This article reminds me of this lady I knew who constantly tried to get milk and other things in glass bottles and had a lifetime membership to Wild Oats.
"Years ago, I profiled a theater designer who had just created 200 sumptuous costumes from garbage bags. Green, rose, black, white, sky blue, and see-through—the plastic was pliable and it pleated, flounced, puffed, fluffed, and glowed with reflected light. The title of that long-ago theater production was 33 Scenes on the Possibility of Human Happiness. From trash to the sublime, plastic was cheap, durable, endlessly protean, and astonishingly beautiful. Christo would agree.
How could that loveliness be linked to what seems its ugly opposite: the contortions and distortions that chemicals in plastic may have bequeathed us? The stunted testicles in fish and alligators; girls blooming breasts and pubic hair at an eerily young age; the steadily rising numbers of human males born with abnormal urethras; climbing rates of testicular and breast cancer; declining sperm counts. Not to mention the death of wildlife, particularly seabirds that mistakenly feast on discarded plastic. Those garbage-bag ball gowns are now married in my mind with a photo of a Laysan albatross whose belly, slashed open by biologists, was jammed with 306 pieces of plastic flotsam—a surreal bird version of a junkyard.
The most pressing question about plas–tic, though, may be whether daily exposure alters the health and fertility of our children and perhaps even our children’s children. It turns out that the hormonelike chemicals in plastic may remodel our cells and tissue during key stages of development, both in the womb and in early childhood. When pregnant mice are exposed to chemicals in plastic, the mammary and prostate tissue of their developing embryos proliferates abnormally, and sensitivity to hormones is forever turned up.
Perhaps most disturbing is the significant increase in chromosomal abnormalities in the eggs forming in those embryos. Those are the eggs that will make the next generation. Thus, if the worst-case scenario proves true, early exposure to plastic can reshape not just our children but their children, too.
Present in everyday items like panty hose and perfume, computers and catheters, baby rattles and billiard balls, plastics are so ubiquitous we seldom give them a second thought. Yet they pose problems both familiar and unfamiliar. Some of the public health issues are as familiar as those posed by tobacco, lead, DDT, and asbestos—all hazards that were understood, monitored, and regulated only after decades of research and advocacy. Plastic presents new kinds of concerns because it requires a radically different paradigm of toxicity. Whereas lead exposure can be quantified by the drop in a child’s IQ and asbestos exposure can eventually be tallied by mesothelioma incidence, the typical standards of toxicology do not apply to the chemicals in plastic. If plastic harms, it does so by stealth: by mimicking our own hormones, by scrambling signals during development, by stimulating our own pathways excessively. And it may have that power at astonishingly low exposure levels, amounts that by typical toxicological measures look just fine. With plastic, less may be more, and a little may be a lot.
At the center of the Pacific Ocean in a windless, fishless oceanic desert twice the size of Texas, a swirling mass of plastic waste converges into a gyre containing an estimated six pounds of nonbiodegradable plastic for every pound of plankton. Called the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, it is an indelible mark of human domination of the planet. But plastic has also left its mark in us. Plastic’s chemical co-travelers make their way into our urine, saliva, semen, and breast milk. Two in particular stand out: bisphenol A (or BPA, used in polycarbonates and resins) and phthalates (used to make plastic soft and pliable). Both upset the way certain hormones function in the body, earning them the designation endocrine disrupters. They are both now the subject of fierce scientific and public scrutiny. Figuring out whether plastics are toxic to people at current levels of exposure is complex. To take one example: Do rodents metabolize BPA differently from humans, and are rodents therefore more sensitive to it? Are mouse studies reliable indicators of what is happening to humans?
If there is one point on which many scientists agree, it is the risk to the developing fetus and the young child. “At least a dozen studies have shown the effects of phthalates on human reproduction,” says University of Rochester epidemiologist and biostatistician Shanna Swan, the lead author of a much-cited study that showed higher exposure to some phthalates in mothers correlates with reduced “anogenital distance” in newborn boys. Biologists recognize a reduction in the length between the anus and the sex organ as an external marker of feminization, easily measured because it is typically twice as long in males as in females.
The evidence on phthalates is strong enough for the European Union to have banned them in children’s toys, and last October California governor Arnold Schwarzenegger signed legislation, to take effect in 2009, setting stringent limits on the concentrations of phthalates in child-care products for children under age 3. The ban focuses on soft baby books, soft rattles, plastic bath ducks, and teething rings. Several other states are considering similar legislation.
BPA, in turn, is becoming this year’s poster child for all our doubts and fears about the safety of plastic. New research highlighting the possible dangers of BPA has received tremendous media coverage. In mice, at least, BPA exposure at crucial stages of development induces observable changes (such as breast or prostate abnormalities) that last a lifetime.
The research may be confusing to a layperson, yet some consensus has been reached: Last November a panel sponsored by the National Institutes of Health (NIH) determined that there was at least “some concern” about BPA’s effect on the fetal and infant brain. Around the same time, the Centers for Disease Control reported that researchers there had found BPA—the United States produces 6 billion pounds of it yearly—in 93 percent of urine samples from 2,500 Americans aged 6 to 85. Children under age 12 had the highest concentrations.
What is not known is whether infants and children under 6 are even more heavily exposed, since they have not yet been studied (for phthalates, Swan says, levels are definitely higher in children than in adults). This, at least, has been measured: Infants fed canned formula heated in a polycarbonate bottle—one source of BPA—can consume more than 20 micrograms of the chemical a day. Animal studies show effects of BPA at much lower concentrations.
To shift public understanding on this issue is staggeringly difficult, especially given that exposure to plastic is not a matter of individual lifestyle. Unlike tobacco and lead paint, plastics are so useful we can hardly manage a day without them. Biologist Frederick vom Saal of the University of Missouri likens the issue to another colossal environmental threat. “This is the global warming of biology and human health,” he says.
Last summer, a panel of 38 researchers headed by vom Saal published a report in Reproductive Toxicology warning that BPA (much like the synthetic estrogen diethylstilbestrol, or DES) is a potential chemical time bomb that may lead to multiple problems, including a higher risk of cancer, especially if exposure occurs in the womb or an infant’s early life and on an unrelenting daily basis.
Two weeks after the report came out, an NIH panel came to a different conclusion: Although public exposure to BPA could pose some risk to the brain development of babies and children, there was “negligible concern” about reproductive effects in adults.
This was the first official federal report on BPA, and the chemical industry took it as good news: An August 2007 statement by the American Chemistry Council claims that “BPA is not a risk to human health at the extremely low levels to which consumers might be exposed.” Criticism of the report began even before its publication and has dogged it ever since. In January the NIH agreed to a thorough review of the report. This NIH decision came in response to claims from scientists and public health advocates that members of the panel worked for the chemical industry and cherry-picked the data in favor of industry-funded studies, which did not test low-dose exposure to BPA. A new panel has been convened, and its findings are expected in June.
Chemicals like BPA pose a challenge for conventional toxicology, vom Saal says. To determine what level of a toxin is safe, researchers take a dose that has no observed toxicological effect in an animal and divide it by 10 once (to account for the differences between species) and then again (to account for variations among humans’ ability to handle toxins); for pesticides, the dose is then divided by 10 a third time (to allow for the extraordinary sensitivity of babies and children).
Although this is somewhat arbitrary, it generally gives enough room to provide protection. The first studies of BPA toxicity in the 1980s tested rats at high levels of exposure (50 milligrams of BPA per kilogram of body weight per day). Lower levels were not tested; BPA was deemed safe.
But the modus operandi of hormone-mimicking chemicals is different from that of typical toxins. In fact, they are not toxins in the strict sense of the word because they behave like ordinary hormonal signals. “It turns out we are, to a very intriguing degree, programmed by phenomenally small amounts of hormones in terms of our behavior, our core physiology, our neuroendocrine system, and our ability to metabolize drugs,” vom Saal says. “The brain along with the reproductive system and every other cell in your body is exquisitely sensitive to exceedingly small changes in estrogen and other sex hormones, and the fact that the environment is full of chemicals that can activate estrogen receptors means this phenomenally sensitive system is being perturbed constantly by environmental factors.”
At key stages of development, a seemingly infinitesimal dose of an estrogenic chemical such as BPA or phthalates may be life-altering. This is most evident in fetuses. When BPA hits cell receptors, it is as powerful as estradiol, the most potent estrogen in humans. “Our cells are built to take a single molecular-binding event,” vom Saal says, “and turn that into a huge, highly amplified outcome. We’ve studied doses of BPA between 2 and 20 micrograms per kilogram of body weight—the lowest dose ever tested before was 2,500 times higher—and it scrambles the male reproductive system in mice.”
In other research, by reproductive biologist Patricia Hunt of Washington State University, female mice exposed to low amounts of BPA in the womb—amounts deemed “environmentally relevant”—had high levels of genetic errors in the eggs they produced. Worse still, the genetic errors in those eggs led to chromosome abnormalities in 40 percent of the next generation’s eggs. That is 20 times the incidence of such abnormalities in unexposed mice. How might this relate to human risk? According to commentators reviewing Hunt’s work in PLoS Genetics, the answers will be hard to tease out: Nearly one in five human pregnancies ends in miscarriage, half of which are due to chromosomal abnormalities. Abnormalities in a woman’s eggs increase as she ages, and more women are having children at a later age. “A proper study of this problem,” they wrote, “would require assessing the woman’s level of chemical exposure now and maintaining those data for two to three decades,” tracking the abnormalities in her children and grandchildren.
Another troubling animal study comes from Randy Jirtle, a Duke University geneticist, who found that BPA permanently reprogrammed a gene in pups of mice fed BPA-laced food. Jirtle is well known for his work on mice that carry the agouti gene, which is highly vulnerable to environmental influences. In this study, he exposed lean, brown-furred female mice to 50 milligrams of BPA per kilogram of body weight daily, and the next generation was transformed: More of them were fat, with blond fur. “If I were a pregnant woman, I would try hard to avoid exposure to BPA,” Jirtle says.
Phthalate studies show similarly dramatic effects. When pregnant rats are exposed to high doses of phthalates, their male offspring are born with deformed genitalia. In 2005 Shanna Swan published the first study that looked for evidence of an obvious effect among boys. In 134 boys aged 2 months to 30 months, she found that sons whose mothers had higher levels of certain phthalates in their urine had a shorter distance between the anus and the penis. These boys were also likelier to have smaller penises and incompletely descended testicles.
About one-quarter of American women have the higher phthalate levels she found in her study. This was particularly evident among women working in poorly ventilated nail salons, where one especially harmful phthalate, DBP, is released.
Chemicals leaching out of plastics may reshape not only your children but your children’s children.
In a recent study, Swan found that “we could predict the anogenital distance in babies just by knowing which phthalates a mother was exposed to and how much.” Those with the highest exposure to phthalates gave birth to boys with the shortest anogenital distance.
Phthalate exposure does not come just from moms. A new study gives evidence that infants and toddlers exposed to lotions, shampoos, and powders with phthalates may have up to four times as much of it in their urine as those whose parents do not use the products. The study, just published in Pediatrics by Sheela Sathyanarayana of the University of Washington, looked at 163 children between the ages of 2 months and 28 months between the years 2000 and 2005. The results were alarming, not least because manufacturers are not required to list phthalates as ingredients on labels.
So what are the long-term consequences of exposure to plastics? Teasing out the answers is difficult, in part because early exposure can have effects observed only much later in life. One of the scientists at work on the problem is Danish researcher Niels Skakkebaek of Copenhagen University Hospital, who has been documenting reproductive problems in men for more than two decades. His research in the 1970s showed links between testicular cancer in adults and abnormalities in genital development. He suspected that clues to the disorder lay in early life, when the reproductive organs are still developing. An especially crucial time is around 3 months or earlier, when boy babies experience a surge of testosterone. To see if phthalate exposure might influence this developmental period, Skakkebaek and his colleagues investigated how the amount of phthalates in breast milk correlated with a baby’s hormonal profile. In a study of 65 infants published in 2006, they discovered that the higher the level of phthalates, the greater the evidence of anti-androgenic hormonal activity.
