grad apps

I did not expect the application process to take this long/ I been at it for three weeks or so now.

I have applied to 10 programs with two more to go. I have to say it is getting hard to be excited about their program. Each school peppers their application with questions about why I am interested in them. At first giving thoughtful answers was easy and took little time but as I progressed through them it got much harder. Suffice it to say I am burned out.

But I knew I would get this way

:-O

Cause I know me, see? So long ago I wrote templates with blanks in them for all my essays and responses. I wrote thoughtful responses to their questions and essay prompts a month go so I wouldn't have to do it now when I'm burned out. Smart on my part. But I can still make mistakes so I fill in the blanks and then wait a day to read it to make sure its seamless and answers the prompt and stuff.

The thing is they all want different things. Except UC schools. They have the same prompts, questions and stuff. I recycled my UC Irvine essay for UC Riverside and switched the names. But I graduated from that school so I had to make it more personal, you know? I probably know the professor who will read my writing sample very well, so I had to.

But I think it was U of Michigan that wanted 2000 word personal statement and u of Florida wanted 500. So I had to write a new one, largely borrowed from the middle of the larger one, but whatever. When I get burned out like this I got to relax, get away from it and recheck everything when I am fresh before I submit it.

Oh, another thing: I didn't know it would cost so much money to apply. Each school charges a fee of about 70 bucks. Venderbilt was free, U of Florida was 30 bucks, UC Riverside was 80 (bastards). I am applying to 12 of them.

KA-CHING.

It cleaned me out. But on top of the application fees you have to send your GRE scores to some of them (not all) at 25 bucks a pop, and your official transcripts have to go to each one, and some want two, and some split their departments, one for writing and one for graduate admissions and they both want two transcripts. At around ten bucks a pop those transcripts add up too, especially when one *&%$&%#^#$^% school wants four of them, two for each department. (UC Irvine said something nice here, they said, "Just send one transcript and if we need an additional copy we will make one. Brilliant! Why can't these other schools discover a copy machine?) Plus packaging, envelopes, paper, pens staples, and mailing. It adds up very quickly. I am keeping track right now, and when I am all done I will post it so you can see the breakdown. GRE scores, transcripts and fees--that's a racket.

Just think last year the U of Michigan in ann arbor made a ton of money from application fees. Even though i dislike it, let's do some math. If around 1,200 people apply to the U of M and each fee is 70 bucks that is around 84,000 dollars-from writers no less. (Bunch of wealthy people, writers.) The company that does GRE testing (I do not like them) ETS charges around 25 bucks to send your scores to colleges (((IMPORTANT: Unless you send the scores the same time as when you take the test, I didn't have the addresses of all the colleges when I took the test.))) so 25 bucks a pop times 1200 people required to send them in is about 30,000 dollars. And that is just one university. Feels like a racket to me. It's like a necessary evil that is unnecessary.

SO if you plan to apply to graduate school here are some tips for you:

1) Start early. Some of them start accepting applications in September of April, others December.
2) Go to each university website and read what they require, they have their prompts available sometimes, and list when they can start accepting applications.
3) Save up about a grand to apply for ten universities (through a wide net to increase your chances of being accepted because they only accept people ONCE a year, and some schools alternate which year they accept majors, ie fiction applicants accepted odd years, poetry applicants accepted even years, so if you miss that then you got to wait two years.
4) Do writing related stuff before you apply, they ask a lot of questions about it and I had very little to add to that because I was only published the one time I tried. Leaving all those questions blank made me feel really bad.

I guess that's all for now, time for bed.

MFA Update

Personal statement has been worked and reworked and in two days and four drafts later it is something I am quite proud of. Of course it wouldn't have been possible without my best friend Mike.

My prose was like a tattered sword; yeah it could kill you but it would take a few swings before it broke the skin. Thanks to Mike that sword would get sharpened to a razors edge so that one clean cut will cleave a man in two. So to speak. The point is the P.S. is sharp now.

Personal Statement: Mission Accomplished
Statement of Purpose: Round One! Fight!!

It doesn't make sense to me, it is so vague:

In an essay, please describe your natural ability and motivation for graduate study in writing, including your preparation for writing, your academic plans or research interests and experience with writing, and your future career goals. Please be specific about why our MFA program would be a good intellectual fit for you.

I will be doing this tomorrow and applying in the evening. If all goes according to plan.

You got it, Teddy!

For the first time I am sitting in my room at my new desk looking out the window and watching the snow fall. I am out of coffee, milk and food. I am hungry. The snow right outside the window blows to the right, further out it blows to the left. My car looks like a frosted miniwheat.

From 10am to midnight yesterday I wrote my personal statement for grad school. And now that I read it over I can see that it is crap--amateur prose that sounds like I am trying to impress someone. Maybe that is what it is supposed to sound like? Maybe the selection committee knows what they are looking for. Either way another round of revision is necessary. And then I move from the personal statement to the statement of purpose. Which is kinda the same thing but with a focus on academics. I don't know what that means. I can't spend too much time on this because I have to modify it to fit each of my choices when I apply, and I haven't applied anywhere yet. As soon as I get this stupid essay done I can start applying. And then I will be free of huge responsibilities for a few months.

In my mind I thought of myself as a strong applicant, but as I write down what I have done I see that I am not, that the University of Michigan will be receiving 800 other personal statements and choosing like 10 people. Maybe my writing samples will wow them. Confidence is not high and I'm hungry. But Teddy Roosevelt said, "Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."

That MFA feeling

[noon and twenty] I am preparing to apply to graduate school for creative writing within the month. I have a lot to say about this because it is surprisingly complicated and I still have a lot to do.

Firstly, I want to apply to eight to ten schools to have a lot of options. I looked at a lot of schools and comprised a list of schools that I would like to attend based on how well they fund incoming students, like me, how well their faculty writes, the future success of graduates and places that would be a nice fit for me, places that would push me as a writer, places where I would create the best stuff and get the most out of my Master of Fine Arts degree.

This list ended up being 24 schools long.

So I went back through the list and selected schools that I absolutely had to apply to, based on my own personal excitement about the program. This yielded a list of 18.

Than I asked my roommate Justin about his thoughts about narrowing the list down. He asked if I considered what it would be like to live in these places for a couple years. I hadn't. So I made a new list of graduate schools that were located in places I would actually like to live in. Justin pointed out that there are places and colleges on my list that have considerably colder, and harsher winters. Winters that made you wish you had a ton-ton to cut open and crawl inside of (they smell worse on the inside I hear). There were also places that had summers and springs that felt like the inside of a sauna for months at a time. I removed the universities of Minnesota, Alabama, and etc., from the list.

This new list was 15 schools long. Still too many. Especially since each school has a non-refundable fee of about 60 buckeroos. I then went to each program's creative writing MFA web page and researched what was required, not only for admission to the school, but what was required of me while I was there. There were a couple schools who required a lot of material from me (three short stories, a critical English essay, statement of purpose, statement of intent, personal statement, resume, etc) on top of all that their website was difficult to navigate and unclear. So, as awesome as Purdue might have been, they are too needy for me. So I removed them from the list. There was another one that was more literature based than I want to be so I got rid of that one.

It's hard work, all this research. Once I have this done however, I will start writing the things I need to apply. Personal statements and the like.

After that I fill out their online application forms and send them all my stuff, test scores, writing sample... oh the writing sample. Let me talk about that.

Some of the schools want multiple stories totaling no less than 40 pages. I had planed to send my one super-razor-sharp-polished nonfiction piece that could pass for fiction, but it is only 25 pages or so. This means I had to find another work I had written, something that isn't quite as polished, and polish that up right now. I hope a school doesn't require 3 or more short stories totaling more than 60 pages, or I am screwed and wont be applying to that school. So far, only a few have asked for two stories.

The due date for everything ranges from December 15th to January 15th. each school is different. So I want to apply to the schools with the earlier due date first.

Anyway, I had to write this down. Sometimes it streamlines my thoughts and helps me see what I still have to do.

If this doesn't make sense to you, that is alright because this was for me, and I know what I mean. ;-)

More posts to come in the near future.

Oh, the MFA feeling: Sore lower back, tired eyes from scanning pages of text about how awesome a school thinks it is, a slight headache, a little hunger, the smell of hot coffee nearby (mug number 2) and the odor of someone who forgot to shower last night after work (me).

[1:45 pm] I removed John Hopkins university from the list (now 12 schools long). The school offers a Master of Arts, not a Master of Fine arts degree. The difference is the MFA is more dedicated, requiring additional time and effort. The MA is quicker, and the university says you can apply anytime, take a class at a time, night and weekends in Washington DC, or Baltimore. I don't want quicker, I want longer, more dedicated and more difficult. This is my future life here, I want to learn as much as I can rather than get a master's degree so I can check off of some bucket list.

[2:00pm] I was ready to write off the University of Florida at Gainesville because they seemed so uppity. They talked about what is required, how most prospective students don't get in and how awesome they are. Obviously written by some english/computer science/engineer type person. Not that there is anything wrong with those kinds of people. It is just that their writing lacks the kind of flow that I would appreciate in a prospective school. Than I read the Department of Creative writing's MFA page. What a breath of fresh air that was. They get it, and renewed my interest in their program.

[2:30pm] The word "slate" is appearing a lot in the writing program's websites. In the form, "...writers have an active slate of readings and activities to do..." What's with that? Is 'slate' that cool of a word? One college website even used the British informal usage meaning 'to criticize.' really? Is there some meeting where all the ideas are shared for what to put up on the website? And one guy, maybe an intern, says, "what about using the word 'slate?' It means the same as plan, schedule, book or organize and also has some peripheral meanings having to do with color, geology, and history--as many writers first wrote with slate." And they must have responded, "Brilliant!" And promptly taken the idea as their own condemning that intern to coffee barista status indefinitely. Oh the humanity!

