just an EYE - plenty more, but no less.

mirrored shades - the eye reflects vol 5

2006-12-12T17:59:00.000-08:00

things ive learned (and thats no small feat)

mountain dew + cool ranch doritos = weird half-wilted celery taste.
edit: apparently i learned this second hand from tre and bones

~~atari teenage riot = fingernails on a chalk board~~ atari teenage riot < fingernails on a chalk board.

cheap lemon hard candy + slightly sweetened burned bitter coffee = pine sol flavor.

a flash drive/thumb drive/etc. =/= hard drive. lost data is a crying shame. sometimes literally. especially when you saved future blog posts on it.

im apparently a middle aged woman. i am currently wearing a brace on my wrist/hand, as earlier today i was diagnosed with carpal tunnel syndrome. lame. im pretty sure this takes away any remaining possibility of potential l33t h4xxx0r status.

it starts by taking one vitamin a day. next thing you know youre taking fist-fulls of over-the-counter pills of various sorts three times a day, even though you have no idea if any of them are doing what theyre supposed to do.

much like the words of so many politicians, large, uncoated pills are particularly hard to swallow.

if the shrimp look kinda funny, and smell pretty funny, it isnt the cocktail sauce that tastes funny. stop eating the shrimp.

new site

2006-11-02T20:25:00.000-08:00

check out "cheap shirts by the EYE" and buy yourself a fancy cheap t-shirt designed by the EYE! obviously this is all that your life is lacking, preventing perfect happiness.

now the only hurdles are trusting cafepress.com with my "tax information" and having all of you give me free advertising by telling people. and buying the shirts. and wearing them.

the eye observes vol 5

2006-09-30T11:50:00.000-07:00

the day shelob's descendant moved in

this pic is actually from early this summer... ive just been lazy about posting it.

this scary beast lived on our front door/door frame for a few days, and then was gone. people wondered why i didnt kill it (actually, im pretty sure "her", based on her size and considering species - "bold jumping spider") right away, but i knew well that a spider as such would keep the nearby area free of bugs. and orcses (even though orcses doesnt taste very nice at all... precious).

(clicky for the stuff of your future nightmares)

shes looking at you.

then a few days later i found her dead, inside my house, on the carpet. i think one of the cats got to her.

now the orcses are taking over. oh well.

mirrored shades - the eye reflects, vol 4

2006-09-13T15:35:00.000-07:00

the little peepers

you know theres something weird going on when your 5 week old child gives you that look. you know the one im talking about. the "are you on drugs or something?" look.

its just one of those new dad things to do... trying anything you can think of to make your baby laugh. big toothless baby grins are damn funny! so you find yourself making noises and faces that dont make any sense at all, just hoping to get a smile. and instead you get the look. then of course comes that whole baby-attempting-to-talk thing. you know, the flailing around, kicking, punching, waving an arm, kicking again, all the while, mouth open, staring intently, breathing heavily and quickly and then suddenly not exhaling... working incredibly hard and long just to get out "aaah" once.

and of course, shes saying, "theres something wrong with you, dad. take your medicine."

i sat for 6 weeks trying to come up with some good funny baby story to post, and couldnt come up with anything. after a mildly traumatic birth, and some other stressing new baby stuff that followed, i just couldnt think of anything. i figure, its not the big stories that are funny, its the little stuff.

i mean, whats not funny about being pooped on? i mean funny for you to know that ive been pooped on, not you getting pooped on. ~~thats only funny for me.~~ thats just a cryin shame.

ive been pooped on, peed on, puked on, all that good stuff. lifting up her little naked (lack of a) butt to wipe and replace the diaper, and hearing the fart and seeing a little poop-projectile. thats funny stuff! or seconds after removing a diaper, seeing a little fountain start up, and thinking "oh thank god youre not a boy." having her fuss and get angry, and nothing works to console, until the bowel-blast rings out with a furious rumble that can put anything i could produce right to shame, followed by a couple of aftershocks. and knowing that there was something that came out with them. realizing that the first thing she likes to do with a fresh diaper is soil it as soon as possible.

watching my wife squeezing the air out of the little disposable bottle-bag through the bottles nipple while sitting in the stands at a high school football game, not paying attention, and firing a thin geyser of boob-juice up in the sky, only to narrowly miss raining down on a boy of about 11 in front of us. thats comedy.

seeing my baby make the same faces her mommy makes. most often in the more contented stares. knowing this, and assuming that the daddy faces she makes must be when she cries or is pooping. i mean, the happy ones are already narrowed out, what else does it leave?

as an artist i really enjoy watching her looking hard at some normal, every day object like a ceiling fan, and realizing that shes really seeing it for the first time. its strange to consider a ceiling fan with new eyes.

on the other hand, its just as likely that shes thinking "if i look away long enough, and pretend to focus my attention elsewhere, maybe he will shut up and stop making that stupid face at me." thats what i would think anyway. daddys little girl must too.

searching for their inner eye, vol 3

2006-08-24T19:45:00.000-07:00

ok, so i havent updated in a while. ive been busy. i have a baby now. gimme a break.

i know people are probably expecting something baby related, and i do plan to do that at some point... but see, i try to be funny on here, so im going to wait till i have a good funny baby story to give you. right now, the little peepers (get it? little eye? right? eh... right) mostly just eats, sleeps, and poops. and theres nothing funny about that.

in fact, that is the ultimate life. if all i had to do was eat, sleep, and poop, and just cry to have any of it taken care of, id live it right up.

so yea, when theres a good story, i promise to give it. in the mean time, since my mom mentioned it in her post, i figured it was high time to pull out the long awaited volume 3 of "searching for their inner eye". well, maybe not so long awaited. here it is anyway.

goldschlager bong instructions
-i cant imagine them being much more difficult than water bong instructions... replace water with goldschlager. done.

2 foot penis extention
-umm... huh??? NO!!! BAD INTERNET SEARCHER!!! no penis extentions here. no.

"camp gray"
-yea, i dont know either. i dont really even have anything funny to say here. hope whoever it is found and fully enjoyed camp gray. or something. i dont know.

moon shaped rash under eyes
-*sigh*. are people really that afraid of going to a doctor that they look this stuff up on the internet? seriously, doctors dont bite! not ususally anyway. heres an idea if youre worried about bitey doctors. call your doctor, and say "my, what big teeth you have." if the response you get is "the better to eat you with" then hang up and do an internet search instead. if the response is more like "i beg your pardon?" then just make a stinking appointment. get some stinking eye drops. or maybe some make up. or an eye patch. or grab a sandwich board and a bell, some old scraggly clothes and dont bathe for a while, and claim the end times are a comin, proven by the moon sign on your face. just do somethin.

car loan
-the searcher was from russia... searching in english for "car loan"... think about it. ill bet it didnt work out so well.

blood shot eye remedy
-click for remedy

needle guage size to give im shot
-wait, to give what kind of shot? im? can they give aim or yahoo messanger shots now? sounds like a pain in the ass. literally.

coldbones
-if they werent looking for mr. cold bones then i dont know what the hell they were looking for. better left unsaid.

cigars dipped in whiskey
-havent done that in a while. of course, mostly because i would prefer to drink the whiskey.

what do you call a man with no arms or legs floating in the water?
-bob. or, perhaps, "oh, man, i hope that dude knows how to float on his back... somebody find a lifeguard".

gushers vol 2
-wait, what? man, i dont know. i like gushers. especially orange ones. but i dont know if they qualify as volume two or not. geez i dont have all the answers. just most.

pro skub and anti skub
-got a lot of these. everybody loves skub. or hates it. but not nearly enough of you told me which way you swing on the issue!!!!

the eye reflects
-bing bong! found!!!

mirrored shades - the eye reflects, vol 3

2006-08-03T16:55:00.000-07:00

its a jungle out there

both true stories, i swear it (though i may have expanded on the details a bit)...

***
tale #1 - dont bug me

it was a nice, warm summer day. i stopped at the gas station to fill up my tank and wash down my windows. it was the late nineties, so gas prices were at a fantastic price... probably about a dollar a gallon...

*drifts off into nostalgia over gas prices...*

there was a warm breeze, and a few clouds in the sky, but nary a chance of rain. i dunked the squeegee into the solution, and began a-scrubbin at my rear window as the fuel pump racked up the dollars (though not many dollars, considering gas prices now)...

*drifts off again...*

a large vehicle pulled up to the pump behind me, on the opposite side of the pump from me. why, its none other than the orkin man! well, i suppose exterminators need fuel for their extermination trucks, right? well, why not?

i continued my squeegeeing, idly content with the beautiful weather, without a care in the world. in the distance, a hawk screeched, and i became aware of the fact that there were no animals nearby: no birds sung, no squirrels chittered in the trees... why, even the insects had silenced. the fauna of the gas station could sense the foreboding... knew of the tension that no doubt would soon spark riots across the globe, the potential for paradox, for a rip in the space-time continuum... but i remained ignorant, as i lack the sixth sense that only animals and haley joel osment have.

i was returning to the squeegee fluid container for a fresh dunk when the wind died to absolute stillness and the clouds froze in the sky... only then did i notice the tension in the air, but alas, it was too late. i heard the squeal of creaky brakes, glanced back to see it... another large vehicle pulling up to the pump behind me, opposite the orkin man.

it was the terminix guy.

the truck pulled to a stop, its driver slowly climbed out of the truck and stepped to the pump. the two rival exterminators were careful not to look at each other. the orkin man stood silently next to his truck with his hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead (in my general direction), looking at nothing at all. the terminix guy set the pump and let the fuel flow, then turned, careful to turn away from the orkin man, but in a place where he could see him out the corner of his eye. he put his hands in his pockets and stared in the same direction, staring at nothing.

silently.

both of them.

i tried to continue cleaning my windows, vainly trying to will my pump to go quicker, so i could leave before armegeddon began.

and they stood. silently. with hands in pockets, staring at nothing.

without any warning at all, the terminix guy turned his eyes towards the orkin man, without turning his head, and spoke...

"you use (some insecticide)?"

without pause, but also without moving (not even his eyes), the orkin man responded.

"yep."

the terminix guy nodded. they continued standing silently, not moving. each refusing to look at the other.

with a sudden clungg that nearly made me jump out of my skin, my pump finished. as quickly as i could go, i put the pump away, and ran inside to pay. the transaction was quick, and i returned to my car as fast as my feet could carry me, but without drawing attention to myself.

still, they stood silently, like statues. with hands in their pockets and discordant uniforms.

when i pulled away, they still had not moved.

