30.10.04
The only problem I have with Jeremy's Girlfriend, Reneé, is that she leaves the shower curtain drawn so you can't see into the shower. It shouldn't be a problem, that's a good way to leave the curtain because it prevents mildew and whatnot because it's not all bunched together. I, however, have seen too many horror movies. I think that something lurks behind that curtain. But if I draw back the curtain, the horror or monstrosity will leap from behind and get me. And if I just let it alone then it will come from the shower and kill me, sucking my corpse dry through the eyeballs and leaving my husk draped over the toilet.
18.10.04
1.10.04
29.9.04
4.8.04
I got an email in my bulk mail folder. The sender was "Useful Health Newsletter" and the subject was "Give her Unlimited Orgasms." I really don't think giving the sender a generic almost real sounding name will lend any creedence to what I would find were I to open that email. Might as well call the sender "Free Porn." And assuming she takes me up on the unlimited orgasms, won't that make her ever doing anything not orgasm related later in life awkward? Job interviews, trying to get loans, driving! My goodness.
15.7.04
I've been playing this game called "Blob Lander". It's a pretty high caliber game based on the simple lander game series. My only complaint was the ending. I wanted more, dammit. Just out of nowhere the game was over. Motherfuckers! I certainly don't have any blobs in space ships here in my apartment? What do they expect me to do? Make up my own fun? That's preposterous, that is. There oughtta be a law...
12.7.04
I bought yogurt the other day and have been eating it because...well...because I like yogurt. The only problem I have with it is that since it's fruit on the bottom, I have to stir it up. Stirring it up mixes in air. I then eat the air in the yogurt and the air forces its way back out in the form of many unpleasant tasting burps.
10.7.04
So, its been over a month. and here is what I give you, three versions of the same test taken by me. I'm sorry, it's pathetic, I know. I know! Just...just leave it be, entertain yourself with the crazy antics of assigning random values to the letters in my name(s).
And finally:
So, as you can all see, the only choice is to call me KBAR from now on.
Or something.
And finally:
So, as you can all see, the only choice is to call me KBAR from now on.
Or something.
31.5.04
Jobs.
Jobs are necessary for money and what not, unless they aren't. I'm spending the summer here in The Roc and thus need a job to pay for rent and food and other fun necessities. Like toilet paper. I had a job all lined up for when I got down here. I was to campaign in an anti-Bush movement. For the Working Families Party, they seem like good enough people. I share many of their beliefs. They wanted me to canvass neighborhoods, rallying support and...asking for money. Sixty dollars they wanted. And they wanted me to pull in $135 daily. I have a hard time asking for money from people, especially strangers. And this manner seemed especially deceitful. We were encouraged to say that its just five dollars a month.
Bah.
Anyway. I went out on the training day. I was an "observer." It was an unpaid day where I started off watching one guy ask people for money, and then graduated to asking by myself. I got no moolah from anyone. And only two signatures. A bit of a let down, but I was assured that on my first day it was cool if you don't pull in any money. That night at the HQ I filled out the necessary paperwork and the director ladies were like, "Great! You'll need to come in tomorrow with a passport or something to finish filling out paperwork so you can get paid. You'll need to make quota in one of the next three days." I thought to myself, "Great! I think I'm gonna quit by Friday."
They didn't even give me the chance. I got a phone call the next day at 11 AM. Didn't make it to the phone in time. They left me a voicemail. "Hi, Krister, this is Cynthia of the Working Families Party. Sometimes our observers don't work out, and we won't be needing you to canvass for us." Awesome. They fired me over voicemail. I wasted an entire evening with them.
I have another job, though. I'm a waiter now at the City Cafe Diner. Its a chain, I hear, and its much like Denny's. A bit better food. Open 24 hours. I work the night shift. From 9 PM to 6 AM five days a week. I've been on two nights and have a little over $90 cash and about $60 salary dollars earned. I'm pleased with those results. Plus, its decent work. I didn't get a proper training, but I'm learning.