Whatever the impact of plastics exposure, the effects are not easy to isolate. There are no babies rendered obviously deformed, as with thalidomide. There are no children robbed of mental agility, as with lead exposure. There is no clear-cut evidence of lung cancer, as with tobacco. As Swan admits: “The baby boys in our study were not freaks. They did not look abnormal. We’re talking about small changes you won’t find unless you look carefully.”
“Nobody knows what to do with the information,” says Tufts University environmentalist Sheldon Krimsky, author of Hormonal Chaos: The Scientific and Social Origins of the Environmental Endo–crine Hypothesis. “This is a highly contested arena with no standards for consensus. And because, for instance, BPA is not put into food but leaches into food from containers, it doesn’t qualify for the Delaney clause, which mandates that if an additive causes cancer in any amount in two species, we can’t put it in the food supply.”
Back in the 1940s when plastics were being developed, no one suspected that chemicals leaching out of these marvelous materials could have insidious biological effects. What industrial chemists did know was that by tinkering with a highly reactive molecule called a phenol they were able to devise countless synthetic chemicals for use in new materials. Only through subsequent studies has it been shown that the estrogen receptor has a particular affinity for a characteristic molecular component of phenols. “I’d say 99.9 percent of what turn out to be chemical estrogens have a phenolic hydroxyl group on the molecule, and any of those can bind to the estrogen receptor, ” says Wade Welshons, a University of Missouri cell biologist and endocrinologist who has spent his career studying estrogen. Moreover, “almost everything that binds to the estrogen receptor turns it on in some way. I’ve run across only two chemicals that fully antagonize, or switch off, the receptor.”
Despite this new insight, regulation of synthetic estrogens as a class seems far off. BPA alone is “worth at least a million dollars every hour,” Welshons says. “And that figure is conservative. I’m surprised the chemical industry hasn’t tried to blow up our labs.”
In 1989 little was known about synthetic chemicals in everyday plastics and how they mimicked estrogens. Ana Soto, professor of cellular biology at Tufts University School of Medicine, and her colleagues were studying the effects of estrogen on a breast cancer cell line. “Suddenly all the cancer cells were proliferating maximally, whether they were being grown in a medium with estrogen or not,” Soto recalls. “We thought that somebody must have opened a bottle of the female hormone estradiol in the wrong place. We scrubbed the whole room, we bought new batches of everything, and the cells kept proliferating. So we began one by one to replace and substitute our equipment, and we finally found the contamination in tubes storing a component of the medium. The tube manufacturer had changed its formula, with the best intention of rendering the tubes more impact resistant. They said the new chemical was a trade secret. So we analyzed it ourselves, and it turned out to be nonylphenol. We injected the chemical into rats and demonstrated that it makes the epithelial lining of the uterus proliferate—a sign of its being an estrogen.” Nonylphenol is also a component in some detergents and other products, and its presence in British streams has been linked to the feminization of fish.
In 1998 another synthetic estrogen leached from animal cages and bottles in a different lab—this was the now-infamous BPA. Patricia Hunt (then working at Case Western Reserve University) was studying the endocrine environment of the aging ovary in mice. Suddenly, as in Soto’s lab, “our control data went nuts,” Hunt says. “We saw chromosomal abnormalities that would lead to pregnancy loss and birth defects. It turned out that all of our cages and water bottles were contaminated by the BPA in the polycarbonate plastic, which was being sterilized at high temperatures. We set about proving this contamination was coming from the water bottles and cages.” They published that work in 2003. In 2007 Hunt and her colleagues published a paper in PLoS Genetics demonstrating that BPA exposure in utero disrupts the earliest stages of egg development. The fetuses of pregnant mice exposed to low doses of BPA, Hunt says, had “gross aberrations. We were stunned to see the effects of this estrogenic substance.”
+++
For Hunt, this accident was particularly poignant: She calls it the second of two “lightning strikes” in her life. She is a DES daughter who had multiple abnormal Pap smears in her youth and is also a breast cancer survivor (cancer runs in her family, but there is also evidence that DES daughters get more breast cancer). “It’s very ironic,” Hunt explains. “BPA was studied as a synthetic estrogen in the 1930s and abandoned in favor of DES, which was more potent. Yet both of them found their way into my life. A lot of the abnormalities turning up in DES sons and daughters can be reproduced in mouse experiments. And that’s one reason I’m concerned about BPA.
The effects we see in our mice are pretty significant,” Hunt says.
Hunt’s research on BPA and the fetal ovary shows that “one exposure can hit three different generations. It hits the mom, crosses the placenta, and affects the fetus, but it also affects that fetal ovary that is busy producing the eggs that will make the next generation. So the mom’s exposure is impacting the genetic quality of her grandchildren. We’re dealing here with multigenerational changes.”
Through studies like these, Jirtle says, “we’re beginning to understand how a molecule present at the very earliest stages after fertilization can in effect be remembered into your twenties and thirties and maybe give rise to diseases. You can’t do toxicology anymore without that insight.”
While chemists, biologists, geneticists, and toxicologists are piecing together the puzzle, some consumers have concluded they should simply try to limit exposure to plastics in their own lives. “But how do you do that?” asks Soto, who herself uses glass containers at home. “For instance, the milk you’re drinking was pumped through plastic tubes. And you can’t store milk in permeable paper cartons—they have plastic linings. Even if you try, you don’t know whether you’re limiting your exposure by 5 percent or 95 percent.” BPA has been found in drinking water, in 41.2 percent of 139 streams sampled in 30 states, even in house dust. Even if we could regulate BPA to levels that were safe, Soto cautions, “zero plus zero plus zero is actually not zero. By that I mean you can take 10 estrogenic chemicals at doses that on their own don’t have an effect, but if you add them together, you end up with problems. BPA is only one of many estrogenic chemicals in our environment.”
Krimsky favors legislation based on an entirely new way of thinking. “We should base legislation on two rules,” he explains. “One, if a synthetic chemical accumulates in your body and is not metabolized, let’s ban it unless we need it for survival. Why? On the precautionary notion that it can’t be good for the body to be a storage site for junk chemicals with no known physiological purpose. Two, if a chemical is biologically active and interacts with our receptors, it’s probably not good. Ban it. Maybe it’s OK in very small doses, but it’s going to take you 50 or 100 years to figure out those doses, if you can even do it. We put a human being in prison for life based on circumstantial evidence. Yet we’re looking for more than circumstantial evidence in order to ban these chemicals.”
Hunt and other scientists hope their research will catch the attention of the public even more so than industry or policymakers. “I’m struck by how fast companies respond to consumer demand,” Hunt says. “When our study broke in 2003 and the media came calling, I kept saying that what concerns me the most are baby bottles. They’re polycarbonate, and it doesn’t stand up well. I got a call from a baby bottle manufacturer one day, and he said, ‘What’s going on? We’re getting all these calls from consumers.’ And I was amazed to see how rapidly new polymers came on the market for baby bottles.” Indeed, sales of glass and non-polycarbonate baby bottles are rising."
Ireland’s “plastax,” launched in 2002, has resulted in a 90 percent voluntary reduction in plastic bag use. Finally, corn-based, biodegradable plastics are beginning to surface, and though these polymers are not yet as durable as current plastics, the technology is advancing.
“We have no choice,” Soto says. “If reproduction is being affected, the survival of the species is compromised. Sooner or later we have to regulate it. And what constitutes proof? In the 1950s a woman’s lifetime risk of breast cancer was 1 in 22; today it’s 1 in 7. A threefold increase cannot be genetic, it is most likely environmental, and many of us believe it is due to endocrine disrupters. To know whether fetal exposure to BPA is producing breast cancer in humans, you have to collect blood from the mother and the newborn, bank it, and follow that cohort for many, many decades. One generation of researchers can’t do it. This is painful, and the public should know about it.”
Determining the long-term consequences is difficult, because early exposure can have effects observed only much later in life."
Source: http://louis1j1sheehan1esquire.us/page1.aspx
Monday, December 29, 2008
Stupid UFO coverup stories
Dan Sheehan states that he got in the Vatican basement and "was not allowed to take notes or pictures" of the UFO documents he saw there, but somehow managed to scribble down some meaningless symbols from the various "alien" items found in the reports on the cardboard backing of his notebook. The symbols themselves are probably useless, but what subtracts from the credibility is the fact he has not shared these with anyone, for no apparant reason. Maybe the ink was washed off by nervous sweat when he stuck the notebook in his armpit, trying to sneak it by a guard, or maybe it never existed in the first place. His story about being "swept up" by administration duties and the like don't really hold water. A truly bizarre find such as he claims to have uncovered would have caused him to show *someone*. The material wouldn't be the type of thing you'd want to stuff away in a basement drawer unless it's bogus.
My day with my grandparents
This morning, I took my grandparents upstairs and fed them. I put grandpa outside to eat because if both of them are in the kitchen, they'll fight and one of them will eat the other's food. Grandpa usually eats outside, but it's hard to get him to eat because he keeps chasing squirrels around the yard. Grandma eats in the kitchen. I used to pour a little grease on her food, but when I do that anymore she ends up going outside and eating leaves on a bush.
Careers
People always give you classes on careers and "what do you want to do with your life", which focuses on careers. The courses emphasize what you want to do, but it has nothing to do with reality. If you want to be an actor or a writer or a musician, tough. Your job course may say you're perfect for it, but the world doesn't want another artist, so you do what I do and apply to whatever company that actually wants employees, regardless of what field it's in. They tell you there's a galaxy of choices, but in reality, you only get a handful, and half of them you're unqualified for.
"Sitings"
When the moderator at ufosoveramerica.com titles at header "Truckers Site Ufos", it does nothing to add credibility. Um, isn't that supposed to be "sight"?
Paranormal Story
"This story goes back about 10 to 12 years ago when me my sister and a friend were playing outside on the streets. It was about 9 pm on a clear night when all of a sudden we heard a loud buzzing noise. Frightened, we ran back into the house as fast as we can, to hear from our mother that the washing machine in the side room had an unbalanced load."
-Mike from Montreal.
-Mike from Montreal.
A paranormal experience
(By a Bally member)
It was a great summer afternoon. I rode my bike to visit to Bally Total Fitness to work out with my temporary two week membership, and to make a stop at the news-stand, to pick up my monthly Comics.
I walked into the facility, and on the way through the corridor of the Twelve Acres Club, I suddenly felt light-headed just like when one stands up too fast. Everything went white, I stopped in the middle of the hallway, and suddenly I realized a gym rep was standing in front of me trying to get my attention. It did not feel as if I stood there dazed for more than a few seconds, but it must have been longer, as I was started to realize that the trainer was standing in front of me trying to get my attention. Just like some horrible movie cliché, I shook my head, and excused my sudden lapse as feeling faint from the change of extreme temperature between the blistering summer heat, and the cold, stone, air conditioned hallway. I felt just as if I always did after "standing up too fast" except this time there was a gnawing feeling in my stomach. A feeling of nervousness and anxiety. It eventually passed, and I was quick to excuse it. I made my way to the workout area, and after typical exercises, I asked someone at the desk if my they had received a contract that day. The clerk hesitated, and stammered an answer someplace between "I don't know" and "The manager isn't here right now." She then corrected herself by reminding me that the contracts are normally sent to Norwalk to be processed.
