One Icy Good Concoction

Next on the alphabetical list: snowballs.

I'm not talking about the confection mass produced by those sugar mongers at Hostess. Those are Snoballs, anyway.

I'm not talking snow cones, though that's close. They don't crush the ice finely enough. Wikipedia tries to front that they're the same thing, and that we call them snowballs instead of snow cones in Maryland...but that's bunk. I've had both, they're different, beyond the fact that snow cones come in those crappy paper cones. The picture is labeled snow cone, and it's somewhat in between both. In a cup, but the ice isn't quite crushed enough.

The closest thing outside of the the Delmarvan area that I've heard of is New Orleans. They use shaved ice, though.

Anyway, for those of the uninitiated...cheap and good stuff here. Get yourself a cup of varying size. Fill it with finely crushed ice. Add flavored syrup. Optionally add some toppings (usually marshmallow creme in my neck of the woods), take spoon, shovel in to mouth, repeat.

They're all over the place around here. I can easily name 5 stands within spitting distance. And I bet you that at least a few of them have "custom flavors" named after whatever kids like right now (like Spider-Man and SpongeBob. Like purple popsicles...they taste like their color...).

The best one by far is sold at a place that also sells bushels of crabs when they're running heavy. I've never known it to have a name, though Ben assured me years ago that they're called "Mom's." I'll take his word for it.

If you ever get by this way, spend the pennies on the dollar (larges are usually 2-3 dollars, tops, and that's with marshmallow) and enjoy one. In fact, I've got the space today, as soon as I post this, I'm goin' round to Mom's or whatever it's called. Sugar free egg custard with marshmallow is calling my name.

Go Bang On Somewhere Else's Door

I got two things for you all today. In the interest of fairness, I'll go in alphabetical order. So, our first topic for discussion (and by discussion I mean my father's idea of discussion: I talk, you listen): religion.

Or more specifically, people who break George Carlin's most important revised commandment: Thy must keep thy religion to thyself.

I see religion, personally, the same way I see reality TV. Lots of people seem to enjoy it, but ultimately it's not for me. That's not to say I'm a complete barbarian. Only a small one. I think religion has a lot of great ideas. Where it goes wrong is the small percentage of people who find those teachings rather convenient. But that's not really what I want to talk about.

As I was maxin' and relaxin on my day off (I've got a double tomorrow), I was brought out of my reverie by a rap rap rappin' upon my chamber door. Alas, not a raven. As I tried to keep Elmo back, I opened the door to a nice older lady, who introduced herself. She then introduced her associate, who I had not seen up to that point. Her associate was clutching a bible to her chest. Danger, Will Robinson. Door to Door religion salesperson! She asked me my name. You'll excuse my curtness, but I gave her my Indian name of "Not Interested," and closed the door before Elmo could get to them.

(By the way, I'm sure this will be way up there on the things Deborah Gamble disagrees with me on. Of course, that's not hard, but at least we're friendly with each other!)

With the very notable exception of killing in the name of God, people who go door to door to "spread the gospel" ranks at the very top of my problems with religion. I can't abide it. And I can't even really explain my problem with it.

Possibly it has to do with that born-again nutjob that stopped my friend and me on the sidewalk when I was about 12 and wouldn't let us disengage the conversation. That kind of freaked me out. My mother thinks my problem with religion may stem from a bad experience at Sunday School when I was a wee nip. If that's the case, I've definitely repressed that memory. I do remember asking to not go to church again.

Oh well, either way, I simply wish people would stop trying to force God...or any deity...down my throat. If I'm ever to "find religion" I will do it the same way I've done pretty much everything in my life. On my own terms. I don't try to convert you to my philosophy, so I'll thank you to extend me the same courtesy.

On Facial Hair

For more than ten years now, I've very rarely gone without some sort of facial hair. Usually a Van Dyke (moustache and goatee), followed by a full beard. For a bit there I had only a goatee. But generally, always chin hair. I have to hide that double chin somehow (thanks awfully Mom, you coulda kept that on your side of your family). Plus, as someone told me once, some people simply look better with facial hair. Guess that'd be me.

