Monday, July 29, 2013

The Wicker Man

Last night, I watched Nicholas Cage's biopic, The Wicker Man. It's about his life after film, in which he entered law enforcement, struggled with depression for vague reasons, and reconnected with his estranged wife and daughter. Really, it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Cage was his usual subtle self, enunciating his lines with an evocative clarity, and really bringing his character (himself) to life like never before.

Well, it's Nicholas Cage, so, you can imagine the quality of acting he puts into a work that's based on his own life experiences.

It interestingly enough doesn't give much backstory to Cage's departure from Hollywood, but we catch on quickly as he has moved on to be a highway patrolman in northern California. It did not explain why exactly he decided to go into law enforcement from film, which would be an essential part of a biopic, and really the most exciting part of his life. Think of it: an actor adjusting from action movies like ConAir and The Rock to the real-life drudgery of law enforcement. There's an exciting drama; adjusting to slowing down and living a new life.

Perhaps that's why he gets depressed early on? He does (more or less) witness a graphic death on the road, but it seems to have little impact on him, other than giving him something dramatic to think about for a while. But really, you can tell, it's the boredom of daily office routine and having only work-friends that hits him hardest and sends him spiraling into depression. That's going along with the essential drama here, of a guy who lived in Hollywood and had to settle down in northern Cali at a job that he thought would be exciting, but wasn't. EXACTLY! That's it! he's bored, and when he does finally encounter something interesting (mom and daughter dying in a fiery wreck), it gives him the itch for action again!

So then, get this, his ex sends him a letter saying "Hey, come to this non-creepy place (that's TOTALLY creepy) and find my daughter, who isn't yours (she's yours, you'll see it coming), and I'll totally give you some excitement." Okay, she doesn't say that last part, but it's IMPLIED, big time!

And of course, he goes, because he's gotta get his rock and roll on.

The rest of his life story gets a little fuzzy at this point. He befriends all the women on the island immediately, because he's just so damn charming (he's Nicholas Cage). He finds a girl who looks like the missing/dead/not really dead at all (gasp!) girl, but isn't. Gets stung by a LOT of bees for little to no reason. Hallucinates about dead people who aren't actually dead. Gets burned alive at one point. Gets stung by MORE bees. Turns into a bear and punches a woman.

Then his life actually got interesting: turns out, he was a robot sent from the future to save his daughter's life from another time-travelling robot. He ultimately has a showdown in a smelting plant (or something; they were unclear on what exactly it was), in which he says "bye" to the other future robot (which is all liquidy) by shooting him/her into a boiling vat of lava. His gives Edward Furlong a thumbs-up and says "I know now why you cry" as Eddy lowers him down into the very lava that killed the T-1000.

And yay, the future is saved, thanks to Nicholas Cage! All in all, the first half of the movie was lame, but it picked up once it turned out he was a robot. You should rent it, and watch it with Rifftrax.

Click the ads; I'm out!

Thursday, July 25, 2013

Writing Metaphors (as in, metaphors of writing [or rather, one metaphor for writing])

The most intimidating thing in the world is a blank page. Seriously, just open up a word document and take a gander. You'll see absolutely nothing (except the empty white). This on its own certainly isn't all that frightening a sight, but when you have to fill it... ahhhh, yes, therein lies the terror. It is the darkness (an ironic darkness because the page is so bright) that looks back at you. Or doesn't; this darkness fills with whatever you want it to contain, but it also can remain completely void (void isn't right, though; it suggests an absence while this scenario the page is utterly blank: neither having substance nor lacking substance).


A blank page is like looking into a mirror and not seeing anything. Or worse, it's like looking into a mirror, moving and shouting, but your reflection merely stands still, looking back at you. God, that's a creepy image! Was the reflection smirking at you, too? And looking right behind you? Oh, man! And then, the reflection just walks the F away! Leaving you standing there, in the bathroom, alone! Which then leaves you to wonder if there was anything in the mirror in the first place, and if so, what was it? That, ladies and gentlemen, is a blank page.


So now that we know what that is, what would that make writing? Easy: solitary confinement with that messed-up mirror.


You're trapped in a room with absolutely nothing in it except for you and the mirror. The only thing you can do is look at that mirror, and try to control whatever it is inside of it. You have to keep it from walking away, but you can't let it petrify either. So, you dance. You dance with your own damn reflection. It's okay; you're alone, so it's not that weird.


