Monthly Archives: June 2007

Quad-Polar Madness

(This is commentary from my old Kraznoy site.)

On the advice of others, I’m going to combine all of my blogs into one. Like other blogs under the sun, I need to force myself to discover this neat and handy tool called the “tab”. Now the (pause) “tab” (pause) is something that you click on the top of the window, and it takes you to other things located on that particular piece of software.

(pause)

Heh, yeah I know! It’s really amazing, isn’t it? I thought so. I’m so mystified by the (pause) “tab (with finger quotes)” (pause) thing that I don’t know what to do with myself. It’s so uber-cool, man, like, you know. I mean, Tabs, man! Woo! Yeah, alright!

Tabs…heh. I mean, there’s a Tab Key on my keyboard, I just never thought I’d be Using multiple TABS in anything in the real world! Wow, man. Awesome.

So yeah, Tabs. Woo, neat.

I have no idea when I’ll actually find the time to enact this weirdo-cool “tab” thing, but it definitely won’t be before Monday. I’m heading for Des Moines, Iowa tonight, and Sioux Falls, South Dakota on Sunday. But it’ll be in the coming days. Have a great one.

Heh, Tabs.

– Aaron

Jason Heath said…

Oh yeah, gotta love the tabs and the Twitter. I just added you as a Twit friend. I’m lovin’ the Twitter–sorry about the compulsive broken record soapbox Twitter preaching. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
12:02 AM

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Cool Wood Calculator Representation

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More Cool Links


Touching up a photo of a moderately attractive video so she either looks very attractive, or looks like a mannequin. Depends on your inclination.

Awesome virtual planetarium.

Digital Photos: Tips for Taking Great Pics With an Okay Camera.

How to Write With Style by Kurt Vonnegut

Online Metronome.

Guidelines For Cats

Videos played in reverse of “things going wrong”.

The “Jaded” webcomic.

Cool photo aging representation. One family had their pictures show on the same day, every year, for years and years.

A tool similar to what police sketch artists use nowadays.

1 comments:

Samir said…

It’s always an honour to be included in any well curated garbage dump. 🙂

Thanks for the link.

Samir
samirbharadwaj.com
June 27, 2007 12:36 AM

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Gender Neutrality

On that turtle post, I originally wrote it as a male turtle. It was only on the last line that I realized I’d feel more for the turtle if I thought of it as a female. Future mother, more delicate, and all sorts of other cultural gender bias that’s been ingrained into my head.

I went through the post and changed all of the gender titles to “she”, “her”, and so on. This took much too much time, but I felt it necessary to exude some kind of neutrality in this case.

It just goes to show that I still haven’t gotten there, but really, who has? We live in a society that still largely ingrains “he” before “she”. And since white men are still mostly in control of things (not entirely, there’s plenty of other races and women in charge), white men don’t tend to naturally think of this as being wrong or strange.

A wonderful game: a man and his son are driving, when a drunk driver comes out of no where, hits them, kills the dad. The son is taken to the hospital with serious injuries. He’s immediately taken to surgery, and as he’s delivered to the operating table, one of the doctors steps back and says, “I can’t operate on this boy, he’s my son.” Explain this.

Now, based on the above, you’ve already probably guessed the answer. The surgeon is a woman, but that didn’t immediately pop in my mind when I first took this. It took me several minutes to even deduce that a woman might be involved. I was just so fixated on “Stepdad”, or “Father/Priest”, that I didn’t take the surgeon to be a woman.

Now, I’m not sexist. I currently have a female boss, and I probably get along with her better than any of my last 5 bosses. But it’s funny how little societal prejudices get stuck in a guy’s head. The important thing, if they do exist inside, is to semi-consciously neutralize those tendencies and live your life.

I guess that’s the moral. Go run with it.

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Balding

Argh! Balding. I hate balding.

I wouldn’t hate it so much if I could just shave my head. But I look goofy with a shaved head. I’ve got the typical Swedish/Irish fat head, inherited from both sides of the family.

Just thought I’d say.

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Great Free Windows / Mac Help-Mock-Ups

This is a great free tech support tool from a British website.

http://va.zensupport.co.uk/

It has mock-ups of pretty much every Windows operating system, some Mac stuff as well, and tools on how to setup email accounts. It’s really helpful.

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Malaise

A wave of non-feeling
like a cool breeze.
For days, I feel nothing.

I’m not sure how to feel.
I don’t feel bad,
nor anything.
Just a mist of coolness.

A rock in the pond
the waves pour out into the coming days
I get colder, more uncaring
more like the stone which caused this.

It’s a coolness that isn’t unpleasant.
I simply am. A neutrality.

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Poetry blog that sort of ran into me

Hello, I just wanted to tell you about a poetry blog from someone who recently commented on here. It’s “Her Slant On The World“, and I guarantee it’s about twice as interesting as most of the stuff you’ll find on here. Check it out.

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Blackbird


I had a living dream in a moment today. It came to me right after I struck a bird with my car.

This is the 2nd time I’ve killed a bird with my car. It’s something I don’t really “enjoy”, to say the very, very least. Both times it’s been blackbirds that I’ve killed. The first accidental homicide was about 10 years ago, where I struck a huge blackbird at the base of my windshield, cracking the glass and shattering one of my wipers.

Today, it was a black bird the size of a sparrow, just a little guy. He flew from right to left, where he struck my left bumper. He almost made it, which turns my stomach when I reflect back.

Both times, I had a half-second to react, and both times I had cars in my left blind spot, making it unable to move or do anything except strike the bird.

In the wake of this, I figured I should keep the bird alive, even though I had known the bird for a fraction of a second in its former life. I felt I should find a way to “wake up” the bird through a story.

I got to thinking…what if I had something to bring the bird back? An ancient medallion or something, a Lazarus stone of some sort. That would be the ticket. But would I go back to resurrect the bird? I decided not. I would meet the bird another way.

I put myself in the form of a 15 year old guy, who had, through some circumstances, found this stone, or medallion, or whatever. He pocketed the stone, without realizing its power: the ability to bring back a recently killed soul, place it in its old body (healing it…no zombies), and making it a companion (not a slave) of the wielder of the stone.

