I went, loving the feel of wind rushing past my face.

As I approached an intersection, I wanted to slow down, for safety sake. Granted, the light was green, but there's curbs to consider, as well as traffic that may not see me. I casually eased up and tried to use the brake, only to discover that rubber brakes in direct contact with asphalt are useless.

And so I was left with two options: wreck into the Chamisa plants, or keep on going. I opted for the latter, and continued at a great clip through the intersection. Fortunately, I passed unharmed, and continued along down the path, picking up speed and getting continually nervous by the second. I was losing control.

Somehow, I beat my nerves and kept going, passing through the next two intersections unharmed. These were the last two intersections before I reached the parking lot, and I was very much relieved to still be alive at that point. I continued on, doing my best to slow down, regain a bit of control, and slow the beating of my now-pounding heart.

I approached the exit to the parking lot. I had eased up enough, I thought, to judge the distance well and to safely return victorious. Once again, it proved too good to be true, and I began moving faster. I stared down at my feet, silently telling the skates to stop rolling. It didn't work.

They continued to pick up speed, and I stared to my left as my exit came into view and then quickly disappeared. I looked ahead and realized that I was running out of road. The light ahead was turning red, and I was still not stopping.

I hit the brakes again. Nothing. Dread welled up within me. At the very last second, I saw the traffic light pole, and knew that I could skate close enough to grab it, and it would stop me.

I failed to take into account one tiny detail, though, and that is that the traffic light pole was cylindrical. This fact was brought to my attention the second I latched onto the thing, and I kept right on going. Reflexes kicked in, and my other hand shot out and grabbed the pole from the other side.

My feet kept moving, until there was nowhere left to go, and suddenly they flew up into the air. I spiraled around the traffic light pole, feet above my head the entire time. Next thing I knew, I had landed right in the middle of a large Chamisa plant. I came to my senses, thrilled that I had finally managed to stop.

I climbed slowly to my feet, gained my bearings, and looked around. Cars were still stopped, and I'm certain that there were people all around the intersection, eyes upon me, brimming with tears of laughter.

I looked around, too shocked to wave or smile at my audience, and then turned and headed back to the parking lot.

So the topic of today is the most cruel things that can happen to you in the morning.

I'm talking about rude awakenings, short of all the usual ones you hear about (about so-and-so having disappeared, or stolen everything you own). Those are more along the lines of devastating. What I want to hear about is the cruelties of actually waking up.

Here's what I think is the most cruel thing that can happen in the morning:

Waking up with a jolt, thinking you've overslept, only to realize that your alarm has not even gone off, and then you can't fall back asleep.

Now, how about you?

*Disclaimer: Phil is not a medical professional, nor does he claim to be. If any of the information found below is in any way inaccurate, Phil apologizes, and adds that if it's not true, then it should be. Also, for those who voted for the gas prices, the topic simply did not gel with the rest of this serious and mostly factual entry. I will save the gas prices for another entry, perhaps (it's a tad more serious and/or politically charged, so hence why it did not fit for today's entry). As always, I had a great time with this, though next time I think I'll try news stories again. My anecdotes seem a bit too lengthy. But now sit back, relax, and enjoy the read.

We humans are intensely curious by nature, and we have this wild and uncontrollable desire to learn about everything. We are fascinated by our environment, we have a flair for the abstract, and we are utterly engrossed in things we cannot see. In terms of the latter, one such example is the colon.

The colon is an extremely useful and vitally necessary part of the human anatomy (and of course every other animal's anatomy). Perhaps you are familiar with the intestines, the part of the digestive tract attached to the stomach that is instrumental in digestion and processing of everything we ingest. If you are familiar with said intestine, you may also be aware that it is often referred to in two parts: the small intestine and, you guessed it, the large intestine.

The large intestine, or the colon, begins at the cecum, located adjacent to the ileum, or the point of separation between the small and large intestines. The colon, for the purpose of this discussion, can be thought of as the outermost perimeter of the intestines. The colon ends in the rectum.

As I assume by now you have a very vivid image of the colon, picture in your mind a 20-foot long and 8-foot high version of the colon. This enormous colon paid a visit to my university last week, and students were granted the privelege of walking through the self-proclaimed and suitably named Super Colon!!!

