Horcrux #2

My friend's wedding ring will be made of tungsten, whose chemical symbol is W. Since that letter has particular interest to me my friend's ring would make a great horcrux. Plus, tungsten is extremely hard and therefore wouldn't require too many spells to protect it.

Brick and Motor

Hey man, I appreciate that you were in a hurry but it doesn't excuse your behaviour. Everyone was equally distressed about the state of the roads. You acted like a bully, admit it. You used your large size and trauma-induced fearlessness to intimidate the little guy. You got what you wanted but we were stuck behind you. You managed to clear the intersection no problem and advance to the next leg of your journey. I just hope you know what you did and that you feel sorry for it because you should. Common courtesy would have gone a long way and if you really needed to be in that lane we would have let you. Maybe you were just afraid that you would miss your exit and it was that motivation that led you to act like that. Maybe I am being too harsh in assuming your motives were sinister but you did the same thing to us. You assumed we wouldn't let you in. We are both making assumptions but the only difference is that my assumption won't cause an accident. My assumption is being done right now and it is a judgement based on no evidence and only one incident but it is harmless. It isn't any more right but it is more safe. If you are going to make assumptions make the safer ones.

If you didn't really mean to cut us off and you are sorry; your apology is accepted.

If you knew full well what you were doing; eat a dick.

Cramped warrens superficially better

It's easier to make your restaurant look popular if it extremely small on the inside. That way, when you don't actually have that many customers, people walk by and say, "wow! That place is packed!"

Therefore, all restaurants should be tiny but there should be more of them. I'm pretty sure I've thought of everything here. Don't try and find anything wrong with my thinking.

Horcrux #1

On old Mr. T shirt with improper stitching that makes the right sleeve feel a bit too tight

LANINAAAAAA

Why is it so cold?! I thought I was in for a mild winter but it is fucking freezing. My teeth chatter so much people on the bus think something is broken. I heard it's because of La Nina. Well a big "fuck you" to La Nina. I was picturing holidays not unlike a Caribbean dream but instead I am forced to endure this coldness like I just told my significant other that they were fat.

I don't know why cold wants to do this to me or why the wind feels that I wronged it in some way when we were younger and now feels the need to exact its revenge whenever I set foot outside.

I'm Looking At You, J.J. Abrams

Now I don't want to hit a sore spot but I just can't reconcile how I feel like a remake of Aliens would be justified with my overall distaste for when movies are remade.

The movie is amazing on its own and it doesn't need retelling but dammit it's tempting to remake it so that we can focus more on the technology side and make it more visually appealing. That was a big part of the movie, the effects, but the acting and story were tantamount to its awesomeness as well so perhaps one aspect of a film isn't enough of a reason for a total remake. I mean, unless we could get all the same actors to reprise their roles and create a machine that makes them reverse-age at least 20 years. Then it would be easy. Just remake the movie but up the effects and try and make some of the camera shots easier to see. We could also get like full action shots of the aliens, which would look cool. But therein lies another problem. The desire to make the aliens completely CG. I think real models go a long way in terms of believability when they are on camera. What makes them seem like a movie prop is when we never see a full shot of one moving for more than a split second. Imagine if we could somehow watch them crawling all over the place for multiple seconds without them being CG? I guess we can't even really do that now so maybe it seems like a pipe dream but that is the ideal case for the Aliens remake. Get the same actors or ones that are better and then don't blow your computer graphics load all at once and make the aliens completely computer rendered. Rather, take it slow and enjoy yourself. Don't get too riled up too fast. Ease into a tantric real-model special effects based movie and watch your wad shot in HD and see how amazing it looks. If that happened to me I would definitely call again.

Haters and Goblins to the Left

Halloween was cooler when it was about the candy, you know? Now it's all commercial and about what the Fat Cats think is appropriate or not. We all just shuffle along like slaves to the corporate propaganda that halloween is a major event where people have parties and drink expensive wines and eat expensive witch-finger shaped foods.

But not me, man. I won't be no shill that says Halloween is about getting mad slizzard and then throwing up in Jack-o-lanterns on your walk home from the frat house. Noway, Jose. I'm gonna stay true to the origins of the holiday and say proudly that, "I'm in it for the candy, bitches".