***
tale #2 - hot persuit, cold blood

cruisin down the highway, middle of the afternoon, a gray, overcast day. it was cool outside, and my windows were rolled up. i drove along contentedly in the center of the three lanes that traveled in my direction, driving at a fairly quick 75 mph, radio blaring through my speakers.

i hardly had time to notice in my rear view as a vehicle violently tore out from my lane, a couple cars back, into the left lane, followed extremely closely by another vehicle. they both sped by me at an incredible rate - they were easily doing 90, maybe 95-100 mph. fast!

they sped by me in a blur, the first pulling back across the center lane over to the right lane so violently that it nearly edged up onto two tires, and yet was followed by the second at no further a distance than perhaps 2 to 2 1/2 feet.

they passed another car in the center lane only to rip back into the left, as forcefully as they had done the opposite.

all i could think was that they must have been pissed! high speed chases dont happen accidentally, that is for sure. i was sure that whenever they stopped, there would at least be a fist fight, if not a knife fight or ~~better~~ worse.

the thought entered my head - somebody must have been impeding on somebody elses territory.

i never would have expected their types to be so violent, but then, i suppose business is business.

i lightheartedly mused as to whether or not either had his song playing.

what? why are you confused?

oh, did i fail to mention they were ice cream trucks?

pop goes the weasel.

pop.
goes.
the.
weasel.

what does the eye command? vol 2

2006-07-28T19:49:00.000-07:00

let the battle lines be drawn

image borrowed from perry bible fellowship by comic strip genius nicholas gurewitch

well?

lets have it!

are you pro skub, or anti skub?

this is what the eye commands - PICK A SIDE! leave a comment telling me which side youre on. and if you dont have a blogger account to leave a legitimate comment, then email me what side you picked at email(dot)the(dot)eye(at)gmail(dot)com.

were gonna see where you all really stand.

now lets have it!

and then we will fight! its the rumble you all have been waiting for.

oh, and if youre really feelin smarmy, and rich, and strongly about the issue, buy a shirt specifying your skubness from the good mr. gurewitch at his site (click "things", then "skub shirts").

disclaimer: the EYE has no affiliation with perry bible fellowship or its creator, or anything else having to do with it. i just feel strongly about the issue. it needs to be brought to your attention, and fought about. with whatever weapons available. violently. nuff said.

eye's hindsight vol 12

2006-07-20T20:11:00.000-07:00

its a wonder i dont have a ~~criminal~~ stupidity record, part 4
police blotter

most dates are approximate, and pretty much pulled from my rear, there just for effect

11/15/97 - 10:03PM - call received reporting three teenage white males allegedly lighting telephone poles on fire. officer spotted three smarmy looking adolescents wandering down a residential street and approached. the stinkin hippies had been lighting incense, not telephone poles. caller identified as certifiable moron and banned from calling emergency services for life.

damn dirty hippies. the fool caller should have been banned from 911, anyway.

4/9/99 - 11:43PM - call received reporting an underaged drinking party in progress at red roof inn motel. report came from motel manager, who was in turn informed by the parents of a 15 year old party goer. when officer arrived, said parents were already yelling,chiding, and generally threatening other party goers. parents took their daughter and left. officer reported that the rest of the party goers appeared to be btn 17 and 19 years of age. after threats of bringing in k9 unit to search for drugs, officer had youths pour all alcohol down the drain and leave. amount of present alcohol - approximately 4 to 5 gallons. approximate value of present alcohol - $1.73.

man i didnt even know who the girl was nor did i know why anybody brought somebody that young. i wasnt even going to drink! i had just showed up with two friends about ten minutes before the parents showed up. the girl was already plastered, but nobody else had drank a drop yet when the cop showed. its a good thing the cop wasnt serious about the k9 unit though... ahem...

12/31/99 - 10:47pm - call received reporting a party in a hotel room. rules of the hotel state that no more than 4 individuals may be in a room at one time. after receiving reports of noise coming from two adjacent rooms, hotel management asked residents to keep their voices down. it was noticed by employee that nearly all residents appeared to be under the age of 21, and large amounts of alcohol were present. when police arrived, it appeared that the residents had segregated themselves between the two rooms: one room contained 3 individuals of legal age, with enough booze to keep the police deparment intoxicated for at least an evening; the second room had approximately 15 under-21 individuals, and no beverages of any sort. all in the second room sat quietly on the two beds. all residents were kicked out of the hotel without refund.

that almost ruined new years eve. thankfully one of the party-goers had an empty house (parents house anyway) where we all went instead. worry not, all booze made it to the second party. good times.

3/29/01 - 2:21AM - weather: heavy fog. SIU campus police walking their beat came across four individuals: two white male, two white female. upon approaching, officers noted that both females were urinating next to a tree in the middle of a parkway in the center of a cul-de-sac next to a campus building. all four individuals were heavily intoxicated, a fact visible in their inability to stand without wobbling. none of the offenders were put in custody because another call that was way more important came in and officers simply walked away.

yea, that was weird. we were all way too drunk to even realize that we were in the middle of a street, and about 25 feet from one of the campus buildings. no idea what the other call was about. must have been important. anyway, yea. nuff said.

3/30/01 - 10:57AM - police notified that during a memorial service for gas station employee killed in a robbery attempt/kidnapping/high speed car accident, a passing car disposed of a bag of what appeared to be, and smelled of, vomit, by throwing it in the direction of the mourners. the car quickly pulled over, and the bag was retreived; the retreiver apologized profusely and claimed it was an accident. police not sent.

ok, nothing to do with a police call here, really. i just thought it needed to be mentioned. notice, this was the morning after the pee incident. no, the vomit was not mine, nor did i retreive it. funny though.

eye's hindsight, vol 11

2006-07-01T08:05:00.000-07:00

random bits of this and that

* when i learned to ride a two wheel bicycle without training wheels, my family was living in a house on a dead end street. there were no sidewalks, so i learned to ride on the street itself. very few cars came down the street, so it was no real worry. my dad walked behind me holding the bike seat while i pedalled. at some point he let go, and it took a few seconds to realize it (like it always does trying to teach a child to ride without training wheels). when i realized, i looked back behind me in horror, fear, concern, triumph, and awe. and then turned my head back forward just a split second before i ran directly into the back of a trans am that was parked on the side of the street. the wheel jammed itself, upright, between the street and the bumper. and i sat there on my bike that wasnt moving, but remained upright. and laughed myself hysterical.

* i started at a new school in second grade after my family moved into a new house. my dad and brother (who at the time was going to start kindergarten, and if i recall correctly, went in the afternoons) accompanied me to school on the first day. when we arrived, all of the classes were standing outside in lines. i asked somebody "is this the line for second grade?" they said yes, so i stood in the line. i thought my dad and brother left then, but i believe what they actually did was go to the playground nearby or something. when i went into the classroom, all of the desks had nametags on them already. i went around looking for my name, and couldnt find it. eventually everybody was sitting but me, and there was no desk for me. i was already nervous, and i began to panic. i started crying (shut up screw you i was 6!!!). it was all a blur with the teacher consoling me, and then my dad was there somehow, heroically, and led me to class. still crying. he brought me to the right classroom, and i continued to cry. i had a desk there, with my name on it. i sat down, and still cried a bit. i was just embarrassed at that point. thank god my dad was there, i think i might have had a total nervous breakdown. at the ripe old age of 6.

* in junior high i owned a hamster. his or her name was snickers. i dont recall the gender, so maybe i should refer to it as "it". im pretty sure it was not only the smartest, but most likely the surliest, most maniacally evil, scheming hamster to have ever lived. i had one of those plastic cages that you attach all the plastic tubes out and around it. the cage sat on my dresser, and no matter how i rearranged the tubes, the hamster always found a way to make its bathroom in the part of the tubing where either the air holes in the tube aimed downward or the connections between two tubes were not tight enough, so that it always managed to rain pee down onto my bed.

* one time, back in my senior year of high school, we managed to fit 18 people on my car - the '77 ford ltd that featured in the "spiders" video spoken of in eyes hindsight volume 10. 18 people stood or sat somewhere on the exterior of the car, and left narry a dent. they just dont make them like they used to, eh? and better yet, as many of those standing on the car stayed on the car for a time (including myself), a minivan that was parked next to it backed out and cut too tightly out of the parking spot, scraping itself across the bumper of the ltd, leaving a large gash in the passenger door in the van. and no scratch in the ltd. and nobody fell off.

* a few years back i worked at a billing office, doing menial data entry and filing work. i flipped through many a page of bills, and saw many a name. and within these reems of pages that i flipped through, filed, and from which i received many a papercut, i found what may well be the absolute best name ever bestowed upon an individual. i saw a bill for somebody named crystal funk.

wherever you are, crystal funk, thank your parents for me.

* in college, i once called the police on my roommates for a noise complaint. no, really. it was 3 am on a tuesday, and they had their huge stereo system pumping. i asked them to turn it down multiple times, and they did. only to turn it back up moments later. every time. this went on for a number of hours before i finally called. the phone conversation went like this:

me: id like to make a noise complaint. could you send an officer to shut these guys up?

dispatcher: alright. can i have the address where the noise is coming from?

me: (i gave the address).

disp: and can i please have your address?

me: (i gave the same address).

disp: ... wait, what was the address where the noise is coming from?

me: (same address again).

disp: ... and yours is?

me: (same again).

disp: ...

me: look, theyre my roommates, and they wont turn the radio down. you can hear the music a block away - its the same volume it was when i came home. they wont turn it down. just send a cop over to tell them to shut up - its after noise curfew anyway.

disp: ... there will be an officer there shortly.

eye's hindsight, vol 10

2006-06-07T18:27:00.000-07:00

its a wonder i dont have a ~~criminal~~ stupidity record, part 3
spiders
*keep your <0>s open for easter eggs...*
it was late. pitch dark.

and there was trouble. we were in big trouble. everything was going wrong.

trebomb didnt mean for that gun to go off. it was an accident. and the fact that some guy got in the way was nothing but terrible luck.
a smarmy marvin-hatted trebomb
we were all but caught. the red and blue flashers glared in the rear view of the beastly '77 ford ltd. it was a dead end that we unknowingly had pulled into - a thin, graffiti'd wall running between buildings lined the horizon up ahead of us.

music from the stereo blared, playing a song called "spiders" from the soundtrack for the movie ransom - a squealy distorted guitar cranked out the same intense rhythm as the drums: bah-dah bah-dah bah-dah bah-dah bum bum. it heightened the tension. it was a chance, but we figured that big american hunk of steel could take out that wall and ease our getaway...

the tires shrieked as trebomb slammed down on the accellerator and we peeled out...

it worked. the wall fell away in our wake like it was made of cardboard. we quickly swerved to the left on the other side of the wall...

and another squad car came from out of nowhere and cut us off. we skidded to a halt just inches from hitting the passenger door of the cop car. it was all over. the game was up. without warning, trebomb opened the door and ran before the cops could even get out of their squads. when i saw him pause and turn back with his gun in hand, i ducked as low as i could behind the dashboard. i heard the pops, i couldnt count, i think he emptied the clip. and then nothing but the sound of his retreating footsteps. everything was still except the flashing red and blue that filled the car...
.
.a mischievous young cold bones
.
alright, fine. not true. it was actually a vague retelling of the beginning of the plotline for a music video that trebomb, cold bones, and i made back in the day (again, i took a minor part, it was mostly bones and tre). i took a lot of liberties in plotline, though, in my telling... i just thought it sounded good. but the plotline is mainly unimportant.