Then I thought of settings, of a few other things…and then the story just started to meander and fall apart.

And so I posted what was left here, a crumbling mess much like the bird. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you more. Maybe I’ll come back to the story later.

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Garbage 1 (pictures are dead, links are not)

Here’s some garbage links from my favorites folder. Enjoy them…or don’t.

Guerrilla Mail – disposable email addresses.

How to make your own Magnifying Refrigerator Magnets

Well…it’s weird things. From the web. Hey, it got ‘me’ curious…

Make a “mix tape” for your significant other on this site. I thought the girl trying to make the intro was funny.

Jars of Clay is one of the few really good Christian Rock bands around.

Why is it that, if downloaded a movie of this guy talking about nothing, I wouldn’t watch it for a minute. But a cartoon of this guy talking about nothing…magic

All of these shots are of real, full-sized places. They’re blurred to make it look as if they’re miniatures. Very cool.

This is Limbo, a very creepy looking game that’s set to come out…actually, I don’t know when. I bookmarked this link, stuck it in my link Guantanamo Bay holding cell, and promptly forgot about it.

This is the Chuck Norris facts page. It’s funny and offensive. But that’s part of why it’s funny.

This is More, a short creepy movie. Click the Quicktime link to watch it.

A gentle email reminding service. Oh crap, I gotta go running.

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(Dump Blog) Kraznoy’s Garbage Dump

Hullo. This is a repository for all of the junk on Kraznoy at the moment, mostly just taking up space. I’m trying to refine Kraz down to more of a talkie-site, throwing all of the cool links and whatnot over here. Have fun.

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Looping

Computer joke:
Q: What did the parent loop say to the child loop?
A: LOOP! I AM YOUR FATHER!

Looping. Some people isolate looping to computer programs. I tend to do them in real life, to mixed results.

I you’re working in a customer service environment, or a routine job of any sort, you probably loop without knowing you’re doing so. You have a schpiel that you repeat over and over again, or a set of questions you ask every person you come across, or a specific predetermined way of handling ever issue, and so on.

Even years later, I find I use the same loops as I used to. On the phones at Gateway, I used a pre-set number of openers and closers. I altered them, and use them today at my Cable-Co job on the phones.

I guess it’s a no-brainer really. You get comfortable with a way of talking, and it just kind of rolls from this point…

I’m writing this last statement months after the first piece, since it was unfinished and unpublished on here. Annnnnd I’m out of ideas for this one. Posting!

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The Great Bobby McFerrin

Y’know, what an artist.

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The Rolling Stone Album Guide

“Twenty bucks…for a book about what, music reviews?”, I said incredulously.

“Yeah, but it’s worth it. Trust me.”, Jason said with a smile that I always ultimately trusted.

And so I bought the book. This was probably 1995, at the old Barnes & Noble in the New Town Mall / Empire East in Sioux Falls. I had a lot more disposable income back then, so much less responsibility, and a need to get “good things” once in a while.

Jason was a master at finding great things in the realm of music. This is the guy who introduced me to The Rolling Stones when I only knew about their beer commercial tour and maybe “It’s Only Rock n’ Roll” (which usually causes me to flip to another station these days). He introduced Mike & I to Queen, The Beatles, The Who, The Temptations, and a dozen or so other artists that had been mostly swept away by modern music.

Jason was there when the music wasn’t. In 1995, Kurt Cobain blew his head off, which helped to rebury Punk for another few years. Boy Bands were gaining prominence, along with No Doubt, which kind of rocked, except for that squeeky Shirley Temple of a lead singer. Music had more-or-less abandoned me. I needed to find something meatier.

I only really got to see Jason when we were home from college at this point. Otherwise, I had to rely on that wonderful book.

I’ve read it and re-read it so many times it’s hard to count. It’s so great to be able to flip it open at random and find these hidden gems, these artists that you would otherwise have no idea of their existence. Or if you’re trying like heck to figure out what Stones album came before Some Girls, just fliiiiip….oh yeah, Black and Blue!

Now the book ain’t perfect by any means of the imagination. This is a book that gave Milli Vanilli only 2 stars for their first album, when they had just won a Grammy for the same album 2 years before the book was published. Was it because they cheated? Probably, but it’s still a good pop album.

Also…it’s almost as if the core bands of the flower-power 1960’s can do no wrong. When it comes to 1980’s hair bands or country music, it’s just best not to even submit your album to the magazine for review.

Even with this little fact rolling around, I’ve read this book more than any other in my life. When I need a break, I’ll flip it open to a random section and check out Chick Corea, Buckwheat Zydeko, or Fats Waller. Or whoever, there’s just so many artists in this book.

Besides that, a new version of the book has finally come out…back in 2004, but I only just discovered it.

And suddenly my income has become a little more disposable.

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Sir Paul and the Sacred Cows

Nooge!

Here’s a funny Ted Nugent rant about how Paul McCartney fired people from his tours for eating hamburgers. I like watching the Far Lefties and Far Righties sling arrows.

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"YOU FOOL!"

Yes, I’m stealing this right from Fark. Basically, it’s so I can find it months from now when I want a good belly laugh.

Hollywood Squares – Gilbert Gotfried “You Fool!”

Add to My Profile | More Videos

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Self Affirmations (incomplete)

1/4/2001:
I am a good man.
I am healthy in mind, body, spirit, and soul
I am not a hypocrite, I do not lie.
I exercise and I eat smart.

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Poem 4: 1/4/2001

If I am successful in a field
I am gifted in, then I will be
famous.

I know fame will reach me someday.
I know I will be wealthy
and I know I will be successful.
I will stay the course this time
I will continue until the job is over.
I see myself living in the Black Hills
learning from it’s living and dead
learning to love the land
and learning to love myself.
Survival is a given now.

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Poem 3: 1/3/2001

The life I’ve led, I try not to be ashamed
but I am ashamed.
I wish I could take back the hurt
maybe I still can
Money isn’t everything
but it cures a lot of
unfortunate ails.

I hope I can find the strength
to help people
in so as to help myself
to save me.

I want to be saved
I want to be healed
in Jesus

and I know all I have to do
is ask for it
but I don’t know if I can.