Fuck all y'all that don't represent the true spirit of Halloween by disrespectin the sugar side of this most bodacious holiday. It's all turning tricks (judging by women's costumes) and there's no treat except if the Sexy Fraulein has one too many Jager shots and is just inebriated enough to maintain control of her mouth-tongue motor functions but not too drunk to either pass out in your buddies bathroom with your pants around your ankles or to lose mouth-tongue motor functions and reflexively clamp her jaw shut on whatever part of you is unfortunate enought o be between her teeth. All girls should be deepthroating are Tootsie Rolls and the only thing guys should be tonguing are lollipops. Let's leave all these sexual, drunken shenanigans to New Years eve, where after midnight the world may not be there any more.

Hasn't watching teen slasher movies shown you people anything? Loose morals always end up in loose entrails. And yeah sometimes a trick-or-treating kid gets an axe in the face but you take risks all the time. Partaking in sex, drugs and alcohol on Halloween is asking to be skewered on a tentpole. Simple as that. Go door to door looking for some Kit Kat bars does not mean that you will soon be locked in a basement surrounded by corpses but rather locked in your room surrounded by discarded candy wrappers. The only reason that you would be horribly butchered on Halloween as a result of getting candy is because of all the people who are out getting their freak-on.

So I stand vigilant against the norm that is perpetuated by these government big-wigs and I say "Keep the 'treat' in 'Trick-or Treat'". My life just might depend on it.

Food Baby

I ate wayyyyyyyyyy too much

I only hope my food baby doesn't grow up to become part of the Hell's Angels Cakes.

COOKIE

I just want some cookies. But not just any cookies, I want melt in your mouth, fresh from the oven, the chocolatiest, doughiest, most awe inspiring cookies ever made.

I went to Safeway and got a dozen that should be called Chocolate Abortions because they were that bad. They had these little centres that exploded with chocolate but in all the wrong ways. Like when a guy doesn't tell you he's going to.....never mind. They were terrible and disappointing like when a guy takes you down by the lake with a bottle of Cristal, some cream cheese, a skull prop from a local production of Hamlet and then he.....never mind.

So help me with the petition to get Safeway to make some better cookies or to have a program where I can hire an old lady to bake me cookies so there is a fresh batch waiting for me every day. Whichever is easier.

Insert Appropriate Whitesnake Lyric

There is a looming heaviness on the horizon. Beyond that lies something dark and treacherous. It will be an interesting weekend to say the least. But I must prevail. I will prevail. I feel the vice grip a little tighter every day and hopefully after this weekend I will feel the glorious relief of it receding by a few turns before it starts to wind again.

In my desperate need for inspiration and reassurance I am reminded of a parable my father once told me:

"Two men walk down a road in a wood. They each carry packs that are heavy and burdensome. Eventually they start to get weary when they come to a fork. The path to the right leads to certain doom and the path to the left also leads to certain doom. Their packs are heavy and they can't take the weight for much longer. They must decide quickly or it will certainly be their doom"

It's actually not that helpful.

649

Money is so sweet. I don't know who ever said that it was the root of all evil but that person never flew first class or ate filet mignon that came from a cow who was killed four hours prior to being consumed. There are so many great things in life that are only available to the very rich and rightly so! Everybody can't hang-glide while eating octopus eggs and land on a giant, copyrighted statue of Mickey Mouse madeout of gold and moon rocks. These things need to be kept out of reach of the majority of the population so we allbecome infatuated and tantalized with the notion of one day doing the things that so few have done. We become slaves to an idea and as long as we keep believing that one day we could attain these forbidden fruits our lives don't seemquite so pathetic. That is why the lottery is abrilliant idea. It is the carrot on the end of the silver chain attached to the wooden rod (made with wood from George Washington's teeth, Lincoln's log cabin and Cleveland's coffin). I love the lottery. Actually, what I love more than the lottery itself is the thought of winning the lottery and what I love more than the thought of winning the lottery is: wining the lottery. If I won the lottery it would be the end of all my problems."Mo money, mo problems"?

Sorry Ma$e, it doesn't work like that, Pal. All that happens when one acquires money is instant gratification when they buy themselves that first delight. That first reward for their hard work all these years. The first treat and certainly not the last.

Since all I do is think about money I thought maybe I would actually write down some things I would do if I won the lottery.

