Wednesday, January 2, 2013
5655 down, X number to go.
Interesting thought: I've only been on this earth for 5655 days.
That means I have approximately 22,995 days left.... not as long as I thought.
Hmm.... 23,000 sunrises.
Time to go do something important.
Friday, December 28, 2012
I have never met a slurry with worse manners; the sequel
I thought I had met the most misbehaved slurry the other day. Today I realized that it really does have the worst manners imaginable.
A dark, claustrophobic coffee shop was crowded. A line filled the place. It was a line of innocent people waiting for their caffeine. Upon seeing the extensive amount of people filling the place, my Hippie Aunt and I headed for the other side of the stores lining the road. It was a perfectly normal day, and the following story goes to show that a normal day can turn disastrous in a moment.
As I strolled down the sidewalk, bouncing a fist-sized ball and passing absent-mindlessly the millions of shop windows and advertisements, I heard a noise. It wasn't just a noise, it was a crashing. Something was falling. Instinctively, I turned to see. All the while, thoughts rushed through my head, "What did I break? Do we have to take Aunt Jill to the hospital?". I turned just in time to see a sheet of ice plummeting from an awning onto my unsuspecting Aunt. The sheet shattered over her red hair like glass. It wasn't over yet. The ice was followed up .06 seconds later by a smattering of snow. Again, the slush was totally not socially acceptable. It could have thought "Oh, you look cold already, I'll just land a bit to the right." or "It will be most beneficial to the shoppers for me to land just seconds later.".
I saw my Aunt double over, but she stood back up with her glasses in hand, laughing. Fortunately, minimal damage was done.
Yes, people were staring. I even saw one shopper's jaw drop. We successfully escaped that incident, and the shoppers returned to their shopping, exchanging murmurs and whispers among themselves. Though she did lose a hairpin.... as I said, minimal damage.
Now, for those of you who don't know my Aunt, she always elaborated that she wanted to die in a "freak accident". That's my aunt. All aversions to normality. She came up here from Alabama, expecting some nice white snow. Instead she almost experienced death by ice sheet.
A dark, claustrophobic coffee shop was crowded. A line filled the place. It was a line of innocent people waiting for their caffeine. Upon seeing the extensive amount of people filling the place, my Hippie Aunt and I headed for the other side of the stores lining the road. It was a perfectly normal day, and the following story goes to show that a normal day can turn disastrous in a moment.
As I strolled down the sidewalk, bouncing a fist-sized ball and passing absent-mindlessly the millions of shop windows and advertisements, I heard a noise. It wasn't just a noise, it was a crashing. Something was falling. Instinctively, I turned to see. All the while, thoughts rushed through my head, "What did I break? Do we have to take Aunt Jill to the hospital?". I turned just in time to see a sheet of ice plummeting from an awning onto my unsuspecting Aunt. The sheet shattered over her red hair like glass. It wasn't over yet. The ice was followed up .06 seconds later by a smattering of snow. Again, the slush was totally not socially acceptable. It could have thought "Oh, you look cold already, I'll just land a bit to the right." or "It will be most beneficial to the shoppers for me to land just seconds later.".
I saw my Aunt double over, but she stood back up with her glasses in hand, laughing. Fortunately, minimal damage was done.
Yes, people were staring. I even saw one shopper's jaw drop. We successfully escaped that incident, and the shoppers returned to their shopping, exchanging murmurs and whispers among themselves. Though she did lose a hairpin.... as I said, minimal damage.
Now, for those of you who don't know my Aunt, she always elaborated that she wanted to die in a "freak accident". That's my aunt. All aversions to normality. She came up here from Alabama, expecting some nice white snow. Instead she almost experienced death by ice sheet.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
I have never met a slurry with worse manners.
I braved the elements today, with all the mentality of avoiding procrastination. "Today," I told myself "I'll shovel the driveway without even taking time to double-layer socks. Then I'm sure to avoid procrastination." Only a minute later I was dressed and shoveling the thick clumps of the indignant, icy stuff off the pavement. I silently congratulated myself for not procrastinating on this arduous task. About fifteen minutes into the job, I was bent over my shovel, hauling the maximum amount of snow possible, back straining, eyes tearing from the blistering wind, mind focused, when everything changed.
