In my head, Santa is busy at this very moment pulling old toys out of the garbage to give to kids. You think the recession didn't hit the North Pole? Think again bitches. Half of the elves were laid off because Santa couldn't get a bail-out. Enjoy your gifts.
This year, due to a messy divorce, will be the first year I spend at home. Usually my family goes out of state during Christmas in order to visit grandparents, but since grandparents and parents are now biased against one another, I decided to just stay home. Though the divorce is sad, staying home for Christmas is making me very happy.
As part of my first Christmas at home, I've decided to make a feast, which will include roast duck, ratatouille, vegetable strudel, and orange custard cake, among other things. I invited my extended family in Utah to come, and they accepted, which also made me happy. However, my extended family (read: grandmother, aunt, and aunt's husband and children) later decided they weren't coming after all, as last year they had Christmas dinner at my aunts house. Last year was the only year they've done this, but they decided it's a tradition now, so none of them will be coming to my meal.
There are several problems with their decision. One: my aunt is a crappy cook. My food will be lightyears better. Two: one year does not a tradition make. Three: they should have declined the invitation in the first place, instead of causing me the trouble of having to revamp an entire dinner to fit the new, reduced guest list. Four: this aunt is always bitching about how we should support each other and spend more time together, yet she has rejected every single one of our invitations to do so. Five: KIMBER ANGRY.
The holidays are the time where we're supposed to become more selfless, more thoughtful, and more inclined to commit our resources towards the good of all mankind. However, I have fallen prey to the relentless advertising and am simply looking for more places to buy better things.
Unfortunately, one of the best places to buy the awesomest things does not have a location in Utah. Yes people, I'm talking about Trader Joe's. It's a grocery store with recycled, free-range, organic, free-trade, sustainable, and imported products that are surprisingly cheap. Trader Joe's has a wide selection of spices, cookies, juices, and chocolate, all of which are extremely delicious. If you thought the arrival of In-N-Out to Utah was spectacular, then Trader Joe's will blow your mind.
But let's get back to the topic at hand: Christmas service. We shouldn't be concentrating on what awesome deals we can get on Japanese ice cream balls or the more worrying aspects of recycled toilet paper. We should be concentrating about how we can better the world and lift each others' spirits. Of course, if you want to multi-task, then you can perform the extremely invaluable service of requesting Trader Joe's to set up a location in Utah by going to:
and filling out a quick little form. If enough of us do this, they will hopefully be convinced to come to our little mountain state, and everyone will be insanely over-joyed and live happily ever after. You will have taken part in one of the most noble efforts this Christmas season, and it won't have even taken up much of your time at all. Plus, you'll have another place you can go Christmas shopping.
...Kimber will now provide something, and invites our readers to discuss whether or not it is funny, and if it is, how much so on a scale of one to ten, one being the least funny, ten being the most funny.
Anyway I'm leaving on the 17th... I'm really happy because I was able to get a great deal on round trip tickets without spending an arm and a leg. :w00t:
what's really great is that I'm arriving in Utah really early around 12:00. Yep the airport is being kind to me ^-^. They're making a strait beeline run from providence Road island, stopping once in Chicago. And then strait to salt lake. God loves me, and I love God.
Anyway I mainly wanna see some comments from my bro... Because when I get in Utah I have some serious questions about my property; which may, or may not be broken and destroyed by a bunch of disrespecting family members. >.>
Grandpa hinted that my buick may or may not be sitting ducks in the driveway with all the other broken down cars. And because of this my poor mother had to walk home 3 miles in the snow...uphill...both ways...>.>. Why didn't you tell me that my car got fucked?
Also how's my baby doing? you know my MAC? Because I really miss her... I bet she misses me too.
I was invited to go with my great uncle to Aspen, Colorado this weekend. Being one to shirk responsibility and ditch out on previously-made obligations in the hopes of some fun, I immediately said yes. Flaky as I may be, I am dedicated enough to my devoted readers (and egotistical enough) to post updates on my trip.
Currently, I'm in the Aspen airport, waiting for my uncle's flight to arrive. I would have already brushed my teeth, splashed water on my face, moisturized, and perhaps changed outfits, except that my luggage is not yet here. This has never happened to me before. Up until this point, I believed myself to be a lucky traveler; one who never has any thing become lost or stolen, and who always has fun despite the worst of conditions.
Standing at the baggage carousel long after all the other passengers had left the airport, I started to realize that this might not be the case. I might be one of those hum-drum people who loses their luggage, is bogged down by the difficulties of travel, and who will eventually become an irate, haggard old woman who screams at airport personnel when not allowed to take her over-sized bag on board with her as a carry-on.
Thinking about this probable future made me sad, and I was about to start bemoaning my luck as I waited for Kevin (the friendly dude who finished dealing with aforementioned irate bag-lady and then dealt with me as if the nasty event hadn't happened at all--way to be graceful, Kevin) to locate my bag, when he handed me this:
A goody bag full of tiny toiletries! This promptly restored my faith in my luckiness as a traveler. I think it's worth it losing my bag, if I get a replacement bag full of smaller, cuter replacements. Not all travelers may feel this way, but that's why they don't enjoy themselves as much as I do.
And for those of you who are concerned about my bag, don't worry, Kevin worked wonders. He located it in Denver, had it put on the next flight to Aspen, and will have it delivered to my hotel room by nine o'clock tonight. That leaves me just enough time to enjoy my tiny toiletries before I start needing their full-sized versions.
It's easy to become a best-selling vampire novelist. All you need to do is follow these simple steps. Feel free to be creative and add personal flourishes to your story, but be sure to complete each required item, otherwise you'll find yourself in the half-off bin faster than you can say "bite me". Stick to the list though, and you'll find yourself signing a big movie or HBO deal just as fast.
1. Make your protagonist a young woman who thinks she isn't special, but really is. You don't have to actually make her special, just show that she's so by having all the males around her fall uncontrollably in love with her. All the desirable males, that is.
2. The protagonist should have a vampire love interest. He should be tall, dark, handsome, and most importantly, aloof. The protagonist should not be able to understand what he is thinking, and most encounters with him should leave her confused. He should love her fully and completely, but be unable to say so, and she should be unsure of these obvious feelings.
3. Upon her romantic involvement with a vampire, the protagonist should be swept into a dangerous underworld of mythical creatures and secret societies. Everyone in this underworld should be fascinated, or at least interested in the protagonist, though again, she should not understand why.
4. The protagonist needs to be a virgin. This is very important, as the first time she has sex with a vampire needs to be the most memorable time. The protagonist should have a strong sex drive, but not use it until her vampire lover appears. The sensual loss of innocence is a very important theme in vampire novels.
5. Sex is a very important aspect in any best-selling vampire novel. If you are selling to tweenagers, make the sexual tension subtle, but omnipresent. If you are selling to a more adult crowd, include several tasteful sex scenes which include the protagonist reaching ultimate pleasure over and over again. The protagonist's lovers should be gentle and caring, yet they need to take charge of the situation. There should never, ever be any awkwardness in love-making (other than that of being interrupted by a jealous suitor), and every sexual experience should be a perfect one.
6. Most importantly, your protagonist needs to be nondescript. Every female reader should be able to identify with your protagonist, sympathize with her, and fantasize that she is her. This full-life voyeurism is what sells novels and brings media deals, so be sure to never, ever skip this step.
