Saturday, March 31, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Grunge Your Desktop
I recently embarked upon a quest to find some grunge wallpaper for my mac. Grunge art holds great appeal to me in a distressed jeans sort of way. That is, lots of effort goes into making it look unkempt and somewhat dirty, and for reasons unknown, this is cool. Several Google searches later, I learned that the best grunge art was found on stock photo sites of which one would have to become a member, and even pay a small fee, in order to attain the art. I pressed on, and somehow in a flurry of mouse clicking I landed on Design555; A graphic design website run by a guy who specializes in - wouldn't you know it - grunge wallpaper. My day was made.Before you scamper off, I feel compelled to warn you that some of the wallpapers are rather ridiculous, and the text that accompanies many of them is often lame (you'll see what I mean). Still, you're bound to find a couple you like.
Click here to see the complete gallery of 555Design wallpaper.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Potentially Hazardous Absences of Rational Though - Part Two
As much as I try to forget, I can't help but remember yet another fearful incident that left an emotional scar. It occurred while I was at the fitness center which I frequently frequent. In the middle of a fairly-unorganized basketball game, an argument erupted on the court when a rather large Hawaiian man disputed the score of the game as called by another basketball player. This argument spiraled increasingly out of control as it made its way off of the court and out into the center of the gym. Heads began to turn towards the multi-cultural spectacle, and because I happened to be playing in that basketball game, and now standing in the center of the gym, I was in the thick of it. As voices raised, along with the overall testosterone level in the room, the Hawaiian was soon yelling above everyone else using frequent obscenities.
Now, I can handle the occasional disagreement, but I was in the middle of something entirely different and of a much higher caliber. These grown men argued with increasing intensity, and I'm not going to lie to you: I was nervous. It was only a matter of time before punches were thrown. As fear reared its ugly head, a Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought was inevitable. I lost my mind, and my following actions prove it.
In a moment of Patton-like heroism, and in a mindless attempt to remedy the situation, I looked toward the fuming Hawaiian and put my finger to my lips, thereby telling him to hush. Risky? No, risky is two drips of Tabasco. Telling a Hawaiian the size of a Hummer to shut up was beyond risky, borderlining suicidal. Still, I knew if he did somehow heed my subtle advice, we could nip this situation in the bud and there would be no bloodshed. The Hawaiian and I made eye contact as he saw my gesture, and the room suddenly went silent, except for the faint whirring of treadmills. (It occurred to me that at this point in time that my role was a little less Patton, and a little more Custer.)
A lesser man would have resorted to pants-wetting under his hostile gaze, but I simply concentrated on breathing, while mentally weighing my bravery against my desire to live. As those around us were obviously shocked by my boldness/stupidity, as well as my sudden appearance in the argument, I simply stood there with a nervous look on my face, my lip twitching slightly and totally uncontrollably. After our brief stare down, he spoke to me slowly and clearly, making it quite obvious that he would roast me on a spit at his next luau if he ever saw me again. Of course, his actual words included more expletives, and his tone told me that this threat was not beyond him.
As I said at the beginning, and as you can imagine by now, this incident left a scar. Now whenever I go to the gym I have to wear a full disguise, lest I be recognized and promptly decapitated by a flying pineapple. Or perhaps shish-kabobbed by a tiki lamp. Still, if I may say so myself, it's commendable that I even attempt to work out in that same facility considering my history there.
But I do attempt to work out, and it's going quite well. In fact, I recently discovered the difference between a barbell and a dumbbell. The former is what you call a steel bar with weights on each end. The latter is what you call the moron who is trapped awkwardly beneath the former. In full disguise. Yes, weight-lifting is dangerous, especially if you don't have a workout partner there to "spot" you just moments before you could die.
My brothers and I used to lift weights together, but they got tired of me humming Rocky while they bench pressed, so now I fly solo. Since I am without any spotter these days, I stay away from barbells for the most part, opting instead to use a weight machine. With these, one simply sits down wherever there's padding and starts moving stuff around. Up, down, left, right; the direction doesn't really matter as long as the vein in my forehead is bulging, which shows people passing by that I am indeed working out. Or about to lay an egg. I must be doing something right though, because I leave the gym after an exhausting workout feeling a deep and gratifying burn.