Gay Prom

A lot has happened. Too much to fill you in on, so I wont. I can't even remeber where I left off. But basically there were car problems, relationship problems, life problems, financial woes and on and on. But that is life, some of us are more aware of that than others.

I had so much to tell you yesterday but I got sleepy instead.

I recently discovered Dan Savage the Gay, Sex and relationship columnist. He is way cool. Funny and smart with an eerily perfect perspective on relationships and sex. It's refreshing and hilarious.

That reminds me, this one time I went to gay prom, you know those proms that honor Constance McMillan, that high school girl that asked if she could bring her girlfriend to prom as her date? The school said, "no." She said, "You can't deny my civil rights." They canceled prom altogether and parents financed a private prom which excluded the lesbian couple. Anyway, I went to gay prom with Loo and JoJo, her gay friend since forever, and I remember walking in and seeing these two girls probably 20 years old. They were unbelievably hot. They wore ball gowns that hugged their figures, they had ample bosoms, long legs, great skin, and hair. They looked regal.

Anyway, they might be the hottest girls I have ever seen in real life. And they were walking towards us. I smiled at them, like I do to all beautiful women that walk towards me. If they saw me they gave no indication. What they did instead of acknowledge my existence was check out Loo, head to toe and back. Then they smiled, they liked what they saw. Then they split up and walked around us. I turned to watch them go, but I wasn't sure which one to follow. Almost tore my head in half trying to follow them both. Anyway, I followed the brunette. I watched her walk by as though she was on a runway, watched her stiletto-heeled feet lightly click and clack on the hardwood floor, watched her thighs flex under her indigo gown, watched her hips sway and her breasts bounce with each step. Then she rejoined the other girl and the two of them turned to watch something. I followed their eyes right to Loo's curvaceous backside. I think the three of us really liked that view.

It was a little weird to be in that place, but not for reasons you might think. Just about every girl there didn't care about me, but liked Loo A LOT. I had nothing that they wanted. I was invisible to them. That's never happened to me before. And the boys by contrast were really nice and respectable. I only got hit on twice, than the word got out that I was a... you know, this would work better in Dialog.

"Hey, Dustin meet Brian," JoJo said. I turned to face Dustin. He was tall, wearing a silver tuxedo vest, fedora and fancy pants. He had two earrings in one ear and short red hair. He was tall like me. He looked like a sharply dressed young man, 21 maybe.

"Hey, Brian. Nice to meet you," Dustin said as we shook hands. JoJo looked away scanning the dance floor for friends I imagine.

"Likewise," I said.

"Wow, that's some grip you have there," Dustin said smiling. That's when JoJo turned back to us.

"Dustin," JoJo said, "he's a breeder."

"Damn it!" Dustin said, "How come all the hot ones..."

"Sorry man," I said.

"Its kool man, nice to meet you anyway," Dustin said. And we got to talking.

But the term 'Breeder,' I love.

Anyway, after guy number two hit on me I had the word so I said, "I'm a breeder." He laughed and asked what I was doing there. I told him I was supporting the LGBT community. And he said I had to be an insider to use the term breeder, he added I was OK (for a breeder I guess), than added that I needed a name tag that said, "Hello my name is BREEDER." We both laughed. The rest of the night I danced with Loo and watched the hot lesbians dance the night away. I watched the gay guys too because they are amazing dancers.

I met all kinds of people there that night, big hulked-out dudes in ball gowns who shaved their furry backs in the shape of their backless gowns. I met girls in tuxedos with mustaches and everything in between. Sometimes I didn't know which sex a person was, not that it was important, I'm just saying I found myself wondering for the sake of wonder.

I had a great time.

But I became aware of some interesting things. My brain likes to gather information, mix it all together and asks "what if."

And after thinking about it I found some things I am envious of gay people about.

I dislike that pretty women have a stupefying effect on me. Like if a woman is hot but mean/rude/bitchy I can overlook that on account of her hotness. This also works with nicely shaped female parts. Like if a girl has a great pair of breasts, but is rude, or mean, or just bad my thought process is, "yeah, she is mean, but she has nice boobs, so...it evens out." A gay guy? Not even. Gay boys can tell hot girls that are acting annoying or whatever that they are annoying. They see them as people first, rather than: Boobs Yay! Butt yay! Hot legs Yay! Oh, yeah, person, person, person... It's a skill I don't have. So basically an 'ugly' girl with a hot body is seen as an ugly girl by a gay guy, where as I see the body parts first and it clouds my judgment. I imagine the reverse is true though about gay guys, like if a dude is being a dick but gay guys think he is hot they probably are bamboozled as well.

There is a documentary called the Science of Sex Appeal that is very interesting. Something that is interesting about it is that pregnant women emit a pheromone from their scalp that calms men down. There are a bunch of chemical warfare battles going on back and fourth between men and women. But a gay couple will never get that chemical warfare. Two gay guys will not get that calming pheromone from a pregnant woman. Now, the really interesting part is that men and women have a smell that is unique to them based on the bacteria that live on their skin. Each person is unique in this regard. Now the people who smell the most genetically diverse from you say, will smell attractive to you because the offspring you would have would have a more complete set of genes and be able to handle infections and diseases better. Now, men have an odor that actually repels women. They dislike the smell greatly. BUT, that same odor, if smelled while women are ovulating, smells amazing to them. Like wise a woman who is ovulating looks and smells better to heterosexual men, it is the period of time that she is most fertile.

What about gay people? Well, as it turns out, those smells that heterosexual people like in the opposite sex, the raw and natural biological chemistry smells, are enjoyed by same sexed gay people. Ovulating women are found even more desirable to lesbians. And a man's smell is enjoyed by a gay man all the time (assuming it's a dynamic smell--this is different than B.O.) There are a bunch of other things, but basically a gay man's brain is physiologically similar to a hetero sexual woman's brain. A gay woman's brain is physiologically similar to a hetero sexual man's brain. This means that both gay men and heterosexual women find the same basic things attractive in men, they can't help it.

Anyway, that's all for today.

Check out Dan Savage on YouTube.

"Don't be a pussy" part 2

Rereading it now I see I left out a thought or two.

Is it just me, or does it seem like anytime a woman complains of some vaginal discomfort of any kind men usually say, "what a woman." Like it is womanly to express pain, especially for woman parts. And when sex is concerned you got to be careful/delicate or you could do irreparable damage, as though the vagina hasn't evolved to handle frequent and vigorous sex for hours at a time. You know a 20 minute porn scene is edited down from several hours right? And the whole scene is a bust if the guy has a failure.

I was listening to a Viagra infomercial once and the woman was talking about how the pill helped THEM, how THEY had a problem or more specifically how, "WE were having erectile dysfunction." Like the guy's limp dick was her fault, her problem, her body part, her half of the blame. See, even when erectile problems are concerned it's a woman's fault, or men want it to be. I do know sometimes women will blame themselves for erectile failure, like they didn't do enough, they aren't pretty enough anymore, or some such. But this was different. And I am in favor of couples working together through tough times but the guy sat there and nodded like, "Yeah, I wish she could get her erectile failure in order so we could screw again. What a drag. Psh, women, what can you do?"

brb Dr. Who.

"Don't be a pussy"

I don't like things that I don't understand. And I don't understand the saying, "Don't be a pussy." It's the last word that really confuses me. It could be cat. It could be vagina. To find out I went to work one day back in Camarillo where it's mostly Mexican guys and we talk sex and toilet humor all day to pass the time.

One day one of the guys couldn't get the tire off this one wheel and from across the back room someone calls out, "Ahaha what a pussy, can't even get the tire off."

That was my chance so I said, "Yeah what a cat." They all looked at me. They looked at each other without moving their heads.

"Did he just say what a cat? That's wack. Fuckin Brian. Ha Ha," they said.

I determined it wasn't cat. So I waited for the next opportunity to use vagina.

A little later someone else was trying to get the spare tire out of a car and it was all rusted in there. It wouldn't come out. From across the room you could hear them calling out, "Lets go you fuckin pussy."

So I said, "Yeah, let's go you vagina."

"Did he just call him a vagina? I think he did. That's strong language. Fuckin Brian. HA Ha," they said.

It didn't seem to be cat or vagina. So the next time they said someone was a pussy I asked them why. What did they have in common with a vagina, I asked. The answers were basically synonyms. The answers regarded a perceived softness of character that was fearful and delicate, easy to hurt, weak, frail even.

It started a thought in my head. I recognized a certain anti-woman thing going on here. They insisted "don't be such a pussy," was the same as, "Don't be such a woman," because they thought women were fearful and delicate, weak, easy to hurt and etc. I asked them if the opposite was true, that someone who was tough, fearless, strong, difficult to hurt, healthy was a penis.

Their demeanor changed. They all looked at each other, afraid. Afraid to respond first maybe? It took me a little while to figure out what was going on. And then I did. I had entered queer territory. I had said, "penis." If they followed it with, "yeah," then they might seem gay to their friends. So there they stood, immobilized by fear of being thought gay. That's when I figured why they were quick to denounce women, talk about meaningless sex, make fun of each other by joking about homosexuality and call each other pussies. The reason they were acting in a hyper-masculine way was because deep down they were afraid of gayness. (of all the things to be afraid of!) I chalked it up to Machismo, and figured it was a cultural thing, or at least an environment thing.

I don't talk that way, but I see the allure of it, to brag and boast about sex and women and conquests and all of it. I understand why they do it. I also understand why I don't. I'm comfortable in my hopeless-heterosexuality, so comfortable that I don't need their verbal pats on my back to boost my ego. Who cares? I certainly don't.