Today, as I was doing yard work, I found a little group of mice hiding in my garden shed. They've apparently been living very comfortably on a bag of grass seed that I had stored in there, so I took the grass seed out and attempted to get my dog to chase them down. Despite the fact that he was bred in part to catch and kill rodents, he was too afraid of the cement floor and dark interior of the shed to do more than growl at them from the door.
Because of this, I ended up spending my entire afternoon cleaning everything out of the shed, washing off all the junk that had mice droppings on it, and screaming like a banshee every time one of the mice ran across the floor. The neighborhood kids even gathered in my front yard to watch me swear as I hauled stuff out, and swear louder every time I thought a mouse had touched me.
In the end, all the mice hid behind a large book case which was too heavy for me to move. I thought this was a very anti-climactic ending, so instead I'm going to say that they bonzai-attacked me by jumping from the rafters into my hair, but I head-butted all but one of them into the wall, then let my super-brave, ferocious dog lick their bleeding guts. The one that lived ran away to be institutionalized in the country, where all he will say is "Can't sleep, Sparty will eat me". Oh, also, the neighborhood children now respect me an incredible amount, and the only new words I taught them were SAT-approved.
This is Devin. The other day I was exploring the files on an old usb drive that we have. And lo and behold I was rewarded by the USB drive gods who presented me with an old story that Nolan wrote back in High School. (SPOILER!) It involves awesome so don't read ahead if you don't like that. With no furthur ado, I present to you the story.
The Magic Painter By: Nolan Renshaw
One day old Picador sat down and began to think. He thought of his life, he thought of his children, but most importantly of all: he thought of his weed. Ah yes, weed; the curer of all sickness, the brightness to every bad day, and the key to all highness. It was a fact that Picador smoked weed often. On the table next to him were his personal belongings. These items included his brush, his pallet, a broken vase, a load of rubbish and obviously: his weed.
“MMMM,” thought Picador as he reached in his coat for matches. Suddenly a shiver went down his spine, “my matches,” he whispered to himself. “WHERE ARE MY MATCHES!?” Picador felt the heat rise in him as he realized what was going on. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAA,” He Violently screamed, sending himself on a wild goose hunt.
During the hunt, Picador found it appropriate to throw chairs around. It seemed to soothe his soul. It also made the hunt more fun.
About an hour later, Picador plopped down to rest. “Where are my matches?” he sobbed, “Oh boo who, snort, sniff.” A sound caught Picador’s ear. “What was that” he said raising his head, “eek a Rat!” Yet little did picador know, this rat wasn’t just any rat, this rat was different, and he had some matches in his mouth. Unfortunately, before picador could realize the irony of the whole situation, Ratty poo ran away.
“Come back!” picador cried- Even though it was no good because rats couldn’t understand English.-“Come back.” The old man then dropped his head, got up, and walked softly back to his table. He looked around at his ruined house. “Amazing what a difference matches can make,” picador grumbled, and began his long depressing journey of painting a picture, without weed.
This is Devin. Sorry to our fans and a very special sorry to Patty for not posting in a while. But no sorry to Kimber or Nolan. For secret reasons.
Anywhoo, I guess I should start with the lame excuses, so you people know where I have been and stuff. Recently, I got a job at IHOP where I bus tables and put up with crap from people. Usually when I get home from this job of hell I wish the world would burn into a fiery crisp and take all the IHOPs and Miley Cyruses in the world with it. This of course doesn't put me in a good mood for creative writing. Also, I'm taking a class at UVU. Yes, one class. Which for most Joe-bloes would be easy, but I am a special retarded case. When everyone else was able to turn in their mid term assignment finished and ready to get an 'A' grade, I turned mine in half-baked and ready to get (hopefully) a 'C' grade. Yes I am optimistic about this. My final and best excuse is that last Tuesday naked booby Hawaiians burst into my house, tied me down, and pleasured me so hard that I went into a trance like state that I only woke up from about ten minutes ago. I am being completely honest.
Here's a funny thing.
Sorry if I offend anyone with my brashness, wait what am I saying? No I'm not. Have a nice day.
Today we got a special letter from a Boonshequa in Texas which reads:
Dear nerd night posse. I think kimbers stories are gay, please kill her and give all my love to Devin, (who has gone missing)...
The rest is just x rated porno stuff about the sexual things she did to devin while on a cruise in mexico. BOONSHEQUAS ROCK!
oh and her name was Patty
Today I Nolan will answer this fanmail by saying: WHAT THE HELL PATTY! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU! I Read throught that entire letter two whole times and not once did I see my name mentioned. That's sick and wrong, you should be ashamed. Oh and as for killing kimber. Devin's on that right now, so just hang tight and keep your panties on.
It's not too often we get fanmail but when we do it's pretty cool.
Though started as an individual venture by Devin, Time to Wipe the Crack quickly became a group effort, with the responsibilities for it shared between Devin, Nolan, and Kimber. However, Nolan in effect died by joining the navy, so it's just been Devin and Kimber for a while. Alert readers will notice however, that Devin hasn't posted in more than a month. Where has he gone? What is he doing? Why does he apparently not have an internet connection? In order to better answer these questions and more, a few different scenarios will now be offered. We (now just Kimber) invite the readers to vote on which they think is the most likely.
Scenario Goosefoot Devin was directed to finish the job of slaughtering his chickens by finding the one errant meat hen that was hidden amongst the laying hens. His search lead him to a series of clues which has taken him to Siberia, where he now is in the process of interrogating a very lost and very confused duck.
Scenario UVU Rocks Devin couldn't take the pressure created by the hulking institution of BYU anymore, so he developed a plan to take down the University himself. The first stage of this plan is very similar to the last scene of Inside Man (Spoiler Alert!), in that he is now hiding behind a false wall, pooping in a little hole he dug and eating granola bars. He just has to wait for Denzel Washington to go by so that he can set in motion a chain of events that will take the home of the cougars down.
Scenario Sibling Biddle has taken Devin hostage in a desperate attempt to establish himself as the most favorite child. Nolan was in the navy, and Larissa was busy doing troll things, but other than that all the Renshaw children are currently locked in the chicken coop, hoping that Joselyn will acquiesce to Biddle's requests before the worst happens.
As you all probably know, my family is filled with screwed-up characters. While most of them get crazier as they age, a few get better. One of these is my Great Grandma Constable. She used to be mean, judgmental, and unforgiving, but now that she's old and forgetful, she's happy with everything. I come once a week to count out her pills and organize them for her in a pill case, and she's always happy to see me, grateful for my help, and completely understanding of any mistakes I make. I wish more people could age like her.
Here is a picture, but not of her. It's of my Great-great Grandma Teofila.
I have pictures for you, though they may not make sense.
This is Spartacus eating a corn cob. I just think he's cute.
This is the Segway cop that was policing the rodeo at the state fair. He had a loaded gun on him and everything. It was pretty cool, until he heard me snickering about his Segway. The look he gave me wasn't cool at all.
Here, Caralee and her new boytoy Joey are wearing the underwear that she bought at the fair on their heads. Such a cute couple, no?
Yesterday I went to the state fair. There's really nothing to report, except that my parents wouldn't buy me a wiggle car (I would post a picture, but I'm lazy, so google it). Additionally, I felt bad for the salespeople, because mostly the old ones were the ones that weren't doing any business, and they were the ones that reminded me most of Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman. I would have bought something to cheer them up, but I didn't have any money, and their products really were crap.
