The Shark's Bite

People with the Names and the Sounds and the Confusion-Making and the Headache-Causing

2010-08-04T14:36:00.003-04:00

Listen, people. Stop it with the names that sound the same but are just barely different, alright? Between myself and Emily, here's a list of some girls we know:

Shalayne
Chalyce
Charisse
Sharee
Shirene
Sharookwanoonaynaynaynay Elizabeth

Can guess which one is Canadian/fake?

This reminds me of the first time I visited DC back in '04. I was approached by this gawky teenager dressed in hand-me-downs from the 80s. He invited me to this play that his religious organization was putting on that night at the National Mall, about a talking, suit-wearing ant who tries to warn humanity of impending doom, but nobody listens to him (and understandably so -- suits can be very off-putting). I had to run to catch up to my sister later that afternoon, so I expressed my regrets and shook his hand as I started to leave.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I quickly replied, "Mark."

"Marf ?" (And people wonder why I go by my nickname more often than not.)

"... No. Mark. With a k."

"Oh."

"And yours?"

"I'm Zerubbabel!"

Zerubbabel. Now THERE'S a name that's never going to be phonetically toyed with.

Protect your babies. Name them Zerubbabel.

This Post...

2010-01-21T13:52:00.002-05:00

...is just an excuse to get my blog back to the top of Darrell's blog roll on the side of his webpage.

Culturama: Symphonic Fishing

2009-09-29T19:37:00.007-04:00

The month of August brought about some fun. My friend BING! invited me to join her for an evening in Park City to attend a performance by the Utah Symphony. The featured work of the concert was Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue," and there were some other numbers by Gershwin and Copland that were played.

The weather was a little ominous, but nonetheless beautiful if you can't tell by the color of the clouds in this photo. The last time I attended a concert at this venue was a couple years ago when the Symphony opened for Tony Bennett. Both evenings had similarities: lightning flashing around us (for Tony it was a few miles behind the stage, like the sky was some sort of celestial backup dancer), light sprinkles of rain now and then, and, of course, a bucket of chicken provided by yours truly. Gotta love them outside concerts!

Me and BING!, filled with classy tunes and fried chicken.

A few weeks later, old roommate and BFF Isaac was feeling a little lonely since his wife was out of town, so he organized a little outing for himself, myself, and Darrellself to do some fishing on the Provo River, followed by mountain biking at Sundance.

I used to fish these waters a lot when I took a fly fishing course at BYU. There's some good fly fishing to be had on this river, and you don't have to drive far to find it. Unfortunately, these guys weren't catching anything. My best guess is that (a) Darrell's cast wasn't so much a cast as it was random twirling of his rod directly above his head, and (b) both Darrell and Isaac were casting where currents were too strong. We weren't near enough to any natural pools where fish would be more likely to chill out and wait for a fly to land near them. Of course, I'm one to talk. I'm the wise guy who didn't bring equipment OR a license. I was stuck meandering around and in the river with my shorts hiked up to my thighs.

After a couple hours of epic fails -- including me rescuing Darrell from a baby garter snake -- we moved on to our next activity: riding the Sundance ski lift to the top of a mountain and zooming down the trails on a couple mountain bikes. Well, "zooming" was more like "creeping" for me. This was my second time attempting the Sundance trails, and I was a little more wary this time around. It probably has to do with the fact that after my last attempt, three of my limbs and my left hip came out looking like this:
Not to mention the bruises everywhere.

It was fun being in nature nonetheless -- I really missed the beauty of Provo Canyon while I was living in DC, so even while I waited for Isaac and Darrell to go down a couple trails without me slowing them down I found myself biking leisurely along the roads surrounding the Sundance Resort.

Culturama: Llama Fest!

2009-07-27T02:20:00.006-04:00

Starting off the culture posts with a bang! Last weekend my friend Leanne and I hit up Llama Fest, an annual event held at the Krishna temple in Spanish Fork. I've always wanted to check this event out in years past that I've been here but never took the chance, and this year the promise of 75+ llamas in one location was too much for me to resist.

Unfortunately we were too late to catch any of the obstacle course that the llamas were subjected to, but we did manage to catch a glimpse of the award ceremony afterwards. A certain llama named Dennis swept the floor with the competition, getting a ribbon in almost every category, including first place in said obstacle course. We all felt a little jealous of that guy.

Between awards, we were treated to cultural dances from various individuals who represented several countries in South America. What's funny to me is that, after about 20 minutes of watching, I realized that the advertisement of these Latinos representing all these different countries was probably false. During the chunk of time I sat there, there was one group of adults and one group of children that alternated on the dance floor, taking turns so that one group could go backstage and change into appropriate costume for their next number! But entertaining nonetheless, especially the two little tykes who looked about age 6 and constantly looked to the other couple for guidance on what to do next.

We went on to explore the temple itself (pretty basic place, actually -- worship area upstairs where they were giving an interesting demonstration of their chanting while visiting children poked and climbed on statues of their gods, and a restaurant/gift shop downstairs) after I had led Leanne over to where the llamas were being held outside. The best part was probably feeding the llamas -- they were pretty vigorous when it came to hay. But petting the llamas was a very uncomfortable experience. Imagine a huge ball of dirty wool and then reaching out only to feel a very bony skeleton beneath. Seriously, you can feel every detail of every bone and tendon. It's really sick. Like cross-breeding a sheep with one of the Olsen twins. In any case, llamas aren't very social creatures. Like their cousin the camel, they were bred to labor.

There was one llama in particular that made us afraid. I didn't snap a shot of it in hopes that the memory escapes me one day. This little guy was about half the height of a normal llama, had eyes that were only half-open, and a lower lip that hung loose off his jaw, leaving a long trail of green saliva constantly oozing out. He kept drunkenly staring at us. He's basically the reason we left the petting area.

But after that we discovered the zebu! Read the wikipedia article for more info on these guys. They didn't really care that we were there to see them, but they stayed close enough for me to grab onto their fleshy humps on their necks. I'd never seen one of these before. It kind of made me want to buy a mini-wagon and hitch 'em up for a mini-trek to Springville.

I'm sure this experience would have been much more enlightening if I'd bothered to research why exactly this event even occurs (I assume it has to do with the fact that there's a lot of llama/alpaca ranching in Utah) and why at the Krishna temple of all places, but it was fun nonetheless and I learned a few things, like how llamas can withstand extremely cold temperatures yet are prone to heat exhaustion at about the same levels of heat as humans. In that sense, I feel like I can really relate with llamas now.

I think I'll name one of my kids Dennis.

A Whole Lot of Writing -- with No Pictures?!

2009-07-27T00:22:00.006-04:00

Well, I always swore I would never turn this blog into a public journal, but I've already broken that rule a couple of times, and feel it's time to admit that I might head slightly in that direction on future posts, including this one. Enjoy!

Cultural Adventure Posts
I decided I'm going to try to post something, even if it's brief, on a regular basis, regarding my experience re-immersing myself in the Salt Lake/Utah Valley culture. Mostly this is to motivate me to get off my duff and live life to its fullest, but I also think it'll be an adventure in discovering Utah again. My first tenure here was spent with too much focus on school. This time around, I've decided to be more committed to experiencing the richness this state has to offer -- the great outdoors adventures, the local art communities, the festivals, etc. Heck, even some of the campus events that I never got around to doing will be a part of this series (I sadly never went to a football game while a student here!).

I feel that too many of us that went to college in Utah and then left the state have decided to focus our memories way too much on a few bad experiences, blowing them out of proportion and forgetting the good. One of my goals in these posts is to not only rediscover what is great about life here, but to find new things to rave about this state. It's not just some place where a bunch of Mormons enjoy living in a cultural bubble -- it's an environment worth exploring!

Lord of the Muscles: Return of the Calves
Time to get back in shape. I believe I weigh more right now than I ever have, and that ain't right. After having settled somewhat in my new digs and recovered from my mountain biking accident (oh, the post is forthcoming, don't you worry), I've decided to get back into an exercise routine. This will probably take place in the evenings as I usually can't even see straight until after lunch time. In any case, I'm documenting and measuring this progress by snapping weekly photos of my left calf. When the golden calves have returned from under their fleshy curtain of solitude, you'll know I'm back in business.

Don't worry, though, I won't be posting these photos of the calves. That would just make me look like I have some odd sort of fetish! No, once I'm back in shape I'll probably just pick the best ones and make a slideshow to demonstrate my progress over time. That's what normal people do, right?

Growing Pains
First of all, wasn't that such a great show? Seriously, there are few '80s comedies that have stood the test of time, and this is one of them. It had some really witty jokes and most of the plots strayed from the cliched scenarios that were recycled throughout prime time television in those days. Oh man.

But I have decided that it's time to grow up just a little. I'm not totally changing my personality here, but let me share a few points I've been thinking about:

I'm seriously cutting back the time I spend on a certain video game. I've never really been as hard core about it as the stereotypical gamer is, but as I thought about embarking on the aforementioned cultural journey I realized this could be a pretty big distraction for me. I may even delete it from my hard drive to purge myself. I don't regret playing or anything, and I certainly plan on continuing very casual use of my PS3, but I just need to make sure I'm well-rounded enough that I'm not ever even tempted to start on the path of introversion via video games.
In a recent issue of the Ensign (for any non-LDS readers I may have, this is a monthly magazine that most Mormons in the US subscribe to), a British general authority wrote an article on how the gospel refines our tastes and language. It's made me think quite a bit, as he stated that one who has really lived the gospel over a period of time avoids casual language and colloquialisms (I think he gave an example of how God would never describe a good experience as "awesome"), and that said person also really appreciates classical music from centuries past and such.

It was hard to swallow at first. I felt like he was telling me I'm wrong for regularly using the term "hard core" and listening to rock music. Heck, by his definition, even the Beatles aren't refined enough. In fact, a couple of people who I consider to be among the best understanders and livers of gospel principles are some of the roughest-around-the-edges people I've ever known!

But as I got to thinking more about it, I am not so sure he meant what my knee-jerk interpretation figured. I think a lot of the things he mentioned are things that naturally occur over time spent in the Church -- as in decades. And you know, I'm okay with Old Man Shark speaking a little more maturely. I don't picture myself in my 60s and 70s constantly praising my grandkids by saying "rock on!" (note the inclusion of the qualifying word "constantly"). Also, I think the seeds for that appreciation of classic arts are already planted. I own and listen to Handel's Messiah now and then and in humanities courses I've taken, I've honestly been amazed by the musical progress made by our predecessors. That being said, I don't think it's wrong for Old Man Shark to pop in some Weezer or Beatles or what have you. I know this sounds weird in a Holy Roller sort of way, but when it comes down to it I believe that a lot of rock music is of God, and I don't think "Hard Day's Night" is going to be banned from Heaven, you know? These artists have also made some excellent contributions to cultural history and I think there's a lot of inspiration in some of this music.

That being said, I've decided there are things I can and perhaps should do to not seem like such a slob in some regards. For the most part I refer to my language. I don't consider myself to be someone with a dirty mouth, but in the past year or so I've been more lenient on my uses of the words "hell, "damn," etc. ... some of the "lighter" curse words which I'll use maybe once every couple of weeks just for shock value or hyperbole. I think I'd like this to come to an end... Just a little personal thing that I want to give up to show a greater commitment to being a better product of my religion. I also need to re-tighten my standards a tad on some of the media I expose myself to. Again, I'm not into porn or dirty music, in fact I still don't watch R-rated films, but sometimes I feel I let things slide that maybe I shouldn't. So, expect future writings to be just as rockin', but with better ways of communicating said rock!
I've gotten less snooty about the nickname. Don't get me wrong, I definitely still prefer going by "Shark" because I'm so used to it, but I've decided from here on out that I won't sneer (visibly or not) at people who decide to make use of the name on my birth certificate. Is it part of growing up? I'm not sure. I just know that I've felt like it's not worth alienating people. I don't care if someone looks down on me for having a "unique" nickname -- if they're too cool for school, that's their problem, not mine -- but there may be times I could reach out or be a friend to someone, and I'd hate it if I found out I had missed an opportunity to do so just because I had driven them away by insisting on being called something they were sincerely uncomfortable with. So, for the record, I still prefer Shark, but you can get away with calling me by my given name without incurring my wrath, though it may take some getting used to for me.
I want to be like Darrell. I know this seems counter-intuitive under a heading about growing up (bwah bwaaah, just kidding Darl!), but I've always admired Darrell for his financial responsibility and I think it's time I join the game. I've already been doing much better lately at saving up money, but I can still do better. A lot of this stems from recent conversations I've had about being a good provider, both spiritually and physically, for my future wife and kids. I know already from experience in dating relationships that it feels terrible when you don't think you're being what your significant other needs. I'd hate to accept the responsibility of being a husband/father and not be able to support my loved ones in a way that they can be free to lead happy lives.

Well, this is one of the most personal posts I've written in a long time. Better enjoy it, as I'm not planning on being this sober all that often (hic!). So on that little note...

EXCELSIOR!

Car Names and Arch-Nemeses

2009-06-03T13:32:00.009-04:00

Living in Provo again has its pluses: I'm back to my old barber who I know I can trust, dollar scoop night at Baskin Robbins guarantees fresh ice cream due to the high amount of traffic it gets, and cost of living is low enough that I can finally afford having a car again without feeling like I'm going to break the bank!

I'd been doing some research online for a few weeks prior to moving and had a general idea of what I wanted: a reliable car that will last a long time and get decent gas mileage. Not much different from what most people seek, I would think. Once I landed in Salt Lake last Thursday, I knew I wanted to get mobile as fast as possible so I could move to my new place and be independent again, so with the help of my dad I managed to get a decent deal on a car the very next day!

The new ride is a 2006 Nissan Sentra SE, with only 22.5K miles on it. This little guy should last me a while. And the best part, in case you can't tell from the photo, is that it's BRIGHT YELLOW! (A daylight picture would probably show this even better, but the only time I have remembered to snap a few shots was last night in the Smith's parking lot.) I never thought I'd own a car this color, but the mechanics of it seemed to be great and I figured that, heck, you're only a young, single bachelor (hopefully) once and I might as well have a little personality in my automobile.

And I'm already seeing the benefits! I went shopping at Wal-Mart on Saturday and had to park clear on the opposite side of the parking lot, almost at McDonald's. When I stepped out and had to remember which row I parked on, it took me about 2 seconds to see this bright yellow bumper barely sticking out. Yellow FTW. *cough*

In addition to the awesomeness of its color, the spoiler on the back has proven its worth in the few days we've been together. I was driving down I-15 the other day when I thought to myself, "Man, this 4-cylinder engine is really wailing! My old Lumina would have been about ten feet off the ground at these blazing speeds!"

Now let me make one thing clear: I've decided to NOT dub this car "The" Sharkmobile. It is certainly A sharkmobile and can be referred to as such, but I wanted to give this one a different label so as to separate it more from its predecessor who, in the end, gave me more grief than I'd anticipated.

One thing you have to know about me, though, is that I'm generally opposed to most people's naming schemes for cars. Firstly, it's odd that we feel this need to properly name our vehicles at all, as if they're our children. Secondly, most people I know tend to give their cars real-people names that are generally feminine, like "Barbara" or "Pam." That's weird to me, too. A car name should represent something unique about the car itself and, if using an actual PERSON name, should not be a name you would actually expect to hear on the street anymore. Here are some good examples of car names I've grown to approve:

-"Myrtle": JKC's car in college that his grandma gave to him. It was definitely an old lady's car and it ran like a prune, getting you to where you needed to be but about ready to die at a moment's notice. We were hoping that another roommate would get an old man car-counterpart that we could name "Baxter."

-"Lola": My sister's car, named such because, during its first long drives with the CD player on shuffle, it favored Barry Manilow music more often than any other variety.

-"Kiff": Cabeza's car. The license plate letters are "KFF," leading to this natural allusion to the hilarious "Futurama" sidekick, as well as many Zap Brannigan quotes.

Bearing that in mind, I present to you my car's new title: Professor Zoom! I imagine most readers won't immediately catch that reference. The explanation is as follows:

The Flash is my favorite superhero. His costume color scheme, as pictured, is solid red with a white circle and yellow lightning bolt comprising the icon on his chest. The Flash's arch-nemesis, the Reverse Flash, also known as "Professor Zoom," has an opposite color scheme: yellow base with a black circle and red lightning bolt comprising the icon.

Now, I'm not one to promote supervillainy, but Professor Zoom is a tragic figure who had a life that handed him nothing but disappointments. Of course, this is all to OUR benefit, because the results of said life have led to a lot of great Flash storytelling and character development. So why not repay him just a little for his hardknock existence?

I even broke in the car's new attitude by trying to establish its "wicked"-cool personality right off the bat: the first songs I played on my drive home from the dealer were "Tribute" by Tenacious D and most of the new Offspring album, which is about as bada** as rock can get. The stereo system ate it up (including the subwoofer in the trunk that was included)!

The name fits well -- the solid yellow body and black interior of my car are very reminiscent of the Reverse Flash. All that's missing is a little red, which should be fixed within the next few weeks as I am custom designing a Reverse Flash insignia to place on my rear window. All the closet nerds in Utah Valley who end up driving behind me will be eating their little hearts out.

Oh, but if your name is Barry Allen, you better watch out. I'm pretty sure my car plans on killing your fiance on your wedding day.

Epic Shark Fail(s)

2009-05-15T14:23:00.005-04:00

Let's face it. I gave my two weeks notice last Thursday and am mentally checked out. In the 4.5 days I have left in the office all I've got on my plate are the tail ends of two really tedious projects, each of which might take me about 20 minutes to do. What better way to take advantage of my need for distraction than by documenting some of my favorite injuries from a lifetime of klutzhood? If only there were photos to accompany these.

KNEE MEETS FACE
Senior year of high school. I'm at my friend Hillary's house late one evening, celebrating her birthday hard core by joining a small crowd of party-goers in dancing on a makeshift ballroom floor in the dining room.

In a random fit of seeking attention as a means to expel a sudden oncoming of internal energy, I place my right hand behind my neck while my left hand grips my elevated left ankle. I then begin to rhythmically convulse, bending my torso back and forth while pulling and pushing the leg my left hand has a hold of.

Why this was even once considered a good idea for a dance move is beyond me. Within moments my overzealousness got the best of me -- my own left knee met my face quickly and sharply, leaving me with a broken pair of glasses and my first bloody nose. I somehow had to drive home that night despite only barely being able to see the road.

HEAD MEETS CEILING FAN
While serving as a full-time missionary in Dallas, one of my zone leaders comes to my area overnight to see how the work is coming along. While getting ready to retire for the evening, I decide it'd be great to share with him my plan for a cross-country road trip when I get home.

Standing on my bed to adequately point at the map I had hung near the ceiling, I mentally note that the fan, which is currently on the highest speed setting, is hanging just inches from my noggin. "You'll be fine as long as you don't lean back any further," I tell myself.

THUK-THUK-THUK-THUK-THUK!!!

