Subliminal Message

It's confirmed that along with all the subliminal messaging of the media, an underground conspiracy has also been underway. What's popularly being called 'freemanic paracusia,' a psychological disorder where everything you read is voiced by Morgan Freeman, has the masterminds of marketing hard at work to control our thoughts. Candidates that didn't make the cut were Vern Troyer, John Heder and Barbara Walters, but interestingly enough not Mr. T or William Shatner. When media expert Tom Green was asked in an interview why this was,
"Well Freeman is God anyway, so everyone kinda figured that'd work."

source xkcd.com

The Seven Degrees of Paul Bettany

One of my favorite movies of all time has to be Ironman with Robert Downey Jr. and a bunch of other actors and actresses OH Gwenyth Paltrow how could I forget. As I was watching the second movie with my siblings, they made the connection that the voice for the computer VI was none other than Paul Bettany, the guy that was Jeffrey Chaucer in Knights Tale (another favorite) or the albino priest in Da Vinci Code (oddly enough he's always naked at some point or another, has anyone else noticed? Maybe he likes being naked in movies.) Long story short, I love that actor. And he's in nearly everything either as a voice over or as an actor, like Kevin Bacon, kinda like that other british actor (you know who I'm talking about)

So now I view Jarvis the computer as a floating blue naked Paul Bettany (the source of more than a few nightmares) and the brain synapses started firing. Paul Bettany was secretly the actor for the naked blue glowy guy for Watchmen.

Unrelated he also bears a striking semblance to the last replicant in Bladerunner. Or rather the replicant bears a resemblance to a Harrison Ford/David Bowie crossbreed I saw on Skywalker Ranch (because that's what they do there, breed obscure celebrities for their movies, why else would they call it a ranch. (I've never actually been to Skywalker Ranch, I just saw a documentary on it whilst watching Robot Chicken. The cross breeds were running freely in the pastures))

I began to question the origins of David Bowie because as I think it and by process of elimination, he's probably Paul Bettany too. So not only was Paul Bettany in everything, but he was in EVERYTHING. I realized after a nightmare about JFK last night, bolt upright in a cold sweat, Paul Bettany IS DAVID BOWIE.

So my question to you all is: Does that mean David Bowie likes to be naked too? And if so

GOD HELP US ALL

(doesn't he just look like a John F Kennedy waiting to jump out of your closet with a tire iron and destroy your spleen? HE DOES TO ME)

Musings of the Mononucleoid

I've decided it's time to count my cards and throw in the towel. I am one of them. The asthmatics, the albinos, the bubble boys. SO I've devised some new hobbies. Longboarding is freakin awesome, but I hurt each time I try. Swimming is what got me the hydrocodon in the first place and hiking looks like it'll do the same.

Model building. I'm building an airplane. Probably working on learning the guitar, which is a sexy hobby. Probably continue writing scenarios for Gammaworld, maybe work on models for those as well, and holy crap I need a life.

I just read in a book by John Hodgman (READ IT IT'S AMAZING) and he says that it is confirmed that Charlie Sheen did the voices for all the dinosaurs for the Jurassic Park movies. Hence why I'm morbidly afraid of John F. Kennedy, NO DOUBT A SKILL HIS FATHER TAUGHT HIM.

GET ME A HAMMA

That's what I would say if someone offered me a job as a dental hygienist. Just saying. Yep folks, still unemployed. Getting desperate. I just might dress as a taco and dance outside the Mexican restaurant.

No shirt no shoes no service is such a friggin lie. If a woman walks in a convenience store topless and no shoes, SHE IS GETTIN WHATEVER THE HELL SHE WANTS.

"Here are the keys. Will you marry me?" Because you know those fools behind the counter aren't getting any.

Sat in a car for hours today. It sucked. Not because I was in a sweaty seat for hours, but because of the reason for the trip. I miss that dog, I just couldn't say anything around my girlfriend. She's probably going to read this at some point, but by then, her pain might have been lessened and my promise would be fulfilled. I wasn't negative at all today for her, and it was semi refreshing, but I felt like crying with her. I feel awful, because I know my guilt. I hope she knows it too.