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Musing from 1/2/2001

Idea: Body suit – fully moveable, but in emergencies it will control the wearer’s actions.
– Source: Lost in snowbound wilderness, suit heats the surrounding inch-radius of a person’s body, and “walks” the recipient out of danger.

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Friday…

Well, I don’t have much to say I guess. I just felt that Kraznoy was feeling unloved, since I’ve been working on my running blog for most of my free time today. By the way, Mission Impossible 3 is a very hard movie to watch. I mean, even with me working on two blogs, eating a nice healthy omelet with a glass of coffee-infused Diet Pepsi Max, the movie failed me on a good many levels. I hope the new Die Hard is much better, I must say. I somehow doubt it though.

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Strange things I do sometimes

This is probably only fascinating to me, but I’ve come to realize that I do some things that are slightly out of the norm. Here’s a short list:

1. When I see fresh small-animal roadkill, I will sometimes run over it again. This is not to be macabre, but simply to hasten the process of delivering that animal’s corpse to the Earth, where it belongs. I don’t do this when my wife is in the car.

2. I talk to other drivers, and sometimes make personalities for them. I have in-depth conversations about life and how it’s like to drive a Hyundai, or whatever car they happen to be in. I am sometimes very wistful of our short times together when they reach their exit before mine. For some reason I’m less wistful when I reach my exit first. Again, wife not in car.

3. I sing falsetto in the car when I have no right to do so. As a result, I gravel up my vocal chords in a most pleasant way. I’ve done this voice, at about 50%, for my wife once, calling it “most annoying Aaron”. She wasn’t real amused. I was, so it was alright. For my safety, I won’t do 100%. Think the Chicken-Lady from Kids In The Hall.

4. I try to read my fish’s minds. Mostly in involves eating my face if I don’t feed them any faster. Sometimes it’s love. Mostly eating me though.

5. I wonder what the worst thing is that an individual in crowd of people has ever done. I usually make things up and write mini dia-ramas in my head for these events. For some reason the stories tend to include a lot of annoymous practical jokes gone horribly wrong. Sometimes they involve monkeys. And apricots…but usually just the monkeys.

…I guess that’s it for now. Have a great Thursday.

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Recap of a previous posting…

A few days ago, I posted a comic, and ever-so-subtlely referred to someone I knew in Junior High, and how I kind of wished that certain female would be eaten by zombies.

So, in my curiosity, I looked her up on Google. It ends up she became a nurse, went to SDSU, and saved some guy’s life on a golf course by performing CPR.

This means that if I were to go back in time and, say, drop an anvil on that girl’s head (ala Bugs Bunny / Road Runner), I’d inadvertantly remove another person from the Earth as well. And if you’ve watched any “time-paradox” tv-shows or movies, there would be all sorts of untold consequences thereafter.

So, I suppose I should just forgive her and chalk up the experience as “stupid things kids do”.

I still hope she stubs her toe. Really really hard.

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In Memory: Mr. Wizard

Mr. Wizard, aka Don Herbert, passed away yesterday at the age of 89. I watched every episode of his show, Mr. Wizard’s World, on Nickelodeon at least a couple times each when I was a kid. In tribute, the beginning credits to that wonderful show. I’ll miss ya Don.

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A poem from my friend Q

Half Staff

Alone rocked about
in this rowboat.
Upon salted sea.
Tempted to drown the oars
and forever think
about you and me.
A sailor happy to
be far from home.
Yellowed like a
sheaf from history.
Fought the good fight
and fell.
Stood on the shore-
some house of light.
Not a beacon,
but a fright.
Two oars in tow,
realizing the spray of years.
Marooned you were. Ill.
I was mutinous.
Well, here is the tide
and there are no more
feet to dance upon.
Or diving hands.
This boat cradles.
A gull screams in the throat.
And oars dry.

28 Oct 2005

1 comments:

Kelio said…

So is the individual escaping the shore, which represents a situation that seems to be hard to leave (“forever think about you and me”), yet realistically better to leave (“Not a beacon,/ but a fright.)? The water, then, is the avenue (a fine symbol of forward movement and freedom) through which this individual finds new land and thus, a new beginning? As the oars are dry in the end, surely the boat has been docked on a new shore? Well, just having fun reading your very interesting verse! Feel free to reveal the true meaning!
4:52 PM

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Favorite Comic of the Year


I always hated the popular morons from school, especially a certain chick from Edison Junior High. I would have ended this one differently…a less funny ending, except to me.

By the way, I found it here: http://tmi-comic.com/istrip_files/strips/20050603.jpg

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My Favorite Web-Comics

These are all pretty old comics, but here’s a short list:

Sluggy Freelance

GPF

8-Bit Theatre

User Friendly

Pupkin

Ctrl-Alt-Del

…enjoy, nuff said.

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Top 10 Things Some Guy Hates About Star Trek


Oh my. – Captain Kirk’s last words

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(Wedding Blog) First Post

Sunday, June 10, 2007
First Post

Hello all, this is Aaron Burman, the husband of Sarah Shoultz-Burman. We got married all the way back on September 16, 2006. It’s only now that I’ve finally gotten around to creating a blog for all of our wedding pictures and stories. So settle in for a wonderful adventure, while Sarah & I continue to celebrate our newlywed year.

– Aaron

Posted by Aaron at 10:55 PM

1 comments:

Kanteker said…

This is great! I have a lot of great pictures to share with you from the wedding. Especially the ones where I was simply playing around with the camera. I’ll try to get some of them zipped up and sent to you later this week. This is really a wonderful idea.
June 11, 2007 2:52 PM

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The Tolkiens sing, "The Hobbit Sleeps Tonight"

Just kidding, I wouldn’t put you through that. No, I want to tell you about my good friend Mike Colwill and his series of posts and observations about J.R.R. Tolkien, written about 10 years past. He just posted them on his blog, Kanteker’s Craft, and if you’re at all interested in the guy behind the Lord of the Rings (no, not Peter Jackson, the REAL guy behind the stories), then this is a great place to start.

…and, for those of you disappointed in the fact that there’s no musical number, for those of you who feel I teased you by the subject line of this post…well, here you go: Oh yes, it’s Leonard Nimoy (Spock to those Trekkies out there) singing the ballad of Bilbo Baggins.