I heard a low rumbling, and looked up to see my soaking demise. Red, flashing, and screaming in a fury best described as "huge", a snow plow came around the corner. I was happier when my view of it was obstructed by the hill in the yard. Just in the split second that I looked up to see the brutal machine, I saw flying towards me a monumental pile of ice, slush and other unidentified gray matter from the road. In a splendid trajectory towards me, this pile had no plans of stopping or saying "I'll be considerate and land just to your right.". I have never met a slurry with worse manners. So I was to be found, continuing my task of snow removal from the driveway covered (from the fur-lined top of my hunter green parka to the tips of my black boots) in the previously described pile of snow, ice, and gray matter.
Upon speculating the evidence of my task completed, a clear driveway, I dropped the shovel by the door. I strode into the gloomy garage undefeated. So you see, even though I was indignant towards that particularly rude spray of snow, the snow plow itself was no match for me.
I heard a low rumbling, and looked up to see my soaking demise. Red, flashing, and screaming in a fury best described as "huge", a snow plow came around the corner. I was happier when my view of it was obstructed by the hill in the yard. Just in the split second that I looked up to see the brutal machine, I saw flying towards me a monumental pile of ice, slush and other unidentified gray matter from the road. In a splendid trajectory towards me, this pile had no plans of stopping or saying "I'll be considerate and land just to your right.". I have never met a slurry with worse manners. So I was to be found, continuing my task of snow removal from the driveway covered (from the fur-lined top of my hunter green parka to the tips of my black boots) in the previously described pile of snow, ice, and gray matter.
Upon speculating the evidence of my task completed, a clear driveway, I dropped the shovel by the door. I strode into the gloomy garage undefeated. So you see, even though I was indignant towards that particularly rude spray of snow, the snow plow itself was no match for me.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Date a Girl Who Reads
There is story that I nearly fell in love with. Though I see that the world tends to bring dating and relationships into everything. If the story wasn't about "dating", I'd like it a lot more. Never the less; read on.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Stack o' Literature
Just a picture of books that I own and have to read.
I'm making my New Year's resolution right now.
"Read through this list of books"
Books on my e-reader that I don't have pictured here are:
Green Tea, Joseph Sheridan
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Washington Irving
The Blithedale Romance, Nathaniel Hawthorne
Emma, Jane Austin
Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austin
Story of My Life, Helen Keller
Thoughts on these titles?
"Read through this list of books"
Books on my e-reader that I don't have pictured here are:
Green Tea, Joseph Sheridan
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Washington Irving
The Blithedale Romance, Nathaniel Hawthorne
Emma, Jane Austin
Sense and Sensibility, Jane Austin
Story of My Life, Helen Keller
Thoughts on these titles?
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Have a Very Geeky Christmas.....
( I hope Hank sees this xD )
Saturday, December 1, 2012
How Not to Comfort Someone
It hurts to see how inept the human race is at comforting a fellow human. We're the same species, after all. So, read this, and get an idea as to how not to comfort someone. Pay much attention to the "NOT" part of this. If you try to comfort someone in these ways, it's worse than just leaving them be.
Number 1: Try to change the subject while they're telling you about a traumatic/painful situation. When they're disclosing, it's their turn to talk about what they NEED to talk about, not what you WANT to talk about. It doesn't seem as though this needs said, but it does. Changing the subject will not create an easier situation for anyone.
"I just miss her so much, I -"
"So, did you see that Bears game?"
Number 2: Tell them to move on. Seriously. A person doesn't simply "recover" from a traumatic/painful situation. If it is a terrible thing, especially loss, they likely will think about it every day of their life. They will not move on because someone alluded to the fact that they should. They need to COPE with the grief, not move on.
"I can't believe it's been a year since [thusandsuch] happened."
"Only that long? Time to move on."
Number 3: Upon hearing of the event, message them on Facebook, email, etc. Use your phone to CALL them, if you must, but for the sake of sanity, no Facebook. These messages are impersonal and seemingly not thoughtful. Unless you have no vocal cords to utter the words, CALL them. Or, in select cases, visit them. Unless it is a death in the family, and the family wants to be alone to grieve together. Oh, and when you make this phone call, be prepared to... are you ready for this? *LISTEN* TO THEM! They might need to unload some thoughts, and hey, you have EARS with which to listen! It is amazing how consoling an open ear can be. Which brings me to my next point.