Many months later, the following February, I took my grandmother to the gym. She picked a paper on the way in, and handed it to the gym manager. As she did, something prompted me to snatch it from his hands. I shuffled through it, and I found a contract signed in red ink, with a note on the top saying it was an agreement for three years or 36 months. It was MY handwriting. My very own. As soon as I looked at the red letters, I felt that strange dizziness that I had the previous summer, but this time, I saw something in that white haze.
I saw through my own eyes, that I was dressed in winter clothes, and holding the very same contract in my outstretched hand. What's more is that I was in standing in the exact same place I was the previous summer: The Bally Fitness building, in the central hallway, facing the same direction. I was brought to when I realized that my grandmother was trying to get my attention. The gym manager had swiped all the papers out of my hands, and whisked away to the back room. I yelled and begged him to bring it back. However, he lost his temper, and in a gruff but insincere tone, assured me I could look at the contract when he was done with it. I yelled for it again, and was simultaneously met with his threat of an "attitude adjustment" (synonymous with a physical beating) and my grandmother wanting to know what was so important.
I explained to her that the manager was holding a contract that I had signed. She asked what it said, but I told her I did not know. She asked when I signed it, but I told her I could not remember. She asked why I set it on the desk instead of just giving it to him, but I could offer no explanation. She asked how I knew it was mine, and all I could say was "I know it is." I told her about my signature on the bottom, but she assured me that it simply "looked" like mine. I was nearly hysterical trying to get my grandmother to believe me, but she merely chuckled with polite defiance, and insisted I was imagining things.
A while later, after the gym manager had cooled down, I asked him what those papers were that he took. He rattled off the usual assortment of bills and fliers, but indicated nothing else.
I asked him about the contract with the red handwriting, and he told me that it was none of my business. I asked why, and his tone changed from indifference to annoyance, and gruffly spoke "Because I said so." I ceased my pursuit of the topic.
However, after we left, I started my search for my own personal copy of the contract. I looked through the garbage, both indoors and out, and I searched my grandmother's purse for it. I asked a club rep about it, but she seemed genuinely oblivious. Over the course of the next month, I would eventually search the entire house, mostly when my parents were out. I didn't turn up a thing. I never forgot about the strange contract. Later that summer, I asked the gym manager about it again, and he had either forgotten or feigned ignorance.
I really don't know what it all means, but I'm as sure of these events as I am the keys I type this on. I can't be convinced of anything less. I often have Deja-Vu. Very strong episodes of Deja-Vu. In fact, so strong, I have actually been able to predict as much as complete sentences from people in the middle of a conversation... and then the feeling vanishes, leaving friends and passers-by wide-eyed. However, this "Red Contract" was one of the most profound and powerful experiences I have ever had. The only thing that is worse than not knowing what was in the letter, is not knowing if I'm right or was just "confused." I also am not sure why this collection agency keeps calling me.
It was a great summer afternoon. I rode my bike to visit to Bally Total Fitness to work out with my temporary two week membership, and to make a stop at the news-stand, to pick up my monthly Comics.
I walked into the facility, and on the way through the corridor of the Twelve Acres Club, I suddenly felt light-headed just like when one stands up too fast. Everything went white, I stopped in the middle of the hallway, and suddenly I realized a gym rep was standing in front of me trying to get my attention. It did not feel as if I stood there dazed for more than a few seconds, but it must have been longer, as I was started to realize that the trainer was standing in front of me trying to get my attention. Just like some horrible movie cliché, I shook my head, and excused my sudden lapse as feeling faint from the change of extreme temperature between the blistering summer heat, and the cold, stone, air conditioned hallway. I felt just as if I always did after "standing up too fast" except this time there was a gnawing feeling in my stomach. A feeling of nervousness and anxiety. It eventually passed, and I was quick to excuse it. I made my way to the workout area, and after typical exercises, I asked someone at the desk if my they had received a contract that day. The clerk hesitated, and stammered an answer someplace between "I don't know" and "The manager isn't here right now." She then corrected herself by reminding me that the contracts are normally sent to Norwalk to be processed.
Many months later, the following February, I took my grandmother to the gym. She picked a paper on the way in, and handed it to the gym manager. As she did, something prompted me to snatch it from his hands. I shuffled through it, and I found a contract signed in red ink, with a note on the top saying it was an agreement for three years or 36 months. It was MY handwriting. My very own. As soon as I looked at the red letters, I felt that strange dizziness that I had the previous summer, but this time, I saw something in that white haze.
I saw through my own eyes, that I was dressed in winter clothes, and holding the very same contract in my outstretched hand. What's more is that I was in standing in the exact same place I was the previous summer: The Bally Fitness building, in the central hallway, facing the same direction. I was brought to when I realized that my grandmother was trying to get my attention. The gym manager had swiped all the papers out of my hands, and whisked away to the back room. I yelled and begged him to bring it back. However, he lost his temper, and in a gruff but insincere tone, assured me I could look at the contract when he was done with it. I yelled for it again, and was simultaneously met with his threat of an "attitude adjustment" (synonymous with a physical beating) and my grandmother wanting to know what was so important.
I explained to her that the manager was holding a contract that I had signed. She asked what it said, but I told her I did not know. She asked when I signed it, but I told her I could not remember. She asked why I set it on the desk instead of just giving it to him, but I could offer no explanation. She asked how I knew it was mine, and all I could say was "I know it is." I told her about my signature on the bottom, but she assured me that it simply "looked" like mine. I was nearly hysterical trying to get my grandmother to believe me, but she merely chuckled with polite defiance, and insisted I was imagining things.
A while later, after the gym manager had cooled down, I asked him what those papers were that he took. He rattled off the usual assortment of bills and fliers, but indicated nothing else.
I asked him about the contract with the red handwriting, and he told me that it was none of my business. I asked why, and his tone changed from indifference to annoyance, and gruffly spoke "Because I said so." I ceased my pursuit of the topic.
However, after we left, I started my search for my own personal copy of the contract. I looked through the garbage, both indoors and out, and I searched my grandmother's purse for it. I asked a club rep about it, but she seemed genuinely oblivious. Over the course of the next month, I would eventually search the entire house, mostly when my parents were out. I didn't turn up a thing. I never forgot about the strange contract. Later that summer, I asked the gym manager about it again, and he had either forgotten or feigned ignorance.
I really don't know what it all means, but I'm as sure of these events as I am the keys I type this on. I can't be convinced of anything less. I often have Deja-Vu. Very strong episodes of Deja-Vu. In fact, so strong, I have actually been able to predict as much as complete sentences from people in the middle of a conversation... and then the feeling vanishes, leaving friends and passers-by wide-eyed. However, this "Red Contract" was one of the most profound and powerful experiences I have ever had. The only thing that is worse than not knowing what was in the letter, is not knowing if I'm right or was just "confused." I also am not sure why this collection agency keeps calling me.
Friday, December 19, 2008
Now I know where not to buy books
Penny Arcade is not a place you want to buy books from.
http://odontomachus.livejournal.com/18970.html
http://odontomachus.livejournal.com/18970.html
Care for turtles
Interesting. I never knew what to feed them.
http://odontomachus.livejournal.com/18575.html
http://odontomachus.livejournal.com/18575.html
Transmat Commuting
It's sad that this paranormal story came from Kansas City. It's pretty lame, especially due to the lack of detail. The author is a "Rudy Martin."
"There is not enough words for me to prove the truth of this story. I can only wish you had been there with me. This occurrence will give an idea of the prodigious way to travel from point A to point B. I drove out to work one day. It was one of those usual clear, sunny mornings and everything was normal except traffic. Within minutes, I ran into a hardly moving, bumper to bumper jam. Losing patience and in attempt to outsmart this queue, I turned left, thinking I could loop back ahead somewhere. A few turns and I knew I was beginning to get lost. The river to my left was the only landmark I had and I was sure it was the North side, so I knew I was headed East. A few more turns and not a thing was familiar anymore. I was completely lost."
I understand how being lost can make you feel like you're on an alien planet, but if you're honest with yourself, you know that there are things that are recognizable, however useless they may be. McDonalds, for example. This author disagrees.
"I drove past a fenced power transformer station and that was the last landmark that had registered in my memory. Tense, looking from side to side, looking just like a lost driver, I continued driving on this straight stretch of road through this entirely unfamiliar place, not knowing which direction I was headed. Houses of modern design, some new, hinted that I had entered a subdivision."
Could we have a street name? A sign indicating which subdivision, please?
"Then, all of a sudden, there was a traffic light at the intersection up ahead about one block. It was here where the inexplicable occurred."
Let me guess. It stayed red for an entire hour and people were honking their horns.
"A brief description is in order at this point to help visualize the map of the area. An old highway runs North-South between two residential areas. It has two lanes on each side, divided at the middle throughout its length by a concrete-curbed grassy island."
I have no idea what you are talking about, and I live in Kansas City. Is it I-35? I-435N?
"Both the West and East sides of this highway are fenced with heavy concrete walls in some parts and rock boulders in others all the way South beginning from the embankments by the river at the North. As far as I can recall there is no link between the two residential areas East and West of the highway except at the intersection I just mentioned above."
I somehow wonder if this place even exists.
"Needless to say, to go from the residential area on one side of the highway to the residential area on the other side one must cross the highway and the only crossing is at that intersection. As I approached the intersection, I realized I was about to cross the highway. I had occasionally passed by this intersection while driving down the highway, so this was a familiar site."
Okay, so if it's familiar, it can be remembered. What was this intersection? Where was it?
"On the other side of the traffic light was the well known hotel."
Ah. The Well Known Hotel. I've been there lots of times. C'mon, Rudy! Tell us the name!
"From this I got a positive bearing: I was on the East side of the highway headed West towards the intersection. But something very bizarre happened. As I slowed down towards the traffic light, I noticed that the North side of the hotel with its great big name was facing East."
And the "great big name" is? Sheraton? Mariott? Comfort Inn?
"It should have been facing North!"
I've had the same experience. I've gone driving down a street, trying to find a building, and I say, "Damn you, you should have been on the right side!" But when I'm being honest with myself, I decide that I just have a lousy sense of direction.
"Then, as I stepped on the brake and just as the car stopped, the hotel switched to
its normal position (turned 90 degrees) in the wink of an eye! that is, its East side facing east, its North side facing North - right in front of my very eyes, just like one would see on television!"
Yeah, when I get angry enough at being lost, I often make that accusation.
"It was while waiting for the go signal at this intersection when things became clear to me: I got lost on the WEST side of the highway, near the river, past a power transformer station, I never crossed the highway ..... what was I doing waiting for the green light here at the intersection EAST of the highway? How did I get here? All hairs began rising at this point, not from fear but probably from the realization of this impossibility!"
Yeah, it seems impossible to me that when I want to find an office for a job interview, and get lost, it ends up being on the other side of town and I miss the appointment. But I own up to it being my fault.
"Whatever it was that occurred, I found my bewildered self on this spot at the exit gate of a private property just before the intersection under the traffic light EAST of the highway. To arrive at this spot from somewhere in the subdivision WEST of the highway where I got lost I had to drive East, ram through those concrete walls, or fly off rock boulders then cross the highway, fight traffic, hover over the concrete-curbed island, fight traffic again if still in one piece; OR cross this intersection in peace and ease; then turn around and face the traffic light."
Yeah, getting lost can be disorienting. It seems impossible that the street layout could be like it is, but then you go there and it's not where you thought it would be. I tried to find the Walgreens in Raytown and I ended up going down this strange road and not seeing what I was looking for. I could have sworn the Walgreens was there. But I'm not going to say it's paranormal.
"I did none of the above and yet as sure as the sun brings light I landed here from the WEST."
I guess I should believe you. After all, you swore by the fact that "the sun brings light."
"Later on I found out that the fenced power transformer station - the last land mark stored in my memory - West of the highway where I got lost was approximately 7 miles Northwest from this exact spot."