Buy Nice Suits

I'd buy the nicest shit you ever saw. I'd be rollin up in der so fine you'd be all, "Who dat GQ lookin' mofucka o'er der?" and I'd be all like, "Calvin Cline up in hurr, bitches! You best believe biddies from tha 50's wanna get all up in dis"

They would be so nice that I would have to hire hit men to kill everyone who ever saw me wear them, save for one person who was known to exaggerate. They would be the only person in the world who would know what true beauty was and they would tell the rest.

Go to dinner at Buckingham Palace

I'd definitely see how they do things in the ritziest of places (not the Ritz though) and see what hi-jinx would ensue. Maybe the Queen and I would have a shot-gunning contest. Or maybe I would just kick it old school and have a freestyle rap competition with some beef eaters (most of my material would be in reference to them "eating my beef"). Whatever the situation, it would be killer fun and wicked expensive.

Buy a car just to smash it

I would most definitely buy a car but I would immediately smash it. Right there in the show room. I'd walk to a Mercedes, Ferrari, Porsche, Hugo Boss, any big-name car retailer, select a showroom model, buy it without negotiating a price and handing the salesman a briefcase full of money, and then pull out a sledgehammer and go to town on the bitch (The car, not the salesmen. I'll get to homicide soon enough). I'd like to watch and see what everyone in the dealership would do. And the answer is: NOT A DAMN THING! It's my car and I can do whatever I want with it. I'd throw some money on the floor as I walked away or something else cool while everyone would just be standing there, dumbfounded. Then I'd light up a smoke and hop into a mini-van full of kids in soccer uniforms that was driven by the hottest of all moms. We would stop for ice cream.

Become a rapper

All rappers don't have money initially but when they do get money their music becomes the soundtrack of the lives of college girls who get their skank on. They would dance away their daddy-issues as they grinded their junk into some stranger's business as my drug-influenced beats and money-centered lyrics reverberated off the walls of the skeeziest bar that has a townie to frat-boy ratio of 2:1.

I like those odds.

Eat someone

Don't look at me like that, you know you would too. I'd pay for their funeral and I'd buy their artwork that was "too risque" for the internet.

Crispin Glover Fans: Don't Get Excited

New back to the future convention. You know that new geek you've been wanting to get on? Well take a look at this:

http://weregoingback.com/Were_Going_Back_-_25th_Anniversary/Home.html

Wonder Land

You know when you really want to go on a water slide because everyone talks about it and you've been around water slides your whole life? You get really worked up and decide to take the plunge only to realize that it's the busiest part of the park because you went at noon, the warmest part of the day. So you wait in line and worry that you're not going to get on because of all the people also waiting but then somehow you get lucky and get on the slide. But then as you're on the slide you don't enjoy it as much and it's not quite as fun as you'd thought it would be. And then as you get to the bottom you see a bunch of people you know in line, all talking about how exciting the slide is going to be. You wander around the park and see how much fun people are having in the relatively small lines to the haunted houses and various roller coasters. There are obviously still lines but you're not part of the bustling crowd of people clamoring to get onto the ride. Your envy can't help but be stirred. So you trudge back to the water park and line up again and are disappointed by the people you see. You expected a different sort of person to be here. You thought you would be different but the slide doesn't change you and maybe that was the problem. You don't look forward to the slide that much. And the people who have seasons passes aren't as you expected them either. It seems like too much trouble to get out of line for the slide and try to line up somewhere else because you might be too short to ride the other attractions. But you're stuck in the park until it closes so you may as well do something. How can you explain to people that you don't want to go on any ride in the park? What else would you do? Just line up and make the best of it because it's a long way until closing time.

I Think I Just Leroy Jenkins-ed This Shit

Been a while. Lots of things have happened. Let's keep it short: worked a bit made a little money and am now in freakout mode. I went to some friends' wedding (the same wedding; they were both my friend, independently of each other) which was awesome as well. That was quite nice. But now it's just you and me again isn't it, Internet. I want to throw my concerns and worries into you like paper inside glass bottles being hurled into the sea. Back in the 20's sending out a message in a bottle would have been similar to writing a blog on the internet but with less assurance that someone (or anyone) would read it. Although, this blog in particular compares pretty closely. But I wonder if perhaps in the future unnecessary blogs like this would be considered littering, as messages in bottles would be considered today. There's a thought to consider. Another one to consider is this:

Biggest mistake ever or just staying the course to better things?

