Jake-Morrison.com

The water is too hot. As this thought occurs to me, I am standing submerged to my shins in my bathtub. My mind is muddled, befuddled, and slow. It takes a second for me to truly comprehend that too hot really is way too hot. I leap out of the water, and find myself standing on the rim of the tub, watching as a rosy fire blossoms atop my feet. A hint of a smile plays on my lips as I silently chide myself. My mind really is out of sorts. My feet and shins tingling with annoyance, I once again step into the bath. Inch by inch I slowly lower my feet in, grimacing slightly as every new patch of flesh enters the cauldron. I stay that way for a while; sitting on the edge of the tub, letting my lower limbs slowly stew in the overheated water. In a way it is rather soothing. Closing my eyes, it’s easy to focus on the tingling. Minute shifts of my foot from side to side bring warmer water roiling in, supplanting the water I had become accustomed to. In a way, I muse, I am creating my own miniature lake, complete with currents. I’ve needed moments like this lately. Moments where I can interrupt my ever shifting mind, and simply exist for a while.

I pause here briefly to welcome you back, Dear Reader. Or more to the point, to welcome myself back. I started this blog in January with the noble and misguided intention to write up a new post for every Monday. I say noble, because I was trying to better my life. I say misguided, for it wasn’t true to who I am. For a while it worked; it added a splash of regularity and expectation to my otherwise chaotic and unfulfilling life. There were a couple of arbitrary restrictions on the blog: each had to be of a certain length, and each had to be uploaded every Monday. Those restrictions were intended to a sort of quality assurance; what I didn’t realize was that ultimately, I write these blogs for myself. The quality assured by those assurances was not a quality that I approved of. Many times, I found myself fretting on a Sunday night, trying for the life of me to write something, anything, to fill the blank page in front of me. By putting restrictions on it, I was effectively hindering myself. Many times, I had wanted to write a blog in the middle of the week, but put it off because I wasn’t “allowed” to. Of course, by the time Sunday would roll around, I was in no mood to write about whatever it was that had sparked my interest earlier that week.

That is why I find myself writing this now. It is not for you, Dear Reader, although I am enthused that you choose to read it. This is for myself. I write because this is the simplest and most honest way to express, to myself, what I am thinking. Truth be told, more often than not I’m thinking so many things, that I’m not really sure what, exactly, I feel about what I’m thinking. This situation builds, and builds, and builds, until I eventually hit a snapping point. I’ve had more and more of them of late, and that realization saddens me. I found myself wandering the park on Thursday night, and realized I was approaching one of these points. It was then I decided that I needed a release. I put a kibosh on the Internet. More to the point, I put the kibosh on sociality. I withdrew from Facebook and iChat, removing myself from two of my greatest platforms of connectivity. I segregated myself from the world, only using the computer to check my email, and work. I allowed myself to play Xbox, to Twitter occasionally, and to raid Ulduar with my guild. I allowed that last one because frankly, the raid won’t heal itself. I spent a lot of time thinking, pondering, and learning to stop worrying. Because that is certainly one of the earliest conclusions I came to: I worry too much.

So it is that I found myself perched on the side of the tub, lost in thought. It was early Saturday afternoon, and I felt a compulsion to take a bath. So I did. After sitting and thinking for long enough that my feet resembled lobsters, I continued to slide myself into the water, inch by inch turning my skin into a brilliant crimson. I sat in the tub, everything below mid-chest completely drowned in water. Diffused pain and tingling assaulted my body. This was a good place to pause, to concentrate. To accept the water for what it was. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, resting my head back on the tile wall.

I don’t know what I want. That is, ultimately, my problem in life. If you distilled all my previous whinings and bitchings, I’m pretty sure that is what the end product would be. I think that is what has stalled my hand, artistically. That is what causes me to worry. That is what leads me to focus intensely on the needs and desires of others. I don’t know what I want. It’s much easier to spend my time and energy helping others along, and providing for them, than it is to make a decision on my life. It makes me Jake. It’s how I make things better. I can see everyone else, and their life, so clearly. It’s frustrating that I can’t seem to see myself that way. I can do hard science. I can do art. Hell, I can even write. It really seems I could do anything I chose too; and that is the crux of my problem. I can see the potentially infinite amount of ramifications of those choices… I see far too many paths to take. Anyone who has gone to a restaurant with me and despaired over how long it takes me to decide on a dish to dine on will understand this. I don’t know what I want because I’m too cognizant of the future. I see how the similar decisions of others affect their life, for better and for worse… and I envy them for being able to charge forward. No matter how many times I try to build myself up to take that leap, at the end of the day, I find myself constantly asking, “What if?” That question stops me in my tracks, for I can answer it, and for the most part, I can see where my decisions will lead. I just don’t know which path to take. It has occurred to me lately that choosing any path would be better than not choosing to take a path at all. I need to take a risk, take a chance. Being wrong wouldn’t be the end of the world.

I open my eyes, and blink lazily as I stare at the ceiling. Despite the heat and the pain, I had started to nod off. Amusingly, my entire body is wet. While everything from mid-chest up has yet to meet the water, those body parts are still dripping. Sweat beads my shoulders and arms. I grin as I think to myself, “This must be what a sauna is like.” Crossing my legs, for I am far too long to fit my entire body in the tub otherwise, I slide further in. No inching forward, no hesitation this time. In one smooth motion, everything but my nose and mouth is underwater. I embrace the sudden shock as my skin cries out in distress. After a few moments, the pain is replaced by the now familiar tingling. Strangest of all are my hands; the tingling is far worse in them. The feeling is akin to the pins and needles one feels when a limb falls asleep. Bracing my legs against the tub, I force my buoyant body to the bottom. Totality is surprising. The tingling and pain diffuses outwards, and I feel no distress. I lay against the bottom of the tub until my lungs start to ache. I hold my breath until I fear I can no longer hold it; and then I hold it a slow five count longer. I allow myself to surface, and calmly and deliberately exhale. The only thing I can hear in the isolation of the water is the surrounding electric hum of the air conditioner. It’s soothing, like some sort of technological nursery rhyme. I float for a while, eyes closed, breath slow and steady, and I think some more.

In some things, I do know what I want. I may be completely stymied career-wise, but I know what I want in other things. I just need to have the courage to announce my intentions. That is another failing of mine; being open and honest with my feelings. Truthfully, for the most part, I assume no one cares. More to the point, why would they? But that is idiotic and patently false thinking. I need to work on my self-confidence. Not only am I decent looking, I’m worth loving. I’m handsome, sweet, generous, and kinda stable. Not to mention, I’m funny. Well, perhaps not during this blog. But I am in other blogs, and in day-to-day conversations. That goes for all relationships, platonic and romantic.