Upon seeing this giant colon, one's first reaction might be that they are looking at some giant beast brought here via UFO. The thought crosses everyone's mind, because as they approach the giant colon, people immediately start scanning the surrounding area for something else to look at.

Upon closer inspection, it really is just a giant colon, and one can walk in and be educated about colorectal cancer, its prevalence, treatment, and generally useful tips on how to handle cancer and polyps. Granted, it feels foreign to stare around at such a huge colon, and surely it seems unnatural. But of course it does, you're walking through a replica of something that exists in your very body. Indeed, this is nothing from any Unidentified Flying Object, but is really one Utterly Flatulent Orifice.

Having initially come to this conclusion, I felt content that UFOs (of the outer space variety, that is) had nothing to do with the giant colon and the message it sought to project.

I was wrong. Enter a older man who seems to be a student at the university, but only barely passes for human. As I think about it now, he in fact seems less human all the time. In fact, he could probably pass for an alien practically right out of E.T.! Or perhaps Roswell.

Regardless of the "man's" history, I am confident he arrived on this planet in his own UFO, and is simply trying to get by. What gave him away, you might be asking yourself? I'll tell you.

I often eat an area on campus near a big-screen TV. The TV is for anyone's use, and lately we and quite a few others have discovered that The Price is Right is aired when we often go to eat. We love to sit, chat, and watch and laugh about The Price is Right. It makes us happy.

Enter the alien, who takes it upon himself to approach the TV and have the nerve to actually change the channel! At first, we did not care, as he came near when we usually left, but lately he comes earlier and earlier all the time. And every day, he changes the channel to either of his two favorite 24-hour news channels: Fox News or MSNBC.

What makes him alien is not only his choice of TV station, especially given the loops and repeated news, but that the rest of us suffer so much from his channel changing habit. While we write in agony every time the guy switches the channel, he can be seen (after having found his station) walking back to his table with a smug smile, before proceeding to devour his meal while glued to the news.

This guy is in desperate need of a reality check, and needs to come to his senses. I think what may do the trick is a delicious and nutritious Odwalla Bar. This delightful snack packs enough health bar power, in combination with fiber, to ensure that his colon will work overtime, and he will be unable to sit still for the duration of the news.

Yes, that will teach him.

In the modern world, we have become more and more connected to people, having ways to reach one another with increasing ease. With all the email, "snail" mail, friend sites, internet, cell phones, and just about everything else (short of telepathy), you'd think we'd all be communication gurus.

But, as it turns out, we're not. We still struggle to express ourselves, to tell each other secrets, and least of all feel comfortable sharing anything.

You might be asking yourself why I bring this up. Allow me to preface by saying that at the age of 22, I thought I was well beyond middle school. You know, that awkward stage when cooties are cast aside as hormones suddenly take over.

I had thought that, as an adult, such times were past and I and others my age would be sincere enough to be past the petty stage of crushes and whispered gossip. I thought maturity would surely prevail.

Last week, I was proven wrong. I was sent an email called a Love-O-Gram, a purportedly "anonymous way to show romantic interest in someone you know." As it states, it is quite anonymous, and supposedly the only way to find out if it's true is to go the website and send your own Love-O-Gram to someone you in whom you might be interested romantically.

And all I can think is that this is some sort of needle in a hay stack. My solution was to simply delete the email. Sure, my mind wondered who might be interested in me, of all people, and of course I thought it might be a spam or some sort of practical joke.

Of course, upon thinking the word 'joke,' all sorts of devious ideas suddenly filled my head, about what sort of fun I could have with this Love-O-Gram. I could send it to friends as practical jokes, trying hard not to laugh when they relate their stories to me about how people should seriously just be more open and honest, and just tell them that they like them.

The repercussions would be staggering. Suddenly all sorts of random people would be getting the Grams, and suspicious eyes would dart all around, everyone wondering if it was someone they just talked to that had sent them the message.

As I think about how people would suddenly become "love detectives," desperately trying to pick up hints from people they encounter on some sort of regular basis, hoping to glean some hint or clue as to who that mysterious person was who sent a gram of love.

The idea becomes too much to contain, as everyone's world gets thrown into sudden confusion. And suddenly, I'm back to reality, thankful that my instinct to delete the darn thing was the right decision.