so heres how it really went. for the percussive beginning beat of the song "spiders", the car was to slam through a wall of cardboard boxes that we had built and graffitti'd.

we were in a gravel lot behind the building where cold bones worked at the time, and had permission to be back there by the stores owner. so i sat in my ltd, waited for the cue, slammed down on the accellerator and plowed through the boxes.

apparently, it looked pretty awesome, but they wanted another take. for posterity or something. so we took the time to re-set the boxes and add a bit more graffitti (to make it look like it was supposed to be that way, since it wasnt set up the same way the second time).

i jumped back in the car, turned on the headlights, waited for the cue, and threw all caution to the wind as i pushed the pedal to the floor. the wheels squealed as they spun in place on the gravel. they caught, and i accellerated as quickly as the gigantic car would allow, and slammed through the boxes again. i began to veer left, as that was the only direction i could go without hitting trees or the camera crew.

and out of nowhere, suddenly there were blue and red lights flashing to my left. i slammed on my breaks and stopped as quickly as the gravel would allow, as the cop car cut around me and parked right in front of the car.

a young, thin, fro'd the EYE

apparently they got a noise complaint call, and they came to check it out. as they were driving by, yours truly was peeling out the second time. they heard the squeeling tires, and pulled right on in. great timing on my part, huh? they told us to stop driving recklessly if we were going to continue making the film. which we did. we had all the footage we needed, and that was all that was needed of the car. and then they left, not a ticket written, not a violation cited.
mysterious crime boss teg
the cool thing was that bones and teg (camera man,and also played an even smaller role than i/eye) kept the camera kept rolling. the camera sat in the back seat of the car while the cops talked to us. obviously, it just made the video WAY better, so we used the footage of the cop car stopping me in the video. and of course, we thanked the police department in the end of the video.

eye's hindsight vol 9

2006-05-25T03:54:00.000-07:00

its a wonder i dont have a ~~criminal~~ stupidity record, part 2
ninja

during my junior year in high school, on into the summer that followed, a group of friends and i made a movie. it was a comedy/spoof martial arts/fake overdubbed foreign language flick. it was called the jackie chan stunt show. no, jackie chan was not in it. but we had a character named jackie chan. he wasnt asian. he was white. and he had red hair. nevertheless, his characters name was indeed jackie chan. and as for stunts, well, there really werent any. mostly just really poor quality faked martial arts fighting, often with especially fake looking weapons.

though the movie could probably be a post all to itself (in spite of the fact that it was awesome in its own fun way... hell, its entire soundtrack was ska music. whoduh thunk?), it isnt the point of this one. there was a specific encounter during the filming of this movie that i would like to explain.

yours truly, the eye, played just about every extra or small part in the film (seriously, all in all, i think i had about 16 roles, maybe more... sometimes two or three in the same scene). on this day i was to play a couple of different extras - unnamed, non-speaking parts. this included, on this day, a guy on the street who is payed cash to act as a human shield (for vision, not for bullets) for one of the bad guys, as well as a guy walking down the street who comes upon the dead body of the main bad guy, and pick-pockets him (oh man, i totally just gave the end of the movie away!!! hahahahahahahahaha im such a prick).

we (three of us. lets see... how about "poet" and... umm... "pat"... alright im just not on with the pseudonyms today. give me a break) arrived in the downtown area of a neighboring suburb where we were going to film. no... wait, let me back it up five minutes. we were driving into said suburb. we were feeling extra smarmy that day, so as we entered town, poet (sitting in the back seat) and myself (shotgun) were wearing a couple of masks - you may have seen the type before: they have a black hood with a thick black mesh covering the whole face, so that you can see out, but not in. pat was driving, and he wore a mask that was sort of like a ski mask, except it was made from thin, t-shirt like material, and had eye, mouth, and nose holes. we thought it was funny that he calmly drove like this, while poet sat in the back reading a magazine while wearing his mask, and i sat looking out the window with my chin on my hand. wearing the mask.

brilliant.

so we arrived near where we were going to be filming, and had to wait for the fourth and fifth cast members to arrive. we were right by the train tracks, about two blocks away from a train station. we were still wearing our masks. poet and pat thought it would be funny to do a fake fight scene right there by the tracks under a little three-walled glass shelter while wearing the ninja-like masks. as a passenger train rolled by, coming into the station. meanwhile i stood nearby, with one of our blatantly fake weapons.

i mean seriously fake. it was a broom handle with pieces of cardboard cut into battle axe blades, covered in duct tape, fixed to one end of it. a cheesy looking battle axe, huge and ridiculous. i stood with it leaning on my shoulder. as the train passed.

about two minutes later, all hell seemed to break loose.

we were very suddenly surrounded by about seven cops. gun holsters unbuttoned. i dont remember if any were pulled - probably not. but if so, i blocked it out.

oh, wait, did i forget to tell you that we were across the street from the police station? silly me.

so the cops immediately told us to freeze, told me to drop the weapon, and told us all to take off our masks. we did so as quickly as possible. lots of things were said all at once all around me, and i dont remember much of it. i was just trying not to pee myself.

poet always had a backpack with him - he usually left his house first thing in the morning, and stayed out all day. so he had everything he might need in the backpack... he was kinda like a bag lady with a home. but a guy one. one of the cops looked through his backpack, and said "do you live out of this thing or something?"

poets response was to chuckle and say "pretty much."

then two more individuals joined us - the police chief, and what appeared to be a trainee (he wore a t-shirt that said "police" on it, and stood in the background just listening and watching). the chief was in a panic. "whats going on here, whats going on here???"

one of us explained what was going on. there was a lot of bad noise, i dont really remember it all. not clearly. too many people talking at once, and i was getting the fear.

"dont you know its illegal to conceal your identity?"

i remember the chief saying "so which one of you is it that lives out of your bag?" poet explained his whole deal, how he really wasnt homeless and just kept a lot of crap in his backpack.

one of the cops radioed in (and i remember this more clearly than anything else) "uhhhh, yea, its just a bunch of kids playing medieval warrior."

half the cops left, the remaining few lectured us about how stupid we were.

i guess i also failed to mention that there was a large bank across the tracks. and that within a two block radius there were not one, not two, but three jewelry stores. thank goodness those nice officers informed us of them in the harsh tones that they used.

apparently people first called the police when they saw us driving into town. then others called from the train and train station.

they said if we wanted to continue filming our movie, we would need to make a sign and keep it visible at all times while shooting.

when they left, we promptly went to the grocery store, bought the necessary posterboard and marker, and made the sign. i was mostly cameraman that day, and we had nobody else to hold the sign, so i stuck it in the back of my pants. it went up to my shoulder. when we filmed the human shield scene, i kept it in my pants. so its in the movie, pokin up out of the back of my pants like a reverse cape. but the film was blurry, and the camera kinda far away, so you cant read the words.

"movie filming in progress"

cross eyed, vol 2

2006-05-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

today i am interviewing dj and rodent master, and coincidentally, my brother, jakob creutzfeldt (pronounced YAH-kuhb CROYTS-feldt... pronounce that "t" at the end if youre capable...).

<0>: if you had to boil down the 18 years of youth that we shared a bedroom into exactly three words, what would they be?

jc: Music
Battles
Mess

Off to a lame start, I know, but my wit requires at least 5 words to fully come to fruition

<0>: if you had to refer to one toy that we had growing up as being essentially an avatar of your being, what would it be?

jc: Tough question. Those little gray monaural radios don't really count as toys, nor would that maroon cassette player.

I suppose the most practical answer would be Legos, since I literally could construct an avatar of myself, albeit immobile, out of them. The immobility would symbolize the fact that I am, in reality, constructed out of little blocks of Danish plastic.

<0>: true, that is an interesting genetic deformity that you have.

if you had to define your entire college experience in a sentence of pure biology jargon, what would that sentence be?

jc: Through an unfortunate instance of long-distance dispersal, this male Homo Sapiens found himself amongst a largely homogenous population approaching extinction due to the extreme effects of inbreeding depression over the course of many generations. These repeated intercrossings resulted in decreased brain activity and physical deformities, such as enlarged foreheads, diminished teeth, and greater average body mass. The population also lacked culture, which exerted a strong selective pressure against immigrants, such as our hero, who required it for survival. Oh, he also learned some stuff at school too.

<0>: a study in devolution, indeed. clearly, darwin missed in this particular college town.

what is your favorite pre-1999 song to spin (whether appropriately or not)? if you have never spun one (though i believe you have), what pre-1999 song would you like to find the chance to spin?

jc: It varies depending on my mood and the crowd. For a while it was the BSCDT Remix of "Basscadet" by Autechre. I've also been known to spin some old Orbital from time to time, specifically "Chime" and "LC1".

I'd really love to get some old KLF records. "Mu Mu! Mu Mu!"

<0>: what record owned by another dj (with whom you have done a show) would you most like to put into a skeet shoot and blast to tiny vinyl shards with a shotgun?

jc: Well, since there are entire genres of music whose records I'd like to melt down into one giant vinyl blob, this is a tough question. Instead, I'll go for one that's played by DJs whose music I otherwise like. The first song that annoys the hell out of me that comes to mind is "Picture Perfect" by Someone Else. I like a lot of his tracks and even this one wouldn't be that bad, except it has some of the most annoying vocals I've ever heard in my life, and yet I know people who think it's fantastic.

"I be a lookin' at yoooouuuuuuuuuuuuu...in a picture," said in a really, really annoying voice.

<0>: well, i will see what i can do about finding you a copy. and a 12 guage. and then i will run like hell.

if you were to create a song that by request was called "oops, the cat got into the pcp again", what would be the time signature of the song, how long would it be, what sort of sample would you first use to start (preferably other than a beat), what would you eat before and during creation, and how few hours of sleep would you require to do so?

jc: I've often found myself pondering this very question. If it were a techno song, which undoubtably it wouldn't be, it would naturally be in 4/4 time so that a DJ could mix it when he/she wanted to clear the dancefloor. However, I think it would wind up being an experimental ambient jazz oddysey that switches between arrhythmia and 7/4 time. Given that it'd be an oddysey of Homeric proportions, it would ideally be several days long, however, due to current technological restrictions, I'd have to settle for 80 minutes. Rather than start with merely a sample (how antediluvian), I'd instead fashion a helmet for both of my cats,each of which would be host to two microphones, and record for 80 minutes after making a catnip extract and spiking the cats' water bowl with it. The helmets would resemble something designed by either Prada or Dolce & Gabana, were they to branch out into animal headwear. I would only use the finest Italian leathers, because I love my kitties. Yes I do. Oh yes I do, them cute little snugly wuggly....but I digress. Once these recordings are obtained, I would eat seven Burger King (tm) Texas Double Whoppers (tm), 38 packages of Gushers (tm) brand fruit snacks, a quarter of an ounce of hallucinogenic mushrooms, three pot brownies, and a Skittle (tm), and then I'd let the magic begin. I would require as little as 18 hours of sleep to make it to the end of this magic voyage without reaching the point where it sounds like it'd be a good idea for me to try the catnip extract as well.