But back to the topic, if the insult about pussy is interchangeable with women and vagina than that leads to some interesting things doesn't it? When you think of vagina, do you think of weakness? I certainly don't. A Vagina seems strong to me. Maybe I think that way because I have a penis and I know it's not all it's cracked up to be. I can separate the myth and mystique, so to speak, from the reality.

For instance I know that the slightest graze of a ping pong ball across my penis can drop me to the floor into fetal position because of the shock of pain. You could argue that maybe I have a sensitive penis and therefore I can't apply this situation to other men. But I would argue I have seen many men drop from the passing graze of a ping pong ball, or a cell phone, or keys, or a softball (those aren't that soft by the way.) And conversely I have seen women take worse punishment to their vagina and not even express discomfort. For example, in 8th grade I hit a softball directly into this girl's vagina. (not deliberately) It worked like a catchers glove stopping the ball, which she bent down to pick up and throw back to home plate where I was standing. I was mouthing the words, "Are you ok?" when I was tagged out. She was ok, a few weeks later when I caught a soft ball in a similar way I was down and out for five minutes.

Women have a higher pain tolerance than men, or at least that's what I have read a long time ago. But the test they used was kinda, well, weird. They inflicted pain on men and women and recorded at what point they said ow. Men said ow first, so they say that men have a lower pain tolerance, I am ok with that being true. But I wonder if there is a maximum pain and if men or women can handle more. I have seen men and women get hurt and men usually are more vocal about it than women, even though they might experience the same amount of pain. Does that make sense? I'll never know because I am not a woman so I can't compare two equal pains back to back.

They say that you call someone a pussy if they are soft, or girly. But if you are a heterosexual male isn't a soft vagina ideal? It just doesn't make sense. Especially when you think about all the things vagina can do. Any porno film can show you that a vagina can take an extreme amount of abuse, the penis by contrast is returned limp, spent, soft and delicate. The vagina can still take more, the penis cannot. And yet the vagina is still the weak one some how, as though the soft, delicate, and sensitive penis is somehow manly because men say it is. And lets not forget that a vagina can pass a baby through itself. It's just you got to give credit where credit is due is all I'm saying.

So the saying don't be a pussy doesn't make sense, and you should take it as a compliment because it means you are strong, versatile, and all the heterosexual men will do anything to be with you.

I guess that's all. It's been bothering me for awhile. I finally wrote it down, though I don't know if it makes sense to anyone but me.

Another day another omelet

Hi, welcome to Kalamazoo Michigan where I am in Ma's basement where it is currently 18:13:52:52 Brian's move-out standard time.

Autumn is coming. For the first time in a long time instead of being uncomfortably hot it was uncomfortably cold, I guess that's how you know in this place.

In a few weeks the trees start changing color. I haven't seen it, but I hear it is quite impressive, and that people come from all over to see it. I was telling my Michigan friends what autumn is like in California. And if you are from Cali you know, but for those who don't it is hard to distinguish from the other seasons. Its not as hot, or isn't supposed to be as hot. So lets say the temperature on average is a little lower, but still pleasant and enjoyable. They asked me about trees. Maybe this would work better in dialog?

"Whats southern Cali like during the autumn?"

"Its like the other seasons: nice."

"Is it colder?"

"I'd say not as hot."

"Do the trees lose their leaves?"

"Not really. There are lots of pine and oak trees where I live and they stay green most of the time. Now, there is this one apricot tree down the road that changes color and does the autumn thing. That's usually the only way I would know."

"Does it snow?"

"No. Maybe in the mountains if it gets cold enough and rains, both of those are kind of rare though."

"Huh. Weird."

"Maybe."

New topic

So, in case I forgot, I installed the new transmission for Loo. Total cost: 600 bucks, or about 3,500 less than if it had been done by a professional. I felt like... well, it's complicated.

(See I knew what was involved with it before I started; I knew I would be on my back, on the asphalt, laying under the car for about ten days, three of which I would have to work all day, but nobody else knew what was involved. If you don't work on cars you don't know what it's like. To reach up through the center member with one hand and use your other hand to pass a wrench to the first hand to use on a rusted nut. To feel your greasy hand slip on the wrench, to know that if the rusty nut breaks free your fist will smash into the stamped metal flange of the firewall and cut you across the knuckles. To also know there is no other way to loosen it so you push and push and hope the nut gives way easily, but no, it takes all your strength to break it free and you punch the flange and cut yourself across the knuckles anyway. For the rest of the job that cut, and all the others, heal, break open and seal and reopen. It will get the car's life fluids in it, and you will recognize them by feel. The acidic burn of break fluid, the anti-bacterial sting of transmission fluid, the way metal filaments in motor oil grind their way between the two sides of an open wound, the sticky tingle of coolant turning your scabs into soggy bread that slough off like snot on your hand. Every wound will find the sharpest edge of every part of the car, despite your caution you will still gouge, slice and stab yourself in the rawest places. It will reach the point that you will look at your hand covered in red transmission fluid and blood and not know which is which and not care, so long as you aren't bleeding too much that it requires inch-worming out from under the car to stop the bleeding. Besides, transmission fluid is a detergent, kills germs. You will be using muscles you didn't know you had to turn wrenches in twisted positions. The wind will blow dirt into your eyes, which you can't rub or you'll put the stuff on your hands into your eyes. That would make it worse, and it would burn. So you just blink and blink, or forgo sight and feel your way to the bolts. Sight is an overrated sense anyway.)

I'm not sure what I am trying to say here. I'm not trying to lord over you, that I can do stuff you can't do and I am a real manly-man because I can do these things and you can't. That isn't it at all. It's just under appreciated is all.

If I had a poignant thing to say about this it isn't coming tonight.

New topic.

There is no food in this house besides eggs, spices and the big bag of boneless, skinless chicken breasts I bought a couple weeks ago. I been making omelets and eating them. I am getting really good at it. The only pot that works for it is a small teflon skillet. Omelets end up thick and fluffy and full of spicy chicken.

It was difficult for me to cook for me and me alone because my whole life I have had family dinners. But after I experienced how much of a chore it is to get people together enough to share a meal, and how unappreciated it was I stopped. They can eat their Kraft macaroni and cheese in several individual saucepans. I'll keep at the omelet. It's a good, filling, tasty meal. My omelet appreciation is a new thing. Growing up I disliked them because sometimes when Dad made them the center was runny like snot and it made me sick to my stomach and I lost my appetite. He tried to get it right but I was too damn picky. Now I love those things. Breakfast, lunch and/or dinner an omelet will do you good.

New topic.

I will be replacing Loo's worn out front suspension on her car. After only 191,526 miles they finally wore out, can you believe that? I was afraid it would cost about 500 bucks or so to buy all the parts, but I found a kit on eBay for $93 that had all I needed and than some, so... go me. I should be doing that tuesday-ish. We shall see.

time for bed.

"Another day, another death/ another sorrow, another breath."
--Metallica "No Remorse"

Another day closer to moving out.

I think I shall make an omelet to celebrate.

[18:11:38:01]

28:13:47:30

Days:hours:minutes:seconds until I leave this place, but who is counting? Me silly.

Today I worked from 7:30 ante meridiem to 6:30 Post meridiem and then came home to shower and go see a movie with Beans. We saw The American with George Clooney and a bunch of Italian people I never heard of before. I liked it. The people behind us though, not so much.

"It's slow, but boring," she would say. She would say it five more times. In between those she would say this, "I wish there was some dialog so I could follow whats going on." Truth be told there was dialog, expertly written and acted. The key word there would be 'subtext' you know when an assassin makes bullets puts them in a cookie tin and calls them candy they aren't really candy. The people behind us missed that though. They kept blabbing and blabbing until there was a steamy sex scene. They shut right up for that. Maybe if the movie was all sex scene they would enjoy it more, but add some dialog so they could follow what's going on though. We don't want to confuse the poor people. Sex movies with dialog, maybe some music... If only someone would have thought of that already.

Tomorrow I'll be installing the new transmission. I have all day to do it because I am work free that day. It will be a lot of work. All told I think I have about 3 full days invested into the transmission to date. Tomorrow will be four. Saturday Loo returns from her vacation--

I have a concern. And by concern I mean fear because 'concern' was just a euphemism to hide the true level of my fear.

The next semester of college starts up again for Loo next week. I am afraid that Loo will be too busy for me, even more so because I'll be out of the house. In other words I'll be somewhere else, which would require effort to visit making me that much easier to blow off and ignore. :-( "I can't come over, got this homework to do. You understand." And I will. And then we will drift further and further apart until we are strangers wondering what we ever saw in one another. And we'll split up and six years will be for naught.

or

The next semester will make Loo too busy for me so she will try to make time for me on the weekends or after she completes homework. She will realize how easy it is to blow me off and work hard not to, she'll recognize this is a make or break phase and make it, solid like the surface ice on the Europa moon, which is like granite.

or

New topic

My iPod broke awhile back, two or three weeks ago. I left it in the car and it got too hot and it now only works for about half a song before it turns off. In reading the warranty information it says not to do that because the heat will kill it.

I didn't realize how much I like listening to music until I couldn't anymore. Running, cleaning, mowing that god damn lawn... all of it I use to listen to music while I did them. Now I have to listen to whatever it is I'm doing and that can be a drag. Running not so much because the music while running is a new thing, normally I am without that. But the other stuff. Ugh. Imagine mowing a lawn for two ours listening to the engine fluctuate it's speed based on the grass it rolls over. Mind numbing.

So I searched my car for music on CD to listen to because my car's CD player works great. I found a CD of Mike Snow that Loo's brother left. There are two songs on that album that I can [the space between tolerate and like] but after a week of it I was becoming annoyed. So I searched for another disc and found Beautiful Garbage and listened to that for a week but its only got a few songs I enjoy the others are too redundant and pop/dance sounding. My problems are compounded by the fact that my computer works great in all respects save one, the ability to burn a CD. That broke a month after the applecare wore off.