Which might be this tiki lamp in my back.
Now, I can handle the occasional disagreement, but I was in the middle of something entirely different and of a much higher caliber. These grown men argued with increasing intensity, and I'm not going to lie to you: I was nervous. It was only a matter of time before punches were thrown. As fear reared its ugly head, a Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought was inevitable. I lost my mind, and my following actions prove it.
In a moment of Patton-like heroism, and in a mindless attempt to remedy the situation, I looked toward the fuming Hawaiian and put my finger to my lips, thereby telling him to hush. Risky? No, risky is two drips of Tabasco. Telling a Hawaiian the size of a Hummer to shut up was beyond risky, borderlining suicidal. Still, I knew if he did somehow heed my subtle advice, we could nip this situation in the bud and there would be no bloodshed. The Hawaiian and I made eye contact as he saw my gesture, and the room suddenly went silent, except for the faint whirring of treadmills. (It occurred to me that at this point in time that my role was a little less Patton, and a little more Custer.)
A lesser man would have resorted to pants-wetting under his hostile gaze, but I simply concentrated on breathing, while mentally weighing my bravery against my desire to live. As those around us were obviously shocked by my boldness/stupidity, as well as my sudden appearance in the argument, I simply stood there with a nervous look on my face, my lip twitching slightly and totally uncontrollably. After our brief stare down, he spoke to me slowly and clearly, making it quite obvious that he would roast me on a spit at his next luau if he ever saw me again. Of course, his actual words included more expletives, and his tone told me that this threat was not beyond him.
As I said at the beginning, and as you can imagine by now, this incident left a scar. Now whenever I go to the gym I have to wear a full disguise, lest I be recognized and promptly decapitated by a flying pineapple. Or perhaps shish-kabobbed by a tiki lamp. Still, if I may say so myself, it's commendable that I even attempt to work out in that same facility considering my history there.
But I do attempt to work out, and it's going quite well. In fact, I recently discovered the difference between a barbell and a dumbbell. The former is what you call a steel bar with weights on each end. The latter is what you call the moron who is trapped awkwardly beneath the former. In full disguise. Yes, weight-lifting is dangerous, especially if you don't have a workout partner there to "spot" you just moments before you could die.
My brothers and I used to lift weights together, but they got tired of me humming Rocky while they bench pressed, so now I fly solo. Since I am without any spotter these days, I stay away from barbells for the most part, opting instead to use a weight machine. With these, one simply sits down wherever there's padding and starts moving stuff around. Up, down, left, right; the direction doesn't really matter as long as the vein in my forehead is bulging, which shows people passing by that I am indeed working out. Or about to lay an egg. I must be doing something right though, because I leave the gym after an exhausting workout feeling a deep and gratifying burn.
Which might be this tiki lamp in my back.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Potentially Hazardous Absences of Rational Thought
They say when you come face-to-face with a lion in the woods, you should show no fear lest it shred your face into tiny shreds of face. I say, what's the stupid lion doing in the woods in the first place? My opinion is that lions should remain exclusively in jungles, or occasionally Disney movies. A lion in the woods is as unnatural as Easy Cheez, and even more dangerous.
But I'm not here to talk about lions. I want to talk about fear, or more specifically, the various responses to fear. Yes, it has been my observation that different people respond in different ways to dread. Responses range from violent bursts of adrenaline to spontaneous pants-wetting, one occasionally resulting in the other. Almost as varied as the responses to fear are the things that trigger it. For my grandma, it's snakes that cause paralyzing terror. For Geraldo Rivera, it's a Gillette razor. For 50 Cent, it's spell check. For me, it's spiders. And angry Hawaiians. (More on this later.)