Bit of a change of pace, eh? Changing it up again, yknow, I have grown to hate car trips. Because I feel like I ain't had a rash that bad since I was two in diapers. Sweating in the same seat for hours!! It was gross AND painful. Got to thinking about that. No wonder toddlers hate those things, watertight whitey tighteys! Freak, I'd run around the place starkers too if I knew what was coming to me!
"Bobby, here's how life goes, you're going to sit in a plastic bag and when someone notices you've been sitting in your own excrement for an hour or two, then someone will switch it out."

Those hippies might have something about those cloth diapers...

What is thy bidding my master

I'm about to kneel and owe my allegiance to this burger joint wearing a hooded cloak. Had one of the best burgers ever. The Boston. Pastrami, swiss, carmelized onions and mushrooms in a arterial sclerosis bliss. It was like entering a pastrami lined heaven of no vegetable goodness.

Titleless, why do I need a title?

Working at the pizza parlor, this lady walks out with her kids. Names have been changed to protect the fact that I can't remember them.
"Bobby, that's why you go to college" lady pointing right at me.
I wanted to throw my towel at her.
"LISTEN LADY! I am GOING to college and you know where that's going to get me? THE SAME PLACE!"

Also, i was thinking, isn't Clue by Parker Brothers up for a revamp. I had an idea. I call it
APOCALYPSE CLUE
see colonel mustard is this Terry Hogan beast of a dude with a giant mustache, rippling muscles and a gatling gun, Ms Scarlet will be this red ninja, Mr Green will be this lizard zombie man thing, Mrs white will be a white cloaked witch with a flail and a human skull, prof. plum in a lab coat splotched with purple blood stains and his purple hair slicked back straight up in the air, and mrs peacock will be this woman bird, TALONS LOTS OF TALONS.

Haunted house, wild cards thrown in at each turn that are represented by ghosts or zombies or mutants or ghost zombie mutants. IT WOULD BE GREAT!!

I'm gonna write an email to PB right now :)

As I sit

I'm conjuring what to compose about, because as you know, I'm not writing, I'M COMPOSING. Music, as much as I love it, I don't think it carries over much, unless you count the hard rock I'm listening to. I've also got Bioshock 2 paused for a moment, the endless fish swimming by becoming annoying. It's too late to keep going on this game, but I've ended up so close I almost have to. I've been applying at all sorts of places, and even considered doing a freelance bit for Game Informer. That should be interesting, if I'm even considered for the deal.

I'm writing to consider the implications of my last blog. I offended folk, I cussed a great deal, I signed on for ads to be on my blog so I can see a slight trickle of cash in my pocket. and yet. I'm rather indifferent about the ordeal. I stand by what I said about everything and everyone. I don't seem to really care if I offended anyone. All the same, it's not like I didn't think things through.

Writers block. Is it the same as lack of motivation? I feel like it is. That seems to be the only thing between me and commercialism paying for my spa trips to Hawaii. If only I was on the streets and had a better way of organizing my ideas on paper. Or rather written format. I just feel like I have nothing good to write. Regardless of various friends and do-gooders around me assuring me otherwise, I haven't found anyone that has experience in the matter, willing to read something that isn't refined from a student with paper saying they're qualified to write. Can you qualify something like that? Is it quantifiable? The artistic muse, the desire to create, even if it is something as garish as my written prose. Should I not be allowed to express myself, regardless of how poorly, if I don't have something signed by some faceless entity, assuring anyone that reads it that I am qualified to do so?

Doesn't kill my desire to learn the craft, rest assured, I still need an education. But it's almost like identification anymore, not so much education. At least that's how it feels. I'll write about it once I reach the other side.

Don't feel cynical today, so don't expect to laugh. Though I am dreading the moment I set foot in that pizza parlor. Sure is going to be a joy to start up working there again. For crying out loud, I'm a trained banker, not a dough flinger. But there is humility to be had, I'm sure.