The world is still rotating on its axis, the sun still shines, the world moves on. You can breathe easy, I may have just saved the world.

Oh, and if you haven't yet done so, go forth and cast your vote for what could very well be a ground-breaking and/or earth-shattering work of art. What it is, in the end, will be up to you.

As you may or may not have noticed, I haven't blogged in two days. Let's just say it's been one of those weeks, basically busy to the point that my procrastination caught up with me, and I ran out of time to get some good blogging done. And so today, because I owe it to you, it is time once again to influence what Phil writes about!

Last time I did this, I pulled a whole bunch of stuff out from various news tidbits, and that turned out pretty cool. Today, I decided to take a slightly different take.

But first, a quick recap of how this goes. Below you'll see a poll, where you will see a list of choices from which you can choose a favorite topic. I will pick the two most popular topics and combine them into a single blog entry. Depending on how it plays out, I may or may not include all the topics, to some degree, as I did before.

So this time, vote on the following five topics, and I'll give myself the weekend to work this one out and have it posted sometime Monday morning.

The overall topic is: random things in Phil's life and/or on Phil's mind. This could get interesting, huh?

What should Phil write about? (Votes listed in parentheses)

1. The Price is Right vs. 24-Hour News Stations (6)
2. The insane rise in gas prices (6)
3. Odwalla bars (5)
4. UFOs (12)
5. The giant colon on display at my school (11)

Have you ever noticed that life seems to be full of little "wise" sayings, which seem to be quoted all the time? The best part about them is that they can apply to almost anything, anytime you want them to. And, if you're ever at a loss for throwing in your very own ideas or sense of wisdom, you can always count on them.

So today I decided that I would throw out a few of my own. You know, like "the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence," but not. I think you'll find my list less philosophical, and more true of the oddities of life. Or not. You decide.

1. When confronted with two water fountains, the shorter of the two almost always has colder, better tasting water.

2. Despite the weather reports, you can count on some rain within one day of washing your car.

3. If there's gum on the sidewalk, and you're walking on said sidewalk, that gum will almost always get stuck to your shoe.

4. Socks that come from a single pack will all wear out at approximately the same time.

5. If there's a break in the sidewalk, you're bound to trip on it.

(Okay, #5 might only apply to me, but that doesn't make it any less true.)

6. No matter how much you speed or take shortcuts, you're still going to be late, whether you like it or not, so you may as well relax.

7. Chores, such as laundry or washing dishes, never get done when you think about having to do them.

8. For some reason, procrastination seems to make things easier by the time you get around to doing them.

9. It's impossibly hard to do stuff the second the word "work" is applied to it (i.e. homework, paperwork, projects for a job, etc.).

10. You always remember that something important until you actually need to, at which point you promptly forget it.

So there you have it, my list of philosophical life stuff. Did I leave any out?

Today's question comes from Lila, the lovely blogress out of Gran Canaria. She writes:

Yo Phil,

What do you think of the 'new blogger power' the nouveau blogger rules, blogger types, followers and leaders?

*Activist in disguise*
Lila

Lila,

I find your query intriguing. The "new blogger power," as you put it, is actually quite the opposite. In fact, new bloggers by and large lack experience. Their blogs tend to be menial and silly, but given time, they will improve their blogging skills. Before you know it, they will become seasoned veterans like us old bloggers.

It has been my experience that the nouveau blogger, due to lack of experience, is really not always that great. When I started out, my entries were not what you would consider stellar. In fact, they downright sucked.

Should you be looking for a set of guidelines for how to blog, I highly recommend reading Jeff's 360 rules, and Daisy's friend rules.

Here is a condensed version of their rules, if you don't have to time to read them for yourself:

Jeff's rules - Keep it real, man.

Daisy's rules - If you're not a total whacko, I just might let you be my friend.

In my own words, here's a good example of how not to blog:

"So yesterday, I went to the grocery, bought over $100 worth of
groceries, chatted up the cashier about the latest gossip on
Marie's husband Joey, and oh my god, I think he has the hots for me, but that'd be so slutty of me to go with him, but I think kind of fun too, and since I'm into kinky shit I just might go for it."