I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe it's the facial structure. Maybe it's the eyebrows. They're thick. Like, I've used them as blunt objects in a pinch before...thick. So thick that a dude working that Star Trek video thing in Universal Studios Orlando sort of mocked them when I did that back in high school (I was gonna be the Vulcan and he was going to make my eyebrows more Vulcan like...except he didn't really have to...and he made sure to say it loud enough for most of the park to hear). Maybe because unlike some of my friends that will remain nameless, I can actually grow facial hair. Who knows. I know my father rocked the 'stache for most of my formative years. Perhaps it's hereditary. Though I doubt I'd rock it like he did. Again...he had a chin. If only I could have inherited his chin instead of his "ability" to sneeze about 6 times in a row.

Why do I mention it? I honestly don't know. Maybe because I was trying to straighten my sideburns earlier and getting frustrated. Or maybe I needed a topic. Who knows.

Tales of My Own Stupidty

So, Copper went and gave me inspirado, so now I feel inclined to share with you one of the dumbest things I ever did...to myself, anyway.

Perhaps you remember how I told you all about that asshole from Archbishop Curley and my subsequent knee injury. No? Refresh yourself here.

Now that you're back, allow me spin you a tale of that same bright (if acne ridden) young face a couple months later. As I said, I eventually had my screwed up knee scoped, or had arthroscopic surgery for the uninitiated. Went like a charm. Doctors even commented afterwards that a good deal of damage had healed by the time they went to clean up the debris.
I had it done outpatient, so as soon as I was mostly lucid, I was outta there. I was wheeled out to my parents mini-van, and the orderly started to help me in to the vehicle. Bah, I said (I don't think I actually said bah), and got in myself, amazed at how little it hurt. Awesome! I went home, and upon the advice of the doctor, and the fact that I really wanted to, I went to sleep.

A few hours later I awoke...and I had to pee like a champ. No sweat. So, I swiveled my legs out of bed, planted, stood...and OH SWEET MOTHER OF MERCY! Down goes Raeke! Down goes Raeke!

Newsflash, smarty pants. You, only hours before, had 3 incisions in to your knee, and a probe inserted inside rooting around. You thought you could walk earlier because you were still mostly anesthetized. Now, you're relatively drug free, and you can't put the least bit of weight on your knee. Now haul yourself back up to the bed, and grab those crutches, dumbass.

Lesson harshly learned.

Though, one of the best feelings of my life was 3 days later when I got the initial dressings taken off for the first time. I've never had a major broken bone, so I'm not positive, but it's probably akin to having a cast taken off. Man, when that air hit my skin...oh lovely. Of course, then I saw how gross my knee was...I mean, it was shaved. I'm a hairy guy, even then. That's my knee in the picture.

I bet you thought I was talking about the surgical incisions. Yeah, those were pretty icky, too, but it was still much weirder seeing only my knee hairless.

Slightly Tapped

Aaaand...I've got nothing. The well is slightly dry at the moment folks, but don't worry, I'm sure I'll be back and better than ever in no time. So, for now, Elmo and Annie, doing their best "evil space alien" impressions. In a rare moment when they're close and Annie isn't swiping Elmo away...

PS...he's yawning.

Roll Call!

Okay, so, my numbers would suggest readers who don't speak up very often. I'd like to get more of an idea of who is reading, so do Uncle Bartie a favor and if you read me, leave a comment for me. Stop your lurking and announce your presence to the woooooorld! And by world I mean this small insignificant corner of the internets.

I Swear It's Chemically Addictive!