Droll. That's what this is. Does anyone care this is written? There's no real value to this, you're not getting a laugh. You might at some of my earlier ones, to be sure.

I weep for my species. Especially if I'm the sample. Good heavens, leave it be.

67th post

I have experienced recent crushing defeat. No one loves a revolutionary.

I thought, ignorantly, that I could make a difference as the little man, unexperienced, but with enough foresight to see that something needed fixing, and I couldn't. I faced the big man, and I was cast down, almost losing my livelihood over it. And all I have to say is: What the hell.

I've wanted to make a difference, and instead I'm on the verge of leaving, my hands clutching my chest as it's hard to breathe, my despair is so deep. I'm so conflicted with the desire to make changes, but I have to resist the urge to speak up, and it's like an immovable object is hit by an unstoppable force, the conflict of my soul. Where is direction? What is purpose? Where are the good things? What am I supposed to do? I've been lost since I left the service of the Lord. Hopping from school to school, different jobs, different living arrangements, relationships, looking, searching. I haven't found me yet. I thought I had a handle on it, but I don't know what defines me. Maybe that's our great journey, that's why it takes 80 years for some folk to find things. Maybe that's why I didn't die at birth. Because I haven't found myself yet. I'm running out of time, only 60 years left.

They Watch

It was hot. That they knew. They didn’t know much, just, how to see really. And by the look on the faces of Their friends, it was hot. They were gripped firmly, in a sweaty anxious hand, as They hung by their friend’s side, listening.

“What’s the status?”

“The 42nd are in position and the 1013th are waiting to begin dropping shells on the oncoming infantry. We’re low on rounds, but they’re confident they can make a solid enough impact to at least make the attack less of a bloodbath.”

“We don’t want to spare those Kremlins anything, after what they’ve done to our country.” Up They go again, They thought, seeing across the dryness, to watch the bad ones. They must make sure they don’t do anything, They mused.

“I meant for our side sir.” The Lieutenant turned to the Sergeant, away from his binoculars.

“What about Camp Little Rock?”

“Haven’t you heard? They were wiped out last night. That’s probably the reinforcements we saw coming into the Kremlin’s camp last night. Scouts report another three thousand have joined the enemy rear guard. It’s only a matter of time.” If They had teeth, They would bear them. They had many family in Little Rock. Now they’re probably broken or worse stolen, being used to see by the bad ones.

“Before they run, fixed bayonets. At least we have a few hundred yards between us, prolong the inevitable,” said the Lt., grimly.

“Rally the men, I want everyone to know their job. We may be out numbered, but we can’t lose this footing. We’ll bottleneck them before they get into the valley.” The sergeant turned to go, but the Lt. grabbed his arm, “And dammit get those civvies off the mountains, they’re supposed to be running west with the rest of them.”

“With all do respect sir, we can use all the help we can get,” and the sergeant was gone. Shouts of honor and courage echoed through the trenches, war cries for family and friends, and blood of the enemy cascaded down the mountainsides like an avalanche, rushing down and sweeping across the dusty brown savanna plain that used to be green Alabama. The binoculars could see the tangible electricity in the air, as if a coiled spring ready to pounce could generate a lightning storm. They are proud of their wit and metaphor. Perhaps that could help Their friends stop the bad ones. Suddenly, almost as if They willed it so, a lightning bolt struck the ground a hundred yards off, and they could see clouds coming in. A heat storm, They heard one friend say. It might make a difference. Drops of rain begin to fall lightly, drops that had run away for years. Hello they cry to their long lost cousins, the seers. Hello They cry back. Make the bad ones sodden! And so they do, because quickly They are brought back to the bridge of their friend’s nose and They see, the rain is hardest on the bad ones. They shout praise. Perhaps Their friends will win now. They look away for an instant, but are brought quickly back to watch the bad ones. What are they doing? Moving, moving side ways and they are many. Then forwards, they’re moving forwards, they are coming!