Personally, in moments when I encounter fear, I typically respond with a Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought. Although I would prefer to react in a slightly more heroic way, I have had to come to terms with the truth: In the face of fear, I go blank. Plain and simply, I lose my mind. Case in point:
I recently went into my bathroom to take a routine shower (one of my favorite things in the world). After disrobing, I whipped open the shower curtain only to find that a rather large spider (one of my least favorite things in the world) had beat me to it. It was at the sight of this eight-legged abomination that I experienced one of the aforementioned absences of rational thought and I... Well, I flipped out. My Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought manifested itself in a brainless and wide-eyed panic as I attempted to flee without regard for civilized means of exit - e.g. doors.
It’s ironic, because although at the time of the incident things seemed chaotic - even apocalyptic - in the three-foot radius that is my bathroom, any person outside would never have guessed that there was a large arachnid and an extremely scared and exposed man trapped in the bathroom. That is, were it not for the repeated thudding of an unclothed body hurling itself against walls. Fortunately, my desperate, housefly-like attempt to escape danger met an abrupt end when rational thought came back around. Only then did I realize how foolish my panicky flailing must have looked.
I also realized that Spidey, the only witness, had to die.
The tables turned, so to speak, as I twisted the faucet, chuckling evilly as the spider was swept around and down the shower drain. He may have had the pleasure of watching me act like a fool at the sight of him, but I had the last laugh as he curled his legs and surrendered to the current.
It is my experience that bravery and courage rarely appear until fear and cowardice have taken their turn. After my harrowing bathroom experience, I couldn't help but wonder: If I could do nothing but panic at the sight of a spider, how would I respond to that lion in the woods? I'm forced to conclude that I would probably respond with my trademark absence of rational thought.
And promptly have my face shredded.
Note: Because of the lengthy nature of this post's original form, it is being divided into two separate segments, the second of which will be posted at a later time. You don't have to thank me.
But I'm not here to talk about lions. I want to talk about fear, or more specifically, the various responses to fear. Yes, it has been my observation that different people respond in different ways to dread. Responses range from violent bursts of adrenaline to spontaneous pants-wetting, one occasionally resulting in the other. Almost as varied as the responses to fear are the things that trigger it. For my grandma, it's snakes that cause paralyzing terror. For Geraldo Rivera, it's a Gillette razor. For 50 Cent, it's spell check. For me, it's spiders. And angry Hawaiians. (More on this later.)
Personally, in moments when I encounter fear, I typically respond with a Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought. Although I would prefer to react in a slightly more heroic way, I have had to come to terms with the truth: In the face of fear, I go blank. Plain and simply, I lose my mind. Case in point:
I recently went into my bathroom to take a routine shower (one of my favorite things in the world). After disrobing, I whipped open the shower curtain only to find that a rather large spider (one of my least favorite things in the world) had beat me to it. It was at the sight of this eight-legged abomination that I experienced one of the aforementioned absences of rational thought and I... Well, I flipped out. My Potentially Hazardous Absence of Rational Thought manifested itself in a brainless and wide-eyed panic as I attempted to flee without regard for civilized means of exit - e.g. doors.
It’s ironic, because although at the time of the incident things seemed chaotic - even apocalyptic - in the three-foot radius that is my bathroom, any person outside would never have guessed that there was a large arachnid and an extremely scared and exposed man trapped in the bathroom. That is, were it not for the repeated thudding of an unclothed body hurling itself against walls. Fortunately, my desperate, housefly-like attempt to escape danger met an abrupt end when rational thought came back around. Only then did I realize how foolish my panicky flailing must have looked.
I also realized that Spidey, the only witness, had to die.
The tables turned, so to speak, as I twisted the faucet, chuckling evilly as the spider was swept around and down the shower drain. He may have had the pleasure of watching me act like a fool at the sight of him, but I had the last laugh as he curled his legs and surrendered to the current.
It is my experience that bravery and courage rarely appear until fear and cowardice have taken their turn. After my harrowing bathroom experience, I couldn't help but wonder: If I could do nothing but panic at the sight of a spider, how would I respond to that lion in the woods? I'm forced to conclude that I would probably respond with my trademark absence of rational thought.