I fall off my bed, hit the floor, and grip my head as I writhe in pain. Zone Leader stares in disbelief.

HEAD SEEKS REMATCH WITH CEILING FAN
One or two weeks later, my OTHER zone leader makes an overnight visit to my area. Zone Leader #1 calls us to ask Zone Leader #2 a question, and we put him on speaker phone so all three of us can chat.

"Hey, did you tell him what happened around this time last week?" Zone Leader #1 chuckles over the phone.

I wisely respond, "Oh, let me reenact it! It was pretty funny!"

Standing on the bed, I explain, "Well, I was showing Zone Leader #1 some locations on my map, and then my head went like THIS --" Mentally I'm thinking that I'm not really going to stick my head in that fan again, I'm going to get just close enough to illustrate the direction it was headed.

THUK-THUK-THUK-THUK-THUK!!!!

Body plops to floor, hands grip head, teeth grit. Zone Leader #2 stares in disbelief. Realizing I'm okay, he loses it laughing. Zone Leader #1 probably rethinks my eligibility as a missionary.

WHO NEEDS SKIN ANYWAY?
A group of friends, including myself, decide to hike along a river running through Zion National Park -- much of the trail demanding us to hike in water sometimes up to our chests.

Months of preparation take place, including several safety disclaimers and lists of gear to bring along. Knowing that our feet are going to be submerged much of the hike, Darrell and I decide that regular shoes or hiking boots will only soak up water and get really heavy. We opt instead to go out and buy some hike-worthy sandals.

Of course, what footware store name is most equated with the phrase "hike-worthy"? Payless Shoes, duh! Without even bothering to look elsewhere, we head straight there and quickly find the cheapest pair of sandals money can buy -- I think each pair cost us about 12 bucks. Satisfied that our feet would be adequately protected for the twelve mile hike by a thin slice of leather topped by a few inches of cheap thread, we head to South Utah for the great outdoors.

The hike is awesome. Beautiful. We even think we're going to die from flash floods a few times when it starts raining in our particular part of the canyons. By the end of the arduous journey, the cold water combined with exhaustion have made my feet entirely numb. Since I can't feel any pain, I naturally assume that my feet are doing alright.

Getting back to camp and pulling out some shoes and socks to throw on, however, reveals the truth of the situation: the straps running across a the top of my feet, where callouses don't reside, have slowly been cutting into my skin, grinding away a large area of the top few layers bit by bit over the 12-mile trek. Removing the sandals reveals a bloody mess, and after some makeshift wound-dressing to now-thawed little tootsies, I find myself unable to walk without wincing in very real pain. For about a week after finishing the hike I walk like an arthritic old mule and even solicit piggy back rides from roommates. Some of the scabs are so deep that they literally take about 8 months to completely heal.

Darrell's feet? Totally fine. It turns out that he didn't tighten the straps on his sandals all that much, so there wasn't such a tight, constant abrasion. Darrell also hates tightening a tie all the way up to his neck and wearing pants where the crotch doesn't sag at least five inches below the point where his legs converge. I'm pretty sure that Darrell would wear absolutely nothing but a Snuggie everywhere he went if it were socially acceptable.

On the upside, the remaining scars remind me of the great charity of two of my roommates. Upon returning home, without me even asking, Mitch cleaned and dressed my hideous wounds (and re-dressed them at least twice in the days that followed), and Isaac ignored the throngs of women who were constantly chasing him for at least an hour as he ran around the ward looking for some medicine to prevent infection. These memories honestly warm my heart.

I'M LIKE A BIRD
On another hiking venture about a year later, Darrell decides to take us to Henefer, UT (pictured to the right) to explore the vast expanse of rock and dryness surrounding his hometown.

Nearing the last two miles of a maybe-six mile tour, the first few members of the group, including Darrell and myself, reach a six foot drop off a great fallen tree we've been walking along. Darrell and a couple others gingerly climb down hand over foot to be safe. I, on the other hand, decide that the dirt beneath the tree looks soft enough to me, and six feet really isn't that far of a drop anyway, so I take a few steps and leap off and fall until...

... my foot lands on a fallen branch, causing my ankle to roll worse than it ever has in a million lifetimes. For the only time I can remember in my adult life, I scream in pain and lie in the dirt, nursing the wound while the rest of the group catches up to us and stairs at this pathetic ball of a man rolling around on the ground. Luckily the hike is mostly over, and the hardest part is behind us, although the last half mile or so involves walking across a sea of endless rocks and boulders, which I challenge anyone with a sprained ankle to do at a pace faster than that of a drunken three-toed sloth.

Later on, a crescent bruise will form under the ball of my ankle, and I won't be able to run comfortably for at least 6 months. I think I even use crutches for the only time in Shark history for a brief period.

IDIOCY, PLAIN AND SIMPLE
Last year I decide to run from my house in Alexandria, VA all the way to the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, DC -- a roundtrip totalling about 10.5 miles. Of course, up until this run I've only trained for 5 or 6 miles. Forget that I decide to make this run once I'm already out the front door, so I don't have any water with me.

I return a VERY dehydrated, queasy man who can barely walk, and it takes me about three months for my running injuries to heal enough that a light jog is even feasible.
----------

And that, my friends, is just the tip of the iceberg.

Gah!!!

2009-05-01T16:42:00.001-04:00

If you happen to be visiting this page from a link on Sonja's blog, I apologize for any confusion. "Mark Gillins" is dead. The Shark ate him.

Dreams: "Penny! I Love Ya!"

2009-02-21T09:46:00.004-05:00

Most of the members in my local church congregation are stranded on the island from "Lost." We got stuck there because for a time the island had stopped moving and seemed to be just a normal, tropical landmark, so it was opened up for tourism and small towns were built to accommodate the traffic and provide some night life. When the island decided to start going nutso again, it happened to be a day that most of my congregation was doing some sightseeing, trapping us.

Determined to get off the island, I decide to make a swim for it. Every once in a while I can spot a mountain range just a couple miles offshore, and decide that I'll head for that, despite the warnings from other people that I shouldn't. While a party is happening on the beach, I warm myself up by swimming in the air about 7 feet off the ground, heading toward the water, and then finally plunge in and go for it. I'm about a mile out when I realize that my arms and legs are giving out on me (in real life I'm not a very strong swimmer). Luckily I haven't even left the large channel that I had decided to start from (because walking on land to the furthest point out certainly is just plain illogical), and soon I find Cabeza, old roommate Warren, current roommate Darren, and friend Amanda coming out to rescue me, and they dutifully pull me to the shore that I had been moving parallel to and carry me back to the rest of the castaways.

Emotionally drained from a failed escape attempt, I plop down in a seat with the congregation, who has set up folding chairs on the beach, facing away from the water, to have some church meetings. An announcement is made by one of the leaders that a small group of packages has mysteriously arrived at the island, and each one is addressed to a different person there. Another leader holds up a large box over his head and I can see that it's addressed to me, but suddenly someone a few rows back stakes a claim on it! Not one to be had, I stand on my chair and furiously yell "HEY! THAT'S MINE!" over and over, repeating myself because I keep getting drowned out by the applause of the surrounding congregation, who is very excited for this fellow to be receiving a box of goods.

After three or four attempts, I'm finally heard and the impostor sheepishly gives me the box. As I begin to slowly open it, I wonder who would have sent it to me. Looking for a name, I find "Marcos" scribbled on the side of the box. I begin to sob as I express gratitude for Marcos, a real-life member of my congregation, who was so thoughtful to send this along.

Opening the box, I find that it contains several clothing items, most of which belong to me, including a set of military fatigues and my blue and white beanie that an old college roommate had crocheted for me (see picture). It feels good to have something of my own again.

Later on, Amanda and I keep going to an abandoned saloon to drink the non-alcoholic beverages, but every time I try to jump over the bar to play bartender, the bottle of whatever I'm going to drink falls out of my hands and shatters. One of these times, the beverage is a gourmet lime soda. The only other drinks immediately available are bottles of Jarritos, which neither of us is really in the mood for.

The rest of my experience involves exploring a nearby restroom, making plans to dig out a new living area/cave (including an uncomfortable bed made of sand), and watching three cartoonish-looking animals try to save each other from plunging off the side of a cliff to their demise.

Dreams: In Brightest Day, in Blackest Night...

2009-02-20T12:35:00.003-05:00

Soaring above green fields peppered with orange-and-yellow-leafed trees, I'm very content at the notion of having super powers. After a few minutes of the normal loop-de-loops and corkscrews, I land outside a small house. Glancing at my hand, I notice the source of my flying power: a small ring! It appears to be made of sturdy black string, with a green gem set in.

Entering the house, I find Cabeza, who is just getting out of bed. I flash my ring at him and explain that it's just like Green Lantern, except that my ring only lets me fly, not conjure objects built of solid energy. Cabeza then excitedly pulls out an identical ring, slips it on his own finger, and aims his fist at the wall. After a moment of concentration, a 4-inch, green circle pulsates where he's pointing. "Gasp! Your ring holds the second half of the Green Lantern powers!" I exclaim excitedly.

In the corniest moment of dream history, we put our fists together so that the jades are in contact with each other, a la the Wonder Twins, but instead of reciting a dorky encantation to activate our powers, the rings begin lighting green sparks and emitting electric bursts that suround our hands, even after separating once again. Not really sure what this has accomplished, I begin goofing off with my abilities, easily levitating off the ground in a diagonal direction, keeping my body erect while widening my eyes and puffing out my cheeks to get a reaction out of my brother, who dutifully laughs, because I am, after all, a comedic genius.

Why Do I Lunge Out at You?

2009-02-12T11:34:00.002-05:00

This song is dedicated to everyone but Abe, Darwin, and myself today. Enjoy!

*Note that my web hosting provider has had some server lag issues today, so try hitting refresh and give it a minute if it doesn't show up or play at first.

Dreams: Head Cancer & Sandwiches

2008-12-16T13:01:00.007-05:00

I'm sitting/lying in an operating chair in a doctor's office that is particularly cold and sterile. Metallic blue is the prominent color of the room. The doctor, stereotypically sporting a white coat and glasses, rolls up on his stool alongside me and delivers the bad news: I have cancer in my head. I don't recall exactly what KIND of cancer -- I remember thinking it was similar to leukemia -- but in any case, it was in my noggin.

Suddenly I'm in the lobby of the doctor's office to discuss insurance info, schedule a return appointment, etc. My mom has joined me at this point and is sitting at my left as we talk to the nurse on duty. She wasn't with me to receive the bad news, so she is still sort of unaware of what's going on. I'm nonchalantly chomping on a PB&J sandwich -- which I'm rather enjoying, actually. I am sensing a sort of nervousness as the nurse explains the possibilities and costs of treatments (including radiation), but my PB&J has me so satisfied that it's hard for me to stay focused on my own, dire health situation (if you knew how moist the bread was, perhaps you wouldn't be chuckling at me right now).

My mother is clearly confused. For some reason she keeps thinking the nurse's discussion regarding cancer treatments is for HER, and she keeps trying to figure out why the nurse would be telling her this instead of talking about ME. As I approach the last third of my sandwich, I realize that it's probably time I tell my dear mom what's going on -- but I don't want to have to wait to down the rest of this delicious meal!

Here is where I reach the climax of the dream-dilemma: delivering important news to my mother that will clarify some vague-yet-dreary information VS. finishing the best peanut butter & jelly sandwich in the history of mankind. Seriously, this is a tough choice to make in a matter of seconds!

Deciding I can make this a win-win situation, I cram the rest of the food into my mouth and, betwixt some rather painstaking chews, explain to my mother what's going on. Miraculously she can understand my muffled words, and isn't taking the news nearly as hard as I thought she would.

With my last swallow, the nurse gives a few quotes for what our medical expenses are going to be like. This is where the stress really sets in. Furiously upset by how high a price it is to treat cancer, I stand up and throw an empty paper cup toward a trash bin as if the cup were a rock and the bin were the living room window of every person who perpetuates the printing of Family Circus comics. As I do this I scream, "WHY IS IT SO EXPENSIVE FOR SOMEONE TO DIE?!"

The cup overshoots the bin and lands at the feet of a line of people waiting their turn to see the doctor. While they sort of look at the ground to figure out what just bounced against their legs, I calmly approach them, retrieve the cup, and gently place it in the bin.

Dreams: Fragments

2008-11-24T13:52:00.002-05:00

I am sometimes saddened by my infrequent posting on the blog. My wit seems to be running low these days. My dreams haven't been as memorable the last month or two, but as I've learned that recording them helps fuel my ability to recall them, here are a couple bits of some more recent hallucinations:

In one dream, I am at a retreat that my local church congregation hosted a couple months ago in a very woodsy area. I am standing just outside my cabin, saying goodbye to my friend Zach as he walks down the ramp away from me. Happy-go-lucky Zach stops quite suddenly and slowly turns to reveal a look of utter shock and horror on his face. His chest appears to be bleeding profusely, as a blood spot begins to grow, but stops once it reaches about 8 inches in length across his pecs. His legs give out and he collapses to the ground, at which point I rush to him and start yelling for help. A lot of the other details are lost to me, but I remember learning that he has a heart condition (which doesn't explain why blood was pouring out of his torso) and he ends up being okay, which is a relief to the girl who sits dutifully at his side until he gets better.

In dream numero dos, I find myself in an awkward relationship with a friend of mine who wants to be more than just friends, but towards whom I have no real romantic sentiment. She, I, Cabeza, our friend David and some other folks whose faces I've forgotten decide to hit up Disneyland, and upon reaching the park I discover that it's gone to pot since the last time I've been there (which was actually last month in real life): mud slicks all over the roads, weeds and overgrown forests all over the park, and even large bodies of water overtaking the establishment. Deciding that a large river rushing through Frontierland isn't a total loss, we opt for a swim. Approaching the bank, we discover that there's already a lot of traffic heading downstream, so someone in our group grabs a rope with some buoys attached and tows it across the width of the river, stopping traffic and giving us adequate space to play. I can remember getting in the water and feeling the slightly-chilly water surround my legs, a girl in the group complaining that it's too cold as I shrug my shoulders in retort. It's shortly after this moment that I'm awakened in real life by my roommate entering the basement/my bedroom where I've been napping and exclaiming, "Holy crap! It's FREEZING in here!" just before turning the corner to see me on my bed. I'm terribly confused by finding myself in a location other than an actual river where I'm supposed to be swimming, and it takes me about five seconds to register what is going on. Apparently my roommate comes around the corner to find me staring quite blankly into space, in such a manner that he's actually concerned about my well-being, but once everything clicks into place in the trusty noggin, we each heave a sigh of relief. I'm not dead.

TightShirt

2008-10-24T17:49:00.002-04:00

90210

2008-09-15T13:35:00.003-04:00

I made this for a skit I wrote and performed in front of my local church congregation over the weekend. The premise of the skit was that I was the only member of a group of people who didn't know the words of common TV show themes such as "Duck Tales" or "Fresh Prince," but I awkwardly tried to sing along anyways, always disappointing by throwing in the wrong lyrics. When someone calls me out on it, I claim to know all the words to "90210," which they scoff at (since the show's theme had no words). I proceed to apparently make up a theme on the spot, which makes no sense, and they tell me to sit down as they flip on the TV to find the new "90210" series on. The audience hears the actual theme song:

Nothing amazing, but a fun little project I thought I'd share.

Casting a Shark Biographical Movie: Mom, Part II

2008-09-02T12:28:00.002-04:00

My dad sent me a photo of my mom at a younger age, and here are the results:

This time around gave a few great options for actresses who could portray a young version of my mother. Bryce Howard, Julia Louis-Dreyfus, and Charlize Theron are all good actresses who, with proper makeup and hair dye, could play my mom pretty well, I think. I am partial to Julia, mostly because I've seen more of her fun side that tells me she could reflect that important part of my mom's personality really well.

Cabeza also recommended that Present-Day Mom could be portrayed by Sally Field. An excellent suggestion, I think. Sally has this sort of motherly persona about her these last couple of decades, and she's super-cute to boot. Possibly a better selection than Wonder Woman, and most likely a better actress.

Casting a Shark Biographical Movie: Ted and Amy

2008-08-31T10:00:00.000-04:00

It seems that, after two excellent experiences finding matches through MyHeritage.com, the luck has run out for my sister and brother-in-law:

What a horrible list of results! Tom Welling?! JASON PRIESTLEY?! Come on! Give me someone who actually LOOKS like Ted and can act decently! Donny Osmond does NOT look like my brother-in-law!

Upon thinking about it, I actually really liked the idea of casting Brendan Fraser in the role, if he were to bulk up a bit and have a good director help him increase his range on camera. But I don't think that's a perfect fit. Ted needs someone who is big, tall, burly, and can change from being abrupt and aggressive to goofy and sarcastic, and sometimes even a sort of "gentle giant." Ted jokingly told me not to consider Jack Black in the comments of an earlier post. Jack would need to be a little taller, a little manlier, and have a much better acting range in order to fill this part. Fraser is a better choice than Black.

Amy is an even more difficult person to cast. I abhorred EVERY option presented to me by MyHeritage.com. I'm totally stuck on this one. This would need to be a short, blonde girl with a fun personality and who likes to talk, but knows how to lay down the law when necessary. She also needs to be a natural with kids. Any ideas here?

So far I'm thinking that Ted MIGHT be played by Brendan Fraser, but most likely we'd have to cast unknowns for both of these family members.

Casting a Shark Biographical Movie: Jenn

2008-08-30T10:15:00.000-04:00

Another fantastic result from MyHeritage.com (yet a poorly-treated photo -- sorry, Jenn):

Evangeline Lilly! Yes! Most popularly known to the world as Kate on Lost, here's another comparison I had never thought of. She needs to dye her hair red, but she's got the freckles and is downright gorgeous, which makes her an excellent candidate for the role. And, again, I don't think she's necessarily an incredible actress, but she's shown her ability to perform a wide range of emotions and, even though she's younger than Jenn, she could easily make herself look 7 years older than she is.

Melissa Gilbert, who played Laura Ingalls on Little House on the Prairie, would also be a great choice if she was about ten years younger. Though I am unaware of how her acting skills have developed or declined over the last quarter century...

I feel like Molly Ringwald was thrown in there just because of the similar hair color. I mean, really, aside from that, does she really look all that similar to my sister? No way. And she's a little too old.

Amanda Bynes? Ugh...

And although she wasn't an option, Julianne Moore would have worked as well, if she was about ten years younger (her age has really begun to show the last five years or so). A lot of people comment on how much our mom and Jenn looked alike when my mom was a lass in her prime, so it wouldn't be shocking to have the same actresses audition for both parts in some cases.

Casting a Shark Biographical Movie: Mom

2008-08-29T10:15:00.000-04:00

For once, MyHeritage.com gives me a result that blows my mind in how perfect it is:

Lynda Carter! Known primarily for her starring role in the Wonder Woman television series back in the day, I've never even considered how much she looks like a supermodel version of my mother. It's uncanny! At least, it is to me. She's a classy broad. Not an AMAZING actress, but I think with some decent directing and a good makeup/hair artist, she could really fill the role well. She also happens to be the same age as my mother, though I think my mom LOOKS a lot younger than our friend Lynda from recent photos I've been able to find of Carter.