Since all my efforts to remember the password to the Nerd Night blog have been fruitless, I've simply set up a new one. The address is: www.thenerdnightpost.blogspot.com and I've already written the first entry. Better yet, it's kept under this account, so there are three people who know the password. Now I just hope we don't get collective amnesia.
As all two of our readers probably know by now, we here at Time To Wipe The Crack are big fans of fmylife.com. Since I haven't been able to think of anything to blog about, but have suffered through a number of ironic coincidences recently, I thought I'd try writing some fmylife entries here on our blog. I would submit them to the real page, but I'm afraid of failure.
Just a note: not all of these things happened today, but it was close enough.
Today, I was visiting my great-grandmother in her nursing home. An old man on the elevator had blue tennis balls on the legs of his walker instead of green ones. I didn't think before I said, "I like your blue balls". FML.
Today, I sleptwalked early in the morning and wandered around rearranging my towels. I also left a lit candle on the edge of the toilet seat. I have only the foggiest memory of doing this, and have no idea why I felt it needed to be done. I hope I haven't done anything else in my sleep. FML.
Today, my sisters were tormenting my dog, who is afraid of the dark and non carpeted floors, by pushing him onto a concrete floor and turning the lights out. I intervened to rescue him, and he peed all down my front. FML.
Devin here, further stereotyping the cliche that all I do is post videos and links to some other person's intelligent crap. And yes I'm posting because I'm jealous that Kimber posted a whole bunch of stuff and therefore is stealing all the spotlight. Wench. But really we so glad Kimba is back. And her little dog too. Now onward with important matters.
Hello All, and goodbye smoggy, crowded, stinky California. Don't get me wrong, the state has its good points, it's just that very few of them can be found in Stockton. For my last day here I continued to work on my Grandpa's computer until it was time to meet my Great Uncle Bill for lunch. We went to the Macaroni Grill and had fun catching up on gossip. He still works, so I had to leave after an hour and a half, but it was still enjoyable.
After getting back from a late lunch, I made an early dinner for my grandparents. Since it was gumbo they delayed eating it for as long as possible. Once we finally sat down and ate, they were surprised at how good it was. People, I tell you, I can cook like nobody's business if left to myself.
After dinner Grandpa, Spartacus, and I went on a stressful walk. It would have been nice, but a little terrier chased us halfway around the block. I would have been proactive, but his Korean owner was chasing after him hissing. I couldn't tell if the hissing was directed at the dog or us, but I decided to avoid confrontation.
Now I'm trapped back in my Grandpa's oven of a room, trying to get google video chat to work. I think I might just give up and tell him that google went under in the recession. After all, it is my last night here, and I do still have some ice cream to finish.
Today was supposed to be the day we went to San Francisco, but it looks like I wore my Grandpa out sooner than I thought I would, so we stayed home. For some reason my body decided that five in the morning was no longer an acceptable wake up time, so I didn't get up until eleven, a act which I received no end of teasing about.
I didn't do much for the rest of the day besides help my grandparents grocery shop for my cousin (we don't share well, so more oreos were required). After that I took a nap (yes, I know, I needed a lot of sleep today), then the four of us went to see G.I. Joe. I've seen it before, but I have to admit, the real subtleties of the movie reveal themselves with the second viewing. After that we were going to go to In-N-Out Burger, but The Outback Steakhouse was closer, so we went there instead.
By the time we got home it was too dark and I was too full to walk Spartacus, but he was so lonely from being outside all day that all he wanted to do was cuddle on my lap anyway. I'll have to carry my big bag tomorrow so he can come with me wherever I go.
By Kimber: Reporting from the field since...yesterday.
Today my Grandpa Joe, Nana Barbara, and I went to the California state fair. We were fifteen minutes late, as I didn't sleep properly (thanks to Grandpa's ghost and Spartacus growling at it) and so slept in. This caused my Grandpa to insist that he drive, which caused me to become violently ill. It turned out that we were only fifteen minutes late, a mistake which my Grandpa was almost livid about, but forgave immediately once he realized that there were still parking spots left in the shade. This forgiveness didn't absolve my carsickness though, so I had to stick my head between my knees for a little while before we could go in.
The fair was nice, though the salespeople at the booths were more pushy than usual due to the recession (at least I assume it was due to the recession. It could just be that global assholism is on the rise). I didn't get anything, though I was tempted by the worm composting bins, and the attractive guy selling them. However, the attractive guy had terrible coffee breath, and the bins were ninety dollars, so it looks like I'll be dreaming of Clint Eastwood and mixing my own compost until something better comes along.
Today we found out that my cousin Joey just got a job in Stockton (he's been living with Rae Anne and her family in Sacramento), so he'll be coming to stay with my grandparents tonight, and Rae Anne and Takeo will be coming tomorrow. This meant that I had to keep Spartacus chained in the kitchen all afternoon. I sat with him the entire time, but he was still sulky and refused to eat his dinner. I was going to go on a sympathy hunger strike with him, until I realized that I had chocolate ice cream bon bons from Trader Joe's in the freezer, so I gave up. This ended up being a good thing, as once Spartacus saw I was eating, he decided to eat too. This decision might have been aided by the fact that I dropped some ice cream in his dish along with his dog food.
On a side note, my family members have been asking what I'm typing, and I made the mistake of telling them that it was a blog. They asked for the address, but I deflected their requests by telling them that it was immature and they wouldn't like it. The real reason I refused was because I couldn't remember how insulting or not the things I've written about them are. So, the poll question of the day (which I hope you'll answer in the comments section) is: How insulting would the members of my family find this blog to be?
Written by Kimber: Making People Laugh Since 1986.
Hello All, I've been in California for the past week or so, and only fixed my Grandpa's internet today, so I haven't been able to give daily updates on my trip. (Un)Fortunately for you, I've been saving up the best tidbits from my trip, and will post them here for you now. I'll be traveling till Wednesday, so look for daily updates from now till then. I do this all not for your benefit, but because I am narcissistic, and enjoy hearing myself type.
Friday, August 14, 2009
On the trip from Utah to California there were three people in the car, Spartacus, my Grandma, and me. Only one of us had ice cream, and only one of us is lactose intolerant. Unfortunately, those two were the same person, and so we spent the trip with the windows down from Lovelock, Nevada onwards.
When I finally got to Stockton after dropping off my Grandma in Napa (my grandparents are divorced; my Grandma used to live in Napa but moved to Utah, she just went back to Napa to visit. My Grandpa in Stockton and his second wife, my Nana Barbara are the two I'm visiting and staying with), my Grandpa and Nana had dinner waiting for me. There was roast chicken, macaroni salad, and steamed vegetables. They neglected to tell me about the home-grown, industrial-strength chili peppers in the vegetables, and both ended up laughing till they cried while I made a fool of myself sobbing and chugging milk. I couldn't taste anything again until the middle of the next day. They said that those chilis were the mild ones.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I spent today recovering from the after-effects of yesterday's events. I also got to meet my cousin's illegitimate son, Takeo; make the arrangements to visit other family members, not all of whom my Grandpa is fond of; go shopping for all the meals I'm cooking, which I do to thank Nana and Grandpa for letting me stay with them; and sneak Spartacus into the house, even though Nana said he had to stay in the yard. I also convinced her to let him sleep in my room, even though she only wanted him to sleep in the kitchen. It was a sweet victory which I celebrated by letting Spartacus sleep in bed with me, rather than beside the bed like Nana thought he would. Don't tell.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
My Great Uncle Bill came and visited today. He doesn't get along with most of the family, but for some reason he likes me, so he spent all day with us. I mostly told him about the rotten things my sisters do, as I try to paint myself in the best light by not telling people about all the rotten things I do. Apparently this technique worked, as he invited me to go to Hawaii with him. The invitation was not extended to Spartacus though, so I guess he'll have to stay home while I snorkel and learn to golf.
