Luftengrad

2005-10-29T23:54:00.000-07:00

I finally checked out this Pandora thing Matt's been hawking at me for days. You type in a band you like, and it starts playing songs with similar mechanics. This might be a bit dangerous, as I started this at the beginning of a VH1 80's 3D marathon, and I'm already at 1984.

2005-10-29T23:48:00.000-07:00

I'm convinced you can't have a bad day when you get in your car, and Eye of the Tiger starts to play. Beautiful fateful timing. Yes life! I am psyched!

2005-10-29T23:36:00.000-07:00

Traffic was backed up for a bit, driving back from class. I'm slowly coming up on this Rush Limbaugh billboard, and something doesn't seem right about it. Something different than before. It ... almost looks like someone spray painted a mustache on it... but... no it can't be. A closing of proximitry confirms this. The saint of grafitti has given him a mustache, which couldn't have been a small feat. Rush now looks like one of those black bandits you see in westerns. Bravo.

I came home one day, and was suprised to see my friend Michael there. In my elation, I quickly moved to tackle him all friendly like, and stabbed myself with my own keys. Go team.

2005-10-22T23:21:00.001-07:00

I haven't put anything in here in awhile. I mean sure, I could ramble on about my day, or take some silly quiz, perhaps copy and paste some song lyrics, or whatever. But, eh. I'd like to think my extended readership expects a certain level of quality to my postings.

I'm constantly reminded how awesome I am. Like today, a few of my friends were talking about times they've flipped out or been depressed and been put on Prolax or Calmutan, or some other sort of real/made-up perscription medication. Well you know what? My body must naturally produce a chemical called Badassitan because I've never needed any of that stuff.

2005-10-16T20:10:00.000-07:00

I miss my car and it's functional design. I love the way the gas valve is on the driver's side. I love how all my window controls are all neatly gathered in the center console. I love being able to push the accelerator down more than half a centimeter before going too fast. It just feels rugged, like I don't have to worry so much about speed bumps. It's a trooper.

Okay, now for some backstory on why I'm driving my sister's horribly designed car, a '95 Mitsubishi Galant.

So I'm coming back from Maryville after a movie night with some friends. It's dark, it's rainy, and I'm lost. Somehow I'm confused about my exit, despite it's simplicity.
I hit the interstate entrance way too fast, on a curve way too curvy. Okay here's the fun part, ready? I screech across the frickin' freeway, hit the grassy medium, bounce out, and spin out into oncoming traffic. Of course, I knew I'd be alright. Death scenes happen in slow motion, and this happened way too fast. I didn't hit anyone, confirming I'm well liked by any omnipotent beings that may be hanging out in the rafters.

I didn't really freak out or anything either. I mean besides busting up my car, I was fine.
So the lesson here is, when things start going wrong, and society begins to collapse around us, you'll want me around to keep a clear head.

Yeah, so my front driver's side wheel is all squirrely. Horray.

2005-10-14T21:13:00.000-07:00

Let's add another entry to the long list of awesome projects I will be completing ... sometime.
I will build a grand house, nay fortress command center! Secret passages! Fire pole! Urinals in the bathroom! It will have everything!

Somehow I'll need to figure out how to add a rope bridge somewhere. Padded walls and floors will be very useful in the various mock battles and the accompanying dives and death scenes.

Zip lines. Network cable, everywhere. Fountain drink machines. Zero-liability waivers.

I'll have to beat the chicks off with a stick, I swear.

2005-10-12T19:16:00.000-07:00

The happy thought of the day is: Attack Helicopters. Namely, Apaches. Starting one of those babies from a cold stop, hearing her power up, the rotary blades pulsing with power. The sheer manueverablity and power of the craft, be it a dire run through a ravine, or a quick emersion from behind a hill. Feed them missiles. Fade into all but a distant sound. It is done.

2005-10-12T18:30:00.000-07:00

I went with Emily and Savannah to a wooded area which we suspect bank robbers previously occupied. Something resembling a safety deposit box was laying on the ground, torn open and smashed up. There was a name printed on it, which I don't remember. We'll say "I.P Freely".
That's always a good one. I can imagine the elation after the heist. "We got the Freely fortune!, Ye haw!"

The box was, of course empty. My thirst for treasure was still... full. We pressed on through the shrubbery, braving thorns and soda cans, until we found a bag of fertilizer. I'll admit, I freaked out. What was it's purpose? Will the one armed gardener return to take back his property? Mysterious forces were at work here. We unearthed the bag and gave it a shake, suprised not to feel the weight or shift of plant food. There was a solid object in there. After a long bout of retard theater feebly stabbing at it with moist sticks we tore it asunder with a key. It was a clear box full of plastic bagged papers and random items. We had stumbled upon a geocache. We had stumbled upon treasure. I immediately plotted ways to eliminate my cohorts. A couple of notebooks, some toy cars, and a tennis ball don't split well, and I wasn't about to get the shaft. As I moved in to execute my felling blows, I considered the existance of additional geocaches. Emily had been useful as a spider web magnet, and nothing suggested that would change. I granted them prolonged life. For now. Booty awaits.

2005-10-12T17:52:00.000-07:00

Most of my novel inspiring ideas go right out the window when I'm at a blinking cursor. I'm pretty sure most of my brilliant tidbits of philosophy happen when I'm too lazy to put them to keyboard. Not that I could put them to paper either, a hoard of notebooks full of long forgotten notes and lists have underminded the longevity of such ideas. They get thrown in a box, being too unorganized and used to suit me, and too risky to throw out. I've always loved a fresh notebook. I'd have to say office supplies are one of my vices. Sometimes I'll just go to the store and hangout in that section. Browsing the shelves for well, whatever. Shopping isn't a casual activity, the selection process is a hotbed of inner turmoil. Like a stoic, comtemplating a rock, I stand firm considering my options.
What will he choose? How many hearts will be broken? To be continued....