Jobs.
Jobs are necessary for money and what not, unless they aren't. I'm spending the summer here in The Roc and thus need a job to pay for rent and food and other fun necessities. Like toilet paper. I had a job all lined up for when I got down here. I was to campaign in an anti-Bush movement. For the Working Families Party, they seem like good enough people. I share many of their beliefs. They wanted me to canvass neighborhoods, rallying support and...asking for money. Sixty dollars they wanted. And they wanted me to pull in $135 daily. I have a hard time asking for money from people, especially strangers. And this manner seemed especially deceitful. We were encouraged to say that its just five dollars a month.
Bah.
Anyway. I went out on the training day. I was an "observer." It was an unpaid day where I started off watching one guy ask people for money, and then graduated to asking by myself. I got no moolah from anyone. And only two signatures. A bit of a let down, but I was assured that on my first day it was cool if you don't pull in any money. That night at the HQ I filled out the necessary paperwork and the director ladies were like, "Great! You'll need to come in tomorrow with a passport or something to finish filling out paperwork so you can get paid. You'll need to make quota in one of the next three days." I thought to myself, "Great! I think I'm gonna quit by Friday."
They didn't even give me the chance. I got a phone call the next day at 11 AM. Didn't make it to the phone in time. They left me a voicemail. "Hi, Krister, this is Cynthia of the Working Families Party. Sometimes our observers don't work out, and we won't be needing you to canvass for us." Awesome. They fired me over voicemail. I wasted an entire evening with them.
I have another job, though. I'm a waiter now at the City Cafe Diner. Its a chain, I hear, and its much like Denny's. A bit better food. Open 24 hours. I work the night shift. From 9 PM to 6 AM five days a week. I've been on two nights and have a little over $90 cash and about $60 salary dollars earned. I'm pleased with those results. Plus, its decent work. I didn't get a proper training, but I'm learning.
Jobs.
3.5.04
Words are handy.
In some ancient cultures the act of naming something was tantamount to creating it. It didn't exist beforehand, and you said "spoon" and suddenly there was this metal thing you use to dig food.
Does anything exist before you name it? How could it? It couldn't exist in your cranium, and therefore couldn't be. But once you apply a name to it, everything fits right in place. Before there was all this junk floating around in your brain. Maybe little images of tires and panels and glass and antennae and seats and engines. But no words. And then you get the word "car" and BAM, all that shit flies together and into a neat little cubby in your brain marked "car." And then there's all these little subdivisions for the engine and the parts and those subdivisions are connected to other major groups of words.
Without words there would be nothing.
How upsetting is it for a person when they can't articulate? Y'ever forget a word? Its so maddening.
So our brains are all rooted in words. Maybe without words we'd have some other system of keeping shit together, but we'll never know as such an idea is so hypothetical and out there and foreign that we can't apply words to it. In fact, applying words to it would destroy it.
Words are cool.
In some ancient cultures the act of naming something was tantamount to creating it. It didn't exist beforehand, and you said "spoon" and suddenly there was this metal thing you use to dig food.
Does anything exist before you name it? How could it? It couldn't exist in your cranium, and therefore couldn't be. But once you apply a name to it, everything fits right in place. Before there was all this junk floating around in your brain. Maybe little images of tires and panels and glass and antennae and seats and engines. But no words. And then you get the word "car" and BAM, all that shit flies together and into a neat little cubby in your brain marked "car." And then there's all these little subdivisions for the engine and the parts and those subdivisions are connected to other major groups of words.
Without words there would be nothing.
How upsetting is it for a person when they can't articulate? Y'ever forget a word? Its so maddening.
So our brains are all rooted in words. Maybe without words we'd have some other system of keeping shit together, but we'll never know as such an idea is so hypothetical and out there and foreign that we can't apply words to it. In fact, applying words to it would destroy it.
Words are cool.