But while you're dancing with your image, there, alone in solitary confinement, you also keep track of your steps. You record them, you make them better (more engaging for the mirror's image), and you make them easier for you to take, as well. So you dance for your time in solitary, you lose track of how long you've been in there, but one day, the dance is complete. Complete from beginning to end, and you love taking every step of it, and to you it is this absolutely beautiful and wonderful thing. The only thing that it needs, at this point, is for another real human being to experience it. See, you can dance on your own all you want, but it's boring, and it doesn't make much sense, and when you create or even just find something that's truly wonderful, you have to share it to experience it in its fullness.


So one day, when the guard shovels your food into the slot, you ask him if he would like to see your dance. He says “Sure” but then immediately walks away. Next day, same guard, same question, and you ask why he didn't watch yesterday. He says he thought it was more of a general question, like, “Do you enjoy cake.” I mean, who would say no to that? But really, “sure” means “no.” So next day, different guard, you ask her to see your dance, and he says sure, and this time he peeks in through the slot. So you dance! Perfectly according to your steps, you dance, and she is fascinated by it! When you're tired, sweaty, and spent at the end, you ask him what he thinks. “It was good,” is all he says. So you ask him about specific parts of the dance, parts you loved and parts that were extra difficult, and parts that still felt awkward. “It was all good,” is all he says. And then he leaves. You've spent six months in solitary confinement with a mirror and your own footsteps and the absolute pinnacle of your accolades and success was “It was good.”


So you copy your steps, remember them, and get the mirror out again to start a new dance that will maybe make others see and feel the magic of dance (by which I mean writing)!


In general, I don't like writing about writing. It seems too convoluted and shortsighted a process. But, I do LOVE riding metaphors to the grave! Click on the ads like a simile nosing baited cheese!


Tuesday, July 23, 2013

Rediscovery

Being semi-retired (unemployed) at 27 results in boredom... a LOT of boredom. I really had no idea there were so many hours in a single day until I had no job to occupy a good third of it. So, to prevent my own mental and spiritual decay, I adopted the use of a daily planner.

Then I immediately abandoned it. I mean, I fill it in, but I never look at it (I know what I'm supposed to do every day). So, I'm still frequently fighting boredom. Did I mention that I have no TV, internet, dvds, or videogames? That doesn't help! I digress... I'll rant about videogames on some other post later. Right now, it's about my experience yesterday riding around my home town on my bike.

I'm not sure to what special niche of cycling I belong, but I have had a special spot for touring. The idea of exploring unknown territories from the vantage point of a bicycle has an allure to me. It's the whole “venturing into the unknown” thing, I think. I mean, I know the route I'm taking, I know my ride, and I know my body. What I do not know is the texture of the roads, their makeup, what their particular signature of gravel feels like beneath me! You learn what hills deserve your curses, which yards and parking lots you can cut through, and where those rare spots of shade always happen to be. And who knows, you might just end up passing by a winery you didn't expect (totally happened to me!).

Sure, I could drive through many of those routes, but that is nowhere near the same (and you know it!). Consider the following: I grew up in Green Bay, and have been driving its streets for the better half of a decade. But yesterday was the first time that I rode down them at any length. It's what I would call an Urban Tour, in which I pretty much just rode along the city streets, more or less aimlessly. I took routes I've driven for years and years, but they were entirely new to me from the perspective of my bike. Because I rode, I got to experience their subtleties in a new and very intimate way (If there's a bump, I feel it. If there's a patch of gravel, I swerve). Example: I rode almost the entire stretch of Broadway, a route I've driven plenty, but I never noticed until yesterday that it was at a slight slope. It's what's called a “false flat” that appears flat, but in fact is not. These things are amazing, or grueling, depending on which direction you're facing.

Fortunately for me, I was facing downhill and I had the wind at my back. So I was pretty much flying down that sucker! And it went through downtown and an industrial district, so I was flying while weaving around gravel and broken glass (more fun!).

But yeah, I learned that there's always more to discover out there, wherever you are.

In a final note, I would like to say that I actually enjoy riding around cars in cities. Cars out in the country are sneaky and fast, so they're like bad Strong Safeties (they never actually hit you, but they are loud and fast enough to scare you into screwing up). Whereas, in the city, cars are predictable and slow; you know where they're going and you know that you are far more agile than they are, and can fit wherever you put yourself. So they're slow, predictable, and way more afraid of you than you are of them. They're like (seriously, it took me a half an hour to think of a good analogy) student loans: as long as you're careful and keep your head on a swivel, they're harmless.

