Last Day

For these last 10 minutes of the last day of junior year I will post my last blog of the school year. This has been a crazy year full of ups and downs, and I am so glad it's over. We can now officially call ourselves the big dogs of this school. Senior year is fast approaching and I cannot wait, but it's time to enjoy the summer first. In 9 days I will be leaving for a mission trip to Brooklyn, New York. Let's hope that everything goes smoothly. After that I just plan on enjoying the sun and I can't wait for SENIOR BAND CAMP. I hope that everyone has a fantastic summer. I'll be seeing you around.

(And Mrs. Ruger, I am sorry Whitney is sick and you had to miss the last day with me. I know, how will you ever survive? I think you can make it though. I plan on coming in next week as soon as I get some free time to come work on Miss VanAmans wedding video. She will be dropping off the music cd to your office sometime next week. I also worked on the kick-off video. You can log on to the computer using printer and it is on the desktop (computer on the far left, facing like you just walked in the door). See you then!)

Amped up word(s) of the day(from a nontraditional source)!

Hallucination
1. a sensory experience of something that does not exist outside the mind, caused by various physical and mental disorders, or by reaction to certain toxic substances, and usually manifested as visual or auditory images.
2. the sensation caused by a hallucinatory condition or the object or scene visualized.
3. a false notion, belief, or impression; illusion; delusion.



Imagination
1. the faculty of imagining, or of forming mental images or concepts of what is not actually present to the senses.
2. the action or process of forming such images or concepts.



Where is there a line to be drawn between imagination and hallucination?(No, seriously, I need to know, it's important.)

Commitment (just for you Amy)

Are you ready for the time commitment? But what does commitment really mean? Webster defines it as pledging oneself to a postion on an issue or question. Well I think webster can take it where the sun don't shine. Just because you pledge yourself to a position means nothing. A person needs to act on something in order to be fully committed. Just this morning my friend had to act on her commitment by doing a cartwheel. But what ever happened to trust? Perhaps this is the downfall of us Americans. Perhaps we are ready to trust too easily. Perhaps we should all just be like Amy.

(yeah, this whole blogging thing is way harder than expected... it is way to hard to think as complex as amy and give kickers every other sentence to knock you out of your chair... maybe if I start earlier to give myself more time the next blog will be better... hope your not too dissapointed)

A question:

If humans were to manufacture food that digests with perfect efficiency(no waste), would the large intestine eventually disappear from the race? Or, like nipples on a male, would they remain as just so much evoluvtionary excess baggage: no purpose, but no harm.

Oh, the pesky paradox with entropy and evolution.

Blank

Really, what does it mean when someone says that they have a blank mind or a blank page?
Perhaps this is not a bad thing, perhaps it is the ultimate form of perfection. A quick illustration(oh, you'll get the pun in a moment, it's a good one!): Often times I have tried to draw. I'm told I'm good, but I'm unable to make anything appear as I want it to,which, I'm pretty sure, makes me a failure. If art is supposed to be communicating what is in my head, and I create something that falls short of that vision, then it just is, it is not art...But to my point. I always start with a blank page. At that point, the page has the potential to be anything at all, perhaps even what I want it to be. It is clean and pure before I touch it, but the moment that I do, it is transformed into something else entirely. Creativity is destruction. Now, go back and read that sentence again, you haven't thought about it enough yet. And once more, for good measure. Are you back yet? Peachy. Now read that sentence again, it's actually really trippy.

If your mind is blank, that should mean that you are receptive to being changed for the better. Or will your mind, like the inadequately expressed-upon page, be destroyed by a moronic artist?

If there is so much that you could say, so many lines that I could make, then why do we not content ourselves with a silence of sorts. If all we do is fail, why do we try?

Blankness exists only in nothingness, which does not exist.

Is this plaigarism, since I stole from Hillary's post idea?


Hillary, what I do is look around the room and then decide on a subject. I'm shocked you couldn't tell. I never have any ideas for blogs, per se. I'm not gonna let you get away with that excuse anymore. And I'm really excited that you've decided to join me and I no longer have to talk to myself on the internet. I feel bad enough about all the talking to myself that I do in real life(Ooh, that's a good one. Is the internet real life? I'll let you swing at that ball if you'd like.).