To even the scales of how well they did with the first choice, however, it seems that MyHeritage decided to throw out a few faces in the middle that just don't make any sense. Oprah Winfrey? REALLY? And Katie Couric? Does the computer not take into account how amazingly annoying Couric is? Even looking at her photo is irritating. Sigh.

Julianne Moore isn't a bad option, though. My mother isn't a redhead, but if we dyed her hair and went back in time a few years, I could easily see Moore playing a younger version of Mom. She's got the acting skills and knows how to be fun ("Evolution") and maternal ("The Forgotten" -- and Heaven forbid I ever reference that movie ever again).

That last sentence has made me think of something: could Lynda Carter pull off my mother's fun personality? My mom has a reputation for being downright goofy at times, and was never afraid to play with us (even if we didn't want to be played with). I credit a lot of my crazy antics to Madre and her nutty sense of humor. I haven't seen that side of Lynda Carter yet, and I think that would be an important part of my mom to capture in a film about my life, so she might get the boot if she can't work it out. But who knows? I mean, she DID let herself get filmed in that silly costume for a number of years.

(On a sidenote, I don't like how MyHeritage handled the photo of my mom. They made it look kind of gross... The actual picture of her looks much nicer!)

Casting a Shark Biographical Movie: Dad

2008-08-28T11:27:00.004-04:00

So this is pretty ridiculous:

As much as I'd love to have some sex appeal in a movie about my life, I somehow don't think Kirsten Dunst could really capture the man that is my father adequately.

If I were to pick someone to portray my father, it would be Ned Beatty. Known in my family for playing the part of the bumbling sidekick Otis in "Superman: The Movie," Ned Beatty is actually a very diverse actor who has proven his skill in roles such as the father in "Rudy." In fact, I think the role in that film is what causes me to draw the connection between the two men.

There is a scene near the end of the film where Rudy's parents and brother come to see him in his first (and only) game that he actually gets to play on the field at Notre Dame. His father is in awe when he sees the field, having been a huge Notre Dame fan his entire life yet never getting to see a live game. Up until this point, he's sort of skeptical about Rudy being a real "football player" for the team. But when Rudy sacks the QB, the crowd goes nuts, and perhaps the loudest screamer is his father, Ned Beatty, jumping up and down, pumping his fists in the air and proudly exclaiming to everyone around him, "That's my son! My son!" I actually get really choked up every time I see that part of the climax.

My dad has always been one of the major cheerleaders in my life, sending me constant e-mails throughout college to express his faith in me, and writing me more regularly than anyone else while I was on my mission for two years. I've loved having that support.

So Ned Beatty it is. I think he even looks a little like my dad, which helps, of course.

Casting a Shark Biographical Movie, Part I

2008-08-07T13:09:00.005-04:00

We've all thought this before: "If someone were to make a movie about me, who would get the lead role?" I plan on one-upping that. I'm going to make a series of posts casting all the major characters in a movie about my life thus far (and perhaps in the future, as well).

The above image is displaying the celebrities that supposedly look the most like me. I actually found the link to this site from my friend Martha, who apparently looks like Amanda Bynes, according to a computer.

Best result: Charlton Heston! Who'd have thought? Can you imagine having him portray ME in a film? "Call me THE Shark, you damn, dirty ape!" In all honesty, though, I just don't see it. Heston was a great actor, but his build is too wiry and bony to portray me.

Granted, I think the photo I used is a little goofy. I might try re-computing with a different photo later. I believe the computer focused on finding celebrities with big noses and overbites.

What struck me as funny is that I only knew the two celebrities who were given the lowest percentage in my results! I haven't bothered looking up all of them, but what I will tell you is that my celebrity twin, Yossi Benayoun, is an Israeli soccer player for the Liverpool FC team. The fact that overseas athletes are granted celebrity status on this site drops its coolness factor (wouldn't most people rather be entertained by being compared to Judge Wapner or, heck, the Olsen Twins?), but it sufficed for giving me someone to cast in the lead role of "The Shark Movie":

Gary Busey. Well, he would be cast as FUTURE me, but I could totally see him pulling it off. Overbite? Check. Eccentric mentality? Double check ("Drinking your own blood is the paradigm of recycling." Honest, he really said that.). Plus, he's a proven actor. He's been a villain ("Lethal Weapon"), a nutty private investigator ("The Firm"), and, perhaps the role most telling of his abilities, he pulled off an excellent portrayal of Buddy Holly in the 1978 film, "The Buddy Holly Story".

I was about to delve into my personality qualities that I feel like Busey could capture really well, but I felt like I was typing some sort of profile for a matchmaking website. I'll just end this post by saying that I hope I grow up in a way that Busey could adequately portray me. This is my dream -- nay, my very purpose.

Dreams: Calvinist Mormons

2008-07-25T12:19:00.004-04:00

Warren, Cabeza and I, for some unknown reason, are moving back into Y-Front, the two-story house we shared in college with five other roommates. We walk into the old place, and the sense of nostalgia is overwhelming. I excitedly turn to the white board that served to keep our messages to each other, divided 8 ways to give each of us our own little section. I'm really looking forward to staking my claim back on the lower right hand corner, and begin reaching for cleaning supplies to wipe off the old content and reestablish myself as an official denizen. I find a sheet of paper folded in half, taped to the board with my name written on it, and I set it aside as I begin scrubbing the board. However, I soon find that I've scrubbed so hard that the white layer of board has worn down to the brown backing!

Frustrated at having ruined a priceless artifact that has brought so much personality to Y-Front's front room, I decide to open the paper that had been addressed to me. Removing the tape, I find that it is a letter, addressed by Bishop Walker (the leader of the local church congregation), extending a calling to me. Apparently the news that we were moving back into the ward had spread, and he was ready with a responsibility for me right away. Impressed by his proactiveness in getting callings filled, I searched the rest of the letter to find in what capactiy I was being asked to serve: "The Deep Sorrows, Wailing & Moaning, Remorse, Confession of Sins and Lying Prostrate on the Earth Committee" (I actually don't remember the exact wording/order of the name for the committee, but it included at least some of these words and was very long).

The committee was essentially in charge of what the long name describes: ensuring that the ward members were reminded of their constant miserable state as mortals and were driven to repentance and salvation through fear and exploitation of the spiritual distance in their relationships with God. Jared and I had apparently heard that the ward had made a committee like this, and although we didn't want anything to do with it, we felt it wasn't a big enough deterrent to keep us from moving back in.

But now I was being asked to officially be a part of it, and I'm not sure at first how exactly I am going to respond. I've never turned down a calling before, and it feels awkward contemplating the act of looking my bishop in the eyes and telling him to find someone else. However, I can't support a movement to drive fear and guilt into the hearts of my friends and tear them down!

I glance again at the letter and notice that the bishop has included a schedule of regular extracurricular Sunday meetings the committee hosts. Each of them lasts about an hour, and each revolves around a different set of scriptures that serve to frighten sinners. Some sessions are labeled as being more intense than others, and there are also sessions in multiple languages, including Spanish, Italian, German and Japanese.

As I read through the descriptions of these meetings, flashing visions are shown to me of what they are like. I have an aerial view of people surrounding an outside platform/stage, an individual addressing them all with a microphone, pointing a finger at the crowd and vigorously calling everyone to sink into the depths of despair in order to better know God. Some individuals do as the committee's name suggests and begin to literally lie prostrate on the ground, many individuals are moaning and screaming. Some people are making their way up to the stage so they can borrow the microphone and proclaim their sins to everyone present. A lot of crying, and a really depressing bunch of kids.

When I snap out of it, still staring at the letter, I become determined to confront Bishop Walker and tell him that I won't do it, and I explain to Cabeza the dilemma while Warren sits on the front porch reading a book, his feet kicked up on the old, dusty couch we keep out there.

Shortly after this I wake up, though there are other vague details I can't clearly recall, one of which involved going to church with Cabeza, where we stood on a tower made of logs and looked down at the sacrament meeting taking place on the same stage that my visions had taken me to.

Analysis:

Right before going to bed last night I finished reading the first chapter of Rough Stone Rolling, a biography of Joseph Smith. This chapter detailed the background of his parents and grandparents, and discussed the dramatic religious reawakening that was sweeping the States at the time. A part that really stood out to me discussed the Calvinist influence, specifically when one preacher attempted to take advantage of Lucy Mack Smith during a serious illness she had, when she was very susceptible to recognizing the "great chasm" between herself and the Lord. The preacher wanted to exploit that in order to preach salvation to her (which is somewhat ironic as Lucy Mack was already very proactive in seeking the best way to come unto God). The Calvinist expressions detailed in this chapter surely affected my dream.
Y-Front was the house I lived in for the longest stretch of my college career. Warren and Cabeza are both old roommates who I see regularly because they live with or near me in the DC area now.
Bishop Walker was my ward's high counselor when I was still there, and we worked pretty closely together do to another calling I had at the time. Shortly after I left the ward he was asked to be the bishop.
I think I might have some subconscious feelings that the ward was going to pot around the time I left. I don't really think less of the people who are there now, but I probably would feel like it wasn't as cool as it used to be if I ever tried to move back.
While there certainly haven't been any committees like this one in any ward I've ever been in, I certainly have seen my fair share of committees that I didn't support whole-heartedly. For example, one ward I was in at BYU decided to have a committee devoted to setting people up on dates and get married. I wasn't a fan.

Conclusion:
While it's important to recognize one's weaknesses and become humble before God, endorsing public displays of spiritual fear and misery are totally against the Gospel that I know. And Bishop Walker may be an apostate.

Dreams: Office Romance and Diablos

2008-07-02T10:56:00.004-04:00

This dream was pretty segmented, in at least three parts, so I'm going to share it in its segmented form. It happens that each segment gets better than the last:

PART I: The Roll Bar
I'm driving a Jeep Cherokee-esque vehicle down I-15 in Utah at night. My old roommate Darl is riding shotgun, and other old roommate Isaac is in the back seat. We're going about 65 mph when a rather unexpected sharp turn seemingly leaps in front of the car! I quickly try to follow the sudden curve, but the car careens off the road and rolls multiple times at high speed, stopping in an upright position.

I shake my head a couple times as I gather my bearings. I'm now in the back seat with Isaac, but other than being a little startled, I'm perfectly alright. Darl and Isaac are fine, too, and as I crawl back into the driver's seat I comment, "Wow, thank heavens we have a roll bar on this Jeep!" I return the keys to the ignition and am about to turn it when I realize that we've ended up at some sort of house party, and the ground surrounding us is covered in snow. I flag down some random drunk guy to lock the hubs on my front tires, then I pop the Jeep into four wheel drive and get back on the road as if nothing has happened.

PART II: Love in a Cube
I'm chilling at work when a female coworker of mine (who shall go unnamed) comes over and begins talking to me. Before I know it, we're kissing! It's just simple kissing and cuddling, but it becomes a major distraction because, while all this is going on, I'm trying to format and distribute a press release that needs to go out before I can go home. By the time her hormones are calming down a bit, she comments on how this is the second time she's become involved in an office romance, and the first time (which was at a former workplace) ended really awkwardly. She seems a bit apprehensive about pursuing a similar relationship based on this past experience.

The next thing I know, she's taking me to a bar for a date. Odd thing is, meeting us at the front door is her OLD office flame, some dark-complexioned schmo with a buzzed head and mustache. It's become apparent to me that she wanted to take us both out at the same time so she could compare and choose who she'd rather date. At first this sets me off a bit, but as we enter the bar my more conscious self pipes in and I realize that I don't even have real romantic feelings for this coworker, so why on earth should I be concerned? With this new mindset, I still feel a little awkward being on such an unconventional date, but I'm much more at ease.

We enter the spacious tavern and walk toward the back of it to find a table. Female Coworker selects one, and as I sit down I look up to find that Darl is already seated at the same table, goofy grin in place, beginning to laugh in his very Darl way (hearty chuckles and convulsions that cause his entire upper body to bounce up and down) in reaction to my surprised facial expressions. The odds of the date are now three to one.

Female Coworker and Third Wheel each order some food and some super-fancy alcoholic mixes that involve a lot of kiwis and little umbrellas. Darl and I ask for water. I'm still mulling over the weirdness of the whole situation when I look to one side of the room and see a busboy in a baseball cap sweeping the floor with his back to me. He works his way backwards, so that with each sweep he is a foot or so closer, until eventually he's right behind me. He then turns around and looks up just enough for me to see his face under the bill of his hat: it's my friend David, a fellow Seattle-ite who is now living in New York City. He winks at me, smiles, and reassuringly whispers, "Don't worry, Mark. I've got your back covered!" and at that he puts his head back down and begins sweeping again. (Sidenote: David is one of my only friends who can get away with calling me by my given name, as he's known me since I was 2 years old, before my nickname existed.)

At this point I give into hysterical laughter. I'm able to recognize the random humor that a friend from NYC came down to DC, undercover as a busboy, to protect me during my awkward circumstances. I erupt into further roaring as I notice another familiar figure on the OTHER side of the room, ALSO posing as a busboy in a baseball cap: my brother, Cabeza, who is likewise sweeping the floor systematically, glancing up every few seconds to keep an eye out for danger.

Somewhere in there I also notice JKC, another old roommate, present in the bar, laughing about something. It seems that I'm at the center of an elaborate scheme. But there's no time to see how it plays out, because the next thing I remember, the dream changes to...

PART III: Abstraction of a Theory
For the second time in recent dream memory, I find myself a character in a medieval video game. I'm in a team with four or five other protagonists, and we're storming a cursed castle. As we walk down the stone hallways, blanketed in blues and blacks broken only by the orange of dying torches every ten yards or so, I take note of the various monsters standing guard at various doorways and on patrol. Some are large, fat and white, others are dark, hairy, horned and on all fours.

Without warning, my team is attacked! I unsheathe a dagger and begin hacking away. Other teammates respond a little more slowly, but soon everyone is in a fight for their lives as more and more monsters come rushing at us. One by one, the monsters tear down an opponent. We are managing to take out quite a few beasts in the chaos, but they outnumber us greatly. I'm soon the only survivor, and after a few cleverly-placed traps that freeze all my attackers for a few seconds, I take off running down to the dungeon level of the castle in a last-ditch effort to survive.

Upon reaching the dungeon, I throw myself into a room without bothering to see what it is, hoping to evade my pursuers. I'm startled by deep, echoing cackles. I turn to find a giant minotaur-like creature staring at me from the other end of a large ballroom. I turn again to find the doors I just passed through closing on me! I've unwittingly stumbled upon the final boss of the castle, without any teammates for backup!

Fearing for my life, and in perhaps the most abstract moment my imagination has ever taken me to, my conscious psyche literally picks up my avatar and throws him out the doors just before it's too late. The representation of my consciousness is now safe outside the danger zone, but my psyche is still in the presence of a mythical demon, and I sense great risk.

The great beast begins to charge my awareness, and the only way I can think to avoid certain destruction is to suddenly find myself taking physical form as myself once more (NOT simply an avatar from the game), ripping open my shirt and punching in a sequence of numbers on a touch pad located on my chest. As soon as I enter the final digit, a white door with an exit sign above appears on the wall. I rush to the door, taking note of the bright daylight coming in through its window, and quickly escape the castle.

Now back in a non-video game state, I find that the other side of the door is a bus station. But something's not right -- it's somehow inhuman. I climb the wall of a nearby brick building in an effort to hide, and soon a bus pulls up -- full of red-skinned demons!

Sensing that I need to act before they have a chance to gain the upper hand, I pounce from my perch onto the top of the bus. I swing from the front so that I am dangling in front of the windshield, staring the bus driver in the face. He's a slightly chunkier demon, with a bald spot and glasses. He doesn't look very threatening at all, in fact. Realizing that I'm not about to get into another battle, I hop down to the ground again and find a golf cart approaching me. As it pulls up, I see its occupants are three demons who, in an oddly-natural morph, change into smiling Mexicans. They're super-friendly guys and we talk for a bit in Spanish.

Then I wake up, and the first thing I do is smile and laugh at the thought of David and my brother posing as busboys in an undercover operation to rescue me from an awkward date.

Analysis:

I honestly don't get the whole pseudo-romance with my coworker (and, if you happen to be a coworker who is reading this, no -- it's not you), as I am not attracted to her like that at all. We've been g-chatting lately at work just to keep each other from getting too bored, so I'm guessing that our friendship has caused her to take a role in this dream of mine.
The video game aspects must stem from some of my final thoughts I had last night before going to bed. As I was doing some book reading, I thought a bit to myself about how I haven't really played online for the past couple weeks, and that I'm a little bored with the game.
I really find it interesting that my psyche separated from my avatar and protected it. If you have ever studied video game theory, you'll understand where I'm coming from. The avatar is essentially the embodiment of your persona when playing a video game, and, especially when the point of view is directly behind or in-the-eyes-of the avatar, some video game theories state that the player's consciousness extends to the avatar. Super meta stuff going on in this dream here.
I think the demonic bus station is influenced by all the "Hellboy II" advertising I've been seeing lately. The demons looked a lot like they could have jumped right out of the movie. It's funny because I've never seen the first "Hellboy," nor am I really all that interested in doing so. Effective advertising?

Conclusion:
Medieval fantasy dreams aren't nearly as fun as superhero dreams.

What is Art?

2008-06-19T15:35:00.002-04:00

I made a person today. His name is Sven Obsequio. This counts as creativity, right?

Thanks to Amanda for the idea. That's what an online dating service gets when they spam a listserve -- spam in their membership.

Oh, and Sven got an e-mail from them stating that his profile would be featured for an entire month on their main page. With luck, Sven will be engaged by the end of summer!

Flashback: Plastic Man

2008-06-11T14:06:00.003-04:00

In an effort to appease the masses, here's a drawing I did ten years ago for an online contest to recreate silver age comic covers. Silver age comics were known for having one or more characters exclaiming something, often to the reader -- which is what I was going for here. Other silver age elements include: having the threatened hero positioned dramatically in the foreground while the villain looks on in the back; images and events that never occur in the pages of the story; and the sidekick/friend betraying the title character.

I didn't win the competition, but I remember having fun putting this together. I didn't participate in art contests very often. One unfortunate choice I made was to scan this in as a bitmap (I don't have an original JPEG version), so the resolution is kind of funky.

And, yes, this is definitely a Simpsons reference.

Dreams: The Nightmare Manifests in Reality

2008-06-05T14:06:00.013-04:00

Most of the details of this dream escape me. I'm sitting in my parents' old condo in Renton, Washington, watching a fictional film about a plague that's overtaking the planet. Apparently the disease is spread by domesticated animals, as there are long lines of people with their pets, waiting to be inspected by a team of veterinarians in a warehouse that operates as a makeshift animal hospital/quarantine. Depending on the animals' conditions, different series of tests are performed, each set done by a different vet.

