Sarsaparilla Alphabet #6

F - FIRE

The fire grew amongst the wildfire. It spread across the forest and it climbed the trees until it kissed the sky. And while the forest lit up and glowed brighter than the sun, there was no smoke. It still acted like a normal fire, in that its flames flickered and sparked, it spread from limb to limb, and it consumed the homes of every animal. But that vile, choking black, that poisonous disease of destruction was nowhere to be seen in the violet sky. By morning, the forest was gone and the sun shone down on the plains, which was soon overtaken, hours later, by a hard rain. The lightning crackled and spat across the storm's canvas as the water painted a battlefield. When the regiments went home, the defeated sun returned to survey the damage and found only seeds and mud. But oh! did those seeds find a home amongst the muck. Despite being surrounded by sludge, the seeds germinated and began taking root before, one perfectly sprightly day, the white threads of life poked towards their life-bringer. The plains began to resemble a brand-new baby's head and, before long, the long, luscious locks burst forth. It wasn't long before insects found new food where there had been none and birds and mammals found homes in the new lofts and dens. When the forest was destroyed next, however, the fire was nowhere to be found, but it was smoke that now permeated the air.

Sarsaparilla Alphabet #5

E - ELEPHANT

The man rode atop the elephant, in a fancy, wooden box that resembled a castle tower. Rapunzel let down her golden ladder and he climbed out of his box and into the castle window. They talked about elephants and castles and the like, so much so, that whenever he came to her room, he was filled with the warmest glow that made his face shine brighter than the sun. Eventually, the sunlight made his heart grow flowers, which he picked and gave to Rapunzel whenever they were in full bloom. They made love, but the man had never experienced anything so intense, so wild. Her hair seemed more brilliant each day.

A number of months later, however, he noticed that her once-brilliant locks were dulling. When they made love, all of those feelings returned and her hair once again shone, illuminating the entire castle. But Rapunzel was concerned with how far apart their worlds were – her in her castle, and the man on top of his elephant. The man was bewildered. She was just a short climb away, this was nonsense! But Rapunzel truly did love him, so she continued to let down her hair, but told him that each day, it would be just a little bit shorter.

The man continued to enjoy each day that he was her as if he was the richest man in the world, but he was still aware of what was to come. When her hair was just out of reach, he would jump from his box, despite the fact that he couldn't jump very high at all. One day, however, he climbed into Rapunzel's room to find another man, who didn't own an elephant. In fact, he merely walked on the ground and Rapunzel hair had, in fact, been getting longer each day. The man stared in disbelief. Rapunzel's hair shined brighter than the sun. The man's garden had not been tended to and a final, devastating thundercloud appeared in his chest.

Rapunzel offered to continue talking to him, but the man would have to yell at her while she stood by the castle's window. Many times, he considered destroying, burning, and throwing the castle off of the elephant's back, but the sun was always behind the thundercloud, just waiting for its chance to seize control of the sky. The man decided that this chance was one worth taking and continued talking to Rapunzel as he rode his elephant across the desert.

Sarsaparilla Alphabet #4

D - DRUNK

It was Clay and Sienna's first time. No, they weren't close like that, but they had grown up together in the same neighborhood – three doors down, across the street, to be exact. On the coffee table sat a bottle of Rainbeau Melt.

"Hmph," said Clay, begrudgingly. "Let's just do it."

"The whole thing? Isn't that dangerous?"

"We won't know until we try it."

Clay uncorked the bottle and, with a loud SCWHOP!, it was open and emitting a light blue mist. He poured it into the first two glasses that he found, which were etched with the names of two different restaurants. "Bottoms up," Clay said, and they clinked their glasses together. They drank deep. It was sweet. They drank another glass. The taste was even sweeter. "Pretty good, huh?" asked Clay. Sienna shrieked. "Clay! Your tongue! It's... got every color on it!"

It was true, or at to her eyes. Almost like stripes on a rugby shirt, his tongue had been painted with vertical lines of white, red, black, yellow, orange, blue, green, and purple, from left to right. Clay saw everything only in the colors of the most beautiful sunset ever. Sienna was a brilliant vermilion.