[instant message from ---]
"hey man. heard wut happned. srry. need anything u can lemme know dude."
Number 4: Well, you'll have to say something, right? WRONG. You can just let them talk and unload their thoughts, without saying a word! If you're honestly prepared to listen, you're the most useful to that person. Avoid asking questions pertaining to the event. They'll tell you the information they want you to hear, asking questions will likely lead to sometime that will trample their feelings or make them feel as though you do not feel the gravity of the event.
Number 5: Tell them you know how they feel. You don't. It doesn't matter if you've experienced the same situation, you haven't. Every situation is unique. Nothing gives you permission to tell them how great you are comforting someone.
"My grandfather passed away. His heart failed."
"Oh yeah, mine did too. And I know exactly how you feel. This one guy tried to relate to me but he totally didn't get it."
In summary, be there for them, but don't prod them or tell them how to cope. Healing will come with God and time, but you can't control either of those.
Go comfort someone.
Number 1: Try to change the subject while they're telling you about a traumatic/painful situation. When they're disclosing, it's their turn to talk about what they NEED to talk about, not what you WANT to talk about. It doesn't seem as though this needs said, but it does. Changing the subject will not create an easier situation for anyone.
"I just miss her so much, I -"
"So, did you see that Bears game?"
Number 2: Tell them to move on. Seriously. A person doesn't simply "recover" from a traumatic/painful situation. If it is a terrible thing, especially loss, they likely will think about it every day of their life. They will not move on because someone alluded to the fact that they should. They need to COPE with the grief, not move on.
"I can't believe it's been a year since [thusandsuch] happened."
"Only that long? Time to move on."
Number 3: Upon hearing of the event, message them on Facebook, email, etc. Use your phone to CALL them, if you must, but for the sake of sanity, no Facebook. These messages are impersonal and seemingly not thoughtful. Unless you have no vocal cords to utter the words, CALL them. Or, in select cases, visit them. Unless it is a death in the family, and the family wants to be alone to grieve together. Oh, and when you make this phone call, be prepared to... are you ready for this? *LISTEN* TO THEM! They might need to unload some thoughts, and hey, you have EARS with which to listen! It is amazing how consoling an open ear can be. Which brings me to my next point.
[instant message from ---]
"hey man. heard wut happned. srry. need anything u can lemme know dude."
Number 4: Well, you'll have to say something, right? WRONG. You can just let them talk and unload their thoughts, without saying a word! If you're honestly prepared to listen, you're the most useful to that person. Avoid asking questions pertaining to the event. They'll tell you the information they want you to hear, asking questions will likely lead to sometime that will trample their feelings or make them feel as though you do not feel the gravity of the event.
Number 5: Tell them you know how they feel. You don't. It doesn't matter if you've experienced the same situation, you haven't. Every situation is unique. Nothing gives you permission to tell them how great you are comforting someone.
"My grandfather passed away. His heart failed."
"Oh yeah, mine did too. And I know exactly how you feel. This one guy tried to relate to me but he totally didn't get it."
In summary, be there for them, but don't prod them or tell them how to cope. Healing will come with God and time, but you can't control either of those.
Go comfort someone.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Dragon's breath and tears
You may have heard of dragons,
compared to legends of old;
they are not fictional jargons
as many have been told
Indeed, they are actual!
Not as they have been perceived,
For the safety of a damsel
Dreamers this thought conceived.
They exist in each of us,
In their own separate form
Some are true and zealous,
Others, dark like a rainstorm.
Sometimes, we meet with our dragon
Their hot breath pours over us,
It's acidic and blazon,
More beautiful than the lotus;
because it was meant to be.
When it has consumed all,
It begins the work on thee.
The eyes are the last brawl.
Slowly but surely they burn,
And tears closely ensue
It is not a concern
For just then comes rescue
As water tends to do.
To soothe the burn, a tear, my dear.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
The "Daddy?" story
A story composed by a friend of mine..... read on, ye yet uneducated.