Anybody besides me remember the movie So I Married an Axe Murderer? Mike Myers before he got super duper famous...played a couple of roles, like this guy right here, Stuart Mackenzie. Which was basically the "If it's not Scottish it's CRAP!" character from Saturday Night Live, and would eventually be the voice of Shrek. He's milked the hell out of that voice. Anyway, he has a specific rant not too far from the beginning of the movie. He's explaining his conspiracy theory of a group of ultra powerful men...one of which being Colonel Sanders of Kentucky Fried Chicken. His son (also Myers) asks "how can you hate the Colonel?" Stuarts response:

"Because he puts an addictive chemical in his chicken that makes ya crave it fortnightly, smartass!"

I looked for a clip of it, but it wasn't YouTubed...not by itself, anyway.

Why do I bring this up, and what possible context do I present it as?

I present to you Exhibit A:


I swear to you guys...they put addictive chemicals in to this stuff. Don't believe me? Ask The Queen, Jessie. And her mom. Once it hits your stomach, they got ya. You'll be back...and back...and back. We're on a freakin' diet and I know I hit them up at least once a week (though I've found ways to make it a lot less of a dietary nightmare...getting it as a bol (no tortilla) is a huge step in the right direction, as is getting them to go light on the sour cream and cheese).

I'll be going along, doing well, and all of a sudden, it's like "gotta have Chipotle." And I'll try to stop myself. No, you gotta be good, man...no burrito goodness today. But they suck me right back in, every single time...IT'S LIKE SUBURBANITE CRACK! Screw Kryptonite, give Superman some Chipotle, Lex Luthor...then simply wait until his craving overwhelms him to launch your devious plan.

If anyone ever wanted to make a human mouse trap, this stuff would be my cheese. I'd go right up, see all the mechanisms, and still attempt to get at it.

We must storm the gates, my friends. March on your local franchise...but before we knock it down, we gotta stock up...make mine a chicken burrito bol, with tomato salsa, corn, and the green tomatillo...with a smidge of sour cream and cheese.

Oh great. Now the craving is back...they close in 8 minutes...and I'm 20 away...I bet I could make it if I sped and went through every light regardless of color...

Save yourselves!

Note...Chipotle doesn't do it on purpose. And it's not even the best burrito I've eaten. But man alive they are consistent, and I love the versatility.

Do I Gotta?

That scamp Dan tagged me...oh joy! I'll comply, though I really hate sharing "little known things" about myself. For one thing, for you guys, almost everything about me is little known. Secondly, they're little known for a reason. However, I'm not going to tag anybody else in response, mainly because, presently, I have very few active blogger peers who are active enough.

So with very little fanfare and zero more toodoo, or however that's spelled:
1) I can pretty much "crack" every joint on my body, even things you wouldn't think of.
2) I rarely sneeze only once. I probably average 4 at a time. Very scary when driving. One of the few things I inherited from my father that I didn't appreciate.
3) I have hyperlipademia. Basically, my body creates cholesterol no matter what I eat.
4) For the first 4 or 5 years of my life, I had blonde hair. Then very quickly it darkened to a dark brown.
5) I had a lazy googly eye at a young age, and wore corrective lenses for it (and now wear corrective lenses to see, period). When I'm tired, it will still go wonkely on me.
6) Every day, I try to quote a movie or TV show, in or out of context, regardless of whether I think people will pick up the reference.
7) I'm ambidextrous, left hand dominant.

Thank you, I'll be here all week. Remember that the 9:30 show is completely different from the 7:30 show, try the veal.

Darth Vader: Simply an Angry Dude, or Nutjob?

The folks at Wired have this little bon mot for us today. Anakin Skywalker more than likely suffered from multiple personality disorders.

YOU THINK?

You mean to tell me that the guy that choked out pretty much every subordinate he ever had wasn't simply a fetishist?

As interesting as it is, for a Star Wars geek like myself, at the same time, a great big f'n DUH has to be launched in the general direction of these pyscho analysts.

When reached for comment, Vader said "I find your lack of faith disturbing." Or possibly, "You have failed me for the last time."