The tipping point for me, that moment I realized that it was no big deal riding around cars, was when I was riding singletrack. It occurred to me that I only needed about two feet to ride safely, and there's WAY more than that on roads!

It puts the lotion on its skin and clicks the ads again!



Monday, July 22, 2013

Literally The Best Meal I've Ever Had

Quick, think of the best meal you ever had!
Time's up!

Did you think of something? Was there one meal, one bite that you specifically remembered, right away? As if it were right on the tip of your tongue?

When I do this with people, it's a rarity for them to have something in mind right away. I've gotten a lot of responses involving the company kept at thanksgivings and other holiday meals, but not a whole lot about a truly stellar eating experience.

But I have one specific meal in mind for myself. It was that good that I still remember it... there's a story (of course).

It was from when I was living in Arkansas. My fiancee was visiting for a week, and we decided to go for a weekend getaway to Eureka Springs. Fantastic little town built into the cliffsides of a narrow valley in northern Arkansas. Very quaint place, very colorful, and a surprisingly high ratio of lingerie shops. The town was clearly built well before cars existed, as the streets and avenues were quite narrow, and teeming with people. We navigated our way through them all, and found our hotel smack dab in the middle of town. It was Flatiron Flats, a three-sided building in the vein of the Daily Bugle.

Finding parking was a minor ordeal, and we had to make a few phone calls to get someone who could
check us in to our hotel room, but otherwise they were great. I asked our guy (who was one of the owners) if he had any recommendations for places to eat. He directed us to a few places, and we settled on the fanciest of them... I think it was called The Bavarian Inn... dammit, I hate that I can't remember the name! [turns out, it was The Grand Taverne] That really throws off the believability of my story if I can't even remember where the hell it happened!

Anyway, it was a nice place, and we were pretty much the only people in there, so service was fantastic! I ordered the roast duck because I never had duck before, and I had a Manhattan to drink along with it for the very same reason. Turned out to be a stellar combination! A Manhattan, for those who do not know, is a cocktail involving bourbon and grenadine (a few other things, but those two are essential for the story here). The bourbon is delightfully bitter, oakey and smokey in flavor, and the grenadine leaves a nice, lightly sweet finish to the drink (all of this is of course when made properly). The experience is a rolling taste that evolves over the course of just a few moments. The duck, it turns out, matched very well. It too had a deep, smoked flavor to it, along with the gamy and rich nature of the duck meat itself, but there was a cranberry sauce drizzled over it that really made it something special.

Essentially, I would take a bite of duck, which would start sweet, then salty, then earthy and smokey. That I would follow with a sip of the Manhattan, which would match the smokey sense and follow it up with straight bitterness that, just before it would be sharp, would turn sweet and fruity with the grenadine. Then, following that with a bite of duck would start it all over again. The flavors would build on one another, in a rolling campaign over my tongue until I was finally finished, exhausted from the orgasmic ordeal.

So yeah, that's the best meal I ever had.

We finished our weekend nicely, touring the town (up and down many, MANY stairs) and doing a little shopping. Any more than two nights would be pointless, though, as the town is so small that there's not much to do beyond eat and shop and walk. There wasn't even any swimming to be had!

Anyway, I'm out; click ads!

Saturday, July 20, 2013

My Fish Died and I Misplaced my Legs

Yeah, my fish died. His name was Blue Moon Two, and he was (is?) a Betta, blue with red coloration in the fins and a jet-black face. Very intimidating, and he was a bit of a badass (still is, in fishy Heaven). I picked him up in a local Petco back in Arkansas, to replace Blue Moon, who died when I moved to a new apartment. THAT was a tragic death! I actually watched his last moments, unable to do anything as he freaked the hell out and then... just... stopped.

That sucked.

But, after an appropriate mourning phase, I replaced him, because, well he's a fish and a cheap one at that. So I got Blue Moon Two, and let me tell ya, he was a fighter. Like, literally, he had scars from squirming around massive (proportionally) boulders in his tank. And he made it with me for a year and a half, when I had to move. I didn't just flush him, and I couldn't give him away, not when there was a chance that I could take him with. The chance was a most ingenious plan: put him in an insulated cup of properly treated water for the drive.

It worked, too! alllllmost... See, he made it to my new home, Green Bay, WI. And that was a 850-mile trip, so THAT was certainly a testament to his fortitude and determination. But, after I had everything unloaded, i went to check on him, and nope. He was just floating there, suddenly lifeless.