<0>: hell, id buy it. its like h.s. thompson said (and i paraphrase): if anythings worth doing, its worth doing right.

if there were a recipe to make a jakob creutzfeldt stew, what other ingredients would be absolutely necessary?

jc: See my response to the previous question (re: what I'd eat).

Just remember, you can't pop a goulash.

<0>: if you had to (forced at gunpoint) get a text-only tattoo somewhere on your body, where would you put it and what would it say?

jc: Actually, I've been thinking about this lately. I don't think I'd actually go through with it in reality, but I've been entertaining the idea of having the phrase "Am I Dreaming?" tattooed somewhere that's easy for me to read, such as the inside of my forearm. It would be an excellent tool for inducing lucid dreams via the MILD technique. You force yourself into a habit of reading it periodically throughout the day, which, given the phrase, would make you question (even if only momentarily) whether or not you're dreaming. Eventually this will become such a part of your day that you'll start doing it in your dreams, when finally the answer to the question will be "Yes" and, once you're good at not waking up as a result, you'll become lucid of your dreamstate and you'd be free to explore it.

<0>: i see...

moving on...

in a non-dreamlike state...

if you were a font, what font would you be (note - if you say that you would be "jakob creutzfeldt" font, or some other non-microsoft office font, i expect a link to be able to download said font)?

jc: Fonts will become obsolete when the great war results in the destruction of all modern technology. I will not align myself with some transient electronic nonsense. Instead, I'd consider myself to be some sort of fine calligraphy done with a tail feather of a prized peacock.

<0>: if you were a bottom shelf brand of alcohol, what cheap-ass booze would you be? and what would be the best drink made from you?

jc: Well, it would definitely be some brand of vodka, since I like vodka immensely. Probably about the most bottom-shelf vodka I've ever had is Vodka (tm) brand vodka. Seriously. In freshman year of college my roommate and I went to his fraternity house for a party (yee haw). There we had a taste contest between two vodka brands: one was Kamchatka (1.75L for ~$12.99) and the other had a label that merely said "Vodka" on it. Kamchatka won hands-down, and anyone who's had Kamchatka knows that it tastes like Satan's urine.

As far as the best drink made from me, it's hard to say. As Vodka (tm) brand vodka, I would befowl any other beverage I met. If one wanted to hide my taste,perhaps I would go best in something fruity, perhaps a daquiri, and with a small, paper umbrella sticking out of me. If one instead wanted to savor my demonic flavor, then perhaps a Jakob Creutzfeldt on the rocks or a Dirty Jakob Creutztini would be more fitting.

<0>: well, thats about all i have for monsieur creutzfeldt for now. all i can say is, clearly its genetic. must be. seriously, otherwise i have no explanation. though it coulda been something embedded in the panelling in our bedroom growing up...

mirrored shades - the eye reflects, vol 2

2006-05-03T14:30:00.000-07:00

high school tomfoolery

part 1 - cutlery

as noted in the last installment of "hindsight", well no, rather it was noted in the comment by bear (though i planned to write of it anyway). anyway, back in the day, when patronizing a local restaurant, we (being cold bones, bear, myself, and a couple other friends) took up the habit of stealing spoons. why? i dont know. we would steal the spoon, and then name it after a famous guitar player. in later times, we would also steal forks and name them after famous bass guitar players, and then steal butter knives and name them after famous drummers. why? i told you, i dont know. i recall specifically having spoons named jimi hendrix, jerry cantrell (alice in chains), billy corgan and james iha (smashing pumpkins), stevie ray vaughn, i believe eddie van halen, and the one i recall most was dimebag darrell (pantera) (r.i.p.).

why do i remember his most? (i do have an answer for that one.) i remember deciding that a spoon was needed that would be named dimebag darrell, and knowing that we couldnt steal that spoon from just anywhere. i mean, what justification would there be in bestowing the name of such an amazing heavy metal guitar shredder on a spoon that was used to eat cottage cheese? or ice cream? or to stir the cream and sugar into some weak-ass dennys coffee? no, no indeed.

we stole the spoon that would later be known as dimebag darrell out of a bowl of tasty, spicy salsa from the local dive burrito joint.

part 2 - gentlemen, lets give her a hand

this same group of friends used to spend an exorbitant amount of time in the late evenings at the local dennys. maybe youve gathered this already, if you happen to have read all of my entries here. maybe not. well, let it be known, we spent entirely too much time there. and many of you may have a pretty good idea of what the late-night crowd at dennys tends to be like. the rest of you - use your imagination.

im not entirely sure who started this one up, but whoever it was, they have a level of ingenuity i could only dream of. i cannot take credit for it.

whenever a girl/young woman (group of girls/young women) of a particularly... lets see... ~~nasty~~ ~~skanky~~ ~~ho-ish~~ ~~heavily painted~~ ~~ridden hard and put away wet~~ unsavory variety would walk into the room, one of us (usually the first to spot her/them) would begin softly, slowly... clapping. eventually one or two others, or in a serious situation, all of us, would also clap - until she sat down or was out of sight.

why? well, ill tell you why. the implication of the "clapping" was that she had the "clap". see?

of course, luckily, none of them ever really knew that we were clapping at them, and thankfully (and obviously) none of them would have known why. otherwise we of that group would probably all look very different due to the face-rearranging their generally large boyfriends would have provided us, free of charge.

part 3 - barnyard metaphors and an aria of imitated voices

some of this same group also sat with me at lunch (high school. remember? time to learn "reading for comprehension). a couple of the individuals in this group used to like to watch (from across the cafeteria) a group of attractive females. yes, we were on the loser side of society, as none of us bothered to go over there or anything. i see that now. anyway, these girls had another friend who would join them usually at the end of the lunch period. this friend was... large... not necessarily fat large, but rather she-could-have-beaten-the-crap-out-of-any-of-us large. one of my friends that would stare longingly at the group of girls began noting, when the large girl would arrive, "the rooster is in the henhouse... i repeat, the rooster is in the henhouse."

apparently one of the girls that they used to stare at for untold minutes each day had one of those obscenely high voices, and also apparently tended to speak at a rather rapid pace. the same friend of mine would imitate her speaking in his falsetto: "meedlymeemeemeelymeemeemeedlymee"

then cold bones would begin imitating the... "rooster", if you will... in a very very low, and slow, voice: "braaawwraowrowrowbraaawowbrowrooowraow."

then they would both do these voices at the same time. one high and fast, the other low and slow.

it was weird. probably about as deranged as it sounds.

part 4 - twist ties and...

i dont even remember where we would get twist ties (like the ones that come on bags of bread) in the cafeteria at school. but we did. somebody probably brought them with their cheap pre-ziplock baggies for their sandwich. i dont know.

one of the guys (we will call him "bob"... because of the way his head moved while he walked, and we made fun of him for it) used to make... you know what, im gonna to have to be vague here... this guy used to make a rather offensive... super hero i suppose... (ill thank those of you who know to not post details in the comments section) out of twist ties, and would also make an equally non-pc arch nemesis from twist ties. it was terrible, looking back. yet i laughed. im an ass.

but i do remember cold bones making one of them, one time... and then tore off half of the paper on one of the legs, and half the paper on one of the arms, leaving bare wire exposed. he showed it to "bob" and said "look, its 'leprosy bob'."

of course, bob misheard him, and said "hell no, i dont want to be 'leopard skin bob'!" he was known as "leopard skin bob" for some time after that.

part 5 - ...straw wrappers

during those late nights at dennys, cold bones made a serious habit (read: just about every time we were there) of taking the wrapper from his straw, rolling about three-quarters of it into a ball with the other one-quarter hanging off like a tail, then would twist this remaining one-quarter into a tight string-like tail, making it look very... sperm-like. he would usually do this under the table or something so that nobody else noticed (what would freud say?).

he would then would take said straw-wrapper-sperm, throw it into somebodys drink, and shout "protein shake!"

eye's hindsight vol 8

2006-04-25T16:56:00.000-07:00

its a wonder i dont have a ~~criminal~~ stupidity record, part 1
junkie

during the autumn of my first year out of high school, the car that I had been driving for a mere few months died permanently (another story for another time). having desperately needed a new hooptie to get my rear end to work and back each day, i began the search.

naturally, being of the "hasty" and/or "impulsive" persuation, it didnt take long at all. the little used car lot around the corner had a mercury topaz that was a mere six years old, with less than 30k miles on it. actually, it was a pretty good find. my only problem was that i was certainly not wealthy, and needed some sort of financing.

now, anybody whos ever bought from one of these lots knows that its rare indeed that they offer financing, and if they do, you dont want it (unless youre happy paying more for the loan than for the car). this was one of the places that did not offer their own financing. whether this fact could be deemed "lucky" or not is, well, debatable. but i digress.

i was informed by the lot owner/salesman that his son worked as a loan guy in a ford dealership in west chicago. he said he would talk to his son and see if he could get me a loan through them for the car. he called the next day to let me know that his son could get me the loan, all id have to do was bring him a $500 down payment (which I had) at the ford place. i called up the son and set up an appointment to meet with him about the loan and down payment, and was told to meet him at the ford place in west chicago. it was on a road that i knew, just past a cross street that i didnt know.

now, id heard of west chicago before. i knew it was a suburb, and not part of chicago. i knew it was along this east/west road that ran through my home town, so i knew it probably wouldnt be too hard to get there. what i didnt know, was which direction down this east/west road it lay. i assumed that "west chicago" would probably not be too far from regular chicago; i knew that this east/west road went into chicago (east), but i figured that west chicago must be somewhere between my home town and chicago. it wasnt. but i didnt know that.

so the day of my meeting appointment, after work, i called up a buddy of mine who was going to drive me, we shall call him "bear" (and probably only bones and elle might understand that name). he picked me up, we got on the road that the ford dealership was on, and headed east (instead of west, towards west chicago). we continued watching every light for the cross street that the dealership was "just past", and never found it. it was starting to get dark, and the neighborhood started getting pretty bad (read boarded and/or barred windows, abandoned buildings, etc... and as bear said at the time, "you know a neighborhood is bad when you start seeing worse cars with better rims").

bear needed to stop for gas, and we decided to turn around to head back. we were sure we were lost at that point. there was a gas station on the right side of the street at a stop light, so bear turned into the parking lot and pulled up to a pump. there was a group of thug lookin guys standing near the building eyeballing us pretty hard. i sat and stared at my knees as bear set the gear to park, and i said "pay with your card at the pump, dont make eye contact with anybody, just pump a few dollars and lets get the hell out of here." he said "yea" and got out of the car. i stared at my knees.

after what felt like about two hours, he jumped back in the car, turned the ignition, and got moving, he made a left onto the cross street with the intention of making a left back onto our east/west street to start heading home. we pulled up to the light...

and the light wasnt there. we both looked up at it, confused. bear said "i think they stole the stop light! oh this neighborhood is really bad." this didnt make any sense to me, but nonetheless, there was no light, nor did there appear to have ever been one. there was one on our right, one on our left, and there appeared to be one above us. but none ahead of us. the light on the left and right changed to red, and the car across from us turned left to head east onto the east/west street, so bear pulled forward and made his left.

less than a block later, there was a car (a piece of garbage car, mind you) tailgating us, and its headlights were alternately flashing. no red and blues though... just the headlights. i didnt know what to make of it, neither did bear. we were a bit nervous, but he pulled over anyway.

i noticed that the streets had cleared of pedestrians. we were alone with the car behind us. in the dark. in a nasty part of the city (i later learned that we were in what is considered the "heart" of the west side of chicago... a bad neighborhood indeed).

a large man approached the drivers side door, wearing a big coat, a ball cap, and just generally looking like a large neighborhood thug, other than the fact that he had one of those little collar walkie-talkies that cops wear. otherwise, he didnt look like a cop. bear rolled down the window, and the large man said "you know you were going the wrong way down a one way street?" ohh... yea that would make sense.