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The Running Man: aaronburman.blogspot.com

I’ve created a blog dedicated to tracking my Marathon Training, with hopes of running one of those 26.2 mile suckers in March or April of 2008.

What I want from you, if you so choose, is some advice. For those runners out there, do you have any advice on different stretches, times of day to run, what to eat, how much to drink, and so on? I’d love to hear what you have to say.

Also, there’s a couple twists. I will not only be running the one marathon. I want to run Fifty, one in each of the Fifty United States. I don’t have a time-line, but I’m sure I’ll be done just shy of the arrival of my first Social Security check.

This is hardly an original idea. I remember reading a story back in the early 1990’s of a guy running a race in South Dakota that was his 32nd state down. However, this next thing might be something new. I want to get a small tattoo to commemorate every marathon that I’ve ran. After every race, like the next day (or maybe a couple days after if I’m shot), I want to go to a reputable Tattoo parlor that I’ve researched beforehand, and have a themed tattoo to remember that race. I don’t know yet if I want the tattoo to be representative of some race memory, of the city, or if I want it as a piece of a flowing tattoo that ties in with other ones I’ve already received.
On top of that, I will gladly be taking advice on the tattoos I will get upon running each marathon. I’d love to hear if you think one particular parlor is the absolute best place to go, I want to know if one place completely and utterly sucks, I want to know if you think I’m an idiot for doing this. I just want to know.

The tattoo-twist is one of the driving forces behind me getting into shape. That, and the fact that I want to live to an age that surpasses both of my grandfathers. I really want to know my grandkids, and I want to be able to play with them whenever they decide to show up.

So, what do you think? Gimme a shout over here: aaronburman.blogspot.com. I’d love to hear from you.

Until next time, wish me luck. And thanks.

– Aaron

1 comments:
Craig Durkee said…
im running my first in october good luck with yours

7:24 AM

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That old dead blog of mine

(This originally appeared on my Aaronis Burmanski Galoofus Spock blog, which no longer exists. ABGS was an interim blog between my “BestOfOmaha” blog, and “Kraznoy”.)

********************

Reboot – 3/18/2007

I’ve decided to reboot my primary blog, because it wasn’t working. It just didn’t work. This is primarily due to the fact that I lied. All over that blog. I lied, and I withheld the truth, and it just flopped the site.

See, I’m not an interesting person, per se. However, I view things in an interesting way. And I have interesting stories to tell. But only if I don’t bullshit you. And it seems like that’s all I do. I bullshit, and bullshit, and bullshit some more. Well, I’m tired of it. I need to tell you what’s really going on in my little noggin of a brain. I need to tell you how I feel, and what’s going on deep inside. And it has to be interesting. Oh, and it has to be written well. In a conversational tone, not in a boring textbook sort of way. It has to be something that I, myself, would actually enjoy reading if I were an outside observer.

I hope this works. Or in the words of D.A.R.R.Y.L. (or close to the same), “I hope we make it!”

Enjoy.

-Hiddan Berdnikova

********************

She’s scary for a little ol’ woman – 3/19/2007

So, yeah, I’m afraid of my grandma.

My grandma, one of the nicest ladies you’d ever meet, and I’m afraid of her.

See, last weekend was St. Patrick’s Day. My wife and I had the rare opportunity to return to our respective hometowns of Sioux City and Sioux Falls.

Tangent approaching…

Note that there is a difference between Sioux Falls and Sioux City. The two cities are over an hour apart from one another. Both have general populations of over 100,000 people, a significant number in the part of the country the two are located. Sioux Falls is in southeastern South Dakota, while Sioux City is in northwestern Iowa. Do not mix the two up. I won’t tell you again.

Tangent complete. Continue program.

Since my wife and I live in Omaha, Nebraska, and since we both work varying hours, we don’t get the chance to return home nearly as often as we’d both like. So, it was to be a nice weekend of beer drinking and socializing with our families. Along with this, my wife suggests that we visit my Grandma in Salem, South Dakota.

My Grandma is a remarkable woman, and she’s one-half of a remarkable couple. My Grandma has been a farmer’s wife, a schoolteacher, and a parachute instructor during World War II. My Grandpa, who passed away back in the mid-80’s, was a farmer until the war, where he enlisted as an airplane mechanic, being sent to Africa. While there, he was a sort of loan shark, giving stupid Airmen and Regular Soldiers 1/2 of their paycheck sometime in the middle of the week, then when payday arrived, he’d demand the full check. My Grandpa even enlisted the help of a couple of “heavies” to assist in his endeavor. Eventually he got a contact in the payroll department to simply hand the paycheck directly over to my Grandpa. Between this and a cache of diamonds he supposedly smuggled over to the states, he was able to buy a decent farm upon his leaving the military.

Now, I don’t know if the background of these two is somehow intimidating to me, or the fact that I was a really, really shy kid…but I’m scared of my Grandma. Not coweringly frightened, but I have a real trepidation to taking her out to dinner. I was originally supposed to call her on Friday, in order to set up a meeting time on Saturday. I chickened out, leaving it to the last minute, and finally not calling. Then on Saturday I was supposed to call her again, to attend church with her…again, I just put it off and off and off…and then blew it again.

Finally, I made my Dad do it. How sad is that?

And then, we drove to Salem, or I should say I drove to Salem. And I actually drove the speed limit, which I NEVER do. I speed going to work, even when I have plenty of time. (Never maniacally, just 5mph over the speed limit.) After picking her up and driving to the Cookie Jar diner a block away, the tension for me began. I had a hard time talking at all, and I was hardly myself. I was the masked man, the one who’s real self is underneath this salesman-y exterior. I think the others at the table kind of saw through it, my Dad especially. He’s more observant than he lets on, staying quite and just seeing what’s going on around him.

Well, we got through it though. It was a fun time for everyone else…I just am SO intimidated by her. I actually talked about this with my Mom, by the way. See, I should bring up the fact that my parents are divorced, so I knew that my Mom wouldn’t be telling my Dad anything about this anytime soon. My Mom theorized that because my Grandma never read to me as a child, and didn’t hang out with just me…maybe I just couldn’t bond with her. Maybe I needed a little more 1-on-1 time with her to have cemented that bond when I was a kid.