And promptly have my face shredded.
Note: Because of the lengthy nature of this post's original form, it is being divided into two separate segments, the second of which will be posted at a later time. You don't have to thank me.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
I Have Major February Issues
February is Black History Month, and I don't really know what they're trying to pull. First of all, for those of you who don't know (e.g. those of you who have been hiding in a drain pipe your whole lives), Black History Month is a time when notable and influential African-Americans such as Martin Luther King Jr., Muhammad Ali, Michael Jackson, and Ice Cube are remembered (if dead and/or forgotten) and celebrated (regardless). The idea is nice, but I find this particular "holiday" confusing. For starters, it violates every rule that makes a holiday in the first place, not the least of these rules being that a holiday should only take up a single day. One whole month seems pretty greedy to me, but maybe that's just me. Another problem with Black History Month is the nearly-unforgivable lack of candy. Everybody knows that real holidays incorporate candy.
I am not racist by any means, I just feel kind of left out. Here's what I'm getting to: In the name of racial equality and general fairness, there needs to be a White History Month. Just think about it: Such a holiday would allow us to celebrate notable Caucasians such as Alex Trebek, Jack Bauer, The Pope(s), and Michael Jackson. It only seems fair! And we could have candy! I can just imagine people all over America munching on chocolate Popes. White chocolate, naturally.
You know what else comes in February? Yep, it's that single day in the year when the world revolves around a glorified mole that's afraid of his own shadow. I'm talking about the ridiculously-corny Groundhog Day. Since when is it okay to dedicate an entire day to groundhogs? Was there a vote on this? Needless to say, I disapprove of February and its holidays. Whoever designed the calendar knew what they were doing when they cut the month short by about three days. Heaven knows what holidays would be forced upon us if February had the usual number of days! (I'm thinking Gerbil Day, or perhaps another trans-ethnic holiday with a name like Kwakalakananza Thursday.)
Now that I'm finished ranting, I suppose I should bring some balance by looking on the bright side. The truth of the matter is that February does indeed have a redeeming factor, and we all know it as Valentine's Day. This is a day that focuses on the two most important things in the world: Love and chocolate. In a perfect world, those two attributes would be a part of every holiday, along with lots of green M&Ms. And balloons, and noise makers, and chocolate Popes, and...
I am not racist by any means, I just feel kind of left out. Here's what I'm getting to: In the name of racial equality and general fairness, there needs to be a White History Month. Just think about it: Such a holiday would allow us to celebrate notable Caucasians such as Alex Trebek, Jack Bauer, The Pope(s), and Michael Jackson. It only seems fair! And we could have candy! I can just imagine people all over America munching on chocolate Popes. White chocolate, naturally.
You know what else comes in February? Yep, it's that single day in the year when the world revolves around a glorified mole that's afraid of his own shadow. I'm talking about the ridiculously-corny Groundhog Day. Since when is it okay to dedicate an entire day to groundhogs? Was there a vote on this? Needless to say, I disapprove of February and its holidays. Whoever designed the calendar knew what they were doing when they cut the month short by about three days. Heaven knows what holidays would be forced upon us if February had the usual number of days! (I'm thinking Gerbil Day, or perhaps another trans-ethnic holiday with a name like Kwakalakananza Thursday.)
Now that I'm finished ranting, I suppose I should bring some balance by looking on the bright side. The truth of the matter is that February does indeed have a redeeming factor, and we all know it as Valentine's Day. This is a day that focuses on the two most important things in the world: Love and chocolate. In a perfect world, those two attributes would be a part of every holiday, along with lots of green M&Ms. And balloons, and noise makers, and chocolate Popes, and...