How I Know God Doesn't Exist:

Have no fear, my God-loving/fearing friends...this post can be filed directly under "humor." Or possibly "garbage."

Because I don't think God would be so cruel as to put our teeth so close to very sensitive areas.

In the past 24 hours, I have managed to bite my inner cheek three times. In the same spot. The last two times within 5 minutes of one another. Ow. Like, times a thousand. OW. I mean, last night it was an inconvenience. An oops, a painful oops, but an oops all the same. This morning, the first time, it was overkill, especially since it was the same exact spot. That third time, though? Yeah, I'm right there with you, Nietzsche: God is SO dead (which reminds me of the "callback" t-shirt...Nietzsche is Dead -God"). Talk about piling it on.

Now, I'm ultra super paranoid about doing it again, since now it's basically an open wound and swollen. That'll probably be a self fulfilling prophecy later tonight.

In other news from the "I can't win" department, I valiantly tried to fix a wheelchair lift this morning only to have it get more screwed up than it was before. Of course, the error is mechanical in nature and stems from a few components getting bent and out of whack, so it was actually sort of a blessing in disguise that my efforts to fix it screwed it up before getting a faculty member stuck inside the lift (the problem, in a nutshell, is that the lower lift door wouldn't open, safety latches that engage when it's in the air weren't disengaging properly), but try telling that to several people above me that know that it worked yesterday, albeit with a little finagling. Though I did try to say, several times, that by all accounts, it would have failed either way.

Well, it still works today...but it's not exactly "safe." It goes up and down and the doors open and close, that's what matters, right? Right.

Note: that picture is pretty much the exact model we have. Which is why having a person getting stuck inside would be a relatively big deal.

Quck Shot: Trivia!

Apparently, more than 10 people are killed a year by vending machines falling on them. So don't shake/kick/look at it funny/sneeze on/etc the vending machine next time it somehow screws up your order. You don't want to be a statistic.

Source: ESPNRadio, Mike and Mike in the Morning.

Simply Enjoy It, Man...

You know what I hate? Well, besides everything. And everyone. And Celine Dion. Besides those things. Have I given you sufficient time to guess? No? Okay, I'll wait.

Ready? Okay. I hate it oh so much when your enjoyment of something is reduced by someone else's over analyzing it. I'm as guilty of this as anybody, but I'm not talking about my side seat critiquing. I'm talking about when a person has become such an expert in something that they forget what the point of whatever it is IS. Movies. Music. Theatre. Paintings. Hell, even wine these days.

You get these people who bleed all the enjoyment out of entertainment with their insistent need to analyze everything to the microscopic. It's all well and good for you to theorize what's in the infamous briefcase in Pulp Fiction. Pondering, in detail, the dance between Travolta and Thurman? You went too far. Especially when they go on and on about it, and someone pipes up with the relevant info that the director themself envisioned it a certain way, usually quite the straight forward one...and this self-proclaimed auteur poo-poos that notion. That's absurdity. That's pissing in to the wind, eating the yellow snow absurdity. Stick a fork in to a power outlet, tickle a bull's nose insanity. I could go on. I'll spare you, though, because I like you. Not you....you. The one behind that other guy over there. Yeah, that's right.

Okay, now I've gone from eccentric to plain ol' cuckoo. Right the ship...back on track...other travel based metaphorical euphemisms for getting re-focused.

Euphemism. That's a funny word. Kinda sounds like positivity for children...

(We apologize folks, it seems rational Bart has left the building...best queue up the signature and ride off in to the proverbial sunset of cyberspace)

Sports Utitlity Vehicle?

More like Stupid Unneeded Vehicle. Here's my Top Ten Reasons Why I'd Really Like To Key Every SUV I See...

10) The first time we heard it uttered, it was by Paul Hogan, thusly extending his post-Crocodile Dundee career longer than really necessary.