28.4.04
I understand that there may be many readers out there whose parents have AIM or some other chatting program, but as of this day I am the only one in my nuclear family with AIM.
Maybe not for much longer though.
My mom is thinking of getting AIM and thus disrupting my whole online world. She'll have access to my friends and me and even (gasp) this blog!
I wonder if there's anything incriminating in here. Things like "Well, I was fuckin' this chick last night and doing lines of coke off her back..."
Shit. Well, she'll probably wind up reading this at some point. Be one of the only people.
But I can't grasp the concept of Mum using AIM. Can't wrap my brain around it. I should, there's nothing wrong with it and its certainly not out of place in this day and age...but still.
I'll have to censor my away messages and stuff.
Maybe not for much longer though.
My mom is thinking of getting AIM and thus disrupting my whole online world. She'll have access to my friends and me and even (gasp) this blog!
I wonder if there's anything incriminating in here. Things like "Well, I was fuckin' this chick last night and doing lines of coke off her back..."
Shit. Well, she'll probably wind up reading this at some point. Be one of the only people.
But I can't grasp the concept of Mum using AIM. Can't wrap my brain around it. I should, there's nothing wrong with it and its certainly not out of place in this day and age...but still.
I'll have to censor my away messages and stuff.
23.4.04
The setting: 9:35 PM, Tuesday Night.
Krister has just returned from going to the gym, he's sweaty and wearing his gym shorts, soaked T-shirt and running shoes. He leans over his computer. There's a message. It's from Tristyn. It reads "Hey, we're all going to see Mystic River at Movies 10 at 9:45, you should come, too."
Krister stares in slack jawed awe. Ten minutes to make it to the theater.
He quickly glances through the rest of the messages left on his computer in his absence and grabs his day clothes.
"I'm gonna jump in the shower," he proclaims as he darts for the door.
He strips off his gym clothes and steps into the shower, immediately turning the showerhead on, no testing the water through the bath faucet this time. A surprisingly warm blast hits him, but it quickly turns ice cold. He adjust the temperature and it switches to scalding hot. Finally he gets the temp right and reaches for the shampoo. Flips the top. Squirts a gob.
'Lather, rinse,' he thinks, 'no time for repeat tonight, baby, I've got a date with an angel.'
He dumps some facial wash into his hand and quickly rubs it into his skin. Rinses.
Now the body wash, only hit the essential parts. Quickly rinse.
Shower off, jump out, towel. Deodorize, dress.
He's out of the bathroom.
He stalks into the living room and grabs his wallet and keys, chapstick and phone and he's off again. Slips on clogs.
Checks his clock as the door slams shut.
Out of the house in nine minutes.
He drives between five and ten over all the way to the cinema. Gets there four minutes in line. His friends are still in line.
He joins up with them and walks into the theater. Its still the previews. Haven't missed a second of the show.
"Tonight," he says to no one in particular, "Tonight I am a god."
He shakes some water from his hair.
The End.
Krister has just returned from going to the gym, he's sweaty and wearing his gym shorts, soaked T-shirt and running shoes. He leans over his computer. There's a message. It's from Tristyn. It reads "Hey, we're all going to see Mystic River at Movies 10 at 9:45, you should come, too."
Krister stares in slack jawed awe. Ten minutes to make it to the theater.
He quickly glances through the rest of the messages left on his computer in his absence and grabs his day clothes.
"I'm gonna jump in the shower," he proclaims as he darts for the door.
He strips off his gym clothes and steps into the shower, immediately turning the showerhead on, no testing the water through the bath faucet this time. A surprisingly warm blast hits him, but it quickly turns ice cold. He adjust the temperature and it switches to scalding hot. Finally he gets the temp right and reaches for the shampoo. Flips the top. Squirts a gob.
'Lather, rinse,' he thinks, 'no time for repeat tonight, baby, I've got a date with an angel.'