Chances are, if your blog looks nothing like this, you're on the right track.

The world itself is a very diverse place, and the blog world is no exception. There are many different types of bloggers out there, some who maintain a theme and others who prefer to post a variety of stuff. Those who lean toward variety generally are the most fun, but are harder to make fun of. I refer again to Jeff, who put together an amazing list of blogger types.

When you read through it, notice that the it's very easy to make fun of those who tend to blog more or less like a one trick pony. Here's some examples:

-True story: I received an invite one time from "360 Nasty Girl," a leather and lace gal who despite her devilish appearance came off as quite sweet, unless you count the odd list of interests and, though she was still new and didn't have many blogs posted, the soon-to-be super "sexy" blog posts.

Okay, that's enough examples. Refer back to the simple blog entry quote above for the rest.

And finally, followers and leaders. There are always followers and leaders, in any aspect of life. As a blogger, I like to think that I maintain my very own style, one that is unique to me and that only I maintain. There are times, however where others inspire me to write something (in which case I usually mention them) and some tag games can be fun. Should you want to play a tag game, or "copy" something because everyone else is doing it, by all means go for it. My only advice is to put your own spin on it. There are no rules, and anything goes, so you might as well have fun with it.

I sincerely hope this helps, and I wish you all the best in your blogging ventures.

-Phil

*If you wish to ask Yo Phil a question, simply leave a comment or send him a message. Yo Phil is a trademark of Phil's Blog, "All Things Phil," 2005-2006.

Over the weekend, I went to visit Albuquerque's brand new Balloon Museum. Each year, Albuquerque hosts the world's largest balloon event, which we lovingly call the Balloon Fiesta. Eight solid days of fun, bringing in balloonists from all over the world, and thousands of tourists. Yes, we are hot-air balloon fanatics. And now we even have a museum to prove it.

When I went to the museum, I approached the building slowly, not sure whether it was open yet, and gaping at its size. It's pretty huge. As I gawked, I heard a voice. I was suddenly aware that the there was someone talking to me, and the mysterious voice had no body. It was coming from the building. In fact, it was coming from the ticket window, which I had thought were not open (all the blinds were shut, you see).

I followed the sound of the voice, and found that the ticket both curved around the bend, and the reason I did not see it open was that this particular window, to the inconvenience of the customer, was out of direct line of sight when you approached the building.

Naturally, I was excited to see that I had come when they were open, and the fact that a person was present meant that I would be able to inquire whether the group I was to meet was also present. I proceeded to do just that, and here's the conversation that followed:

Me: "Hi."

Ticket Lady: "Hi."

Me: "I have a question for you."

Ticket Lady: [silence]

Me: "I'm supposed to meet a group here."

Ticket Lady: "[kkkkthch] group?"

Me: "This group." (I mentioned the name of said group.)

Ticket Lady: "Oh. That [kkkkthchk] will [silence for approximately 5 seconds] 2:30."

Me: "What?"

Ticket Lady: "[kkktcchk] will [silence for a few seconds]."

Me: "Huh?"

It was at this point that I became annoyed with Ticket Lady, who apparently didn't think I was important enough to (1) annunciate clearly, (2) actually speak directly into the microphone for, and (3) even bother to look at me so I could have some hint of her lips to read. She just sat there with her mouth directly below the microphone, which picked up none of what she was saying.

Needless to say, this made the communication situation rather difficult. I was focusing so hard on trying to comprehend the words coming out of her mouth, the thought never enter my mind to actually tell the woman that I couldn't hear her. Instead, I found myself mimicking her, only saying a few pertinent words and staring down while I talked. Looking back on it, I think it was certainly justified, and I hope she got a taste of her own medicine. But somehow I think she completely missed the lesson I was teaching her. Here's how the rest of the conversation went:

Me: "Well, they [silent for a few seconds] meet at [more silence] restaurant. Where [silence for a few more seconds]?"

Ticket Lady: "Oh, it's [kktcchck] down [more silence] there."

Me: "Do you [silence] I [silence] walk?"

Ticket Lady: "[kkktccchkk] you [silence] drive." *she nodded her head seriously*

Me: "Oh okay. I [silence]. Thanks."

Ticket Lady: "You're [kkkccchhttk]."