I don’t know, but I’ll be looking into it.

********************

Leather – 3/22/2007

I like wearing leather.

It makes me feel bad. But I like wearing it anyhow.

Cattle are turned into hamburger everyday. All I’m doing by wearing leather is allowing the remaining “cattle-parts” to be turned into something useful. It’s very…Native American, if you will.

At least that’s how I rationalize it.

I still feel guilty for wearing Cow.

Maybe I should buy an alligator hide coat. At least I’d feel like I was wearing something that would sooner eat me than look at me.

Who knows. Guilt sucks.

********************

Guilty Things – 3/23/2007

Things I feel guilty about:

Christmas Trees. Why do we have to kill these beautiful living things?

And the manner in which we do it…deplorable. We slice them down, effectively starving them. We wrap them up, bring them home, then set them up in some kind of torturous clamp, drilling into their body, in order to support them and make them stand up straight. At its base is a reservoir of water, along with 7-Up, or whatever other agents the tree-killer wants to add, all in order to make the tree’s death much more lengthy. And if having this pleasantly fragrant dying carcass in our living rooms wasn’t enough, we have to decorate it, placing all sorts of embarrassing lights, trinkets, and various Star Trek ornaments in its branches to give us even more pleasure. All the while, the tree is suffering, day after day, asking itself, “Why, why is this happening to me? Why can’t I die? Why God? Why?”

All to celebrate God’s son. I wish we could just get an artificial tree. But I love my wife more than I feel sorry for the trees. I guess it’s this same rationale behind my love for a good steak once in a while.

********************

The Freak Out – 3/23/2007

Ay ya…earlier today, I set foot on a military installation for the first time since I left the Air Force in January, 2006. That’s over 14 months ago. I went on base in order to acquire my W-2 form, which they had been so kind as to email to my old military email address, but not to my current address (which I had left with them), nor to mail a hard copy to my apartment.

I was a little upset. I really did not wish to go on base again. Never. I’ve had enough of the Air Force. What got me on base was my own imagination. I fooled myself into believing that I had gotten over the mind games I was put through, the drudgery, the lack of any real praise or any reinforcement of self-worth. It was enough to get me to the primary security station, where I applied for a temporary base pass. As I was providing the necessary paperwork (ID, car registration, etc) that’s necessary to enter any military installation by POV (Personally Operated Vehicle…i.e. YOUR CAR), I started to get a little tremor in my hands. Just a shake, nothing more. It could easily be caused by a caffeine overload. I pushed any other possibilities to the back of my mind for the time being, acquired my pass, and went on base.

The new gates to our base are now on the opposite end from the Military Processing Flight, or MPF. Thus, I was forced to tour the base, as it were, on my way to get this thing done. At the slow speed of 25mph, I traveled around the base, passing various Airmen exercising on such a nice day, and those dressed up in BDU’s.

BDU’s are French for Battle Dress Uniforms. They are those camouflage-green outfits that do nothing to camouflage a man or woman against concrete and brick that comprise the most of a military base. Their only purpose is to make these land-locked, in-zero-danger Airmen feel like they’re somehow part of the action, instead of just a highly underpaid office-bitch of the U.S. Government. They’re like wearing a Superman costume when you ain’t from Krypton.

Well, the BDU’s freaked me out. I still haven’t gotten rid of mine actually, for they are still in the bottom of a garbage bag, no doubt collecting dust and mold, at the back corner of my garage, untouched for over a year. Seeing them again…well, I don’t have a better term. They freaked me out. I was suddenly flooded with memories and images of some of the things I experienced, both good and bad, memories that I had mostly suppressed for all this time. My foot started to grow heavy, and I sped over to the MPF.

When I got there, I was sweaty, I started to shake more, and I acquired a stutter that doesn’t manifest itself unless I’m under extreme stress. I walked in, registered with the front desk computer, waited about 20 minutes. Every minute seemed like 10. It was bad. I changed seats 3 times in order to somehow see the TV better. I must have seemed like I was high on something to the outside observer. I was going crazy.

Finally, my name was called. A very nice female Airman welcomed me, and I was led through the necessary steps to acquiring a card. For one thing, I didn’t have my separation paperwork that I had acquired when I got out of the Air Force. Like my BDU’s, they were buried in a box in the back of my garage. Luckily they were able to pull up my information with my driver’s license and social security number. But the sweat started to drip more, breaking out on my forehead. I have no idea why she didn’t call Security Forces on my ass. The Airman asked me to sit in the rightmost seat in order to get my photo taken. I actually tried to leave the area, thinking in my panicked mind that she meant somewhere BEHIND the cubicle. However, I mustered a nice, very-slight grin at the camera, and boom, it was done. A laminated piece of plastic, hardly worth the pain it caused.

I quickly thanked her, and almost bolted out of the building, driving off base at the nearest exit. Thereafter, I went to a gas station a healthy 5 miles from base, got about the worst, most unhealthy foods you could imagine, and ate them on my way to a Subway, where I got a footlong cold cut combo, loaded. Which I just ate right before writing this diatribe.

I don’t know what to think. I often wonder if my experience is mostly-unique. I often wonder if my life would be different, if I’d still be in the Air Force, had I gotten into a different career field. Something that better suited my talents for wanting to help people, and not to simply push data. But then I think about the underlying themes of the military: No individuality, and a system for everything. Sometimes I have to be a spur-of-the-moment individual. I don’t take absolute conformity very well.

I’m starting to want to tangent and ramble, so I’m going to avoid temptation. Have some junk food for me, and don’t forget to vote.

********************

The Forgiveness Sandwich – 3/23/2007

As my wife is working overnights this week, I was able to eat my sub and junk food in peace. (see previous post) However, I did not have the forethought to hide the evidence. Even after I roused my wife up, I didn’t think to clean up my junk right away. So, she comes out, looks at the Subway sandwich, and asks, “Where’s mine?”

(Well, it wasn’t quite like that. It just writes better that way. She actually was hoping I’d make up some fettuccine noodles for her. Then she saw the Subway bag. I actually asked “her” if she wanted one. She was all for it, and bang. Reality might not be as pithy perhaps, but oh well.)