He dumps some facial wash into his hand and quickly rubs it into his skin. Rinses.
Now the body wash, only hit the essential parts. Quickly rinse.
Shower off, jump out, towel. Deodorize, dress.
He's out of the bathroom.
He stalks into the living room and grabs his wallet and keys, chapstick and phone and he's off again. Slips on clogs.
Checks his clock as the door slams shut.
Out of the house in nine minutes.
He drives between five and ten over all the way to the cinema. Gets there four minutes in line. His friends are still in line.
He joins up with them and walks into the theater. Its still the previews. Haven't missed a second of the show.
"Tonight," he says to no one in particular, "Tonight I am a god."
He shakes some water from his hair.
The End.
18.4.04
14.4.04
Alright, did some research. Turns out they wandered in the 1100's and the 1200's. Please don't hold it against me. Troubadours are much cooler, though, than I had imagined. My source here is the World Book Encyclopedia, electronic edition. Under the entry "Troubadour" written by Paul B. Diehl.
Troubadours based their lyric verse on the works of Spanish Arab poets and classical Roman poets like Ovid. Who was not a large ovary or egg, it turns out. They often wrote in a language called "Provencal" or "langue d'oc." And one of the song styles they did, the canso d'amor, sang of the perfect attributes of some lady that particular Troubadour was hot for. He sang a lot about her physical attributes and her virtue, and I guess said a lot of things that would make Christians red in the face.
That's kinda neat.
Troubadours based their lyric verse on the works of Spanish Arab poets and classical Roman poets like Ovid. Who was not a large ovary or egg, it turns out. They often wrote in a language called "Provencal" or "langue d'oc." And one of the song styles they did, the canso d'amor, sang of the perfect attributes of some lady that particular Troubadour was hot for. He sang a lot about her physical attributes and her virtue, and I guess said a lot of things that would make Christians red in the face.
That's kinda neat.
I fixed my iPod. It had been broken, as I dropped it in a certain female's parking lot. It was a weird sort of broken, though, it played music and was completely packed full, but it wouldn't get mounted by my computer.
Tee hee. Mounted.
But I fixed it! All by my lonesome! I'm amazing, I know.
So it works, now. And I renamed it from the lame "Krister Rollins' iPod" to the lame "Troubadour." Troubadour's, of course, were the wandering minstrels of France in the...time period. 1500s? 1400s? I don't know. Wandering minstrels, at any rate. Which means they were portable music, much like the iPod itself. I'm pleased with the connection.
Tee hee. Mounted.
But I fixed it! All by my lonesome! I'm amazing, I know.
So it works, now. And I renamed it from the lame "Krister Rollins' iPod" to the lame "Troubadour." Troubadour's, of course, were the wandering minstrels of France in the...time period. 1500s? 1400s? I don't know. Wandering minstrels, at any rate. Which means they were portable music, much like the iPod itself. I'm pleased with the connection.
7.4.04
I would like to make so many clones of myself that they collapse into each other and make a black hole. I would then have a KriStar to wield. Plus, being a rip in the space-time continuum has always been a goal of mine, and I think with gravity like that I'd be able to grease the right gears to get the job done. Or maybe it'd just be cool to be a part of the universe that no one will ever forget.
I would like to be a part of history. I guess I am already, technically, but if people could read about me at some point in the future, that would make me happy. Especially if its nice things, a Picasso situation, as opposed to a John Hinkley Jr. situation.
I would like to be a part of history. I guess I am already, technically, but if people could read about me at some point in the future, that would make me happy. Especially if its nice things, a Picasso situation, as opposed to a John Hinkley Jr. situation.
29.3.04
Santa Rosa de Lima
This is a problem I have with the church. Women saints. I don't have a problem with the fact that they are women, as mother's are saintly just by virtue of motherhood, but the steps they have to take to become a saint.