I'm glad I didn't see him die; that would have been too much for me to handle at the time. But, BM2 went through the effort of seeing me safely to my new home, and I wish I could have done the same for him. It's strange how we can become attached to things that have such inhuman characters. But still, there it is; my brother from Arkansas (kiiiinda southeast Asia) died, and I was unexpectedly broken up about it that night.

On another note, I went on the first leg of my epic journey today, a practice run. It was a nice ride, but my legs are useless now, and I expect they will be tomorrow, too. Like, this is the first time that I was so exhausted from a workout of any kind that I almost fell asleep in the middle of it! Really, right there, on the bike, I almost dozed off near the end! That was a big first. But, the one thing that is apparent is that I have more conditioning to do, and if I wanna go on rides this long, bring more food than two cheap granola bars... or eat more than cereal before hand.

Anyway, see what happens when you click the ads... I think you'll be pleasantly surprised!

Friday, July 19, 2013

The Dare and The Crunch

So I talk a big game about living a life that's inspirational, adventurous, and exciting. When it comes down to it, though, Is pend a lot of time at home, surfing the interwebs, and watching TVshows whilst playing videogames. That's ninety-percent of my life.

Well it had been.

I've moved into my mom's house (temporarily; oh please, God, make it temporary!), and she has no internet. I could pay for internet service, but honestly I am quite excited about the experiment it will be with me having no internet and leaving my Xbox in storage. I may go insane, or I may become the genius that I think I am (or more accurately, the genius that the voices in my head say I am). Part of the purpose of this blog is to ensure my own productivity during this time of temporary retirement, which it has to some extent. But another purpose of this blog is to give me a reason to be daring with my own life. It's here to act as a soap-box on which I stand to declare my utter awesomeness and badassitude.

To do that, I need to take dares. And what would be a better dare for a blog that used to be about cycling than a tour?

I was excited about coming back home (and in many ways, I still am excited, here on day three), and I started making plans to see my old friends. And I realized that they all live in a straight line down Wisconsin (more or less; if Wisco were a body, it would be the digestive track). So of course, I immediately thought up the idea of riding that line, visiting friends I haven't seen in years!

I've never been on a tour of any length before, not like this. It is a daunting task, here, sitting on my mom's couch, but I want to do it alone so I can see how I handle the crunch when it lands on me. Right now, I am mentally planning for it, but I need to start physically conditioning soon. Not really sure what all that will take, but I don't wanna by dying out there in the middle of nowhere, looking for a field to curl up in because I couldn't make it to my hotel/campsite. Speaking of, I should really start making a route, and determine WHERE I will be any given day, so I can actually make plans to see people! And I need to try riding with equipment, because I've only rarely done that. In short, there's a lot of prepping to do...

Or I could just throw that all out the window and assume I'll handle the crunch when it happens. I like that plan better.

If you click the ads, I will personally not do anything special!



Thursday, July 18, 2013

Going Back Home (Musings)

They say you can never go back home. I think that was before cars, though.

Yeah, I'm a smartass. The point of that saying, of course, is that you'll have changed so much in the time that you were gone, that home would have transformed into "Home" through homesickness and personal growth. You change so much being away, that your home doesn't affect you the same. Being gone, you think about your home and compare your new place to it, which magnifies and intensifies your memory-experience of home into Home.

Example: nothin tastes like mama's barbecue. You grew up on it; it became your framework for all barbecue you've ever tasted. Then you move from home. You get homesick, so you start eating (it'll happen), and you eat specifically things that remind you of home: barbecue. But none are mama's recipe, so none satisfy your homesickness. Nonetheless, you keep searching for something to scratch that itch. Over time, you've tasted all your new area has to offer for barbecue. Because of this, you become a connoisseur of all things barbecue. None taste like mama's barbecue, but merely because you're searching so hard for that specific flavor, you learn all about the subtleties of each and every barbecue you sample. There are traits you find in each sauce you experience, traits which you learn to love. So you get along, day after day, loving the life you made. Until one day, you go home. And of course, your first time Home, you get mama's barbecue. You expect it to be everything you were searching for all those years. But you find that its just not the same as you remembered.

You grew:
Your search for mama's barbecue over the years has transformed it into the ideal Mama's Barbecue. It became this mysterious and perfect thing that beat all competition so long as it never entered the ring (your memory of it overwhelmed all other barbecue sauces and rubs, so to speak). So when you get home, and actually have it again, it's not the thing you built it up to be. And because of that, it fails, and you're left with a haunting memory to reconcile with reality.