Hell, I am still young. It’s okay not to know what I want to do, or to know and not be able to do it. There are still many years ahead of me. This is just another example of me worrying overmuch. To counter this, I’m focusing on my writing. As for other things and desires, I shall let them develop as they may. I’m not going to let my worries and fears control me any longer.

I twist and pop open the drain with my toes. I slowly sit up as the water hurries along its’ way down the drain. My skin is a uniform ruddy color. With care, I stand and stretch, and then slide the shower curtain to close the space. With a slight twist of the knob, I find myself taking a nice, cool, brisk shower. The colder water sluices over my skin, alleviating the residual pain, and trading one kind of tingle for another. I have given myself a lot to think about, and it’s high time I went and wrote it down.

It has been ten weeks, and ten blogs, since I moved. So much happened during that time; and yet so much is not worth talking about in detail. For the first couple of weeks of this period of silence, I spent all my time going through orientation at work, and moving my stuff to Austin. The next couple of weeks were spent entertaining my dad, and then my mom at my new place, and putting my apartment to rights. I like where it is at now. Most of my tchotchkes and toys are still in boxes in my super roomy closet. I didn’t feel the need to place them out. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there are still more than enough out and about. But the majority find themselves on my cinderblock DVD shelf, forming a sort of geeky shrine to sci-fi and awesome. Most of my time beside that has been spent working. And reworking. And re-reworking. I’ve had precious little time to actually sit back and do stuff for myself. Mostly, I think, because part of me feels guilty for being able to doing so.

Clearly with the move, my previously well-established list of “life-affirming commitments” has changed. Amusingly, however, I did rather well in only six months. I had nine goals. I accomplished six of them outright, and made solid headway on two others. What did I accomplish? My new computer was built and now runs beautifully. It’s a beast, a monster. And I love it. It boots faster than my Apple. I finished and uploaded the newest version of my site. I like where it is. I have room to improve upon it, and there is nothing wrong with that. I designed, printed, and fell in love with my business card design. Laugh all you want, they are shiny, and that is really all I want. I started writing. I dabbled with my artwork, and came to the decision to let it go for a while. I accomplished this goal by not accomplishing it. How very Zen of me. And my diet is much better; I eat better and healthier, in an altogether more consistent fashion than before. Like my site, there is room for improvement, but again, nothing is wrong with that. As for which two of the three remaining I’ve made headway on, I’ll give you a hint. It’s not reapplying for college.

It was nice to have a set list of goals. A list of things that I wanted, that I needed. In fact, upon moving into my new place, I proudly put up a white board with two lists on it. List one is “Needs” which is now subtitled “Hmm… I don’t need for a lot. I can only assume this is GOOD.” This list is empty. The second list is entitled “EVIL Plan for bettering my life and living conditions”. This is a list of wants. As for what is on the list now? I desire a new computer desk, a new TV, a new couch, and a new table. I plan to upgrade my cooking skills. I plan to finish my lightsaber and have it made. I plan to exercise more. I plan to meet more Austinites as well. Austineers? Austinians? How does one refer to the denizens of Austin?

That Evil list is my current list of attainable goals. As you can see, there is really nothing too out there on that list. The list is also accompanied by what I think of as a charming stick figure picture. Those goals on that list are for myself. That is where I am headed for the time being. But I would not be Jake if I weren’t working on at least seventy other things.

Which brings me to my projects. I currently have three projects in development. Project “Zed Zephyr” is ultra extra top secret, a level of secrecy that I haven’t employed since the Bothans tried to sneak out the Death Star plans. And we all know how well that turned out. The second project is Project “Would You Kindly…”, which is a pair of pants themed after the delightful world of Bioshock. The last project is Project “Web Wrangler”, and it is not my tale to tell. However, it is something that will be in my portfolio upon completion. The first of these projects is entirely personal, and the other two are labors of love. One and two; not much of a balance. So I would like to announce the start of a fourth project. Project “Showtime Singularity”. This project will be the collection and display of my artwork on my website. It has been a pie-in-the-sky wish of mine for ages, one that I’ve never even attempted to make headway on. It is about time to display and reveal myself, for better or for worse.

I feel that this is a verbose enough return for me. I’m not sure exactly what the point of this blog is. But then, I never really do know. Go go Gadget uninhibited expression! I suppose that is ultimately the point of this. Find your own meaning, Dear Reader. As for the future, I do not know when the next blog post will arrive. I’m no longer forcing myself to stick to a schedule; let us find out, you and I, what happens when I write when I feel like writing. Length will not be a constant any longer either; while this monster is over two thousand six hundred words, subsequent blogs will likely be much shorter. But don’t take that for granted, because knowing me, I’ll get it in my head to out-do this one day. As for subjects and considerations, anything goes. If you have not done so already, please friend me on Facebook, Dear Reader, and remember to follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936. Until later!

Greetings, Dear Reader. I am afraid that by the time you read this, I will already be gone from this world. At least, I will be gone from Orlando. On this Tuesday morn, (well in all honesty, Tuesday late morning to early afternoon), I will be driving up to Niceville. I have a few business meetings to attend while I am up there, and then I am off to Austin. It is terrifying how fast this is all moving. But it is terrifying in a good way. You know, the kind of terrification (I hereby coin this word, it needs to exist) that you feel when you attend a totally bitching haunted house. You are scared, edgy, paranoid, but ultimately having a blast. That is what I feel now. A tight, anxious feeling, layered over excitement, exuberance, and giddiness.

The timing of things and events lately has been extraordinary. I went from not knowing where the money for my next meal was coming from to having one job, and suddenly the opportunity for two. That happened. That was amazing. I’ll be financially independent and solvent once again! Most websites I’ve perused have recommended a planning period of two to three months for a move of this magnitude. I’ve done it in a week. In ten days, I will be picking up a shiny and brand new key to a new apartment. I’ll open the door, set down my travel bag, and hook up my computers. I’ll poke around the Internet for a few minutes, and after that hour or so has passed, begin unpacking the PODS container. Things are working smoothly and efficiently. I can only assume that since the entropy of this system is low, that I am doing the right thing. More to the point, I gave a fantastic interview. Their words, not mine. I’m going in for a job at my dream company. I’m finally on the ladder; now all I have to do is to start climbing. I’m in! I have miles to go yet, but the path is shiny and bright, with flowers and other cheery crap all around.