I decided it would be nice to make dinner for everybody today, and since this is my first time cooking for Uncle Bill I chose to make spaghetti, as my recipe is divine and foolproof. However, I didn't manage to make the kitchen completely Nana proof, so the sauce ended up being half her recipe and half mine. The onions were underdone, she put a whole jar of ragu in the sauce, and insisted that in addition to my carefully selected spices and herbs I put in a pre-made sauce packet. The spaghetti sauce was better than what Nana makes, but much, much worse than what I make. I'll be honest, it was disgusting. Luckily everyones taste buds are so burned out with spicy food that no one could really tell how bad it was but me. I expect that all my cooking will be like this, a fact which causes me an undue amount of frustration, so I will write no more about it except to say this: I am a very good cook, and am not responsible for the times when people insist I do things their way and so screw up my recipes beyond recognition.
Monday, August 17, 2009
I visited my Great Aunt Peggy today. My Grandpa Joe was ready to go after only two hours, but since I drove (and subsequently pretended to lose the key) we were able to stay for a decent amount of visiting time. Aunt Peggy took Nana and me to Anthropologie, a store which we apparently have in Salt Lake, but which I have never been to or even heard of. However, I found that it's a store I am quite fond of. I avoided the temptation of blowing this fall's textbook money on a dress I look absolutely fabulous in, but I couldn't resist spending two months worth of utility money on a dress I look pretty darn good in. I am sad about not getting the fabulous dress, but I figure I can camp out outside of the Salt Lake location and mug the next person to buy it.
While the women went shopping, my Uncle Clark and Grandpa Joe stayed home and programmed my Grandpa's new GPS system. Just to try it out, Grandpa Joe programmed it to guide us home, then spent the whole ride contradicting it and telling me to ignore its directions. Apparently he thinks the new GPS is neat, but doesn't really trust it.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Today I took my Auntie Angel and my Nana Barbara to the doctor's office in Sacramento (which is about an hour away from Stockton). My Auntie Angel had cervical cancer previously, so she was going to a check-up to make sure that everything was going alright. Everything except the traffic was fine; I finally learned why my Grandpa hated commuting, and now hates driving anywhere. California driving is intense.
After the doctor's office I took a nap. Apparently it was so hot that I took off my clothes in my sleep, because I woke up to my Grandpa yelling in surprise and slamming the door. He had come in to wake me up, only to find a solely-(and luckily)-underwear-clad Kimber who just grunted and rolled over at his shock. Nana had to come in an shake me awake. I apologized profusely and explained what must have happened, but now my Grandpa refuses to be the one to wake me up.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I didn't do much today besides show my Grandpa how to use his computer. He's had it for years, but my younger cousins have installed so much junk on it that he can't tell what's what anymore. Grandpa also wants to buy himself a laptop and set up a wireless system, so I'll be doing that with him this weekend. I think it's neat that my Grandpa likes to keep up with technology, but it's a little frustrating how many times he has to be told how it works.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Nana and I returned to my Aunt Peggy's for a girls' day. We went to see Julie & Julia, went out to lunch, and went shopping at the mall near Aunt Peggy's house. I'm fairly poor, and usually not interested in shopping as an activity (what fun is it when you don't have any money to spend?), but this mall was amazing. It had an H&M, a Tiffany & Co., and even a Louis Vuitton store. What I would give to be a trophy wife in possession of a Black American Express card.
Friday, August 21, 2009
My cousin Joey, his son Takeo, and Takeo's mom Rae Anne came to visit today. Since they were spending the night my Nana Barbara booted Spartacus outside and thoroughly cleaned the house. I thought this was ironic as Spartacus has only thrown up once, while Takeo is constantly puking, and even pooped on two separate sets of sheets. I spent most of the day anxious about my dog and lonely without him, while everyone else watched football. Boo.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Since Joey, Rae Anne, and Takeo spent the night, but I was already in the guest room, Nana was going to sleep with Grandpa Joe (they have separate bedrooms). However, I found out today that rather than share a bed with Grandpa for one night, Nana slept on the couch. At first I thought it was because he likes to get up and play computer games in the middle of the night, but then she told me it was because he said he had a ghost in his room. Apparently my Grandpa saying that he hears things right before he goes to sleep was enough to convince my Nana Barbara never to sleep in his room again.
The whole family went to a Barbecue at my Auntie Angel's house today, so Spartacus spent most of the day outside, alone in the heat. I had an okay time at my Auntie's, despite the fact that I don't have a lot in common with that part of the family (they like sports and are diabetics, I like not moving around a lot and chocolate), but apparently Spartacus was miserable. When I tried to bring him in later that afternoon he was very, very, very excited, if you know what I mean. I had to wait five minutes before his excitement went down and he was decent enough to present to my grandparents. I even gave him a bath, despite the fact that Takeo is much stinker than Spartacus ever is. Also, Takeo puked on me. It went all down my front and now I smell like baby barf because I think some might have gotten in my hair. I have no idea why people like him more than Spartacus.
This is Seaman Renshaw with another important announcement:
Today I went on a special type of watch called a Topside sentry. Robot probably knows what those terms mean but since none of you really have any Idea what I'm talking about, I'll explain what I did in as short a sentence as I can: I walked in a building checking classified vaults and making sure everything was locked, then I returned to the front and gave my report to the Petty officer of the deck. That's what a Rover does.
When I first arrived to the Lewis Hall, I looked at its integrity and observed that it looked similar to those buildings you see in horror movies: abandoned yet functional. (It took me ten minutes to find the front door to that son of a bitch). When I got inside I immediately went on my topside sentry rove. I would now like to point out that I was the only person in the building other then the person on the front desk. I would also like to point out that the maintenance in this building was super shitty. the walls had mildew caked from years of negligence, there was a drinking fountain that was flooded and broken, weird sounds came from the upstairs, some of the doors opened and shut on their own. What creeped me out the most was the bathroom: the bathroom when you first enter, had a flickering light directly above one of the two stalls. There was also a shadow coming from underneath the stall like someone was there. When I looked inside there was nothing, the shadow was gone after that.
I also went upstairs where the weird sounds resided. There were no lights, but I was required to check a door there: the roof access. That door was dead bolted. I didn't explore the rest it to see where the weird sounds came from.
In the end I have to wonder what madness lurks behind these vaults. Could it be mythos beings from another dimension in whom we perform experiments on? Could it be a new source of power... that's evil? Or is it just the chiefs porno and I'm shitting myself for nothing
This is Devin. Since there has been an absence of posting as of lately, I decided to put up something. But also since I am feeling unclever I am going to have a contest. I will put up some pictures and I want you(the reader) to write your best captions in the comment section. I will then pick a winner and you will get a surprise prize. I promise it will be good.
Rules are as follows: Captions must be funny or clever(Bonus points for funny and clever) Use the title of the picture then do the caption. Example: Picture 4: I like candy. No being a butt and not participating. Ok here are the pictures.
Nolan here with an important announcement: I'm out of bootcamp and things are a whole lot easier. The petty officers here are nice for once, I can say: "hey dude" to one of them without getting my balls chewed. The best News is that they finally stopped feeding us food from the garbage. I love the fact that I can finally have a nice variety
But alas I fear I might get fat again. I know it's only been a few days since I've out of bootcamp, and I know that I live up six flights of stairs, and I know that we'll get a Physical training three times a week. But I met alot of older subs: they're FAT! Fear for the future gentlemen.