Now that hasn't been my own experience so far with my return home (for the most part). I remembered it and lived where I was for the past two years without comparing too much, apparently. On returning, it was as if I had traveled back in time to where I was two years ago, with nothing different except that I lost a few years of my own life.  And that's kinda horrifying.

Kinda really horrifying.

The idea that two years can go by and nothing has to change scares me. I'm not entirely sure why, though. Perhaps it's the implication that I, therefor, have not changed much over my absence. But I have plenty of evidence to the contrary, so I don't think so. It's more that it indicates how short life is, and how you can sleep through it all, if you just have your eyes closed long enough. And my fear, I suppose, comes from who I grew into while I was away. I liked that guy, and I'm afraid that I'll lose him, being away from that place and in this old one. That act would therefor wipe out two years' time of my own life, and I will have accomplished nothing but accumulating Stuff and wasting a chunk of my own life.

Now that is something worth fearing. Every year matters when you're approaching thirty.

Don't waste your life: click the ads and know that you accomplished something!

Monday, July 15, 2013

The Best Cup of Coffee Ever (and running outta adjectives)

For this past week, I have been gradually moving to Wisconsin from Arkansas. It's a long enough move, and there's so little to draw me 851 miles to Arkansas, that I sincerely doubt I'll ever be coming back here. So, I've been preparing myself for that on a mental and emotional level by visiting all the restaurants I won't find anywhere else. Yeppers, I will be missing food more than anything else here (time will ultimately tell, but good eats is what I expect to miss).

So far, I've had Jade China (fantastic little hole-in-the-wall Chinese stir fry that may literally have a hole in its wall), McAllister's Deli (a chain, but I've not seen it anywhere else, and I am addicted to their pastrami on rye), and David's Burgers (I don't know how, but the best burger I've ever had, hands-down). All that's left is The Whole Hog, which is this fantastic small-ish chain of barbecue that makes a fantastic beef brisket. Saving the best for last, there.

But, of all these, the one place I'm going to miss the most is the one cafe that makes coffee right in all of Arkansas (to be fair, the only one I could find; I assume there are more, but they just don't have proper websites and listings for me to find). If you're ever in Little Rock area, hit up Guillermo's Gourmet Grounds.

It's the one place that knows what they're doing, and the only place I have been able to find Ethiopian Yirgacheffe beans roasted so well. So of course, I stocked up on the stuff before I jumped ship.

The scent, where the experience starts, is powerful. For several hours after brewing, it takes control of the room with its deep, nutty aroma. Then, as you near the brew, it shifts to a clear, bright, and a little tart zestiness (all of course with the deep roasted smell lingering above). The flavor follows suit, but the acidity, that sharpness in the smell, it stays quite mellow throughout the taste. It's there, but only at the very first tip of the tongue; as the sip rolls along, it increases with depth and evolves much in the inverse of the sniff-check. It gets deeper, and the darkness of this brew comes up and dominates the experience. Dark chocolate, that is the overwhelming sense-experience I found to live just at the last moment of swallowing, and on afterward for several minutes. It's curious, how I get excited about coffee that does not taste like coffee. To be fair, it doesn't taste exactly like dark chocolate (none of that stabbing in the mouth feeling I get from something so overwhelmingly bitter), but what's so fascinating is how it reminds me of something else. Like a feather dancer that doesn't look at all like a bird, but hey, feathers! On a woman! That's unexpected! And as much as I would like to claim that it's that surprise, that unexpectedness of a blended sense-experience that makes it so powerful, I doubt that. If that were the case, I wouldn't enjoy this coffee much past the second sip, by which point I'm expecting roasted chocolate. Rather, I believe it to be the blend itself, triggering more experiences in the mind, that makes it so exciting. Then, by creating a new sense-memory with such powerful links, that flavor is remembered even more zealously, over time. But then again, I liked the stuff.

I will always be a fan of drinks and foods that come to life in the last parts of the mouth, back where the tongue meets the throat at the tail end of the nose. Those flavors linger and stay with you well past the meal itself; they're the faithful flavors.

Click on the ads; if you don't I will capture the moon and hold it ransom!

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Packing & The Best Wine I Ever Had

I am awesome at packing!

Like, really good.

I don't mess around with any of that "sorting by room" crap. I just throw whatever into boxes over and over again until I'm done. Boom: awesome. I felt like a genius when I discovered that I could use clothing as padding. So yeah, that's why my champagne flutes are wrapped in socks. Don't give me that look!