"would you please get out of the car."

oh s%*@ bears a dead man

bear got out of the car, and at the same moment, i nearly jumped completely out of my skin as i heard a loud rapping on the passanger side door. the man who stood out there wasnt as big as the first, but looked even less cop-like. he wore a red flannel and jeans.

oh f*&@ im a dead man

i didnt even get to roll down the window when he waved me out of the car, not even looking at me. looking up the street. i dont think ive ever been so scared in my life. i got out of the car, and couldnt even manage to say anything. big guy was patting down bear, emptying his pockets and stuff. guy number two told me to put my hands on the car, which i did. he began searching my pockets.

now here is where my retarded shows. i give you - the contents of my pockets:

my jeans carried my wallet in my butt pocket, my keys in my right pocket, and $500 cash (down payment) in my left pocket. the trench coat i was wearing had two pockets. the right pocket carried a spoon (i think it was jimi hendrix, but im not certain, and that is definitely a story for another time), a lighter (as i was a smoker at work, but not anywhere else), and a bottle of no-doze caffeine pills. my left pocket carried... a butterfly knife. why? hell if i know. i dont know why i was carrying it. i didnt carry it around a lot. almost never. never needed to. i think i just felt cool when i had it. for some stupid reason (probably fate bringing me a story that one day, today, i would bring to you), i was carrying it that day.

so flannel guy was emptying my pockets onto the rear of the car. he wasnt a man of many words, though he really didnt need to; i felt thoroughly stupid all the while. when he pulled out the cash, i explained our situation with the dealership plainly, and openly admitted we were lost, very lost. but i dont think he believed me. he continued emptying pockets. butterfly knife, lighter, stupid. i couldnt even say anything. he pulled the spoon, and i said "it was from my lunch today, i came straight from work". not that i needed to say anything at all. like that sort of defense was going to get me anywhere. with a spoon, a lighter, $500, and a concealed weapon.

the headlights continued flashing, adding to the mood.

he pulled out the bottle of no-doze pills, and opened it up. he thrust it in my face, and spoke for the first time, "what is this? what is this?"

i said "its no-doze! caffeine pills!"

he said "what is this? is this that date rape drug? what do you call it? what do you call it?"

i said "huh? i dont know what thats called. no really, its caffeine, i swear it!" he closed up the bottle and put it on the car. he looked at the big guy, nodded, and then started searching through the whole car.

there were still no people on the streets. just us standing there, nearly crying. i thought we were dead. i still didnt believe these guys were cops. and now that they found $500, we were dead.

while flannel guy was searching the car, big guy said to us "you know, theres only one reason a couple of white boys come to this neighborhood. you boys here buyin dope?"

bear and i, both slack jawed with big, panicked eyes, shook our heads emphatically, and said "no! no!"

i said "no, seriously, we just got lost on our way to a car dealership. im supposed to be making a down payment on a car!" at about this time flannel guy got finished searching the car, looked at big guy, and shook his head. flannel guy loaded my pockets back up for me (it was as awkward as it sounds), while bear loaded his coat back up. flannel guy didnt give me back my butterfly knife.

i said "are you gonna keep that?" he nodded his head. i said "ok." then he walked back to his car. big guy said "go on back home, and dont ever come back to this neighborhood again."

i dont know why i didnt get in trouble for carrying a concealed weapon, if they were indeed cops. they must have been though, cuz i came home with the cash. i think, maybe, in the end they believed us. they could smell our fear.

im pretty sure cops can smell fear, kind of like dogs can. i bet it smells like pee. like pee trickling down your leg and into your shoe.

neither of us peed that day (that i know of anyway), but i considered it.

eye's hindsight vol 7

2006-04-12T15:36:00.000-07:00

weve got a bleeder!

during my last semester of college, i was living both the life of the starving college student and that of a starving artist simultaneously. i was earning enough through work to pay my rent and bills, but just barely so. i certainly wasnt making enough to fund the solo art exhibition that i had to put together in order to graduate.

one day between classes i noticed a short article in the school paper talking about a new blood plasma donation center that was put up in town. well, i dont remember if they called it a "donation" center or not, but it wasnt a donation thing, they paid you for it. according to the paper you would get $20 per visit, and $30 if you went a second time within a week.

damn, thats some good money, especially if all i have to do is bleed!

so i went to check it out. first they stabbed my finger tip with this little keychain looking torture devise, and the girl behind the desk siphoned the drop of blood that appeared through a clear coffee stirrer straw type thing with such skill and ease that i could almost feel gravity shake a fist-like boulder in anger somewhere in the distance.

then they ran me through the standard gamut of questions, like a regular donation (for those who have never done so, its things like do you have aids or hepatitis, have you ever shot heroin, vacationed in africa, had sex with other men, spent time in prison, have monkeys or cyborgs in your immediate family, etc.). they also asked if i had donated whole blood recently, because if i had, i wouldnt be able to donate/sell plasma for something like 6 weeks. i hadnt, i was good.

i passed as expected. then they stuck me in this little 6'x6' room with a desk and a couple of chairs, where they had somebody check my blood pressure and pulse to make sure both were in the proper range (if its too low, it takes too long for your blood to come out and makes the process all but impossible; if its too high, lightning bolts strike the building and the dead rise to eat the brains of the donors/sellers). i passed with no problems there either. i didnt expect a problem; i may be slightly overweight, but my blood pressure is fine and my pulse rate is healty.

after a short wait, they brought me over to the back of the building, where there were about 8 rows of these doctors office type reclined chair/bed things, with a big machine sitting next to each one, about 5 feet tall, seemingly a solid metal box, and the front of it looking like something out of a 1950s sci-fi movie. i thought it was going to talk to me, but no such luck. they sat me down in the bed, and asked which arm.

the machine was on my left, so i chose left. they ran a bunch of little hoses and bags and stuff into the machine, cleaned and marked my arm. the twenty-something girl that was working with me was dressed generally in hospital type apparel, with a white lab coat on. that was disconcerting enough, but to add to that, she was wearing a big clear plastic mask, like a welders mask, but all clear. she told me to hold still (other than squeezing a tennis ball or something, to make the veins in my arm pop like those in so many gym teachers foreheads), and she inserted the giant turkey baster needle into my vein.

she turned the machine on, made sure everything was working ok, and then wandered away. now, im not entirely sure how it all worked, but apparently it was supposed to suck blood out of my body, whirr and bleep and shake a bit, take the plasma out of my blood in doing so, and spit the concentrated blood back into my arm. creepy, i know.

im not entirely sure how it did this, or what exactly was inside this box of a machine to cause it to do so, but im reasonably certain that it involved a fire that made the tea kettle steam, causing a fan to spin, which made the balloon rise to the top and pop on a needle, scaring the hamster into running in his wheel, until the rodeo clown needed to jump out of the way into his garbage can. i think so, anyway.

after about an hour, i was apparently done, and they drained a bag of saline into my vein, while taking away what appeared to be a tupperware container of pee. this was apparently my plasma. and they took a lot. it was the size and near shape of a half gallon of milk container. after the saline was done, they patted me on my head, gave me $20, set up an appointment for me for two days later, and kicked me out the door. easy money!

i continued to go twice a week for a few weeks. and then one day, not usin m'brain, as usual, i drank a big ole cup of coffee on my way over there. in the little 6x6 room, my pulse was too high. they checked it about 3 times, then made a nurse come and check it. too high. no good. they told me i couldnt donate that day (because of the lightning bolt zombies, you see). so i set up an appointment for the next day to try again.

i made damn sure i didnt drink any coffee, or have any sugar, or anything that might make my pulse rate shoot up. and in my panic and worry that i was going to screw up and have too high a pulse again, indeed it was too high.

this continued happening for two weeks. at this point there were only about 4 or 5 weeks of school left, and only about 2 1/2 until my art show. i needed that stinking money! i tried everything i could think of to get my pulse down. meditation, sleeping in the car before going in, reverse psychology, dining with manta rays, you name it. to no avail.

one day some dude recommended watching the people working at the desks while they were taking my pulse. apparently it worked for him. now, i didnt know what that was supposed to do, it made about as much sense to me as farting under water, but i was willing to try anything. so i intently focused on watching them move around and make appointments and answer the phones and whatnot, and somehow, miraculously, my pulse stayed down. so they led me to the back to get the work done. i was ecstatic.

the only bed that was not filled back there had the machine on the right instead of the left (in the past i had always gone on the left, i figured why not just keep stabbing the same arm). i didnt feel like having a tube of my blood going over my chest, so i told them to do the right arm. everything else was normal, right up until the girl got out the turkey baster. i squeezed the vein up, and she poked into it...

and my blood shot out of my vein and hit her mask, with an audible "splat", right about at eye level. she stopped and stared for a moment, and said something like "ive never seen that happen..." she finished stabbing my vein, and then called somebody else over to finish for her so she could go clean up. my blood. from the mask. a half inch from her eye.

i dont know how clearly this is coming across... im not sure if youre understanding how freaking weird that was... have you ever shot blood at somebodys face???

anyway, the machine ran, the kettle boiled and the balloon rose, and things seemed to be progressing otherwise as normal. feeling a bit sheepish, i read my book, trying to forget my projectile bleeding. one of the other techs was wandering around, making sure everything was progressing as normal, and he paused not far from me, and said "what the... uh oh."

i looked up at him and noticed that he was looking at the floor under my machine. i chanced to turn and look down at that which he was looking, and saw a growing puddle of my blood on the floor.

a growing puddle of my blood on the floor.

i stared in horror as my mind grappled with the concept that it was my blood that was flooding the floor, but it wasnt exactly coming out of me. it was draining from the machine. the instincutal animal part of my brain argued with the logical modernist part of my brain for what felt like long minutes.

apparently it wasnt the techs fault, or mine, or anything like that. the machine just malfunctioned. i think the rodeo clown forgot to dive out of the way, and the hamster got him. something like that.

it was no more blood lost than what would be donated in a regular blood donation. you know, except that it was on the floor.

they explained to me that it had to be counted as a whole blood donation, and i wouldnt be able to donate for 6 weeks. mind you, i only had about 4 left before i wouldnt even be living in town anymore. so they gave me $20, patted me on the head, and kicked me out.

damn rodeo clown...

mirrored shades - the eye reflects, vol. 1

2006-03-25T07:33:00.000-08:00

multiple amputees

its been a while, and i apologize. its been busy. but thats no excuse.

in this new column, id like to reflect on things that i thought were funny in my past (not in a laugh at me sort of way, which would be the point of "hindsight with the eye"... more like jokes that i thought were funny, or situations that i thought were funny in a non-humiliating or cynical way). maybe itll be a failure.

i used to love these jokes (even if some might consider them non-pc... and to them i say...).

i think my dad taught most of them to me... but then, while trying to remember them, i may have made most of them up...

anyway - through the amazing magic of technology, the answers to the jokes are hidden... to reveal them, simply click on the first asterisk, and drag to the other asterisk before releasing your mouse button.