The colors began to become more intense, as if their tint dials on their eyes were turned to their maximum. Clay's eyes filled with color in his eyes, still nicely organized, until they gushed out of his sockets. The paint flooded the room, until it seemed impossible that any more could fit. Then, everything went white.

A splot of red. Bright blue slightly to the right of it. Green dripped. Slowly. Then, a torrential downpour of every color that one could think of (there might have been some sort of ultraviolet color in there, as well) drenched the white world until it tilted, and the colors slid down the slope.

Toucan Sam started singing in a rainforest filled with tall trees with orange leaves. Blue orangutans swung amongst them. Thousands of ants streamed out of a series of mountains, each one a different color, before being eaten by three hungry anteaters.

The paint fell out of the sterile, white room and drenched the rainforest. The anteaters sported polka dots. The blue orangutans were orange. Toucan Sam tripled the number of colors on his beak. The paint rain got heavier, until the sky was black.

Sienna woke up first, and she shook Clay awake. He had been dreaming of soldiers storming Omaha Beach, but instead of bullets, their guns shot globs of color. Once they had realized that they couldn't kill each other with color, the soldiers painted faces on each other and drew vast landscapes in the sand.

Clay and Sienna both stood up, grabbed the bottle, and put it back in the cabinet that they found it in. Sitting down at the kitchen table, they stared at the off-white wall, trying to make sense of what they had just dreamed.

Sarsaparilla Alphabet #3

C - CHINCHILLA

Rocky crawled out of his cage and into Karen's hands. His platinum fur was especially fluffy today – that hard work was worth something! Her hand ran over the chinchilla's back, and he responded with a chirp, which was followed by her cell phone's ring. She set Rocky down on the floor and answered it.

Aww... hey, what's that? He wandered over and nibbled. Mmm. Leftover carrot. Sweet. Is that more? Rocky shuffled past the door and came upon the air vent, which Karen had taken off to clean. What's that delicious smell? It's coming from down here...

And Rocky tumbled down the air vent. Thankfully, he managed to fall straight down instead of bumping into the sides. He must have been one lucky chinchilla, as he landed in a big pile of clean laundry. Crawling out, he heard a voice shout to him. Peering out of an undershirt's collar, he spotted a gray mouse. "Hi there," the chinchilla chirped.

"You must be Rocky," the mouse said, scratching his stomach. "We hear a lot about you down here, y'know... mostly about how 'fluffy wuffy' you are. It must be nice."

"Oh, you have no idea. I get awesome food and all the water I want, but the best part is the petting and scratches. It's like all of your troubles go away and you kind of fall asleep." Rocky thought about it and giggled.

"C'mere, lemme show you around the place." Rocky obliged and met the mouse on eye-level, who introduced himself as Takk. "Right through this hole is the place where everybody chills after a day with her."

"Her?"

"The neighborhood cat, Vera. What, do you not know that cats eat guys like us?"

"They do what? Eat us? Like... eating a carrot?"

"Do your carrots bleed and cry for their mother as their limbs are ripped off?"

"Oh god. No, that's... oh god. Horrifying. No. That's... oh god."

"Hey hey hey, buddy. Calm down, come get a drink."

The two rodents walked over to where the refrigerator had leaked into the basement. Rocky opened his mouth and let some of the yellow liquid drip into his mouth due to Takk's insistence. A tear came down Rocky's face. "It's... beautiful... it almost tastes like... morning dew on the fresh grass on the side of a mountain." It felt like a hundred Karens were petting his entire body at once.

Takk, however, thought that the stuff tasted like urine, but it at least got his mind off of the cat and let him focus on his new friend. He also briefly forgot the 46 kids that were either currently with his wife or off scavenging for food in the kitchen. He forgot about Suð, who was the dumbest mouse in all of existence. Takk couldn't understand how he was still alive. He forgot almost everything else. But he also got an idea.

"Hey Rocky. Do you like it down here?"

"Yeah... I love it! It's so... different. So real. So wonderful. Everyone seems to know everyone, too."

"What if... you and I... switched places? You know, you can stay down here for a while and meet everyone and really get the whole mouse experience and I go up and see what the easy life is like. It wouldn't be forever. I'd find a way to make it back at some point."