I'm actually probably more like Hamlet than Leroy since he doesn't do anything whereas Mr. Jenkins is obviously a go-getter.

I'm actually probably more like that one pretentious asshole you know (hopefully there's only one) who compares themselves to characters from Shakespeare. FML

And then he entered the room, suddenly...or did he?

The bottle of wine lay on the ground dripping frantically onto the ground, slowly pouring out the remnants of its livelihood onto the hardwood floor. The puddle of wine gained mass and the slight force of gravity on the minutely uneven floor caused the circle of red to trickle towards the white apron. The apron was balled up into a makeshift pillow under the head of Leroy Smolsky. He lay fast asleep upon the apron with his hands between his legs and the backs of his calves squished firmly against the backs of his thighs. He lay in a scrumpled ball on the floor, trying to conserve warmth as he slept. The wine menace snuck its way across the landscape to reach its inevitable target. The terrain between the wine and the man-ball was littered with crumpled paper, beer bottles, clothing and cigar butts. The wine precariously flittered around various objects as the path of lowest potential energy revealed itself. The puddle of wine was becoming a river. The initial pool now transformed into a tributary of terrible taint. The dark red stream oozing ever closer to the poor unsuspecting buffoon who snored quietly amidst a forest of garbage. The odd banana peel gave the floor an even dirtier feeling. Not to mention the lone piece of half-eaten pizza that was a Germany distance away from the relative North America that was Leroy. The ever persistent wine kept its snakelike action as it began to branch into multiple streams, dictated by the slight imperfections in the floor. The tiniest of deviations from a planar state in the floor caused the wine to follow its course. Leroy could always blame the floor or even the man who installed the hardwood or even the architect who designed the building or even the school that trained the architect or even the country that built the school or even the world that created the country or even...who was left? No one, I'm sure but let's continue. Where were we? Ah yes, the wine. Inching its way closer, the wine was now on the threshold of Leroy's personal space. Like a wooden horse at the gates of Troy, the wine now approached the event horizon created by Leroy's body. The overweight man caused a distortion in the floor's existence. The floor became bent around his body, due to his mass. This was part of the reason that the wine flowed toward him. He was to blame after all! His existence itself was the cause to his misfortune! A breakthrough! But alas, Leroy is ever on the floor. With the wine perched on the verge of soaking into the white apron inevitably waking Leroy up, causing him to swear loudly, causing the woman in his bed to stir, causing her to question her location and ponder how she got there, causing Leroy to remember the previous night just seconds after the woman in his bed did, causing a furious fight that fosters hatred in both parties, causing Leroy to do something he regrets, causing Leroy to distort the world around him, causing all the problems in the world to cascade down upon him like a waterfall of agony, causing him to wake up and swear loudly, causing him to start the cycle again.

There's Leroy, all alone on the floor. Two disasters about to befall him. Mayhaps if the boisterous and arrogant neighbour, Richmond were to knock on the door at just the right time. In his swede sport coat, elegantly faded jeans and designer shoes Richmond could put an end to all of this. He could check his watch and see the time is 8:54am and decide to grab a coffee before he ventures out into the world. The sunlight would stream into his apartment, it would sneak its way around dust in the air in a fraction of a second. An onslaught of photons would set the stage for this drama as Richmond checked his sugar tin and realized he was out of the white, crystalline substance. Here it is, the potential redemption of the mess next door. Richmond's apartment stands in stark contrast to his neighbour's. The very definition of order is personified by Richmond's apartment. After all, without order, what are we?

Richmond never knows how vital his role is. How he could save everything. It is not known. Does it happen?

Does Leroy ever wake up? More importantly, can he wake up without the wine staining the apron?

He is doomed, his salvation rests on a well-dressed man's dietary desires. His damnation rests in the crimson swirls on his floor, creeping like the hand of Death to grab him and drag him to Hell. His salvation and end also lie in the olive and pearl-white entanglement in his bed. A slender leg and a mash of cotton contained in a silk sheet. He was never the instrument of his own salvation. He is always the tool of his demise. He is always on the floor. He is caught amidst the chaos that surrounds him. He hears and sees nothing relating to the man next door, the woman in the next room. There is no sound. There breathing is silenced over the torrential roar of the wine, dripping onto the floor, making a mess.