Long story short I been pulling my macbook out more and playing the music from it's speakers which has renewed my enjoyment of my music. Currently I am on a Metal kick, Metallica, Tyr, Megadeath, Hammerfall, and a new group called Brocas Helm (with one particularly awesome song you can hear here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SO2poJAaE_I).

My eyelids are getting heavy so I think I'll call it a day.

I just finished Invisible Monster by Chuck Palanhiuk, the first of his books I have read. I liked it a lot. I look forward to the others, Fight Club, Choke, Diary and anything else.

Night!
28:13:06:23

A Work story

..this story takes place a few months ago...

During a lull in business the topic of Marijuana came up and my coworker Christian, who is for lack of a better word, a square, asked me if I smoked weed. The rest of the guys looked to me for my answer.

"No," I said, "I don't."

"Any LSD?"

"No."

"Well do you party?"

"Sometimes."

"Is there any weed there?"

"Sometimes."

"But you don't inhale, or what?"

"I don't use drugs, Christian."

"None at all?"

"No."

"You don't do anything exciting, do you? You're boring."

"Well, I drink from time to time and I do engage in frequent and vigorous premarital sex. That's pretty exciting."

And this is where the conversation ends because he was too embarrassed to continue and had to leave.

I knew that what I said would bother him before I said it, and it did. I felt as though his calling me boring was a challenge of some sort and I had to respond and shut him don to prevent more questioning.

I thought of my possible responses: a denial would be like a losing path the conversation would then follow. It would give him the power and I would keep trying to respond to his statements. If I refused to answer that would be a one-time loss of power for me, which would only inflate his ego because they all know how much I can take before I lose it.

What's more I knew that Christian was too goody to do drugs himself, (who needs drugs when you have the Lord and His narcotic God-Love?) which meant he was just saying those things--from the perspective of a learned and exciting pot-partying cool guy, someone I doubt he had ever been-- to challenge the Californian, me, in some sub-textual test of testosterone in front of the other guys who were all aware of the contest on a gut level. I couldn't let him win. So I said something I knew everyone would recognize as one-up-man-ship. And they did.

They were embarrassed, but not from what I said; sex is a frequent topic of conversation. They were embarrassed for Christian, they knew he was a good christian guy, or claimed to be, and what I said would damage his sensitive sensibilities. The bible says it's wrong, it also tells him what he should think about that. And that's that.

fun squared

In a few hours my best friend arrives in Michigan and we get to hang out for the next week and a half. I am SOOOOOOO looking forward to this we are going to have so much fun.

Mike has been my best friend since 2nd grade, we get each other. I'm looking forward to our intelligent conversations, dark satirical humor and mindless video game enjoyment.

Tonight we will play super smash bros. brawl and maybe Star craft 2, I haven't played it yet ( my old computer can't handle the graphics captain!). And we might watch some Penn and Teller Bullshit as well.

Tomorrow we are going to go shooting because he brought most of his guns, a steyer pistol, gsg-5 abd a russian saiga. The way I explained it to Loo's sister Bean was: you know those machine guns the bad guys allways use, with the wooden grip and the bannana clip?

Yeah

Well, its like that, and you know the one that the good guys always use, thats like a black machine pistol with a long skinny clip out front?

Yeah

Those are the two he is bringing, and you know that one used in the movie enemy at the gates?

Yeah

He's trying to bring that one as well, but it is too big.

Cool!

And it will be, he couldn't bring his Russian sniper rifle, the Mosin Nagant, because it was too long to fit in a hard case which is what TSA will only accept. Luckily I have a coworker who has one and he said I could borrow it, which is really cool.

Got to go pick him up, see ya!

BP Oil Spill

I read Melissa's blog and it made me think, so I started doing research. I listened to a talk on TED from a marine toxicologist about the oil spill in the gulf. (http://www.ted.com/talks/susan_shaw_the_oil_spill_s_toxic_trade_off.html)

Here is what I learned.

The dispersants that break the oil up into tiny pieces, do so by breaking down lipids. Three points about this.

First point: oil broken down to its tiniest part is still oil, this is just like plastic (like the North Pacific Gyre), and similar to the pesticide DDT (which most Californians and indeed Americans are aware of). In other words they do no break down in to harmless chemicals that can be ignored or forgotten about, but simply break down to smaller versions of the parent chemical, they are chemically identical even if they are microscopic.

Second point: Biomagnification is a process in which animals at the top of the food chain ingest large quantities of chemicals. It starts at the beginning. The ocean's floor belches out nutrients and vital chemicals that drift about the worlds oceans carried by the currents. Microscopic organisms eat, or make use of these nutrients. Floating in this nutrient rich soup is Hazardous Chemical Z, we'll call it Z. Larger microscopic organisms, multicultural ones, eat the single cell ones and some Z, or they are evenly mixed with Z so that the organisms that eat them cannot distinguish between the too. This is the planktivore fishes (sardines and the like) that swim with their mouths open skimming edible microscopic critters in the water and Z. Larger fish eat them and so on and so fourth and the quantity of Z is increased along each link of the food chain. Because sardine eating fish have to eat a lot of sardines which have eaten Z, they get a lot of Z in them, it is magnified. Replace Hazardous Chemical Z with Oil, Plastic, DDT, Mercury, and etcetera and you can understand how chemicals can move up the food chain terminating in lethal quantities for the top predator, which could be us humans.

Third Point: The dispersant that is used by BP to break the oil up (is patent protected as a trade secret, its chemicals are unknown) does so by breaking up lipids, lipids are what our cells are made out of. The gills of fish are destroyed as they breath the water. They die by 'chemical pneumonia' as their gill cells die one by one, decreasing the amount of oxygen being absorbed until they can't any more, they suffocate. Bigger fish eat those fish getting more of the chemical in their bellies which dissolves their insides and so on up the food chain to whales and dolphins, a powerful symbol for nature and all things good with the ocean.

And I now understand documents have been released today that say the coast guard OK'd BP to dump more dispersants than it was supposed to, several hundred thousand tons of it.

If you break up the oil slick on the surface, which we Americans recognize as a powerful symbol of all kinds of things like greed and pollution and etc, you allay the fears of people looking for that slick oil on the surface of the ocean. People think it isn't so bad because there isn't much slick on the surface. That's because the oil is uniformly mixed into the water all the way down to the bottom, down to the coral. And the worst part is we have no idea what this will do, what the long term effect will be.

But as I read in Melissa's blog, a good one by the way, (http://scrapsfromthegooduniverse.blogspot.com/2010/07/our-little-beach-cleanup.html) if you dig down in the sand a few inches you find this slop that has seeped into the sand. How long before that seeps further inland, into the water table say? Will it spread into the ocean, or like Agent Orange will it remain, an industrial strength chemical that does not break down. I guess we will find out.

There is no silver lining.

Bar B Que that stuff Son!

One day Loo came home with a huge box and asked me to help her carry it into the garage--that's Loo talk for carry it into the garage by the way. I set it down out back and started asking question about it. I knew Loo's mom wouldn't approve of a second bbq, (but this one was charcoal instead of gas, and way better). I voiced these concerns to Loo and she said that she bought the BBQ for me (because I voiced my dislike of the other grill. It is too hot.) I freaked out because that meant Loo's Ma would get mad at me, and she has been mad at me for so many things in the recent past that I think I have developed a psychosis as a result of it. I spend a lot of my thinking time worrying about how not to make her mad. It bothers me, a lot. I exploded quite suddenly at Loo, who thought she was giving me a thoughtful gift to me, and she was I just couldn't see it then. That bothers me, and it made me wonder if perhaps I might be manic depressive because I have these sudden extremes of happiness/euphoria and sadness/anger/frustration/rage, or perhaps I think I do. I don't get them much, but one of Loo's epithets for me is 'bipolar bear,' which always makes me aware of a perceived random occurrence of a negative emotion, be it anger, or sadness or something. Anyway, I said some unjustifiably mean things to her and apologized to her right before she went home. I felt bad the rest of the day. Why do I do that?

And today, a day or two later, I started to assemble the grill. As I removed the pieces I became aware of the absence of instructions for the grill. There weren't any. It must have been an item at walmart or home depot that someone got and turned into Goodwill, where her friends works, did I mention he gets great deals at Goodwill? The box was devoid of instructions. I ventured online for a grill instruction sheet pdf, but it was in vain. They must have the instructions at the original place of purchase. With no other option left to me I did what any sensible man would do. I did what my dad and brother would surely do. I put it together by the seat of my pants with the box picture as my guide. I have a good mechanical aptitude and spatial reasoning skills. In a couple hours I had it together. The hardware was missing one lock washer and had an extra flat washer, so I made due. And then we used it to grill some burgers.

Loo found a recipe online for these fiesta burgers which were really good. Let me tell you how to make them because it is so easy. First you take a packet of taco seasoning mix and mix it into one pound of ground beef, I did this like it was clay or dough and kneaded it in there, breaking it in half and starting over until its all mixed in the raw meat. I wash my hands at this point for some reason. Then you start making little patties, and by little I mean thin, as thin as you can make them, eight in number. Then you take a 1/4 cup of chive and onion cream cheese and a 1/3 cup of cheddar and mix it together. Then take a quarter of that mix and put it in the middle of four patties. I wash my hands at this point for some reason. Take the other patties and place them on top of the cheese filling ones forming a sandwich of raw beef. Pinch the edges closed and seal them up real well. Grill like you would grill a burger and put them in a bun. And on that bun put some salsa and some avocado. Enjoy. I had two, plus a regular hamburger (the package of ground beef had almost 2 pounds in it)

I see now that it is getting late and I should go to bed and get up early for work tomorrow.