Once upon a time, many moons ago, back in a time where people were good, the women were fast, and the chrome was thick, people would go to a ski resort to enjoy themselves. I worked at this ski resort, as a lane attendant for the snow tubing lanes. Sometimes I'd waste hours walking on a treadmill, other times I'd sit on a snow tube & watch the sky, other times I did hundreds of pullups off the c
Once upon a time, many moons ago, back in a time where people were good, the women were fast, and the chrome was thick, people would go to a ski resort to enjoy themselves. I worked at this ski resort, as a lane attendant for the snow tubing lanes. Sometimes I'd waste hours walking on a treadmill, other times I'd sit on a snow tube & watch the sky, other times I did hundreds of pullups off the c
eiling to keep myself occupied. On special occasions I'd have the luxury of throwing fat bodies who melt onto their tube 30ft from the edge down a mountain to their occasional demise. Such times were truly what kept me going, and I scarce have better experiences.
One night I had the rather unfortunate yet interesting role of sitting at the bottom of the mountain and watching people plummet to their eventual stop, whether it be violent or uneventful. Me and the other guys working that position were telling old war stories of our various close encounters with the guests of this tubing mountain. People like angry guests, naked tubers, drunken customers, Unidentified flying fat abominations (UFFAs), and the like. One friend recounted his near death experience, another how a 400lb man got stuck in a net, another how he had his knee caps sheared off several times trying to stop collisions. We were bragging about who was better at their job, when some radio chatter buzzed into our ears... "Breakaway, Breakaway!" we heard. The one guy, with his stunna shades and slicked back suave hair and new shiny ski pants threw his head back over his shoulder and said, "Gentlemen, please. I got this. Watch and learn." Naturally, due to my skeptical and analytic personality, I figured I'd back him up, just in case he acted a fool. Surely a guy so eloquent in speech and smooth in style could handle himself, the others thought. I looked up the hill to see a big daddy separate from his child. They had been holding onto each other's tube, but the rigors of simply holding onto his daughters tube had proved too much, and he let go of her... They had a considerable velocity before the inevitable descent, so once they hit it the daughter made a quick shoot down. She came to a soft and gentle stop, where she attempted to sort of hip thrust to try and get out from the enveloping tube. Eventually she defied gravity and rolled to the side, and made an attempt to grab the lanyard which distracted her from seeing her imminent demise. Like a grand symphony, a series of events were happening all at once in majestic ridiculousness.
The father's weight was substantial. He was in or around a plump 300+ pounds, with varying reports of upwards of 600 lbs. Guys like him have a very gradual descent, at least initially, but once their potential energy converts to inertia, a weapon on par with the MOAB is spawned. So much weight was on the tube, that the ice beneath it was being compressed to the point of subliminating to gas, which errupted from behind his descent of death like a white volcano of ice, water vapor, and perhaps plasma. This subsequent vortex merely added to his aerodynamics, and exponentially his speed multiplied about 16.7x the speed of a fat guy falling down a hill, squared. A low slick rumble proceeded from him. Reports were that it was his face contorting due to the rigors of supersonic flight, or that the gravity of falling down the hill at such speeds compressed his lungs and super-heated the gas in his lungs, producing the supernatural sound, or it could have been the mechanical energy produced form the sheer weight and speed of his fat vibrating and hitting the resonance frequency of the snow tube. Either way, he was moving, and smiles quickly turned to looks of horror and fear.
I Looked at the Big boned baby basher plummeting towards his daughter, looked at the innocent, pink clad young girl no older than 4, looked back at the fat body, looked back at the snow bunny angel, and looked at the 17 year old fonz schlepping towards his death. At that very moment, I was forced to make a choice. I could back up the "bro" and attempt to stop the monstrosity that was beginning to shake the ground I stood on... Or I could run and snatch his daughter up like a bed intruder. I had to weigh the options, as I always do. I considered the young boy who would surely have his face melted from the super-heated gasses, at the very least, or perhaps he would contribute to the primordial soup which would coat 50 square feet. Or... I could resign him to his own fate, since he did brag that he "gots this" as any respectable human being would. Faster than a sow returns to her mire, or a dog to its vomit, thoughts turned to action.