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in front of your door?
*matt*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs floating in the water?
*bob*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a mailbox?
*bill*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs on a piece of paper?
*mark*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs with a tread mill?
*jim*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs hanging on a wall?
*art*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a hole?
*doug*

What do you call a man with no arms and no legs in the dirt?
*pete*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in an empty bank vault?
*rob*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs on a stage?
*mike*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs with a toilet?
*john*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs on the floor of a barber shop?
*harry*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in the trunk of a car?
*jack*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs with a nasty hangover?
*ralph*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a fireplace?
*cole*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs with a saddle?
*horace*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs in a garden?
*herb*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs on a poker table?
*holden*

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs behind a speeding car?
*chase*

and my personal favorite (and ems too)...

what do you call a man with no arms and no legs rolling through a pile of leaves?
*russell*

ok, im spent. got any more? drop them in the comments section.

searching for their inner eye, vol 2

2006-03-06T15:00:00.000-08:00

(for an explanation of this column, go here .)

websense sucks
-high fives to you, my friend. for that is the honest truth indeed! damn the man! big brother can kiss my ass!

"monet madrid madagascar"
monet.madrid.madagascar
-it really is too bad... i will miss that band. the cd was great. ive removed the link to their site though, because they dont exist as a band anymore.

twisted tune "blew a seal"
-definitely sounds twisted to me. note for all future visitors: there is no bestiality nothin here, including songs about blowing seals! sick freaks.

funny crossed eye pics
-funny? check. "crossed eye"? sorta... how about "cross eyed"? check there. pics? check. funny crossed eye pics? nope.

crying eye pic
-perhaps some day... but no.

pure volume for good eye sniper
-the song is called "a favor house atlantic", and it can be sampled here, as it is not on purevolume.

...does it make me a culture nerd because i knew what that meant?

how much are hair extenion
-thats just weird. but then, even so, dammit with my spelling errors! stupid. i really need to start using bloggers spell check. but then it tells me to use capital letters and apostrophes. balderdash. preposterous. this only proves that it knows little to nothing.

poking feeling in the eye
-seriously, people seem to have a lot of weird eye problems.

under-eye rash
-ive had a couple of "rash under the eye" type searches. whats up with peoples eyes?!?!? im gonna have nightmares now.

help stuck a staple in my eye
-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHH! NO! BAD MORON! Google is not a doctor either!

home remedy for to eye from poking finger in it
-home remedy: oven mitts and goggles.

the cool thing that i found out by trying is that if you search for "just an eye" (and you dont need the quotation marks) on yahoo, i come up in the top ten (#3 at time of posting). i rule. now if only i could get myself up there when you search for "the eye"... not likely.

the eye observes vol 4

2006-03-01T15:15:00.000-08:00

a couple of little visual nuggets

#1
these are known as "seat tacks", or also known as "ass scorpions". i made them myself.

they are to be placed on a hard seat surface (especially a wooden chair), that somebody would likely unknowingly sit upon.

these little caltrops are made by twisting together two staples. they have to be twisted just so, as they not only must stand on their own, but they must maintain shape for long enough to penetrate a layer of clothing... believe it or not, this is no easy task.

when the revolution begins, i will be armed and ready. will you?

#2
when the moon is in the seventh house, and the sun and alpha centauri are aligned just right, and the moon is 40% waxed and the tides defy its gravitational pull; when buddhist monks of the highest order chant forbidden prayers no nearer than 700 miles, and a clock that is perfectly synchronized with the atomic clock is no further than two feet away, and another clock that is off by exactly 3.7 seconds is no further away than three feet; with the greatest concentration of one who has a hand so steady that it is easily mistaken for a fake hand...

an egg can be balanced, on end, on the cranium of only the purist genius.

special thanks to bryan for the egghead pic

quick note...

2006-02-25T14:03:00.000-08:00

just fyi - theres new material up at otc&utt - that out takes video we had been promising for months, and a new mp3 bit. go check it out, and tell people about it.

<0> out.

the eye observes, vol 3

2006-02-23T15:57:00.000-08:00

sorry for the hiatus... its been busy. youll mind your own business as to what.

anyway, i give you...

fightin fire with flammables

the guage needle sat about one sixteenth of the way up between "e" and "f". it was not enough to get me home. i needed to stop to refuel.

in the area where i work, there arent too many gas stations around, and none at all that are easily on my way. so i went to the nearest one, a couple miles down the road. i pulled in to the lot, spent a few brief seconds in deep thought trying to remember whether the fuel tank door was on the passenger or drivers side in that vehicle...

drivers side. righto. so i pulled up to the first open pump that i saw, and noticed, without thinking about it too much, that something looked strange about the pump... like something was missing. i didnt think twice about it, and pulled right on past to the next pump. i jumped out, grabbed the pump and started fueling.

it was then that i noticed

that some moron apparently drove off while the pump was still hanging out of their vehicle.

this i simply cannot comprehend. maybe its just my own paranoia, but i try not to do things that i think might theoretically blow me up.

maybe thats just me. i just dont mess around when it comes to gas stations... way too much flammable stuff everywhere. no smoking, no cell phones (even though thats been proven untrue), no open fire or sparks or anything. i dont take any chances.

and i dont drive off with the pump still in my car.

what a dumbass.

and then i noticed...

something hilarious...

and i suddenly realized...

that sometimes fate/God/entropy/statistical likelihood just hands you the perfection of human stupidity juxtaposed with ironic happenstance, practically gift wrapped, and says "here, for your next blog entry."

or maybe i just see humor in strange things. either way, i was amused.

searching for their inner eye volume 1

2006-02-06T17:18:00.000-08:00

no fancy title

so ive had this site meter thing up for a few weeks, and its interesting to see who my regular viewers are (you cant hide me... BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAhahahaha...hahahah...heh...). and then all of a sudden i started noticing people finding me via search engines while searching for things that struck me as a bit strange. so i give you my newest column, "searching for their inner eye" - how random strangers have come across my site through some strange twist of fate, miracle of God, entropic fluke, or statistically eventual likelihood.

how to use an axe safely
clearly they didnt find what they were looking for

rash under eye
hmm...

pentogram
dammit. no accounting for spelling errors. stupid...

how to make a bong slide pen
im certain all the necessary instructions were located, and the wiki article may have helped as well. im not sure if im proud of that...

staple in eye
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!

queer eye for the rude boy
seriously. i have no words. im too awed to even say something humorous.

why cant we sneeze with our eye open
good question. and i dont have the answer. but perhaps i should spend some time with this one... see, the funny thing is, the reason they found me as number 2 in their search is because they didnt bother with the apostrophe in "cant" either. heh.

tickle inside eye and stabbing eye pain
good lord man! screw the internet searches, go get that looked at! YAHOO IS NO DOCTOR!

stop all the downloadin
this makes me happy.

im a computah
12 hours later, and on the other side of the country. i figured, with that kind of randomness, its only fair that i link it. especially for my readers that dont know what the hell im talking about. in these last two.

so after ive gathered up a few more, ill post another of these. i may have another column for you, dear readers (and random strangers), in the near future, just as soon as i can find a good topic. and i want to do another "cross eyed" interview, i just have to decide who to interview and get the job done... ill figure it out.

until next time,
<0>

p.s. - hey, if any of you brilliant readers out there (brilliant simply because you spend your time here, obviously) know how to help me out with some html so i can throw some drop down boxes on the side of the page so that people can bring up a page full of the same column (rather than just by month), please shoot me an email or a comment or something... i would be eternally grateful.

eye's hindsight vol 6

2006-01-24T19:32:00.000-08:00

i lost a bit of respect for myself that day...

i used to work right across the street from a mall. that didnt mean a whole lot to me, except for the food court. you really cant go wrong with all those choices of food in such close proximity. a veritable lunch break smorgasbord.

and from time to time, i would take advantage of that. i could go get me some mcdonalds if i so desired, or maybe some panda express when i was feeling like some cheap chinese food. or every now and again, a burrito, or perhaps some pizza. nothing but winning in all possibilities. and follow it all up with a cinnabon.

sometimes, if i was feeling especially bored at work, or just wanted a change in things, i would hit up the arcade that was located within the food court at the time before id go back after lunch.

im not much of an arcade game kind of guy. its just too easy to pump way too much money into those games, and frankly, i suck at them. but it was something to do. id go in there with $2 or so, and would plan to spend only that and then get the hell out of there. back to work and such.

so this one time i went in there, and i spotted a fighting game that i hadnt played before. i suck at fighting games. never been good at them. no idea why i stepped up to play this one, really. i just did. honestly, i dont even remember what game it was. doesnt matter. i dont care.

all i knew was this - on the arcade games exterior, there was this badass evil looking knight type guy with a gargantuan broadsword. and thats who i wanted to play as. and so i did. as stated, im not much of an arcade guy. and especially a fighting game kind of guy. mostly, im just a button masher. you know, i just randomly push buttons until something cool happens (and mostly nothing does, and then i lose). and then try to remember how i did said cool thing. and add it to the repertoire.

for some reason, this game came easily to me (playing the computer, of course). i guess i just assumed that in general, it was an easy fighting game. and i was ok with that. i rejoiced in it. the first time i played the game, i beat it on my initial fifty cents.