The only specific owner/pet we see is a dark-haired woman in her 30s cuddling a small, black and white kitten. She's very upset by her surroundings and attempts to undermine the system by skipping immediately to a second set of tests (I'm not sure why this was a logical thing to do, except that it seemed apparent that by doing so she felt she was rescuing her animal), but the doctors swarm her in a flurried attempt to maintain order. The now-detained woman screams and cries as the film cuts between her kitten's inspection and her hysterical face.

The dream turns suddenly nightmarish as the film cuts to a second warehouse full of infected civilians. It seems that the only way to keep the disease from spreading is to eliminate the sick and burn their corpses. Each victim is tied to a support shaft in the large building and are told that they will be administered a lethal injection that will allow them to pass painlessly.

This is a cold lie.

The sickness is so contagious that the demand is too high for the necessary chemicals to be distributed worldwide. Instead, the bound victims curiously watch as some sort of liquid is sprayed at their feet by a man with a chemical sprayer. They soon begin to realize what it is when a second man begins to follow him with a short-range flame thrower, torching the applied fluid one person at a time. Within a matter of minutes the entire warehouse is aflame, the people covered in bright-hot fire and delivering ear-ringing screams.

At this point of the movie I turn my head and wince, feeling very upset at what I'm seeing. I realize that, although this is fictional, mass-burnings of the living have occurred as recent as 65 years ago, and being shown what it would be like is highly disturbing. I don't know why I don't just turn it off, because I can still hear the screaming.

Then I wake up, but I'm still asleep. That's right, it's a dream-within-a-dream scenario. I'm still in my parents' old condo, but its layout has changed quite a bit. I can hear my folks and my brother in the other room talking about me and how I've been asleep all day. I drunkenly roll around in my covers a bit, but am then startled by two large house cats sitting on the window sill above my bed. As soon as I make eye contact with them, they casually jump down on top of me, unsheathing their claws as they do so, which sting quite a bit. One of the cats is fat and dark gray, the other is a reddish-brown and muscular.

Unaware that my parents had been owning cats since our last one died a couple years ago (in real life), I observe them with a sensation of paranoia. Strange cats disturbing my rest -- which involved dreams about plague-carrying kittens? Another oddity I note is that they still have their claws. My parents are big advocates of declawing house cats (as long as they are not allowed outside).

I turn my attention to a large television next to my bed that is showing an episode of "The Simpsons." As I watch, my mother enters the bedroom wearing Sunday attire and I think to myself that she looks lovely with her makeup and hair done the way she has it. She says that she and Dad are going out, kisses me on the forehead and leaves.

Aware that my attention has wandered, the cats then start rough-housing with me, scratching and biting at my arms and throat!

I then wake up, for reals this time. At least, that's the last thing I can remember from my dream. What's freakish is that this morning, immediately after I awoke from all this, I went to my laptop and checked my e-mail. My friend Club Narwhal was online, and her G-Chat status message was this link. Imagine waking up and starting your day off by seeing THIS:

Cats in wigs are scary all on their own... but given the activities in my subconscious over the hour or so before that, my sense of fear was severely heightened!

Analysis:

I have been watching episodes and clips of "The Simpsons" this week.
I think I was thinking about the Renton condo within the last couple of days...
Isn't it crazy that I had a movie within a dream within a dream? I mean, "watching" the movie isn't the best way to describe it. For the most part, I was IN the movie as an observer, and was only aware of the movie's TV-limited existence when I turned my head away.
That's seriously all I've got. I have no idea what the scary movie comes from, nor the aversion to cats. I actually am normally a fan of felines, but they sincerely creeped me out this morning.

Conclusion:
Maybe Sarah Stevenson is justified in her phobia.

Hit and Run: The Commute

2008-05-08T18:49:00.004-04:00

I thought there was more to this video as I was putting it together today at work, but when all was said and done I realized that... no, there really isn't.

Not my best work, but I'm danged proud of what I managed to do in a cubicle, unable to do actual voice over narration (for fear of being disruptive or making it look like I'm shirking my duties -- because in all honesty I only had a couple hours of down time and they were spent waiting on people to get back to me on projects).

Pardon the hairdo. That's what I get for being safe and wearing a helmet.

Dreams: Suburban Crunch

2008-05-05T10:51:00.005-04:00

I had a dream last night that involved Matthew Perry trying to sell a dog that looked an awful lot like Benji, and me sharing a bowl of Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries with the members of Suburban Legends.

Analysis:

I had a bowl of Cap'n Crunch with Crunch Berries shortly before going to bed.

Conclusion:
What the...

First Time for Everything

2008-05-01T16:03:00.003-04:00

My sister made me do it. Whether or not I enjoyed it will not be publicly admitted (at least not in words). Click on the image to see the full size and actually be able to read it.

Dreams: Why Do All My Women Just Turn Out That Way?

2008-05-01T09:04:00.015-04:00

I just woke up with an upset stomach and e-mailed work to tell them I'll be late, and decided to use the time to get this crazy-vivid dream down on e-paper before I forget it.

My brother Cabeza and I are hanging out in a rundown grocery store, you know the kind: yellow, dingy floors that haven't been swept in weeks, a smelly produce section, and frozen foods that all suffer from freezer burn, as well as a poorly-lit checkout area. After debating about a flavor of ice cream to get, I decide to get dropped off at my friend Adonis' house, who is still living with his parents, apparently. Adonis is of Filipino descent in actuality, so the rest of his family follows suit in my dream. His younger sister (who doesn't exist in real life) is also present, and I arrive in time for her father to call us all together to pronounce a blessing on her. It's around this time that I realize that Adonis' sister and I are actually in the early stages of a serious relationship, and that her name is Legend.

The blessing is done with me, Legend, Adonis, and their father lying on our stomachs in a circle on the carpet, facing inwards. The father pulls out some small, white and yellow flowers and hands them to each of his children, but before he gets to me I lay my head down and start to fall asleep, so he gently places the flower on my head. As I doze, I hear him tell Legend that she and I will one day be married, and she seems okay with the idea. When the blessing is finished, we retire to the living room. Legend sits on the couch, and I attempt to sit on a stool that is set on one of the couch cushions next to her. Upon finding this awkward and uneasy, I remove the stool and sit directly next to Legend so as to facilitate cuddling. She's a really cute girl, by the way. Even as a conscious sentience now I look at my memory of the dream and realize that I would totally be attracted to this Asian girl if she really existed. Aside from her physical beauty, she puts up with my silliness and can never get enough of me.

The dream gets a little more interesting from here on out. Sometime after this visit to Legend's family, I end up joining with Cabeza and Warren (Legend tags along, too) for a time-traveling adventure. Apparently Cabeza, Warren and I do this sort of thing all the time, for it seems second nature to us when we suddenly pop up in the middle of a dirt road in an old, western town of ... the early 1970s?? Although the people around us are dressed like they are from the '80s, I know we have traveled almost 40 years in the past. I'm not sure exactly what our purpose was in being there, but we start walking directly towards a small airport to catch a flight to Europe. Warren and Cabeza pick up their pace and want to catch the plane that is going to leave at any moment, but Legend and I are lolly-gagging behind, too focused on our efforts to decide which way is best to hold hands (with my arm in front or hers?). We also stop every once in a while to hug and chat, and somewhere in there she tells me that she wants to marry me. At this point in the dream, for the first time, I realize how young Legend is: she's barely a senior in high school (sick). I think to myself that she's moving pretty quickly and is probably a little too young still to understand the implications of such a statement, but I don't want to ruin the moment for her so I make a mental note to talk to her about this later.

Unfortunately, once we DO get to the airport, the plane has just taken off. Apparently this is an airport that is always in high demand and is constantly rushing flights, so they waste no time on the ground -- not even waiting to have the engine routinely checked before takeoff! Warren and Cabeza made it on time, but we are left behind due to our inability to stop being lovey-dovey for two whole minutes. We decide that we should at least get in line for the next flight, so we walk through airport security, which is held inside a small shack that leads to a door that will take us to the humble, single-plane runway when it's time to go. We sit on the floor and wait. I pull out my cell phone to check the time, but I am not getting a signal (since it's the 1970s), and it dawns on me that I have no way of communicating with Cabeza to coordinate where to meet back up so we can make it back to the present.

Slightly panicked, I look at the flight schedule on the wall and note that the last one had left at 4:45, the next one is scheduled for 5:25. Suddenly a loud ringing emanates from Legend's purse, and the large crowd that has gathered behind us (also in line for the flight) becomes somewhat shocked as they look around for what the sound could be, as there are obviously no telephones mounted anywhere nearby on a wall. Legend blushes and discreetly shuts of her phone (it must have been an alarm going off since we have no cell signal). It's then that I decide to go outside for a minute and get some fresh air. Legend agrees to stay behind and save our place in line.

As I step out to the exterior of the little building, I find myself being confronted by Rich, a guy in my real-life ward at church, who has no business, really, in being in an unusual decade. But, as he is a friend, we begin to chat, and find ourselves walking further and further from the airport. We get about half a mile away when we stop in the middle of an unkempt, paved road next to a rotting billboard and abandoned, rusty cars sitting in tall, wild grass. The sun is setting behind the airport and we talk about a lot of things, one of which being my relationship with Legend and how I know that she and I are going to be married, but that I need to get her to calm down about the whole idea because she's too young -- it will be a while before either or both of us will be ready for that step. Rich listens intently and returns with some excellent advice, which I don't remember any of, but is cut off by the ringing of his cell phone. He answers and has a brief discussion with Cabeza, who has landed in Europe. I ask Rich how the heck his cell phone is working, and he says, in a matter-of-fact tone, "I have a signal." For no reason this makes me suspicious that Rich is some sort of guardian angel who can bend physical laws in his efforts to watch over me. This thought process is interrupted by the sound of roaring turbines and screeching wheels. The plane has arrived -- and I'm half a mile away!!

Stressing that being separated during a trip through time may have disastrous results, I begin running full speed back to the airport, perhaps at a pace that is slightly superhuman. Rich finds himself a moped and rides in front of me, but never offers me a ride. As we draw closer to the airport, I see the plane readying for takeoff. I realize that Legend is probably on the plane, saving me a seat, and my desperation drives me forward as I battle against time to keep us from being separated for what could be forever. I finally reach the airport and am approaching a turnstyle at the entrance when an amazingly-strong gust of wind blazes out from the airport and in my direction. People are literally swept off their feet, and a vortex swirls at me, blocking my path to my woman. I follow in my pursuit and soon find the air around me calming down. Approaching the small building where we had been waiting for the plane, I let myself in and look out the window to see the airport employees closing the plane's doors -- they're about to take off!!

I rush through the building, which has suddenly grown larger on the inside and become more of a labyrinth of hallways. The walls and carpeting remind me a lot of the standard interiors of LDS church buildings as I try, door after door, to reach the runway and somehow put a stop to the takeoff sequence. I eventually find an unlocked door to a room that looks like it may have its own private exit. As I enter I quickly notice a small sign labeling it as a Catholic chapel, and I see that they even have a small confessional and a place for their holy water, but it's of little import as I find yet another door that leads me into a much smaller room, and this smaller room has a small doorway to the runway, which I use.

I become aware that I've popped out to the runway, right behind one of the jet turbines. The airplane is relatively very small -- probably the size of a 727. The engines have already warmed up and the jet is ready to take off. The wheels are slowly turning as the pilot is getting ready to build the speed he needs to get off the ground. However, as soon as airport authorities notice a man standing directly in the path of the turbines' flaming wake, they contact the pilot and tell him to cancel takeoff. The plane, however, has been moving enough that it still moves forward, but because it is unable to lift off the ground it plops into a large pond at the end of the short runway.

I get back inside the building and wait for the emergency evacuation of the plane's occupants. The song "Stepping Stone" by Jet Lag Gemini begins playing in the background, like a movie soundtrack. After a few minutes of miffed passengers walking by, I finally spot Legend, who looks very concerned. I run out to greet her and her expression instantly changes. Her long, black hair flows behind her and her Asian eyes become extremely squinted by her huge smile as she races to me at full speed and we embrace. We kiss, of course, just as a police officer comes and asks us both to come with him. I tell him to hold up for a second while Legend and I continue to kiss, then we stop while someone begins chastising Legend for some unknown reason. I take the opportunity to whisper "I love you" in her ear. At this, Legend cuts off this other person, looks at me surprisingly/elatedly, returns the phrase and kisses me again. At this point, successful in my efforts to rescue ourselves from separation in a setting not of our own time, we allow ourselves to be escorted away by the police.

And then I wake up. But it's not just any normal awakening. There is this swelling in my chest as if I have really been feeling deep emotions of love and romance. I think of the mental image of this "Legend" girl I'd made up in my head, and regret that my relationship with her isn't real. I realize that my dream was really off-the-wall, but nonetheless it was tragic as reality sunk in and I found myself single again -- and not even a time traveler!! Where have you gone, Legend??!!!

Analysis:

Well, I'm single, so that should hopefully explain my subconscious throwing these images of relationships out at me. I really don't think I need to go any deeper than that.
I find it interesting that my dream follows a narrative form pretty well, including an inciting incident, climax, and denoument.
I think the name "Legend" may be a result of all the marketing I've seen for the DVD release of "I Am Legend." It would be interesting if there was some other, more profound reason.
As fond as I am of the Asian persuasion, I don't consider myself to be one of those guys who is obsessed with Asian women, so I find it somewhat random that Legend was Asian (and disturbing that she was still in high school, apparently -- though I swear she didn't look that young in the dream!).
Okay, actually Legend was probably Asian because I interacted in a rather unusual way yesterday with a Korean woman who I thought was really cute. The "unusual interaction" will most likely be revealed in a near-future post.
The time travel aspect may stem from the various discussions I've had with Cabeza lately about the show Lost.

Conclusion:
The only thing better is a redhead Jew.

All Couples' Blogs Are the Same

2008-04-30T15:28:00.010-04:00

Can you spot any differences between the following blogs?

Jake & Marissa
PB & J
Mitch and Jessica
Adrian and Emily

Neither can I.

I normally try not to break away from my normal formula of posts (videos/audio/graphics/dreams) but felt that, since I haven't posted in a couple weeks, I ought to put SOMEthing up, and announce that from now on I will select ONE couples' blog to read and use that as an update for all couples that I know.

The young, married readers of this post are probably scoffing by now, but if any given couple asks me what I know about their current goings-on, I can say, "One of you just graduated and the other is not far behind. You also just moved to a new place, and you love remembering your wedding day. You talk to family members all the time." This is all information that's been redundantly fed to me through separate blogs on the Interweb. Surely I can increase efficiency by limiting this feed to ONE.

In the spirit of Silence Dogood:

A Receipt for a Couples' Blog by
The Shark

A title and/or URL that includes the names of both subjects
A husband who doesn't post as much as the wife
References to the wedding day in approximately every other post
Mention of recent/impending relocation
Updates on extended family members
One blogger who is still in school, the other a recent grad
Wedding and/or engagement photos in the title bar or profile square

Note that when the couple begins to bear children, the blog evolves into one of the following:

Wilson Web
My Sanity
The Meanest Mom

The formula changes slightly to allow for more diversity, but generally here is the resulting recipe:

The mother must do the bulk, if not ALL, of the writing.
Where the mother is NOT the sole contributor, the blog's title/URL includes the surname.
Where the mother IS the sole contributor, the blog's title/URL makes reference to her being a mother, and usually a comparison between maternity and prison.
Tons of baby photos.
Mention of recent/impending relocation
Updates on extended family members

The Randle family follows the recipe with a bit of role reversal, in that Bryce generally writes more than Nancy. Most everything else is the same, although he throws in a lot of updates on his video projects and other creative endeavors, which are refreshingly interesting:

Randle Re-Runs

Thank you, married people, for giving us bachelors a template to follow in the future. :)

Dreams: My Dad, President Palmer and "Sister Act 2"

2008-04-10T11:02:00.010-04:00

I'm living in Southern California, walking to a Mexican restaurant a few blocks away, but the streets are overly-crowded with pedestrians and there is no direct street or walkway that will get me where I want to go. Fed up with the headaches of traffic, I leap in the air and fly up and away from the hassle, making a direct course for my destination. However, just before I'm out of earshot, my ears pick up an insult casually thrown at me by one of the people below, so I quickly return only to spit out some quip in retort, causing the rest of the crowd to point and laugh at the perpetrator, and then I zip away, back on path.

Eventually I run into my manager from my job, who asks me to be careful about where I am when I shoot into the air, because not many people in the world can do it yet and she doesn't want me to get kidnapped by the government to be studied and tested. I ask if it would be better if I found an obscure part of the neighborhood, or maybe a wooded area, that I could use to take off. She is a little confused, and makes it clear that she thinks I mean that I need a runway. After I awkwardly tell her that really I just need a place where I can jump straight up without any obstruction, she changes the subject by bringing up a book I've been reading in dreamland. I don't recall the title of the book, but I do remember that the next installment in its series was a novelization of "Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit" -- and no, the book I'd just finished was NOT the first "Sister Act."

Sometime later, I end up back at home, which reminds me of the condo we moved to in real life when I was 16-years-old, but it's not the actual place because I know I'm still in So Cal. My dad comes home from a new job he's just acquired at a Nike outlet store in a strip mall so far away that it requires him to live in a hotel during the weekdays. He looks tired and ready to collapse, and as I ask him about his employment, he tells me that he's basically a sales manager AND analyst, and that he has to take frequent breaks from his shift in order to go back to his hotel room and lie down for a bit. When I ask if he enjoys his job, he is too tired to respond, but my mother is in the room and I catch a glance from her that tells me, "He doesn't think he enjoys it, but it's good for him."

Another hazy passage of time occurs, and I next find myself at home again, but this time home is a large, lobby-like area with marble floor and walls, and granite desks lining the circumference. Again, my dad comes home, but this time my dad looks nothing like my real-life father, for in THIS instance of my dream, Dad is played by Dennis Haysbert, known for his role as President Palmer on 24. As soon as he walks in I realize that we are living in a bank that he has just acquired in a business transaction. The security guard goes outside to do a sweep of the premises, and "Dad" begins to systematically fire all the tellers, who have begun swarming him and pestering him with issues that make him realize that he doesn't NEED them there. After a moment he steps outside to find the security guard just standing around, and he tells him that his sweep might be more effective if he actually walked around the building. For some reason this whole experience evokes from me emotions of pride for my "Dad," and I put my arm around him and tell him how I feel. He smiles, and we walk back inside.

I then realize that I am actually watching an episode of 24 on a TV that's been specially set up for me, but that I'm still in the lobby of the bank. Tears are streaming down my face and I'm becoming quite emotional as I begin explaining to those around me that President Palmer is such a beautiful Messianic figure, as if I just had the most wonderful spiritual affirmation that this was so.