In the end, I somehow managed to finagle the information I wanted out of the Ticket Lady, never having anticipated what a chore it would be. Looking back on it, I think the lady was convinced that she had to practically make out with the microphone just to talk into it, rather than just speaking normally with her mouth pointed in its general direction. Perhaps, if I see her again someday, I'll try to clear up her misconception.

But then again, it might not be worth it.

Today is Saturday, and all day I have been consumed by this feeling of intense laziness. Maybe it was because I slept in until 11:45, or because it was cloudy, or because it was fuccant windy. But whatever the reason, it's been a lazy day.

I wasn't planning on posting anything today, but when I came across Nikki's blog today, I decided, what the heck, I'd give it a shot. It seemed amusing, and I'm always a sucker for amusement.

Basically, all you do is google your name plus the word 'is.' So in my case, I googled "Phil is". Pretty snazzy, huh? You don't know the half of it. So anyway, take the first ten results that have any sort of coherence to them and post them. I will now proceed to set an example that is the epitome of perfection. Enjoy.

1. Phil is... surprise surprise, a doctor (of the Ph.D. variety) who offers--nay, throws--advice at people about their love lives. He's got a cul-de-sac hairdo, a mustache, and is no nonsense. Of course, his claim to fame won't last much longer, considering Yo Phil is taking the world by storm, and yours truly is a wee bit competitive.

2. Phil is... a rock star, former singer for Genesis and all around bad-ass musician. He's short but can belt out in song like none other, and actually puts on a pretty darn good show.

3. Phil is... a master at predicting the future, specifically how much longer winter will last every year. That's right, he's a stupendously talented groundhog, and if you don't believe him, he'll bite you in the ass!

4. Phil is... a brilliant guy who's a professor, pilot, and amateur photographer, who also happens to own a giant shaggy white dog. In addition to being so incredible, don't miss the amount of instruction made available to you in each of the aforementioned talents. Two words: I rule.

5. Phil is... a guitarist extraordinnaire and professional musician. Click here to check out the brand new DVD versions of guitar instructional tapes made over 10 years ago. Oh, and don't forget to check back sometime soon to find out more about the vocal album, replete with love songs of all variety, due out this fall!

6. Phil is... an astronomer who wants to clear up the many misconceptions of the astral world with his catchily-titled website, Bad Astronomy. And don't forget to check out the Bad Astronomy Blog. With a catch phrase like "The good, the bad, the astronomy," you know it's gotta be good.

7. Phil is... the host of the "greatest radio show in the history of radio." I really think that title speaks to my more modest side. I think the quote reason enough to check out the show. If you really want to, check it out here.

8. Phil is... a guy who runs a website whose symbol in the address bar looks remarkably similar to Wikipedia's. He runs a blog called Technometria, and as luck would have it, is looking for people to help him run a panel called Blogging 101. Any volunteers?

9. Phil is... a super handy search database at the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. It's an acronym that stands for Public Health Image Library. Gosh, I know a whole lot more than I ever imagined I did.

10. Phil is... a digital magpie, whatever that is. Supposedly he's some guy who's a professor of some sort, and he runs a blog that seems to be exactly what he describes: fit for a digital magpie. What can I say, I'm mysterious that way.

Well, there you have it. That ends the google tour of who is Phil. It was interesting to learn more about myself, and my many talents. The tour de Phil is now complete, please exit through the side doors. Have a nice day!

360 Mystery Island is a Yahoo!360 community story, started by Scott, and written by various bloggers one chapter at a time. What you see below is the 8th installment of this story, written by yours truly. To read the full story, follow these links:

Chapter 1 - Scott

Chapter 2 - Rich

Chapter 3 - Malice

Chapter 4 - imstv1969

Chapter 5 - Hyiidra

Chapter 6 - Mame

Chapter 7 - Joss

I hope you enjoy my chapter.

CHAPTER 8

I blinked. This couldn't be happening. There was simply no way this was true. I had to be dreaming. Not wanting to believe it, I slammed my eyelids shut, willing myself to take leave of this place. I wanted no more to do with it. I wanted it to be over.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity, then slowly cracked an eyelid. To my dismay, I remained in my nightmare. I could see someone watching me, waiting with such patience that I found myself infuriated. And then she spoke.