9) I hate the names. Escalade, Expedition, Masturbation…oh wait, that’s only what I think one should be called…

8) Parking spaces have shrunk over the years in order to try and fit a few extra spots on the same parcel of land. So the logical thing for us to do is to buy overly large vehicles, right? Especially when half the people with licenses couldn’t park a bicycle straightly.

7) What the heck is a Sports Utility Vehicle, anyway? Exactly, nothing. SUV is a BS term invented by some marketing dude at Subaru because some auto designer couldn’t make up his mind if he wanted to make a station wagon or a mini-van.

6) Speaking of: What the hell was wrong with station wagons and mini-vans? Not a damn thing. Wouldn’t you feel less anger at the SUV driving crowd if they were still driving family oriented vehicles like the station wagon and the mini-van?

5) Honestly now, what percentage of people who own SUV’s are using them as advertised? I’m gonna go out on a limb and say about 1%. Everyone else probably barely takes them off the freeway, let alone off-freaking-road.

4) How big do you need your stupid car to be, anyway? Some of these stupid things are bigger than my house. You have too much car, miss. In fact, if you’re breathing heavy trying to get in to your car…you better be the driver of Bigfoot.

3) You’re paying too much for a vehicle, making it easier for dealerships to jack up the prices on better, more prudent, vehicles. And you’re doing so under false pretenses…safety? Really? Bigger doesn’t automatically mean safer. In fact, with the way most people drive SUV’s, with no CLUE how much space they’re taking up, it’s more dangerous.

2) When I’m making a right hand turn, and there is an SUV making a left, I might as well throw my shifter in to park. BECAUSE I CAN’T SEE AROUND THAT STUPID SUV!

1) Gas is about to hit record highs, even adjusting for inflation. That’s your fault, SUV drivers. You put so many of those stupid gas guzzling pieces of crap on the road, you’re helping the Shells and Amocos of the world justify these prices. How do you figure, Bart? Well, frequency of visits. People are visiting the pumps way more. They’re traveling the same average distance, but with vehicles that suck on gas like Maggie Simpson with a pacifier, the pumps are getting hit harder…I don’t think it’s coincidence at all that Subaru debuted the “first SUV,” the Outback, in the early-mid 90s, and that was the last time gas was at a reasonable price. Chew on that.

Bart's Eye View - Commencement setup Final day

Welp, that's it. We're set, and raring to go for the onslaught of mortarboards, tassels, and hearing Pomp and Circumstance about a thousand times. I'll be back to relatively normal now that we're not working 12 hour days on setups. Hooray.

Here's a shot of the stage from the lighting position. I opened it up a bit to let you see what all is actually there. For comparison I took another shot that shows you exactly what the naked eye sees, which you'll notice is a lot darker. That's lights at what we call "show level." So, naturally the house is a lot darker than the stage, right? Glad we're all on the same page.
I may be back later with some stuff. Or maybe I'll sleep. Who knows, right now it could go either way.

Bart's Eye View: Commencement setup Day 1

I'm hurt. Pulled something in my calf. Not bad, really annoying actually. But the show must go on. Or else about a thousand people who want to symbolically show the world they've got their degrees won't be able to. Oh well, right?

Anyway, here's a shot of about 130 feet of steel truss about 5 minutes before it was flown up to its "home." Keep in mind that about 50 feet to the left is another 130 feet of truss. That's a lot of steel. Also, at the right bottom corner, that's a screen for video projection. So we can see our president sweat under the lights two times a day for three days. We're cruel like that. There's another one way down to the left.

We had a bunch of down time because some of our gear had to be rented, and it wasn't ready for us until later in the day. It made us go a bit loopy. It made me act like a monkey, for instance.

The one on the right...well, my boss decided to take advantage of the situation and he started to take the truss up...whoops.

Also, now debuting my new signature...hooray!

See! I Told You He Wasn't Real!

So, how often in your life has anyone you known copped to this dubious accomplishment:

I was Chuck E Cheese.