I get up, head down a hallway, and soon find myself in a bedroom that I assume to be my own, though it's not very comfortable -- there is no carpet, just a grayish blue floor and similarly-colored brick walls with a small window and no decor. There are two beds against either side of the room, and I recognize that the one on the left belongs to my brother Cabeza, though I can't, for the life of me, understand why Joe, a guy in my real-life ward at church who looks an awful lot like Michael Hitchcock, is sitting on it, packing his stuff from what appears to be a multiple-night stay. I inquire as to his doings, and he explains that he was spending a few nights there while Cabeza and I were absent.

Then I wake up.

Analysis (only of the elements I understand):
-Flying dream again! The difference between these latest flying dreams and ones of old, though, are that in the past I begin flying as a realization that I'm dreaming, consciously taking advantage of the absence of boundaries in dream state -- as if I'm in the Matrix. In this and my other recent dreams, I'm not aware that I'm asleep.

-My dad has battled health issues for quite some time and was forced into early retirement. I don't consciously dwell on it a whole lot anymore, but the whole experience is definitely something that has made me who I am today, and although it probably does influence how I think of my dad, I can't say that it makes me think negatively of him, which perhaps explains my viewing him as an authority figure (albeit a dramatized one) and my expression of confidence in him.

-A few weeks ago I finished watching 24 Season 2 for the first time. As a side note, I must say that anyone who has told me that they were "hooked" on 24 from their first time sitting down to watch Season 1 has lost serious credibility with me. There have been enjoyable moments in each of the first two seasons so far, but there has also been a lot of awful writing and acting, enough that I find the show to be mediocre so far, at best -- definitely nowhere near "helplessly engaging". I am going to watch seasons 3 and 4 eventually, though, as I've been told they are the best two seasons. I'd much rather watch Lost.

-My emotional response to 24 in this dream is, to me, representative of my natural tendency to read into texts of any sort and take away something profound, even if it's unintentional. Admittedly, crying over the spiritual beauty of a melodramatic prime time TV show is over the top, but I think the symbolism stands.

-The Mexican restaurant mentioned at the beginning of the dream is probably a result of my endless search for decent Mexican food in the DC Metro area. It's really hard to find.

Conclusion:
-Whatever is going on in life that's making me fly, it's still happening. I love my dad despite his trials and afflictions. I am an active viewer of art, even when art is pop culture or commercialism.

Stat Chat

2008-04-09T22:59:00.006-04:00

I sometimes delight in the rhythm of words. So much that sometimes (but not ALL the time) I read the status messages in my Google chat and see the potential for a toe-tappin' beat. This is very much an experiment in redundancy, an attempt at demonstrating the rhythm in status messages, or, as my friend Megan has come to call it: Stat Chat.

See if you can recognize which one belongs to you!

Dreams: Super Powers

2008-04-09T12:47:00.006-04:00

Let's face it, reader: you and I BOTH know that my dreams are the weirdest, and maybe the influence of comic books in my life makes you think I have an odd mentality (by the way, if you do, I urge you to drop your hypocrisy for just a few hours and read this book), but nobody can deny that whatever makes up the Shark's subconscious provides an excellent gateway to realms that relatively few others chance to visit. In other words, I love the scenarios my mind puts me in and the ability my imagination has to take over when I'm asleep -- and you do too.

Flying seems to be the theme as of late. Last night's dream was more involved than I can immediately recall, but here's what I do remember: I'm following my coworker, Mark C, around an open, giant mound of gravel and dirt. The sky is gray and overcast. He gets a ways ahead of me as I'm distracted by something, and as soon as he's almost out of sight I find myself confronted by two other young men, standing about thirty feet away from me. My instincts tell me that they're about to attack any second, so I immediately take flight (literally) in a defense maneuver.

The attackers are shocked by my ability to defy gravity, but soon display their own super powers in an effort to bring me down. I don't remember what exactly these powers entailed, but they were weak enough that, without much difficulty, I managed to swoop down, grab one of them at a time by the collar, and fly toward walls at amazing speeds, using the momentum I'd built to slam the villains into the obstruction, rendering them unconscious.

I really wish I could better remember all of the details of the rest of the dream, because there was a gradual, "logical" procession of the plot as I found myself allying with other good-intentioned, super-powered beings who were preparing to fight against a larger group of bad guys. Eventually I found myself in the middle of a giant battle taking place in a large, enclosed corridor of an unknown building. I caught sight of one of my friends duking it out with a horned, firey-eyed demon, and I was trying to avoid the fangs of a creepy jerk with snake-like abilities. Not all of the opponents were as devilish as these two were, but they are the only ones who I specifically remember.

I don't know how it ended, although I did hold my own in the fight.

Analysis:
-Mark C's cameo is obvious, as I see him on a daily basis. He has been working at my company much longer than I, so I often find myself "tagging along" with him, letting him lead the way during group lunches and such.

-I think one reason I may be flying more easily and frequently than usual is because I've been reading "Ender's Game" lately, whose main character spends a lot of time in zero-g battles.

Conclusion:
I'd be a lot tougher if gravity would cut me some slack.

Dreams: Quack!

2008-04-04T13:29:00.004-04:00

I had a pretty brief dream last night that I was in a fancy restaurant, waiting at my table for my date to meet me there. The host walks in and seats a woman next to me, but it's not the girl I was waiting for. However, she's gorgeous, so I decide to acquiesce and I begin chit-chatting. In a move that can only happen during a night that I'm utterly exhausted, I begin dreaming of sleeping. The stranger at the table throws her legs into my lap and lays her head on my shoulder. My head leans against hers, and we soon find ourselves fast asleep in the middle of the restaurant.

Suddenly, I wake up and look at the girl. "Wait a minute," I think to myself, "She's not pretty at ALL!" Perhaps revealing a little too much about my subconscious, I slowly repel myself from the girl, leaving her asleep at the table as I run out of the restaurant.

The dream ends with me jumping off a wooden deck outside the restaurant that overlooks a small river/large creek full of ducks and other birds. As I jump, I actually begin to swoop toward a large gathering of ducks, and just before I hit the water I actually begin floating mid-air, and then take off soaring through the sky. I make repeated dives at the group of ducks, doing my own imitation of quacking simply to see how they react, chasing them out of the water as they flap their wings in panic. Some ducks are so freaked out by my ability to follow them a hundred feet in the air that they tuck in their wings altogether so as to dive-bomb back into the water in hopes of escape.

Then I woke up.

Analysis:
-I've got nothing, aside from a sense of giddiness from having a flying dream. I've read stuff that says those who dream about flying have a strong will, but I don't think anything really accounts for the specific scenario in my little fantasy here.

Conclusion:
-If you somehow gain the power of flight, don't bother the ducks. The last thing they need is to be harassed by some jerk with superpowers.

Hit and Run: Calves vs. Socks

2008-03-31T20:21:00.003-04:00

In this installment we discover the one thing that can actually hold up to the infinitely-large beasts known as my calves.

Dreams: "... 'God is Back' ..."

2008-03-29T09:47:00.009-04:00

I just barely woke up from a dream in which part of the upcoming LDS General Conference was shot in the corner of my bedroom. There was a simple pulpit set up right next to my armoire and my bookcase full of my movie collection (about 233 movies at the time of this posting), and a rather large camera about fifteen feet away from all of this.

As the conference began, President Thomas S. Monson, who recently succeeded Gordon B. Hinckley as Prophet and leader of the Church on the earth, stepped into my room and approached the pulpit. He then proceeded to give a very President Monson talk, most of the words of which I can't remember, though his mannerisms were certainly consistent with those of the real-life man: calm, soothing, and perhaps a little unnatural -- but nonetheless loving and sincere, with a hint of musicality in his tone and inflection.

Halfway through his talk, President Monson delivered one of his most famous quotes: "If we don't try, we don't do. And if we don't do, then why are we here?" After stating this, he paused, smirked, and turned around to face my movie collection. After searching for something he clearly had noticed before beginning his talk, he pulled out my DVD of "Shenandoah" and flashed it at the camera with a large grin on his face, the look in his eyes broadcasting how well-pleased he is that the member of the Church whose room he's using shares an appreciation for the story he so often references.

The funny thing is that he then turned back around and continued to explore the DVD titles I had, for the sake of his own curiosity as well as in the interest of sharing it with the rest of the millions of the worldwide congregation. He pulled out my box set of "Star Wars" films and, making sure the camera got a good look at it, made an approving comment that had a hint of reminiscing to it, as if the series was an old favorite of his.

After another brief glance, he made a grab at my copy of "X-Men 1.5," which carried a subtitle in my dream that he read aloud in a very "what the..." tone: "'God is Back'?" My only possible response was to just shrug my shoulders at him from off camera and hope he didn't think I was a sacrilege for apparently owning a superhero movie with overt religious subtexts.

The dream concluded with President Monson trying to figure out the organization of my DVD collection and how to replace the ones he'd pulled out, and me whispering to him to just set them on the shelf and I'd take care of them later.

Analysis:
-General Conference is happening again in a little over a week, and it's not uncommon for me to have dreams about it whenever it draws near or has recently passed. One past dream involved JKC and I taking seat on the stand, with he and President Faust playing practical jokes on me in front of countless attendees.

-President Monson has been the subject of many church headlines as of late, as he really did recently replace Gordon B. Hinckley as the President of the Church. Good for my dreams for being consistent with current events.

-President Monson is known for quoting poetry, C.S. Lewis and Dickens (and other classic literature), hymns, and theatrical works -- including the above quote from "Shenandoah."

-My DVD collection has been on my mind as of late because I've been planning a trip to Philly to see Amanda, whose parents were so kind as to accept a shipment of my DVD cases in helping me move out to the East Coast. I've also been loading movies onto my iPod lately.

-"X-Men 1.5" is a specific DVD release of the original "X-Men" film, loaded with more special features than the first release. It doesn't have a subtitle -- I'm not sure what "God is Back" is even supposed to mean, but it sounds like it might have made for an interesting storyline. Maybe Wolverine goes Pentecostal?

Conclusion:
-President Monson would approve of my diverse collection of movies. (I hope!)

Flame On!

2008-03-26T23:19:00.004-04:00

Special thanks to Amanda for once upon a time taking a very cool photo of a man blowing fire, which inspired this strip.

You Just Don't Get It

2008-03-21T22:58:00.003-04:00

Admittedly too harsh, but nonetheless expressive of the attitudes I both receive and return sometimes.

Still in rough form, but thought I'd share what I had so far.

This is Not the Greatest Video in the World, No.

2008-03-19T22:13:00.005-04:00

I know this is going to go over the heads of so many people. I understand this. And I admit that the editing here is somewhat shoddy -- the compressions of these videos were hard to work with. Nevertheless, this was a project that demanded to be done. Ladies and gents, the end to my creation:

*In realizing that this video is going to cater to a very small crowd, I promise to have another, more universal video up soon. But remember, this blog is for me, so this post is successful in that it drove me to do something I enjoyed putting together.

Dreams: Number One Strikes Again! (No Bathroom Humor Included)

2008-03-04T12:42:00.003-05:00

I find myself on an airplane -- a rather LARGE airplane -- headed west from DC. As I wander around the cabin, I soon end up running into my friend Club Narwhal, who tells me that she's on her way to Hawaii for a business trip that will last a couple weeks. She seems pretty excited about this trip, and she asks me what my plans entail on this flight. I respond that I am on my way back to Seattle, where I grew up, to propose to this girl (who shall be referred to as "Number One" from now on since the only people who know who that refers to have never met her) who I've been in love with for an eternity.

In actuality, I had a mad crush on Number One for quite some time. She moved into my area when I was 11 or so (maybe even younger), and I liked her up until I was 24-ish, when I finally went on a single date with her and realized it was never meant to be (she didn't understand what I meant by the term "poo with three o's" -- I mean, come on, what's there to misunderstand?). It's really too bad, because I had this whole grand master plan of how I was going to woo her. When I was 15 or so I bought her a teddy bear for Christmas and left it on her doorstep on Christmas Eve with an anonymous, "secret admirer"-type note. I never told anyone outside of my family about this. I was going to wait until a moment where I needed an ace up my sleeve to swing a potential relationship with Number One my way. I was going to hand her another teddy bear and say, "Actually, this isn't the first teddy bear I've ever gotten you." Sappy? Incredibly. But if there would have been any chance of her liking me, she would have been putty in my hands. Alas, that card was never played.

Back in the dream, the plane lands in Hawaii and I realize that I've terribly overshot my destination. Not wanting to have to wait for another flight, I take some initiative and jump into the ocean, swimming as fast as I can toward the continental US. On my journey I discover that the ocean isn't just filled with water -- there are towns and cities inhabited by actual people, and even though it looks like a grouping of houses on dry land, I'm swimming through the entire thing.

Eventually I make it to the Seattle area, but it's late at night. I go to my friend Pedro's house and crash. He asks what I'm doing there, and I tell him my intentions, to which he begins to argue that it's too late to try winning Number One over and that all I'm going to do is cause an embarrassing situation for both of us. This discussion becomes very emotional as I begin to choke up and swear to him that I have to at least TRY to express my feelings to her, that I've lived my life too long in emptiness to give up now.

The dream ends there.

Analysis:
-I'm not sure why I'm dreaming of Number One since I haven't been thinking about her at all lately. Maybe it's because she's a very beautiful girl, and certain people I know have recently been dealing with the comings-on of very beautiful women. But I feel like that's an improbable connection.
-Club Narwhal is super-cool and has been giving me advice on decorating my bedroom. I also had dinner with her and her roommates on Sunday, so I think my recent social experience with her explains her part in my little adventure.
-Hawaii was featured on the last episode of "Eli Stone," which I caught last night with my sister.
-I'm baffled by my discovery of civilization in the middle of the ocean, as well as my ability to swim through seemingly-solid objects. But I am the Shark, so, yeah.
-Pedro is one of my best friends, and a mutual friend of Number One's, and the last few interactions I've had with her have also involved him, so it makes sense that he'd be involved in this whole exchange.

Conclusion:
Maybe I subconsciously wish something would have happened there. But honestly, on a conscious level, I have no regrets and still don't think we'd be compatible. Perhaps this is more part of a desire for me to be in a relationship again, where I can have someone to express my feelings to and have the companionship I sought in the dream? And maybe Club Narwhal should go to Hawaii. And maybe I should become a stronger swimmer so as to not be hindered by underwater obstacles, such as houses.

I'm Not the Only Dust My Mother Raised

2008-02-12T18:00:00.000-05:00

This song, as of the post date, is for everyone else.

Mind you that I'm preparing for a big party performance on Friday and haven't touched a guitar since August.

Engagement Photos: Who (or What) is the Focus?

2008-02-06T16:32:00.000-05:00

It's fairly often that I get a wedding announcement in the mail and end up rolling my eyes. When I get a picture like the one below, I feel like the announcement itself should say what is inherent in the couple's pose, so I did some editing to express this. (Note: I don't know the people in the picture.)

I know that most couples aren't actually thinking this way when they take the shot, but I think if everyone stopped and really thought about what happens when the ring becomes the center of the announcement, they'd find the following:

1) It detracts from the PEOPLE in the picture, the ones we should be celebrating.
2) It's either a really nice ring that shows off your wealth, or it's a really poor ring that isn't worth showing off.
3) It's cliche, cheesy and unnatural.
4) It detracts from the real purpose of the photo: a medium by which the groom's friends can check out and determine the bride's level of hotness.

Dreams: The Sharkmobile Returns!

2008-02-05T15:11:00.000-05:00

I'm standing in a kitchen, chatting with my brother Cabeza, when he mentions that a very Indiana Jones-esque world has suddenly appeared down our garbage disposal. Being the skeptic that I am, I decide I'll take a gander for myself. Upon staring down into the sink, the drain opens up into a window and I find myself gazing upon an underground city, filled with ancient ruins. The most prominent landmark of this city is a temple whose entryway is a giant skull with a wide, open mouth and a tongue that also serves as a ramp (good to see that my dreams provide wheelchair-accessible facilities), with a rather large diamond resting in the middle that gleams rather brightly so as to be noticed from some distance.

Cabeza mentions to me that it's a shame the city, which apparently pops up in random places temporarily, has shown up at a time that we are unable to access it, and of course this whole conversation is completely logical to me in my dream state.

That's when I rather unexpectedly drop dead.
(This post is actually extended! Click the below link!)

In a moment of panic, I realize that I exist in ethereal form, and for some reason I am standing outside the gate to the Ancient City! No sooner do I conclude this than a digital-yet-diegetic, two-dimensional box appears above me, asking if I want to enter this city. I click on "No," thinking that this will allow me to resurrect in the "real" world, only to find that the powers-that-be have decided instead to resurrect me on the spot I'm standing on.

As soon as I feel my spirit once again entombed by my physical body, I realize I am only at 25% health and EXTREMELY vulnerable. Realizing I have to find a way out of this place, I begin making my way through some dark, rocky hills -- on a general course heading AWAY from the city -- only to find myself repeatedly slaughtered by hostile two-legged, erect-standing creatures. Each time I die the box comes back, but no matter how many times I click on "No" I end up in the exact same place I was when last I died.

My progress severely slowed down by this seemingly-endless onslaught, it is only a matter of time before I find myself joined in this terrible world by my old roommates: JBod, Dar, Isaac and Mitch. Uncertain about what this new comradery means for my fate, my surprise at their cameo is interrupted by the arrival of my old car, the Sharkmobile, which comes screeching out of nowhere and squeals to a stop in front of me. All five of us enter the vehicle (Dar, Isaac and Mitch in the back, JBod is shotgun, and I'm behind the wheel) and peel out, narrowly avoiding another series of vicious attacks.

Once clear of the land surrounding the Ancient City, the landscape becomes much more Utah-esque. In fact, it almost seemed as if I was on Main Street in Lehi, headed towards my parents' place in Eagle Mountain. I also notice that JBod has decided to sit in the middle seat -- right next to me -- rather than the actual shotgun side of the front bench in the Sharkmobile. The roommates in the back all lose it laughing (especially Dar) when they see the look of disgust on my face and the awkward grin on JBod's as I push him away and out of my personal bubble.

After that it gets even fuzzier. Eventually we end up at an airport, but instead of hopping on a plane I get on a ferry with my newfound Asian girlfriend, and the last thing I remember is the ferry leaving port while she and I are trying to find a way to avoid her parents who have also boarded.

Analysis: Oddly enough, a lot of the elements of this dream have real-world connections for me.