In case you care, the things I said about drawing up there...they are the reason that I color. In coloring books, the lines are already there. Much less stressful.

Blank

In awe of Amy's awesomeness I have decided to start blogging more. The only problem is, my mind seems to be blank. But how can it really be blank when I know there is so much I could say. We'll just have to say the cat's got my brain. Maybe I'll have a more intelligent to amaze you all on a later date.

And thats the way the cookie crumbles.
(^^does anyone know what movie thats from?)

Beuford

I had recently attended a play at Aquinas by the name of Lobster Alice. It was possibly the best play I have ever seen in my life, a story about Salvador Dali set during the time that he was at Disney, creating some whacky animation which, sadly, I STILL have not seen. One of the props used during the play was a number of bright red lobsters which were scattered around the set, delightfully random little buggers, lobsters that I fell in love with the moment I saw them. I decided that I must have one, so naturally, I sulked around after the show attempting to goad my fellow playgoer, Kyla, into asking the director if I could have one. Given that we are both probably equally lacking in the whole ‘social graces’ thingy, it was only a marvelous generosity(coupled with some masterful sulking on my part, mind you. I kicked the ground pitifully and stared at a windowsill for some obscene amount of time, making comments about how strange a shade of yellow that the paint was, and what poor craftsmanship on the aluminum guide, and please oh please would she get me a lobster. I will never admit to not being childish and immature.) on her part that she would talk to a stranger for me. And-success oh happy success- I walked away with a lobster to call my own. Well, I called him my own, and also I called him Beuford. I can’t possibly think of any better name for a rubber lobster than Beuford.

Now, both being me and coming away from a play about a surrealist artist, I was already well primed for absurdity, and, man, there’s some good absurdity to be had. Think about this: No one would make life size rubber lobsters unless there was a market for it, correct? One cannot help but wonder who decided that hey, I bet I could make some serious bucks in the rubber lobster business. Do people really want these things that bad? There are machines, massive, noisy, violent machines who churn out naked rubber lobsters. There are rooms full of hopeless children who will spend their entire lives painting eyeballs on rubber lobsters. There are warehouses full of rubber lobsters. There are boats and trucks who will bring these rubber lobsters all over the world. What is the point? Is a rubber lobster supposed to be a child’s toy(or perhaps a toy of another sort...), or an educational tool, or some sort of decoration, or do they rely on a large amount of income from peculiar plays? This, my friends, is a vision of absurdity. What would happen if all the resources that went into making incomprehensibly useless junk were to instead be put to work in a way that would feed and clothe and educate the parts of the world whose people spend their life making our junk?

Well, capitalism would be destroyed, democracy would splinter, and the earth would probably explode. At least, I’m pretty sure about that. It’s what I’m told.

In conclusion, I sure do love my rubber lobster Beuford a lot, and everyone should have one.

Tarantula

My tarantula sits in a glass cage lined with dirt, and decorated by a log. He transfixes me with his ability to never move. Whole days will go by where not a single hair on not a single leg will even pause for a moment to consider the possibility of motion. I look into that glass cage and I wonder- This, this is a creature with a brain the size of a pin head, literally. What could he possibly be thinking about, I continue to wonder, in all that time in perfect stillness, perfect contemplation? This will occur to me only for a moment, and I will return to my task.

I sit in a poorly lit room under a tall metal bed. I remain hunched at my computer, absorbed in my personal world. Eerily, the fleeting thought comes that maybe, just maybe, my tarantula perches, watching me, and
thinks
the
exact
same
thing.

Random

I think I need to visit the eye doctor. My depth perception is off. Everything kinda looks like a poorly made analog 3D movie. Kinda getting dizzy and can't focus well.

Whee!

So little Time

there is not much time before we seniors are expected to go to College, just one more summer till that big step in our lives. Who is ready?

Reason #143 Why Amy Should Be Kept Far Away From Livestock Clippers

This is Blondie. She is a rather melancholy Newfoundland who likes to play with fireworks that we got from the pound last year.