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Feature: What I Bought
James Mercer, frontman for The Shins, has never been more right on target both musically and vocally than he is on the band's third full-length album, Wincing The Night Away. With a knack for pairing quirky lyrics with catchy hooks, Mercer and his band have released the floodgates of creativity on the new album, embracing said quirkiness and even exploiting it as a strength. (The sound that drives the intro to "Sea Legs" was made by dragging bottle caps over an amp.) After witnessing the band's evolution and growth over the course of two previous albums and several EPs, one can assess from their latest effort that The Shins have reached full maturity as a group, and they, as well as their audience, have come to terms with their unique and extremely engaging sound. A single listen through The Shins' newest album has yielded a few favorites, though several others are sure to spring up with repeated listenings. Highlights of the album include the extremely catchy hooks of "Phantom Limb," the almost-funky-but-still-sounds-like-The-Shins track "Sea Legs," and my personal favorite (for now), "Girl Sailor." (Listen to the layered vocal harmony during the bridge. It's my favorite part.) Wincing The Night Away is on sale now.Wincing The Night Away by The Shins - Retail: $15 +/-
Monday, January 15, 2007
Hello From The Peach(less) State!
I'm in Georgia. (No, not the country, the state.) For those of you who have never visited The Peach State, there is an alarming lack of peaches, and yet - on an entirely different note - their air conditioners work just fine. At least they do here in the hotel. I'm staying at a Best Western, which is somewhat-inaptly named considering that this hotel is mediocre at best, and for somebody who lives in Oregon, Georgia is essentially the far east. So although a name such as Mediocre Eastern would more accurately describe this place, it would probably be much less enticing to potential customers. Unless they are Asian.
The aforementioned air conditioner in my room has two settings: "Cold" and "Arctic". With my father operating the machine (a man who sleeps in his skivvies and orders his coffee iced even in months that end in "ber"), our room is transformed from "Room 105," to "Room 105: Ice Station Zebra." Here's an interesting story to illustrate my point (and I must first qualify it as interesting lest you mistake it for mind-numbingly boring): I woke up this morning slightly disturbed because I didn't have a nose. At least none I could feel. Upon further inspection, and after ducking under the covers long enough to defrost, I was thrilled to find that I did in fact have a nose, it was just extremely cold and mushy, much like an oddly-shaped piece of sushi. (Fun Fact: "mushy" and "sushi" almost rhyme!) I have said all of that to say this: If this post comes to a screetching halt, perhaps even in the middle of a sentence, you will know that my fingers have officially frozen solid and I'm no longer able to type.
Have I mentioned that I have yet to see a dang peach? Here I am in the so-called Peach State and the only thing in sight that is fuzzy and orange is my arm, but this is due to an unfortunate mishap involving self-tanning lotion. Do you think it's somewhat shallow of me to judge this state by its lack of fruit? Maybe it is. Especially since I'm the one from the Beaver State. My fellow Oregonians will back me up when I say that our streets aren't exactly running rampant with beavers, so anybody who draws conclusions based upon a state's nickname is probably a buffoon.
The temperature here in Room 105 continues to plummet, and at the risk of sounding like a B-grade Sci-Fi film, I fear this may be my last transmission.
Fingers... Getting... Stiff...
Before this sub-zero cold brings me to the breaking point, during which I may attempt to eat my peach-like arm out of sheer madness, I should bring this post to a close. But first, there is one final thing I have to tell you, and one might say it is the most important thing I've ever written: If you ever come visit the Peach State, do not under any circumst
The aforementioned air conditioner in my room has two settings: "Cold" and "Arctic". With my father operating the machine (a man who sleeps in his skivvies and orders his coffee iced even in months that end in "ber"), our room is transformed from "Room 105," to "Room 105: Ice Station Zebra." Here's an interesting story to illustrate my point (and I must first qualify it as interesting lest you mistake it for mind-numbingly boring): I woke up this morning slightly disturbed because I didn't have a nose. At least none I could feel. Upon further inspection, and after ducking under the covers long enough to defrost, I was thrilled to find that I did in fact have a nose, it was just extremely cold and mushy, much like an oddly-shaped piece of sushi. (Fun Fact: "mushy" and "sushi" almost rhyme!) I have said all of that to say this: If this post comes to a screetching halt, perhaps even in the middle of a sentence, you will know that my fingers have officially frozen solid and I'm no longer able to type.