“Artillery! Drop shells on those Kremlin fools!” shouts the Lt. Yes, they cry, rain more on them! Back to the bridge again and they see. They see across the dampening waste. Explosions of dry and wet land scatter the bad ones, and like a rapidly healing wound, the holes are sealed with more bodies. Running and shouting, black metal shining like the blood of death. Oh how They hate them. They have watched them for years, for They are old, but still see. It will be over soon, They’re not afraid to die. They watch the bad ones come closer and closer. Our friends are not strong enough, They realize. There are too many. They are doomed, They understand, horrified. They can do nothing but watch. Watch as they get closer, burning, running, hating. Then, a shaking blast roars through the valley. Like a thousand elephants, stamping and roaring.

“What in God’s name is that,” mutters the Lt. Let them see, They will tell you. What is that dust cloud, They ask themselves.

“I don’t believe it.” I. Interesting concept, They muse.

“Sergeant are you seeing what I’m seeing?” I. It is a way to refer to Themselves. They’ve heard it many times before, but never thought about the word.

“Sir all I see is a big dust cloud. Sounds like truck horns though.” I. A way to refer to one’s self.

“Sergeant, I’m looking at longhorns on grills and semi trailers armored to the gills. Are those tank treads? Each one has a fifty cal. mounted on top, some are out the sides. Good God, is that a smoothbore? Is that from the 102nd armor division we saw get destroyed?” I. A way to refer to ourselves.

“Lieutenant! Your boys weren’t using their armor anymore, so we decided to go to shop and help you all out. The kremlins are getting close, we’ll lay down some fire for ya!” I. Yes, I am one. I am individual. A bearded man with a slight beer belly leans out the top of his trucks cabin, wearing a ripped red flannel shirt, his gigantic arms barely being contained.

“What’s your name sir?”

“Jack! Jack Darrow! This sir is the refurbished 102nd! Mind if I play Sweet Home Alabama to kill Red?” No, play it Jack. I like that song

“Know what. Sounds appropriate. Cover the left flank and bottle Red before he gets to the valley. I don’t have to tell you what it means to our country.”

“Yes sir!”

“Carry on Mr. Darrow. God speed.”

“All right boys! Turn it up!” Then, a cacauphony of horns blast a tangible wind of red, white, and blue towards the oncoming enemy, while tarps are torn off of loudspeakers to shout a rallying song echoing across the open savannah. Emboldened the soldiers arm themselves, bearing courageous teeth and watching Red break the last hundred yards before they’re upon them. Up the binoculars go. Yes, Kremlin. I know who I am now. And I’m watching you. In an instant, I shatter, as a bullet rips through my right eye, and all goes dark.

Names

The names sit abandoned. Dusty and alone, but together with their cousins. Simply names. Allen lies on top of Germaine, who’s on top of Alexis, who’s on top of Jason. Collected and prone, and praying for light. Forgotten, lost. Never to return. Though they all have a chance, they’re generally common names. They all look at Kylander. Shutup guys, he says, looking away angrily. Their mirth lasts momentarily as they remind themselves that their purpose is spent, yet they remain. Never to be used again. They hear voices, words, shouts, and tears, but no one shares it with them. The oldest name, sitting on the bottom, tells them their hopes are fruitless. Donald tells them all, no one will come, trust him, he’s been there for years. He lost hope many years ago, after he had prayed so many years before. Fruitless, pointless. Eventually he’ll crumble to dust, but until then, he wallows in his own misery. Days, weeks, months, decades.

Suddenly, light blindingly cascades from the top of the drawer. A hand comes down and grips them. Can it be? Could they possibly need one of us? Allen is tossed aside, Alexis is pushed away. What are they searching for? Finally the hand rests on Donald. It can’t be, they all gasp. He’s lifted out into the light, and out of shock he loses conciousness.

“Donald, welcome to the team. You can place this name placard on your desk, no need to waste money and make a new one. I knew I had it in here somewhere.”

“Thank you Mr. Gibbs.”