"Oh, but Karen could easy tell us apart! Let's see. First, let's fluff you all up." Takk did this, and Rocky tilted his head to the left. "Mm. Not perfect, but it should be close enough. Now hurry back into the laundry! Karen's probably looking for me and she might have realized that the air duct cover was off."

Takk climbed into the pile of clothes, after Rocky reminded him to look "extra helpless." And five minutes later, Karen threw open the basement door and ran about the room, searching every nook and cranny. She stopped when she heard something moving and chirping, and she chirped, herself. "Rocky! Oh, I'm so sorry, I was on the phone! I should have never let you run around. Come on, let's go sit down and you can eat a big bag of carrots. I bet you're all worked up, too."

As Karen picked up the laundry basket, Takk shuffled to the side. He saw Rocky standing at the hole in the wall, and he waved. "Thanks for everything!" Rocky smiled and waved back. "No, thank you."

Sarsaparilla Alphabet #2

B - BUTTER

On a glass plate on a long dinner table draped with a crimson table cloth sits a block of butter. Taking a seat, Edward wraps his head around the chair's arms, which are carved with snarling griffins. The butter sits 25 feet away, and Edward stares at it. He leans down onto the table, twists his head to the side, and stares at it, as if at any moment, it will show signs of life. He grabs a butter knife, holding it like a machete. He stands up slowly, careful to not arouse suspicion. He freezes. The butter's watching. Ducking behind the black curtains, Edward peeks out the side for his chance. No good, it seems to have eyes on all five sides. He has one last chance.

In two solid motions, he cocks his arm backs and heaves his mighty weapon at the beast's heart. Just nicked him, he snarled. But at least he's wounded. This may be my chance!

Edward ran like a madman, howling a war cry with both his hands in the air. He leaped onto the table and grabbed the butter with both his hands and wrestled with the foul beast. Gaining the upper hand, he smashed it into a slice of bread, vanquishing the malevolent being.

Edward carried his spoils back to his large chair with the griffins engraved into the arms and sat and placed it next to the five forks, two knives, three spoons, and a cloth napkin, folded in a way that resembled a swan. Unfolding the napkin into his lap, he sank his teeth into the bread, spotting his luxurious mustache with yellow entrails. There was a knock on the door, and a man in a crimson suit (adorned with a brilliant yellow ascot) emerged from the other side of the tall, heavy, wooden doors.

"Prime Minister? I come to discuss a possible treaty for peace."

Sarsaparilla Alphabet #1

Essentially, you get a word, one for each letter, and write a story. Words were randomly chosen by Ryan. See the first one ever here.

A - ASPIRIN

One more, Brian thought to himself. This was the worst headache he'd ever had, and he'd had a migraine before. It feels like my brain is trying to escape. I wish I could open my skull and let it air out.

Closing the medicine cabinet, Brian looked up at the mirror, staring into his blood-shot eyes. The pain had been there for six days and he was on his third bottle of aspirin. The thought of going to the doctor hadn't seemed necessary, but he was beginning to change his mind. His eyes moved to his forehead and then to his hair, which was thinned out. Dad didn't go bald until his 40s, he complained. But then Brian noticed that his hair wasn't thinning out. It was spread out.

He stepped back. His head must have been twice the size it normally should be. Brian clutched at his head and he felt like a conehead. He called for his wife, but his pained shout was drowned out by a shrill shriek. The pain was unbearable. The ceiling crashed around him. He felt something grab into his shoulders and he was now in the air. His legs flailed. He went higher. His house was now smaller than his head, even when it was normal-sized. He managed to look up, despite the pain in his head and the daggers in his shoulders. Brian screamed.

Brian finally landed in a nest, one at least the size of a football field, except that it was perfectly round, like a cereal bowl. The milk came next – some sort of purple, mucous-like substance filled the bowl and Brian fell under and he choked for air. The pain was gone. Brian stood up. The sky was a brilliant blue, not a cloud in the sky. He was naked.

His hair was all gone or, rather, his head was so massive that it didn't matter how much hair he had. His head was perfectly ovular, but he didn't care. He couldn't feel it, nor could he feel what was gestating inside. A great, big thing landed on his head, but Brian didn't care. The sky was blue. He was going up there. He was going to be the only cloud.