Vague.
"May be some human being can explain at least in theory how an occurrence such as this happens. I've heard some of those theories. However, how far those theories are from what this really and actually is ..... in other words the truth behind the occurrence ..... is beyond human knowledge. A fact that we just have to accept."
Oh I don't know. You being frustrated and disoriented by being lost is not hard to accept at all.
"Nonetheless, may be something can be learned. I have only some physics and chemistry to lay down as guesstimates for this occurrence. Nevertheless, I can calculate how much time this occurrence saved me from that traffic queue to reach my office - at least 70 minutes!"
Wow! I need to find that Well Known Hotel road myself! I hate being late for work!
"There is not enough words for me to prove the truth of this story. I can only wish you had been there with me. This occurrence will give an idea of the prodigious way to travel from point A to point B. I drove out to work one day. It was one of those usual clear, sunny mornings and everything was normal except traffic. Within minutes, I ran into a hardly moving, bumper to bumper jam. Losing patience and in attempt to outsmart this queue, I turned left, thinking I could loop back ahead somewhere. A few turns and I knew I was beginning to get lost. The river to my left was the only landmark I had and I was sure it was the North side, so I knew I was headed East. A few more turns and not a thing was familiar anymore. I was completely lost."
I understand how being lost can make you feel like you're on an alien planet, but if you're honest with yourself, you know that there are things that are recognizable, however useless they may be. McDonalds, for example. This author disagrees.
"I drove past a fenced power transformer station and that was the last landmark that had registered in my memory. Tense, looking from side to side, looking just like a lost driver, I continued driving on this straight stretch of road through this entirely unfamiliar place, not knowing which direction I was headed. Houses of modern design, some new, hinted that I had entered a subdivision."
Could we have a street name? A sign indicating which subdivision, please?
"Then, all of a sudden, there was a traffic light at the intersection up ahead about one block. It was here where the inexplicable occurred."
Let me guess. It stayed red for an entire hour and people were honking their horns.
"A brief description is in order at this point to help visualize the map of the area. An old highway runs North-South between two residential areas. It has two lanes on each side, divided at the middle throughout its length by a concrete-curbed grassy island."
I have no idea what you are talking about, and I live in Kansas City. Is it I-35? I-435N?
"Both the West and East sides of this highway are fenced with heavy concrete walls in some parts and rock boulders in others all the way South beginning from the embankments by the river at the North. As far as I can recall there is no link between the two residential areas East and West of the highway except at the intersection I just mentioned above."
I somehow wonder if this place even exists.
"Needless to say, to go from the residential area on one side of the highway to the residential area on the other side one must cross the highway and the only crossing is at that intersection. As I approached the intersection, I realized I was about to cross the highway. I had occasionally passed by this intersection while driving down the highway, so this was a familiar site."
Okay, so if it's familiar, it can be remembered. What was this intersection? Where was it?
"On the other side of the traffic light was the well known hotel."
Ah. The Well Known Hotel. I've been there lots of times. C'mon, Rudy! Tell us the name!
"From this I got a positive bearing: I was on the East side of the highway headed West towards the intersection. But something very bizarre happened. As I slowed down towards the traffic light, I noticed that the North side of the hotel with its great big name was facing East."
And the "great big name" is? Sheraton? Mariott? Comfort Inn?
"It should have been facing North!"
I've had the same experience. I've gone driving down a street, trying to find a building, and I say, "Damn you, you should have been on the right side!" But when I'm being honest with myself, I decide that I just have a lousy sense of direction.
"Then, as I stepped on the brake and just as the car stopped, the hotel switched to
its normal position (turned 90 degrees) in the wink of an eye! that is, its East side facing east, its North side facing North - right in front of my very eyes, just like one would see on television!"
Yeah, when I get angry enough at being lost, I often make that accusation.
"It was while waiting for the go signal at this intersection when things became clear to me: I got lost on the WEST side of the highway, near the river, past a power transformer station, I never crossed the highway ..... what was I doing waiting for the green light here at the intersection EAST of the highway? How did I get here? All hairs began rising at this point, not from fear but probably from the realization of this impossibility!"
Yeah, it seems impossible to me that when I want to find an office for a job interview, and get lost, it ends up being on the other side of town and I miss the appointment. But I own up to it being my fault.
"Whatever it was that occurred, I found my bewildered self on this spot at the exit gate of a private property just before the intersection under the traffic light EAST of the highway. To arrive at this spot from somewhere in the subdivision WEST of the highway where I got lost I had to drive East, ram through those concrete walls, or fly off rock boulders then cross the highway, fight traffic, hover over the concrete-curbed island, fight traffic again if still in one piece; OR cross this intersection in peace and ease; then turn around and face the traffic light."
Yeah, getting lost can be disorienting. It seems impossible that the street layout could be like it is, but then you go there and it's not where you thought it would be. I tried to find the Walgreens in Raytown and I ended up going down this strange road and not seeing what I was looking for. I could have sworn the Walgreens was there. But I'm not going to say it's paranormal.
"I did none of the above and yet as sure as the sun brings light I landed here from the WEST."
I guess I should believe you. After all, you swore by the fact that "the sun brings light."
"Later on I found out that the fenced power transformer station - the last land mark stored in my memory - West of the highway where I got lost was approximately 7 miles Northwest from this exact spot."
Vague.
"May be some human being can explain at least in theory how an occurrence such as this happens. I've heard some of those theories. However, how far those theories are from what this really and actually is ..... in other words the truth behind the occurrence ..... is beyond human knowledge. A fact that we just have to accept."
Oh I don't know. You being frustrated and disoriented by being lost is not hard to accept at all.
"Nonetheless, may be something can be learned. I have only some physics and chemistry to lay down as guesstimates for this occurrence. Nevertheless, I can calculate how much time this occurrence saved me from that traffic queue to reach my office - at least 70 minutes!"
Wow! I need to find that Well Known Hotel road myself! I hate being late for work!
Identified lights in the sky
"I am a 47-year-old crosscountry truckdriver who spends many a night driving."
Knowing what I know about sleepy truck drivers swerving off the road and people with no sleep seeing hallucinations, this is not a good way to start a UFO story.
"I have a high school education and average intelligence. One night several years ago I was headed West from Alabama into Mississippi on I-10. The time was about 90 minutes after sundown. I noticed that a light was blinking in the sky. It was about 10 to 15 de grees above the horizon and almost straight in front of me."
At the right angle, another car, a billboard, or even the lights from your own truck can become a "UFO."
"I could not judge the dis- tance but I guess the light was miles away. My point is that this light blinked at very irregular non-repeating rythum. Sometimes the light blinked as slow as one flash per second. Other times it was as fast as 20 times per second. The rythum was eerie. The beats changed constantly."
So it could be a car or a billboard.
"I have a background in telephone repair so I do know how fast 20 flashes per second is."
Actually, that's the last thing that I'd criticize about this story. Too many other things are left out for me to worry about it.
"I watched for about half an hour and then,as easily as it had appeared, it was gone. I didn't see it move away, it simply seemed to stop blinking. I have never seen anything like it before or since."
So it was probably a car that hugged your bumper for a few miles. Or maybe an unusual billboard.
Knowing what I know about sleepy truck drivers swerving off the road and people with no sleep seeing hallucinations, this is not a good way to start a UFO story.
"I have a high school education and average intelligence. One night several years ago I was headed West from Alabama into Mississippi on I-10. The time was about 90 minutes after sundown. I noticed that a light was blinking in the sky. It was about 10 to 15 de grees above the horizon and almost straight in front of me."
At the right angle, another car, a billboard, or even the lights from your own truck can become a "UFO."
"I could not judge the dis- tance but I guess the light was miles away. My point is that this light blinked at very irregular non-repeating rythum. Sometimes the light blinked as slow as one flash per second. Other times it was as fast as 20 times per second. The rythum was eerie. The beats changed constantly."
So it could be a car or a billboard.
"I have a background in telephone repair so I do know how fast 20 flashes per second is."
Actually, that's the last thing that I'd criticize about this story. Too many other things are left out for me to worry about it.
"I watched for about half an hour and then,as easily as it had appeared, it was gone. I didn't see it move away, it simply seemed to stop blinking. I have never seen anything like it before or since."
So it was probably a car that hugged your bumper for a few miles. Or maybe an unusual billboard.
Close encounters of the identified kind
S. Benson writes a story at http://www.qsl.net/w5www/stories2.html that sounds a lot like a case of nerves and scary identified objects.
"Sighting #1: It was the year 1999. I was homeschooled, so I could stay up late ( I am a night owl). One night, I turned off the t.v. at around 1:30 A.M. I went into my room, and started to make my bed. I felt a breeze, and turned around to shut the windows. There, in front of me, in the left window, was a face. The face was beastly, yet had a manly air about it. Hair, like a mane, surrounded it's pale brown face, and faded as it reached the face features. It had glowing yellow eyes that stared directly at me. It had a curved nose, like a dog's, and an open mouth. Black lips pulled back, revealing long, sharp. yellow-stained teeth. I could hear it's breath through the screen."
If it's a window and it's dark, that could be your scary face superimposed on an object outside. It could also be a raccoon or a possum. In the dark, a dog can look like the grim reaper. The noise could have been the wind, the animal breathing, or an object in the house that amplifies sounds, like the sound of your breath.
"I had frozen in fear, and didn't faint only with the wonder of what might happen to me if I did. I finally ran from the room, and spent a sleepless night in the guest bed. Since the first sighting, I kept all of my shades closed, and reclined from going in my room, but my mother would often open them to let light in."
Did your reclining position prevent you from going in the room?
"One night, I entered my room to see that the shades were open. I checked each one, and when I came to the third window, the window that I had previously seen the beast in, I saw it once more! It was just staring at me! This time, I gathered my courage, and decided to stay, and see what it would do. After a while, it just left!"
There could be a mirrored surface outside the window and you can't see it through the screen very well. If you live in a scrap yard, or a place that's filled with junk, perhaps a piece of reflective debris is stuck in front of your window. Or maybe your brother is playing a prank on you.
"The last sighting... hopefully. I had started to trust the room again, believing that there was no chance that I could see it again. I was laying on my bed one night, reading. I started to open the shades to let the cool air in. I came to the third window, and hesitated upon opening it. When I finally did, though, the face was there once again! I stepped back, and waited for it to do something. Once again, it just left! This all happened in a period of four months. I haven't seen it since."
The fact that it didn't do anything lends credence to it being one of the possibilities above, or something else equally mundane.
"Sighting #1: It was the year 1999. I was homeschooled, so I could stay up late ( I am a night owl). One night, I turned off the t.v. at around 1:30 A.M. I went into my room, and started to make my bed. I felt a breeze, and turned around to shut the windows. There, in front of me, in the left window, was a face. The face was beastly, yet had a manly air about it. Hair, like a mane, surrounded it's pale brown face, and faded as it reached the face features. It had glowing yellow eyes that stared directly at me. It had a curved nose, like a dog's, and an open mouth. Black lips pulled back, revealing long, sharp. yellow-stained teeth. I could hear it's breath through the screen."
If it's a window and it's dark, that could be your scary face superimposed on an object outside. It could also be a raccoon or a possum. In the dark, a dog can look like the grim reaper. The noise could have been the wind, the animal breathing, or an object in the house that amplifies sounds, like the sound of your breath.
"I had frozen in fear, and didn't faint only with the wonder of what might happen to me if I did. I finally ran from the room, and spent a sleepless night in the guest bed. Since the first sighting, I kept all of my shades closed, and reclined from going in my room, but my mother would often open them to let light in."
Did your reclining position prevent you from going in the room?