The Ancient City, I believe, is a result of my perusal of an article I found yesterday that shows a picture of Harrison Ford in his Indiana Jones garb, taken on set of the upcoming film. The entryway to the temple, I believe, is a reference to said film's title: "Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull."
My ethereal form, repeated deaths and resurrections, and the box with the dialog is a reference to World of Warcraft, which is a game I play when I need to unwind. I haven't played in a few weeks, though, which is why this reference is a little more obscure than perhaps the others are. I'm surprised this was such a large element in my dream, as the only time I've even thought about this game recently is when I was thinking the other day about how glad I am that I have more things to do in life than sit around and play WoW all day.
The roommates pop up because I have been chatting with all four of them within the last week online while at work. The Sharkmobile comes as a result of my recent discussion with Isaac about the car's current status (it was purchased by a mutual friend who wanted to fix it up and re-sell it).
I'm not sure why JBod was so content to be up close and personal with me, especially since he recently got married to a pretty cute girl. I guess you never really know, sometimes...
The Lehi/Eagle Mountain leg of the journey may be from some of my last thoughts before going to bed that night, which were of my parents.
The ferry comes from a discussion I had over the weekend with my friend Megan, who I visited in NYC. She suggested that, while I was there, I should take the Statin Island Ferry for something fun to do (which, as a side note, doesn't mean much to a Seattleite who frequently used the ferry as a means of traffic flow to another side of Puget Sound).
The Asian girlfriend somewhat threw me off, as I don't consider myself to be more attracted to the Asian Persuasion than I am to other races, but it may be another NYC reference, where I took note of several cute Asian girls as I was booking through Chinatown to catch my bus back home.

Conclusion: I'm somewhat excited for the new Indy flick, I miss my roommates, being in New York has lasting effects, and it's probably good that I'm not gaming much these days.

Sky Mall: The Time Mug

2008-01-24T20:39:00.000-05:00

Featuring an off-camera guest appearance by Cabeza.

Flashback: Me and My Shadow

2008-01-23T22:25:00.000-05:00

This is a little diddy that won me and my friend Adonis first place in my high school talent show back in 2000, the year I graduated. I choreographed the whole thing, too!

The end has a part cut out because the person recording us didn't realize we were going to be performing an encore and therefore didn't plan for it.

The Baseball Metaphor

2008-01-22T16:48:00.000-05:00

We're all familiar with the old baseball metaphor when it comes to dating, right? I assume we all are, though honestly, until a few months ago, I only knew what First Base and a Home Run were. I did some research to see what Second and Third bases were and, in case you're a good Mormon kid like me, I wouldn't recommend doing the same if I were you -- because reading the descriptions of what happens once you turn past First can be violating if you find them in the wrong place!

When first I found out what those other two bases were, however, I realized that this baseball game is on a terribly skewed playing field. I decided to take some time at work to do a quick computer sketch of the Dating Baseball Diamond (or "Fornication Stadium") , based on the world's definitions and what I think is the perspective of the average LDS dater:

This isn't a perfect representation, but note that, due to the new running pattern, the batter has to basically knock the pitcher over once he hits the ball!

I'll now attempt to explain the representation without making my mother blush (which might actually take some doing):

Home Plate: In the actual game of baseball, this position is already an enigma in that it represents the beginning AND the end of the player's journey. In the dating game, Home Plate is first a starting point, where the player swings and misses more often than he hits. He can't proceed to First Base until he "hits it off" with someone (finds someone with mutual interest).

Conversely, at the end of the running Home Base represents all-out adultery. The fact that this is a goal in the world's eye is depressing, but the purpose of this post is not to literally lecture on the downhill spiral of contemporary dating standards.

First Base: This represents a kiss, innocent and simple enough. The distance between Home Plate and First Base represents the myriad of things that must happen before that kiss happens: once interest is established (and running begins), dates happen, hands are held, cuddling occurs, etc. It's understandable that there's some ground to be covered before real physicality is introduced to the game/relationship.

Second Base: Okay, THIS is where the metaphor stops working. In the world's definition, this means that petting has begun when the runner reaches this point. PETTING.

Does anyone else see the problem here? What happened to all the other steps between First and Second Bases? If this base is truly what I've read it to be, then there should be SEVERAL bases in between! Ethics of dating standards aside, shouldn't a French kiss have its own base somewhere in the middle there, followed by an all-out make-out session?

In the above representation I have adjusted by placing a large distance between First and Second Bases, the gap representing the process that should occur before any couple even gets to that point. In fact, if I were to re-draw this facsimile I would make the distance from First to Second much larger than the distance from Home to First.

Third Base: Without going into too much detail, this is basically Second Base with greater intensity. I find it silly that this even gets its own base given the large gap between First and Second, since to me this is a very logical "next step" in the lusty list of temptations. I don't think it takes long at all to go from Second to Third.

Home Plate: Back where he started physically, but metaphysically the player is in a completely different stadium, where the grass is dead and there are pot holes all over the field, and the stands are filled with Hollywood producers. I think once you've reached Third Base there really is only one more step to take, thus another short distance between plates.

This explains why so many Church leaders caution against going past First Base. Once you're on your way to Second, you're so close to making it all the way Home that the playing field has been perverted.

I hope my drawing properly conveys why this analogy just doesn't work for me. It doesn't make sense that second and third bases would be the logical "next step" in any relationship when the playing field should look like THIS if the plates are labeled in such a manner.

And I'm kind of scared about what sort of Google searches my blog is going to show up in now.

What Happens in Vegas...

2008-01-10T15:21:00.000-05:00

An attempt at Mormon cinema.

Dreams: Muera, Las Vegas.

2008-01-09T13:32:00.000-05:00

I've had a couple comments made to me about the posting spree I had the week before Christmas. For those who I've yet to inform: I have an informal goal to post something creative, once a day, Monday through Friday. So far I've been rotating between three media: audio, video, and graphic. If I can venture into other forms as well (e.g. Flash animation, After Effects/Motion, short stories, drawing, etc.) those will also be included. I'm allowing myself exceptions on days that I wake up from a dream worth posting about.

I haven't posted lately because of my holidays in Utah, followed shortly after by a 10-day business trip in Las Vegas (where I am until this Friday). Which brings me to the purpose of this post.

Though certainly Vegas is relatively warmer at this time of year than other places in the country, my hotel room can get a little nippy in the evening. It's not usually too bad, but the other night I decided to turn on the heater to a low setting before flipping the lightswitch. Little did I know the impact this would have on my sleep.

I don't recall exactly the content of my dreams that night. But I DO remember having them violently interrupted by the sudden shrieking emanating from the heater vent every couple of hours. This horrific noise never completely woke me up -- somehow I was aware of the sound's foreign source even though I was asleep -- but every time it blared into my ears my dreams would be visited by a young black child who began dancing to the shrieking sound. It didn't matter what was going on in my dreams -- the same little boy came in every single time and just started dancing his heart out without saying a word.

Disturbing? Perhaps. At least it wasn't a girly Indian kid playing soccer.

Analysis: The fact that the same kid showed up every time the noise was heard reflects that my mind does indeed make unconscious associations with audible elements, even if said association is vague, at best.

Conclusion: Even the most horrifying noises apparently have rhythm. This would somewhat explain country and hip hop music.

"Sweetie Pie" -- Techno-fied!

2007-12-24T02:33:00.000-05:00

What if "Sweetie Pie" were given a standard, really bad techno remix? Here's a taste.

The scary thing is, I think something like this would really be a hit at a rave. Pass the ecstasy!

On the Job!

2007-12-21T20:45:00.000-05:00

Hit and Run: The Harry Potter Complex

2007-12-20T22:18:00.001-05:00

Not an attempt to win an Oscar, just a simple means to scratch a creative itch.

"Sweetie Pie"

2007-12-20T00:17:00.000-05:00

As a follow up to the Neil Diamond post, I just wanted everyone to be able to hear the tune to the lyrics of "Sweetie Pie," written by a very young Shark. If I ever get a hold of the original recording, I will digitize it and post it as well.

My New Resume

2007-12-19T00:42:00.002-05:00

It definitely stands out. What do you think?

The Closest I'll Ever Get to a Video Journal

2007-12-18T01:40:00.000-05:00

A surprising turn of events:

(Really I'm just playing with some ideas I have and wanted to see how Blogger's video tool works. Or is it really as simple as I would have you believe?)

Dreams: Stacy Keach and Wannabe Mariachis

2007-12-14T16:45:00.000-05:00

Last night I had a dream that JKC, Cabeza and I were sitting in a car together, watching three middle-aged Mexican guys walk down the street, from bar to bar, looking for work as players in a mariachi band.

Quite suddenly, the car door flies open and we find none other than Stacy Keach glaring inside. He then starts yelling at us, telling us that we're interfering in an investigation he and his team are conducting in regards to those three Mexicans.

We all sit there, gazing at him in speechless bewilderment, when he gets even more up close and personal -- right up in my grill -- and starts jabbing his finger at my shoulder, still telling us off. What I'm trying not to convey at this point is that his constant jabbings are actually starting to tickle me.

I manage to hold it in, until it reaches a breaking point when his index finger comes into contact with my belly, at which point I let out a Pillsbury Dough Boy-esque "teehee!" At this, Stacy pauses and stares at me curiously. He prods me again, forcing another giggle, and after thinking for a moment he proceeds to deliver an all-out tickle with all the fingers on that hand, located entirely on my stomach.

There was more to this dream, as I remember waking up and thinking that I would want to make sure I mentioned "both" celebrities in my blog, but that's all I remember.

Analysis:
I can be a pretty ticklish guy sometimes, which may explain the one point. And lately I've had moments where I've missed having JKC as a roommate, so that would explain the other. The three Mexicans may come from the fact that I live in "Little Mexico" and see Mexican guys walking around the street all the time. But Stacy Keach (watch the clip from about 10:07 to 10:30)? I haven't even thought about him OR any of his work in some time. He's by far the most random factor in this dream.

Conclusion:
It's too bad I can't make a film of this. I'm pretty sure Stacy Keach would be out of my budget.

Speaking of Film Festivals

2007-12-13T12:41:00.000-05:00

My last post reminded me of a short film festival hosted by Clone High, the fictional cartoon high school that was the title figure of a short-lived, yet hilarious, show on MTV.

The show had an off-color joke here and there (how could you not when some of the most popular kids at the school are JFK's clone and an over-sexed clone of Cleopatra?), but overall I'm sad that it was never picked up for a second season.

Another delightful moment: George Washington Carver's clone introducing himself.

Finally, I think Mitt Romney would have greater success in his campaign if he had more ads like this:

From "Somewhere in Time" to "Rock-A-Doodle": What's Next?

2007-12-10T12:03:00.001-05:00

This film gets a point for casting Chris Plummer, who won our hearts in "The Sound of Music" as the Von Trapp father and in "Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country" as the Shakespeare-quoting Klingon General Chang.

On the other hand, the film gets minus two points for depicting a kid getting bullied around by some tough film nerds. I just have a hard time picturing any scenario in which a group of snooty jocks pin a classmate to a locker and make threats regarding his entry in a film festival. Most jocks I knew in high school were too concerned with underage drinking and popularity to care about the arts.

In any case, the trailer does pique my curiosity. What will its theme be? Redemption through filmmaking (the elderly rediscovering themselves as they help the young reach their potential)? What it takes to be a sincere artist (the line where Plummer chides the kid for being wishy-washy about his story - "A director has to KNOW!")? Selling out vs. creativity?

One of my concerns is that maybe this story has been done already in recent years. I just hope that Plummer doesn't try his hand at ebonics.

Youth is Wasted on the Old

2007-11-30T10:50:00.000-05:00

I just had one of those moments where I wondered what the heck my parents were thinking.

Kids are malleable, both physically and meta-, and can be taught pretty much anything. This is proven by the fact that children can pick up foreign languages very quickly up until adolescence, right? If there is any doubt in your mind at all as to the ability for a child to effectively retain vast amounts of information, I present myself as an exhibit, to be presented... right... now.

My parents could have had me in training to be a linguist, a scriptorian, or heck, even a geographer, like my friend Bryce's two-year-old niece. But no, I was given a different gift, which isn't quite as handy but perhaps, at times, more entertaining.

I learned the lyrics to Neil Diamond songs.

I don't remember how exactly I fell into this path. All I know is that my mom owned some Neil Diamond tapes, namely "The Jazz Singer" soundtrack, "Headed for the Future," and a couple of his "Greatest Hits" albums, and somehow I got hooked. I listened to him running errands with my mom, on road trips, doing chores, or just plain sitting around.

I was THREE-YEARS-OLD when I started strutting around the house singing at the top of my lungs, "Baby, tonight by the fire- all alone, you and I!" I knew not of the real, lusty meaning of what I sang, I just sang it. And I did it hard core, because I lived hard core.

All those songs I sang along to are still imbedded in my memory, even ones I haven't heard in at least seven years, maybe even a decade. Part of me feels at home when the '80s Neil starts playing on my Launchcast station. Songs like "Robert E. Lee" or "Hello Again" are like this oddly-comfortably blanket of nostalgia for me. And whenever I think about my past dating experiences, it's not very long before I think to myself, "Love on the rocks, Shark. It ain't no big surprise."

Of course, all this influence inspired me to begin writing music at a young age. Somewhere in a box we have an audio recording of 6-year-old Shark singing his first attempt at being a pop star:

"Oh my sweetie pie,
I want you to be my sweetie pie!
I've been gone
for three weeks!"

And that, in essence, is what makes me the Shark.

Music!! AAAAAH!!!!

2007-11-28T15:29:00.001-05:00

Look at the new player I added to the page! Thanks to JKC for the inspiration. I plan on sharing good-yet-lesser-known songs from already-popular and relatively-hidden artists alike. Except for "White and Nerdy," which is just a delightful treat. If you haven't seen the music video already, please, go google it.

But seriously, I am proud of some of the discoveries I've made in the past couple of years, and I want to share them with everyone I know. Mika is becoming a pretty popular artist already, but seeing as how I just discovered him I thought there would certainly be others who haven't been exposed.

Out of the Norm

2007-11-15T22:25:00.000-05:00

Usually I reserve my website announcements for my site's official blog, but I thought I'd make an exception to announce the posting of four new videos, one of which being the sequel to the oh-so-famous "Unibrow, Inc."

www.TheSharkByte.com

Go for it! (Connect four!)

Randomness

2007-11-14T16:19:00.000-05:00

-Some of what I think are the most solidly-made films in the last couple of years: "The Prestige," "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," "V for Vendetta"

-I really miss the Deardens.

-I really want a big desk. Preferably an L-shaped one that is plenty deep and not overly-cluttered with drawers (so as to not impose on my leg room), and probably without a hutch. I like big workspaces, but I don't want to feel like my desk is taking over my room.

-"The Lion King" is a powerful movie. I don't understand people who don't like it. Excellent message, a good mix of drama and comedy, great animation, and one of the best movie soundtracks ever made (and I don't just mean the singing parts).

-Adults don't know how to have fun.

-I really do think it's weird that so many of my friends are getting engaged now that I've left Utah.

-I fully support the WGA in their strike. Maybe I'm shooting myself in the foot with the chances that DVD and movie tickiet prices may rise after all is said and done, but the WGA makes some good arguments.

-Speaking of movie soundtracks, the "Superman Returns" soundtrack is excellent! It's playing on my Launchcast station right now. Since I bought the DVD, I've only watched the special features, and not the film itself. That might have to change sometime soon, though I'd really like being able to watch it on a bigger screen/projector.

-"Wha' happened?"

-I live in Little Mexico, and I love it.

-I think it would be fun to develop a story about a guy with the ability to bend time, but in physical pockets of space (for example, if he wants to move time forward, everything within a ten foot radius of himself ages or de-ages while everything outside of those boundaries remains the same; he has no control over this physical limit). I just need to figure out the ins and outs of his persona and give him a challenge.

-How do people feel satisfied at the end of the day when they have jobs that aren't goal-oriented? How do they measure the success of the day's activities?

-Have you ever tried imagining a color that isn't on the spectrum as we know it? It's kind of a trippy experience, though I can't honestly say I've really pictured one. Letting your brain wrap around that whole concept is sort of fun, though.

-I went to an institute class last night that felt like I was back in seminary. There were only six of us in the class, and one of the guys really enjoyed hearing himself speak even though he didn't have much to contribute to the discussion. What was the topic for the last twenty minutes of class? Whether or not God is a happy person. ...

Hilary Duff

2007-10-31T15:49:00.000-04:00

Is she for reals???

Imagination

2007-10-05T00:44:00.000-04:00

I am known to have strange dreams.

Perhaps the most famous one comes from my young childhood, in which I discover that the entire student body of my elementary school has turned into scrambled eggs, still popping and sizzling at the bottom of my bath tub, of all places. I can still remember hearing distinct, tiny voices squealing up to my ears, begging for help. Despite the immense pressure of having so many fates in my hands, I do the most logical thing: I turn on the water. Suddenly everyone grows back to their human selves and exits the bathroom single file. When I woke up and told my mom about this the next day, wondering if I should be disturbed, her attempt at consolation was praising me for being a hero. But really, when a parent is handed something like that, what else could you expect them to say?

I still have odd dreams like that from time to time, though with age I feel that they are less frequent and more difficult to remember. I used to have flying dreams quite often. In fact, there was one so detailed that I could literally feel the strong, cool air blasting every part of my body while I flew alongside a bird through royal blue skies and large, misty clouds. In perhaps one of my most ingenious dream-moments ever, I maintained my flying direction while doing 360's around the bird, looking at it from every possible angle as we soared together.

Somewhere in my early teens I gained the ability to realize that I was dreaming without waking myself up. This totally turned the tables during nightmares, as I could now forcibly end dreams on a high note. Usually if I found myself being chased by someone out to get me (once my own brother Scott was after my life) I would make a motion with my arms and legs as if I were performing an elementary backstroke, but standing up, and that's how I would get off the ground. Once I was high enough, I could move with much less dramatic motions, like Superman.

There was another time that I found myself on the run from a group of villains in an SUV who were trying to run me down in an underground parking garage. In one helpless moment I realized what state of mind I was in and decided that super speed was definitely the best option in the given scenario, and immediately the tides were entirely in my favor.

What happened? Why does growing up involve the tainting of my dreams so that my subconscious is so heavily influenced by real-life experiences? Last week I was somewhat disappointed in the fact that my most interesting dream involved going out with Jenna Fischer (Pam on "The Office"), and I strongly dislike the realistic dreams I've been having that involve my recent ex-girlfriend. Give me the simplicity of nights past where the melodramatic tales of fantasy overtake my mind and invite me to a new dimension where I can explore at my own leisure.

I don't know. Maybe I should get back into comic books.

I miss those dreams. They were a gateway into my creative mind that I feel has been locked up in storage. I've spent the last month trying to use my spare time to imagine new stories to tell through various media I'm interested in (writing, drawing, and filmmaking) and nothing remotely solid is coming up. I think there is a connection here, representing a mental block I've developed over the last few years. Maybe I am subconsciously too worried about what other people think of me and my personality. I often run into people who think my random topics of conversation are a little outrageous, and I feel like I do a good job of not caring, but maybe it's not as simple as I tell myself it is.