This is her again, except that now she looks like a warthog. You know, it's remarkably difficult to give a dog a mohawk. You can also see Woodrow in the background. I like him. He's my buddy.



And this is the bag of hair which I believe could be used to reconstruct a whole new dog.

Is anyone else really entertained?

Potential

"You have great potential."

Energy. The capacity and ability to do something.

Potential equals mgh. So, those that are saying I have great potential are saying what? That when I fall I'll create a spectacular splat, due to the great height I'd be falling from?

Or maybe they're talking electric potential. Instead of falling, I'll fry.

It's nice to have potential. Really puts things in perspective. Action is destruction, no?

Frankenstein complex

I've created a monster.

Well, you asked for springs and springs I have delivered.
There may actually be a risk that some of them are too strong, and may not compress under the weight of the phone. Luckily, I'm clever enough to know what to do about that, but we'll have to wait and see.

When I made these things, my heart went out to the poor chap who designed the parts. Hours upon hours of his life went into choosing these particular springs. He dreamed about ways to minimize the cost of materials and the amount of effort that went into each one. He studied what springs would suffice until the phone warranty expired. He probably studied the various responses of springs under pressure, heck, he probably researched what people found to be the most satisfying end-of-conversation phone cradling experience. These springs were someone's life. I bet he has an eerie shiver crawling up his spine that he just can't quite place, caused by some uppity punk high schooler screwing with his life's work. Poor guy.

You people confuse me. The original phone parts couldn't have cost more than half a penny to make. And yet, you choose to ask me to make them.
You reintroduced humans into the creation of an object, meaning that each and every one of these springs was manipulated and drawn and stretched until it was just so, carefully ground, made of high quality material, and every one of them actually had to have thought and instinct applied to their creation. I might have just as well gnawed the pieces apart. This is the antithesis of progress.

I'm quite certain that you are all going to go to manufacturing inefficiency hell.

Ode to Pest

You have hateful eyes,
you watcher,
you hell-being sentinel.
You are soulless
and dead.
I know that you are
watching me, waiting for
a slight misstep
to launch
your attack on me.
Futile swipes at empty air.
I hope you die,
you goddamn cat.
You are fuzzy and would make nice gloves

Save the world!

So, today on my way home from Barnes and Nobles, I figured out how to save the world. Knowing me, you are probably automatically thinking alternative fuel. However, alternative fuel is difficult to implement, expensive, and requires(usually) a new vehicle. My solution works on every vehicle, for every driver, cheap, safe, and right now.

Everyone knows that fuel-efficient driving practices are the easiest way to cut dependence on Mideast oil. Going slower, not accelerating or braking quickly, and coasting can dramatically increase fuel mileage. Up until now, only increased awareness could support individual participation in these practices. Up until now....

My solution: Cut everyone's brakes.

It is not in any way unsafe to drive without your brakes. Brake systems are designed to maintain, even if cut, a small amount of braking power at the end of the stroke. This is more than enough to come to a complete stop if you are making use of the laws of physics, coasting, and downshifting. Everyone would pay a lot closer attention while driving, constantly thinking and planning and having an increased awareness. People would be a lot less likely to eat or talk on a cellular phone. It would be the end of tailgating.

So, if you love 'em , if you hate 'em, if you have no idea who they are, cut their brakes. Save the world.

On Summer Camps, Part II

I have nothing against doing things over the summer. What has been presented to me thus far is the idea of spending several hundred, or thousand, dollars on a few weeks of an experience. Dabbling perhaps, entertainment, acquaintance. Nothing that would be real pretty on a resume or application. I would much prefer to spend my time on something that will be a true investment, even if it costs me more, even if I can't get a scholarship. I've been trying to research Level 1 welding certification classes over the summer(my ability to do something means nothing if I don't have paper proving that I can do it), along with perhaps some real classes on design, introductions to glass blowing, airbrushing, clay modeling and similarly artsy style crap that I would want to do because I would hope to get more out of it in the long run. I would like to, oh, say, develop real skills. Something that is universally valuable for my educational development and thought processes. Besides, you know how much joy I get out of making things...it's one of the few thing that does bring me happiness.