Officially, let me give my endorsement of the PODS system. It is expensive, yes. But no more so than a U-Haul rental would have been. The service as a whole is rather genius; spend your time casually loading your kit into it, then they pick it up, and magically deliver it to a new place. As a happy addition, the price also includes a month’s rental; you have that month to fill the container and have it moved. I challenge you to take longer to move. If I decided I needed a day or two more, rescheduling is as simple as a phone call. There are no fees for doing so. Ultimately for this kind of move, I cannot recommend them highly enough. Their helpfulness and business model have conspired to alleviate a good 60% of my primary worries and fears regarding this move.

I am typing this blog as I lay on the floor of what is now my old room. I am lying on my stomach, chin wedged up with my pillows, staring straight ahead at the monitor. I am in this unusual position, which is like oddly painful flying, because my furniture is all in my PODS container. It is a strange sensation, having one’s life completely packed away. I took a long hard look at what I needed to be happy, and to live, in Austin, in case the PODS container gets manhandled or lost. The list wasn’t long. It was entirely populated by computers and clothes. Truly, everything else I own is rather optional. I love my books, my movies, my tchotchkes, but they aren’t essential. I have my iPod, cell phone, Kindle, and DS with me; with these things, I can be entertained for ages. So really, all I absolutely need to survive, I can pretty much carry on my person. Or can load easily into my car. All this preparing for the zombie invasion has done me good. Also, I require Internet and power at my destination. But even failing that, I could get by. I think I am more self-sufficient than I ever have been. And that can only be a good thing.

Today is Monday. This is my last day in Central Florida. I have a pretty packed schedule, so I’m afraid I won’t really be able to fit other people in. But I do implore you to send me a message if you would like to; I’d love to hang out with as many people as possible. I may be able to squeeze in a few more; or arrange to have a mass outing. A flash mob of Jake fans. If I missed you, or didn’t get a chance to see you, I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t care, it is that I am forgetful, and amazingly stressed and absentminded with this move. My days have quite literally been packed dusk to dawn with plans and errands. Well, more like noon to dawn, with my sleep schedule. Regardless, we now have the magic of the Internet to help us. There will be Xbox live, Steam, Skype, Twitter, Facebook, Myspace, cell phones, World of Warcraft, Ventrilo, AIM, my website and blogs, and other various creations of technological wizardry to use and abuse for our pleasures. If you have not done so already, please friend me on Facebook, dear reader, and remember to follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936. Until later!

For the first time in what feels like an extraordinarily long time, I find myself typing my blog. Sure, it was only seven days ago when I was last doing this; but due to the events of the last week, it feels like a ridiculously long time. The past week has been a tumultuous collection of trials and tribulations. My plans went from checking email, waiting on the contract to start, and playing World of Warcraft to dropping everything and flying to Austin. The notice was short; shockingly so. I got a phone call on Friday, and was asked to come out for a job interview on Wednesday. Which, if you are keeping track at home, gave me four days to get my shit together, get tickets, get a room, and get out there. It was crazy short notice. But I was able to pull things together. I got airline tickets from my dad, through the joyous miracle of Skymiles.

I was very fortunate to have my friends, Nikki and Stephen. They were gracious, and awesome enough, to allow me to crash on their couch for the trip. And crash I did. It was a lot of fun. I saw sights, and got to hang with two good friends of mine that I haven’t seen in forever. The city was so much fun; I can easily say I enjoyed it. There was a lot of stuff, and it was pretty. Not just the girls around town, but the city itself. Austin seems to have quite the burgeoning Green movement, and it’s definitely nice. The town is festooned with lots of parks, trees, and other natural elements.

Oh, yeah. You’re probably here about the important news. The news that is essential to your continued survival. Well, dear reader, quite simply, the news is that…

Oh come now, have you learned nothing from our time together? It’s not going to be as clear or simple as me coming right out and saying it. I have an ego to appease; a story to tell. I need to build it up as much as possible, because I’m bored and it seems like fun. The story is that I got a job interview with a major game company. Yeah, it’s one that everyone has heard of. I’m not going to talk much about who they are, or what I’ll be doing, because I don’t feel like jinxing it. But I had an interview with them on Wednesday, and it seemed to go gorgeously well. There was laughter, and questions, and more laughter… things I tend to view in a positive light. I don’t have an official yes quite yet. But it looks promising.

On that note, it seems that my time in Orlando has finally drawn to a close. That is right, dear reader. I am moving. Out to Austin. As to when I’ll be moving; well, it is entirely possible, and plausible, that I’ll be leaving Orlando in seven to eight days. Yeah. That soon. I’m spending the next few days arranging living situations and packing. If you have any boxes, oh dear god please, let me know. I could use as many as possible. It is my goal to have enough boxes, so that when I unpack myself, I can use the empty boxes to create my own cardboard golem army. You may be asking yourself what good a cardboard golem army would be, as they are basically compacted paper. So any damp or moist situation would be their undoing. All I need to do now is remind you, I am moving to Austin, Texas. The humidity is low, so the dampness shouldn’t be too much of a problem. As to the efficacy of them as a weapon, well, have you ever had a papercut? Now imagine a cardboard cut. Did you shudder? If not, you did not adequately imagine the pain. Go ahead and do so now; the blog will wait for you.

So I am leaving, possibly forever. As such, there needs to be some sort of event. In keeping with myself and who I am, which is someone who really doesn’t care too much for parties, I have an idea. What do I love? My friends. And small groups. And food. So I shall combine the three! I would like to take time to have lunch or dinner with you guys. Either one-on-one, or a small happenin’ group. It does not take the imagination of a Hugo-award winning science fiction novelist to deduce that money is tight for me right now. I hate to ask for handouts… but I’d like you to pay. Yeah. That’s right. I’m inviting myself to lunch with you, on your dime. There is no forcing though. I just want to maximize my dimes. If you are interested, comment on this blog with your choice of day, mealtime, and place of nomtastic goodies.

Here is a short list of delicious places that I can think of that are only in Orlando, that I will sorely miss.

Italian - Goodfellas
Mexican - Tijuana Flats
Sushi - Seito
American - Cheeburger Cheeburger

Beyond food places, there are activities and entertainment locations I shall miss as well. I will try to schedule days and times for them… if you’d like to catch me before I leave, comment with your choices, and times.

Ultimate Frisbee - Monday at 5:15pm.
Hard Knocks – Possibly Tuesday evening.
Wolverine – Any evening showing.
Star Trek – It opens Thursday at 7.
Battle for Terra – I don’t know. I’m curious.