Isabel, Sta. Rosa's birthname, lived a painful life. She was a masochist. She was anorexic and self-abusive. If she were alive today she'd be a High School Sophomore. And she'd need mental help. It says right in the write-up of her that she suffered from mental problems.
I don't like that the church encourages harmful behavior towards women. Or encouraged. Either way, its bad. Isabel was rewarded for self-mutilation. She was a beautiful girl, but not allowed to exist as such because of her religious indoctrination. As punishment for being beautiful, for being a woman, she starved and beat herself and scarred her face with lye. And the website tries to sell it as "devotion." I think she crossed the devotion line, and was utterly insane.
I think I want to put her in a movie. An anorexic, self-hating girl. She'll go to counselling and become healthy. I guess she can still be faithful, I certainly don't have issues with people having faith, but her actions were cultish and freaky, like the Heaven's Gate Cult's men's missing genitalia.
This is a problem I have with the church. Women saints. I don't have a problem with the fact that they are women, as mother's are saintly just by virtue of motherhood, but the steps they have to take to become a saint.
Isabel, Sta. Rosa's birthname, lived a painful life. She was a masochist. She was anorexic and self-abusive. If she were alive today she'd be a High School Sophomore. And she'd need mental help. It says right in the write-up of her that she suffered from mental problems.
I don't like that the church encourages harmful behavior towards women. Or encouraged. Either way, its bad. Isabel was rewarded for self-mutilation. She was a beautiful girl, but not allowed to exist as such because of her religious indoctrination. As punishment for being beautiful, for being a woman, she starved and beat herself and scarred her face with lye. And the website tries to sell it as "devotion." I think she crossed the devotion line, and was utterly insane.
I think I want to put her in a movie. An anorexic, self-hating girl. She'll go to counselling and become healthy. I guess she can still be faithful, I certainly don't have issues with people having faith, but her actions were cultish and freaky, like the Heaven's Gate Cult's men's missing genitalia.
27.3.04
I just watched Donnie Darko. With that in mind:
I'm afraid of Jolly Ranchers. I like the taste, but its simply not enough of a draw to overcome my fear of them. Also, the post-disolve residue is unpleasant.
The fear begins backstage at a production of some musical. I have a cup of ice. Cubed ice. Because its hot out and all, I grab a cube and pop it in my mouth. Then I chew it up and eat it. All is going well with the ice for a time, until a pop gets a little overzealous, and soon an ice cube is lodged halfway down my throat. No amount of swallowing, coughing or dry heaving is moving it. By some weird twist of physics I have no problem breathing around it. I think it was already partially down the esophogus. Anyway, I had to wait around with an uncomfortable chunk of ice lodged in my throat and tears streaming out of my eyes until it melted enough to slide the rest of the way down my throat.
Whenever I think of Jolly Ranchers, I get a sudden and vivid flashback of the feeling of the ice caught in my throat. I'm terrified of the same thing happening with a Jolly Rancher, because if it didn't suffocate me, it would take a hell of a lot longer to dissolve, and that's just far too uncomfortable to imagine.
I'm afraid of Jolly Ranchers. I like the taste, but its simply not enough of a draw to overcome my fear of them. Also, the post-disolve residue is unpleasant.
The fear begins backstage at a production of some musical. I have a cup of ice. Cubed ice. Because its hot out and all, I grab a cube and pop it in my mouth. Then I chew it up and eat it. All is going well with the ice for a time, until a pop gets a little overzealous, and soon an ice cube is lodged halfway down my throat. No amount of swallowing, coughing or dry heaving is moving it. By some weird twist of physics I have no problem breathing around it. I think it was already partially down the esophogus. Anyway, I had to wait around with an uncomfortable chunk of ice lodged in my throat and tears streaming out of my eyes until it melted enough to slide the rest of the way down my throat.
Whenever I think of Jolly Ranchers, I get a sudden and vivid flashback of the feeling of the ice caught in my throat. I'm terrified of the same thing happening with a Jolly Rancher, because if it didn't suffocate me, it would take a hell of a lot longer to dissolve, and that's just far too uncomfortable to imagine.