I'm stressed

I'm pretty zonked right now, I've got a huge workload and I'm kinda having trouble keeping up. I realized that, frankly, I can't do school full time and work full time all at once, it's simply impossible. Sure I'll lose money in dropping classes, but things are really hard to get through right now. I have fifteen credits I'm taking, and three of them are online, which are really extremely hard. I simply feel burned out.

But I'm fasting for change. I want improvement and progression, so I am opening avenues to keep myself from sheer exhaustion, and allow creativity to take hold when I need it. My book is in terrible disrepair, and I need to get a lot of my future plans in place. I'm working on a collaborative process with my friends to create an entertainment production company, and we're off to make a difference. Now I feel I'm doing something worthwhile. Sometime I chose to be and do. I feel like being a monkey at the typewriter is too old. A paper degree means almost nothing anymore, so why do I need it? We'll start our own business and learn life lessons doing what we want. Doing what we can in fields we care about. I want an education on my terms.

New perspective

Yknow, recently I've been to told that Sister Bednar related how her son describes the difference between living outside the valley and now living in it, and his reply was that it was clear who his enemies were outside of Utah, but here, they could be sitting next to him in Priesthood. And I thought, powerful words to be sure, but that debunks the cop out that we utards have to say there's no one to testify to and share the gospel with. If our enemies are passing us the bread, teaching our lessons, standing at the pulpit to give a talk, and coming in our homes to drop off baked goods, then it should be obvious where we need to do missionary work. Why is no one open enough here to preach to the choir? Why can't we bear testimony to each other as saints, who understand each other no less, to strengthen each other in times of need? What is so difficult?

The regular crowd with the regular dreams

Sitting at Tucanos with the Den of Thieves, we came up with a plan, to have our own Viking longhouse restaurant, with oak tables, barmaids and mounted animals all on the walls. Red meat and roaring fires, with a lifesize statue of Gimli in one corner. It would be a family joint with long tables where we would bring our kids to. The waitre would come around, "Lords, will it be the usual? Master Ferrol, the 20 oz steak is doing well tonight, might I suggest that? Master Conor, will you be having the usual Chicken Pesto, or have you decided to man up and order a steak tonight?"
PRICELESS

GO LEARN

I’ve found a sudden interest in the world around me, probably sparked by my online courses. Anyone hear of the landslides in Brazil? The sinkholes in Guatemala? I was thumbing through this Discover magazine at Best Buy while waiting for the Geek Squad to look over my notebook (boy I hope they don’t wipe the OS, Apple will NOT be happy with me) and I found a whole bunch of interesting information! Vegetable folk, people who need to be cared for in every way, are shown to have minor brain activity, regardless of their state! There are forests and valleys and peaks of plasma in the deep recesses of the sun, did you know that?? Why are we not learning about these things? I’ve recently discovered I have a thirst for knowledge, for learning, but it’s very specific. And I’ve realized that, that’s the way it should be. Specific interests breed specialty, and specialty breeds the best of the best. A general education is becoming less and less meaningful to me because, frankly, I can’t do art, I don’t like chemistry or mathmatics, I like reading about them, but the application is ridiculous to me. Not because I find no relevance in everyday life, but I find no relevance to me. I have a general understanding because that’s my desire, but other folk, they fight back and eventually forget those things. I was forced to take math three years in highschool. I remember one year of it, the precalculous was just too hard.
“Get over it and stop being a pansy” NO!
The time I WASTED as a math student, and as a chemistry student, I could have spent furthering my knowledge and RETENTION of a subject I love, like literature and history. The application is meaningless to me. And we kids have been saying it for years, but it’s true. There is no worth for these things.