Its been a good long time since I, Devin have done a show and tell. But today I present to you, two videos that will screw with your perception of normalcy. The first is a trailer for an actual, full length movie that's coming out in the nutty land of Japan. Already, it looks like a great addition to Jarret's bad movie collection. Give it a moment to buffer and click on the full screen so that you can see the whole video.
The second movie is one that I thought was neat, even if it's not particularly funny or crazy.
Hello all, I didn't want to let a major national holiday go by without posting on the blog (because our blog is so important and has a huge readership who checks it daily), so I thought I'd write something. The trouble is, I don't have anything to write.
However, I do have several things to complain about, but I can't do it openly, since I've found out that a few more people read the blog than I thought they did, and I don't want to hurt their feelings. So I will write about it in code.
Gossipy Item One: Once upon a time there was a little self-absorbed canary who thought the world revolved around him. Once a year every year he would become more self-absorbed than usual, and would demand that people pay attention to him, even though there were lots of other things to pay attention to on that particular day. Still the little canary threw hissy fits and pouted every time he didn't get what he wanted, so everyone eventually gave in to what he wanted, even though they all knew he was being a giant buttbag. One day, a little shrew decided to stick it to the canary and tell him that he was being a buttbag, but the canary cried, and everyone thought it was the shrew that was being mean, and so they told him off, even though everyone knew that it was just the canary trying to get attention. The shrew didn't let this bother him though, because the gift he'd gotten the canary was returnable, and in any case, canaries die sooner.
Gossipy Item Two: Once upon a time in a land far, far away, a princess was having trouble with her laundry. Since she was trying to be eco-friendly, she air-dried all her clothes, but then they started to smell like mildew. The princess was very upset, because she liked to smell good; like flowers and spices, not like mold and potentially-respiratory-problem-causing-spores. She decided to wash all her clothes with a very powerful potion which would make the mildew smell disappear, but unfortunately her kingdom had been hit by the recession as well, so she couldn't afford it. So now the princess is stuck in a crappy situation because she doesn't have enough money to buy her way out and isn't clever enough to think her way out. Sadly, this is the moral of all but a very few stories.
Gossipy Item Three: Once upon a time, a very long time ago, there was a club of wood elves who would meet together and bake cookies (not the Keebler elves, those guys are pathetic copy-cats, though they do make some damn good cookies). Eventually they moved on with their lives and branched out to do different things, but they still had fond memories of each other, and so decided to have a get-together where they could bake cookies again and laugh and play. One very small elf named Drib decided to go, but she was very nervous because while the other elves had learned magic and found fairies to prance around with, she had only learned the art of cynicism and apathy. The get-together was fun for everyone but Drib, who was too nervous about her own lack of accomplishment to be happy for others. Drib left early, and decided to never go again. However, Drib did have an outlet for her stories(if only a very small one), and so Drib was able to make fun of all the happy elves, even if only a few other elves ever heard her.
Last monday we wrote another postcard to Nolan. It's a secret what the contents of the postcard actually entail. Especially since I didn't scan in that side and forgot what it said. But I drew the picture on the other side and I thought you would enjoy it. Sorry Kimber. I know you wanted the printed out picture but Jarret asked me to draw it because he thought it would be funnier.
Also today, I discovered a website where a guy is trying to collect one million Giraffes. So far he has 5169 giraffes and so he still needs 994,831. He wants to get them all by 2011 and he has predicted that he'll need a drawing every minute in order for it to happen. So impossible in other words. Feeling sorry for the guy I drew a giraffe picture. According to the guy's rules this picture counts as two giraffes. I also encourage all our readers/ writers to draw giraffe pictures. It would be fun.
And yes I know the giraffe picture sucks. I drew it in like five minutes so screw you.
A number of people are of the opinion that the Mormon church is a cult wherein people wear crazy underwear and drink goats blood in order to have lots and lots of children. As a member of the Mormon church, I feel qualified to explain that the church is simply a religious organization dedicated to bringing people closer to God, and nothing more. The real cult is hidden in the church's educational system.
You see, Mormon children are indoctrinated to BYU from the day they are born. A good many of them were babies when their parents were still on campus completing degrees, and so these children's baby pictures are filled with Cosmo the Cougar (BYU's mascot), Wymount apartments (BYU's married student housing), and trips to BYU events with grandma and grandpa dressed in BYU blue. There's even a BYU Baby Beauty contest (which I won) to get children used to competing with each other at BYU for impossible standards (the baby beauty contest is to date the only impossible BYU standard which I have not felt an inordinate amount of stress over. It's actually quite possible that I did experience some anxiety, but I don't remember it, and I look happy in the pictures, so I'm going to say that I was a very confident, carefree one year old).
BYU has recently decided to expand their children's marketing by creating a baby cougar clothing line, in which Cosmo is rendered as an adorable cougar club, and parents can buy their children pint-sized cheer leading outfits and other school-spirit wear. So far only the hard-core college sports fans families have invested in this, but I expect that BYU will find a way to market to the math nerds, the fantasy fans, and even the counter-culture before the decade is out.
Children get a bit of a break in their late years from BYU, if their parents graduate soon enough, move far enough away, and care little for their alma mater (these three events are rare, but combined together they make the perfect storm, the product of which is the Jack Mormon) but the BYU cult comes back when one reaches adolescence and the age of eligibility for EFY.
Especially For Youth is hell. I should admit here that I've never gone, so I don't have the inside experience, but I loathe summers at BYU when pimply loud-mouthed teenagers descend on campus like a swarm of brightly dressed, over-enthusiastic locusts. The teens that attend this event are made to sing songs, attend talks, and walk in pairs all over campus (heaven forbid that a girl should walk unescorted without the support of a man's arm). The scary part is that most of them are excited to do it, and are sad when they have to leave.
As soon as one is almost too old to attend EFY, it comes time to apply to college. This is where BYU plays its greatest mind trick ever. Whereas most colleges court prospective applicants with postcards, letters, and invitations to visit campus, BYU is strangely silent. Even when a student sends them their ACT or SAT scores, BYU responds only with a polite thank you postcard, and a flimsy key chain.
My personal opinion is that this seals the idea of BYU as all-powerful institution in the student's mind. BYU is so massively huge that even when someone has a 31 on their ACT, a 3.7 GPA, and crazy-mad writing skills, BYU doesn't feel the need to even send them a get-to-know-us-before-you-make-your-decision pamphlet, but instead waits for that same student to apply and hold their breath for four months until BYU makes its decision. BYU is further solidified as unapproachably omnipotent by the fact that it is a church school. If you do badly here, it's not just a problem with your knowledge base, there's likely a problem with your testimony, and maybe even God is unhappy with you.
As cruel as all this sounds, I think that this is the final coup de grace where the indoctrination to BYU is made complete. People tend to want what they can't have, and BYU lets people go for eighteen years wanting them before they let you know that they don't necessarily want you. It's the few and the strong that are able to disregard the megalith of blue when this happens and move on with their lives. The rest of us are left only to wonder what it is we did wrong, and what we can do to win BYU back.
Of course, I hear that the easy cure is attending the University of Utah, but it is a drastic option, and one that would require the purchase of a new, non-blue wardrobe.