"One night, I entered my room to see that the shades were open. I checked each one, and when I came to the third window, the window that I had previously seen the beast in, I saw it once more! It was just staring at me! This time, I gathered my courage, and decided to stay, and see what it would do. After a while, it just left!"
There could be a mirrored surface outside the window and you can't see it through the screen very well. If you live in a scrap yard, or a place that's filled with junk, perhaps a piece of reflective debris is stuck in front of your window. Or maybe your brother is playing a prank on you.
"The last sighting... hopefully. I had started to trust the room again, believing that there was no chance that I could see it again. I was laying on my bed one night, reading. I started to open the shades to let the cool air in. I came to the third window, and hesitated upon opening it. When I finally did, though, the face was there once again! I stepped back, and waited for it to do something. Once again, it just left! This all happened in a period of four months. I haven't seen it since."
The fact that it didn't do anything lends credence to it being one of the possibilities above, or something else equally mundane.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Interesting narratives, beautiful descriptions
http://autumn-sunrise.livejournal.com/196972.html
http://autumn-sunrise.livejournal.com/201938.html
http://autumn-sunrise.livejournal.com/201938.html
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Writing
I wrote this some time ago:
There's no good reason for me to write anything monumental anymore. It's too hard to get a 120,000 word novel published by a company that actually has visibility and doesn't charge you. So it leaves me with much less to do during my bored moments. I've been stuck on one novel and doing different iterations on it, but now that publication seems more and more distant, and that my current epilogue is full of flat characters and thin plots, my interest in it is decreasing rapidly. Furthermore, I have no real motivation to write another novel, considering the brick wall I've encountered. Maybe I really don't have a knack for words. I find editing a novel more than 500 times tedious, painful and unnecessary. But publishers want that.
There's no good reason for me to write anything monumental anymore. It's too hard to get a 120,000 word novel published by a company that actually has visibility and doesn't charge you. So it leaves me with much less to do during my bored moments. I've been stuck on one novel and doing different iterations on it, but now that publication seems more and more distant, and that my current epilogue is full of flat characters and thin plots, my interest in it is decreasing rapidly. Furthermore, I have no real motivation to write another novel, considering the brick wall I've encountered. Maybe I really don't have a knack for words. I find editing a novel more than 500 times tedious, painful and unnecessary. But publishers want that.
Identified "flying" object
Jose at http://www.qsl.net/w5www/stories2.html gave a description of an uncanny light that more than likely came from something inside the car, or a street light outside the car.
"Next observation I had was when going I a car just a few years ago with my friends. Just for a brief moment between some trees and woods while riding in a car I manage to got a glimpse of the TV tower in Stockholm (Kaknästornet). I cant believe this is happening to me I remember thinking to myself. A big ball shaped object is hanging over the tower."
Anyone who has ridden as a passenger in a car for a long enough period can notice strange objects "hovering" over whatever they see in the window. This is called an "optical illusion." For example, if your dome light is on, and you look at a mountain in just the right angle, it looks like a "saucer" is floating over the mountain. Wow! A close encounter of the third kind! Except different. It's sort of like that "paranormal" novelty bowl that presents the illusion of a penny that magically "floats" above the bowl. It's all done with reflections.
"There I was, in the car with my friends, and I'm the only one looking at that direction. Í was shouting to the driver to stop the car but it was impossible to do it because we were driving on the highway with other cars and vehicles around. The shape of the object was round and had no sharp edges, it was kind of blurred. The color was orange glowing and it was pretty big to."
So you saw the reflection of a sign or something orange in the car being reflected on the object.
"It was raining that night so the sky was one big cloud. the objects orange light illuminated the clouds above it."
A reflection can also "filter" things being seen with different colors and patterns. You can "map" a plaid pattern on a white building, for example, if your shirt is close enough to the window.
"We were four persons in the car, but only one witness..."
This lends even more credence to it being a reflection.
Jose includes an illustration involving a "UFO" resembling the side of a quarter, which turns in a static rotation pattern as it travels across "the sky." After examining the illustration, I deduced that it is extremely possible that the "UFO" is actually a reflection of a certain type of hubcap on somebody's car, or the wheels on a semitrailer. If you have a shiny metal hubcap with just the right shape to it, and if an orange light from a sign or a car hits it just right, the reflection will rotate in exactly the way described.
"Next observation I had was when going I a car just a few years ago with my friends. Just for a brief moment between some trees and woods while riding in a car I manage to got a glimpse of the TV tower in Stockholm (Kaknästornet). I cant believe this is happening to me I remember thinking to myself. A big ball shaped object is hanging over the tower."
Anyone who has ridden as a passenger in a car for a long enough period can notice strange objects "hovering" over whatever they see in the window. This is called an "optical illusion." For example, if your dome light is on, and you look at a mountain in just the right angle, it looks like a "saucer" is floating over the mountain. Wow! A close encounter of the third kind! Except different. It's sort of like that "paranormal" novelty bowl that presents the illusion of a penny that magically "floats" above the bowl. It's all done with reflections.
"There I was, in the car with my friends, and I'm the only one looking at that direction. Í was shouting to the driver to stop the car but it was impossible to do it because we were driving on the highway with other cars and vehicles around. The shape of the object was round and had no sharp edges, it was kind of blurred. The color was orange glowing and it was pretty big to."
So you saw the reflection of a sign or something orange in the car being reflected on the object.
"It was raining that night so the sky was one big cloud. the objects orange light illuminated the clouds above it."
A reflection can also "filter" things being seen with different colors and patterns. You can "map" a plaid pattern on a white building, for example, if your shirt is close enough to the window.
"We were four persons in the car, but only one witness..."
This lends even more credence to it being a reflection.
Jose includes an illustration involving a "UFO" resembling the side of a quarter, which turns in a static rotation pattern as it travels across "the sky." After examining the illustration, I deduced that it is extremely possible that the "UFO" is actually a reflection of a certain type of hubcap on somebody's car, or the wheels on a semitrailer. If you have a shiny metal hubcap with just the right shape to it, and if an orange light from a sign or a car hits it just right, the reflection will rotate in exactly the way described.
UFO story from my home town
On http://www.ufosoveramerica.com/flash/ufo_sightings2.html, the second article down is entitled "UFO Sighting in Overland Park, Kansas." It is dated Sat, 29 Sep 2001.
Huh?
A person posted a UFO story at qsl.net in which he said "I have pictures and if you would like me to email some of them perhaps you could let me know." The thing is, there's no e-mail listed. Clearly, it's a conspiracy!
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Writer's Block: Invention
"If you could invent one thing and make it a reality, what would it be? Why?"
A real sonic screwdriver, exactly like the one Doctor Who uses. I don't need to explain. Either that or a GUI based data system like GE's financial service system for Bally and other `green screen' systems that automatically sets up the club membership number when a person dials in, like they do at Visa, and allows you to do operations without keywords and green screens, except in the case of server crashes.
A real sonic screwdriver, exactly like the one Doctor Who uses. I don't need to explain. Either that or a GUI based data system like GE's financial service system for Bally and other `green screen' systems that automatically sets up the club membership number when a person dials in, like they do at Visa, and allows you to do operations without keywords and green screens, except in the case of server crashes.
Writer's Block: In charge of the country
"What would you change about your country if you could be in charge for a day?"
Apply all frivolous government spending to the national debt. Pull all troops out of Iraq and build up the home defense unit. Develop new techniques for hunting down web based terror cells so we won't go on wild goose chases through the Middle East.
Apply all frivolous government spending to the national debt. Pull all troops out of Iraq and build up the home defense unit. Develop new techniques for hunting down web based terror cells so we won't go on wild goose chases through the Middle East.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Writer's Block - Traditions
"What traditions do you carry on during your day, consciously or otherwise?"
I wake up, exercise, shower, eat breakfast, feed dogs, brush, study the bible and pray, shower, work on projects, get prepared for work. I go to work, I eat the same rice stuff every day to cut costs, I work, generally not eating on breaks except lunch, unless I get the shakes, then eat lunch, work, pray in my car as I'm driving home, work on projects at home, brush my teeth and go to bed.
I wake up, exercise, shower, eat breakfast, feed dogs, brush, study the bible and pray, shower, work on projects, get prepared for work. I go to work, I eat the same rice stuff every day to cut costs, I work, generally not eating on breaks except lunch, unless I get the shakes, then eat lunch, work, pray in my car as I'm driving home, work on projects at home, brush my teeth and go to bed.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Jurassic Park 2
The second Jurassic Park novel is better than the movie because the characters and story make more sense. The divorce and relationships get better play, there's a black kid named Arby, and he gets into interesting predicaments, and John Hammond is still dead because the compies killed him. The characters seem more human in the novel, and I like it better. The movie is ridiculous and goes to a Godzilla story, which isn't what the book had.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Live Free or Die Hard
This movie suffers from the same paranoid mythology that my customers believe when they call me at call center jobs. Because they're national chain companies, they believe the company is a perfect entity that never makes any mistakes and that we always know what's going on all the time, about every one of our million customers. Nothing could be further from the truth. People slip through the cracks, computer systems are always malfunctioning, the supervisors are never there, so it's impossible to "have it your way." If we're that big, and "can't pull our heads out of our asses" as one customer said, what makes you think that the U.S. government is any different? Any giant corporate entity is made up of imperfect individuals trying to do their best of their abilities the only way they know how. They don't know everything. That's why when you call Visa and other companies, they put you on hold sometimes. The tougher the question, the longer your wait may be. That's why your calls often get dropped. Or your company will give you the "runaround." It's not intentional, we're just human and we don't know who you should speak to, so we tell you to talk to the guy who told you to talk to us. Maybe it's his fault. The only conspiracy, therefore, is incompetence. I'm certain that this is what happens in the government, too, nine times out of ten. From experience, I know people I can talk to can create a conspiracy out of nothing. People imagine conspiracies about me, in fact, when I'm really just not very good at my job. So I don't believe for a second that the chaotic Washington D.C. street system is set up on some super efficient computer system any more than the lousy K.C. street system is. I don't think that the madhouse we call the stock exchange can be completely controlled by computers, either, since someone's got to buy and sell and affect those numbers, and mistakes happen.
General Hospital
Normally, I try to ignore soap operas, but recently General Hospital has sunk to a new low. They introduced this scrawny nerd into the story. Women in the story magically fall in love with him due to flimsy plot devices. The whole storyline nauseates me, and every time he talks, I want to slap him. First of all, he's a nerd, and talks (and should talk) about subjects that extroverted General Hospital women should have absolutely no clue about. In other words, he should have little or nothing in common with the women he meets, thus lessening his chances of being seduced. Secondly, his nerd dialogue is as fake as the accent of The Closer, and he needs to stop talking about himself in the third person like Bob Dole because I want to slap him then. Third, I know that everyone that shows up on a soap is automatically seduced, but can't we, just this once, make an exception? He's the least deserving out of all soap opera characters. What's next? Jabba the Hutt? At least have the kid spend a couple seasons failing miserably. This is nothing but wish fulfillment. It's just as maddening as the conspiracy nut in Stargate SG-1 being found to be a real alien. No. He doesn't deserve it. It's not real. It's not the reality I understand to be real.
Fictional universes vs. fact
Due to the fact that I find movies and TV believable, it's important for me to make a list about the things that make them unreal.
1. Obviously, the time. Details like opening doors and putting on your socks are left out. In movies like Lord of the Rings, epic landscapes whiz by when you really want to stop and take them in.
2. People tell stories that are complete with music, sound effects and actors, giving no account for why the storyteller can remember all that dialogue so vividly, or how a pair of Asians with poor English skills can remember a salesman's conversation in its entirety.