The Girl of My Dreams. Seriously, I think it's the same one from highschool

Had a dream last night that I married some Princess, and we loved each other. Her mother was the queen of some country and I respected the woman a great deal, and was mad about this girl I had a child with and kissed regularly. Boy I miss kissing. This odd dream (odder still because as I remember hazily, it was Anne Hathaway) actually had an interesting message to me. If we as LDS believe that we are all children, sons and daughters, of God, then we are all inherit in the kingdom. If that is true then we are Princes and Princesses, and eventually become Kings and Queens. Aside from the deep doctrine, and whether or not you believe this, I means something. I haven’t really had that perspective before and I know it’s valuable to have that point of view. I felt that kind of love once. I loved a woman like I did in my dream. And regardless of what happened, I’m convinced that I will find the right woman for me in the future, and when I do, she will be my princess. Whoever she is, she is royalty.

ROPI 3

Another ROPI installment!!
I don’t want EMPATHY, I don’t want SYMPATHY. I want CHANGE. I have NO NEED for your pity, your blank faces of MEANINGLESS FROWNS AND SHRUGS, I need PROGRESSION. I know what it means and how it feels to sit in STILL WATER and let the algae grow over me. I’ve seen it, I’ve been in it, I’ve WALKED on it, and it is DEATH. It is DAMNATION. The institutions that we sit in and type for and push pencils and compile data and smile for, are DAMNED. When an honest soul tries to act on the importance they’ve been ‘given’ by the NAMELESS FACELESS ‘general management,’ they are swatted down, like a fly on a hot summer Sunday.
“Our employees are IMPORTANT, you mean so much to us,” they lie through their teeth. “Your comments help make us great.”
But no one likes dirty laundry. Pass it on, or IGNORE it, buy new clothes. We have bigger issues, we’re in the SOW’S MIRE as it is. And you’re WILLING to pass by the possibility that this is the stick to pull you out?
“THAT’S JUST THE WAY IT IS. There’s politics in EVERY institution. You just have to play the game.” But if the game is a social norm, not a policy or mission of the institution, and it feels morally wrong, then why are we still doing it? Does a meaningless soul have a right to make a difference, or are we to sit and watch as we follow orders that screw people? I feel the difference between ‘institutions’ and Nazi Germany, is we can’t fit our employees in the outdated microwaves in our decrepit common areas. I WAS JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS.
I can’t BEAR THE RESPONSIBILITY of telling people I can’t help them, it’s easy when they’re nothing but a file on a computer, but when you have to sit down with a downtrodden human soul, I cannot stand for the INJUSTICE. The injustice does not lie in the lack of our ability to help, we must look at people and say we would if we could. The issue is too many have, and they won’t give. Or they’ll give to one, and not the other, each situation being the same. I DON’T WANT CONTROL! I want the ‘general management’ to make good on what powers they said we peons have. And if we don’t have those powers, don’t lie to me and tell me they’re there.
This is INSANITY. I am LOSING my mind. They tell me, it’s not worth it, you’ll move on, this isn’t your career. It shouldn’t matter this much. Does that mean I’ve wasted the last year and a half? THE LAST FOR YEARS? THE LAST DECADE? Of course not, you’ve gained experience! A HOLLOW victory at the expense of so many people. I didn’t make a difference. Do you KNOW what that feels like? To feel UNIMPORTANT? To feel like you have done no good for the world, and a year has simply made you push on to the next plane of your life? I won’t stand for it. For indifference, for unimportance, for the status quo. Damn the institutions that foster such feelings. Damn your indifference, your unimportance, your status quo.
I fear for my future, because I refuse to take this. I’m afraid if I’ll ever succeed, because I question authority and validity. I worry about my career, and if I’ll ever make enough to support my family, or make a difference, because I don’t want to play the damn game.
So, how to change it.

How to convert an institution into a business of legitimacy:
1) Get rid of the groups. We’re not in the 1890s anymore, we’re not a factory. Additionally, cliques should not exist
2) Make good on the importance you promise your employees. Nothing says “you’re worthless” like an ignored request.
3) The five C’s and one D. Consistency. Consistency. Consistency. Consistency. Consistency, Damn it.
4) Allow issues to come out, so they can be resolved. An all is well in Zion attitude will get you killed.
5) If it ain’t broke don’t fix it. But if it’s twenty years old, time to change the batteries.
6) Responsibility. If everyone feels they’re responsible, everyone involved will work to see something through. Too many cooks in a pot, that’s bullshit.
7) The patrol method. If your immediate superiors can’t resolve it, we shouldn’t have to trust that they’ll pass on the issue. They’re too busy. Peons should have the power to go directly to the next level up.