As well, since I am leaving forever, if any girls out there want to make out with me, now is your last chance. If any guys want to make out… well, while I am flattered, I must refuse. I’m sorry, but you just aren’t my type.

So that is this week’s crazy blog. Everything is changing. Remember to comment on this blog if you want to hang out with me or eat with me before I leave. I truly don’t know when or even if I’m coming back to Orlando. This is really the next big step for me in this grand adventure known as life. It is full of risk, but full of reward as well. I’ll be moving to a city that I don’t hate. That can only be good. I leave you now, to go plan my whirlwind romance of a move. And of course, if you have not already, do please friend me on Facebook, dear reader, and remember to follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936.

I’m staring at a blank sheet, the limitless canvas of white stretching out for parsecs before me. A pristine plane of vanilla tones, the wan landscape of nothingness downright assaults me. I see myself on that pale plain, just one small dot on an otherwise pristine existence. That small insignificant little speck is in danger of being completely drowned out by the totality of the world around it. There is no way to tell, but something that could reasonably stand in for time passes. Seconds, eons, minutes, millennia, all are one and many. The infinite nothing presses on that mite, crushing the world into an ever-shrinking realm. No mere words can describe the air of social destitution that this cultivates. For an instant, for an eternity, that particle stands alone against the elements. That interminable interval passes, and with a flash of inspiration, that fleck shows signs of movement. Soon that single dot evolves. Now, a black line stands proudly in the wild, a defiant expression of existence.

Somehow, that line does not seem to mar the universe. It adds to it. That blank line morphs and changes, lengthens, changing direction and path. It separates the blankness into definite regions. Suddenly, where once there was a hazy expanse of nothing, there is a vivid cache of detail. The line zigs and zags, it gently curves, and blazes a trail across the earth. Amazingly, the line manages not only to cut and divide the surface, but to accentuate it as well. Another impossible to define length of time passes. Only this time, instead of an insufferable length of solitude and loneliness, there is change and growth.

For a moment, I stop staring at the sheet. Where once nothing stood, there now proudly stands an image. This image is recognizable. This image does not just show a representation of a vision of an object, it has emotional quantities as well. This image is a declaration of the future, a monument to hope and ideas. This image is, in and of itself, me. In a brilliant moment in defiance of the laws of physicality, I am both the image, and the entity viewing it. As the glow of that instant passes, the definition between the two versions of me no longer exists. What exists of me in the image is inexplicably and entirely me. But rather than two separate versions of me, the image-me is a shard; a soulful piece of me that gives it a life and awareness.

No matter where my image-me or I go, we will be whole. I set down my pen, and lovingly gaze at the image. I take time to admire its inherent qualities and flaws, to appreciate it for what it is. The image is not perfect. Nor should it be. Just as I am imperfect, anything I create will be as well. Those imperfections make it what it is. They make it special, unique, and wonderful. By appreciating the image, and the image-me, I am appreciating myself. I grin wolfishly, and then decide to share this image with the world. Everyone should share in this revelation; everyone should find a piece of themselves in what they create.

I take the crisp piece of paper, markings and all, and set it on a display board. The backdrop of the board is a dark brown, so deep a hue it appears almost black, and it sets off the ivory tones of the paper. Suddenly, it becomes quite clear that what was originally seen as a colorless white void is full of its own subtle tones and nuances. The perspective of the backdrop creates nothing from nothingness. The slight changes and variations of the sheet weave and meld with the image, making it come to life just a little bit more. I take the image to the living room, and place it prominently above the couch.

Everyone is invited, from all around the town. They are invited to come to the living room, to sit, to admire, to comment and to critique. They are told the story of the dot, of the line, of the image and of the image-me. They are told of the duality, the dichotomy, and feeling of completeness they enforce. Like a creeping plague, understanding nods spread slowly throughout the room. When it comes, the so-called “Ah ha!” moment is an intense and personal moment. The only timing and master it knows is that of the person who has it. But once that moment occurs, it changes that person forever.

In just a short while, the image-me has cast an undeniable spell over the group. An air of understanding, of community, fills the room. Something so small, and yet so intricate, has made a poignant point. The change that the image-me has wrought is not drastic; it is a small and easy thing. But it is a change that is needed; it is a change that is welcomed.

One by one, the group files out of the room. Several make attempts to purchase the image-me, but I find myself unable to part with it. I find that every part of me is special to me, even the parts I imbue freely in my work. As the occupants of the room dwindle down, I find myself filled with a feeling that I have not felt in a very long time. It is a feeling of happiness, of contentedness. The feeling is a full, warm, and joyous one. It is one I shall treasure for ages.

I mosey out of the living room, which is now empty with the exception of the image-me and myself. As I traipse my way slowly to my room, floating with a feeling of rapturous bliss, I lay myself down on my bed. With a jolt, I sit up suddenly. I walk out the living room, only to find no image-me above the couch. No messages from an adoring crowd, no sense of real satisfaction in my gut. I wander, confused, to sit in the chair where I thought, a short time ago, a kind of magic had happened. After a brief moment of hesitation, I pick up my pen, and ready my papers in front of me.

I’m staring at a blank sheet.

So begins another week. This week has a special event that is occurring; I cannot, and will not, talk of details of it just yet. I do not want to jinx anything that could happen. I only ask that you give freely your warm wishes and hopes for me. If this event happens in the manner I desire, my world will be changed utterly. This is a change that I want, nay, that I need to have happen. So amidst your comments and critiques, I humbly request your warm wishes, honest, humble, or otherwise. If you have not already, do please friend me on Facebook, dear reader, and remember to follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936.

I had planned to continue the “A Man Down” story this week. But when I sat down tonight to write it, I felt no want to, nor any luster or desire to write it. So tonight, there is no tale. No story, no pleasant fiction. Tonight I write whatever comes to my mind. And what does come to mind is the tragic and terrible tale of this week. I say tragic and terrible, not because they are appropriate descriptors, but rather because they are fun to say.

This week I earned an achievement. This achievement unlocked the title of “Wasp Hunter”. It was a balmy Friday afternoon. I was relaxing in my room, enjoying a bit of World of Warcraft and awaiting the arrival of a friend, when my phone rang unexpectedly. Wait. Unexpectedly? Isn’t that always how a phone rings? It seems illogical that a phone would ring expectedly. That would require a feat of precognition that I don’t think many, if any, people have. But back to the point. It seems my friend Drew was being accosted by a wasp. After ascertaining the specifics of the situation, I bravely exited out of WoW, put on my pants, and drove to Drew’s house. On my way there, I informed Stephanie of the needed delay, and thought through my various options.