It has been really uncomfortable here, weather wise. It's been in the 90's with high humidity, which I have never really experienced before. It's like sucking in the same air you breath out.

I found some article in Harpers about carrying a concealed handgun on facebook that I printed out. I think I'll read it now. Knight.

You Tell her Mel Gibson!

While I drove along Stadium dr. in Loo's Maxima--because she doesn't like to drive--I enjoyed the cold breeze from the vents of the air conditioner I just fixed. While she used my electric razor to shave her legs we listen to tapes of an irate Mel Gibson yell at his, well, I don't know who she is because I don't follow famous people, but I think she was his wife. His messages had a time stamp and Howard Stern would say, "and this is Mel at 2:17 am," and play the tape of him breathing heavily into the phone before he said, "...Whore! I don't need you any more! I don't want you any more. I hope you can't sleep. Youuuuuuuu fuck..."

The things he said to that woman, wow. You can learn a lot about people from the irate messages they leave on your answering machine from one am to four am. We laughed at some of the things he said. He seems obsessed with sleep as his main and repeated insult was he hoped she couldn't sleep, but as was evident from leaving a message on the machine, his curse wasn't working because, apparently, she was sleeping well. He would say he didn't need to talk to her and hang up and call back 3 minutes later and ask if she was there before taking off on a verbal tirade again.

He mentioned something about a placenta and a tree ceremony that she didn't smile for. A Stern Show listener had to call up and explain how some people take the birth placenta, dig a hole, bury it and put a tree on top of it. I think those people have way too much time on their hands. Anyway, if you ever do a tree ceremony for yourself gentle reader, make sure you smile, apparently it's a BIG deal if you don't.

Loo and I listened and I checked to see what parts she found funny, most of what she laughed at I did as well.

I like listening to out of control celebrities. Its as though they fake being human for so long that when they do something truly human, losing it for example, it's a big deal. Oftentimes after they lose it they have to do a lot of damage control or lose sponsors, contracts, agents, etc. Behind their famous face they throw tantrums like the most annoying of us. I like that, breaks the wall that separates them from us, which they are quick to put back up.

I liked Tiger Woods' fiasco more. He was the poster guy for everything wonderful--for golf, for Nike, for inner city kids, you name it. And then he is txting porn stars about how he owns their pussy looks forward to sucking their ass, and he wants to pee on them. Hilarious. I wasn't surprised when those txts came out. The way I saw it he was hiding something huge, he seemed to successful to have it all together, because if he wasn't a sex fiend he might quite possibly be in the running for best human ever. Right? Name one thing Tiger woods did prior to his fiendish sexual infidelity.

I don't follow celebrities, or gossip, but when it comes up on Howard Stern and they have psychologists analyzing the celebrities it is truly fascinating.

Just wanted to share the image of Mel Gibson yelling at his un-wife while Loo shaves her legs with my razor and I drive her car to the doctor. Funny stuff.

another update

Great googly moogly it has been awhile!

I been away for awhile. Loo had to go to the ER for a fever and 7day long head ache. It took all night and they did a lot of tests, and needle sticking, which she hates and cried through. I felt so helpless but I did the hand holding thing and the "don't worry the doctors will fix you right up," thing. They found nothing wrong with her. We have gone doctor to doctor with more tests and more negative test results. She was ordered to lay down flat and not get up until they could rule out a spinal cyst. She was literally bed ridden for a month, with an unending headache that got worse if she sat up. She was miserable. And her mom... I don't know, its like she could only care about it for a week or so because after that week her mom wanted her to do chores and clean up after herself and

it was like she totally forgot about doctor number five saying, "Lay down and do not get up until we can rule the spinal cyst out." It made me mad that her mom would do that. Loo wanted to die so the pain would stop. I spent all my time around her to help her, but I couldn't make the pain go away. Finally mom and Loo exploded into an argument with me in the middle. It was awkward for me, but I didn't leave her side as they hashed it out. Mom wanted the room more organized, Loo had to explain it was beyond her ability to do that, neither one of them were listening to eachother. So loo exploded in a fury of pain and anger and screamed at her mom, and the level of pain finally registered in mom's brain and she stopped and cried and had to get the brother involved as mediator. I have had experience with people in constant horrendous pain, nobody else in the house has. You cant do that to people in pain, they can't get away from an argument... im just rambling. It was bad.

But for the first time in a month Loo has been vertical and mostly pain free. Doctor (neurologist) number seven changed from pain medicine to preventative medicine and supplements to great effect. Loo is mostly back to her old self, and I have been able to return to writing.

Before all this I went without Loo to her family's cottage on drummond island in the upper peninsula near Canada. It was a good time. I drove a '54 chriscraft, I sailed and I explored a bunch of tiny islands by kayak. Loo had to go to school and she told me I should go without her because it would be fun and it was. Ill write more about it, for now im just filling in the gap.

Our lizard is doing well, growing and eating like a healthy Savannah monitor lizard.

I had moved into Loo's mom's house and into Loo's sister's room, we'll call her Beans. I just got a book shelf and organized my room which used to be Beans' room. For the first time it was clean and everything had a place and it was good. That night, not even 13 hours from its new organized state, Beans called from Colorado, there was a problem with her living arrangement with her boyfriend and she was coming back tonight on a last minute flight.

I had to remove any sign I had lived there before she arrived. All my stuff is in the basement again in messy hap hazard piles. For some reason Loo's mom wont allow me to move the two dressers that are down there, so I got a new dresser to handle it.

Loo's mom became scatterbrained and for lack of a better word crazy about Beans returning. She started postulating why Beans would need to come back so fast and she made herself even more crazy with thought of her daughter being beaten, or getting pregnant, or both or something else. It was weird because Beans treats her mom poorly, but Mom bends over backwards to accomodate the whims of Beans, now 20 years old. The silver lining in all this is that the Mom's focus will be shifted from all that I do wrong to Beans and all she does wrong because she is worse than me with the things that make the mom crazy. I think I talked about that in an earlier post about waterglasses and dishes and such. I like to use the same glass of water to drink from throughout the day, and the mom doesn't like that because dirty dishes need to be placed in the dish washer.

Got to go get my teeth cleaned. Wahoo!

God stole my teddy bear

I was seven years old when I stopped believing in God, it wasn't until I was fourteen or so that I stopped believing in the supernatural. But I can not forget the day I stopped believing in the christian God, the god of Abraham, Yahweh.

I was in Carpenteria with my family for the weekend, my great aunt has a place right there near the beach. It was Saturday night when I realized I didn't have my teddy bear. I had had him forever, he had one eye, he was white and his name was Snowy. I took him everywhere. Until one day I lost him, somewhere. I looked everywhere for that bear and I couldn't find him. I was in tears, my family looked everywhere my dad was asking people on the street if they had seen him. Nobody had.

It got to be saturday night, the last night we would stay there before returning home. With nowhere else to turn, and as a last resort, I turned to Yahweh for help. I told him that I realized I hadn't been a very good christian. I skipped out of church whenever possible and seemed to only go for the doughnuts, which were delicious, and I didn't seem to spend much time thinking about Him or doing anything to spread his word and stuff. But, I told him, if he would let me find Snowy, or remember where I had put him, I would be the greatest christian He had ever seen. There would be no end to the wonderful things I would do for him. And it was then with the hot tears streaming down my face soaking my pillow that I prayed myself to sleep repeating the words, "Please let me find him, please let me find him."

The next day I still couldn't find him and we had to go home. I looked up to the sky--for every seven year old boy knows precisely where God sits to ruin your day--and said, "Thanks for nothing jerk-face. It would have been so easy for you to let me find Snowy. I wasn't kidding about before, this will be the last time I talk to you." And I remember feeling so much anger. I wanted to do to Yahweh the worst thing that I knew how to do, the worst thing that any human could do. I waited for the moment when no one was watching and I flung my little arm into the sky and flipped Yahweh the bird.

For years I probably still believed in Yahweh enough to hate his guts while waiting for snowy to turn up. It wasn't until I was about fourteen or so that I came to understand that none of the mythic traditions of the religions of the world or of history were true. I realized it was silly to be mad at an imaginary figure and stopped. Then I started learning about what we know and what we don't, and found that science was responsible for so much and that religion tried to compete with that as though it were on equal or better footing. This made me mad on account of the unfairness of it all and I read a great deal about all sorts of subjects, while religion continued to claim the wonders by saying in essence, "wow, science, isn't that extraordinary? God is more complicated than we thought."

After reading the book of Job I see that this would be my own personal Job story; Satan made a wager with Yahweh that if you took his Snowy away and ruined his day, he would curse you, and Yaweh, ever the sucker, said, "You're on." And Satan won, although since Yahweh knows everything he would have known that I would curse him and he wouldn't have taken the bet, which makes Satan the fool for betting with a guy that knows the outcome ahead of time.

Anyway, that's how it happened. I wish I had a better ending for you, but I don't.

I wonder what would happen if on my death bed someone brought my Snowy to me? Now that would blow my skull.

Catching Fireflies 101

Ten minutes here we go. Yesterday I caught fireflies for the first time ever in my life. I wanted to write a dedicated piece about the experience, but I don't know when I'd get to it. I' guess I'll do it now, no reason not to.

To catch fireflies you need two people; one person to catch 'em and on person to hold the jar that holds 'em. The second person has the harder job, I think, because the fireflies like to climb straight up and you got to shake or tap the jar until they fall off the walls. Then you can pop the top and dump the new bug in and carefully seal it to make sure you don't crush any sneakers that got by you.

First person is the firefly hunter and has to be able to see them when they aren't lit up. They move away from you if you approach too fast. From twenty feet away or so they dart left or right quickly, but if you calmly walk up to them you can catch them quite easily. The firefly's favored means of escape is to slowly and steadily fly straight up. All you do is walk to them and extend your hand under them and raise your hand, scooping them right out of the air. Than you gently close your hand so as not to crush them and go to person number two who taps the jar, pops the top while you open your hand and shake the firefly into the jar.