I know for a fact that KCTC offered a ten week course on welding a few years ago, because my brother took it. However, the Internet gods are not pleased with me, and are conspiring to cause me as much pain as possible on my search to find these things. Programs in dabbling abound, but useful things lay concealed under such obscene layers of poor website design and what I swear is intentionally nonsensical explanations.

I don't quite know if this a cry for help or just me venting.

Oh well.

Hey, I can torture you with pictures AND words!

So, I was going for a walk today, as I often do, and I came to realization. I hate spring. Loathe it.

So many people seem to love it so much, calling it some sort of glorious rebirth or something. Spring is mud, and sunshine without warmth, and manure, and a bare scratchy earth mutilating the sky. Spring is the only time when the earth is as ugly as humanity. Perhaps that's a beautiful thing, but it certainly is bad for my mental health, because I go on these walks to escape the ungliness of humanity.

Spring is the only season that is entirely devoid of protection, of cover. When the snow melts, all that remains is vulgar dirt and mud. Lawns are unmasked to show chalky white animals feces, rotting. Floods recede to cover land in muck and mire, small pebbles floating on the useless dead chaff that is the weeds from last summer. Ice covered rivers melt, coughing up the dead fish that they had encapsulated as a gift to the birds. In spring, the bodies come out to play.

Now, my walks, probably due to my being sick in the head, tend to revolve around roadkill. I find it fascinating. Two days ago, there was a squirrel and a chipmunk, about twenty feet apart and on opposite sides of the road. The squirrel was absolutely pristine, broken skull smashed into a pile of blood and mucus, prone, and the rest of him pretty much intact. Yesterday, the chipmunk was gone without a trace, and the squirrel's body was missing, the only evidence that it ever existed was a magenta splotch in the gravel in the shape of a four leaf clover. Today, not even the blood remained.

There's one house, particularly menacing, with many "No Tresspassing" signs and malicious looking barbed wire fences. Invariably, there is a dead rabbit hanging from one of the wires. There was one that was there for several months, but then disappeared. Another one is now strung up in its place. I would love to meet the person that did this, just to hear the reasoning behind it.

I recently discovered, after deciding on taking a different route for my walk, a heap of winters' hidden bodies. It appears that someone decided to dump some deer remains out in the country in a garbage bag. I nearly didn't see them the first time, and my first reaction was one of revulsion, followed quickly by outrage. I can imagine the absolute glee that scavenging beasties must have felt about this present. I can also imagine the time when the deer(probably at least 6 of them) had muscles and tendons attached to their ribcages, and they never would have thought a teenage girl would be blogging an impromptu eulogy for their bones, scattered by the roadside.

I think that I've adopted the corpses, they are my carcass children and I grow ever fonder of them each time that we meet. They are gorgeous, and a sad reminder of how moronic and inconsiderate that humans really are.

START WITH THE POST BEFORE THIS

I'm willing to finally be submissive and actually start doing what you tell me to do, such as podcasting, but if you want me to do something else, I will. You already know of my passion for alternative energy, but I don't know how that could really be harnessed to your benefit.

I grovel at your feet, hoping that you won't kick me in the head.

On summer camp

A little background on this video that I have to edit:
I am paid under minimum wage. I sit in a room all alone, watching someone weld and grind and hammer endlessly. It is physically painful in more ways than one. However, I will be receiving a tidy commission on the sale of the end product. The end product will be an approximately three hour complete classroom style education on the ins and outs of installing suicide hinges, and it will cost about $200. Ish. That can tend to result in a happy commission, along with more than enough motivation for Amy to spend all of her free time trying to finish the bugger. Unfortunately, there has been some recent innovation in the field of door checks, so it looks like I'm going to be given even more to do.

If/when I finish this, there is a market for it. My father hopes that we can do this on all of our products. It will never go away, this instructional video thing.

If/when I decide to go to college and if scholarships don't really work out, you must admit that it's real fancy to receive a commission check monthly to help pay for that beast.

So, your decision that I need to spend my money and time to go to a summer camp may prevent the feasibility of the other thing that you're trying to pressure me into; college.