Option one was the most straightforward. I could get a shoe, or other sturdy blunt device, and turn the wasp into wasp paste. The simplicity of that option was alluring; in its’ own barbaric way, it was kind of graceful. However, that option had downsides. Namely, coating the killing object and whatever substrate was under the wasp with wasp paste. There was also the chance of failure; that in my graceless ways, I would miss the wasp, and piss it off, and it would fly in a frenzy, killing twenty three children in the area, stinging me in the eye, and destroying a large portion of Central Tokyo. You know, that kind of stuff. Plus there was the added factoid that I truly didn’t feel like killing it. I’m not a wuss, as any redneck would call me at this point, I’m just a bit of a pacifist. I know, I know. I play a lot of shooters. I sword fight. I curse up a storm, and insult my friends with what I imagine is amusing grace. But even so, I don’t like to kill things. And in RPG type situations, I end up playing the support class.

I am Jake. I make things better. Even for non-sentient species.

Option two was a bit more complex. That would be the catch and release program. That kind of stuff works for National Geographic or the Fish & Wildlife service, but I wasn’t sure how well it would work for me. While I did my time at the Emerald Coast Wildlife Refuge, I had captured many a wild creature, from the noble and wily pelican to the frankly stupid and hated pigeon. But I had never captured a member of the Order hymenoptera before. Usually such small and delicate creatures are beneath my purview. As I sat and thought about the situation, (such lackadaisical thinking was possible as I drove to Drew’s thanks to the fantastically horrible traffic that Colonial gifted to me), I realized that this was the option I should pursue.

Option three was on the table as an option, but wasn’t one I could choose. I could always have turned around, and gone back home. But that would have been mean, and petty, and frankly wouldn’t have made anything better.

Option four is always present. It’s the doomsday option. That’s the option that basically specifies that some sort of calamity prevents the completion of whatever quest I am on. That calamity could be anything from another person in a more dire situation, to a comprehensive catastrophic structural and mechanical collapse of my car, (read as: car crash), to the zombipocalypse. Option four is, by necessity, an option that is not lightly chosen.

But option number two was the one I chose. After arriving at Drew’s domicile, I scouted out my insectile adversary. I wasn’t immediately sure of the species. It appeared to be a breed of paper wasp, but the abdomen and antennae weren’t quite right. But I digress, the species wasn’t important. I acquired what I had determined to be the ideal wasp-catching accoutrements, namely a sheet of A4 paper and a Tupperware bowl. I then went to capture the nefarious fiend. As I stalked my elusive prey, she cleverly flew behind the blinds. I was stymied. I could not see a way to draw the blinds without enraging the wasp. And as any WoW player knows, enraging a mob causes it to do six times its normal damage. It was a chance I simply couldn’t risk. I stood there for a while, muscles corded and ready to spring if an opportunity arose, and I watched my target. Eventually, she flew free, and straight onto the screen of a nearby open window.

My chance had arrived. Now was the moment to strike!

But before my move could be made, the wasp walked up between the screen and the upper portion of the window. I was saran-wrapped again. Why saran-wrapped? Why quite frankly, I was tired of being foiled. I then positioned myself close to the window, the Tupperware ready to snap over the wasp once it was in the open. As I stood there, in a rather awkward position hanging over the back of a couch, I had a stroke of brilliance.

I’d just pop out the screen.

I slid the top part of the window slowly to mostly close it, then pressed the screen outside. A little elbow grease, a slight twist, and the screen fell on to the roof below. And the wasp flew free. This was a triumph. Dear reader, make a note here, HUGE SUCCESS. Naturally, Drew was completely amazed and grateful. I then left, in order to return home to hang out with Stephanie.

I then spent a fun and engaging evening with Stephanie, watching a bit of Big Bang Theory and seeing Crank 2. That movie is ridiculously, horribly, awesome. I laughed my way through it. It made me quite the happy panda.

And thus ends the ballad of Friday. It was indeed an amusing day. So now, as I always do, I leave this part of the blog open to any comments or complaints. And I do mean any. They don’t even technically need to be about this blog. You could comment about anything, from the hue of the sky, to the tint of the text. Whatever you please, so long as you comment, because those comments and critiques are the very soul of this site. And the end of every week, I count out them one by one, and if not enough are made, I cut off a toe. Remember to friend me on Facebook, and follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936.

So it turns out that a lot of businesses are closed on Easter. I know, I know. It is one of those common sense things that everyone knows. Sadly though, common sense has always been one of my weak points. So Easter Sunday night found me driving around in quasi-erratic circles around Orlando, searching for a delicious meal. I ended up at the Pita Pit, which for the tragically uninformed is an extremely delicious place where they wrap tasty noms inside of a pita. The Joker was the pita of choice; chicken souvlaki and gyro beef inside, with grilled peppers, onions, mushrooms, and feta cheese, tzatziki sauce, spinach, and olives to fill it out. That warm pocket of loveliness joined me with a bottle of mango orange juice, and a free cupcake courtesy of Sweet!. Yeah, I got a free cupcake. They were handing them out, as a kind of Easter prize. Way better than your standard hard-boiled egg that has been hidden all day in the hot sun. Way safer too, I’d bet.

“Jake!,” I can hear you asking, “All of this sounds incredibly tasty! But why did you go to such lengths to have a delicious and tasty meal? What made Sunday so special?” Well, to be frank (and not Frank. For I believe in honesty, not impersonation), dear reader, there was nothing especially special about Sunday for me. It was the cap to a long week, a long week in which news arrived.

Oh yes, news. News of the good kind. The kind of news that finds you in whatever dank dark pit you’ve made a home in, and shines a million candela light upon you. The kind of news that lifts you up, and gives your life renewed meaning and purpose. The kind of n… What? What’s that? Ah yes, dear reader. I shall get to the fraking point right away.

I have a job. And not some cheesy waiting-on-tables or retail job either. I have a job in my field. A job that my degree has helped me to get, and will ensure that I keep getting similar jobs. I know! It’s super exciting! I’ll have something good to put on my resume. I’ll have something exciting to have stories about.

What will I be doing?

Well, I will be working for a company called SAIC. The job consists of working on [DETAIL REDACTED]. I will be working hand in hand with [PERSONAL AND GROUP INFORMATION REDACTED]. My product will be essential to the support and safety of said [REDACTED]. Essentially, I will creating a system to [SPECIFIC WORKING DETAIL REDACTED].