Animal People: The Movie

...at least, it's the best movie that one can make in approximately twenty minutes. A few students from our Photojournalism class assembled some sound slides about our stories. Essentially, it's a narrated,  200-word story set to about 12 photos of the subject and his/her/its environment. You can view them all here (click on each of our names) and check mine out at this link.

WAR #1: "List of Sudoku terms and jargon"

WAR, "Wikipedia At Random," is a fun little piece that I'm writing occasionally. Go to Wikipedia, hit "Random Article," and reflect! This week: List of Sudoku terms and jargon!

Well, I'm first struck by the size of the Table of Contents on this thing, and second, by the need for a list of terms for a Sudoku puzzle. Complicated words include puzzle, box, and size - I'm so confused, hang on, lemme figure out what they mean by these...

Sudoku types and classes... yawn. Scroll, scroll... wait, what the fuck is this shit?


25 squares? LETTERS!? COME ON, MATH NERDS, SUDOKU WAS FUN, STOP COMPLICATING THIS SHIT. You people always have to overcomplicate shit and it never gets anything done, like Statistics. I mean, the fact that such specialized terms exist for looking at the fucking puzzle ("scanning") or trying to solve it ("cross hatching" or "counting") is absolutely absurd. This is some OCD shit, come on.

The only redeeming part about sudoku now is that it recently earned me two free Crunch bars from my RA. I'll give them points for naming specific aspects of the board, but it seems like half of these terms are for people who like to use esoteric terms to make themselves feel better about the fact that they're obsessively training for a competition in solving simple math problems.

When people argue that Wikipedia should resemble a real-life encyclopedia rather than a catalogue of all world knowledge, it's article like this and full-on character analysis of an obscure anime that aired two episodes before being canceled that are used to bolster their stance.

WARDROBE UPDATE

I am now the proud bearer of this fine apparel:

Drawn by the amazing Kate Beaton... read her history comics! http://www.katebeaton.com

DreamBlog

I get driven to a huge parking deck in a slick limousine. It's twilight, and the sky has painted the world in a warm, orange glow. I step out and walk around the massive complex, but realize that, because I so hastily driven here, I only have one pair of shoes with me - a problem if I'm to be here for a while, which was wholly intended. I begin to walk back down when I notice a couple walking into a room, and I follow them.

They room is carpeted and swathed in bright colors and props. Right, I was at the movie studio because I was being cast. In the room to the left, I meet Joe Biden. We shake hands and I congratulate him, though worry about the relative closeness of the popular vote. He laughs about people he's met on the campaign trail, complete with a classic Biden expression.

I then get dressed up for my big role: Solid Snake (spurred, probably, by this news story). Mario, Link (I think), and I are discussing international politics, but I keep flubbing my lines. Mario has to predictably cheerful and safe for his intended demographic.

We're in some sort of cabana, where the far end is completely open to the sunset and shoreline. To the left of that is a bar, and scattered around are some tables. To the back is a fireplace and a raised platform.

Something goes wrong, however, and Link (?) goes berserk and attacks us. I jump to the side to avoid him, but Mario defeats him, as he throws him against the sides of the wall. To win, he says, I have to kill him before the timer ends. Using a whip (?), I send him out of bounds at the last second. We smile and walk off the set.

Breakfast

The election is a lot like this bowl of Chocolate Chex, in that the brown chex are so much better than that plain, white ones. Also, Obama is covered in a delicious cocoa powder while McCain is dry and bland - obviously a commentary on foreign policy.

Tea Time

My roommate knocked on my door.

"So I've tried this tea... I had the mint one, but it tasted exactly like water. I don't really like tea, so here, have this." He handed me the box of Bigelow tea bags. What an odd name. Like that movie.

A few hours later, I decide to make a cup, just to see if it's any good. I open up the rectangular, yellow thing and look at the six different teas that range from "Green Tea" (okay, normal), "Earl Grey" (ooh, exotic), "English Teatime" (uhhh), and "'Constant Comment'" (well... huh), each in a different color. Obviously, "Lemon Lift" is in a yellow bag, "Green Tea" in green, "Plantation Mint" in a darker.