Also, summer camps don't seem entirely pleasant to me. Yay, I get to spend several weeks locked up in little rooms with people that I really don't like, doing things that I won't really enjoy around other people that are planning to steal even more of my soul/cash, and I even get to shell out obscene amounts of cash to do it. Yipee!

Try not to be so cruel to me about your little plans for my life. Realize that you aren't special...pretty much everyone that meets me develops a plan for my life.

On testing

Some tests are good, like tests for STDs or blood disorders.
And some tests are not.

Standardize me.
Rip my soul from me.
Marginalize me.
Harass me.
Dehumanize me.
Drive me to the brink of insanity, and hand me an anvil.

Welcome to the devolution of the ACT.

Let's come up with a solution for a problem!

You know what really bothers me? Road salt. It injures animals and the environment. It ruins cars and shoes. It's messy, a pain, and can even be downright dangerous. Ice and snow on the roads is an irksome problem, but there is no reason not to investigate alternative solutions. We're trapped in our little solution box.

So, here's the job:
Just think about it for awhile, I'm sure we can come up with something better.


I'll just throw this out there: Lasers. Roll that around in your skull cavity some.

Any other ideas?

Word of the Day

The word of the day today is one of vital importance that everyone should use in their vocabulary.

whoreadsthis- is any one going to realize that this isnt even a word of the day, but a test

If you enjoyed the word of the day, let me know.

Words of the Day

I know that it has been a while, and for that reason, I am going to post more than one word.

Impervious- persuaded or affected by

Elucidate- to provide varification of

Extol- to praise highly

I believe that three is enough seeing as no one is going to read this anyway. It is dissapointing that everyone has given up on this whole blogging thing. Myspace isnt going away, so why is this? How many tech aides actually spend everyday, their whole hour working? I think they have the time to come and post/comment. Either way, I will keep going because I think this is educational and I learn new words to benefit my vocabulary.

Word Of the Day

Arubix Cube- A block in which you must solve so that all sides are one color
(Mr. Ruger cannot do this!)

Nonsense

The following is a story that I wrote for some contest. I'm hoping to get cash out of it. As I've mentioned previously, writing contests are like prostitution, but with words.
Originally, I was not going to allow you guys to read it, because I know that there would be some resentment about my implications. I changed my mind, however, because 1) In the technology department, I doubt there's much interest in reading. 2) No one looks at this thing anyway. and 3). Putting it on here without directly informing someone then requires someone to randomly check it in order to find this thing, so I can claim that I was not withholding it.

Warning: This is deeply disturbing and very much open to interpretation. If you want your brain to remain unmolested, stop reading now.





I've long wondered if it would be prudent to place in these pages a pseudonym for myself. I've since realized that I-me, oh clever me!- have no need for a pseudonym. I've barely a real 'nym.' I am nameless, faceless. And I have no fear. I no longer need to worry about prying eyes on forbidden words, I leave them vainly, proudly, as my legacy. I have sent these words to you... but it is merely an excerpt, a brief flash into my mind. Merely an excerpt from the diary of a cubicle drone.

Augtober fifteenth-ieth.
"A thunderous silence fills my empty head." No good. It seems that all the entertaining ways to string together words taste bitterly of cliché. Or, perhaps words, by their very nature, reek of cliché, no matter how original their assembly may be. Pointless. There are not words adequate to describe my day today. Perhaps these non-existent words can display my non-existent life for a non-existent crowd in my non-existent future. I imagine that these words are doubly delicious, but I am stuck within the confines of language. Stark black lines on a page of silk. Ah, I live now, dreary now, with my cheery company, reds and blues and purples, in his glass cage, perfectly content. How relaxing and pleasant it must be. Thomas II the betta is the one freedom that I enjoy in my own foam and fabric cage. Endlessly sad that I live through my fish, that I envy my fish.

Septovember eleventeenth
This is how life is supposed to work: Public education through age 18. College through age 22. From then on, find a good job. Breath, work, live, until 65 or perhaps older depending on your personal poisonous profession. Oh, so sorry. I've injected a word in there that is totally my own bias. My apologies, diary. Then, retirement. But what if life isn't supposed to work that way? I'm partway through Phase Three, and I can't say that I'm particularly impressed. Surely mankind has not labored through evolution for this. How utterly disappointing.