Doesn’t it all sound so exciting!?

And no, that redacted stuff isn’t just for drama and flair. Okay, it’s there to add that, yes, but I really am not at liberty to discuss the specifics of this job. Only that it is interesting, safe, and necessary. The redacted bits would only worry you.

I could tell you more, but then I’d have to kill you.

Ha, not really. But that is my goal. To one day have a job that is Top Secret, something that I truly can’t talk about for decades after it happens. Like, I’d be sitting on my porch, enjoying a nice cool lemonade, watching kids go about playing a rousing game of four-square while taking the occasional “Car!” breaks, and think to myself, “Isn’t it nice, that this kids can play, and not have to worry about that outbreak of Rage virus that threatened to kill civilization? They’ll never know how close they came to complete and total annihilation.” I’d then continue to sip my lemonade, smug and secure in the fact that I helped. That, or I’d really just like to sit on a porch and sip at some lemonade. But that would require me to be financially secure.

WHICH I AM NOW! AHAHAHAHHA! Or more to the point, which I soon will be. I’m not secure just yet; but you can bet your bottom dollar that I’ll be scoping out some prices on entertaining and interesting glassware with which to enjoy my drink. And the glassware shall be nifty, with little bubbles and handmade imperfections and whatnot. Or perhaps it will just be some strange and inventive shape. I’m not sure yet. But there shall be a study done.

My orientation starts at the unbelievable hour of 9:00 in the morning. Now that I have a job, I suppose I shall have to relearn how to get up reliably at this unfashionably early hour. I will just have to dial my mind back to a time when I went to Full Sail, where my schedule would shift willy-nilly to and fro, from getting up at the crack of noon to sleepily plodding from my bed at four. Four in the morning, that is. Once you’ve swung that schedule once or twice, no time related awakening truly seems that bad anymore.

In light of this joyous news, I’ve had to temporarily postpone my trip planning. I still expect to be out to see Nikki and Stephen, and Krista at the end of May, I just dare not commit completely until I am absolutely sure I’ll have an appropriate mobile computing device to take with me. How cool is it that I’d have a job to take with me, and keep getting paid, while I was on a self-imposed vacation/sabbatical. I am also working on an updated business card, which includes shiny bits. Hopefully I’ll be able to use the shiny bits of the cards long enough to distract the HR people to get an interview.

Failing that, there is always my grappling hook.

On that happy, and hopeful note, dear reader, I declare the end of this week’s blog. It would please me greatly if you would leave your excited, happy, and jubilant wishes as comments. I suppose you could leave criticisms as well, but really, do you really want to be a sad sap and ruin this spirit of joy and happiness? Remember to friend me on Facebook, and follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936.

Sometimes, when it feels there is nothing else you can do, when you feel like you are trapped under a depressingly crushing weight of doom, you suddenly find some space. I found myself in just such a position this week. I could feel myself slipping into the yawning abyss of despair, sliding uncontrollably towards a future that I could not predict. As I found myself drawn inexorably down the slope, scrabbling madly for a purchase, any kind of stability, I could only find scree and gravel under my hands. It is at this point, where nothing you do seems to make a difference, at which despair is at its greatest.

However, I have also found that at that point, if you take a deep breath and a step back, you can see a way out.

I found my position to be precarious; I could see with fear that the slope was nearing its end, the sinister void racing towards me, and then I saw my way out. My hand suddenly found a grip on the barest outcropping of rock. One small purchase was enough to reverse the descent. From there, I have been able to make my way back up the slope, slowly but surely.

But that is enough of this desperate-fall allegory. What happened to me really wasn’t quite as dramatic as that. Although I definitely feel the lesson I learned sounds much cooler with that kind of build up. I did hit a low point though. And I did feel rather… lost. It was a lonely period. No one was at the house, or online. I felt this strange urge… I had to do something, anything. I felt that if I stayed home, that I would somehow cease to exist. So I grabbed my drawing bag and my Boba Fett hoodie, and I made good my escape. I scrawled a quasi-desperate message on Facebook, hoping that someone out there would be awake, would care enough, would defy the odds, and read it, and want to hang out. The hopes for that weren’t high, as it was one in the morning. With that slim hope of camaraderie my only protection against the elements, I found myself driving, and not paying attention to what I was doing.

For most people, that is a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for this blog, and my continued existence, I am not most people. My subconscious made my decisions for me. My conscious mind was busy singing along to Hoobastank and Jimmy Eat World, processing the memories that those songs invoked, and remembering the lyrics from ages ago. And so, after several hours of driving what, from a satellite view, must have seemed a rather chaotic path, I found myself in an unexpected location. I was at Kennedy Space Center.

I am still not quite sure how I got there. Seems my under-mind had something in plan for me. I stopped my car, and got out. The wind immediately assailed me. It must have been blowing a solid and steady 25 miles an hour, and gusting for quite a bit more. Fast enough that the noise it made as it whipped past my ears overrode anything else I could possibly hear. I found myself in the most gorgeous location. The air, sped by the wind as it was, had that peculiar salty tang of the sea. The clearing I was in was lit seductively by a gibbous moon; and that wan light filled in the world just enough so that I could see clearly around me. But what was around me was rather unremarkable. Sure, the vegetation was beautiful in its own right; but it was that common beauty that all things natural have.

The view that captured my heart was two-fold. First was the completely awesome sight above me; the deep and majestic beauty of space. Arrayed above me was the limitless forever of the Universe, given depth and dimension by a few high floating wispy clouds. That forever was so simple, so deep and amazing. Also, I use the word awesome in the true meaning of the word. Something that fills you with awe. I was instantly reminded just how much I love space. There is a reason that I love Star Wars to the point that some people find it concerning. I’d truly give anything to live in that realm… it would be completely amazing. That a similar future could exist for humanity fills me with hope. That is also why I so eagerly await the release of BioWare’s new MMO, The Old Republic. The Star Wars MMO that Galaxies was supposed to be.

But the thing that made the space above seem so amazing was the view of the Vehicle Assembly Building in front of me. Right where the infinite impossibility of space meets the solid certainty of Earth. That wonderful world above is tied to the earth by such a delicate linkage; a gossamer thread that connects humanity to the whole of existence. The horizon was mostly a panorama of blackness, to the north was the noisy light pollution of Titusville, but other than that, only the VAB stood spot lit in front of me. One of the largest buildings in the world, a defiant block proclaiming our intent to explore; and that night, it was a beacon of hope for me.