Seriously though, I'm terrible at packing and am not looking forward to having to unpack any of this (I'm moving a few states over, for those of you who don't know). I've had a week to pack and it in no way would take me an actual week of time to pack it all, so of course, I put it off. That and the cleaning (mold is pretty much all over the place here in Arkansas). And of course, now, I only have a few days to pack everything and clean everything too. So I got most of it done in one day, like ya do. The side-effect of this particular method, though, is that everything's a jumbled mess and I already forgot where the hell my stamps are!

not cool, Chance; not cool

The first step, of course, is donating all the stuff I don't want or use any more (done twice so far). Next, is the throwing away all the stuff that's trash, but collectible, or memorable, but essentially junk for which I have no use. Most of that process is easy, but there's the memento value in these objects. The best example I have is bottles of wine and liquor I really liked. Once drank, little remains of the liquor but the memory of it tingling our tastebuds. Nice line; quote that shit. I was carrying out those empty bottles, when I recognized the one small one remaining in my hand. It was wine from Parallel 44; their "Meditation" wine from 2007. This stuff was the best wine I've ever had, hands-down and no contest. This amazingly luxurious texture accompanied a deep, dark cherry and chocolate flavor that lingered for hours. It was good, and I will never forget the first time I had it. I won't forget any of the other times, either, but they were all a little off, and never quite matched the explosive experience of that first bottle (the cheesecake accompanying helped, too, but that's a small detail). Not only can I never find that wine any more, but even if I can, I do not expect the same overwhelming flavor of that first bottle.

Sad as that is, I will never forget it, and the fact that I cannot repeat it again makes it even more powerful a memory. It becomes all the more beautiful an experience for that one moment it existed.

So that was in my mind, as I was about to toss the bottle away. I knew I wouldn't forget that amazing flavor, that the bottle would be an idle memento. But still, it was a good moment, and it deserves its idol. So that trash, I will pack and take with me, along with its memory.

Good night, all y'all's, and click some ads (close them the moment they open a new page).

Friday, July 12, 2013

Something Feral

So I like to hike. You know, get in the woods, smell the dirt and the trees. Get far enough enough that I can't hear a car or a plane anywhere. Get deep enough that I'm not totally sure where I am anymore, and start to wonder how long I would last if I just started walking in one direction (hate that friggin band... except their one single).

I think it's important that we do that (get deep into nature) at least once in a while. We encounter something there, something feral and older than we are ourselves. I was hiking to this glacier at (near) the top of a mountain range in Glacier National Park. The whole hike was following these old CCC trails (very common), carved into the mountainside. It was a winding trail, with many switchbacks, that ended with a narrow stairwell carved into a short cliff just before the summit. And there, at the top of the range, the trail ended, but the hike continued, over unmarked rock. I found the glacier, marked with a cairn at the spot of discovery We had left early, so I had plenty of time to sit there and overlook the range of rocky peaks.

That was an experience.

What was so fascinating about it all was that I didn't make the mountains, that no human engineered them to attract me there. It wasn't a theme park, wasn't Dubai, wasn't a gigantic ball of twine in Kansas. It was just rock, and it did not care that I found it beautiful or that I saw it at all.

And that's what we need. In this age where we have personal data appliances, customized information and entertainment every minute of every day, we as people and as a society need to remember what it's like to look at something and have it not look back at us. We need to remember that if we drop the burden of human civilization, the universe will keep calm and carry on (and, with the exception of viruses and rats, will probably be the better for it).

Then, we can go back to everything we've constructed, and it will be not so important. We, by extension, will be even less important. That's not a bad thing.


Also:
-Saw a Water Moccasin (or Cottonmouth) yesterday and that was cool. Kinda wanted to see if I could take a bite from him (but not enough to actually get bitten).
-Hiking in jeans and 90 degree heat is not advisable, but it worked.
-Funnel spiders are seriously the creepiest thing ever made. Saw a nest the size of a full-sized mattress the other day. Couldn't look directly at it, though, or the Spirit of God would come out and melt my face off. Well, probably not, but there's an outside chance that could happen with anything you look at.
-Click the ads (seriously, they don't give you viruses, people, not just by clicking on them), and go watch Drive; it's fantastic!

Thursday, July 11, 2013

Rules (bonus: review of Can't Hardly Wait)

Hokai, so, I need to pace myself with these things. I mean, sure, I can write nonstop, but I don't want to burn myself out. Or burn out all y'alls readers with too many words. People don't like words, not on the internet. They're heavy. And they're slow. And nobody likes a slow internets.