I found this on the internet and was shocked and entertained at the same time. I don't want to spoil it so here it is. Gibson would be proud(a gay comic book teacher I had once, he thought that Batman was abused as a child).
It has come to my attention that depression has been at an all time high here at time to wipe the crack. The cause of this epidemic may be for several reasons, such as Nolan leaving, Grant leaving(months back, but still), summer school for Kimber, and brat children reminding Devin of why he moved out in the first place. So in an attempt to stem the tide of cry baby faces, I have for you two videos that at the very least will provide destraction for a couple minutes. Even if it doesn't solve anyone's problems.
The first video is about office romance with music and post-its. Also because our blog layout is too thin and nobody knows how to fix it, I recommend clicking on the video so that you can see it at youtube in its whole widened glory.
The second video is about a pelican eating a smaller bird.
This is Devin with an important delivery. Nolan sent us a second letter from Boot Camp telling us all about how retarded his shipmates are and how his butt gets eaten on a daily basis. Here it is. Be happy. Also Kimber and I the other day were discussing a radical plan to gain more readership. There may or may not be more news in the next couple days/weeks/years. Stay tuned.
We are in a panic mode here at Time to Wipe the Crack, as due to Nolan's joining the Navy, and Grant's forgetting about us completely, we have very few readers left. The staff is concerned, as their jobs depend on the popularity of this blog, and so they have pitched the following ideas to increase readership:
1. Sign Eric Idle (of Monty Python fame) to start guest writing pieces. Encourage him to write humorous songs as well.
2. Hack into Amazon.com's servers so that every time people try to go to their website, they get re-directed to ours.
3. Invent a device that allows computers to manufacture chocolate, but only after the user has left a positive comment on our blog.
4. We'll get back to you on four. Government censorship is currently keeping us from telling you just how awesome idea number four really is.
5. Get Bill Gates to somehow endorse us, as well as force users of his software to visit our site every time they go online.
6. Place ads for Time to Wipe the Crack during children's television, and include an annoying theme song, so their parents will be forced to visit the site in order to get their children to shut up.
7. Suggestion number seven is just as awesome as suggestion number four, except that it has sparkles, so it's double-censored.
8. We could post a series of pictures that are so disgusting and offensive that some group will protest them, thus causing people to check out the site to see what all the fuss is about. Perhaps a picture of Nolan in his underwear might do.
9. Since Leno is starting a new late night show (except that it won't air so late at night), one of the Time to Wipe the Crack staff could try to get a job on it, then write subliminal messaging advertisements into our jokes. Thousands of middle-agers would log on to our blog without ever knowing why.
10. Make the blog even more awesome than it is now.
So, dear and few readers, vote in the comments section for which suggestion you think is the best. Or we could always just write more consistently with higher quality. That could work too.
P.S. Nolan, I only made that snide remark about you in your underwear because I'm jealous of how much sexier you are then me. I'll never be able to compare. Sigh.
This is a section from a Newsweek article on how Oprah gives bad advice. I like anything that criticizes Oprah, but I especially liked these two paragraphs.
On one of the Secret shows, Oprah gave an example of the scientific power of the concept. She said that once, while she was hosting an episode about a man who could blow really big soap bubbles, she was thinking to herself, "Gee, that looks fun. I would like to blow some bubbles." When she returned to her office after the show, there, on her desk, was a silver Tiffany bubble blower. "So I call my assistant," Oprah told the audience. "I say, 'Did you just run out and get me some bubbles? 'Cause I got bubbles by my desk.' And she says, 'No, the bubbles were always there. I bought you bubbles for your birthday and you didn't notice them until today'."
There are many lessons that might be drawn from this anecdote. One is that if you give Oprah a thoughtful gift, she may not bother to notice it or thank you for it. This is not the lesson Oprah took away from her story. Because the way she sees it, her assistant hadn't really given her the gift at all. She gave it to herself. Using the power of The Secret, she said, "I had called in some bubbles."
Bottom Line: Oprah is ape-shit crazy.
You can read the whole article here: http://www.newsweek.com/id/200025/page/1
Being a busy college student with a lot of stress, I decided to leave my dog with my sister for the weekend so I could get some work done. I didn't get any work done, and now I have a very ill-behaved dog because my sister was neglectful and ditzy. Despite the fact that Spartacus has already chewed up the sprinkler system drip lines once, and my sister helped our dad replace them, she still thought it was a good idea to let him out into the yard unattended.
Spartacus took that opportunity to re-destroy all the drip lines, rip apart all the welcome mats he could reach, and individually deposit dozens of those little white landscaping rocks all over the yard. The best part is that I promised my dad I wouldn't let Spartacus out of the house without supervision, and have been very careful with him for the last two weeks whenever we came home. Now I'll get blamed for how naughty my dog was, rather than how stupid my sister was.
My sister also decided that it wasn't very important to let the dog outside when she was home, so I got a lecture on how gross Spartacus was for pooping on the linoleum, when she hadn't let him out for a whole day. Apparently it didn't occur to her that the dog might need to relieve himself at some point.
Further more, Spartacus was allowed to jump up on people, run wild, and ignore commands, so the few things in his training that he was doing well with are now all screwed up. I've spent most of the waking hours today yelling at Spartacus for things that my sister wouldn't do anything about.
However, once mean mommy (me) showed up, Spartacus towed the line like a good little puppy. Apparently his training is fine. It's my sister's I'll have to work on.
This is Devin and today there will be double posts. Lucky you. I hope you will be able to tell the differences between my post and Kimber's. Remember that her post is at the expense of Summer whereas mine will be at the expense of Nolan. Lets begin.
Firstly, I found this in the mail pile today and thought that it was too good to pass up(look at the receiving address and click on the picture to make it more readable). All I really want to know is if Nocan is pronounced with a 'k' sound or an 's' sound. Vote in the comments below.
Alright, this is the moment you have all been waiting for. Reading Nocan's letter. Here is the envelope he sent. And here is the letter.
Fun times. Now who wants to put together a package?
1. I’m in school. Summer can’t be enjoyed when one has to attend class and complete homework.
2. My clothes smell weird. I think it has something to do with my dog, or the fact that I air dry them, and so they’re getting moldy.
3. The sun is too hot. I know that without it we’d die, but it’s gotten a little too enthusiastic about providing light and heat for the world.
4. I don’t know what to do after graduation. My parents have questioned me enough about future plans that I now no longer look forward to being free from school, but only dread the real life responsibilities of finding a job, getting health insurance, and getting up at a reasonable time every morning.
5. Certain people. Certain people have gone crazy with power after certain people’s parents left for Europe. Certain people think they are the center of the universe merely by merit of going to work even though it’s summer time, but certain people also suck at taking responsibility for anything they won’t be applauded or paid for.
6. White guilt. I don’t know why, but in two out of my three classes, the unspoken title of the class seems to be “A Seminar in Why Whitey Sucks”. My professors and classmates both have an inability to study ethnic or minority literature without reveling in white guilt. However, they do it with an air of superiority for being able to recognize their privileged lives, and then go home satisfied that they have been smugly apologetic for the difficulties of troubled peoples. I just end up feeling miserable because of my pasty skin and supposed resulting racism.
7. Weeds. They grow faster than I can pull them, and Spartacus thinks that I’m playing a game every time I do yard work, so not only do I have to pull weeds, I have to simultaneously play fetch with my dog so he won’t drag the unwanted plants around the yard, thus causing them to take root again.