24.3.04
I discovered some refrigerator magnet poetry I wrote earlier in the year. I used a template handed out by R.I.T. to incoming freshman last year.
Here it goes:
Break her
She Bad
Bad
Me Friend
Like Eat
I please you?
I think it's a vast improvement over my last piece. I can't for the life of me think of a title, though. To that end, I leave you the reader (note the singularity of that subject, Mom), to title it.
Although, I'm suddenly strucken by the thought that I should title it I please you?
Here it goes:
Break her
She Bad
Bad
Me Friend
Like Eat
I please you?
I think it's a vast improvement over my last piece. I can't for the life of me think of a title, though. To that end, I leave you the reader (note the singularity of that subject, Mom), to title it.
Although, I'm suddenly strucken by the thought that I should title it I please you?
22.3.04
In an effort to become a compendium of all sorts of useless shit, I find myself visiting eHow.com and Dictionary.com with relative frequency.
I'm learning how to tie a bow tie right now, as I have one and think it needs more use.
If you can think of an excuse for me to wear it without looking extremely out of place, you get a prize, and I swear it'll be better than a kick in the teeth with a rusty bucket clad foot. Sorry Grampa!
Oh! Also The Guide.
I'm learning how to tie a bow tie right now, as I have one and think it needs more use.
If you can think of an excuse for me to wear it without looking extremely out of place, you get a prize, and I swear it'll be better than a kick in the teeth with a rusty bucket clad foot. Sorry Grampa!
Oh! Also The Guide.
21.3.04
9.3.04
Break update:
Here is a recap of the events of this last break from school, for those who missed it.
My car died. She had an operation here, an expensive operation, but it did nothing. I got home and sent her to the morgue. Latest news, however, says that the Lazarus effect is kicking in, and I'll be able to drive her soon. Theoretically drive her, she's in Maine and I'm in New York.
So I didn't have a car at all over break.
When I got home, I also didn't have water. My house had no running water. I had to go to my dad's house to shower and do laundry. We did, however, acquire water in a fairly speedy manner. I was relieved.
I read Lord of the Rings; Return of the King and The Da Vinci Code. Lord of the Rings is excellent, The Code has some cool ideas, but the writing is not fantastic, in my humble opinion.
I watched movies.
I snowboarded for a day with Jeremy. That was fun. Legitimately fun. I hadn't snowboarded in years, but it felt good. Although my bum was sore the next day. Not even from falling! It was from using different muscles differently.
I rode back to school with Jeremy and Patrick.
And finally I saw The Triplets of Belleville which gets a flamingly awesome recommendation from me. Be warned, though, others found it to be slow.
Mindless.
Here is a recap of the events of this last break from school, for those who missed it.
My car died. She had an operation here, an expensive operation, but it did nothing. I got home and sent her to the morgue. Latest news, however, says that the Lazarus effect is kicking in, and I'll be able to drive her soon. Theoretically drive her, she's in Maine and I'm in New York.
So I didn't have a car at all over break.
When I got home, I also didn't have water. My house had no running water. I had to go to my dad's house to shower and do laundry. We did, however, acquire water in a fairly speedy manner. I was relieved.
I read Lord of the Rings; Return of the King and The Da Vinci Code. Lord of the Rings is excellent, The Code has some cool ideas, but the writing is not fantastic, in my humble opinion.
I watched movies.
I snowboarded for a day with Jeremy. That was fun. Legitimately fun. I hadn't snowboarded in years, but it felt good. Although my bum was sore the next day. Not even from falling! It was from using different muscles differently.
I rode back to school with Jeremy and Patrick.
And finally I saw The Triplets of Belleville which gets a flamingly awesome recommendation from me. Be warned, though, others found it to be slow.
Mindless.