Marchuary sixty-fourth
The desks are short. Unnaturally short. It perhaps coincides with the man who entered my working space today. I've never spoken to him while standing. Perhaps this is the short big boss man's chance to tower over others physically as he does with his superiority complex. My brain, trapped in its skull-shell, begins to writhe in agony the moment I hear him speak. For this reason, it's been about...Hmm. I don't know how long it's been since I've done anything useful. I positively cannot keep track of the days. I find it both unsettling and reassuring that no one has noticed my lack of work. The boss left once again, neither of us better for his visit.

Februne thirty-eighth
It took hours for Thomas II to die, and I watched every step of his death dance, the phone held to my ear, my sweet disguise. He swam up and down, not able to maintain any level very long, he waddled on his side and finally lay, arched, gasping laboriously on the green glass stones of his home until he could no longer. This seems impossible, but I swear I saw his eyes gloss as he sought his eternal sleep. I wish that I could have done something, but I suppose it was inevitable. His body is still in his bowl. A toilet does not deserve the remains of so great a beast, nor does the ground. For so many years he pressed his lips to the heavens, seeking oxygen to sustain his body and hope to sustain his fishy soul. Surely, surely, Thomas II belongs to the sky.

Maypril one hundred ninety fifth, 10:59 am
I still haven't found a way to give Thomas II to the sky, so he remains in his watery grave. White tendrils of mucus decay emanate from him, his eyes are rotten through. I've noticed that no one comes into my cubicle anymore, they are disgusted by his noble form. Fine by me.

Maypril one hundred ninety fifth, 2:37 pm
I am on the street, taking Thomas II for a walk. Earlier I received a particularly irritated talk from the tiny man who chains my soul, I know he was angrier than ever before, because I have never heard is voice hit so high an octave. Then I broke the chains. I stood up, stretched a spine that was eternally stooped, and found myself towering over him, over my tiny desk and too-low chair. No words, just actions. Just a fishbowl reeking of death accompanied me on my march to freedom. The man knew he no longer owned me.


I don't know how long that I walked, or how far, or where I came to, or where I am, or how long it's been since I've eaten or slept, but I do know that my mind is exceptionally clear, and I am happy for the first time in my life. At the first bridge I came to, Thomas II finally tasted the sky, even if it was only for a brief sparkling moment of crystalline falling water. He was liberated from his bowl, as I was liberated from my cage.

I remember mistreating you, back when my cage was comfortable and important, so now I will send this sickening time lapsed letter to you. I hope that it brings a smile to your face, because you were right, and you should revel in that. No, I lied. My true hope is that you've forgotten me.

Someday soon, I, Thomas I, will find the sky.

Today

There will be no word of the day today due to the fact that I am not at school. I am sitting in the hospital waiting room waiting for my dad to get out of his five hour back surgery. Hope everyone has a great day!

Word of the Day

Lurch- to leave in an uncomfortable or desperate situation

When the word of the day was first created I used to hang it on the wall. The first word hung up was:

Eyesore- something unpleasant to look at

Just thought you guys might like to know.

Word of the Day

Coinstantaneous- occurring or existing at the same instant

Once again, an obvious definition.

Word of the Day

Prestress- to apply stress to

I chose this for the word of the day because I find it sort of ironic. Prestress sounds like something before stress, but it is in fact not.

Word of the Day

Militate- to operate against or in favor of

Does this make any sense to you? I don't know if it's just me, but that doesn't make sense. Is operating against someone? Or for someone? I think that they should make two seperate words. It is pointless to make a word like this when you can't use it without putting against or for around it.

Word of the Day

This is my public apology to everyone for slacking on the word of the day. But now I am back on track and I think everyone else should jump on the bandwagon. No posts since Christmas? That's bogus. Anyway, the word of the day is...

Repast- a meal

I thought this was very interesting becuase I thought there was just breakfast, lunch, dinner, and meal. But no, now I can say: "I'm going to evening repast tonight." That sounds sort of intelligent I guess.