TOMS

Bought a pair of Toms shoes. They’re the canvas sort, and real comfortable, but not warm worth a hill. Granted they weren’t made for highland snow capped mountain awesomeness. But it’s a great idea for a Christmas gift. Yeah, they’re kinda pricy for what they are (seriously, tent canvas with a foam pad for a sole, it’s not that hard) but I like the message. Something simple as this is life changing. I won’t spoil it for you, if you’re reading this, go on the website and look it up yourself. Google Toms shoes, and read his story. It’s kinda cool. Save the world folks.

toms.com

Indie

It’s refreshing to find an individual who enjoys music as much as I do. It’s even better when they enjoy the same ECLECTIC GENRE as I do. Namely, the indie rock and alternative movement that has risen from the ashes of the last decade. I was more or less set up with this gal and when I was trying to line up a date, I thought going to the alternative X show at the planetarium would be cool, but wasn’t sure if she was a molly mormon or a country singer, and if she would like that or not. So when I asked, she said indie, AND LIGHTBULB. ARCADE FIRE? DECEMBERISTS? VAMPIRE WEEKEND??? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? Needless to say this Friday is going to be sweet.

Shaved Head

I shaved my head. Weird. It feels like the fake shrubbery you get from a hobby lobby for a elementary school diorama project. Sent a picture to my dad. His reply: “Boy that looks familiar.”
So much Da.

Hairstyles

Had a hilarious conversation with a friend today about hairstyles. I done just shaved my head and have been planning to move to Northern Idaho amongst the natives, but until then, I painted a blue arrow down the center of my head and have been carrying around a bow staff. My friend at work was applauding my bravery at dressing like a bald shoaling monk to work and lamented that she wished she could shave her head to use any wig style she wanted in an instant. I suggested a pixie hair cut, to which her reply was “ew, people will think I’m a lesbo.” HILARIOUS, yet criminally stereotypical, YET HILARIOUS. SO I proceeded to procure a few pictures of random celebs that had pixie cuts and they are as follows.
Gena Davis
Halle Berry
Kathy Bates (I love this actress)
Keira Knightly (I had to. I just had to)
Judi Dench (BWAAAAAH)

For some reason I can't get Kathy Bates but you get the picture

And while this whole conversation may question my masculinity, I think my points stand. My friend went on to lament that Keira pulls it off nicely (hot dang does she ever) but she was afraid that she’d end up looking like Bates in the end. My reply:
And see, (ok yes, I have to agree. One of the chaps from Top Gear said that "driving the Audi A6 is like smothering honey on Keira Knightley". PRICELESS) Bates just didn't do anything with the hair, she didn't style it, so it looks blah. Keira looks like she has hairspray or staples holding her hair in place, so I think in the mornings before the hollywood magic she looks just like Bates. Of all of them though, I think Gena Davis pulls it off the best. That or JUDO DENCH (yeah, I know I spelled that wrong, but that makes it funnier eh?)

Take from this what you will, THIS WAS A FUNNY CONVERSATION TO ME.

Too long

It’s been AUGUST since my last post? Hell…

Well I’ve recently developed the drive to continue blogging, mostly coming from my increased involvement in the internet with my online courses. I also read a great article about how Mormon Mommy Bloggers are getting a huge fan base, because they are “reluctantly uplifting.”

K, so I’m not a Mommy, and I have 6, maybe 6 followers. I’m blogging here for the random individual that has nothing better to do than to surf through blogs. Which, admittedly I do sometimes, lets be honest. This will serve as a soap box. I doubt I’ll be uplifting, but I challenge you to think. And to break the tension I’ll throw in a random tidbit of hilariosity from my life. Do I want a fan base for this? HELL YES.