8. Utilities. I don’t have an air conditioner, and my upstairs neighbor does, yet she still insists on splitting utilities right down the middle, even though she keeps the AC on full blast in the dead of night when even a polar bear would be comfortable with the outside temperature.
9. Memory lapses. I don’t remember a lot of things anymore, like when my sisters ask me to do something, when I make plans for the future, or when I’m trying to complete basic household tasks. I blame the heat, but it could very possibly be early onset Alzheimer’s.
10. No vacations. Isn’t summer all about vacations? It’s called summer vacation, yet because of school, I am unable to go on weekend jaunts, road trips, family visits, or even personal retreats. The closest things I’ve gotten to a vacation since February was when my phone died and I found a candy bar behind my ramen supply.
Kimber reports. As most of you know, I’ve recently acquired a dog. His name is Spartacus, he’s adorable, and I love him, but he can be a little pill sometimes. Last week was particularly bad.
P.S. Pictures will be added to this post, as soon as I can find the cord that connects my camera to my computer. Check back soon.
Monday Spartacus tricked me into thinking he was a good boy by being a good boy. The most he did was show the neighbor Shiatsus his dominance by pooping on their lawn in front of them. I cleaned it up, so the Shiatsus didn’t pay much attention to it.
Tuesday I left some laundry hanging on various door knobs, and Spartacus got to it before I did. He devoured one bra, but looked very sheepish about it. Later, while playing with Spartacus in the yard, I met some of the BYU students who live in an apartment complex behind my house. My upstairs neighbor (I live in a basement apartment) had introduced me as, “this is the one that lives downstairs. Her name is Kimber”.
Wednesday Spartacus showed his preference for bra-consumption by finding another one and starting in on it. I got to him in time to stop it, but I fear he’s developed an insatiable taste for expensive under-things. Perhaps I should buy some decoy bras from the dollar store in order to lure him away from the more expensive Victoria’s Secret fare.
Thursday I woke up to Spartacus barking madly in the yard, so I went outside to quiet him down. Every time I yelled “Spartacus, no!”, a voice on the other side of the wall would say “yes!”. After three or four rounds of this I gave up, having decided that if my neighbors were going to mock my disciplinary efforts, then they could just deal with the dog barking. Right as I turned away to go back to bed, I heard the voice on the other side of the fence say, “That’s Kimber. She’s the downstairs one”.
Friday When I got home from school, I opened the gate a little too widely, and Spartacus got out. Instead of bouncing up and down around me in a desperate bid for attention, Spartacus shot across the street to where the neighbors’ hound dogs were holding conference. Spartacus sniffed noses with them politely before biting their faces. They sat on him. Spartacus is not dominant with these dogs.
Saturday I brought Spartacus to my family’s house to visit, as my younger sister was home for the weekend from college, and she loves Spartacus. Unfortunately, she brought home a lot of her stuff in an attempt to make moving home next week easier. She had boxes and bags of food and clothes on the floor, and Spartacus seemed to be leaving them alone, until we turned our backs on him. That’s when he grabbed a can of hot cocoa powder and ran outside. We didn’t realize what he had done until he came back inside dragging a shredded canister with his face and front paws covered in chocolate. His breath smelled like French Vanilla for the next two days.
Sunday The entire family was gathered in our white carpeted living room, watching TV and eating dinner, when Spartacus ran in covered in mud. Apparently we’d left the sprinklers on a little too long outside. Spartacus ran all over the white carpet, jumped on the tan couch, ricocheted off of every member of the family, and pounced in all the food dishes before we caught him and threw him outside, where we could hose him off. We then brought him inside and gave him a proper bath, which he shivered through.
Well if you couldn't tell from the title, this is Devin with your Show and Tell! Today's item once again comes from The Land of the Rising Sun and it's: dududududud(drum roll) Creative Japanese Barcodes!
These barcodes are completely legit and appear on grocery packaging all over the place in Japan. Some firm known as D-Barcode(fancy that) is responsible for this travesty to boring grocery shopping. I want these in America Also, Nolan won't be writing for the next two months or so. He has left us to join the Navy and is now under strenuous training in Boot Camp. Most of you already know this. But in case you didn't, consider yourself informed.
Sometimes you just don’t want to read a required book for a class. Sometimes even the Cliffsnotes are too long. Sometimes literature just isn’t worth the effort it takes to experience it. In that spirit, here is a list of one-sentence summaries of some of the canon’s most vaulted books.
Oh yeah, spoiler alert. Some of these sentences will give away the book. You’ve been warned.
Lord of the Flies: Little naked boys kill each other.
The Good Earth: A man is poor, then rich, then poor, then rich, then poor, then rich, then dead.
As I Lay Dying: Poor white trash have a funeral and go crazy.
The Road: The world has ended, so a boy and his father take a walk.
My Antonia: Jim is obsessed with Antonia, but doesn’t have the balls to ask her out, so he settles for a lifetime of stalking her across the prairie.
A Room of One’s Own: Chicks need money in order to write.
Hamlet: Whiney people aren’t good at vengeance.
Heart of Darkness: Lord of the Flies for grown-ups.
The Scarlet Letter: Humble embroidery doesn’t save Hester from her sin of adultery, especially as she was doing the priest.
Dandelion Wine: A boy’s childhood wrapped in nostalgia and dipped in a dream.
Pride and Prejudice: People argue, but marriage solves all problems.
The Grapes of Wrath: A family goes from broke in Oklahoma to SOL in California.
Oh and a short announcement. I added a new link to a new site. It's the Perry Bible Fellowship and it's a bunch of funny comics. I'm announcing this because last time I added a new link one of our readers didn't discover it for a while and was upset because if he had found it sooner than he could've read more fmylifes back then too or something.
Show and Tell time with Nolan here, and I got an important announcement: Ferret Told me he's gay, that's right HE TOLD ME HE's GAY! just so you know.
alright on to business, I couldn't upload any videos because Blogger.com is as gay as Ferret. But here's an awesome video I found which I thought was appropriate for the moment since I'm leaving for the Navy.
Nolan here with an important message: yesterday me and me buddies made a puppet show video.
It was extremely difficult and I screamed at my friends multiple times to shape up and shut up. Doing so just riled them up even more and in the end Devin, Ferret and Kimber Striped me naked and felt my body inappropriately. I am now emotionally and physically scarred. So in two to three days I'm running away to the Navy Boot camp.
At Nerd Night, some people have expressed interest in the kind of notes I take while in class. Frankly, a lot of what I write is not appropriate for a general audience, but today, when reading back over what I’d written, I decided to treat you to a small sampling. On an explanatory note, I wrote these in a post-colonial literature class. We were discussing a play called A Dance of the Forests by Wole Soyinka. And now, my notes:
I missed last Tuesday, so I’m going to say my grandfather died. I’m also tired enough I might look like I’m sad about the death. What a trickster am I. Also, I don’t have any of my posts done. Damn. Oh well. Onwards.
Wole Soyinka was born on the 13th of July in western Nigeria. The Soyinkas were members of the Yoruba tribe. His father was the headmaster of St. Peter’s Primary School. Soyinka’s mother, whom the author calls “Wild Christian”, was a shopkeeper and respected political figure in the community. Soyinka wrote a fun little autobiography called Ake, if you’re interested.
Soyinka and Achebe have many similarities, though Achebe was an Ibo, whereas Soyinka was Yoruba. They both were opposed to the civil war, and received similar educations.
Soyinka has published about twenty works: drama, a novel, and poetry. He writes in English and his literary language is marked by great scope and richness of words.