I stood there, angled so Titusville and other signs of habitation where invisible. I stood there for an hour or so, drinking in the sight of the VAB, of space, and thought of my plight. As I released my worries and mind, I realized I could pick out the gantries of the Shuttle Launch Pads. For the first time in a very long time, I felt a sort of peace. And in that peace, I came to a realization.

No one is going to help me.

That is to say; the only person who can really set my world to rights, who can really enact major changes in my life, is myself. I want changes, I want a new beginning… and so I must act to ensure that beginning occurs. That is what I am doing now. I have worked out a visiting schedule with some very dear friends of mine; at the end of May, I shall be visiting them at their lairs. I will go to Austin and Seattle, and see what I like of the cities. See if they agree with me. And while I am there, I will hand out resumes and business cards to every place that catches my eye.

To whit; Commitment Number Three has been realized. I have struck upon a design for my business cards that pleases me. I am just waiting for inspiration to strike me for a particular bit of catchphrase cleverness, and then I am done with it. I am imminently pleased to announce that of the nine original commitments, four have been realized. Only a few months after setting those goals up, they have fallen like lopsided dominos.

This, dear reader, is the end of this week’s blog. As always, your comments and critiques are the only things that bind my body and soul to this mortal coil. So add your thoughts, lets I shuffle off. Remember to friend me on Facebook, and follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936.

Hello dear reader! The blog you are reading tonight is being typed and strung out for you by a Jake in a very odd state of mind. This week has been a bit of a rollercoaster experience. I experienced a shockingly wide breadth of emotions, ranging from loved, to anger, to hatred, to childlike glee. A lot of the reasons and motivations for my feelings, while important, are required to be secret by necessity. Suffice to say, if I am able to tell you, I’ve either already told you, or promised to tell you at a more appropriate time.

Begin your curious wondering about whether or not you’ve been told something.

I tend to worry. And I’m not a group person. I like periods of personal time with small pockets of people. But I’ve started to notice that people react to me strangely. Like I’m the one who is odd or something. As for me, I celebrate and embrace my oddity. And yet, even so… perhaps I should try out things that I have written off as a bad idea. After all, nominally, I am human, and therefore I am prone to being wrong. So I think I’ll try a few new things in the coming weeks. Who knows? It could be fun!

I would also like to take the time to rectify a huge mistake I made. This mistake was a glaring one, a chink in the armor of my perfection. I promised a certain lovely someone a pelican story. And I shall deliver. As a background to this story, you need to know that I volunteered at an animal wildlife refuge during my formative high school years. It was an exciting time, and I eventually was trusted to do animal pickups.

Relatively soon after gaining the enhanced responsibilities inherent in doing animal pickups, I found myself alone in the Refuge. At the time, this was still a novel experience. I wandered the building, feeding and cleaning the birds. There were always a lot of birds. They ranged from the graceful songbirds, to the mentally retarded doves. The pigeons and doves always outnumbered the pretty birds by a 10 to 1 ratio, at least. How I hated those doves and pigeons… but that is a story for another time. After tending to the avians, I checked the outer cages. We had a few larger avians… a crane, a few seagulls. But there was nothing too unusual. My duties completed, I decided to relax in the office with a magazine for a few hours. Oh trust me, it was a cushy job. Once the animals were taken care of, you usually had 2 or 3 hours to kick around. The only real responsibilities then were to man the phones, and take regular walkabouts to make sure the animals were still kicking.

I had only been reading for a short while when the phone rang. I sprang into action with the speed and grace of someone who knew that they were doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Yeah. You could sit and read. But you were supposed to do something; take inventory, clean empty cages, sieve out some mealworms… but that stuff didn’t always need to be done. But still, I clearly felt guilty about it. The phone call was from the police department. It seems some poor bastard clipped a pelican while going over the Mid Bay Bridge. The police were requesting that someone go pick up the pelican.

The policy at the Refuge was to never leave the place unattended. There was always supposed to be someone manning the phones, or to be there in case the Animal Control people needed to do a drop-off. I abused my newly granted powers of autonomy, and decided to go save the pelican!

Were this blog a movie, this is where the epic and inspiring score would start.

So I jumped in my car. That day, I was actually driving my mother’s Saturn LS. I sped down the road, making it to the scene of the environmental crime in record time. For the uninformed, the Mid Bay Bridge is a two-lane bridge between the mainland of Niceville and the barrier island of Destin. There just happens to be a distance exactly equal to the width of my mom’s car between the lane and the side of the bridge. I cautiously got out, and grabbed the tool of my trade. You want to know what you need to catch pretty much any wild animal? A towel.

The bird was flopping along the side of the bridge, coming dangerously close to traffic. Also coming dangerously close to traffic was myself, as I tried to sneak up on the pelican.
As I was about to make the pounce, some redneck jackass blew his horn as he sped by. I twisted to the side and jumped. Right into the barrier of the bridge. If I had been standing up when I moved, I likely would have flipped over the rail. Slightly daunted, I moved again to get the bird. I pounced, throwing the towel over it and wrapping it in what I thought was a smooth motion. In interest of full disclosure, I can admit that an outside observer may have found it amusing and/or awkward. Cradling the bird delicately in my arms, I made my way back to the car. The hard part was fast approaching; I had to open the car door, and get the bird into the cat carrier in my backseat. Yeah. I planned to put a pelican, which is a rather sizeable bird, into a cage designed to keep felines contained. It was a solid plan. So I tried to manhandle the bird into the cage.

I assure you, any animal wrapped in a towel does not immediately become calm and sedate. They tend to get furious and try to get out in a flurry of arms, legs, beaks, and other vicious natural weaponry. So when I say manhandle… I really mean manhandle. Anyone who has tried to get a cat into a bath knows what I mean. It was at this time that I heard the “Whoop whoop” of a police siren. Yeah. A cop stopped me. So there I am. Half in, half out of the car, holding the ass end of a pelican while trying to shove it into a container was shifting across the seat. And the cop tries to talk to me. Asks me who I am, and what I’m doing. Once I replied I was from the Refuge, he visibly calmed down. After asking a few more (not really) stupid questions like, “Is that really how to do that?” and “What kind of training did they put you through?;” the cop did the coolest thing I had, at that point, seen a cop do.