Have I mentioned that I have yet to see a dang peach? Here I am in the so-called Peach State and the only thing in sight that is fuzzy and orange is my arm, but this is due to an unfortunate mishap involving self-tanning lotion. Do you think it's somewhat shallow of me to judge this state by its lack of fruit? Maybe it is. Especially since I'm the one from the Beaver State. My fellow Oregonians will back me up when I say that our streets aren't exactly running rampant with beavers, so anybody who draws conclusions based upon a state's nickname is probably a buffoon.
The temperature here in Room 105 continues to plummet, and at the risk of sounding like a B-grade Sci-Fi film, I fear this may be my last transmission.
Fingers... Getting... Stiff...
Before this sub-zero cold brings me to the breaking point, during which I may attempt to eat my peach-like arm out of sheer madness, I should bring this post to a close. But first, there is one final thing I have to tell you, and one might say it is the most important thing I've ever written: If you ever come visit the Peach State, do not under any circumst
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
This Providence
I am always thrilled to find new music, yet it was not the tunes from Seattle's This Providence that caught my attention. Instead, I first noticed a band photo (shown) from the group's website. So here I am writing this post not to draw your attention to the band's music, but to this particular picture instead. You may not be as enthralled with this photo as I am, but I had to share it. It's formal, yet casual. It's posed, yet relaxed. It's uniform, but diverse. Could this be the perfect band picture? That's saying a lot, but it is unquestionably exceptional. At least I think so.If you're dying to hear their music, too, I recommend the song "My Beautiful Rescue" from their self-titled album, which is without a doubt their softest song. Other highlights include "The Pursuit of Happiness: The 1st Movement," and "The Road To Jericho Is Lined With Starving People."
Monday, January 08, 2007
Public Declaration of Sheepishness
As you can imagine, I'm feeling just a tad sheepish. While I vowed to update often through the holidays, a quick scroll to the post just below this one will reveal that my last update occurred on December 15th. Yes, nearly a month ago. I am appalled with myself. In fact, I would seriously consider firing myself if it were not for the fact that laying myself off would result in a %100 decrease in updates. Hence, I will let me stick around as long as I can promise to update with greater frequency in the future. And I do. Promise, that is. Thanks for your patience.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Holiday Playlist: Editor's Pick
At times such as the present, when there's just a little over a week until Christmas, I choose to saturate myself in festive holiday tunes. With so many Christmas songs to listen to in so little time, I rarely listen to the same song twice. But alas, the following playlist features the select ten songs that I have actually listened to at least twice this year. Because they are good. Or maybe because I'm stuck on my "Recently Played" playlist. I don't know.
Track 1: Happy Xmas (War Is Over) - Sarah McLachlan
Track 2: 25th of December - Everything But The Girl
Track 3: Christmas Wrapping - The Waitresses
Track 4: Yule Shoot Your Eye Out - Fall Out Boy
Track 5: 12 Days Of Christmas - Relient K
Track 6: Mistletoe & Holly - Leigh Nash
Track 7: Winter Wonderland - Jason Mraz
Track 8: Silver Bells - Gavin DeGraw
Track 9: Last Christmas - Jimmy Eat World
Track 10: Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas - Eels
Track 1: Happy Xmas (War Is Over) - Sarah McLachlan
Track 2: 25th of December - Everything But The Girl
Track 3: Christmas Wrapping - The Waitresses
Track 4: Yule Shoot Your Eye Out - Fall Out Boy
Track 5: 12 Days Of Christmas - Relient K
Track 6: Mistletoe & Holly - Leigh Nash
Track 7: Winter Wonderland - Jason Mraz
Track 8: Silver Bells - Gavin DeGraw
Track 9: Last Christmas - Jimmy Eat World
Track 10: Everything's Gonna Be Cool This Christmas - Eels
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