I Recommend "The Invention of Lying" Because I Enjoyed It

I was on a plane and decided to tickle my fancy with the onboard entertainment; particularly a movie called The Invention of Lying. I anticipated that the movie would be a lark and I would bother everyone else on the plane with my raucous laughter and chronic knee-slapping. However, from essentially start to finish there was not even a whisper of laughter from my lips. My knees were not even CLOSE to being slapped and everyone on the plane had an enjoyable flight.

Except for me.

I was so disappointed at what I had assumed would have been a hilarious movie.

Ricky Gervais + Louis C.K. = hilarious [1]

This was the equation that I thought I had but upon rigorous analysis it was actually this equation:

Flaccid Penis + Vagina = Bad Sex [2]

The whole movie was basically like I was excited to get laid only to realize that my sexual partner was not attractive at all but then I was forced to have sex against my will. I just wanted it to be over to see if at least the ending would be good but it was not. Watching this movie was just like constantly thrusting my limp member into a relatively taught cavity without joy for an hour and a half with no sweet release at the end. Then I just felt ashamed and regretted ever watching it.

Where were the jokes? All the comedy was based on actors' reactions to various stimuli thrown into the movie. There were no written jokes or if there were I missed them.

I waited for the movie to get better but it didn't and then it went into a bizarre twist when it started going down a religious route. Mark Bellison's lie that invents the notion of a happy afterlife to cheer up a character who is dying takes the movie down a weird path that I wasn't expecting. A large portion of the movie then focuses on the lie of "The Man in the Sky" and proceeds to make other religiously themed jokes. I was confused, not entertained and soured to the whole movie.

Here's the thing. When I read The Chronicles of Narnia when I was a kid I never knew there were religious undertones to the series. I just thought it was a bunch of talking donkeys killing each other and was totally into it (because I was a kid and followed the relation in [3]). Even though C.S. Lewis intended it to be a religious series of books, I didn't like it for the religion when I was young. I didn't root for Aslan because he was Jesus; I liked Aslan because he was a badass fucking lion who took none of the White Witch's shit.

I wouldn't want to watch a movie that was blatantly pro-religion under the guise of being the next The Hangover.

Bruce Almighty was a similar type of movie. It was shitty for a number of different reasons but one of them was that it threw too much religion in your face (mainly secular, spirituality, Deepak Chopra shit). However, Bruce Almighty was about God. It never made any claims to not be about God. It was what it was in all its shitty glory. If I had known about the apparent large role that religion played in The Invention of Lying (like when Ricky Gervais looked like Jesus) I would have expected something much different.

I was disappointed because I expected a lot more funny and a lot less religious commentary. The only things I can conclude about life/this movie are as follows:

Kids = Dumb [3]

Title of this blog entry = Lie [4]

The Sky Is Crying

I am hesitant to write a blog about real events. It seems that this page becomes more and more an outlet where I can vent some pent-up creativity. I guess that can still be true even if I am writing entries that apply to my daily life but it also seems like my daily life is so uninteresting. However, I have no particularly interesting stories (fantastical) to tell and I enjoy the sound of clacking keys so I will parlay some information about my life.

Teaching,

There, that's it. No specifics. I don't want to make the anonymous users of the internet jealous if they happen to have just completed or (even worse) completed a long time ago a bachelor of education and are looking for a job. I guess I narrowed down the field a bit and probably achieved what I set out not to. But isn't that the way it always goes?

A desire to teach has been rekindled and continues to be around 1:05pm on weekdays but my apathy seems to grow throughout the rest of the day and I find myself thinking that it isn't me, it's them. That attitude doesn't really help anybody and I am only consoled by the fact that a partial few actually do understand some things but that also has nothing to do with me.
I find it scary that in most cases involving students their academic careers are almost completely decided by them. The instructor has very little control in the sense that the marks are there for those who want to get them. I never knew how easy it is to get marks and succeed. However, I know this only as a result of experience so maybe it's not too much of a missed opportunity and more of a right of passage that leads all adults to conclude that all children are stupid, unmotivated and lazy. Two generalizations that are real almost all of the time (don't forget that adults have no souls and have forgotten the true meaning of life).