I walk out to the kitchen and my roommate joins me - we're going to try every tea and see how they are. I start with "Constant Comment," a "tea flavored with rind of oranges and sweet spice." Exotic. Interesting. Five minutes later, and it tastes like water. Wait... hm. Another sip. Ahhh.... there's a slight aftertaste of weak oranges.

My roommate goes for green tea, and I, "Lemon Lift." The first is bland, and he used two tea bags. Mine is pleasant and unoffensive, with a nice lemony taste on the way out. I'd keep drinking mine!

And now, we have one left that neither of us have tried: Earl Grey. "Perfectly flavored with natural bergamot." Bergamot. Okay. The tea bag announces the tea's aristocratic history. Well, if the history's behind it...

My roommate smells the bag.

He retches. I, of course, must know how awful it is for a man like him to react like that!

Oh god.

Into the microwave the water goes. He then puts in three tea bags so that there's actually some strength in this batch.

The brew smells as potent as the bag itself was. My roommate readies himself.

He immediately spits it into the sink and sticks his head under the faucet. Not only was it scaling-hot (duh), he says it tastes even more vile than it smells.

Meanwhile, I'm laughing my ass off at him. Regaining my composure, I take a drink.

Oh god. No. Why would you drink this. Why. Why. Why does it have the reputation that it does. No. No no no no no.

We try adding sugar. Oh god. Now it tastes horrible AND it's too sweet.

Fuck you, second Earl Grey. Fuck your nasty ass tea. You could have smelled it and thrown it away. But no, you brought it back to England and let it proliferate. Fuck you, sir.

What Brit Lit amounts to

I apologize to my multitude of adoring fans for abandoning the blog, but I've been distracted by a lot of nothing and then a lot of everything. I'm going to continue to write to this, though! Expect some crossposts from the newspaper, too.

Studies in Okkervil River

On Saturday, I walked into Plan 9 with Tiffany, Spencer, and Bob after scarfing some rice bowl thing at Sticky Rice in Richmond and I was immediately greeted with a $3 copy of XTC's Drums and Wires on vinyl.

I wonder if I scared anybody.

After about fifteen minutes of everyone rummaging through the stock and finding something, I was growing frustrated because I couldn't decide on anything. And for kicks, I dove my hand into the "O" section of the used rock CDs. And lo, there was an Okkervil River album! But... hold the phone...! It's... The Stand Ins? That... doesn't come out for another month... holy shit. Holy Shit. HEY GUY STANDING NEXT TO ME, HOLY SHIT.

I wonder if I scared anybody.

Well... turns out that all that holy shitting was worth it. The Stand Ins is Okkervil's best album. All of the sudden, they have energy that only shone through on about two tracks per album. Their quiet songs are still quite moving and beautiful, but "Singer Songwriter." Jesus.

And what the fuck. "Pop Lie," the only pop song that Will Sheff will ever write, is fucking fantastic, even as he blasts pop musicians as liars and those that sing along with them are liars, too.

For some reason, I actually understand the lyrics, unlike 2007's The Stage Names, which also serves as the prequel to The Stand Ins' sequel. That album also feels extraordinarily formulaic, as if the music didn't matter at all, as long as Sheff is spouting too-poetic-to-really-understand-unless-you-are-Okkervil-River lyrics. The Stand Ins finds Sheff writing as stand ins, rather than the headliners and road-weary bands. In other words, the lay-men of the music world.

It's bizarre enough that Okkervil River is playing as a stand-in, because they have never sounded this energetic. The band has returned to sounding organic, like on Down the River of Golden Dreams, but they work together much more powerfully than anything before. They even seem to be having more fun, especially when they aren't constrained by Sheff's theatrics (Black Sheep Boy, The Stage Names).

Sheff hasn't lost his thrill for the music theatre, however, and that's just fine. What he seems to have done is finally find the happy medium between art and fun. Tight and loose. Serious and raucous.

As my more musically-inclined friend points out, Sheff's B-string is off on "Singer Songwriter." But how would he, his band, the recording staff, and others not catch that if it weren't intentional? Given the theme of the song - songwriters that, alas, cannot pull from their boring, wealthy, tasteful lives and won't make a difference (perhaps autobiographical?) - and lines like "And this thing you once did might have dazzled the kids, but the kids, once grown up, are going to walk away." signal that this badly tuned string is a a clever device. Oh, the song sounds nice (it's fantastic), but something is wrong, making it ultimately flawed.