He stopped traffic. On a bridge. So I could have the time I needed to safely insert the bird into his temporary home. I got the pelican into the cage, shut the doors, thanked the officer, and he moved traffic so I could do a three point turn. I drove back to the Refuge, bird squawking in the back seat, immensely pleased with myself. At the Refuge, I did a cursory examination of the pelican. There were no obvious injuries. I ensconced it in one of the larger cages in the Refuge, and made a call to the contracted vet that it needed to be looked at. I gave the pelican a fish, and then went back to my rounds. No missed calls, no animals in distress… another day saved.
That is the end of this pelican story. As a quick wrap-up, the pelican turned out to have survived his traumatic impact with the car just fine. We kept him at the Refuge for four or five days, and released him back into the wild.

In other news, there was a party here on Saturday night. The lovely and talented Tanya was celebrating her birthday. A cadre of cool compadres and I hung out in my room, and during the wild, wooly, and wonderful discussion that happened, a few ground rules were established that we should all abide by. The list follows below.

1. If you have boobs, you are right.
2. If it is your birthday, you are right.
3. If you are wearing a bear hat, you are right.
4. If you are unkempt and scruffy, you are untrustworthy.
5. If you are purebred Asian, you know kung fu.

The interesting thing about this list; is that if you follow it strictly, I am both untrustworthy and right. Now it’s funny how that works out. I feel like that a lot.

And now, dear reader, it is time for this blog to end. I once again beg you for your comments and criticisms, for your digital love and hate. Remember to friend me on Facebook, and follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936. Comments are super important for me. It keeps my blog fresh, not stale like some other amateur blogs you may have read. So comment!

Back in the day, when I was but a wee little Jake- well, to be honest, I wasn’t quite wee then, I was the same height as I am now. But I was tiny in other ways. Hells bells, not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter. What I mean by that poorly planned sentence is that way back then, I had a lot to learn about life, and love, and science fiction. Back then; the world seemed fresh, new, and exciting. There was just one problem. There was just one teeny, tiny, almost insignificant problem. I was a teenager. As such, my body was full of raging hormones that I had no ability to control or understand. As such, I had a lot of anger and angst built up. I was moody, whiny, and your typical teenager.

Okay, so I wasn’t your typical teenager. I didn’t act out. I didn’t rage, or slam doors (often), or yell curses as I stormed throughout the house. I wrote rants. I thought they were pretty good. The very first one I emailed to my friends. I called it a marathon email, because I typed that bout of insanity up at roughly 2 or 3 in the morning, and then sent it to all my friends via email. It was one long rambling stream of conscious amalgamation of strange. All in all, it was a pretty novel experience for me. I felt a great sense of catharsis; I certainly felt better after writing it. As a sample of the inanity of it, here is a portion of it:

“Hmmm… All emails need a purpose. This one is serving as a temporary patch for the flat tire that is my life. Yes, these free association emails are at best a quick fix, seeing as there really is no human response. In my sugar and Monty Python soaked mind, there is no way that I can really let this be a true outlet. It just is not as comforting as having a person there, sharing in your pain, talking it out with you, and discussing philosophical viewpoints on the matter and sex of the universe, or any other dreary philosophical question. Like, “Would a swallow really be unable to carry a coconut, and if he could, what color would his imagination be?”

A few of you, hell, all of you are probably wondering what the hell a marathon email is. Well my friend, compadre, amigo, amiga, buddy, etc, a marathon email is one in which it continues until my eyes cannot stay open, the point at which the ‘H’ key declares war on the ‘P’ key, for no reason other than the fact the ‘P’ key likes to eat frosted prunes. Or the point where my bleary, sleep deprived eyes perceive the various marks and characters on the screen performing various synchronized ballet movements, to the twisted strains of “Atomic Dog,” by George Clinton and the Parliament Funkadelick pouring out of the headphones. And let me tell you, those ‘M’s can do one hell of a pirouette. And eventually, as the sleep deprivation strains onward, the number keys join the arrow keys in a far-reaching conspiracy, involving the dreaded DELETE and PAGE DOWN keys, to stage a coup and undermine the popularity of the alphabet keys. That is when I will stop.”

See what I mean? Pretty out there. I mean, a keyboard civil war? Frosted prunes? Who the hell writes about that? The short answer is that I do. This marathon email sparked a need, a need to express myself.

And so it went on, for one thousand, five hundred, and eleven randomly connected words. I was pretty good at ranting back then; all told, over a period of a year or so, I wrote thirty-one. I’m not ashamed to admit that at one point, writing them became part and parcel of me trying to impress my first girlfriend. No, I don’t know how being alternately random and depressing was supposed to impress her. Go back and reread that part about hormones. It kind of did work; she ended up submitting rants for my site. As did all my friends. It helped me get through a bunch of difficult stuff I was feeling. Not to mention it was a lot of fun. I found out my friends were pretty insane as well. It kind of helped me work on ideas for the comic I was doing back then as well.

There isn’t much to this week’s entry, sadly. It’s more of a realization that I want to do more with my blog than just kvetch and moan about how much life sucks. I want to be crazy, wild, insane, and amusing. I’ve done a good job at editing myself out of what I type lately. I plan to stop that. Perhaps this will help me kindle my muse; find something in me that revels in creativity. Because I fucking want that part of me back.

Tonight, I sat at the computer and wondered what to write about. A very wise person suggested waffles and penguins, but I couldn’t parse that into an intelligible rant. So I started thinking and brainstorming. Which is always a dangerous process for me to start. Chances are, I’ll think up something quite amazing and disturbing. Oh, dear reader, how I did. The most fun I had back then was in writing rants, and reading and posting the rants my friends created. I’d like to recapture some of that glory from the heady days of my youth. I’d like to open up the possibility of guest rants.

Oh yes, dear reader. I want you. I’m not sure how this process is going to work yet. But I’m going to start ranting more, that’s for sure. Except for the “A Man Down” blogs, my blogs have gotten a bit… more depressing lately. So it is back to the perfect storm of free association and craziness. If you feel the urge to rant, to rave, to also write something, feel free! Write it up, and email it to me. I’m thinking of making Thursdays “Guest Blogger Day.” I feel that this would introduce a very interesting and fun dynamic to my site. Dear reader, all it takes is your willing participation.

Once more, dear reader, I implore that you leave your comments on this blog. Comment, critique, rant, rave, and deify me, if need be. Remember to friend me on Facebook, and follow me on Twitter @Chiron7936. Comments are what drive me, what keep me going. And there have been precious few of them lately. Don’t be shy! By amusing! You totally could post anonymously as well! How cool would that be? You could be the Masked Commenting Avenger! Commenting mysteriously at the drop of a hat! You’d get your own costume, theme song, and line of collectible action figurines.