Book Review

I recently read V for Vendetta and dare I say I liked the movie more than the novel. Perhaps it is because I saw the movie first or maybe it is because the novel was one of Alan Moore's earlier works. Either way, I feel that the movie told the story of V quite eloquently. Obviously there is the fact that without the novel there would be no movie but it should be noted that of all the movie adaptations of Moore's work (remember the V for Vendetta movie came out before the Watchmen movie), V for Vendetta was the best. I really liked the dialogue in the movie and was expecting (and was disappointed when it wasn't there) the long, albeit kind of silly, alliterative monologue that V delivers. I think it had the right effect. I was also surprised about just how crazy V was in the graphic novel that was a little down-played in the movie.
Ultimately, the novel was amazing. I thoroughly enjoyed it but I particularly enjoyed the recent interpretation of the story in cinematic format. I feel the movie captured all the themes of the novel with quite a few aspects of the story altered but still packing the same punch intended to be delivered by the novel.
Well done, Wachowskis. The Matrix sequels are the only blemish on your career. Keep up the good work.

Yours valiantly, vehemently and always vibrantly,
Le double-V

So long and thanks for all the quantum theory

I am slowly getting stupider. I can almost feel my brain deteriorating to become a mere shadow of what it was during university. Without the constant, albeit ignored, hammering of knowledge into my cerebellum the muscle that is my brain will wither until it becomes like all other muscles in my body: barely noticeable. I almost wish I was back in school so that I could work out my cranium to prevent this decay but the thought of monetary gain is too tempting to ignore. I guess my brain will achieve its maximum strength as that of a high school student.
I need to start doing science in my spare time or something. If only I had a little more extra time that I could spend studying and then use the current amount I get relaxing. Or maybe I should just stop being such a lazy bitch. Either way, I'm an idiot and it's only going to get worse.

Winters of Asgard

Lundgirn shovels the walkway that leads from his small, wooden chalet down to the lake. The night is still and each falling snowflake seems trapped in time as it floats slowly from the cloud covered, black night sky to the snow covered, white ground. His breath streams out in turrets of steam as he struggles only slightly with the work. The night was still. The only sound was the periodic scraping of his shovel against the stone path. The lucid night was soft and yet heavy around him as Lundgirn opened a way to the lake. The frozen lake. Lundgirn lived alone in his chalet. He was the sole person who lived in this part of the woods. He had spent many years perfecting his home and making it as comfortable as possible. Every morning he awoke to shovel the walkway. He would return, eat and then venture outside again to shovel away the newly fallen snow. Once finished for the second time he would enter his living chambers to gaze at his pictures. Night would fall sullenly and he would tromp outside to light his lamps. The woods would be alit with dim light, amplified by the white ground. It would create a slight haze effect. Like that of dreams. Lundgirn would then shovel the walkway a third time in the night before retiring to his bed chamber and dozing into a soft sleep. All year this is what he would do. All year the snow would fall. His setting would never change. The snow he shoveled would pile up but it never accumulated more than a day. Each day would bring the same amount of snow. Lundgirn noticed at first but eventually grew to accept it. He accepted it as he accepted that he would never see Hirst smile again. Hirst. Every time he got to the lake Lundgirn would feel a chill and he would know without looking that he had reached the end of his path. The cold air would not chill him the way that the feeling around the lake did. His soul would slowly get colder as he approached the edge of the frozen waters culminating in a frigid end as he reached the shore. He was chilled for what lay at the bottom of the lake. Frozen in time. Frozen in beauty. Frozen in ice. Frozen in life. Hirst. Lundgirn lived his life to pave a way for her when she would awaken. Lundgirn knew that the winter could not last forever and eventually Hirst would be free and they could be together again. The winter could not last forever. Each year he told himself that. Each new snowfall would be the last. She would rise from the lake, no longer a prisoner. He would no longer lift the snow from the walk.
The snowflakes almost seemed to hover in mid-air. Each one held in place by invisible strings. Dancing on the air but never acquiescing their place in space and time to give up their vigil amid their brethren in the dense night. Each snowflake trapped in time. A twinkle of lamplight off the top of the frozen lake. Lungirn lifted a shovelful of snow. He feels a deep chill and he begins to walk back to his hut, through the immortal snow.