I abandoned that kid and ran for the little girl, with the single hope that she could withstand the 6 G's fo force I was about to thrust upon her. I stepped off, snow and ice turning to water from the force of my feet exerting supernatural pressures. Time slowed down... my coworkers were stunned- unable to move, or even yell "look out!" Their faces grimaced and contorted as they realized their man cards were spontaneously combusting before their eyes. Paralyzed from fear, the best the did to help was turn sheepishly to witness the spectacle unfold. Legend has it that one of them let out a squeak indistinguishable from a mouse having it's head stomped on. As I forced my body to mindlessly run towards a little pink baby, which went against about every instinct I have, I observed my co-worker bro-hannah montannah squat down to catch the father and save the day. He got into a position like he was a mime sitting upon a horse. Low to the ground, ready to help and earn his money. He looked up and finally had the realization that he was a fool, and had bit off more than he could chew. He looked down into the depths of the fathers stomach, because his face skin was being forced back from the wind. I remember seeing for but a second a small mushroom cloud erupt just upon impact as the noob was impacted by big daddy. A shock wave came from them, like Goku going supersaian or Neo punching the ground, and I turned away just in time to save my eye sight. In that very second, I was sure I saw a flash of light and a smile upon that fathers face as it rammed through the noobs chest. I pushed with every muscle in my body, veins bulging in ways even body builders dream of. Seconds became minutes, and I jumped appx 19 feet off a birm, landing but a few steps from the girl.
In that moment, from the shock-wave, the smell of burnt flesh, or perhaps human instinct, she slowly looked over her shoulder. Her face wasn't that of a young child having fun, but of a naive, innocent, and curious girl merely looking to share her joys with her dad. In that moment I saw true beauty and obliviousness. As she turned, she looked up and layed eyes on what lay behind her... An suave, aspiring young man turning into chili, the tubing mountain looking like mount doom, me, mid air, racing towards her, and her father, bathed in blood, flying at her. In that moment, with so much happening for that young girl, the most she could do, all she could say, was...
...Daddy?
I snatched up that girl so fast I felt her arms dislocate from her sockets, and my foot was caught by a passing doom train of a dad in disaster as they blew by. I landed and placed the little girl down, and looked over at the travesty which just occured. I saw a red streak where my co-worker got pwned, a snow tube that had melted into the net and was steaming, and the father had easily hit 70mph and was wishing he'd had a Delorian instead of a snow tube.
The end. ish.
This story has been ingrained into my mind for the duration of my life, but now it needs to be burned into your retinas, so you can say that you've truly lived and seen it all.
Feel free to offer corrections to how the story happened, since the very fabric of space-time was fractured that day, it's hard to say what really happened.
One night I had the rather unfortunate yet interesting role of sitting at the bottom of the mountain and watching people plummet to their eventual stop, whether it be violent or uneventful. Me and the other guys working that position were telling old war stories of our various close encounters with the guests of this tubing mountain. People like angry guests, naked tubers, drunken customers, Unidentified flying fat abominations (UFFAs), and the like. One friend recounted his near death experience, another how a 400lb man got stuck in a net, another how he had his knee caps sheared off several times trying to stop collisions. We were bragging about who was better at their job, when some radio chatter buzzed into our ears... "Breakaway, Breakaway!" we heard. The one guy, with his stunna shades and slicked back suave hair and new shiny ski pants threw his head back over his shoulder and said, "Gentlemen, please. I got this. Watch and learn." Naturally, due to my skeptical and analytic personality, I figured I'd back him up, just in case he acted a fool. Surely a guy so eloquent in speech and smooth in style could handle himself, the others thought. I looked up the hill to see a big daddy separate from his child. They had been holding onto each other's tube, but the rigors of simply holding onto his daughters tube had proved too much, and he let go of her... They had a considerable velocity before the inevitable descent, so once they hit it the daughter made a quick shoot down. She came to a soft and gentle stop, where she attempted to sort of hip thrust to try and get out from the enveloping tube. Eventually she defied gravity and rolled to the side, and made an attempt to grab the lanyard which distracted her from seeing her imminent demise. Like a grand symphony, a series of events were happening all at once in majestic ridiculousness.