"Father, don't you remember me?"

Her voice sent chills down my spine, extinguishing my anger. It was as if I was listening to myself, but coming from another. I gathered what strength I could muster and forced myself to look her in the eyes. As I stared, she rose to her feet and began sensuously walking toward me. I was unable to tear my eyes from her, and all the while my mind was racing. Suddenly, a name found its way to the forefront of my thoughts.

"Calypso?"

Why this name surfaced in my mind I have no idea. Her eyes sparkled at the sound of her name.

"Ah, so you do remember."

"I.....I.....no." I shook my head.

She cocked her head in thought, as if waiting, then smiled. "Not to worry. You will, all in good time. All in good time."

What she was playing at, I could only guess. I stared around the room, trying to regain my bearings. Dom, it seemed, had deserted us. And yet, I found myself not where I had last remembered being. This place was dark, damp, and also produced an echo. I had no recollection of this odd place.

Noticing my glances, Calypso explained, "You passed out, and we had to bring you to the only location on this island where the device can be operated."

As my eyes adjusted, I realized that I was in some sort of cave. Slowly, I clambered to my feet, slipping as I did so. I crashed to the ground, unable to catch hold of anything to break my fall. A loud thud echoed throughout the cavern as I suddenly became aware of a sharp pain in my back. I cried out, but before I knew it Calypso was at my side, hand over my mouth.

"You mustn't make such noise, lest we all wind up dead. This island is ideal for our purposes, but is extremely unstable. The slightest change in conditions of any kind will spell doom for all of us."

I silently nodded in understanding, and waited tensely for my heart to stop pounding. Suddenly, I heard a loud rumbling all around me. Calypso noticed it too.

"Shit!"

She darted into the darkness, and emerged moments later bearing a large briefcase and pack strapped to her back.

"We have to go!" she yelled. "If you want to live, follow me!"

Instinctively, and despite the pain, I got to my feet and started after her. We rushed through the cavern. She moved at an astonishing pace, and I struggled to keep up, hobbling and attempting to run as best I could. The rumbling grew louder, and we increased our pace. At long last, I glimpsed the opening of the cave, which sent a wave of relief through me.

Sensing my relief, Calypso warned, "We're not out yet. Once we escape the cave, we've still got to get through the jungle and to the beach. We must get off this island."

"Why?" I asked. "Is it volcanic?"

"I wish it was volcanic. No, no, it's quite a bit worse than that."

I could tell by the tone of her voice that she was serious. Though my body ached and shrieked its displeasure at me, I pressed on, knowing that a terrible fate awaited me if I didn't. Finally, we escaped the cave, and what lay before me did nothing to make me feel better. What I saw before me was a vast expanse of trees, of seemingly limitless length and entirely too thick to run through, especially in my condition.

Suddenly, Calypso, who had been surveying our escape route, came up to me from behind gave me a shove. I went tumbling forward, crashing down the hill toward the forest below.

"Sorry, Chuck, old chap! We had to make time somehow!"

I barely made out her apology as I fell uncontrollably, crashing into bushes that refused to break my fall. I reached the bottom of the hill, and my fall was broken by large tree unlike any I'd ever seen before. Calypso was waiting for me, and before I had time to wonder how she had managed to beat me to the bottom of the hill, she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to my feet.

"Hurry! They're going to be after us any minute."

"Who?"

"Your friend Dom and his cronies."

At that point, I was so out of breath and so weary of this entire situation that I did not question her further. I no longer cared about Mortis, the man with the black door. I no longer cared about my former apprentice Dom. I no longer cared about D.A.U.G.H.T.E.R (Definitive Anatomic something or other). I had only my own survival in mind, and I knew, without a doubt, that Calypso was there to help me.

We ran on, her leading me in a bizarre maze through the trees. I lost all sense of direction. For all I knew, we were running in one big circle, like some dog chasing its tail. But Calypso was determined, ignoring the changes going on around us. From what I could glean by occasional glances, the weather was changing rapidly. Clouds had rolled in, the ground beneath us seemed to be softening, and heavy winds were kicking up.

I was so engrossed in our plight that I was not aware that Calypso had stopped, and I ran into her.

