Over at wise geek, you can find out what Fraud really means, or the difference between a two-stroke and a four-stroke engine. This is a nice site for guys like me, who are removed from extensive mechanical knowledge, and who know little more than the basics of U.S. law.
Monthly Archives: September 2008
This is one video clip from a series of viral videos that have come out recently. I don’t know of any Muppets projects coming out soon, so I don’t know if these clips are actually promoting anything. Not that I care, they’re funny regardless.
I swiped it here: bitsandpieces.us
John McCain and Barack Obama somehow ended up at the same barbershop.
As they sat there, each being worked on by a different barber, not a word was spoken. The barbers were even afraid to start a conversation, for fear it would turn to politics.
As the barbers finished their shaves, the one who had Obama in his chair reached for the aftershave.
Obama was quick to stop him saying, ‘No thanks, my wife Michelle will smell that and think I’ve been with a Hooker’.
The second barber turned to McCain and said, ‘How about you?’
McCain replied, ‘Go ahead, my wife doesn’t know what a Hooker smells like.’
This commercial won an Emmy for “Most Outstanding Commercial”, even though it has never aired on TV, only having been viewable online. Awesome.
It’s too bad Steven Seagal is a wife beating douchebag dick. He was an amazing coreographer. This is probably his coolest moment on film, from the movie “Out For Justice”, from circa 1990, I think. Yeah, I could look it up, but I’m too busy watching this scene again.
I was just reading this post of mine from October 2006, and I still found it entertaining, if I do say so myself. Basically, I used to close my eyes and try to walk across open spaces without opening my eyes.
I don’t do the eyes-closed game so much these days. Maybe life is more serious, or maybe I’ve simply found other things to pass my time. I have done it within the past 2-3 months, most notably at work, which must look funny on the myriad of security cameras fixed on whatever locations I happen to pass by.
Now that I’m in a new house. I’ve thought about doing the closed-eyes game here…but I have an awful lot of stairs, and I just moved in. You can also play this game in the dark for a different flavor, with the same result.
I’m going to try this again when I get the chance. I used to walk across stretches of parking lots with my eyes shut, just to see how far I could get, while walking naturally and normally. I’m more of a wuss these days, but I’m going to give it a shot next chance I get. It’s fun to mess with your own personal natural order once in a while.
Care to join me?
Okay, here’s some rules for this particular season of U.S. History:
1. As always, if the subject reads “MUST READ”, I will immediately delete the email.
2. If the subject reads anything about Obama, Palin, or McCain (in the order of frequency), I might open it, but I will almost definitely delete the message within 10 seconds of opening.
3. If any part of the email’s subject line is in CAPS, see number 1 for the expected result.
4. If the email subject reads “Please Pass On:”, the email will be passed on…to the afterlife. Immediately.
5. If the subject reads “Free Beer”, it will be read almost immediately. When I find out that you are hoaxing me, I will be verily pissed off, and will likely not read any emails from you for a time.
6. Other sure-fire “delete me!” subjects: 9/11, Democrats, Republicans, Chain-Letters, and most praise/worship emails. I’m sorry for the last one. I can’t take them seriously. I listen to Christian podcasts several times a week, and I do take them to heart. But praise/worship emails look and feel cheap, and they just don’t ‘touch’ me in the least.
Okay…now I’m feeling guilty. I need to post my favorite Christian podcast now: Christ Community Church of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. This was my “home church” when I lived in Sioux Falls, and pastor Mike Goddet still rings true with his sermons. Even if you’re not Christian with a capital “C”, he still has a fun, interesting Bible-study based sermon. I recommend a listen. I can’t even recommend any particular sermon over another, they’re all very good.
One listen and you’ll agree it’s much better than an email.
Except now I feel bad for not posting my other favorites. Here’s some more good podcast-makers (in my humble opinion):
Well, I’m done feeling guilty or bad. Time for another puzzle.
By the way…I’m going to create my first Podcast this Saturday…if I can get ProTools or Adobe Audition to work with me. Wish me luck, I’ll need it.
~Aust Kirath al Kalin
Ach, it’s been a long, long couple of months. And I’m not even working on my final projects in school yet!
Right now, it feels like I’m on something. I’m so extremely tired, yet my mind is still working a mile a minute. I wrote the first chapter to a story I’ll probably never finish, in like 5 minutes. It was good…but probably way too detailed. I’ll paste it to the end of this entry. Take it or leave it.
Besides that, Sarah and I finally got the last of our ABF moving “relo-cubes” emptied. This means we have boxes, lots and lots of boxes, creating disarray and chaos throughout our townhouse. I did the brunt of the unloading (since I have more free time right now than Sarah does), and while I ‘tried’ to organize everything…it didn’t quite work 100%. I know we have winter coats, but they’re seven layers of boxes deep in our downstairs family room. I suspect that I’ve seen the 4th wheel to our spare bed’s frame, but getting to it is well nigh impossible right now.
(Yeah, I only put the second example to use the term “well nigh impossible”, I admit it.)
I’m completely exhausted and pretty much incapable of moving. Oh, and we had the Verizon guys out to setup internet and cable. However, no phone yet. And thus, no Tivo. 😦 See, the Tivo needs phone in order to download the new program data. The alternative is to use a wifi device, which so far I’ve been too cheap to purchase.
The phone was ‘supposed’ to be setup, and when you pick up the phone, you can hear yourself, the phone lights up, and you can push buttons to hear their tones. I did a permanent lockout test (unplug all phones 10 minutes, plug in 1 phone, test for dialtone, and repeat for various outlets), to no avail. There’s a charged box that Verizon uses for their phone equipment…but it’s aaaaall the way downstairs. Can’t do it, I could barely make it to the kitchen for a beer earlier. No siree.