a few days later, i was back in the food court (to get my burrito fix taken care of), and decided to head into the arcade again. i pumped in my change, picked the gigantic plate armored fiend with the huge blade, and proceeded to button mash. i was probably about halfway through the sequence of fights when the guy who was working behind the counter (you know, the guy who handles the transactions between young ticket holders and cheap $.005 toys) approached. mind you, up until that point, he had passed by a few times, apparently watching me play. apparently (so it seems) i was "good".

he popped his fifty cents into my machine, therby interrupting my game, and proceeded to pound me into a husk. i dropped in my other fifty cents, just because i had time to kill, and this time i managed to put up a decent fight before i was solidly schooled. not a word was spoken, except he said "good game" as i left. i said thanks and walked away.

now, one who might not have paid attention to what ive already written might think that this beating via arcade fighting game by the twenty-something-moms-basement-dweller (seriously, this was week day lunch time - this was no pimply high school student. this was a pimply older-than-that guy) that worked at the mall food courts arcade was what led to my loss of self respect, and thus the title of this post, but one might thus be wrong. no, no... it gets a bit worse than that.

i came back again the following week to blow off some steam through button mashing. played the same game. once again, i was approached mid game by this dude. once again, we played in silence. i put up a strong fight, and ultimately, i lost again. i popped in fifty more cents, and set to beating him wholesale. triumph!

no, i really am not proud of it. im not.

he beat me in the next fight.

a week passed before i returned again (gimme a break, i was bored). and this is when i noticed him jump up at the sight of me and proceed to find a coworker so that he could take his break

to fight me. i was his challenger. he was proud of his playing of this video game, and i was the best competitor he could find. he waited with his breaks until i got there so he could play me.

this was a level of nerdity that i was not yet prepared to descend into.

i played him to the best of my abilities, until my dollar was gone.

and never went back.

eye's hindsight vol 5

2006-01-21T08:45:00.000-08:00

wilderness camping with satan

as a boy scout, many summers contained a week or so during which i would go to a summer camp. it was always good times, in spite of natures various pests, undercooked food of all flavors, and truly frightening odors emanating from all around. during the summer between (if i recall correctly) my freshman and sophomore year in high school, summer camp was skipped, and instead the eldest scouts (of which i was one) went on a week long trip through the ozarks of missouri.

the (chock full o' pseudonymns) group consisted of myself, gray, frodo, mathes, mr. mathes, and scout master. part of me swears there were more kids than that, but i honestly cant remember anybody else being there.

the trip began when we arrived in the late afternoon/early evening. we set up our tents right at the beginning of the part of the ozark trail that we intended to hike. see, the plan was this: there were two vehicles for our ride down there. mr. mathes and scoutmaster would drive both vehicles to the next road intersection on the trail, drop one vehicle off, and then drive back in the other vehicle to where we were. essentially we would then hike to the dropped off vehicle (leaving the other behind). when we reached the vehicle (after i think two or three days), we could stock up on supplies. then mr. mathes and scoutmaster would get in the vehicle, pick up the one theyd left behind, then go ahead and drop one off further down the line.

im getting away from the story here. so while they dropped off the vehicle and returned, we set up camp. gray and i shared a tent (he was one of my best friends at the time), mr. mathes shared a tent with mathes, and scoutmaster shared a tent with frodo. everything went well enough in the evening, and we went to bed looking forward to leaving first thing after breakfast.

oh, another note; mr. mathes smoked. and decided that since he didnt want to have to bring them around, worry about them getting wet, or litter, he decided he just wouldnt smoke that week. wonderful. so in the middle of the first night, mr. mathes has an intense asthma attack - stopped breathing almost entirely, thrashed about in his tent. i remember laying there with my eyes wide open, listening to him gasp and thrash about hitting the sides of the tent and whatnot, the whole time mathes repeating "are you ok? are you ok? holy shit! are you ok?" freaked me right out. after about 30 seconds he was alright, but it really should have served as an omen for the next day...

i dont exactly remember how most of the next day went, honestly. we hiked i think around 8 or 9 miles (which doesnt sound like much, but with a 50-60 pound backpack on your back, and when youre between the ages of 13-16, its a lot. around probably 3 or 3:30 pm we decided to start looking for a place to set up camp. we had a topographical map of the area, and were studying it to see if we could find a place that looked flat (remember, the ozarks are mountains. not like the rockies, or even the apalachains, but mountains none the less).

there appeared to be a place just up ahead on the trail, that not only looked flat, but fairly sizable (enough for 3 tents and a fire pit), and appeared to be the top of a hill (so if it rained, all water would flow down away from us, rather than being at the bottom of a hill where it flows right into us). so we hiked ahead to check it out.

i was probably last or second to last in the line, so i was one of the last to get there. everybody else was already dead set on staying by the time i got there. as soon as i walked up, i didnt like the look of it at all. seriously, it looked like it had been the site of some kind of satanic/occult ritual. there were five fire pits at perfect pentogram points, and in the middle were a small cluster of five trees where logs of wood had been hung around and between the trees forming a strange wooden pentogram. there was also a couple of big flat stones laying in one spot, and appeared to me to be a knocked over altar. hell no i wasnt staying there! i didnt even set my pack down (the other guys all had). i alone refused. i said there was no way i would stay the night there. the others were all sitting on the logs set up in a perfect circle around the whole area, and were fairly irritated at having to go again.

scoutmaster, being the one to end confrontation whenever he could, pointed out on the map that just a few miles ahead, just off the trail, was a flat, probably treeless area right along a nearby river. he said it would make a beautiful place to sleep, and said we should go there. everybody agreed, and so we started moving.

and thats when the fun began.

it was about a half a mile later. i was walking in front, scouting out the trail. i dont really remember who was walking behind me and in what order, except gray was in the back. now, i have to mention - at its best, the trail we were following was essentially a six inch wide dirt trail, with about 2 feet on either side generally cleared away. so at its best, the trail was reasonably followable. at its worst, the trail was essentially a 4-6 inch clearing between plants. not very clear. so i was walking along, we were all exausted. the sounds consisted mainly of footsteps, breathing, and the occasional sound of a walking stick hitting the ground.

with absolutely no warning whatsoever, i saw gray sprint past me.

now, again, i need to insert a bit here. gray was a bigger guy. im average sized, gray was bigger than me. he was actually, i believe, the biggest guy on the trip, including scoutmaster and mr. mathes. gray was also not really afraid of much of anything. he was a very outdoorsy kind of guy, and also not easily spooked by much (as he didnt believe in much, because he was a strong christian). so, when i'm still a bit shaken up from just having hung out in a satanic ritual spot (i just had a bad vibe about the place... so i was sorta spooked), and i see all 6' or so, 250 pounds or so of gray, wearing a 55 pound backpack, sprint past me at full speed, dammit i dont ask questions, i just run like hell. in fact all six of us ran at full speed. probably a quarter mile later, maybe even another half mile, gray slowed down and stopped to catch his breath. it is here that we all stop. i asked gray what the hell happened.

he informed me that while walking, he had accidntally hit a beehive that was in the dirt with his walking stick. as soon as he got stung, he bolted. in fact, it was found that everybody (except me) had gotten stung at least once. gray had actually been stung 3 times, mathes twice, frodo i think once or twice, scoutmaster once or twice, and mr. mathes once in the ankle. problem - mr. mathes was allergic to bees. and we were around 50 miles from the nearest civilization. dammit.

luckily it was only his ankle, so though it swelled up, it just made it a bit difficult to walk for him. i think it was alright within a day or so.

anyway, we stood there catching our breath. i was looking around for the path to continue following it, gray was facing me. all of a sudden gray drops his bag is standing in front of me holding his walking stick like he was freaking captain ahab about to harpoon me through my heart, saying "hold still..." as my life flashed before my eyes, i looked down and saw a yellowjacket sitting on my sternum. suddenly realizing that gray intended to smash it against my ribcage with a solid thump from his walking stick, i shouted "nononononononononono!" and swatted the bee away from my chest. hell, id rather it stung my hand than be speared by grays walking stick.

so we continued walking. we got about another mile and a half or so, and realized that the trail went right through a creek. nice. nearby was a nice thick fallen tree, and that was gonna be our best bet for crossing. see, you have to understand, the absolute worst thing that can happen on a hiking/backpacking trip is having your shoes/socks get wet - that causes blisters, lots of them, and nasty ones. cant get your shoes wet. well, naturally, one of us fell off the fallen tree while crossing it. mathes fell. now this was bad enough for him, but of course, he had to make it bad for us by crying about it for the next half hour (he was the youngest in the group...).

while we were stopped with mathes crying and trying to dry his shoes, it became apparent that frodo wasnt going to make it much further (he was the smallest of us by far - im not sure he was even 5' tall, and had a 60 lb. pack on his back). i was getting mad. i wanted to just be done and eat and just camp for the night.

the spot we were looking for appeared to be just ahead. it was suggested by scoutmaster that gray and i hike up ahead to see if we could find it, and leave our packs behind.

another rule of wilderness hiking - never split up. you can never be sure if youll find your group again if you get lost. we had no other way of communication, and we were talking about upwards of another mile or so.

so gray and i hiked ahead to find it. after about two miles, we realized we couldnt find it, and headed back. mathes met us half-way without his pack, and let us know that scoutmaster and frodo went off-trail to try to find it and were gonna let us know when they found it.

another rule, right along with never split up, is never go off trail.

so gray, mathes, and i hiked back to mr. mathes who was with all of our packs. frodo and scoutmaster were gone, and had their packs with them. we grabbed our packs and started back down the trail, shouting to scoutmaster and frodo to see if they could tell us if they found it or not. eventually we heard them call back... they sounded far away. not to mention there was a river running nearby, creating plenty of noise.

a short time later we realized that they had found the spot, so we went off trail to go find them by following their voices. due to the many trees and the sound of the river, it was rather difficult to figure out where exactly their voices came from. after a bit of bush-whacking through some rather thick woods, we found ourself in a rather beautiful patch of very tall evergreen trees, where the limbs dont actually start until about 20 feet up - so there were a bunch of trunks, but no plant life on the ground, just brown needles. very easy walking. it was nice. of course, following those voices, we found ourseleves on the edge of this forrested area, right on the lip of an expance of shoulder high bushes. their voices were on the other side fo them.

so we started trudging through these bushes, only to find that they were giant thorn bushes. i mean the bushes were giant, not the thorns. the thorns were tiny... almost hair like. and they got you through clothing. i started to lose it a little bit. i was covered shoulder to ankle with a rash of tiny needles poking and stabbing as i walked.

finally we came to the edge of the needle forest, and finally saw scoutmaster and frodo - about 80 yards away, between us a huge stretch of waist high grasses (btw, this is snake country we're talking about here, and snakes love to hang out in tall grasses, since thats where many a rodent also hangs out), and just before them, a creek.

sonuva... god dammit!