After you catch a bunch--we caught 50ish--you take the jar to the basement and turn out the lights to watch them light up the darkness. The 'fire' of these fireflies are a neon yellowish green, it really stands out. After your eyes have adjusted to the darkness of the basement you will find the light of a firefly is almost blinding. When they light up.

But between the intermittent neon flashes there is a time when the fireflies climb all over the inside of the jar while their butts aglow like little neon embers, it is really faint--like a distant star, if you look right at it sometimes you can't see it, but if you look away you can. In the darkness all you can see is the bug butts neon glow randomly walking around, sometimes together sometimes not, all over the place, like bioluminescent deep sea jellyfish drifting in twisting currents.

They looked like stars to me, stars twisting into galaxies, galaxies drifting across the cosmos with the occasional neon-supernova flash.

I wanted to take a picture or a video, to show people--you, friends, family, the world--this amazing thing. But the camera's back lit display polluted the darkness with its piercing light, drowning out the soft glow of the fireflies. I tried to cover it with my hand, and succeeded in trapping the light pollution, but the camera wasn't sensitive enough to catch those minuscule embers.

It reminded me of something my dad said to me once. He use to photograph lots of stuff until one day he suddenly stopped. Didn't even bring his camera to the family summer trips anymore. Now you can't even get him to take a picture. I asked him why.

He said, "I find that I focus on getting the picture just right, but overlook the experience, the people around me, all of it. When I get home and we are talking about our memories, It's like I wasn't there; my memories are of lining up the perfect shot. I decided it's better to see it with your eyes around the people you love than through a lens, oblivious." Or something like that. Ever since then it has been something that I am aware of, taking pictures or experiencing things fully.

After watching those bugs crawl around that jar in the darkness with my favorite person I felt really happy and thought I'd share it with you. I don't think I will ever forget those little guys crawling around the inside of the jar in the darkness.

After we were done we let them go. Outside we popped the top off the jar.

I wanted them to escape from the jar in a geyser of neon yellow lights like a violent quasar, happy to be free and fill the night with their fire.

But they climbed to the top and took flight one by one--no swarm, no geyser, no lighting up. Simply flying away into the night, invisible. Somehow, it was better that way.

The Great State Rivalry part 1

I dislike the frequency with which I write here, to that end I want to write at least 10 minutes, non-stop a day, everyday. It should be easy, you know? Like just 10 minutes, anyone could do that.

Loo keeps me pretty busy. we have a lot of fun and do lots of things. We went to the great bear music festival for a day, which was all folk music and fun, more fun than I thought. I think that is one of the reasons I like Loo so much is she pulls me out of my shell so to speak and gets me to go to things I would never go to on my own.

have I told you about the state rivalry? People here, some people I should say, have this inferiority/superiority complex about the state of Michigan being cooler than California. I can tell how effective that is because it hardly phases me. The way it usually happens is my manager at work will randomly walk up to me and say, "Hey California," which is my nickname because of the many like named people, we have two Ryans, a Brian and a Ben. From across the backroom , amidst the blasting of air tools and hoses those names all sound alike. The Manager likes to give orders to everyone at the same time and it gets confusing, so they call me California.

"Hey California, did you know our asparagus is the best in the nation? Way better than California's asparagus."

And then I said, "I was unaware California even made asparagus. Besides I personally don't like that so I don't really care."

"Oh yeah, our asparagus is amazing. You know what else is amazing?"

"No."

"Our strawberries here are way better than California's strawberries," he said. Now the gauntlet had been thrown down. I have been going to the Oxnard strawberry festival for years, and most of the strawberries that are made for the USA are made right there in Oxnard. I figured I knew a thing or two about what a good strawberry tastes like.

"I don't know about that, our strawberries are very tasty."

"Well, ours are better. Have you ever tried one?"

"No. Have you ever had a California strawberry?"

"Yeah in the store. The taste doesn't compare."

"You can't compare farm-fresh to store-bought."

"Our strawberries are very small, like a raspberry and full of juice. The juiciest thing you've ever tasted. In a couple months it will be the season and you can try some Michigan strawberries and judge for yourself."

"Looking forward to it."

That was a month ago or so. I went to a pick-them-yourself strawberry field out here in Michigan with Loo and her mom. All the while being told how our California strawberries don't compare to Michigan strawberries by every Michiginian who heard about the rivalry. I get to picking, and it reminded me of picking strawberries with mi amigo hispano hablante, or my Spanish speaking friend. I picked strawberries to see what it was like. He picked like ten times as many as I did, but it was tough work.

Michiginian strawberries are quite small, some of them are the size of raspberries, but most are twice that, or five times smaller than your standard California strawberry, which are quite large. We picked about 2 pounds worth of these berries. I don't remember what we paid, but we loaded up the car and headed back.

The conversation shifted between answering 4th grade brain teaser car game questions and inquiries about what would happen when the Michiginian strawberries trump the strawberries of my home in terms of flavor, juiciness and texture.

As we approach home people are getting excited. When we arrive home everyone is focused on getting the strawberries prepped at the expense of everything else, like unloading other groceries, which I did.

When I entered the house everyone was gathered around the sink washing strawberries off. Once that was done they placed the strawberry in their open mouths and bit down. Then they rolled their eyes and made moaning sounds, followed by, "Oh, Brian you have to try this!" And, "Oh these are delicious," and "Just when I think they can't get any better..."

I washed the strawberry off, opened my mind to the possibility of tastier strawberries than home, waited for my objectivity to emerge, closed my eyes, and plunked the berry into my mouth. I bit down.

The berry gushed its juices into my mouth, far more than I expected or was accustomed to, some of the juice leaked between my lips, down my chin, across my throat and into the collar of my shirt. As my teeth passed through the flesh more juice arrived and splashed all over my tongue. I felt the flesh and skin and seeds wedge between my teeth. The juice was unsweetened, and for lack of a better word, blandish. I chewed it up and swallowed it feeling that familiar strawberry aftertaste on the end of my tongue.

"I'm not impressed," I said.

"Well, you probably picked a bad one," Loo's mom said.

"Do me the favor of selecting a good one for me, please," I said.

In a concerted group effort the Michigan team rooted around the two pounds of strawberries to find the best of the bunch, the one strawberry that would prove, irrevocably, the dominance of Michigan strawberries over California's strawberries. Someone picked a berry up for the other to study while they kept rooting for a better one. Once that was done a second berry was held up against the first. Some silent deliberation ensued before they all agreed that this one berry was the quintessential Michigan Strawberry.

They gave it to me as though it was a ruby. I took it and repeated the same procedure as above. I closed my eyes, cleared my mind, sunk my teeth into it and felt that unfamiliar juice gush out into my mouth and splash onto my tongue. This one was a little sweeter, I could taste it. It was a tasty berry, but there wasn't much to it--one bite and it was gone.

"That one was alright," I said.

"This was a bad batch," Loo's mom said and than frowned.

"Yeah," they all agreed. I repressed a smile about how quickly it had changed from "these are AMAZING," to, "this was a bad batch."

Maybe it's true that these berries were a bad batch, but we picked them right out of the ground from a bonafide strawberry patch in Michigan.

The Mi. berry was juicier, and smaller, but not as firm or as sweet as the giant Ca. berries which can sometimes take three or more bites to devour. So I'm going to keep an open mind, but for this round the score is California strawberry: 1 Michigan strawberry: 0

Besides this state rivalry thing has the added bonus of people trying all kinds of tasty strawberry desserts and treats on me. I have had strawberry shortcake, strawberry pie, strawberry medley and etc. Remember that the next time a situation like this presents itself. You could go along with it and say, "Yummy!" or you could build the tension with a "that's alright I guess." and get them to try to convince you otherwise. Tasty desserts could follow.

Make Art not War

Ever since the international community signed the Make Art Not War proposal one year ago intense socio-economic-political strife has ensued and today is no different.

Political tensions reached their breaking point yesterday between Ireland and England involving a tax dispute on Irish goods. “You can’t do that and not expect a reprisal,” said Sarah McConnell, 35 of Ireland, “Our boys and girls are ready to kill.” The boys and girls to whom she is referring are of course the Irish River Dancing Armada.

British PM Alistair Moline didn’t seem worried. “While the IRDA possess some skill in dancing with the lower half of their bodies, our boys and girls have mastered both the upper and lower halves. It doesn’t seem fair to have a dance-off competition against them.”

The dance-off will take place today at 6pm in a neutral arena created for these kinds of disputes. Ingrid Balantino of Julliard School and Fajkidf Ingstörolm of The Helsinki School will judge. Both professors have over a century of dance experience combined.

In other news the United Legion of Artistic Nations is meeting again today to discuss the many problems associated with the Make Art Not War proposal.

“Third world countries are ill suited to participate in the MANWP as a proper education and the study of art is not offered, but of course neither is a regular education, fresh water or food,” said German sociologist Joseph Kann in a statement yesterday. “Art is a luxury and one the people of the third world cannot afford. And studies have shown that western and eastern audience are enjoying tribal dance less and less, especially when in competition with B-boys, jazz and Ballet. The dances are unique to each tribe. Finding knowledgeable impartial judges for each dance is impossible. They will never be able to compete against the west, and will continue to fall behind.”

That hasn’t stopped Florida resident Jim Smithers from teaching the art of mime to the third world countries pro bono in an attempt to put them on an even playing field with the other nations in regards to the performing arts.

“It feels good to finally use my art for something good, like some humanitarian purposes,” Smithers says. “Already some great talent has taken my craft and used it to resolve land disputes in northern Kenya.”