Anyhow, nothing else new. I haven’t been to the Washington DC mall since July, although I drive so close to it every night I go to class. I will, and I’ll send some photos or something back. Heck, if I can find the camera, I’ll upload some stuff I’ve seen lately.
So, that’s it. Here’s the story snippet. My only note is that it was written as is, no edits. Enjoy. -A
I don’t know how it began exactly. I just know it for what’s tangible to me, something that I think has always been. I’m sorry. I didn’t know another way. -Eiler T’akken
If he would have listened to me, it would have been great. -Taranis Madutai
A sound pinged in the room, followed by a stray instrument, a music box or a caliope. A man lay on the floor, prone, spread eagle face down.
The music changed to a child’s voice speaking numbers, then back to the music box. The man breathed, exhaling dirt from the warehouse floor on which he lay.
The music stopped, and the man awoke. It was with the waning sunlight of the end of the day that the man struggled to wake up. His suit, the pin-striped double breasted at home on Wall Street of 1986, was caked with the dirt of the floor.
A moan escaped him, as he repeated the numbers without thinking. It was in another language, but he knew them all the same. Seventeen single-digit numbers, all repeating in that child’s haunting voice. The recording was scratchy to start with, static of an age of reason separating the recorder with the listener.
The man struggled to a sitting position, and finally tried to stand. The low ceiling struck his head, pummeling him back to the ground. After several more minutes, he struggled again, repeating his mistake. He tried a third time, and remembered to crouch prior to reaching his full height of five feet, seven inches in height.
By this time the light of the sun was dead. To say it was dark would be an insult to darkness, for it had become black as pitch in the mere thirty minutes from the end of song to this point in the man’s life. He felt in front of him, finding nothing. He felt all around, finding nothing except for the dirt-on-concrete floor, cracked in a jagged line, and the low concrete ceiling, a large lone pipe crossing his way perpendicular to the direction of the floor crack. It was too much detail, and it was hard on the man’s thoughts. He reduced his level of thinking to “escape”, or “air”, as a means of finding some kind of instinct, something inside to guide him on the path.
He decided to crouch once again, and to follow the jagged line in the floor. It had to lead somewhere, a wall or…something. He felt it with his hand, a full inch between sections of floor. As he crouched, he could hear something in the distance. Static. A speaker. The crack generally flowed in its direction.
Another few minutes of kneeling and touching the disfunctional floor allowed the man his first contact with the wall of his prison. He felt up the wall, running his fingers over hard concrete blocks, chipped and torn away, and damp with cold, thin slime. Mildew, the man couldn’t tell. He listened, and found the source of the static, the speaker, high above his head. The ceiling had moved away from him as he was crouched, and reaching high above his head, the man couldn’t feel it. He reached back for the speaker once again, and feeling behind it, found a cord. A cable. It wasn’t long until he followed it to a source, and saw the reddish-amber lights of a computer screen. A flicker, and the screen went out, but only for a moment. In the light he saw the computer monitor was on a sort of control board, and beyond that, an exit with another flicker of light beneath its closed door. He walked to the exit door, opened it, and found a room bathed in flickering, yellowed florescent lighting.
The smell hit him before his lights could adjust. A stale smell of spoiled pork, it brought him back to somewhere in the past when a side of pig was left out too long after a large meal…and he realized what it really was. People, at least thirty of them, dead for quite some time. Months, or even a year, it was hard to tell. Some still wore their skin, some had shed it in spots, revealing the yellowed color of bone. The man didn’t react at first, then inhaled quickly and started to run. It wasn’t out of sheer panic, but the sheer need to be outside. He passed the room, realizing it was a cafeteria, and found a door leading to a research library. He ran through there as well, finding an old woman clutching a large binder reading, “Oncology Research Stud”, the rest blocked by her purplish-blue sweater. The man thought about what the color once had been, if the purple had faded to the bluish color, or if the staining was due to some level of decompisition, he had no idea. The state of the woman, in a permanent scowling yell, did not deter him from his path. The library led to a main cooridor, with another bout of semi-functional florescent lighting within. He ran in one direction, finally seeing a sign for the exit leading the opposite way. It took a time, but finally he passed a security center with metal detectors, and dead guards in the front area. A television monitor showed where he had progressed from, with no one here to watch his travels. It was just as well, it had been a boring trip anyhow.
Beyond the guard desk, a set of doors. The man pushed on the, and found them to be locked. A flashing red light scolded him from above, telling him to stop moving. The man obeyed, and the light ceased. A keypad shone to the right of the door, seemingly the only solid, non-flickering lights in this place. The man retreated to the guard desk, found a card key on a chain digging into the diminishing, blackish-green skin of the guard who could have once been of almost any race, ripped the card away from the chain and slid it into the slot. With a loud ping sound, the door automatically opened.
It was outside that the man finally realized his name, if nothing else. He was Eiler T’akken, with a short “a” on the last name. It was something he often had to tell people, and he usually simply went by Ed, or Et. Although he didn’t know where he went by all this. He didn’t know where he was, just that he was now standing, in the middle of a chilly night well above freezing but well below comfortable, in a gravel and grass walkway, unkempt like the place he had just exited. He could see with the light of a very fat orangish harvest moon, but only a short ways ahead. He was out, but where out was, he wasn’t sure. Et, he decided to call himself for now, needed to move, to find something. He wasn’t tired, and he felt that sleep was something he was caught up on for the time being, of that he was sure.
Your Issue Profile: 52% Obama, 48% McCain
Truth be told, you’re not really satisfied with either of the candidates.
You could vote for either of them. You are the typical coveted swing voter.
You may want to narrow yourself down to a particular set of issues in order to pick your president.
Or start looking at third party candidates. One of them might suit you better.