So, I hopped back into my car, ran over to the local Subway, ordered her sandwich, and drove back.

On the way back, I did something I do. I like to drive strange sometimes. There’s a gentle slope for the last 1/4 mile down to my apartment building. With a turn in the parking lot, and another couple turns to get down to a parking spot, it makes an almost complete gentle slope. Perfect for a Neutral Coast.

I stick it into neutral, and the object of the game is to make it all the way down without hitting the gas. Sometimes, if someone decides to drive down the middle of the parking lot, it’s impossible – you have to brake too hard, then you have to gas it to get going. But most of the time, it’s a nice cap to a journey home from…wherever.

However, tonight I played a different game. Here’s what you do: grab the steering wheel with your hands…and then don’t move them. You steer by pivoting your arms and shoulders to move the wheel. This severely limits the range of motion to maybe 3/4 the circumference of steering wheel.

Tonight, I made it an even bigger challenge. I criss-crossed my arms, grabbing the wheel with my hands facing away from me. It was great, until I actually turned the wheel too far upon entering the parking lot. If I hadn’t let go of the wheel, I would have run into the brick wall embankment on the side of our garages.

Oh well, points for trying I guess.

Remember boys and girls. Drive nice, drive fun, drive (relatively) safe.

And don’t ever do this stuff.

********************

Ag, No. Not again. – 3/27/2007

The base. That would be, “Offutt Air Force Base”, not “All Your Base”. Offutt. I never thought I’d set foot on that piece of government-owned reservation land again.

Taxes. That was the reason.

See, I got out of the Air Force (…”got out” is another term meaning “escaped”, “was released from after time served”, and so on) in the month of January, 2006. I haven’t been back on base since. The cool deal with the military is that, if you get out on nice-nice terms, you can do stuff on base for about as long as you actually spent in the military to begin with. For example, I signed up on 9/12/2001. I got out after 4 years of active duty. I then have 4 years of inactive-duty that I can go and do stuff on base. I can shop at the cheap-o supermarket, I can go to their dumpy libraries, and I can work out on their old-but-still-very-usable-and-huge workout facility, the OFFUTT FIELD HIZ-OUSE. Or the Frady Fitness Center, which isn’t quite as cool. And has a stupid name. Frady. What are they ‘Fraid of? The OFFUTT FIELD HIZ-OUSE???

Stupid names aside, I finally got my reservist military ID last week so that I could figure out what the deal is with my taxes. I only worked about 1 1/2 weeks in 2006, so it’s really annoying that I have to do a tax form for the military…but I do. *sigh* Having had to travel onto base to re-aquire this card-o-power, allowing me to leap small distances onto any U.S. Military Installation in the world (except for the Area-51 type places, but I don’t dig on autopsies, alien or otherwise), I found it necessary to go the extra step, and finally work out. On base. For the first time in a loooong time.

And it didn’t take long for me to be drenched with sweat. It was actually painfully quick. Like 20 minutes when it used to take nearly an hour. I was soaked. And it felt GREAT. Endorphines. Lovely Endorphines.

Anyhow, I just thought I’d share. My English is horrible in this posting, and if I feel like it, I’ll re-wangle the whole works. For reference, I first posted this one on 3/27. Thanks, and don’t forget to try the fish.

-Hiddan

********************

Go here. – 3/31/2007

http://kraznoy.blogspot.com

********************

Well folks, that’s it for the interim blog. I thought of posting them one-by-one on here, in the midst of my other posts, and backdating them to when they were originally posted…but I figured I’d be the only one to get any jollys out of that. Come to think of it, I’m the only one to get any jollys out of anything on here anyhow. Maybe I should have done that, but no matter. Back to life, back to Century 21 reality. And really great puns.

– Hiddan, aka Aaron

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New/Old Feature: RECOMMENDATIONS!

To those in the silent majority (re: EVERYONE…*sigh*) who look at this website on a regular basis, I’m re-adding a feature I had on here a while back. Through the different updates I’ve done on here, somehow in the mix, my movie and book recommendations got yoinked, erased from existence much like Marty McFly’s siblings. (I rather thought the sister looked better without a head, but that’s just me.) Well, now through the miracle of modern science (and me getting off my ass and doing it already), I’m adding the feature again. So, you, my precious few, my constant readers, can witness the fantastical opinionated expance of my wondrous movie and book selections. Enjoy and bow before ZOD!

By the way, Superman’s a good choice for the first movie listed. Have fun, and don’t do drugs kids.

Oh, and by the way, I changed my picture. It’s off on the right by my mini-profile. My old picture is chucked onto the very first post on this blog, ie: my trash pile of pictures.

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Marty!!!


This is the most creative use of FutureMe.org that I’ve seen yet. See, FutureMe is a service that will automatically email a message to you in the future, kind of like a time capsule. This email took the post and combined it with a certain movie franchise. Enjoy.

Doc! Doc!

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Death and Life: a short story by Me

This is a link to a story I wrote that was based on a dream. The first figure I spoke with was someone who actually visited me in the dream, very vividly. The second figure was someone who I knew I was going to speak with…but I forced myself to wake up before I could speak with him.

I’ve been sitting on this dream/story for a week now, debating on whether I should publish it on this web log or not. There isn’t a lot of readership, but I have the feeling that the two figures in the story will, eventually, find out that I wrote about them. So I thought about making them into two different figures, or making the male figure a Father in order to allay suspicion, because my Dad is a religious guy. But I couldn’t really make it work any other way. It remains as it was, honest.

I’ll just come out and explain a little bit. The two figures in the dream are my Mother and my Brother, and they’re dead. I dreamt the part with my mother as my last dream of the night, shortly before waking up. I was set to pick up my wife Sarah at work, then drive from Omaha to Sioux City for her birthday celebration. My Brother, Mom, Dad, and my Nephew (my sister’s kid) were all supposed to pack into a car and head down from Sioux Falls to Sioux City in order to help in the celebration. Well, then my Dad backed out, but then my Sister was supposed to come down with them…but then she couldn’t, and so it was just my Mom, my Brother, and my Nephew.