Yeah, sorry to destroy the illusion for you. But for a two month span in my 16th year of life, I wore the furry costume and mouse head of the patriarch of that particular pizza selling family. I definitely was in the best shape of my life during that run. You have to be to do costume acting. One, the suit isn't light. And you're expected to always make big movements, and generally have more energy than the Spartan cheerleaders on Red Bull.

Oh, the stories. And I have the yearbook signatures to prove some of them. Like how a group of my classmates came in late night and we put on a "special" performance for them. The yearbook signature there goes something like "because of you I got to 'freak' Chuck E Cheese." That's not dirty, by the way. She just meant dance in that really weird way that I guess was popular in dance clubs in the early 90s.

There was the time when I got knocked out by entirely too clever preteens. They pulled the whole "kneel behind someone, push them over" trick. When I spilled backwards, though, the head piece slammed in to one of those kiddie quarter rides. You know, the ones that move up and down and side to side and are aimed at a toddler. That was enough to knock me out for probably ten seconds. When I came to, it was to the sensation of one of those little stains reaching up in to the head, trying to unclasp the helmet (there is basically a bike helmet in there). I smacked his hand away and stumbled in to the back. Suffice to say, there was a bit more supervision after that for the costume actors.

But, that isn't why I stopped. I stopped for completely selfish reasons.

I stopped because I was sick of getting punched in the junk on a nightly basis.

That might be an exaggeration. But not by much. The preteens, the ones smart enough to know better, always seemed to want to "prove it" to the younger kids. This was what their adolescent brains always came up with. Kick/punch/headbutt Chuck E in the crotch! Of course, the fallacy being that if a 6 foot mouse who stood on his hind legs DID exist, his junk would be there anyway. And let me tell you, there's only so much a cup will do for you, protection wise.

So, I ask those of you with children to make sure you raise them to be good kids, that don't punch Chuck E Cheese in the balls. He might turn out like me later on...nobody wants that. It might also be a female costume actor.

Til' next time, faithful few.

*tap tap* Is this thing on?

Sorry folks. Had a case of the dreaded brick wall-sies. Or, in other words, couldn't think of shit to write.

Finished up an interview not too long ago. That's a really tedious process. This was even more tedious because I was interviewing for, essentially, my own position. And this isn't the first time I've done that. Though it's slightly different this time, because this time it's for a regular position instead of a contractual position. Better benefits and holiday type stuff, really. Not to mention beacoup job security (I'd be an official state employee).

But have you ever thought about what it'd be like to interview for the position you currently hold? Especially when some of the questions that are "mandatory" questions are things like "what do you bring to the table," and "name some things of your current job that would make you a good candidate for this position." Farcical comes to mind, really. But then again, this whole process is kind of farcical. I don't wish to get in to it because this is a very public blog, but I'll mention it's not the ideal situation: one position, two more than qualified individuals already on staff to fill the position. Plus the wild card of a "minimum three candidate" interview process. All in all, not what you want to look for. Last time this happened, my coworker and I were going after the positions we were working as, but as full time contractual employees, and we were two people going after three open positions. That's a whole different monster. This is like a no holds barred fight to the death.

We're about to start commencement season, which means in the very near future you'll probably read much vitriol from me about disrespectful teenagers and how much I hate "Pomp & Circumstance." But you may also see some interesting Bart's Eye Views of the set up process. Two and half weeks of commencements. Yippee.


Til' next time, faithful few.

That's Just...

So, something I learned, and managed to retain, in college (university for you not American folk...though I did go to what you'd call college as well) is that we misuse a word on a daily basis. Not just misuse it, but overuse it. What word is that, you ask?

Just.

I do it too. All the time. Go back and look at my postings here, I've probably done it a dozen or more times. Heck, I did it in that last paragraph (did you notice?) We all do, really. I really try and consciously not do it, especially when I'm "seriously" writing, but it still happens. It's ingrained. In fact, I could have misused it at least two times in this paragraph alone.