So, A Dance of the Forests deals with post-colonial nationalism, or how to define oneself and one’s country once independence has been achieved. Hey, really, you should do all your reading and writing assignments from now on, okay? There’s a very strong oral tradition in Africa. One of the most vibrant genres in Africa today is the home movie. People make their own little movies (scripted and everything), then make fifty copies on DVD and sell them on the street corner. One critic said that the Nigerian national theater was dying out because of this home movie industry.
Magic is a part of African culture. The Palm Wine Drinker is a good book to read if you’d like to learn more. There’s the land of the living which is above ground, to the land of the dead, which is below ground. People can travel between the two. There’s a notion of reincarnation, as well as gods and spirits. Very many of the Nigerian audience would believe that there are real-life equivalents to the characters in the play. Over time, with Colonialism, the traditions were corrupted a little bit, and so not everybody would have believed in it as strongly as they might have before colonialism.
In some sense, Aroni is a stand-in for Soyinka. He is the one who is speaking warnings at a time when the entire nation wants patriotism and pride. Soyinka is saying that nationalism, or a sense of pride is a good thing, but people can’t just say that they’re the best and call it good, they have to be able to self-evaluate, or examine themselves for faults. I’m hungry, but I left my bag on the other side of the room, and I don’t want to get up because I’m cold and moving around would dissipate the little heat I have.
British people call a semi-truck an articulated lorry, meaning a connective truck. You’re presenting on Stuart Hall on May 14. The girl next to me wrote “I love Eli!” in huge letters at the top of her notes, colored it in, and surrounded it with hearts. I didn’t realize I was back in high school. Let’s see, if today is the seventh, that means I only have one week to find out who the hell Stuart Hall is, where I can get his stuff, and how I’m supposed to make a presentation. Damn. Oh, that chick is married. So really, BYU is just a mass of adults playing out very juvenile roles under the guise of receiving a higher education. I can’t wait to graduate.
On page 71 there’s a speech and it relates to the “proverbs to bones and silence phrase”. This sounded like it might have been important, so you should probably go back and look at it.
Here is the next installment of show and tell. It's a strange video. The animals in the woods are trying to figure out if Mr. Ando is a human or not, obviously ignoring the fact that all the animals have human faces as well. Make sure to stick around for the fish singing about wanting to sleep with Mr. Ando even though he's fishy or something.
Also notice that in the credits, even if you can't read it, that all the symbols on the right side are the same. Meaning that the same person did all the work and voice-acted all the roles. I find that funny. It reminds of high school films where three people would film three minutes and then have two minutes of credits because they just made up filming jobs and new people that didn't exist before. In fact sometimes we do that when we film movies(Bill's Close Shave anyone?). I still find it funny though.
There are times when watching, reading, or listening to something that I wish I’d been able to have dinner with the artist responsible. I wouldn’t say no to dinner with most artists, but a very few of them seem like people I really could have been friends with, either because of a wicked sense of humor, a passion for life, or just a series of interesting personality quirks. So, with that in mind, here is my list of people I would invite to the best dinner party ever.
Kurt Vonnegut I love Kurt Vonnegut’s writing. I’ve read almost everything he’s written, and I’ve adored all of it. He’s a pessimistic optimist, and I connect with that. His writing is wonderfully self-conscious, yet is still graceful. Most importantly, Vonnegut went through some of the most brutal experiences, yet still held on to his hope for humanity.
Orson Welles At first I thought Orson Welles was a pretentious—if gifted—asshole. But that was because I only really knew him through Citizen Kane and his War of the Worlds radio broadcast. I’ve recently watched some of his later work, and have found him to be delightfully whimsical. More than anything, Welles was an indulgent person. Indulgent with his food, indulgent with his filmmaking, indulgent with his conversations. I recognize that I’m the same way; I only hope I pull it off with the same finesse.
Katherine Hepburn Let me begin by telling you that I love Katherine Hepburn’s voice. It’s low and a little raspy, but wonderful; it sounds like crystallized honey. Talking with Hepburn would be lovely simply for hearing her voice. However, there is much more to the woman than that. She wore pants regularly when no respectable woman would. She persisted in her career despite initial difficulty. She pursued what she wanted in her life with few reservations and no apologies, something we’d all do well to try sometime.
Oscar Wilde Oscar Wilde, when coming to America, passed through customs wearing a maroon jacket, green waistcoat, blue breeches, and gold gloves. He was asked if he had anything to declare, and replied, “nothing but my own intelligence”. I would invite him to dinner for his one-liners alone. More than being a witty writer, Wilde was kind. He visited people in distress and successfully cheered them up, he didn’t condemn people, but rather gently mocked them, and he was willing to interact with people regardless of their class background. Wilde eventually became an outcast for his idiomatic lifestyle, but he kept his sense of humor till the very end.
Edith Sitwell I know Edith Sitwell only through Façade, and through a failed paper on her connection to Sappho. However, just this brief brush with her work is enough to pique my interest in her as a person. She wrote just as modernism was coming into its own, and embraced satire when it was not proper to do so, especially for a woman. More than that, she wrote her poetry with an incredibly musical ear (Façade is set to music), and crafted each of her works with careful attention to detail. Any dinner party would be enriched by having such an independent and thoughtful guest.
The Venerable Bede Any historian who has the balls to put a favorable adjective in front of his name, and then proceed to give the history of the world in a very gossipy manner has to be an interesting person. Not much is known about Bede, but I’m willing to risk inviting a possible jerk to a dinner party based on the evidence which shows he’s a pretty neat person.
Virginia Woolf I imagine Virginia Woolf would be semi-whiney, introspective friend, but one that people keep around because of the novel way she thinks of things. I’ve never counted her as one of my favorite authors, but have always been intently interested in her work. I’m not sure if I would get along with her, but I would invite her to dinner, just to see if she speaks the same way she writes. Plus, I imagine that she and Edith Sitwell would get along well, so if worse comes to worst I can seat them next to each other and ignore Virginia Woolf altogether.
Zora Neale Hurston One of my favorite personal essays, “How it Feels to Be Colored Me”, was penned by Zora Neale Hurston. In it she remarks that we have different outsides, but the insides are the same. More distinctly, she remarks that these insides are things like mismatched marbles, bits of colored twine, and door knobs which open doors long decayed away. Hurston is realistically fanciful in her writing. She recognizes the realities of life (she was a black woman in the 1920s), but refused to be limited by the way others thought she should be. She worked with what she had to create a better life for herself, and wrote pieces that touched deeply on things resonant with the human soul. Most importantly, she kept her perspective and a sense of humor, two things everyone needs, no matter where life takes them.
I decided that show and tell was one of the most awesome parts of elementary school and that they need to do it for all the K-12 grades and then do it for college too. It would just make things less stressful and more happy. But I also think we should do it for this blog. And so I proudly present your new dose of WTF show and tell.
I hope you liked it because I found it on some weird obscure blog about crazy japanese stuff. Apparently this guy moved to Japan and just finds crazy news and random stuff about Japan, stuff like this. And I know that I'm not helping the stereotype that Devin just posts pictures and videos but Kimber doesn't do it, so somebody has to. No offense to Kimber since she makes up for no pics with excellent writing skillz. Also what the heck is with Nolan? His writing ratio is like Kimber:6 Devin:4 and Nolan:1(maybe). I would like to see more Nolan posts. And I'm writing this at 3:00 am and am tired. Good bye.