Now, I didn’t find out about the musical carseats until after I arrived in Sioux City. When I woke up, I thought, “Phew, since my Dad’s going to be among them, there’s nothing like a premonition going on. I’m okay.” Then my Dad backed out, and a little panic set in. Then my Sister was going to come so it was alright again…then she wasn’t. But my nephew still was. And I didn’t dream about him at all. So maybe we were all okay.

I should note somewhere on this post that I didn’t say anything about this very vivid dream to either my Brother or my Mom.

I’ve thought about this subject many times. I’m Christian, but I’m not nearly as strong in my faith or my “walking the talk” as I’d like to be. I’m lazy in that respect. I realize I’m hardly unique, but it still bothers me. But I feel that, given that I do believe in God, and I try my best to do the things he wants for me to do, that I at least have a shot at getting into Heaven.

However, I worry about my friends and my family. My Dad, as I’ve said, is strong in his beliefs, and I think that, if I keep my nose clean try my best, I got a better-than-average shot of being with him in the afterlife. But others around me, family and friends…I worry on a near-daily basis whether I’ll get to hang with them. I know that if there is such a thing as sadness in Heaven, and if I don’t grow to forget about those who I left to sink into Hell, whatever Hell really is (I don’t believe in Dante’s version, I believe in the hints of what was written), I think I will cry a little bit every day I’m still alive out there.

There was a song, some overly-sappy Christian rock song most likely, that opened me up to what I believe: Earth is a waiting room. It’s not even 1% of our existence. I also believe that there will be a lot of surprise people who, after they die, aren’t getting the afterlife they’re expecting.

There’s a lot more I could get into, like my struggle to be okay with other world religions, but maybe I’ll just stop it right here. Click on the picture if you want to read my story, or just click here.

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Death and Life

It was well after midnight, close to 2 in the morning, but I had to know for sure. I went to the back entrance of the mortuary, typed in the code that I had spied the workers typing in, and I went inside. I was in two steps before the mortician saw me. He was walking up the far steps across the garage that held the different hearses and other specialized funeral vehicles. “Can I help you with something?”, he called. I replied, “I’d like to see her again. I know it’s late, is that alright?” “Yes, but it was almost too late. I’ll show you to her.”

He led the way through what felt like a labyrinth of hallways, but was likely a fairly straight road. He led me through darkened hallways as if they were lit, for they were again probably only darkened in my mind. Finally, we reached the room. There was a cardboard casket in which she lied, my mother, having died on the way back from the city. I thought she would have looked more peaceful now, but she did not. She looked…agitated. she looked worried somehow, her brow creased. She was wearing the dress she had worn to my wedding, a green dress that somehow suited her more than anything else I had seen her wear.

I leaned in then, smelling a perfume she used to wear when I was a child, but one I hadn’t smelled for many years. I leaned in, and I said to her, “Mom, do you believe in God?”

I saw her face furrow some more, as she stretched her muscles, trying to wake up. I saw her eyes squinch up, and slowly open. Her normally bright irises were nearly black in the dim light of the room, but she seemed so…aware. “What was it honey?”, she replied.

“I said, Mom, do you believe in God?”

“Oh sweetie. What else would I believe in?”

“Really?”, I choked out.

“Oh yes, yes. I believe in God. He helped me find you after I got lost. He sent my mother to help me find you. We’re both up here, and we both miss you very much.”

“Thank-you, Mom. I really needed to hear that. I’ll let you go now Mom, I’m sure you need to get back.”

“I’d like to stay too sweetie, but you’re right. Keep believing honey, you’re just in the waiting room. I’ll see ya soon.”

I wanted to kiss her forehead, but I decided to just let her go then. I knew she was already gone. Already back. She looked smoothed out, not simply relaxed, but without any worry, ever again. She was not fearful. She looked…alright.

The mortician turned to me and asked, “Are you ready to leave yet?”

I looked back and said, “No, there is one more person I need to see. Is my brother still…”

“Oh yes, yes. He’s still out. You want to see him?”

“Yes, I guess I need to.”

The mortician led me though another labyrinth, this time into a darker part of the building. It felt like we were going lower, like we were on a ramp.

Finally, he led me to my brother’s room. He, too, was lying in a cardboard casket, ready for final passage. He had not gone yet. He looked…not peaceful, but more like he was wearing a poker face. I couldn’t read him. In this respect, he was not my brother. I could almost always read my brother by expression alone, at least on some level, but this time, he was a stranger to me.

I leaned in, and he wore an older cologne, bitter to my nose. This and the smell of woodchips and charcoal filled my nose. “Hey”, I almost whispered.

“Hey”, he replied. He was awake, but he didn’t show it. It was as if he was waiting for me.

“Are you…alright?”, I asked. I didn’t know how else to say it.

“No,” he spoke. “No, I’m not very alright. I’m not sure what I am. Why are you talking to me now?”

“I…I just needed to know. Do you believe in God?”

He paused almost imperceptibly. “Why should I? I haven’t believed since we were little kids, and even then I didn’t. Not really. Church is a lie, a way for people to come together and feel better about themselves, but really, it’s a big lie. It’s cliques, it’s groups of people against other groups of people based on how much money each one makes. It’s prissy little rich kids with their nice shoes making fun of you because your parents are getting a divorce. Why would I believe in God if his house holds so many people like that? Even after we stopped going, I never felt him. I never saw any reason to see him. So do I believe in God? Do you even need to ask the question?”

“But…where are you?”

“Oh, I’m no where. You’re talking to yourself.”

I realized that I had been. He wasn’t moving. He was gone, and I somehow knew this from the moment I entered the room.

“Are you ready to leave?”, the mortician asked.

“Yes, I suppose I am. You can start the cremation. Thank-you for indulging me, sir.”

“Of course. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No,” I replied. “Not entirely. I guess I found what I already knew was there.”

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Bass & Flute looped by David Cadiou

Amazing timing and some good looping software make this a great clip to watch.

Why should I embed this video when you could just go there?

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Training Blues

I originally wrote this on 4/12/2007, and forgot to finish the post and publish it. So here you go, blast from the past.

So here I am, training for a technical support position. So far, so good, except for the room we’re in.