"Hey!" she said. "Careful. We've made it as far as we're going to get. About fifty paces ahead is a massive cliff, and beyond that the open sea. Our only chance is if we jump off the cliff and escape this island in the water. We've run out of time for any other option."

I groaned. Was everything about this just another opportunity to die? My long-time fear of heights certainly did not help any. Before I could respond, however, Calypso grabbed my hand and yelled "Let's go!!!!"

As the ground I was standing on threatened to swallow me suddenly, I thought best not to argue. We ran with all our might, keeping our heads down, me praying that that last ounce of adrenaline would kick in as soon as possible.

Luckily, and not a second too soon, we made it to the edge of the cliff. And with the last bit of energy I could well up within me, I squeezed Calypso's hand harder and jumped.

This next entry is a follow-up from Karin's idea of my very own advice column, the new and profound Yo Phil. Should you have any question you wish to have answered, feel free to post a comment or send me a message. I probably will not post consistently (maybe once or twice a week, or less, or however much I feel like I can handle), but this one had a time constraint on it, so I felt compelled to answer it today.

(As a disclaimer, if you happen to be a manager and are reading this blog, I hope you have a sense of humor about yourself, and can laugh about the manager tendencies I describe below. You have been warned.)

This next query comes from 360's very own Sucka, the Bootyologist himself:

Yo Phil,

How in the hell did the committee give Tennessee a 2 seed and leave Arkansas out. Any Ideas about how my bracket should look? And what do I do about work for Thursday and Friday - feign sickness, or sneak in my mini TV?

Unbracketedly yours,

The Booty Bodhitsattva

Sucka,

So it would seem you have been presented with a multitude of dilemmas. In response to your first question, the answer probably lies in pronunciation. When presented with a teleprompter, the "new guy" did not want to screw up by loudly saying "ar-kansas" and thus making a complete and total fool of himself. In any event, your best bet with a scapegoat is to blame the new guy, regardless of whether or not he exists.

Brackets are a challenge, to say the least. For your bracket, I would hope yours had some of these, connected in some form or other and shown with names next to them:

{}
[]
------

Avoid the parentheses, (), as those things point you nowhere.

Regarding work, I would say the decision you make lies in what you want. To goof off at work, and make money, or to goof off at home (thereby saving sick days for another occasion). I think the former would be more of an adventure, and I'd also be willing to bet that you could rope your coworkers into the deal.

One option might be to call a last-second meeting for fellow employees, ignoring management and keeping them at bay by telling them you're having a "strategic planning" meeting. Be sure to mention that you're following up on their idea, because managers always love to hear praise about themselves, and they will not question you further on that point.

Another option might be to take the Ferris Buehler approach, and set up a dummy version of yourself, replete with clothing, and set your computer on timers so that things change periodically so that it appears to be making progress. For this to work, don't forget to change your settings so that the screen saver does not turn on and your computer does not go into sleep mode. Have the dummy appear extremely busy, and perhaps trigger a recording to have a generic conversation ("not now, I'm swamped"), that can be triggered if you were, say, tapped on the shoulder.

I hope that these ideas shed light on your course of action, and perhaps readers of this column might also be willing to share other ideas for you. I wish you all the best.

-Phil

Thus far, today has been a wild day in terms of seeing new things around town. Adrian and Chops, I think you guys will like like this.

One of my favorite things to do is drive around town and just see what there is to see. Every now and again, it's nice to just get out and drive, with no stress or worry about being somewhere on time. Today was one such day, and I found myself watching the traffic move around and along with me.

As luck would have it, I ended up stuck at a red light. Sure, that might not sound lucky, and I myself thought it wasn't. That is, until the neon pink GMC Safari pulled up next to me. Naturally, it was impossible for me to resist gaping at the thing.

The van was covered in a variety of writing and self-promotions for Albuquerque's very own branch of the Glove Lady! I had never heard of her before, but after seeing the van, I understand why. No need for TV spots, magazine ads, or billboards for advertising. All she needed was her van, with its smattering of information. I sense she's relying only on word of mouth, because no one will ever be able to go without telling everyone they know about the van. This blog entry is further proof of that.

I don't honestly remember much of the information written on the van, except for the punch line:

"How's your glove life?"