3. The Joker cannot logically be both a 40 year old retired businessman who travels the country in a mobile home, a chemically scarred madman who tries to kill everyone in NewYork, and an obsessive compulsive novelist. Also, the schizophrenic insurance man who starts an underground fighting ring couldn't possibly be the same man who made scientific breakthroughs in the field of gamma radiation research and also be the man who created astounding magic tricks back in the 1800's. It's important to note that an actor will appear in movies that don't have any relationship to their previous movie, despite them being a person in that movie. It is analogous to an uneducated man in real life who has gone through an entire career in the IRS while simultaneously being a spy, a college professor, and a prominent neurosurgeon without the necessary transitions between the jobs.
More observations to come.
1. Obviously, the time. Details like opening doors and putting on your socks are left out. In movies like Lord of the Rings, epic landscapes whiz by when you really want to stop and take them in.
2. People tell stories that are complete with music, sound effects and actors, giving no account for why the storyteller can remember all that dialogue so vividly, or how a pair of Asians with poor English skills can remember a salesman's conversation in its entirety.
3. The Joker cannot logically be both a 40 year old retired businessman who travels the country in a mobile home, a chemically scarred madman who tries to kill everyone in NewYork, and an obsessive compulsive novelist. Also, the schizophrenic insurance man who starts an underground fighting ring couldn't possibly be the same man who made scientific breakthroughs in the field of gamma radiation research and also be the man who created astounding magic tricks back in the 1800's. It's important to note that an actor will appear in movies that don't have any relationship to their previous movie, despite them being a person in that movie. It is analogous to an uneducated man in real life who has gone through an entire career in the IRS while simultaneously being a spy, a college professor, and a prominent neurosurgeon without the necessary transitions between the jobs.
More observations to come.
Prom Night
Prom night is one of the worst movies I've ever seen. The title is similar to campy, but better movies. The story is dull and pointless for half the movie. The killings aren't scary or realistic. The killer looks like the Unabomber, but does nothing surprising.
A pocket knife is the uninspired choice for a killing weapon. And there are large plot holes. Apparently the parents of those kids don't care that their senior prom is being held at a friggin' hotel. I guess they don't mind surprise pregnancies and dropouts.
The dialogue is cheesy. The black girl got complimented on her looks so many times that I began to question the truth of those statements. The prom itself contained so much sickeningly sweet sentimentality that I left the theater in search of snacks instead of enduring the lame dialogue and melodramatic moments.
The prom was glitzy, and unnecessarily so. Despite comments that so-and-so spent a million dollars on it, I didn't buy it. Their prom looked like the academy awards. Perhaps if you're on the rich side of California, it may be similar, but it stretches credibility to the extreme, especially with the addition of a hotel. I've never been to a prom and I didn't believe this one. It was that bad.
Cheap shots were abundant. The killer wasn't scary at all, so I never got truly worried about them. The blood was minimal and fake, as if the director were trying to keep a PG-13 rating on a horror movie.
The scenes of boys and girls being together in hotel rooms made the plot holes obvious to everyone. A sensible parent wouldn't let this sort of mischief happen at the prom, unless they're a fan of unemployment and teen pregnancy.
Everyone acted dumb in the story, too. The hotel manager reacted slowly to the missing staff people, with no explanation. He obviously didn't look busy.
The killer was shown too many times, doing stupid things that made me pity the guy rather than fear him.
The cop was also slow. The info dump at the police station was irritating, even with interruptions. I've seen this same story framed better in other movies.
The female protagonist was dumb. You'd think, when an entire hotel is being evacuated under suspicious circumstances, she'd wonder if the killer was around, even if she were taking medication.
The killer didn't need to kill the guy sent to check on the maid. He could have easily told him a better lie or "I don't know," and go on his way. People aren't that clever, so he would have gotten away with it. That would have made it scarier.
If he posed as a cop, that would have been better, too. Or if he had worked with the cops. None of that happened, though. He was just an ordinary human killer. He wasn't even a terrorist or tied in with the government to give it that international thriller feel.
The preppie prom thing was annoying. The rock and roll soundtrack was inappropriate. The prom "scrapbook" looked like a movie company made it, which was cheesy in and of itself.
Too much screen time was given to the prom deejay, and he didn't even get killed.
The ending was a disappointment. The girl fought back a little and the cop magically pops in and shoots the killer. It's disappointing because she didn't struggle enough with the guy. It wasn't scary and I didn't worry about her that much.
Overall, it was campy, melodramatic and fake. I don't know who picks out these screenplays for production, but this is the poorest choice ever.
A pocket knife is the uninspired choice for a killing weapon. And there are large plot holes. Apparently the parents of those kids don't care that their senior prom is being held at a friggin' hotel. I guess they don't mind surprise pregnancies and dropouts.
The dialogue is cheesy. The black girl got complimented on her looks so many times that I began to question the truth of those statements. The prom itself contained so much sickeningly sweet sentimentality that I left the theater in search of snacks instead of enduring the lame dialogue and melodramatic moments.
The prom was glitzy, and unnecessarily so. Despite comments that so-and-so spent a million dollars on it, I didn't buy it. Their prom looked like the academy awards. Perhaps if you're on the rich side of California, it may be similar, but it stretches credibility to the extreme, especially with the addition of a hotel. I've never been to a prom and I didn't believe this one. It was that bad.
Cheap shots were abundant. The killer wasn't scary at all, so I never got truly worried about them. The blood was minimal and fake, as if the director were trying to keep a PG-13 rating on a horror movie.
The scenes of boys and girls being together in hotel rooms made the plot holes obvious to everyone. A sensible parent wouldn't let this sort of mischief happen at the prom, unless they're a fan of unemployment and teen pregnancy.
Everyone acted dumb in the story, too. The hotel manager reacted slowly to the missing staff people, with no explanation. He obviously didn't look busy.
The killer was shown too many times, doing stupid things that made me pity the guy rather than fear him.
The cop was also slow. The info dump at the police station was irritating, even with interruptions. I've seen this same story framed better in other movies.
The female protagonist was dumb. You'd think, when an entire hotel is being evacuated under suspicious circumstances, she'd wonder if the killer was around, even if she were taking medication.
The killer didn't need to kill the guy sent to check on the maid. He could have easily told him a better lie or "I don't know," and go on his way. People aren't that clever, so he would have gotten away with it. That would have made it scarier.
If he posed as a cop, that would have been better, too. Or if he had worked with the cops. None of that happened, though. He was just an ordinary human killer. He wasn't even a terrorist or tied in with the government to give it that international thriller feel.
The preppie prom thing was annoying. The rock and roll soundtrack was inappropriate. The prom "scrapbook" looked like a movie company made it, which was cheesy in and of itself.
Too much screen time was given to the prom deejay, and he didn't even get killed.
The ending was a disappointment. The girl fought back a little and the cop magically pops in and shoots the killer. It's disappointing because she didn't struggle enough with the guy. It wasn't scary and I didn't worry about her that much.
Overall, it was campy, melodramatic and fake. I don't know who picks out these screenplays for production, but this is the poorest choice ever.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
"Stranded"
For a number of weeks, I have seen a skinny guy and this fat lady standing on the island at the intersection of Blue Ridge and I-470. He holds a cardboard sign reading "Stranded: Need Work, Clothes, Food." A few things bug me about this couple. One, they can't be truly stranded on that island because they leave their post and go elsewhere. At times the island is desolate. And they're not truly stranded because you can easily walk away from there and go to a gas station or any number of places. Two, those aren't things I have handy in the car. I suppose I could drive them to a shelter or something, but every time I encounter them it's on the way to work and I'll be late.
Dilemma of the era
Everybody talks about the blogosphere, but nobody says anything about its diameter or circumference. Can the answer ever be found?
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Writing
I just realized something about writing. You can write about your local area and people will believe it's anywhere if you do it write. For example, if you write about Southmoreland Park in Kansas City and call it "Central Park," telling people that you are actually writing about New York's Central Park, people who have never been to New York will be convinced that you are actually writing about New York, especially when your details involve things found anywhere, like hot dog vendors, kids and picnics. This may sound stupid, but the application of this concept can have staggering effects if done right.
Theater in the park
I just thought of a brilliant idea. Someone needs to get together a theater group to do an interactive version of Othello and other Shakespearian plays. They would naturally be amateur actors, someone who doesn't care how royally screwed up their version of Hamlet and other plays become.
The basic premise is this:
1. Perform the play as usual.
2. Allow audience members to shout directions at the actors, especially those that go against the plot.
3. Have the actors improvise their way through whatever horrible direction they've been given, i.e. Romeo decides to live and keep looking for Juliet, Hamlet decides that maybe he should search for more clues before killing everyone, etc.
The basic premise is this:
1. Perform the play as usual.
2. Allow audience members to shout directions at the actors, especially those that go against the plot.
3. Have the actors improvise their way through whatever horrible direction they've been given, i.e. Romeo decides to live and keep looking for Juliet, Hamlet decides that maybe he should search for more clues before killing everyone, etc.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Fruits
"If you could create a hybrid of any two fruits in the world, what would they be and why? Describe this new fruit (its name, taste, color, etc.)."
Grape and apple. I want to know what a real Grapple tastes like. The one I got in the store tasted like a nasty apple with a light dusting of grape flavoring sprayed on it. My Grapple would taste like real grape and real apple, like the Washington apple and not those bland flavorless ones. And the outside would look like the surface of a bunch of grapes applied to an apple.
Grape and apple. I want to know what a real Grapple tastes like. The one I got in the store tasted like a nasty apple with a light dusting of grape flavoring sprayed on it. My Grapple would taste like real grape and real apple, like the Washington apple and not those bland flavorless ones. And the outside would look like the surface of a bunch of grapes applied to an apple.
Short story
"Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? `For sale: baby shoes, never worn.' He is believed to have called it his greatest literary work ever. Can you write a story in six words?"
Customer states club representative stole money.
Customer states club representative stole money.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Survey
1. A body of water, smaller than a river, contained within relatively narrow banks.A billabong.2. What the thing you push around the grocery store is called.A buggy.3. A metal container to carry a meal in.
A safe.
4. The thing that you cook bacon and eggs in.
A toaster.
5. The piece of furniture that seats three people.
Chaise Lounge.
6. The device on the outside of the house that carries rain off the roof.
Shingles.
7. The covered area outside a house where people sit in the evening.
The yard.
8. Carbonated, sweetened, non-alcoholic beverages.
Soda.
9. A flat, round breakfast food served with syrup.
Creeps.
10. A long sandwich designed to be a whole meal in itself.
The Bell Street Bomb
11. The piece of clothing worn by men at the beach.
Thongs.
12. Shoes worn for sports.
Sandals.
13. Putting a room in order.
Subjugation.
14. A flying insect that glows in the dark.
Glitterbug.
15. The little insect that curls up into a ball.
Roly Poly
16.The children's playground equipment where one kid sits on one side and goes up while the other sits on the other side and goes down.
Lateral raise.
17. How do you eat your pizza?
In Depends. Intravenously.
18. What's it called when private citizens put up signs and sell their used stuff?
A protest.
19. What's the evening meal?
Breakfast or Fourthmeal.
20. The thing under a house where the furnace and perhaps a rec room are?
The Beast.
21. What do you call the thing that you can get water out of to drink in public places?
The Toilet.
A safe.
4. The thing that you cook bacon and eggs in.
A toaster.
5. The piece of furniture that seats three people.
Chaise Lounge.
6. The device on the outside of the house that carries rain off the roof.
Shingles.
7. The covered area outside a house where people sit in the evening.
The yard.
8. Carbonated, sweetened, non-alcoholic beverages.
Soda.
9. A flat, round breakfast food served with syrup.
Creeps.
10. A long sandwich designed to be a whole meal in itself.
The Bell Street Bomb
11. The piece of clothing worn by men at the beach.
Thongs.
12. Shoes worn for sports.
Sandals.