When asked about how his Ugandan Mime Troupe would fare against South Africa’s Shakespeare Brigade at the ULAN conference next month he smiled and said, “They’ll need more than Ole’ Yorrick this year if they expect to win.”

***

In the US frustration mounts as giant banking firm Goldman Sachs uses Ingrid Gulen to lobby their case for congress. Ingrid is well known to have no American rival in the art of interpretive dance. Her motions have swayed congressional opinion in favor of Goldman’s recent proposals.

“It isn’t fair,” Senator Joe Binder (R-Texas) said. “A regular person can’t afford the skills of such an artist, only a major banking firm can put Ingrid [expletive] Gulen on their payroll.”

When asked about the banking firm’s arrangement with her Ingrid Gulen said, “For the first time ever I can completely devote myself to my craft, my art, my love and put food on the table for my family without the need of two other jobs. That has never happened before. I don’t intend to walk away from this.”

***

Federico Guzman de Capistraño the world famous expressionist painter was found dead in his mansion on the edge of Nice in the French Riviera last Friday. The autopsy revealed trace amounts of TXX in his system, TXX is a neurotoxin found in the puffer fish. Friends of Federico maintain that he hated fish with a passion and would not have eaten the famous sushi dish ‘Fugu’ while on holiday in Japan. Strangely his last painting depicted Fugu in its various sushi arrangements.

“I bet you anything the Russian’s killed him,” said Sebastion Miguel de Fuerza, a neighbor of Federico. “Everyone knew he had a ULAN commission to resolve a territorial petroleum dispute between Russia and Kazakhstan.”

The Kazakh ambassador made a statement over many of the allegations.

“The world grieves for the loss of such a talented artist, and while it is true that we had commissioned him through ULAN to resolve our dispute with Russia it is unfair to our northern neighbors to allege such a heinous crime was their doing.” When I asked him one on one about the chances of a favorable outcome for the dispute he simply sighed before saying he had no comment.

***

The Rust Belt continues to rust as more military technology is piled upon it. Battleships, fighter jets, tanks and cargo trucks sit in the humid sun and rust away by the ton. Environmental scientists are worried about the long-term effects of leaving eighty square miles of rusting metal open to the environment. They have already measured an increase in ozone and iron oxide in the atmosphere and so much metal in one area has created a hot pocket that is affecting global weather patterns, notably above Canada, which asked politely for the Rust Belt to be relocated further from their borders.

***

The ULAN Graphic Art Summit had to be postponed on account of technical difficulties. It will resume tomorrow at seven eastern standard time.

Therapy

...By the sword in my hand
I will conquer the land...(Tyr)

Its been too long, again. Seems like I can't keep this going everyday. I really need to do that, it feels therapeutic.

I talked to my best friend Mike last night. It felt really good. I feel out of sorts in this state with all its religiosity and ignorance, not to say my state is any better, it's just that back home I am use to talking with really smart people. My family is smart, my brother might be the smartest guy I know, my dad didn't go to college but his mind is sharp and he can follow what kev and I talk about and my mom is smart too.

A great example of the diffference is like how one time about a week ago Gammy asked why the corn on the cob she bought is so sweet, she didn't remember it being that sweet years ago. I knew the answer--oh that reminds me I don't think I am that smart myself, I just remeber smart things, in this case my bro and Mike talked about this and I commited it to memory--And I told her that a few years ago agricultural scientists modified the genes of corn to develope a third sweetness gene, making corn sweeter.

I might as have been talking about seamonsters. Nobody at the table believed me. So I asked them if they thought the corn they have now is the same the Aztecs used 3000 years ago. They said sure, why not. I had to explain to them corn or Maize was originally a grass that prehistoric people of MesoAmerica cultivated some 12,000 years ago. Through years of selective breeding they developed a plant that had larger and tastier parts until gene modification technology was created to change individual genes in a plant, rather than the all new genes you get from cross breeding. It doesn't matter. What ever, they didn't know and thought I was making it up. Back home they know that, and if they didn't they'd believe me and mike and my bro would back me up. I guess I'm not accustomed to people not believing me. I didn't know that about myself, as though I need the social acceptance. Why is that? I just need to be the smart guy I guess. But I usually don't like to be the smart guy.

I went to church yesterday with Loo. We have an arrangement, I go with her so she doesn't go alone and I hold the book, the singing book, whatever it is called. All I have to do is show up and hold the book, no more. There were times she wanted to go to church functions or 'help the homeless,' which meant evangelizing to them, rather than helping them. And she said I should help the people. I said trying to guilt them into joining the church is not help. I think help should be given without strings. If you want to help the homeless find a shelter that isn't owned by a church and volunteer to feed people. But see, nobody wants to do that because they wont get credit for it. People want credit for doing something good. I think doing something good is the reward and I don't want credit, at least not the ostentatious credit people seem to need. They get there name on a list that goes in the paper with letters from homeless people thanking people by name. Meanwhile the homeless stay in the shelter.

What am I talking about? I guess its pretty random, pero asi es la vida.

My brain jumps around randomly, or at seeming randomness.

Did you know there isn't a shred of evidence for the Jewish Exodus out of Egypt? 400,000 slaves wandered the desert for 40 years and didn't leave a trace of any evidence they were ever there. Israeli archeologists have had to admit as much, which was poorly publicized. If it were known by the majority of people that there is no evidence for an important biblical story such as Exodus it might force them to confront the reality that there wasn't a Jewish exodus, that the whole story was fabricated.

Why?

That's the question I want to know, although I can hazard a guess from my understanding of ancient history. Jerusalem was ruled by a pathetic group of people that repeatedly lost many wars against powerful enemies, namely against Sargon of Akkad. Babylon, Sumeria, Nubia and Egypt knew about each other--and traded often-- as well as the "violent death cult to the north" (Jerusalem). IT is quite possible that because Jerusalem failed to have an empire, or any amount of success it resented those other kingdoms that didn't fail. Perhaps that would explain how the biblical account of ancient history has little to do with actual ancient history as we know it today. Perhaps that explains why the bible talks of destroying Babylon, Sumeria, Egypt and Nubia through plagues, prophets and the like. Whereas the reality is much different and those places are still here, meaning they couldn't have been destroyed.

I can see it now, see them sitting down fabricating stories of victory in war, and the oral tradition passing that on until the battles become wars, tribes become empires and Jerusalem, with the creator of the universe on their side, beats everyone with his magical powers.

I can't believe people still believe that story. It seems an obvious farce.

Sam Harris said, "An atheist is no more than someone who has listened to the claims of religion, read the Bible and found the claim ridiculous."

breakfast rant

I suggested Loo and I take her dad out to breakfast this morning.

I regret that now. He is a religious wacko. Every world event goes right back to the bible. The peace flotilla and the gaza strip? Yeah, God says 927 times in the bible that the jews shall have their own state, sorry Palestine, God has decided where the jews shall be, in his role as an omniscient real estate broker.

"God gave them their own state," he said.

"You mean the British gave them their own state right after world war II, right?"

He closed his eyes and shook his head, body language clearly saying no, brian, you don't understand, you are full of it, and mistaken. Like a child stuffing his fingers in his ears and yelling, "nah nah nah nah nah" so he can't hear anything you say.




(I don't even want to recall the conversation I am so angry. He is a grown man using the tactics of children. He wouldn't listen, couldn't listen. He lives in a fairytale world of biblical prophecy, angels, demons, and Satan's influence. He thinks everything is progressing to the end times, and he is looking forward to the rapture, talks about it everyday. You know that magic time when the best thing that could ever happen happens: Jesus returns to earth for the second time and takes with him all the good Christians and leaves behind the sinners who will rot in a literal hell on earth covered in boils. It's ugly. It's an ugly belief I can't imagine living in a world where that is your reality. That you look forward to it.

Why isn't it clear to people that this particular world view is caustic to everyone here? The current world doesn't matter, it's the afterlife that matters. Here is where atheism can feel like a religion to the religious because most atheists do not agree on their point. Most atheists believe this is the only life you get, and in it you should do well for yourself and others. Most Christians believe you have a soul that is eternal that lives on after you body dies, and if you promise to believe in The holy trinity that soul lives on in paradise. Is it really a surprise these world views are at odds with one another? One thinks this is the life that matters, the other thinks that it doesn't matter. Real world data shows that the most nonreligious countries are the most generous to others during pain and suffering. Not the religious countries. All this talk of loving your neighbor and doing good for others is just that, talk. What's the point in helping people live good lives, when you believe that as long as they accept jesus as their personal savior they will go to heaven, live in a paradise without hunger or pain?

Genocides, wars and etc. gives the Pious thoughts of good Christian souls drifting to heaven to be in a better place, rather than the reality of the gruesome death they actually received. No more and no less, the end of their individuality, the likes of which will never exist again.)

Some jewels from her pops during breakfast:

Obama makes bad decisions because of Satan's influence, didn't you know? he is surrounded by radicals who want him to be in charge of the world government, all of whom are influenced by Satan. If he had asked me what I thought of all that...

(They have a saying about my family, "Be careful what you ask [that family/person in that family] because they WILL tell you.")

If he asked me I would have told him what I thought. I think he is delusional. And I would have gone from there, but he didn't ask me. He had no need to do so. He knows what he believes and it is irrelevant what anyone else believes. The Bible says its true, so it is. You can't talk to people like that.

But I did anyway and used his twisted delusions to wrap him up into a neat little bow before dropping him off at his house.

He said, "Satan uses his influence to affect people on the surface."

"Didn't the book of Job show plainly that Satan is a powerless figure? He has to ask God permission to afflict Job. How is it that he has any influence at all without God's express permission?"

"Everything he does fits into God's plan--"

"--So he is using Satan to accomplish His plan."

"Absolutely."