From the second I laid eyes upon this line, it was all over. I doubled up in a fit of laughter, unable to contain myself. The image of the neon pink van with the aforementioned rhetorical question will now be imprinted in my mind for a long time to come.

Next, as I was heading back for lunch, I happened to drive by a new shopping strip being built. I've been watching the progress, as always finding myself the process amazing to watch. The building is nearing completion, and today they added on a sign for one of the businesses.

The one I saw was for a new restaurant. Though I think it might be a small chain, the name was brilliant: Marco Pollo. I don't care if the only thing they serve is chicken, or if there food isn't even particularly good. A restaurant with a name like that gets props in my book.

And so, as I round out this short and uninteresting blog, there's only one question I'm left with.

How's your glove life?

This one's for Karin, who has requested twice now that I give this whole advice column thing a shot. I had to ponder it for some time, before posting it, because I wanted to make sure I could give it that special "Phil twist." And so, without further adieu, I present to you my advice column:

YO PHIL

Karin, blogress extraordinairre of "Journey of a Creative Mind," writes:

"Yo Phil, where does one find a decent date at 37 years old? Any suggestions on meeting nice guys?"

Karin,

I would like to address your two inquiries one at a time. With regard to your first question, while I know that dates tend to have a long shelf-life, I think 37 years is pushing it. If you check at your local grocer, I'm sure they would recommend not eating a date known to be more than one year old. In fact, even the most non-perishable foods top out at 2-3 years.

In response to your second question about meeting nice guys, I highly recommend not bringing dates into the equation. It is true that the way to a guy's heart is through his stomach, but consider this the exception to the rule.

Should you like to seek a nice guy out without the use of a date (my recommended course of action), I suggest you look in the last place you would ever think to. Remember the saying "nice guys finish last"? Truth be told, that is much more than a saying. It speaks volumes of truth. So wherever you least expect to find a nice guy, chances are you just might find one.

-Phil

I'm not normally one to post things about science, but I came up with this unusual theory and wanted to share it. Over the course of the last few years, I have noticed a strange and unusual phenomenon. It has been slow to develop, but it is steadily growing more common with time.

You might find yourself thinking, "I haven't noticed anything. What on earth is Phil talking about?" This thought might make you skeptical, casting doubt on both my intellect and my sanity. Ok, maybe not.

What I am about to propose is not only new and groundbreaking, but also of utmost importance. To begin, I would like to tell you what I have decided to call this, because all good things start with a title:

PHIL'S THEORY OF RELATIVE MAGNETISM

You have no doubt heard about Einstein's Theory of Relativity, which mathematically proves that we perceive time passing with varying speed, sometimes quickly and other times not so quickly. For my theory, I have borrowed the concept of relativism to support my observations.

Thus far, here are the observations I have made:

1. Magnetic fields have undergone a shift, sometimes even going so far as to act similarly to gravity (i.e. you can't escape it).

2. New properties of magnetism have been found in new places, especially in the case of bricks.

What has led me to these incredible observations is, ironically, construction. And the catalyst of discovering the magnetism itself is cars.
Near where I live, new housing divisions have been developing recently.

Before building any of the houses, or town houses as in this case, the empty lots were first graced with a brick wall. The intent was to separate the area, allowing the future homes privacy and perhaps some yards.

However, these walls were also intended to offer protection from cars passing by. Little do the builders know, however, that their form of protection unwittingly threw the area's magnetic field into flux.

The brick walls have a profound impact on the cars driving by, drawing them effortlessly. Where there were previously no accidents in the open space, the walls draw car after car towards them, leading to many cars smashing headlong into the wall.

How can I be sure that it is magnetism that is causing this? Simple. The many incidents of cars striking the walls happen frequently, and there is only ever one car involved. Said car is driving happily along, when suddenly it is out of control, drawn like a magnet to the wall.

With the latest subdivision, the construction people realized the power of the brick walls on the magnetic fields, and so have built a second wall behind the first, to counteract it. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. Hopefully we see fewer wrecks into walls in the future. That would sure be nice.

A poll to see just how lame this blog entry is:

What do you think of this blog entry?

Holy cow, that's so true! (6)
I'm still skeptical, but nice try Phil. (11)
Phil, are you running low on ideas? This entry was lame. (3)