I'm proud of who I am and how I think. I like how I am a conservative person with a passion for creativity and art. I feel like I have a good grasp on understanding the beauty of the arts without losing my grasp on traditional values and mindsets that maintain my right-wing stance on many issues. I like that because I feel like it enables me to be open-minded and empathetic with many schools of thought and see people as layers of life experiences and backgrounds as opposed to giving in to first-impressioned labels. I feel like I can strongly believe something and know it is right without feeling like everyone else is stupid or otherwise lacking for feeling otherwise. I give a lot of credit to my imagination and think that, in the end, it is a Christlike attribute to have.

I want it back to its full capacity.

Shark Pinup Calendar 2008

2007-10-04T01:49:00.000-04:00

Some previews of March and July from next year's calendar. We're going for a tropical theme this year.

You think I'm wearing a t-shirt. Let's just say there's a reason why photos like the following stand out as centerfold options.

If we can squeeze in some time in the next few weeks we'll go for an off-the-wall option, but I won't be looking forward to the long days in the studio. Keeping your skin oiled up for long periods of time makes your pores suffocate.

I just need to post this.

2007-09-28T01:23:00.000-04:00

I didn't make it, but here it is:

That is all.

Cow Time Thoughts: Growing Facial Hair (as opposed to cutting and pasting)

2007-09-20T04:00:00.001-04:00

This website is loaded with instructions on growing facial hair and the different styles that are out there, including:
As opposed to the UNfriendly mutton chop:

While we're on the subject of cow time, I'm wondering if anyone out there can tell me whence this phrase originates. I've been using it ever since I was a boy scout at age 11. My brother-in-law, who is from Utah, has been using it since '95 even though our paths didn't cross until '99 or so. Meanwhile, J. Bod claims to have invented the phrase as a young man. What is the true origin of the phrase "cow time"? I am determined to find out.

On a More Serious Note...

2007-09-15T02:48:00.000-04:00

I'm in a more pensive mood this evening than usual. I had an itch to blog something, but right now I can't come up with any sort of attempt at being witty because I'm too contemplative, partially due to some current events in my life (every part of my existence is at a crossroads, it seems), and partially due to my re-discovery of a good friend's blog.

So, if you are in the mood for a religion paper I wrote over a year ago (in Ray Lynn's OT class - one of the most insightful courses I took at BYU), extend this very-extendable entry. It's not amazing writing by any means, but it has some thoughts of mine that I'm so glad I got down on "paper" - because it is helping me look at my life again in a different way.

Oh, and there are typos. Sorry.

"What important doctrines, teachings, or concepts can we learn from the bad people of Genesis or Exodus?"

When we read about the wickedness of the many evil men in the scriptures, we tend to abhor their actions and take relief when we read that justice is served and their inevitable comeuppance has arrived. However, in our search for swift justice upon the wicked we sometimes forget a very important attribute that also belongs to the Lord: that of endless mercy. While the principle is true that mercy cannot rob justice, the Old Testament makes it clear that the Lord shows mercy even when it is completely undeserved, and even some of the most wicked people are recipients of this display of God’s love.
The first example of this that we can chronologically find in the canonical scriptures is in the fifth chapter of Moses, in which Cain offers an unworthy sacrifice to the Lord in the form of vegetation, and when he is wroth for the rejection, the Lord teaches him:

If thou doest well, thou shalt be accepted. And if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door, and Satan desireth to have thee; and except thou shalt hearken unto my commandments, I will deliver thee up, and it shall be unto thee according to his desire. (Moses 5:23)

This is an act of mercy in that, rather than letting Cain fend for himself and learn the hard way without any other options, he is given a second chance and God makes sure that the understands what his options are. He is promised blessings for obedience and curses for sin, an act of God that shows his desire for Cain to do what’s right and someday return to Him.
However, in the fourth chapter of Genesis Cain ignores the Lord’s words and slays his brother Abel in an act of jealousy, selfishness, and secrecy. When Cain is confronted by the Lord for this grievous sin, he is told that “thou art cursed from the earth, which hath opened her mouth to receive thy brother’s blood from thy hand … a fugitive and a vagabond shalt thou be in the earth.” (Genesis 4:11-12)
Cain immediately becomes rather worried about this curse from God, and expresses his concern to the Lord:

Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth; and from they face shall I be hid; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me. (Genesis 4: 14)

His fear of being killed is understandable. He’s committed a great crime that will surely become widely known due to its nature and the fact that it’s the first time that cold-blooded murder has been introduced to the world. We may even think he deserves whatever may come to him, even if one who was to find him and remember his evil act kills him.
However, the Lord in his infinite mercy adds a second part to the curse:

Therefore whosoever slayeth Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold. And the Lord set a mark upon Cain, lest any finding him should kill him. (Genesis 4:15)

Cain is promised that mankind will be instructed to not deal out their angers upon Cain by murdering him. To ensure this protection, a mark is placed upon Cain as a warning label to all those who see him that he is not to be dealt with in such a manner.
It’s interesting that, even though Cain has just committed a terrible sin, his pleas are still heard and answered according to the Lord’s will. Justice would demand that Cain be killed in like manner, but the Lord hears Cain’s concerns and responds. Although this may have been a form of punishment in that Cain could not end his temporal torments by being murdered, it is nonetheless clear that this was in response to Cain’s desire to not be slain, and that the Lord granted his wish in an effort to teach him.
It is awe-inspiring to consider the fact that the Lord has shown so much love and mercy to a man so wicked and ignorant of what’s right. In comparing Cain’s situation to our own (which is hopefully less extreme), we should be able to see a little more clearly what mercies Heavenly Father has shown us when we are undeserving and understand His plan for us a little better. Justice cannot be denied, but the Lord still loves His children.

Now You See It #1

2007-09-11T04:10:00.000-04:00

I got a digital camera as a graduation gift and I want to make use of it for the blog. I have a couple rough ideas, one of them being that I just post an image and let the comments fly and turn into a discussion about what meaning can be evoked, or simply an opportunity to have a laugh. So... here is the first installment of what I just randomly decided to call "Now You See It." Let the comments begin!

(P.S. I probably won't comment until other comments are made first. For photos that I have something specific to say, I'll usually use them in a different format than this.)

(P.P.S. CLICK ON THE IMAGE TO MAKE IT LARGER before making any comments.)

Spotlights Will Agree I Am the Show You've Got to See

2007-09-08T13:04:00.001-04:00

Since my mission I've discovered the joy of going to concerts at smaller venues where lesser-known bands circulate and seek exposure through younger audiences. There's a good feeling inside that comes when you really enjoy a song or band that isn't mainstream. It's like you realize that you aren't selling out to what everyone else likes -- you are enjoying something original.

The first band that was like this for me was my old roommates' ska band Button Hooked, which is unfortunately disbanded now. I have a couple videos of their stuff on my website, thesharkbyte.com. Their music was not only fun, but it was purely based on life experiences they'd had. The attraction in some of their songs was in knowing the people and back story to them ("Danny is the One for the Having of the Selling Out," for example, is about our other old roommate Danny who wouldn't join their band), while in others it was the ability to relate to their realistic lyrics ("9 Years," a song about a guy who puts his heart on the line with a girl after being her friend for 9 years and, after being rejected, admits that he can never be just friends again). There were also slams made against other bands, like the Provo-local Matt Lewis Band (I think they suck).

The next band I discovered was thanks to the same roommates, another ska group from Southern California called Suburban Legends. Their membership has changed a bit over the last couple years, and their sound has turned more disco, but their concerts are still a riot and they tour quite a bit. They're also refreshingly clean, which is difficult to find in this genre sometimes, especially because ska really is all but dead. The most delightful part of their shows is the amazing choreography they use in their songs! In fact, when they are auditioning new band members, one of the requirements is that they are good dancers. They recently released a new album, and you can hear some of it on the page I linked to above. At the time of this writing I haven't actually listened to most of those samples, so I really can't say if it's any good. In any case, SL is a good fix for some fun rock with that horn influence.

It was at the last SL concert I went to in July that I discovered this other band from New Jersey, Jet Lag Gemini. I don't LOVE their stuff, but they have a couple songs that are a lot of fun. The first two sample songs you hear when going to their website are probably my favorites. "Run This City" is just an all-around great song and a lot of fun to drive to. At the show I picked up a free sample CD of their stuff which had that song included, and I've played it at least 50 times already in my car stereo. When I saw these guys in concert I had actually looked 'em up beforehand, so I expected to be entertained. I felt bad, however, that they didn't quite live up to my expectations. A lot of their music sounded the same and needed some refinement. Plus, only two of their members were really into the music (actually, the bass player was amazing to watch, not only for his playing skills but because he just went nuts on stage -- quite the performer). In their defense, the audience was lame (nobody was dancing or hardly even bobbing their heads up and down), and I felt bad for them as they had expressed that this was their first visit to Utah ever. I think we made a bad impression and I wouldn't be surprised if they never come back. But then again, that's what you get for catering to an audience loaded mostly with high schoolers.

On the other hand, there was another band that played awful music but really knew how to get the audience pumped. Throwing stuff at them, inviting them on stage, ordering them to run around and scream... It was chaos at times, but by golly they got a good response. It probably helped that they had a large man with a mohawk who commanded the microphone between songs. One of the more impressive moments was when the lead singer stepped out on top of the audience while they supported his feet with their hands. It must have taken amazing strength and coordination to keep himself upright, and he kept singing the entire time! Fantastic.

I guess, to me, rock music and concerts are the best when I can tell that the musicians are having the time of their lives on stage without resorting to f-bombs every other word. Suburban Legends and Button Hooked pull that off so well. A lot of the bands at the last SL tour were so mellow on stage that I felt like they hated being there, which may well have been the look they were going for, which to me leans more toward emo and less toward hard core rock. If you want to get your audience into your songs, you've got to get them energized. Barely moving while staring downward expresionlessly is poor showmanship in my book.

So yes, the obscure music world is a lot of fun, and I look forward to getting to know other bands out there with a lot of talent but, for whatever reason, not a lot of exposure.

Cow Time Thoughts: Almost there...

2007-08-14T04:12:00.000-04:00

It's almost 2:15 AM. Today (or, rather, yesterday) was my last day of classes EVER. I lucked out because my Bio 100 final got cancelled, so unless I totally bombed on the last midterm (which I don't think I did) I should have an A in that class, especially after having done 100 points' worth of extra credit!

My Border Spanish final is a take home exam. I'm almost 2/3 through it and should finish it when I wake up, assuming I ever fall asleep. That means that my only real final that I have to study for is Humanities 202, which I'm not too stressed about since I should have plenty of time tomorrow evening and all day Wednesday to study (it's not scheduled until Wednesday evening). After that, it's graduation time!

But why am I up so stinking late? Well, usually it would be because I've been goofing off or editing something. But tonight I've actually been trying to sleep for almost two hours. The neighbors have been keeping me awake. I actually called 9-1-1 a while ago because they were blasting some music really loudly (loud enough that it went through their walls, across two driveways, and through MY wall), but just as I got to the point where an officer was being dispatched they turned it off, so I told the dispatcher to forget it, and she gave me a non-emergency number to call next time...

[tangent]Which reminded me of an experience on my mission in Dallas that is the cause behind my calling 9-1-1 for non-emergency reasons. (There's actually an expanded post on this one!)It was my first area, and our next door neighbors were also our landlords. They had a bunch of kids and most of the family had gone on vacation, excepting the oldest at-home son, who had just graduated from high school. He was somewhat of a troublemaker -- nothing too horrible, but his parents were concerned about him. When they'd told us they were going out of town, one of the English elders jokingly asked the father if we could call the cops if he threw a party since he wasn't allowed to have more than one or two friends over. The father (who always looked like a caricatured version of most men to me) looked at him with a straight face and stated solemnly, "Yes. Yes, you can."

Sure enough, as soon as the family was out of town, that very first night, we were just getting to bed and looked out our windows to see our neighbors' backyard. What we beheld was more than mere apricot trees, unfortunately. There were kids drinking beer and smoking what appeared to be cigarettes. Probably around twenty, including the ones we could see inside the house through the kitchen windows. I was shocked that this kid not only would have the nerve to be so quick to disobey his parents, but that he would introduce drugs and alcohol to the temple his parents had worked so hard to keep pure from those influences.

I picked up the phone and looked through the phone book to find the local police station. I called them and told them that there were underage kids getting drunk next door. I figured this wasn't anything that required flashing lights and a siren, so I was quite surprised when the lady on the other end told me to hang up and dial 9-1-1 to have an officer dispatched. I did so and soon enough found myself talking to a policeman in his squad car just as he was pulling up to the house. I could see him through the window and said, "Yeah, you just passed it." I won't lie -- I was actually kind of excited to see this kid get busted.

Right when the cop gets to parking, we suddenly see kids frantically running EVERYwhere throughout the house! Some are dumping alcohol down the drain, others are stashing beer bottles under the sink, while five or six more are taking turns running into the bathroom, which tells me they were flushing something they didn't want to get caught with. Meanwhile, the son of our landlords would periodically cup his hands over his eyes and lean up against the kitchen window to see if he could tell that we were the cause of all of this. No dice, though -- we had the lights off and were watching between the slits of closed blinds. Even if he knew it had to be us, there was know way to verify it and be legitimately angry. We were laughing, though.

The cop simply broke up the party. He didn't even go inside, luckily for them. After everyone had left, the son came out onto the back porch and stood there, hands on his hips, staring up right at the window we were looking at him from. It was obvious he didn't know we were actually there, but he was hoping he was showing us that he wasn't happy.

The next day we were going out to an appointment and we happened to bump into him on our way out. He was much friendlier to us than usual, which was oddly funny. He offered us a ride to wherever we were going and after we refused he told us that if we needed anything to give him a call. "He doesn't want us to call his parents," I thought to myself.

When we came back for lunch I called his parents. And probably with the wrong intentions, though the kid had it coming either way. I just wanted to see him wriggle. His parents weren't happy, but they did okay. The kid ended up serving a mission and I have even run into him on campus before, though he doesn't remember who I am. He's a good guy, though. He was just a stupid teenager sometimes.

And that's why I call 9-1-1 when I need a cop, even if it's not an emergency. [/tangent]

But the girls next door started screaming ten minutes later in sporadic bursts. How can people stand being so loud that their neighbors can hear them through all that space and barrier between them? I don't know. I thought about calling the cops back but then decided not to since the girls are new to the area and aren't really LDS. I don't want them to feel alienated by their neighbors. Am I being a pushover? Probably. Meh.

Meanwhile, the job search continues...

YouTubin': A Lesson in Ethics

2007-08-02T02:32:00.000-04:00

I think YouTube is an interesting phenomenon. It creates a power of visual storytelling that almost anyone can access. The interactivity is a psychological breakthrough in that connections made through various videos provide the viewer interesting ways in which he can synthesize loads of new information handed to him in any myriad of combinations.

However, I wonder how the readers of my blog feel about YouTube, specifically its role as a foundation for a new sort of online community where people post video journals with their lives for all to see (although everyone is an actor since they are aware of the camera). I have always been against it for several reasons, perhaps the most prominent being the personal information that is so frequently and blindly given out through them. The internet is a twisted place, and YouTube is bound to be prime stalking grounds for predators.

And then there are people like this guy below, who seems to be addicted to YouTube to the point where it affects his behavior. In his defense, I think he is autistic or there is something else going on that isn't 100% apparent just by hearing what he has to say. In any case, he says some goofy things that would be easy to scoff at, but in the end I actually felt somewhat depressed by his post:

Is the empowerment of the individual on YouTube worth these sorts of videos, where a young man unwittingly exposes himself to the ridicule of those who misunderstand what's probably really going on? I skimmed through some of the comments and I just felt bad for the kid. Yes, some of the things he says are goofy, but the way he reacts to life experiences makes me feel like he needs better understanding from the audience, something that he doesn't seem to be aware of enough to address.

Anyways, just a thought on the ethics of exposing your personal life on the world wide web.

My Beef (and Yours) with "The Simpsons"

2007-07-25T02:33:00.001-04:00

"The Simpsons" was once a great show. It started off kind of rough, with an emphasis on Bart and only a handful of truly memorable episodes in the first two seasons. However, during season three the show really started taking off, focusing more on Homer as the central figure of the family

From then on out the show enjoyed a lengthy run where almost every episode was an instant classic. Even episodes that revolved around Lisa, the most boring member of the family, brought loads of laughter ("Lisa the Vegetarian," "Summer of 4 Ft. 2," and "Lisa the Iconoclast" immediately come to mind). In my opinion, seasons 3 through 8 were the good seasons, the hilarity tapering off somewhere in season 9. Some would even argue that the show completely jumped the shark when Maude Flanders got killed off in season 11, though that season still had a couple gems left up its sleeve, including the tomacco episode (funniest part of that clip begins around 06:48).

An excellent analysis of the decline of "The Simpsons" can be found here. I would add to the article that the show got much raunchier during its decline as well, one of the reasons I stopped watching.

Which brings me to the heart of my rant.

"The Simpsons" was very controversial when it first came out, because it was a type of humor that hadn't been done before. A country that waited with bated breath for TGIF on ABC every week mistakenly defined an animated show as entertainment for children, whereas "Simpsons" is geared towards a much older audience, with its witty humor and satire. Yes, Bart is a punk kid, but parents became so worried about him being a role model for their children that they labeled him as evil. Exaggerations were made on the show's reliance on flatulent humor, when in reality the show mocks alcoholism through characters like Barney Gumble, whose disgusting nature is a caricature of reality, a commentary on the disease of wine-bibbing.

I admit that even my parents banned us from the show for its first few years. It wasn't until we boys began watching it behind their backs that we became hooked, and eventually convinced them that the show really wasn't all that bad (though my mom still holds a grudge against it, understandably).

Perhaps what really chaps my hide in this subject is the fact that over a year ago I almost dated a girl whose major hangup with me was that I watch "The Simpsons." She had never seen a single episode and frowned upon me for enjoying it because she believed, based on what her parents had told her, that it was crass and inappropriate. No matter how many times I explained to her that the seasons I enjoy are actually very clean (even the episode in which Homer almost is tempted to have an affair with a coworker is handled tastefully), admitting that later seasons had gone down the tubes as far as morality goes, she couldn't get past the labels she'd been raised with. Perhaps what hurt the most is that her trust in an ignorant opinion of a TV show overshadowed her trust in my moral judgment.

I'm not saying that everyone should watch "The Simpsons." I'm not saying that I would let my little children watch it, either, as I feel like an understanding of satire and sarcasm is needed to comprehend certain notions (e.g. Bart's actions are not to be laughed at because we want to emulate them, rather they are to be laughed at because we are to understand the need to steer clear of them). What I AM saying, though, is that those of us who are still on a soap box preaching against this show (at least in any context that involves the first ten years of its airing) need to seriously reevaluate the entertainment they criticize when content found in shows like "Friends," "Scrubs," "Sex in the City," and even certain shows on Adult Swim is flooding our TV's, TiVos, and DVD collections with humor that distastefully mocks sacred topics and exploits sex for a cheap laugh.