Both the Stage Names and the Stand Ins are flawed, but it's for purely artistic reasons. But those flaws make for better music on the whole on the latter. Both albums feature a song written about Shannon Wilsey (better know as the porn star Savannah), and both are rather sexual musically and lyrically (obviously, considering the subject). However, "Savannah Smiles" (from Stage Names), is from her parents' point of view and "Starry Stairs" is from a fan's. It may merely be personal preference, but I prefer the sexy guitar and horns of "Starry Stairs" over the cute mobile chirps.

And really, that's really what it may come down, to - personal preference. But maybe, for once, it's the stand-ins that should be in the spotlight. Five stars out of five.

Massabloggachusetts, Pt. 2

Massachusetts, we need to talk.

Your pastramis and reubens are amazing. No other place in the world has come close to your mastery of sandwichcraft. But please, for all that is holy, do not call a cucumber a pickle. A pickle has been soaked in brine for several days. A cucumber has not. A pickle has not been swirled around in brine before handing it to me with my dinner. If you'd point out that you serve cucumbers with your sandwiches, that's fine. But do not call it a fucking pickle and expect me to think that what is going in mouth is one when it is very clearly not.

Thanks.

Massabloggachusetts, Pt. 1

Vacation... here we are. There's no more work for a whole week, which perhaps is the nicest part of it all. It's nice to be able to settle into days that peak somewhere in the 80s and have more or less zero humidity. It's so nice here, the family (my mom's best friend since first grade) doesn't even have air conditioning. And yet, it's more or less the same temperate feeling that Virginia has, without the pains of the average summer. Granted, the winter will be god-awful, but hey, I'll be back in one-inch-cancels-everything Virginia.

The drive itself was fine. Whatever, it's a long car ride. Final Fantasy 4 on the DS, Stephen Colbert, and tons of music kept me surprisingly occupied for all 11 hours. Colbert's book isn't all that great, to be honest. It's more or less a more comprehensive look at the character on The Colbert Report than anything. Fans of the show aren't missing out, but then again, they're the ones who bought the thing in the first place.

But anyway, we spent our first day at the beach. On the ride over there, my brother said that he saw a frog in a lily-padded pond off the road. I looked out... and it was a turtle. Strike one, dummy.

Being at the beach was a bit blah when you're the only person your own age that you know. You also notice how pale you are, how out of shape or fat you are, and many other physical deficiencies to top off the lovely ice cream treat that made you look like that in the first place. But I combated the first one, didn't worry about the second, and defeated boredom with a camera in the tide pool (see the photos here) and a good, healthy dose of Sarah Vowell.

Vowell makes me proud to be a nerd - so what if you're visiting Salem to learn about witch history (witchtory?) and mocking that tourist trap, too (we haven't done that yet... this year)? So what if Al Gore is a nerd? So what if the guy walking past your little beach campground has a stunning babe around his arm, which, by the way, is twice the size of an average baby? Nerds rule.

Sarah Vowell quotes a post on Slashdot.org:

Geeks tend to be focused on very narrow fields of endeavor. The modern geek has been generally dismissed by society because their passions are viewed as trivial by those people who "see the big picture." Geeks understand that the big picture is pixilated and their high level of contribution in small areas grows the picture. They don't need to see what everyone else is doing to make their part better.

Maybe that explains why my mom yells at me for not seeing the big picture. The big picture is made up of big pictures. So while it may not matter that some girl sitting across from you on a beach that you'll never see again may not be into you, it lends itself to a whole world of issues and ideas and problems. That's not to say I'm letting it affect me, but that's just how it works for me... unfortunately.

Of course, maybe there's a reason why I'm the only one in the family who goes to the library to get reading material for vacation. And it's not required material, either! It's for fun! It may escape my siblings, but hell, I love it.

One other point: after watching the horrifically-depressing-but-advertised-as-a-laffapalooza film "The Bucket List," I think I actually understand a famous Vonnegut quote beyond its face value: "If I should every die, God forbid." It was running through my mind throughout the entire movie, because it humanized death (as if it weren't human enough already). Death is something that happens. Don't make it out to be such a big thing... have fun with your life, it's the only one you've got (maybe).