The father's weight was substantial. He was in or around a plump 300+ pounds, with varying reports of upwards of 600 lbs. Guys like him have a very gradual descent, at least initially, but once their potential energy converts to inertia, a weapon on par with the MOAB is spawned. So much weight was on the tube, that the ice beneath it was being compressed to the point of subliminating to gas, which errupted from behind his descent of death like a white volcano of ice, water vapor, and perhaps plasma. This subsequent vortex merely added to his aerodynamics, and exponentially his speed multiplied about 16.7x the speed of a fat guy falling down a hill, squared. A low slick rumble proceeded from him. Reports were that it was his face contorting due to the rigors of supersonic flight, or that the gravity of falling down the hill at such speeds compressed his lungs and super-heated the gas in his lungs, producing the supernatural sound, or it could have been the mechanical energy produced form the sheer weight and speed of his fat vibrating and hitting the resonance frequency of the snow tube. Either way, he was moving, and smiles quickly turned to looks of horror and fear.
I Looked at the Big boned baby basher plummeting towards his daughter, looked at the innocent, pink clad young girl no older than 4, looked back at the fat body, looked back at the snow bunny angel, and looked at the 17 year old fonz schlepping towards his death. At that very moment, I was forced to make a choice. I could back up the "bro" and attempt to stop the monstrosity that was beginning to shake the ground I stood on... Or I could run and snatch his daughter up like a bed intruder. I had to weigh the options, as I always do. I considered the young boy who would surely have his face melted from the super-heated gasses, at the very least, or perhaps he would contribute to the primordial soup which would coat 50 square feet. Or... I could resign him to his own fate, since he did brag that he "gots this" as any respectable human being would. Faster than a sow returns to her mire, or a dog to its vomit, thoughts turned to action.
I abandoned that kid and ran for the little girl, with the single hope that she could withstand the 6 G's fo force I was about to thrust upon her. I stepped off, snow and ice turning to water from the force of my feet exerting supernatural pressures. Time slowed down... my coworkers were stunned- unable to move, or even yell "look out!" Their faces grimaced and contorted as they realized their man cards were spontaneously combusting before their eyes. Paralyzed from fear, the best the did to help was turn sheepishly to witness the spectacle unfold. Legend has it that one of them let out a squeak indistinguishable from a mouse having it's head stomped on. As I forced my body to mindlessly run towards a little pink baby, which went against about every instinct I have, I observed my co-worker bro-hannah montannah squat down to catch the father and save the day. He got into a position like he was a mime sitting upon a horse. Low to the ground, ready to help and earn his money. He looked up and finally had the realization that he was a fool, and had bit off more than he could chew. He looked down into the depths of the fathers stomach, because his face skin was being forced back from the wind. I remember seeing for but a second a small mushroom cloud erupt just upon impact as the noob was impacted by big daddy. A shock wave came from them, like Goku going supersaian or Neo punching the ground, and I turned away just in time to save my eye sight. In that very second, I was sure I saw a flash of light and a smile upon that fathers face as it rammed through the noobs chest. I pushed with every muscle in my body, veins bulging in ways even body builders dream of. Seconds became minutes, and I jumped appx 19 feet off a birm, landing but a few steps from the girl.
In that moment, from the shock-wave, the smell of burnt flesh, or perhaps human instinct, she slowly looked over her shoulder. Her face wasn't that of a young child having fun, but of a naive, innocent, and curious girl merely looking to share her joys with her dad. In that moment I saw true beauty and obliviousness. As she turned, she looked up and layed eyes on what lay behind her... An suave, aspiring young man turning into chili, the tubing mountain looking like mount doom, me, mid air, racing towards her, and her father, bathed in blood, flying at her. In that moment, with so much happening for that young girl, the most she could do, all she could say, was...
...Daddy?
I snatched up that girl so fast I felt her arms dislocate from her sockets, and my foot was caught by a passing doom train of a dad in disaster as they blew by. I landed and placed the little girl down, and looked over at the travesty which just occured. I saw a red streak where my co-worker got pwned, a snow tube that had melted into the net and was steaming, and the father had easily hit 70mph and was wishing he'd had a Delorian instead of a snow tube.
The end. ish.
This story has been ingrained into my mind for the duration of my life, but now it needs to be burned into your retinas, so you can say that you've truly lived and seen it all.