13. Putting a room in order.
Subjugation.
14. A flying insect that glows in the dark.
Glitterbug.
15. The little insect that curls up into a ball.
Roly Poly
16.The children's playground equipment where one kid sits on one side and goes up while the other sits on the other side and goes down.
Lateral raise.
17. How do you eat your pizza?
In Depends. Intravenously.
18. What's it called when private citizens put up signs and sell their used stuff?
A protest.
19. What's the evening meal?
Breakfast or Fourthmeal.
20. The thing under a house where the furnace and perhaps a rec room are?
The Beast.
21. What do you call the thing that you can get water out of to drink in public places?
The Toilet.
Fun times
Last week, I said I'd `hit the theaters' like people suggested. Everything worked out. I reduced the building to a smouldering crater, but I'm not sure what the big fuss is about it.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
Pondering
I think the song lyric "blowing a gasket on the vine" in Hot Summer Night In Sausalito means that they were drunk driving.
Blues
The reason why most local blues music is hard to stomach is because the musicians don't try very hard. They use old, repetitive tunes that people have been using for years, with only the lyrics changed.
Roleplaying campaign characters
SPARK: The flame dog. Protected by his allies, Jack, the flame kitten, Mike, the flame snake, Bob, the flame caterpillar, and Larry, the flame cactus.
COP: A regular human being, transformed into an agent for justice through taking law courses in college and working nights at Burger King. When wearing Kevlar, can only be killed by a shot to the head. At other times, vulnerable to blows to the head and other physical attacks. Advantages: Superhuman handgun skills due to months of practice on the range. Some combat skills. Amazing power to arrive an hour after a crime has occurred and write reports.
SOLDIER: A regular human being, transformed into an agent for furthering the goals of the United States through enlisting in the military and working nights at Burger King. Weakness: Bullets, grenades, and mortar fire, as well as toxic gas, nuclear weaponry and other deadly stuff. Advantages: Superhuman strength due to intense physical training, gunmanship, skill in driving some military vehicles. Amazing power to cancel gym memberships when stationed overseas. Has bad breath and sounds really whiny over the phone.
RETENSIO: A constipated human being, transformed into a regular human being by means of amazing laxatives.
TERRORIST: A constipated human being, transformed into an agent for destruction by Islam, democracy, and working at Burger King. Advantages: Immense power to avoid detection and survive daisy cutters and grenades by hiding in rat infested holes.
Disadvantages: Cannot bow to Mecca inside sewer pipe. Rats have an immense power to give them the bubonic plague.
CRIMINAL: A human being with indigestion, transformed into an agent of destruction by his indigestion, bad parenting, and having his job application rejected by Burger King. Advantages: Can rob people really well.
Disadvantages: Leaves evidence really well. Doesn't wear a mask.
COP: A regular human being, transformed into an agent for justice through taking law courses in college and working nights at Burger King. When wearing Kevlar, can only be killed by a shot to the head. At other times, vulnerable to blows to the head and other physical attacks. Advantages: Superhuman handgun skills due to months of practice on the range. Some combat skills. Amazing power to arrive an hour after a crime has occurred and write reports.
SOLDIER: A regular human being, transformed into an agent for furthering the goals of the United States through enlisting in the military and working nights at Burger King. Weakness: Bullets, grenades, and mortar fire, as well as toxic gas, nuclear weaponry and other deadly stuff. Advantages: Superhuman strength due to intense physical training, gunmanship, skill in driving some military vehicles. Amazing power to cancel gym memberships when stationed overseas. Has bad breath and sounds really whiny over the phone.
RETENSIO: A constipated human being, transformed into a regular human being by means of amazing laxatives.
TERRORIST: A constipated human being, transformed into an agent for destruction by Islam, democracy, and working at Burger King. Advantages: Immense power to avoid detection and survive daisy cutters and grenades by hiding in rat infested holes.
Disadvantages: Cannot bow to Mecca inside sewer pipe. Rats have an immense power to give them the bubonic plague.
CRIMINAL: A human being with indigestion, transformed into an agent of destruction by his indigestion, bad parenting, and having his job application rejected by Burger King. Advantages: Can rob people really well.
Disadvantages: Leaves evidence really well. Doesn't wear a mask.
Buck Rogers
On an old radio drama of Buck Rogers, Buck sent a villain back to earth to be tried for his crimes on the planet. His specific words included something about the Supreme Court.
Okay. Wait. Supreme Court? Aren't they only supposed to judge what is constitutional and what isn't?
How does this apply to a crime committed on a planet billions of light years away?
Furthermore, is causing an army of robots to attack the inhabitants of an alien planet really unconstitutional?
Okay. Wait. Supreme Court? Aren't they only supposed to judge what is constitutional and what isn't?
How does this apply to a crime committed on a planet billions of light years away?
Furthermore, is causing an army of robots to attack the inhabitants of an alien planet really unconstitutional?
Captain Starr and Starr Wars
It seems as if the first three Star Wars movies were inspired by Buck Rogers. Unfortunately, the second three appear to be inspired by the ethnic stereotype laden radio program, Captain Starr of Space Queen. On one program, Starr features aliens with fake Chinese accents and not-so-subtle digs about African-like aliens. Compare to Mr. Jamaican and the French aliens in Star Wars Episodes I-III.
Random thoughts
I miss my pants right now.
I don't watch much QVC these days.
I own lots of junk bonds.
I wear drinking glasses for contact lenses.
I love to play political games.
I've tried hairy guano.
I've watched Wilford Brimley movies.
I have been the psycho captain's roomate in a haunted sailing ship full of guano.
I don't watch much QVC these days.
I own lots of junk bonds.
I wear drinking glasses for contact lenses.
I love to play political games.
I've tried hairy guano.
I've watched Wilford Brimley movies.
I have been the psycho captain's roomate in a haunted sailing ship full of guano.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Snuggle and the Mystery of the Grandview Triangle
In this action packed, non stop thrill ride of a video game, Snuggle the fabric softener bear is abducted by aliens and threatened with painful probing until he agrees to go on a quest to save the planet by refusing applications and taking licenses away from every applicant in every Department of Motor Vehicles across the globe. Along the way, Snuggle will meet Thomas Jefferson, who lectures him on the value of the constitution, and Benjamin Franklin, who walks around naked due to reasons that cannot be logically explained. Explore undersea locations and solve frustrating mechanical puzzles that would have been easier if the controls actually worked the way they were supposed to. Can Snuggle untangle the traffic problems of the Grandview Triangle in time to stop people from being total jerks? Probably not!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
April Fools
People never played very good April Fool's jokes on me. I'm rather glad at that. Mostly they just say things that disappoint me. "The company called back. April Fool's!"
Being sick
My favorite thing about being sick is being allowed to do what I feel like and not being asked to work. It's not as fun as when I was in highschool, though.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Cleaning
I don't clean my room as much as I should. I also don't know that many good cleaning tips. Cleaning is always a royal pain.
Getting away with stuff
I can't get away with much. I'm always getting in trouble. The last thing I got away with was probably avoiding getting a ticket. I had my lights off and a cop pulled me over and had me switch them on. I got away without a ticket.
Economic Stimulus Package
I feel like Bush, in this Stimulus Package thing, is basically saying "I don't know how to use money, so here's six hundred dollars. Maybe you can think of something to do with it." Hmmm...how about putting it in savings? That's what I did!
Worry
People worry about such petty things. They get into a fuss about raises and 401K's and getting hubcaps on their car. You want worry? Try being unemployed for a solid year and wondering if they'll want to hire you after they ask you questions like "So, what have you been doing all these months?" Now that's worry!
Monday, May 26, 2008
Time Travel
If I could go back in time, I'd go back to the time of Jesus. I want to see the resurrection, and the other events. I want to have the level of faith of the apostles. It's impossible 2000 years after the fact. I'd build a time machine just for that. I don't care if I don't get blessed because I don't see and yet believe. I want to see it!
The second reason I'd want a time machine would be to go back and fix the mistakes I've made in my life. To go to the prom, to go to the meetings at my first and only Prepress job. To learn Indesign instead of Quark in my earliest Prepress training.
The second reason I'd want a time machine would be to go back and fix the mistakes I've made in my life. To go to the prom, to go to the meetings at my first and only Prepress job. To learn Indesign instead of Quark in my earliest Prepress training.
Secrets
There's a lot of times that I should have kept quiet about things but didn't. My real problem is not with keeping secrets but with bursting out something I regret. Or telling my obsessive compulsive brother about something that will add to his list of compulsions.
What's keeping me from my dream job
What's keeping me from my dream job is the managers at printing companies. They want to save money so they run the prepress department with one or two guys. "We're happy with the people we've got." So the bodies of prepress guys are keeping me from my dream job. The economy is also keeping me from my dream job. My depression is also keeping me from my dream job. I lack motivation and they cannot afford me, despite my willingness to accept any salary. Also, my loyalty to my family has hurt me. I probably could have a job in another city, but I don't want to take plane trips all the time to see my relatives.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
My least favorite chore
My least favorite chore is holding down the drain lever so I can pull the hair out of the drain. It takes forever. I do this for my obsessive compulsive brother. When it comes down to it, he deserves to be made to wait for me, because I have to sit there and hold the lever forever so that his precious feet don't step in "dirty bath water" or touch a "pubic hair" (it's probably scalp hair, to tell the truth). My second least favorite chore is handling garbage when the can is full. It's like eating a turd sandwich. I might as well be eating one, since I've already stuck my entire body in garbage. My third least favorite chore is scooping dog poop because it can get runny and splash you in the face when you're trying to bang poop off the scooper to get it into a bag.
Loss
What have I lost that I wish I still had? My job at Vertis. Also, my black coat I had in 2000. I lost it at a theater. And also my Toyota Echo. I wish I hadn't totaled that car. It had great gas mileage. I also lost contact with my penpal Gunpil Na, and my friends Amber Gosorsky and Nicole Jones. I regret losing jobs the most. Along with losing my grandmother and her dog Zany.
Random Chance
Scientists base their theory of life coming into existence out of chance on computer models. That in itself is flawed. A computer cannot generate truly random numbers. They will always be predictable. Video Keno machines can be beat by buying ten tickets, increasing 3% odds to 30%. If video gambling machines and slot machines that pride themselves on being random and unpredictable are not random, why should a computer elsewhere not suffer from the same fatal flaw? Life is not a computer system. It is not the Matrix, because it is not that predictable.
Success
I am but a face amidst thousands of people. I am only another cog in the money making machine. My ideas aren't that original, my abilities aren't that great, or I would have gotten above the masses and made something of myself. I am also guilty of the sin of covetousness. I have coveted the fame and wealth of Stephen King, George Lucas and others. I will forget I wrote this, sadly enough.
Embarrassing memories at J.A. Rogers
I went to the middle school at J.A. Rogers in Kansas City. We saw roaches in the cafeteria so we called it "J.A. Roaches" after awhile. I always brought my lunch. The most embarrassing memory I had of that school was the day where I was "king" of the cafeteria. They brought me up to the center of the room, at a table slightly elevated off the floor on a stage or something. They gave me a hot lunch and had me sit next to some girl. I actually think it was Sally Wright, but I could be imagining that because I secretly had a crush on her. Anyways, I don't know who I sat next to, but they made me wear a tinfoil crown as well. Like a dummy, I ate my bag lunch instead of the hot meal they had made. I was already eating, and it probably wasn't the best meal, probably mashed potatoes or something. Anyways, I ate my lunch instead. I felt like an idiot.
Another memory I got from there was my first experience with art critics. I was drawing something like Bucky O'Hare and other furry critters, and some kid drew a big X across the whole picture with whiteout our a pen or a marker, totally ruining at least an hour's work. I would take this memory with me later in life, when I decided that people really wanted art with humans in it. I figured, to be truly cool and successful, I needed to draw stuff like X-Men and scantily clad women and omit the furries.