Hey, two digits in my age changed.

Today's my birthday. The big 20, except everyone considers 21 to be the important one since you can drink and everything. I don't really care, though. I did promise one of my friends that for her 21st, I would try it. I don't think I could get her a better present, to be honest. There'll be a post about Batman and Jim Gaffigan soon!

Shopping for music can be a pain when I don't have anything in mind. To be honest, I should've just purchased "Empire of the Sun" at Borders and moved on, but no, I felt like buying a CD, too. So I ended up agonizing over their collection for an hour or so. Oh, I've heard them... but the song I heard sucked. Do I even like Elvis Costello? I'm not buying another Beatles album until they remaster them. I want to buy something impulsively, but it'd be nice to be able to sample everything in the store. That cover is nice... it'd be nice to listen to something nice and summery and sweet and nice. Oh wow, they actually have XTC... "Skylarking" is a great album.

Phone rings. Can I pick up some Coke on the way home? Sure.

I wander through the store, poking into the discount bins and the CDs that are on sale... nothing. I start to wonder why I'm even at Borders when this 30%-off coupon I have still won't save me as much money as buying "Empire of the Sun" at Best Buy. I might as well, though... but I still want music, since it's been a while, and I want something new. Arrrgh.

I walk back over to the music section and come to the "S" section and see Paul Simon's "Graceland." You know, everyone seems to compare Vampire Weekend to this album. His son's album (The Heavy Circles) sucks total ass, though. Eh, I'll buy it. And I do. After all that agonizing and part of it wasn't over this album at all. I hate myself, ugh. I'm an idiot. Whatever, at least I actually have money now.

So far, I'm getting more and more into it. Not a total loss.

A glimpse into the past, made easy with the internet

One of the reasons that I love Richmond is that a lot of the old architecture still stands and is still being used today. I saw Speed Racer last night in the Byrd Theatre, which opened in 1928 and sells tickets to recent movies for $2. How can you beat that?

That just inspired me to write a post about the theatre or maybe Richmond itself, but then I remembered that "The Times" in London recently put all of its newspapers online from 1785 to today for free (you can register for free or use login_hater@mailinator.com and login_hater) . I haven't found much out of the ordinary, but others have! A personal advertisement from November 13, 1832 reads:

INSANITY - Mr. OXLEY, surgeon, begs to inform the public that he has a few
VACANCIES in his ASYLUM for respectable patients. No paupers taken. Terms
moderate. Nurses wanted.

There's also this review for a show in 1970 in which Nick Drake opened:


The other really interesting internet time machine that I've come across is the Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Archive. The sheer diversity of what you can find is staggering. The images are (usually) in a wickedly-high resolution, so you can print poster-size copies for yourself!

Departure, S.S. Chalmette from Havana Harbor

Chalmette Refinery, American Sugar Refining Company, New Orleans, La.

Tommy Atkins

Federal Theatre presents "Trojan incident" (heh)

And of course, there's always Archive.org, but I've never found too many interesting things, except for entire Soul Coughing live shows that are too large to fit onto a CD. It's weird to think that the internet can be the both information superhighway and the gateway to Jamie Spears' kid, too. You've just gotta look.

A place where piranha and salmon coexist

I'm back to playing Animal Crossing, a 2002 Gamecube game. The object of the game is to live. Yes, I play a game in which I go outside, talk to friends, explore nature, and become an interior designer. The odd thing is that, somehow, it's often more fun than real life here.

I may have my own room here, but do I have the money to furnish it with all kinds of weird, interesting stuff? Where can I buy a statue of a boy with water streaming out of him? Can I unearth a Gyroid that dances and makes bizarre sounds, often in sync with whatever is playing in my stereo? What about a frog-shaped chair that doubles as a whoopee cushion?

The thing with Animal Crossing is that you can constantly find and make money ("bells") in order to buy furniture, clothes, and a remodeled house. The best part is that there are no money syphons at all (food, rent, maintenance fees) and the resident shopkeep and tanuki, Tom Nook, isn't breathing down your neck for a minimum payment on your brand-new basement. He's always got something new and different in his small, little store, and yet, he's able to have more interesting items on sale than a Target.