"So what is the point in fighting Satan's influence if everything he does is according to His plan? In fighting Satan's influence you fight God's plan. Are you aware of this?"

"Uhmm..."

End

ps: It makes me mad that it makes me mad. It shouldn't make me this mad, you know? But it does. I think if he were a stranger I could have brushed him off like a delusional lunatic, put him in his place. I have no respect for people like that. But it was Loo's dad. I had to bite my tongue, and all attempts to have a rational discussion failed.

There are a lot of Christians here, lots of religiosity, no place of mine feels safe from their influence. It gets to me, you know? I need my own space, a little bubble of rationality. I can't get it here. And some times I have to blow off steam, so realize this was written in anger and try not to read too deeply into it.

I feel like I have to say something inflammatory here. Add a cherry to this rant-sundae.

Your religion is only real in your head, please keep it there.

Updates

I wanted to get all of these out as a kind of individual blog post but I feel blogged down, so they are all going here. I am also tired so I dont know how far I'll get.

Since I moved to this state I have been living in Loo's Mother's basement like a troll. Two weeks ago Loo's sister AKA BeanBall, moved to her bf's house in Colorado. I quickly wrapped my troll tendrils around that room and made it my own. I now live on the surface, rather than under ground. Its nice, although different. The seasons have switched now from cold to warm and the basement is much cooler than the surface. I may have to return to my troll cave to beat the heat of the hotter days.

A side effect of being on the surface is more interaction with Loo's mother. She is really starting to bug me. Everything she says ends with a higher-pitched emphasis on the last word, which make everything sound like a question. She also tilts her head a lot making it seem like a question when it really isn't. The statement, "I'm going to get my keys now," becomes, "I'm going to gt my keys now [head tilt]." She also has this distant spacey look. It's hard to describe. It's as though the last word confuses her. There is a bunch more that she does, but I dont want to sound petty. Suffice it to say she has some idiosyncrasies and some psychological things going on with her that make interaction with her awkward.

Loo and I got a Lizard. He is about 4-5 months old, about a foot long and weighs about a pound. He is a savanna monitor, an intelligent lizard from Sub Saharan Africa. He will grow to be about four feet long and weigh 35 pounds. He eats crickets now and once a week he gets a mouse.

I read a cool book called God is Dead, a fiction story about what would happen if humanity was presented with undeniable proof that God had died. Everything falls apart in interesting ways, and some things stay together and get better, new jobs open up, new trends replace god and so on. A good quick read. I read it in a day. I recommend it.

TEDtalks is a free thing on the interweb where important people talk about the most important thing in their lives, kinda like campfire stories. I just watched a lady who was a neuro-anatomist that had a stroke and new what was happening to her and what was going to happen to her and describes what precisely was going on inside her skull and how it manifested itself in her visible world. For example she knew she was in trouble so she picked up the phone, but she could not remember what the numbers were or how to count, or read or speak.

I recently been on a volcano kick, and found the climate event that almost wiped humans out ~70k years ago. I heard about the event but never heard what caused it. A super volcano in Sumatra named Toba blew up, it was the worst volcanic explosion in the last 25 million years. It put hundreds of cubic MILES of stuff (ash, sulfuric acid, etc) in the air that drifted around in the atmosphere in a western fashion wiping out all kinds of animals including us. Our population dropped down to about 1000 mating pairs in Africa 70k years ago. That is a small gene pool and explains why we currently have lots of genetic disorders, like cancer, tumors and etc, the gene pool was small, lots of inbred ancestors. Huh. That explains a lot.

I am not religious in the slightest, but Loo is and I have been going to church with her to spend time with her because she doesn't want to go alone, and I dont want her to be sad. I dislike church a lot, but I love Loo, so I continue to go. She believes in God and I do not. People think that is weird, "Like, how can you two be around each other with such divergent belief systems??" Easy, she is cute as hell (as well as funny, smart and good to me) and I am funny looking (and smart I guess, there might be more but you'd have to ask her) and we enjoy each others company. The other day, quite randomly, I asked her what she thought about human evolution. She didn't get it, "how we changed from whatever to whatever to get here. I also dont understand how it all started with one single celled organism." But it turns out she was ok with the other stuff, everything in between. This is a popular christian argument I am very familiar with, it basically says there is a micro evolution and a macro evolution but they only believe in the micro one. But she didn't say she didn't believe, she said she didn't understand. It is my job to educate her. I'd be sad if she didn't believe in evolution. Its an obvious truth that is taken for granted, to ignore it is to ignore gravity.

Sleepy time

To the Cottage: Take a drink

At the cottage now. The water here has to run a while before you can use it. When you turn the faucet on in the kitchen the pungent bite of sulfur assaults your nose like a nail gun put one through your nostrils. It was as though someone ate a bunch of eggs and let one loose in your face. I was thirsty, but not that thirsty.

***

This morning I took a shower, the shower smelled the strongest sulfur I have ever smelled. It reminded me of Bumpass Hell trail in Lassen National Park, where there are all those steaming yellow sulfur vents. I wanted to take a shower, but I didn’t want to smell like an eggy-fart incarnate all day. So I waited for the smell to die down. Loo scolded me for wasting water here, of all places, and I jumped in the shower when it was the least egg fart smelling.

Everyone else thought that I was in the bathroom stinking up the place because of the smells that leaked under the door. They tried not to bring it up for awhile but finally Loo had to ask if everything was OK with me intestinally this morning.

“It was the shower. It has that sulfur smell, got to let the water run awhile to clear it.” They agreed it was a strong smell. I wasn't sure if they believed me or not, but I didn't say anything more.

***

I took a nap and after I woke up I started writing in my own room. Loo just came in here and started punching me in the spine, starved for attention. All I do is be grumpy and be anti-social she says. I thought about it, how I look to her right now, in my room typing alone. Maybe I am being anti social now, but she was text messaging people for a long stretch of time, so I left to write.

“What are you writing about?” she asked.

“Here, the cottage, the trip. I wrote about dandelions, and Coyles, and the sulfur shower.”

“Dear Diary, Beyo here, yesterday I walked into the cottage and looked at the ceiling, it was white. The end. I mean, what could you write about? We haven’t done anything yet.”

“I never been here before, there is plenty to write about.”

“Nobody is going to want you to review their food or hotels or anything.”

“Why is that?”

“Cause you’re painting a negative picture of the place, the cottage is cool.”

“How cool is the sulfur shower?”

“You could say it has a fresh mineral water feel.”

“That smells like the eggy farts of a hundred dudes trapped in a sauna?”

“Leave that part out, and maybe put a positive spin on it, even if it was bad.”

“Like ‘the sweet fragrance of sulfur greets you in the shower,’ something like that? Stop punching me in the spine.” She started punching me in the shoulder.

“No, sulfur stinks.”

“Yeah. I know. Can you stop punching me, please?”

“You don’t do anything.”

“I'm not your monkey. Stop punching or I’ll punch you back.” She didn’t stop. So I punched her in the leg.

“Why do you got to punch so hard!?”

“Told you to stop,” I said. She left. I felt like an idiot. Way to be the adult Brian.

***

After we made up, and I gave her a massage to make up for the punch we went for a walk. I got very tired suddenly and we had to go back and I fell asleep within a minute of me walking inside the cottage. I slept for a couple hours. The kayaking for six hours must have tired me out.

I eased into consciousness slowly and gradually I became aware of doors opening and closing.

"I don't know Gammy, where did you have it last?"

"I don't know Laura."

"Did you leave it at the Kayak guy's office?"

"Oh Goll. I just dont know," she said. Her phone rang, it was Ma, Loo's mom and Gammy's daughter. Gammy explained how she lost her check book, misplaced it, and was just beside herself about what to do. Loo and Ma offered suggestion after suggestion. Call the places you used your check book at, ask the kayak man, check the car, retrace your steps. I was unaware that she had been searching for it for the last two hours.

I took my time waking up, stretching, and finally getting up. I wasn't that excited to make my awareness known to her lest she make me search for it too. I walked out my room, too fast, and got lightheaded and saw black. I leaned against a wall and waited for my vision to come back before I felt thirsty and wanted a little bottle of water--that is to say a bottle of water that didn't come from the cottage, water that smelled and tasted like eggy fart.

I walked into the sun room and grabbed a water. On the ground next to the water was a checkbook. I picked it up and walked over to Gammy's room. As I wiped sleep from my eyes I handed her the check book.

"Is this yours?" I asked.

"Never mind Ma, Bear found it," Loo said and hung up the phone.

"Where did you find that!?" Gammy asked, her eyes locked on the checkbook.

"In the sun room," I said and drank some water. She took the checkbook and hugged me. I hugged her back and she hugged me harder. Then she stopped and placed a hand on my right arm above the elbow and stepped back.

"You help me out so much," she said with quivering lips and tear filled eyes, "thank you. Truly."

"You are welcome," I said surprised by her tears.

"You fixed the cottage door, and the screen [I forgot to mention that, pretend I told you that earlier] and now this. Thank you."

"My pleasure. I'm sorry I didn't wake up sooner, I could have saved you some time and stress," I said and I meant that. She smiled, teared up more, gave my arm a final squeeze and mouthed a silent thank you before leaving. After saying the wrong thing to her all the time I had finally said the right thing.

"Nice job Bear, she was flipping out so bad I think I was losing MY mind."

"You're welcome."

"This will endear her to you now, you know."

"It's about time. I was getting tired of messing up every one of her games and saying the wrong things. You think she'll let us stay in the same room now?"

"Are you kidding? Not a chance."

"So we better leave now and pretend to be platonic while under her gaze."

"Yeah, gimme hug and then scram. No funny business now."

"Kay," I said. I hugged her. She grabbed my butt and gave it a squeeze before laughing maniacally.

"Ahh Loo, how I love you."