Just means fair. Rightful. Lawful. That sort of thing.

It doesn't mean "Only now happpened." As in "Just now." Or "nearly." That just missed. Or only. Just a gigolo. Or a couple of other things.

Actually, it does. But that's the changing lexicon for you. It's been misused for so long now, that the dictionaries are almost forced to let it be acknowledged. But I'm going to be honest with you, it's really kind of sloppy, which is why I try so consciously not to use it.

But that's not the real main reason why I still do it, even though I know that, in actuality, misusing just is fairly acceptable. I do it because focusing on that helps me to maintain focus on word choice as a whole. Word choice is all a writer has, you know? One word can make a sentence pop, or it can cause it to shrivel and wilt the entire sentence. Maybe even an entire paragraph. Word choice is as essential to a writer as individual notes to a piece of music. One out of place note and you are out of key and dissonant. Nobody wants to hear dissonant music (well, that's not entirely true) and nobody wants to read writing with poor word choice.

So, when I focus on making sure that I don't use just unless I'm referring to something right, or lawful, etc, I'm also making sure I focus on everything I say. Words are all I have as a writer. I have to use them well.

In upkeep news, I've added a random quote generator. Should update daily. I only have five quotes at the moment, but I'm going to try to add at least two a day for awhile, and build up the reservoir of other people's words.

Haiku.

Behold! A haiku!
You thought I had forgotten.
Alas, not at all.

Hey! I Know that Guy!

So, in this post from a few weeks back I mentioned seeing Neil Flynn of Scrubs as a bit player in Major League.

Well, it happened again today. Sorta. Watched most of Kingpin this morning before work (where I'm not working right now...heheh). About halfway through, I realize that the really bad actor isn't actually an actor. It's Roger Freakin' Clemens. How I never noticed this before, I don't know, but Roger Freakin' Clemens is in Kingpin!

If you've ever seen the movie, he's the guy who gets pissed off at Ishmael because he's dancing with his girlfriend, to which Roy looks like he's coming to Ishmael's rescue, but his bright idea for getting him out of the jam is to knock Ishmael out himself. I can't find an image of him in the role, but I looked it up just to make sure it wasn't an incredible look alike.

That's all. Wanted to share that little discovery with you.

Til Next Time, Faithful Few.

The Scariest Thing, EVER.

So, yesterday, I was going along, minding my own business. I got the urge to check up on something.

I opened up my internet browser.

I typed in the URL.

I entered in my ID and password.

And then, with a flash of lightning and the CRASH of thunder I saw it.

The most terrifying thing ever.

The negative balance. The negative balance due to overdrafting. MULTIPLE overdrafts.

Seriously, is there anything scarier? Especially when you had no bleepin' idea it was coming?

Doubly so since my bank charges 35 smackeroos for every overdraft! I'm practically hemorrhaging money. Luckily, today is payday so the damage wasn't as bad as it really could have been. But wow. There's no sufficient words to describe the terror and anger at myself I felt at that moment. I tried, and it was very expletive based.

Oh well, just thought I'd share. Til next time, faithful few.

Somewhere, someone's saying "Where's my Hat?"

Saw this today out by the dumpsters of the Union building of the university. The lonely discarded hat. Felt bad for the thing, I figured I'd share the plight of the discarded hat to all of you.

Til next time, faithful few.

Bart's Eye View

Here's a lovely shot of the stage at the TU Athletic Awards Banquet today. Not all that exciting, really.

However, I tried to take this next shot from the podium looking out to the house (which is basically just the arena converted to a banquet hall), and found out that my camera really doesn't like the focused beams of stage lighting.


So, I decided to see if I could get any neat shots. And I did. Check this out.
That's pretty bad ass if you ask me.

Til next time, faithful few.

Musings on an Injury

Edit: Heard today that Justin Schneider is fine. He was stabilized and taken away only as a precautionary measure.