The money for all of this comes from selling things - fruit, insects, fish, and more - to him. Your town comes with one common fruit; it is your task to find the four other exotic fruits and successfully grow the seeds into trees. The insects and fish are caught in the wild and sell for often exorbitant amounts - stag beetles fetch about 2,000 bells, while the coelacanth (a "living fossil") goes for 15,000. To compare, the basement sets you back 50,000 bells.

These can all be donated, in addition to art and dinosaur fossils, to the local museum, which is addictive as hell to fill. It's amazing how quickly and easily you can improve the quality of your town by yourself. That's not to say the inhabitants of your town, animals, don't. They provide much-needed relief from the constant grind of fishing by making you laugh, giving you items, or playing games with you. While there are only five main personalities shared between the 100+ possible animals, it's interesting enough for you to find a favorite townie.

Animal Crossing also utilizes real-world date and time, so that events happen throughout the year and different insects and fish visit your town during different seasons. K.K. Slider, a dog with an acoustic guitar, sings songs on Saturday nights and gives you the music, which you can play in your stereo. New Year's is celebrated with confetti around the town's lake. The sheer fun of just being at these events can pull you away from real-life obligations and friends (thankfully, you can cheat by manipulating the time in the game's settings).

Even worse is that, should you NOT play, weeds grow, the town's citizens miss you, and cockroaches infest your house. At one point, however, I stopped caring about the daily grind of Animal Crossing, which may explain my attitude towards Richmond now. I've picked it back up after a few years and it's as fun as ever... hopefully that experience may cross over into the real world. Otherwise, I'll just have to hop on a train with only 1,000 bells in my pocket and my dreams of a new and different life.

Dispatches from an office desk, just beyond the bathroom

I need a creative outlet, to be honest. I'm a journalist, and yet I haven't been able to freely write by my own accord, even though I was in the features department at a fairly large newspaper. Of course, I was only an intern there and as soon as my university-owned apartment lease ended, I was out of the best job I've ever had, work, money, food, you get the idea.

Fast-forward a week later or so, when I'm walking my dog in the twilight hours when my mom calls me and says that I can't say "no" to a job that just opened up at the place that she works. So now, I get to do press release materials for an education center. Let me tell you about my short time in PR - it's bullshit. First of all, it's news writing, which can be fun, but I get a lot more out of features writing, simply because I can use colorful, expressive language and am able to do all sorts of amazing, fun things (go on roller coasters, be an archaeologist for a day, see my favorite radio show AND talk to the host while I wet my pants).

Second, PR is biased. PR benefits the place that you work for. You are not allowed to provide your reader (a newspaper editor, not an actual reader) a full view of everything that happened at the event. The place that you work for can do no wrong in its beautiful march towards improving the lives of everyone in the entire world.

I was optimistic at first, even though I had no clue as to what I was working on. The actual work that I've done here is quite minimal and most of my days are spent online and with an iPod (currently listening to "The Wheel and the Maypole" by XTC).

But what horrified me was when the director, an already creepy lady that smiles randomly during conversation (and I do mean randomly) and reminds me a bit too much of Professor Umbridge, gave a PowerPoint presentation on the Center's vision. While it seemed ambitious, the whole speech, and her demeanor, reeked of a power-hungry attitude that frightened me a bit. Professing your desire for America to once again be #1 is okay, but the way she described the need for the Center to influence and have a hand in education curriculum seemed a bit extreme.

Enough about that, though. Let's talk about my office. The room that I'm in is shared by mom and a coworker. If you walk past them, you come to a small hallway within the room itself. This leads to a bathroom with a yellow light and a toilet built for midgets. Past that door is my desk, which I stole from someone that I think still works here. Sticky notes extol various motivational sayings:

- "2 wrongs don't make a right, but 2 Wrights make an airplane!"

- A "Pluggers" comic, and under that is written: "It's time to start Round 2 of our Health Club!"

- A worm looking at a cow's tail and professing his desire for its consumption

- A rather sad-looking drawing of a young great horned owl

Thankfully, I have a dentist appointment today, so I get to leave about two hours early! Hurray!