Our training room, the only computer-lab availabe, was next door to a recording studio. Yesterday, it was preaching the word of God. Tonight…it’s the blues.

And given the lady’s voice, it’s no doubt why she was singing the blues. It was bad. I mean Yanni bad. I mean I’d rather dump hot coals down my pants and watch Barney non-stop for an hour…actually, maybe not. But it was still bad.

And besides, it’s almost Friday for crying out loud! It ain’t time for the blues.

Anyway…yeah, it’s bad. And I don’t feel any closer to God for listening to the preaching the last few days. Actually, I don’t feel any more blue either. Sucks to your ass-mar Piggy.

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<> Full Circle **list**

(Note: This was never originally posted to the old “The Best Of Omaha” blog. I wanted to modify the entry, and never got around to it. Here it is, incomplete.)

I’ve been putting off, for a very long time, really talking about myself. To me, well, it’s boring. I’ve done things, sometimes cool things, but to me, I’d rather just kind of put that stuff into a box and either go back to them in 20 years, or better yet, not at all. Past is past. If I can’t go back and fix it, why do I have to deal with the past? I might have to face up to the bad things I’ve done, and that would make me feel bad.

However, as my Dad points out from time to time, I have done some interesting things. There was Technical Support at Gateway 2000, the different college experiences I’ve had, a couple years with a whole lotta nothing, and then the Air Force, Honor Guard, then 6 months of nothing, then the wedding, and a piece of nothing, and now, here. Nifty.

I don’t know what to tell you, I guess. Nothing seems that fascinating. Maybe I need another list of things on here to maybe post, maybe not. Here’s a short list:

My old boss (gateway), the motorcycle, and the cow.
the 3 day call
magnet and the monitor (already told)
the crash and the chance meeting, and why I hate Sioux Falls
the high
the psycho girl from newell
the friends I had, to the left, to the right
the hike and the slanted sun
the scizo-man (karate, radio, newspaper, theater, hiking, doping, emerging leaders)
the days of Gateway (warehouse, tech1, sales bitch, tech2 – fear of y2k)
a long trip to Minneapolis (shooting star, shit on car, rock, the woods and frisbee golf)
9/11, delivering pizzas, getting fired, dumping my girlfriend, and signing a sheet of paper
The days of training and the true sign-date.
Still too fat, and the watermelon diet
The meeting of two hearts at one Rio Bravo
Weird things and denials of love
The last time I watched Gladiator and Full Metal Jacket
The flights into Hell, and the arrival
The bus ride, and the nice guy now, not later
Rainbow Flight (gay gay gay)
The fire drill and blending in with the wrong flight
the long brick coming (no shit) and the saltpeter coalition (the bullshit like the laxative chiclets, 6 glasses non-carbonated, non-caffeinated beverages; handrails, the air force song, the wolf-pack chant…2nd to none chant. hoo-rah hoo, the insecurity of being in the Air Force, the world under a really hot TI, being the oldest in the flight, the Biggs disease, the wallfacers, tilt-a-whirl, firing the weapon and the crap in my eyes, warrior week and the mer-man (falling into every water trap), the ladybugs, the stupid “Major Tom” song, the levels (rainbow, uniform-no tapes, the tapes, the canteen, the blues), the wrong canteen, the other flights (the casanova scrubber, the marathon wacks), the cellphone, bluerope bump, the heelstomping and the problems since, running to pass and being the bull, road toad duty, nathan belcher, the super bowl leadership shuffle, birdshit patrol and why I didn’t care, the ladybug after hours, the morning nights and what puts me back there, warrior week skunks and the run-runs, hearing the cars go by and longing to be there, riding in a car instead of a bus, roster board, warrior week treelogs and the ladybug, getting me and my crew killed, the stripes and suddenly outranking…everybody, the scores and the ages, the sayings (chillin’ like a villian, duh-big red truck, big greasy shit all over my flight), the truth-tellers, the meeting for the note on the dorm chief and how I made a guy cry, peter cassola and brian, the fact I wasn’t recycled and the screaming fit, the night watch, the fact I didn’t want to scream at another flight and why I found that those who were eager to doing so it was a little sad), the screamer at my face, the flip-off and spitting and why I kinda feel bad about it (kinda not), the suicidal hares, runtimes and the almost-pass, pushups/situps and the non-cheater, pride in the flag, the ankle-stomp and the perfect march, anti-fame wishings, my family and the bcg’s, my breakdown in the car, my sister’s awesome sewing job, meeting lovergine, the first drive and how I couldn’t handle it, the busride in and the drop into the valley of san antonio, the cheer for leaving base and the finger, cancer-addicts, the bad movies and why I don’t like that “ray” guy, the waterways and the bus ride across, finding God at basic training (cultic atmosphere and being baptized), arrival at Keesler at the edge of night, finding a room and a new friend, tom waits and mighty mouse, prostitution and beer, the new dorms and how much I longed for the old dorms, fear of everything, reporting statements to the senior airmen and how they loved to fark with ya, losing my slim waist, the ride into town and the badass marine babes, talamasca talamanco nosey, the girl back home and seeing her again, finding out I hated programming, david ellinger and the snaggletoothed pokemon, finally learning to march straight and other useless knowledge, being nice to the newbies at the BX, the runners shuffle, the gateway peter-teeter, CC (tire burial & squirrel salute), stealing time at the library with bogus appointments (bx), the long walk home, waffle house and grits love, walking on the sand and the cruddy water, paragliders mocking us, the mcdonalds arches mocking the same way, the monday vigils with the newbie training, cellphone calls under the giant jet antenna, the shark I never visited, the hooters and the boats I only visited because of my Dad, the skull ring and the chain of mini-mall stores, underwater love and the fact that it won’t ever happen here again, spider explosions, washed back, peter casola again, a better class and a psycho roomie, finally passing and a family reunion, the drive to New Orleans and my discomfort with being there (having been down south for, oh, 5 months).

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virtual barber


http://www.3gpvids.com/forums/index.php?showtopic=481
Very cool audio link which demonstrates binaural sound. Just be sure to listen to it with HEADPHONES FIRMLY ATTACHED!!

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