Feel free to offer corrections to how the story happened, since the very fabric of space-time was fractured that day, it's hard to say what really happened.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
President-worthy Slogans!
“More stories and less textbooks!” was the cause for which educator Charlotte Mason rallied. She claimed that stories and fun sayings kept things in your head better than reading the dull facts off of a page. She was right. Even a child can pick up a funny phrase or a slogan, and repeat it back on demand. Ask a child today what the McDonald’s slogan is, and I’ll bet he can sing the catchy “Badadada, I’m lovin’ it!” jingle at any moment. This basic philosophy was also used by the Presidential candidates throughout the years! Starting with the Van Buren vs. Harrison elections, most Presidents have had slogans.
Sometimes, the slogan professes something that is not fulfilled (“Barry Goldwater - In your heart you know he’s right”). Sometimes, it states an incredibly brief version of what that president stands for (“McKinley - A full dinner pail for all!”). Though very often, the slogan is senseless (“Stay Cool with Coolidge”). So what is the point of this jingle? What is it about those few words that nearly all of the presidents since 1840 just had to have them? There are three primary reasons.
Have you ever had just a few words of a really annoying song stuck in your head? Those songs are often called cognitive parasites. It’s not that they are actually parasites, but they do fill in the brain’s need for rhythm or pattern. The same philosophy applies to slogans. If you repeat something often enough, you begin to sort of like it. Imagine hearing Dwight Eisenhower’s “I like Ike” slogan being chanted at a rally or something of the sort. It would get lodged in your mind, where it would begin to grow. There is also the never-diminished fact that these slogans give candidates something to put on t-shirts and bumper stickers.
Did you ever notice that young children love to repeat a word that sounds cool, or plays funnily on their tongues? I myself was obsessed with the word “popsicle” for a week a while ago. I repeated it often and loudly, regardless of others in the room. I didn’t even know what it meant. So my family put up with a week of sporadic repetitions of the word, imagine if it was something like “I like ike” that I was repeating. My parents would have heard it constantly, and conversation might have formed around it.
In the end, political slogans are beneficial to the political candidate because it is, in a way, a form of subconscious mind control. It could even make or break a campaign. Slogans are a tradition dating back to William Harrison, the cries of “Forward” and “Believe in America” echo in every part of the United States!
Here’s my slogan for this post:
“Slogans: an unbroken tradition since 1840.”
Sometimes, the slogan professes something that is not fulfilled (“Barry Goldwater - In your heart you know he’s right”). Sometimes, it states an incredibly brief version of what that president stands for (“McKinley - A full dinner pail for all!”). Though very often, the slogan is senseless (“Stay Cool with Coolidge”). So what is the point of this jingle? What is it about those few words that nearly all of the presidents since 1840 just had to have them? There are three primary reasons.
Have you ever had just a few words of a really annoying song stuck in your head? Those songs are often called cognitive parasites. It’s not that they are actually parasites, but they do fill in the brain’s need for rhythm or pattern. The same philosophy applies to slogans. If you repeat something often enough, you begin to sort of like it. Imagine hearing Dwight Eisenhower’s “I like Ike” slogan being chanted at a rally or something of the sort. It would get lodged in your mind, where it would begin to grow. There is also the never-diminished fact that these slogans give candidates something to put on t-shirts and bumper stickers.
Did you ever notice that young children love to repeat a word that sounds cool, or plays funnily on their tongues? I myself was obsessed with the word “popsicle” for a week a while ago. I repeated it often and loudly, regardless of others in the room. I didn’t even know what it meant. So my family put up with a week of sporadic repetitions of the word, imagine if it was something like “I like ike” that I was repeating. My parents would have heard it constantly, and conversation might have formed around it.
In the end, political slogans are beneficial to the political candidate because it is, in a way, a form of subconscious mind control. It could even make or break a campaign. Slogans are a tradition dating back to William Harrison, the cries of “Forward” and “Believe in America” echo in every part of the United States!
Here’s my slogan for this post:
“Slogans: an unbroken tradition since 1840.”
I used three articles for this research:
http://www.history.com/news/10-winning-presidential-campaign-slogans was my primary one.
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