So this'll be quick this time, after my yesterday's essay. (scroll down for the review of Can't Hardly Wait ... you can also click on all the ads several times; it may help)

I'd like to have some ground rules for Triple-Stamped. Not written in stone or anything, but more like spiritual guidelines to direct each post. Saying it that way sounds weird, though, as if voodoo or Oprah were involved somehow. As a society, we have a vague (at best) understanding of the word "spirit" and all things spiritual in general. I'm not saying I'm going to light some candles or listen to some crystals or anything... I'm just saying: we don't get it. But that's a deeper topic for another post (a "The More You Know" post).

Tonight: the six rules of Triple Stamped!*

1: There are no rules
2: No, really, there actually are rules; I've just wanted to say that (wasn't all I hoped it was)
3: You do talk about Triple-Stamped
4: One post a day
5: Don't be afraid of the heavy stuff
6: Keep it fun
G) rules are made to be broken

* subject to change at any moment and with or without notice

And now: the review of the 1998 modern classic of our generation: Can't Hardly Wait.
Watch it (why not; it's on Netflix right now). The story's one we're all familiar with by now, since it was successful in its time, repeated, and then spoofed (repeatedly). So you won't be surprised, even if you miraculously haven't already seen it. But what very well may be surprising to you (as it was to me) is the sheer number of actors you will recognize in this movie! Jennifer Love Hewitt aside, there's Charlie Korsmo, Peter Facinelli, Seth Green, Donald Faison, Jaime Pressley, Jason Segel (seriously), Selma Blair, Steve Monroe, Chris Owens, Jenna Elfman, Breckin Meyer, and of course Jerry O'Connell. Many of these names you won't know, but IMDB them and you'll know their faces and start remembering the movies you've seen them in. Watching this movie, literally over a decade after it came out, is like visiting a highschool party after you've been to college. You recognize faces but not the names, spending the movie trying to figure out why you know them. It's a cool experience, but the best part is, that's exactly the experience of one of the characters in the movie!! But it's a messed-up feeling because that character's played by Jerry O'Connell... and nobody wants to relate to him. Dude peaked at Stand By Me. Bonus points, though: main character (if there is one) is played by a dude who looks just like a young Jay Mohr (but isn't)! Oh, and there's the wonderful 90's soundtrack with an inordinate amount of Smashmouth. Who doesn't love that?

Anyway, click the ads on your way out!

Wednesday, July 10, 2013

Leaving, part One (Bonus: sawn-off review of "World War Z")

You ever get the sense that a state is convincing you to leave and never return? Not in the sense of being railroaded out of town, or tarred and feathered, but little things.

[Scroll down for the spoiler-free sawn-off review of World War Z]

I was driving a route I've gone about once a week for the past two years, which half of Conway drives to work and back in Little Rock, when I almost got into an accident. Part of me isn't surprised, because when I moved here, my insurance rates jumped up a good chunk. That suggests bad drivers, sorry, and it was confirmed when I actually saw people "drive." Forget about the rushing through yellow lights, or even outright blowing through the reds, that's too expected for people here. No, I saw a guy make a U-turn in the middle of a busy road, weaving around what traffic he wasn't blocking! He was ten feet past the intersection (which allows U-turns legally, but that's another story), and just fifty from an actual parking lot in which he could safely turn about. But no, he HAD to turn RIGHT THERE. 

That's one story from this week, and one smidgen of evidence suggesting Arkansas needs to require a driver's education class.

Thankfully, I wasn't near a collision there. A few days ago, however, I was almost in a pile-up. Yep, thanks to some late braking by the pair of idiots in front of me at the time, we all had to engage in a tactical swerve to a staggered-line formation for safety. They went left and right, and I went right then left and deftly avoided the semi to my right and the ditch to my left, all while pulsing, pumping, and finally slamming my brakes to keep myself out of their cars. I thanked the god of anti-lock brakes and the god of attentive drivers for existing, that day (they happen to be the same god (God), who happens to be the God of Everything, which includes anti-lock brakes and attentive drivers). And of course, I do what everybody does when the cause becomes apparent: I looked. Did I see a grisly car wreck? How about our president, handing out money? Or perhaps Johnny Cash, not so dead? Of course not. So what caused the unnecessary and sudden slow-down? A young girl got pulled over. She was wearing jean-shorts that looked homemade. That's about it.

At least it wasn't nothing (that's happened way too often already).