Another memory I got from there was my first experience with art critics. I was drawing something like Bucky O'Hare and other furry critters, and some kid drew a big X across the whole picture with whiteout our a pen or a marker, totally ruining at least an hour's work. I would take this memory with me later in life, when I decided that people really wanted art with humans in it. I figured, to be truly cool and successful, I needed to draw stuff like X-Men and scantily clad women and omit the furries.
Kindergarten
I went to kindergarten at Our Savior Lutheran School in Kansas City Kansas. I have fond memories of the green enclosure on the northwest end. Lois Vogel had us plant a garden out there. There were rows of boxes framed in railroad ties and we planted some sprig of a plant in there. She probably watered and took care of them while we were gone, because I don't have much of any memory of tending plants. Or maybe some other kid took care of it, not me. So I don't remember tending them, but I do remember there being tall sunflower plants alongside the building, before, or perhaps with a bit of imagining, after we planted them. I remember the big yellow fabric thing with the rainbow of stripes on it. We kids would grab an end and whirl and lift it around, making it swell with air in the center like a mushroom. There was a chain link fence, but nobody wanted to scale it. Everyone was having a great time inside.
Law Enforcement
The police exist to make me poor and unemployed. They target you when you're trying to get to a job interview and try to take away your license, and charge you money that you don't have.
Friday, May 9, 2008
"Hidden talents"
I wish more people would realize that I have art and writing talents. If they did, I might have a chance at getting a job somewhere. Graphic design companies look at me with a sneer because I lack experience. Printing companies don't care, they just want experience. And at other, regular jobs, I'm just a slob to fire after two months.
Theft
The most valuable thing that was ever stolen from me was my coat. My black coat I wore in 2000. I left it at a movie theater and it was gone, along with a Lexanne spoon and other stuff. Normally I'm paranoid about theft. I haven't had much of anything else stolen, unless you count my Yahoo account.
One time a guy stole my family's garage door opener, but all that resulted from that was an open garage and dogs running loose. My dad is really intimidating.
One time a guy stole my family's garage door opener, but all that resulted from that was an open garage and dogs running loose. My dad is really intimidating.
Regrets
I've done several things over the course of my life that were so bad that "I'm sorry," couldn't fix it. There are times where my dad has said, "Sorry doesn't cut it." One time it was winter and my brother wanted me to pick him up at the college. I got mixed up and waited in the wrong parking lot, in the garage, while he shivered outside at some other parking lot. My parents eventually came by to help him, but I couldn't just say sorry and make up for that.
Also, a long time ago, I made a joking comment about my mom's weight and she's still on a dieting regimen.
Also, a long time ago, I made a joking comment about my mom's weight and she's still on a dieting regimen.
First cars
The first car I have driven was my parents' Chevy Lumina. It was big and hard to see over the dashboard, but I learned to drive with it.
The first car I purchased was a Toyota Echo. I really liked that car, but now it's scrap.
The first car I purchased was a Toyota Echo. I really liked that car, but now it's scrap.
Shoes
I only have three pairs of shoes. One is a ratty pair of sneakers that I wear everywhere, one is a pair of dress shoes that are heavy, big and clunky like Frankenstein, and another pair of black shoes I got from the thrift store that I don't wear much. I wear the tennis shoes and the dress shoes frequently.
X-Files Computer Game Review
The X-Files game is cheese-tastic. It's designed for Windows 95, really. I tried it on Windows XP and the audio vanished after the first disk. The gameplay is rather lame, too. The actor dialogue is uninspired and flat. "Here's my files." "Okay." Actual video is wasted on cheese like Walter Skinner sayimg, "I don't know," and "I don't want that."
Admittedly, there are funny moments, like if you clown around with the night vision goggles he asks, "What are you doing?" But really it's a poor reflection of the show.
I bet they thought they were being clever with the concept of creating a no-name agent to follow Mulder and Scully around, but Agent Willmore has the emotional range of a baked potato. The Hollywood actors mesh poorly with the obscure ones.
There are also times in which the game doesn't operate properly. Near the beginning, when you go to the dockside warehouse, there is a way you can get the game permanently stuck. What you do is take the bullet, blood, lead and cigarette to the crime lab before going to skinner with them or visiting the field office. Once this is done, you will be stuck forever with field work business that can never be finished. In fact, if you don't hang around at the boring warehouse until the black car appears, it won't appear, and you'll never get to disk 3. Skinner will just continue complaining that you have work to finish in the field.
Additionally, near the end of the game, when you visit Scully in the hospital, my particular game crashed whenever I tried turning left or right when I was done talking to her.
Another problem came at the end of the game, when you were in the Alaskan military base. Cook, your coworker, is lurking in one of the rooms. If he attacks you, you're dead. If you shoot him, everything seems fine until you get to the final climax, then I discovered that there was nothing I could do to avoid getting stabbed by Scully. I would have been satisfied with that ending if it had been an actual ending, but it was the same generic ending you always got when you died.
The password on Willmore's computer is Shiloh, but nothing in the game indicated that it was the same thing as the battle of Fredricksburg. If you don't study history, you don't know it's Shiloh. His notebooks all say Fredricksburg, and that's what I typed. Even getting that far was impossible. You'd think that, being that the computer is the first thing you find in the game, that it would be easier to log into.
You could left click through some of the cinematics, but not others. Exiting the Keystone Cops movie was next to impossible. The Cancer Man sequences were painfully long, especially when I had seen them before. I wanted to left click through them, but couldn't.
The Keystone Cops thing was the most irritating thing in the game. Nothing you could do could pull you out of it. I got so sick of seeing it everywhere. The game was locked into it for minutes at a time.
But on the good side there were some challenging gunfights and fairly good action sequences. There were some amusing scenes and at times I felt like a cop. The final battle got my pulse going. Overall, fair, but not great. Poor debugging and interface issues make a lot to be desired.
Also, no matter what you do, skinner never seems to be finished at the hotel.
Admittedly, there are funny moments, like if you clown around with the night vision goggles he asks, "What are you doing?" But really it's a poor reflection of the show.
I bet they thought they were being clever with the concept of creating a no-name agent to follow Mulder and Scully around, but Agent Willmore has the emotional range of a baked potato. The Hollywood actors mesh poorly with the obscure ones.
There are also times in which the game doesn't operate properly. Near the beginning, when you go to the dockside warehouse, there is a way you can get the game permanently stuck. What you do is take the bullet, blood, lead and cigarette to the crime lab before going to skinner with them or visiting the field office. Once this is done, you will be stuck forever with field work business that can never be finished. In fact, if you don't hang around at the boring warehouse until the black car appears, it won't appear, and you'll never get to disk 3. Skinner will just continue complaining that you have work to finish in the field.
Additionally, near the end of the game, when you visit Scully in the hospital, my particular game crashed whenever I tried turning left or right when I was done talking to her.
Another problem came at the end of the game, when you were in the Alaskan military base. Cook, your coworker, is lurking in one of the rooms. If he attacks you, you're dead. If you shoot him, everything seems fine until you get to the final climax, then I discovered that there was nothing I could do to avoid getting stabbed by Scully. I would have been satisfied with that ending if it had been an actual ending, but it was the same generic ending you always got when you died.
The password on Willmore's computer is Shiloh, but nothing in the game indicated that it was the same thing as the battle of Fredricksburg. If you don't study history, you don't know it's Shiloh. His notebooks all say Fredricksburg, and that's what I typed. Even getting that far was impossible. You'd think that, being that the computer is the first thing you find in the game, that it would be easier to log into.
You could left click through some of the cinematics, but not others. Exiting the Keystone Cops movie was next to impossible. The Cancer Man sequences were painfully long, especially when I had seen them before. I wanted to left click through them, but couldn't.
The Keystone Cops thing was the most irritating thing in the game. Nothing you could do could pull you out of it. I got so sick of seeing it everywhere. The game was locked into it for minutes at a time.
But on the good side there were some challenging gunfights and fairly good action sequences. There were some amusing scenes and at times I felt like a cop. The final battle got my pulse going. Overall, fair, but not great. Poor debugging and interface issues make a lot to be desired.
Also, no matter what you do, skinner never seems to be finished at the hotel.
Negative traits
I think some people don't get along with me because I lack social skills and have no way to learn them. I suck at making friends, so my networking sucks, so I can't get a job easily. People think I'm okay until I e-mail them. I'm taking Lithium, so maybe it will help me to be less rude in my e-mails. Mainly people don't know what I'm like because I never talk to them. That's why people don't get along with me.
My neuroses have neuroses
I obsess about a lot of stuff. Not about germs or cleanliness as much, but I do have a lot of mental problems. I have manic depression. I do a lot of things that really don't make sense to me. I'm taking Lithium, but I still get depressed.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Out of Town
"When was the last time you drove out of town?"
I last drove out of town to visit my grandmother in Sedalia.
She's not doing so hot. When we visited her recently, she was half asleep the whole time.
I think that was about at Easter time.
Sedalia isn't much of any place to visit. Not really exciting. Sort of small. The State Fair is about the best thing going for it.
I last drove out of town to visit my grandmother in Sedalia.
She's not doing so hot. When we visited her recently, she was half asleep the whole time.
I think that was about at Easter time.
Sedalia isn't much of any place to visit. Not really exciting. Sort of small. The State Fair is about the best thing going for it.
House
"Whose house (besides your own) were you in last and why?"
For a few years, I stayed in my grandmother's house at Campbell street in Kansas City, Missouri. It was down the street from B.B.'S Lawnside Barbecue.
My grandmother let me stay there while she stayed at an assisted living center. It gave me an opportunity to be independent and live on my own.
It was okay for awhile, but then my grandma died and my aunt sold the place, so it was back to living with my parents.
I liked that house. I liked having my dog, Zanie, too. But I couldn't afford the property tax. She had a large side yard and an old stone house which I guess cost a lot.
For a few years, I stayed in my grandmother's house at Campbell street in Kansas City, Missouri. It was down the street from B.B.'S Lawnside Barbecue.
My grandmother let me stay there while she stayed at an assisted living center. It gave me an opportunity to be independent and live on my own.
It was okay for awhile, but then my grandma died and my aunt sold the place, so it was back to living with my parents.
I liked that house. I liked having my dog, Zanie, too. But I couldn't afford the property tax. She had a large side yard and an old stone house which I guess cost a lot.
Ghosts
"Do you believe in ghosts? If so, have you ever seen one?"
I believe in souls. I don't believe they hang around on earth, and I certainly don't believe in psychics, mediums, Ouija boards or Tarot readings.
If I'm in my basement at two in the morning, it can be pretty scary, but I don't think there's anything in my basement darkroom except piles of newspapers and junk.
I am pretty skeptical about the EVP theory because they use the same arguments for ghostly voices on the radio and TV that they do about hearing voices in the shower. Sure. And there's ghostly messages in the "braille" on my stucco ceiling, too.
At any rate, I think a lot of these "haunted houses" are really issues of houses settling (shifting floorboards, etc.), excited imaginations, and merry pranksters.
I believe in souls. I don't believe they hang around on earth, and I certainly don't believe in psychics, mediums, Ouija boards or Tarot readings.
If I'm in my basement at two in the morning, it can be pretty scary, but I don't think there's anything in my basement darkroom except piles of newspapers and junk.
I am pretty skeptical about the EVP theory because they use the same arguments for ghostly voices on the radio and TV that they do about hearing voices in the shower. Sure. And there's ghostly messages in the "braille" on my stucco ceiling, too.
At any rate, I think a lot of these "haunted houses" are really issues of houses settling (shifting floorboards, etc.), excited imaginations, and merry pranksters.
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