Finally, if there's one more argument to be had for why this show deserves a look on a moral level, "The Simpsons" at least instills a moral system in its characters. Whatever you have heard or choose to believe, the Simpson family sticks together during their crises. Sure, Bart makes a selfish choice or Homer does something incredibly dumb to spark their troubles, but in the end the family loves each other and helps each other to overcome. Most episodes end with something morally valuable having been learned by the characters. Less can be said of many other popular television shows out there.

So next time I quote "The Simpsons" and you are tempted to look down on me, please take a second and decide if the cultural hobbyhorse of Simpsons nay-saying is really worth the saddle sores.

Spanglish 101

2007-06-23T02:26:00.000-04:00

I am amused today by the fact that I am taking Spanish 423 this summer (starting next week), and the title of the class is "Border Spanish"! I'm actually pretty excited for it.

And no, I won't be learning "how" to speak border Spanish, per se. If I'm not mistaken, it's more of a study of how border Spanish came to exist, how the English language has influenced Spanish over time. The class description suggests that the student take some sort of linguistics course before enrolling in this class. I took Spanish Phonetics & Pronunciation last semester, which I believe would qualify me.

I went and bought my books at the bookstore today, and was amused by the titles: "Cowboy Talk: A Dictionary of Spanish Terms from the American West" and "The Dictionary of Chicano Spanish." So one of them studies the Spanish influence on American language, while the other focuses on the English impact on Spanish speakers. I think that's sort of interesting, and I'm happy because they were both relatively cheap, and they are REFERENCE books, which hints that there may not be a lot of reading involved in this class!

I really am excited to take this class. Border Spanish cracks me up, and I think I will get a kick out of learning more about how "estacionar la camioneta" has turned into "parquear la troca."

1960s Super Heroics at Their Best

2007-06-22T02:36:00.000-04:00

My brother Scott and I went and saw "Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer" on Saturday.

But before I get started, let me just say that the first "Fantastic Four" movie wasn't nearly as bad as a lot of people seemed to think. I mean, it certainly wasn't a GREAT movie by any means, but it stayed true to the feel of the comic book. How would you propose adapting a story about a family of superheroes who all get their powers at the same time from a cosmic cloud of radiation? It's impossible to stay somewhat true to the source material AND not be somewhat corny. My main problem with the first film was the act of giving Dr. Doom powers, because he doesn't have them in the comics. He's more of an evil mastermind than the brawler-type (see the last ten minutes of "Unbreakable" for a good explanation of the differences between these binaries).

"Rise of the Silver Surfer" surpassed its predecessor, probably in that it moved along a little faster -- but not TOO quickly. In the film medium it is common for #2's in sets of movies to be less enjoyable than the first ("Batman Returns," "Temple of Doom," "Back to the Future," etc.) with notable exceptions ("Spider-Man 2," "Toy Story 2," "Empire Strikes Back," etc.). Thankfully, "Surfer" breaks the mold!

Perhaps there isn't a lot of depth in Mr. Fantastic and the Invisible Woman. And perhaps their romance isn't entirely acceptable by the viewer. But the story is written in a way that their shallowness doesn't bother me whatsoever. Honestly, I am fine with their romance. The film doesn't attempt to tell us something about love, it attempts to give us a fun time, and it does.

I mean... What else could you do with a film that develops a story from a comic book based on a family of superheroes in a sequel that revolves around a silver man riding a surf board through space? I think sometimes we get a little carried away with wanting everything to fit into a modern pop-culture context, forgetting that a lot of the characters we'd like to see adapted for screen (whether from comics or not) are based on pop culture from decades ago and really only remain popular for their nostalgic value. Altering them drastically would cause uproar from the fans who wanted to see them in the first place, therefore the only solution is to adapt them as truly as possible.

I liked the interaction between Johnny Storm (the Human Torch) and Ben Grimm (the Thing). There is still tension in their relationship, but over the course of the movie you see the tension turn into more of a playful teasing as an underlying friendship is built. Johnny himself goes through some great character development as he learns to be less selfish and focus on teamwork, and his personal storyline culminates with the team's galaxy-sized dilemma in a pretty awesome brawl between him and Dr. Doom which had Scott and I cheering in the theater!

The Surfer himself is very well done. I am not an avid reader of the Fantastic Four by any means, and if I have read any comics with the Surfer actually in it, he has only had brief appearances. Thus I can make no substantial claim as to whether or not he was done "correctly," yet I was impressed and thought that his display of power and inner-dilemma was overall pretty good.

Galactus' representation in the movie was... well... actually, expected. Without giving TOO much away, I've got to defend the filmmakers in their decision. As corny as the Fantastic Four is, how much cornier would it have been to have a giant man looking to take a giant bite out of planet Earth? Has anyone here seen "Pirates 3" with the jumbo-Callipso? A super-sized Jamaican chick is bad enough. A man whose stature rivals that of the solar system would just look lame in a live action film (though I swear there are some brief moments when we catch glimpses of the shape of Galactus' helmet in the film, nods to the original material).

I do take issue with how quickly the threat was vanquished once Surfer became traitor to his master, and I do think the movie had its flaws, but this is the best summer movie I've seen so far this summer. Why? Because it doesn't try to be anything more than it is, and is still fun, with good action scenes, great CGI (with the exception of some Mr. Fantastic dance scenes at the beginning), and witty dialogue.

"Spider-Man 3" and "Pirates 3" were two films recently released that were disappointments in their efforts to tell so much story AND be entertaining/coherent. "Spider-Man" attempted to carry the same impact and characterization that the original two films did, and failed in spreading itself too thin and cramming too many major plotlines into 2.5 hours. Removing any one of the plot elements, while severely cutting down the soap opera between Peter and MJ, would have made the film so much better. "Pirates" was expectedly insane, and while it was better than #2, it certainly pales in comparison to its original, which was a contemporary take on a classic swashbuckling genre. These past two installments have been capitalist endeavors to milk the cow for all its worth, cramming in as much CGI and grand-scale stories as possible in order to draw in the masses.

Remind me later to discuss why I think a lot of pop culture films these days are reflective of the mentality of the rising generation. It's too big to become a tangent for a post.

Anyways, to make a long post summarized: go see "Rise of the Silver Surfer." It won't disappoint you, and it's much shorter than the other two movies I mentioned above!

It's Such a Good Feeling

2007-06-21T02:28:00.001-04:00

Mr. Rogers has influenced us all, whether directly or indirectly. I used to watch his program as a kid, as I'm sure many of you did, and his impact on children's programming has been incredible.

With this in mind, I share two videos from YouTube that I found that made me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside.

This first one is actually from the end of his career. One of the things I love about Fred Rogers is his ability to show his sincerity through a camera. He isn't acting -- he really does love me and you just the way we are! You can see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice.

This second video I first saw in one of my first film classes on the day of our final. Apparently it's an extra on one of the Mr. Rogers collection DVD's. I almost cried when I watched it, because it shows just how much Rogers loved the children he was trying to hard to reach out to. Below is a quote from Wikipedia, which sets up the video (I've cut out parts so as to allow the video to tell the story):

In 1969, Rogers appeared before the United States Senate Subcommittee on Communications. His goal was to support funding for PBS and the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, in response to significant proposed cuts. ...

The chairman of the subcommittee, John O. Pastore, was not previously familiar with Rogers' work, and was sometimes described as gruff and impatient...

Thanks, Mr. Rogers!!

Cherokee People: The Downfall of Comics

2007-06-15T01:58:00.000-04:00

I don't think the artist behind this image realized the

figurative meaning he unconsciously implied.
And no, it is not that Tupperware is good enough to
preserve even the heart of Green Lantern.
...
But really, who's to say that it isn't?

For those of you who don't know: I used to be a pretty big fan of comics. Don't get me wrong, I was never one of those guys who spent $300 a month at the local Dragon's Keep. At most I collected three titles on a regular basis, "The Flash" being the only consistent one over a period of 8 years or so.

I was a big enough fan that I made websites devoted to my favorite characters. My most prominent one, JLA Reborn, is still up, though dated and neglected. It focuses on DC Comics' powerhouse team of heroes, which, for a few years, also provided me with my favorite monthly title, "JLA." The coding of the site worked back when I made it 8 years ago, but now it looks ugly and definitely amateur. (As a sidenote, I even learned HTML and a bit of JavaScript in the process of making these -- something to put on the resume!)

When I spent two years away from comics (among many other things) in order to focus on doing missionary work among the Latinos of Dallas, I came back with a curiosity as to what had happened to my team in my absence. I saved up a bit of cash and eventually tracked down each issue I had missed (over 24 in total), and was admittedly excited to do some catching up. It all started off well and good enough, but in the end I was left somewhat stupified and disgusted with the writers who had so badly mistreated some of the most imaginative fictional characters of all time...

What ensues is my summary of the Justice League of America's downfall; my theory as to why it happened (hint: see the title of the post); and how this rude awakening has affected my spectatorship...

*Please note that neither the Shark, nor his calves, harbor any ill feelings toward Native Americans, nor does he really believe that their culture ruined the JLA.

JLA #1 (1997), shown above, was the start of a new era of glory. During the previous decade, the Justice League of America comics had become so diluted with mediocre characters and half-witted stories/challenges that they had created several satellite teams to contain them all, each with its own book to follow its exploits. Examples included Justice League Europe, Justice League International, and Extreme Justice. After this silliness continued for some time, DC Comics executives decided to take the comic back to its roots by recomposing the team of the DC label's powerhouse figures: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman, and the Martian Manhunter. (Note: Martian Manhunter is not as widely recognized as the other heroes listed, but was mostly included because he has been a part, in some form and at one time or another, of every incarnation of the League in history. Refer to the bottom left of the image at right.)

Suddenly DC Comics found themselves with a best-selling title that fans couldn't keep their hands off of. I was lucky enough to buy issue #1 off the stands, but it literally took me years to track down #'s 2 and 3 to complete my run. The stories were on a grand scale and involved interesting interactions between amazing characters. One of my favorite involved the Flash (who has always been my favorite superhero) having a casual discussion in their headquarters with Superman (the Zeus to his Hermes) about their personal lives. I believe it's issue #5, though I could be wrong. Flash confides in Supes certain inadequacies he confronts in his daily heroics, and Superman expresses the high amount of respect and admiration he feels towards the scarlet speedster. A very personal insight, a rare glimpse into how the hearts of these supermen relate to each other.

Thus the series followed suit for a good four years or so. The first writer, Grant Morrison, left the series in the hands of Mark Waid, a wise decision. Waid had proven his hand in comics he'd written the decade before, most notably the Flash ongoing series and Kingdom Come, a prestigious graphic novel focusing on a future Justice League that has been overrun by a younger, reckless generation of "heroes."

Waid continued Morrison's tradition of large-scale dilemmas, yet also entreated us with personal tales of sleuth and betrayal (e.g. Ra's al Ghul using Batman's secret failsafe plans of how to disable his teammates). It was during his run on the series that I left for my mission. During my two year sabbatical, Joe Kelly took over. Joe Kelly, a name I shall always remember as one that attempts to create, yet succeeds only in the destruction of the text he builds from.

One of Kelly's first tasks was to tackle a big issue: bringing Aquaman back from being temporally outcast, along with the rest of Atlantis, to 1,000 B.C. Yes, you read that right. The first in a long line of mistakes was the writers of a huge DC summer crossover event deciding to invoke a spell upon Atlantis that would cast it back in time if it were threatened beyond its ability to protect itself. The JLA learns of this lame plot device and decides to hurdle themselves backwards in time in hopes of correcting this enormous error in continuity.

Unfortunately, the horrors only increase. During their attempts to rescue Aquaman and his people, the League falls under attack by a group of prehistoric superheroes who see them as a threat. You'd think that millenia of evolution would give our heroes the upper hand (not to mention that by their shear might they have earned the right to laugh in the face of certain doom, intergalactic paradoxes, and even Noam Chomsky). You'd be wrong.

Within one issue taking place in their time travel exploits, The Flash, who not only moves faster than the speed of light but who also thinks at an equally-increased rate, gets his legs ripped off. Martian Manhunter is burned to death (fire is his weakness). Superman is killed by magic (which, next to Kryptonite, is his only Achilles Heel). One by one, each member of the League dies, except for Plastic Man (who had joined the team earlier, only to end up in this story as a disassembled mess of atoms floating somewhere in the ocean) and Green Lantern.

Discovering that Green Lantern still lives, one of the bad guys, Manitou Raven, makes a sudden change of colors and asks for GL's help in resurrecting his teammates -- but it involves Raven cutting out GL's heart. No, really it does. And it makes perfect sense. See, Manitou Raven is a weird, magical Indian guy who can turn himself into a flock of birds in order to get around. So he MUST know what he's talking about, right? Well, maybe he does. But I sure as heck don't, and I'm starting to get ticked that 1) everyone has died in a rather anticlimactic way and 2) magic is the problem and solution to everything.

Without going off on too much of a tangent, I should mention that magic is my bane. Even in an impossible world of comics, there are rules that are defined in order for us to accept the possibility of what's happening. We know the limits of the world, even if they are more flexible than our own. MAGIC, however, is an excuse to break those limits at the expense of a creative plot. It's the ever-reliable deus-ex-machina for when the writer has written himself into a corner.

Next to Kryptonite and Doomsday,
THIS guy is the only thing that can kill Superman.
Can you really hold that against the Man of Steel?
(Bonus points if you can recognize this person.)

The League wakes up temporally restored and healthier than ever, excepting, perhaps, Plastic Man -- who has been FLOATING as an unrecognizable heap of disorganized atoms for over 3,000 YEARS in the middle of the ocean! Batman does him a favor and picks up the pieces from his Batwing. After cleaning out his glass of Plastic Man, the malleable oldest-man-alive walks away in the most bummed out mood, quitting the League in order to spend more time with his son and less time in the pages of an incoherent story.

Oh, and Aquaman made it back, too. It makes sense that he's unscathed, though. I mean, after all, isn't he the most powerful of the eight JLA members? Who would hurt a guy who lives to protect fishkind?

Thankfully, though, in response to the unexpected slam they've just taken, the League decides to take on a few new members and increase their ranks. And guess who one of the new kids is: you guessed it! Manitou Raven! AND... his wife! Having won our hearts with their magical ability to turn Green Lantern's heart into the resurrection of his teammates, they obviously fit right in among the pantheon of superheroic gods, and seem right at home in a headquarters that floats miles above the earth.

And that's where I left the JLA. I picked up a couple issues after that, but the subject matter got too preachy and boring. One issue compared the Justice League, in a dream sequence, to American soldiers in Iraq who, at the bidding of an evil superior, do not much better than cause an endless bloodbath. Another dealt with Martian Manhunter's desire to overcome his fear of flames.

Who comes up with this stuff? Don't stories get filtered through higher authorities before being printed in order to protect the readership from running away?

But in the end, this is the problem with all comics. The good runs (there's such a thing as "good runs"?) inevitably end. Ending on a high note is difficult to do, considering that the publisher is going to milk a title for all its worth, and fans are always going to demand more until they are disappointed. JLA's good runs (keep those mental images under control) lasted about 60 issues. Then, instead of continuing to keep up the hype with what they already head, DC execs decided to try something "new," as if the title needed it, and resulted in a flop title.

At the same time, what title can run forever without changing? It is sort of ludicrous that Batman has been around since the forties, yet in the comics he is still in his early thirties. But fans demand more of the same, yet it is this very weakness that prevents true character develpment, unless you are satisfied with development being a neverending cycle.

An example of this is Hal Jordan, Earth's original Green Lantern and the first in comics. DC writers made a daring decision by making him go insane as an indirect result of Superman's death/resurrection. Fans hated it. They hated it even more when he was replaced as GL and later died in one "final" attempt to be a hero. A few years further down the road he was given a chance at redemption by becoming the mortal soul of the Spectre, a being who seeks vengeance on evildoers in the name of God (a God of relentless justice rather than mercy). I stopped reading comics before I found out how this next event happened, but somewhere in there Hal returned to mortality and became reinstated as a Green Lantern, his replacement exiled to space to fight intergalactic crime.

Where is the development in that? We've come full circle! So much for lasting consequences! No wonder dead characters always end up coming back. The only dead superhero I know of who has stayed dead is Barry Allen (the original Flash), who better stay put, for heaven's sake. Is nothing sacred?

And this is why I no longer read comics regularly. I'm tired of reading the same old tales being told over and over again, always unsure of how big consequences really are because they can always be undone.

In conclusion, the JLA didn't fall because of a Native American. Indeed, the JLA fell because of what that character represented: uncreative change as a response to an inability to tell new stories with the same characters bound to a set of rules by time and space. DC Comics lost me when they decided to take a good thing and flush it down the proverbial toilet, when they took clever characters and replaced them with mystical beings with inexplicable loyalties. If comic books have become so capitalistic that such a lame character needs introduction to a series/story simply to keep the status quo, to ensure that the story can end, thus supposedly ensuring income over solid storytelling, then count me out.

EPILOGUE:
I still love the idea of comics. I talk about them with whoever can keep a good discussion going on them. I rush to see worthwhile comic-based films, and they tend to be my favorite. I wear my superhero t-shirts from time to time, and I love my DVD's of "Batman: The Animated Series," "Superman: The Animated Series," and "Justice League." I've found relief in my comic book frustrations by escaping to the same characters in a different interpretation. Thank goodness the DC Animated 'verse is still there to keep me intrigued.

Wait. What's that?

And we didn't even get to see an animated Manitou Raven.

*Note to self: Write sequel to "The Downfall of Comics" entitled "The Downfall of DC Animated T.V. Shows: Why Ordering Half-Seasons of an Otherwise-Successful Show while Only Showing New Episodes Twice Every Three Months For a Year and Juggling its Time Slot Around Will Lead to its Inescapable Demise"

**Note to Cabeza: Thanks for being probably the only person alive to read this whole thing.

From the Calves: Identity Theft

2007-06-13T19:25:00.000-04:00

For clarity's sake: no, we aren't associated with THAT golden calf.

We get a lot of beef (no pun intended) because of that guy. But he's old news -- we're the real deal, and by far more valuable. At least, that's the idea we get when we're strutting down Times Square while onlookers collapse and gaze in awe.

Applications for love are currently being accepted.

*Please note that neither the Shark's calves, nor their owner, condone the worshiping of calves in any form, gold or flesh, animal or manimal.

Bienvenidos a Mis Pantorillas de Oro

2007-06-13T02:38:00.000-04:00

This blog is for all things of the mind of Shark. This obligatory, primary post exists merely as a formality and placeholder as I tweak the setup of the blog.

A few notes:

1. I considered doing a gimmick where my calves were the voice of the blog, but thought that might get tedious and old after a while.

2. I decided to create the blog on the Blogger hosting server(s) for various reasons:

In the case that my website hosting server is down, I can post emergency updates and announcements here.
My calves get to have their own domain name without having to pay for it.

3. www.TheSharkByte.com is still up and will be updated regularly, and updates will be posted there on its own blog, as usual.

4. I have big calves.