so there i stood, itching and pinching like madness because of those god forsaken thorns stabbing every inch of me, staring out at what was, as far as i was concerned, my doom (because i figured the odds of getting bitten by something poisonous during this last walk were probably about 10 to 1, and we were nowhere near a hospital). i stood front and center of the group, with all the other guys to my side or behind me. i swore rather loudly, and started freaking out about how we were going to get bit by rattlesnakes before we could even get to frodo and scoutmaster (who were calmly setting up a tent in this perfect contrast against what i saw as pure hell in between).

somebody told me to calm down, i think, but i dont remember so well... see, it was right about here that i snapped.

it sort of blacks out here... but next thing i really remember was sort of "coming to", standing in the river, in my underwear, washing hell-thorns out of my legs...

turning around slowly, i walked out of the river like nothing was wrong or strange at all. gray was about 15 feet away, in the river (clothed), washing his arms and lower legs of thorns. the rest of the group was on the beach setting up camp, seemingly avoiding my gaze, and staying a fair distance away from me.

i was later that evening told exactly what happened (actually, after emerging from the river, almost baptized from the sin-barbs that had implanted themselves all over my body, i said out loud, but not loudly, to nobody in particular, "i have no idea what the hell just happened").

so i was told: apparently, after freaking out at the edge of the grasses, i suddenly started boldly marching through the grasses, all the while screaming "f*** you snakes! bite me! bite me! ill kick your rattlesnake ass! bite meeeee!" at the very end, just before the creek, i picked up the pace to a run, and then, screaming, launched myself over the creek (never mind the fact that the rest of the guys crossed about 8 feet away on a fallen tree).

upon reaching the little beach where scoutmaster and frodo were, i took off my 55 pound pack, threw it, stuck my arms straight out to my sides, middle fingers up, and proceeded to spin in a circle, flipping off the mountains, all the while screaming "f*** you ozarks!" I then quickly stripped off my clothes down to my tighty whiteys, and stepped into the river to wash off the thorns.

eye's hindsight vol 4

2006-01-12T17:51:00.000-08:00

so today's tale begins during the first year after i graduated high school. i was attending a local community college, and had a couple of friends with whom i would occasionally hang out outside of school. best of all, one was old enough to buy booze.

it was decided that a party was going to be held at one group of friend's houses (parents out of town, of course), and i, feeling rich at the time (living at home, no girlfriend, no real hobby or life to speak of), decided that i would fund the boozification of the party, provided my of-age friend would do the actual purchasing. $125 later, we had a lot of damn booze.

that evening, when the party began, i decided for myself that i would remain relatively sober for as much of the evening as i could, since i was essentially hosting it. also, having not done too much drinking, i was a "two beer queer", and sorta knew it. i didn't want to get loaded before the party really got rolling.

people started coming around, the party started switching gears in an upward fashion. i fended off the couple of people (looking back, it was rather few... rude...) who tried to offer me money for having funded it. nope, i wouldn't have it. i paid for it, now go drink to your heart's content.

i was slowly enjoying a jack daniels and coke (about half and half... probably a bit stronger than i needed, but... eh), and discussing the plethora of hard alcohol that sat in the freezer. i had never had goldschlager before, i'd never even heard of it. but i was intrigued by the idea of drinking flecks of gold...

we had a big ol' bottle of it.

it was recommended that i try it. i said "ok, who wants to do a shot?" i had a taker or two (don't really remember who though), and a shot was done. it was delicious! tasted like cinnamon gold! and it warmed my body like the heat of such cinnamonny golden suns! and left me smiling a cinnamonny golden smile.

as i put it back into the freezer, another partier said "what is that?" to which i responded "it's goldschlager! it's awesome! want a shot?" they said "sure." i said "i'll do one with you!"

the magical elixer of metallic spice was just as good the second time around!

before i could even put the cap back on, somebody else said "what's that floating in there?" to which i responded "it's flakes of real gold!" and they said "do you swallow it?" i said "yea, you hardly even notice! want to do a shot?" "sure." "i'll do one with you!"

cinnamon fairies criss-crossed over my head, sprinkling golden flakes of wondrous warmth down upon my head!

the same thing happened a few more times. i don't really remember how many shots i had, but i believe it was around 9. in about 20 minutes. i sat back down and continued to drink my jack and coke...

and eveything after that comes in flashes.

i remember stumbling around making sure everybody had a drink.

i remember saying "woah i'm way to drunk..." at least a dozen times.

i remember cold bones and another friend arriving, and seeing as the two of them were not what i would have called party people at the time, i remember them looking rather uncomfortable. i don't think they stayed long.

i remember people saying the cops were at the door, and i tried to hide. in the basement. sitting on a chair. with the lights out. (i was told later that i hid for approximately two hours or so... finishing my jack and coke).

i remember finding out that it wasn't the cops, but rather a friend who was a 911 operator, who happened to have a uniform that was very cop-like that showed up for the party after work.

i remember laying on a couch.

i remember laying on a different couch.

i remember laying in the opposite direction on the same couch (for some reason).

i remember being "helped" into a bedroom.

i remember the light was on, and there were a bunch of people hanging out in there, and they continued to as i passed out.

i remember great pain in my head the next morning. and greater disappointment in finding that of the $125 or so of booze, about $8 was left.

since then, goldschlagger and me, we aren't as good of friends as we could have been.

sometimes i miss those cinnamon fairies and their golden dust of cozy warmth, but then i always remember the booze demons that took turns spearing me in the head with their pitch forks the next morning.

eye's hindsight vol 3

2005-12-30T19:15:00.000-08:00

i'm back! it's been a mighty long vacation, and i don't mean to explain myself. except to say that big brother can kiss my ASS.

i couldn't think of a proper story to give that would make my comeback a spectacular bang like such holy hand grenades of antioch, but rather decided to do many little bangs, more like those little paper popper things packaged in sawdust that you got to throw at the ground, making a satisfying little "pop" sound, on the fourth of july when you were a little kid. and so, for today's hindsight with the eye, i give you...

bite-sized regurgitation of idiocies past

springtime, age 9
i was in fourth grade. i remember that some of the people in class would check if there were staples inside the stapler by running their finger underneath where the staples come out instead of opening the stapler up to find out. so i decided to try it one day. i put my finger under there and felt, and i didnt feel any staples. for some insane reason i squeezed the stapler. while my finger was still there. the staple sunk itself nice and deep into my finger... and got stuck in the stapler at the same time. i couldnt get it out, and it hurt.

my teacher wouldnt let me go to the nurse's office with the stapler, cuz you know, people might need to staple while im gone. or whatever. so she proceeded to work the staple out of the stapler by twisting the stapler around, pulling the stapler, stabbing me in the eye, and stomping on my throat.

i didn't like my fourth grade teacher much.

summertime, around age 9
we were having a yard sale, and i was tired of working at it. my friends' grandfather lived two doors down, and they came by to ask if i would help them clean some stuff out of the garage. so i went over to help. hell, one work, different from the other work. at least it was a change of scenery and company.

we were getting down some really old garden tools from the rafters. i grabbed a rake, and let it slide down my hands to get it out. well, it was an old rake. the wood was splintering. i got a splinter in the palm of my hand that went from just below my index finger, all the way to the opposite corner of my palm. that distance was about three inches at the time, i think.

naturally, my first reaction was to make a fist with my hand. and thus the splinter became splinters. about 25 or so. it took a long time to get all of them out. if ever i see an ice cube and a needle at the same time now, i shudder just a bit.

summertime, approximately age 11
behind my neighbor's (two doors down) garage, somebody had dumped what appeared to be a bag of concrete dust, unbagged, of course. it was a fair-sized pile of dust. naturally, the first time it rained, it became a fair-sized concrete lump. it was probably roughly four foot diameter, maybe a foot off the ground at its little peak. there were trees back there that we used to climb, and one day while climbing (ah, you saw where i was going with that whole tree thing, eh?), i noticed bees seemed to be going in and out of a hole in the lump.

well naturally, i didn't want any stinking bees lousin' up my climbing tree, so i felt that i needed to remedy the situation. i found myself a nice rock that was approximately the same size as the little hole that the bees were coming out of (ah, i see that once again, you know where i'm going here). i waited till there didn't appear to be any bees going in or out of the hole, and stuffed the rock snuggly in the hole.

now, looking back, if i were to change one thing (other than being a dumbass), i would probably have looked around the damn lump for other freaking holes.

see, if i had done that, then i wouldnt have gotten stung within about two seconds on the inside of my elbow. and then i wouldn't have needed to turn tail and run away, thus allowing the other bees to flank and route me. i also got stung on the back of my knee, and my butt cheek.

summertime, approximately age 12
back when i was young, i don't really remember when, but back when compost piles were all the rage (you know, you pile up all your food waste, and keep turning and stirring it... or somethin... and eventually you have good gardening dirt... or something like that), my dad decided that a little compost would do us good. so he made himself a compost pile. to which he added leaves and sticks from the yard whenever they fell. needless to say, it was no longer a compost pile, and more like a giant pile of dirt and sticks (which is why i know nothing about compost).

occasionally, various flying, stinging insects would inhabit said pile. during this particular year, they were your run of the mill, standard yellowjacket bees (much like those i had my run-in with the prior year... see where i'm goin again?). well, i had learned my lesson the year before. only fools try to plug up bee hives with stones. and i was no damn fool. no sir. i kept my distance and threw rocks from about 20 feet away.

and got stung on the cheek about an inch below my eye.

late autumn, approximately age 14
back in my day, i was a boy scout. and i was a good one too. by this time i was one of the elder-type scouts, and i had a leadership position. well, i had, by that time, plenty-o experience with an axe, and on this trip in the freshly fallen autumn snow, it was going to be my job to teach the younger scouts (there were cub scouts on this trip as well) how to use an axe safely and properly. one of the key rules of using an axe safely and properly is knowing how to walk with an axe safely and properly. you carry it by the head, blade forward, at your side. carrying it by the handle is not safe nor proper, as you could accidentally cut yourself, or somebody else. you hold it by the head with the blade out, so you have full control at all times. and if you accidentally fall, the sharp blade will simply stick in the ground, and save you from cutting fingers or legs or special no-no places.

i did my job, and i did it well, and got some good firewood in the process. it was time for us to go back in, so the guy teaching how to saw safely and properly and i cleaned up our area while the young-uns went on inside. we cleaned up all well and good, and i carried in a tarp and the axe.

i put the axe up on my shoulder like freaking paul bunyon as i walked. who needs safe and proper? i knew what i was doing. on the way up the slight hill i slipped in the snow just a tiny bit, and caught my balance right away. the axe blade just barely tapped my ear. damn that was close. so i held the axe safely and properly the rest of the way in. thank god nobody noticed, i would have heard about it. as we neared the cabin, i put down the axe, and at about the same time felt a light tickle on my ear. i thought nothing of it, and reached up to scratch it. and brought my hand back covered in blood. yea, that blade was stinking sharp. seriously, it was a tiny nick, but it was a really sharp blade, and made a really clean cut.

it took about twenty minutes to get it to stop bleeding.