Then later, THAT SAME DAY, I was turning right, onto a main road, when Bozo McOld decided to pull out in front of me from the bank opposite me. It was an aggressive maneuver, which I can respect, but it did require that I slam on my brakes (and same for Dude behind me) when he realized what he was doing and then immediately apologized by SLAMMING on his brakes in the MIDDLE of four lanes. I'm not kidding; he took up the entire street. Now, had he gunned it from the get-go, everything would've been fine. So it just goes to show you that half-measures don't cook, and that it's better to be an ass-hole than just an ass.

That's not the worst, though. Once, I saw a driver work VERY VERY hard to pull a u-turn to go the wrong way down an offramp. He worked for that shit. And there's a particular stretch of highway in Little Rock that I've witnessed, I kid you not, a delivery truck (big sized) pointed the WRONG WAY (toward me!), and suddenly fix his error and about-face. That was in my first month of living here (welcome to Arkansas; we don't require a driver's education course).

And that's just the road-safety stuff.

Today, I saw World War Z (It was okay, but not nearly dark enough to be a proper zombie horror, and not light enough to be a proper zombie comedy. Shaun of the Dead, Zombieland, 28 Days Later, The Walking Dead: those are proper zombie movies/shows and you should watch them all twice. This movie fell short of greatness, but was good for eight bucks' fun. Not worth 3D, but worth the big screen.) After the (decent) movie, there was an encounter between two women in the audience that was honestly more tense and exciting than anything that happened on screen. Many a "fatass" was slung in that discussion, and I was convinced that yes indeed, Arkansas is convincing me to never return.

The places we live, they shape us, but there isn't much of Arkansas I want to take with me wherever I go (that stuff will be covered on a later post; this one is about bad drivers). As always, I'll close with this: Click the ads! All of them! Many times!

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

Triple-Stamped, No Erasies

Hokai, so, I had a job, selling mattresses, but I don't any more. So I have a lot of free time to look forward to these next few months of unemployment. See, I'm terrible at personal discipline, so this is a problem. Seriously, I've watched Star Wars twice in one day, just because I started with the first one! It's not inherently evil, sure, but there's a certain point where inactivity warps you and you discover that all you've got left to prove your existence is a broken-in couch.

I don't want that for me. I want adventure , so this blog will stand as a re-branding of, well, me, as an adventurist. The idea is, have this as a public record of what I do, which will also give me reason to do adventurous things... like, I dunno, parkour or something (please no parkour, for the love of God). I'm also writing a novel, so the plan is make this blog wildly successful over the next few years (well, overnight would be great, but I am still pretty lazy).

Successful to the point at which people say "Hey, I love your words and want you to lie directly to me, but not on the computer, can you write a novel?" To which I shall respond, "Why yes, of course; here it is!"

And they'll throw money at me (and claim I can see the future, which I of course will not correct) until I can retire and do nothing whatsoever with my life. To the casual analyst, it would seem that I plan on taking a very long route to the same place (why not just skip the writing and the blog, and just do nothing but maybe working crap jobs?). However, they would be forgetting one thing: I have to feed my ego.
Yup, there it is. I like to think I'm important.

That there's my life plan. Subject to change at the drop of a hat, of course (see the rules... listed somewhere).

But, I want to write daily in this blog, because otherwise people will just forget that it exists (seriously, that's how it is with me). The catch is, I get bored, and I lose focus. My solution is to have seven subjects I can address in any given entry. Seven things I feel I can write about entertainingly (totally a word; suck it, dictionary!) enough to actually get people to read all the way through things and again, make them buy my book once it's written.

Here are the ideas I have so far:
1) Mind-jobs (at some point, I will try to convince you that circles don't exist)
2) Principles of a Dignified Life (living by a code, so to speak... seriously... like, tip even when you're poor)
3) Outright Lies (storytelling, of the freeform variety because thick fiction doesn't mix with the interwebs)
4) Cultural Analysis (how Star Wars episodes 1-3 should have been, and the implications of Twilight)
5) Adventureblogging (doing stupid shit for attention, like, unplanned bike trips)
6) People-Hacks (like life-hacks, but with people... manipulating people)
7) Beginner's Luck (I try something with little to no preparation or experience in it, like building a chair)
8) anything else

And lastly, I'll leave you, dear reader, with this thought: click on the ads!! please for the love of God, click on the ads! I don't care what they're for, just click on them; that's how I can make money out of this! Click multiple times! I don't care if you read the blog or not, just visit it ten times daily and click every ad that shows up on it! Make a game out of it somehow, like, how many different ads will Google put in there for you to click?

you'll think of something; you're creative