While working the CAA Lacrosse Championship game last night, I had the chance to mull a personal, and rather literally painful, memory. Near the end of a very disappointing 10-7 Towson loss, Towson Attackman Justin Schneider crumpled to the turf. He was stabilized and taken away in the ambulance. One of his teammates, when attempting a shot, had hit him square in the back of the neck, one of the few unpadded sensitive areas.

I could do nothing but talk to the booth crew, and think about what was going on, since there's a long standing unwritten rule that you don't play music during injury time outs. You just don't. And think about other stuff, too, like my own injury that my have changed the course of my life, and still effects me today.

Imagine if you will, a young me. About 127 pounds of 14 year old me. On the wrestling team. Which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the greatest idea, because there wasn't much muscle on me, and there's only so far skill will get you in wrestling. But, I did it anyway, because I was stubborn that way. It's about mid season, and my high school team is at a tournament. During my first match, I tweak something in my knee. Which isn't uncommon. The injury was barely that, so I went to the trainers area and had them tape it up.

Cut to my second match. With who I've dubbed in years since "that asshole from Archbishop Curley." He must have had a very simple strategy, based off the tape job he saw on my left knee. That strategy: Attack that knee. And he did just that. Any hold he attempted worked off that basic philosophy. My knee got pulled. It got twisted. It got torqued. This was bad enough, but sometime in the 2nd period, that asshole from Archibishop Curley lifted me off the mat. Like we were in the WWF (or WWE now, whatever). He held me perpendicular to the mat at his shoulder level. The next few seconds occurred in super slo-mo for me.

The ref blew his whistle.

He signaled "Potentially unsafe maneuver."

He told that asshole from Archbishop Curley to put me down.

That asshole from Archbishop Curley drops me.

That's right. He simply lets go. I fall from shoulder level to the mat, and my left leg is the first to meet the mat. Whatever tenuous grip my ligaments had left were gone at this point, as I saw nothing but red in a mixture of rage and pain. Two of my teammates rushed over as the referee signaled for that asshole from Archbishop Curley to be docked a point. Yeah, thanks for that, Mr. Ref.

Of course, I was young and dumb, and thought I could keep going. Guess it was the adrenaline. I waved my teammates off, and hobbled to my feet. Yeah, something was wrong, but I thought I was okay. Since that asshole from Archbishop Curley had the advantage (even though he performed an illegal move) he got the "up" position on the restart. I took to the "down" position, and it was about that point that I realized I was in pretty big trouble.

And of course, that asshole from Archbishop Curley positioned himself to the left. On the whistle, he cut out my left arm, and basically just leaned in to me on the left side.

At this time, the pain was blinding, and I practically rolled over for the guy so the match could end faster. Which it did. That asshole from Archbishop Curley celebrated like he just won Olympic Gold over a Soviet powerhouse grappler, and my teammates rushed back out to carry me off the mat.

A few days later I would learn that I had torn my ACL, and the medial meniscus cartilage. Excuse me, that asshole from Archbishop Curley had torn them. A month later I would have my knee scoped.

This incident basically ruined my baseball "career." I was a fast guy who relied on his speed for excellent defense and for hitting as well. Maybe not a leadoff batter, but a Corey Patterson type. No longer, since I had lost a step with the injury. Not to mention I stupidly wrestled the next season too, and favored my right knee to protect the left. I may not have injured the right as badly, but it wasn't meant to take that much stress.

Of course, if I hadn't have gotten hurt, I may not have thought about doing drama related stuff (along with my band related stuff). Where would I be right now if I hadn't have started performing on stage?

I could honestly do without the chronic knee pain though. Like last night. I don't know if it was psychosomatic or not, but when I got home last night, my knee was killing me. I do know that I live with that all the time, to varying degrees.

And for that, if I ever see that asshole from Archbishop Curley again, he's getting punched RIGHT IN THE NUTS.

Good day to you all, and happy Sunday. Justin Schneider, we all hope you're doing well.