7.3.04
I recently found something online that I wrote years ago. Alright, found makes it sound like I stumbled across it. It was not entirely an accident. But I wanted to see if this was still up, which it was.
Ah the miracles of the internet.
The link: Blowing your nose (if you have one)
Ah the miracles of the internet.
The link: Blowing your nose (if you have one)
20.2.04
I've been cooking lately. Not just the quesadillas and sandwiches I've been making all year, but things like Chili. The chili was fairly good. It wasn't fantastic, but it got eaten quickly and complaintlessly. It was better reheated, which is because it was thicker, I guess, and the way to make it thicker from the start is to add a bit of flour. Or so says my mom. I'll try it. Right now I've got some "Apricot Chicken" in the crock pot. I'm looking forward to it. And tomorrow I'm having Paprika Chicken pita things. Its all prepared, I just have to cook it.
I like cooking. It makes me proud to have good food that I made. Even bad food, it can only get better. Plus, you've got to eat your whole life, so why not be good at it?
I hear my uncle figured out how to make bread in his crock pot while he was in college. That's devotion to cooking that I don't quite have.
I like cooking. It makes me proud to have good food that I made. Even bad food, it can only get better. Plus, you've got to eat your whole life, so why not be good at it?
I hear my uncle figured out how to make bread in his crock pot while he was in college. That's devotion to cooking that I don't quite have.
17.2.04
15.2.04
Speaking of massacring music, this site does a wonderful job at killing any feeling that the instruments/voices bring to a song and making it feel cheap and if it had a smell it would smell like the dollar store.
No offense to the dollar store, but its a distinctive smell which I associate with crap.
No offense to the dollar store, but its a distinctive smell which I associate with crap.
About half of my house is an addition. The front half is all original material, but the second story, the kitchen, the bath room and the study are all new. The study doesn't very often get called that, it has a more sinister name. The Scary Room.
When the addition was being built I was young, three to five, I'd like to say. It was built largely by people we knew with the know how to operate tools and make boards fit together with small, pointy metal things called nails. My Dad was working on some part of the house and he sent me inside to retrieve his tool belt. The tool belt was in the room that was to become the study, but since we didn't need the space for any particular purpose it became a storage area for the construction materials. All the boxes, boards and other spare parts were strung about discordantly in there. There was only one working light bulb. It was dark and there were many odd shadows and shapes because of the lay out. So my Dad sent me here to get his tool belt and time passes and time passes and eventually Mom comes around to see what's been keeping me. She's worried that maybe I got trapped under something that fell, and when she sees me standing outside the room just kinda looking in she's a little upset.
"Krister," she says, "What are you doing? Your father sent you in to get his tool belt."
"I can't go in there," says I, "That's the scary room."
Then Mom probably chuckled and made me feel better and got the belt herself.
When the addition was being built I was young, three to five, I'd like to say. It was built largely by people we knew with the know how to operate tools and make boards fit together with small, pointy metal things called nails. My Dad was working on some part of the house and he sent me inside to retrieve his tool belt. The tool belt was in the room that was to become the study, but since we didn't need the space for any particular purpose it became a storage area for the construction materials. All the boxes, boards and other spare parts were strung about discordantly in there. There was only one working light bulb. It was dark and there were many odd shadows and shapes because of the lay out. So my Dad sent me here to get his tool belt and time passes and time passes and eventually Mom comes around to see what's been keeping me. She's worried that maybe I got trapped under something that fell, and when she sees me standing outside the room just kinda looking in she's a little upset.
"Krister," she says, "What are you doing? Your father sent you in to get his tool belt."
"I can't go in there," says I, "That's the scary room."
Then Mom probably chuckled and made me feel better and got the belt herself.
14.2.04
I've almost been suffering from deja vu a lot lately. Like, I'll defintely have the "I've done this before" flash, except, well let me start in the beginning.
Whenever I have deja vu it starts as a dream. I'll dream a situation it'll happen. So that's been happening a lot lately, except not all the dream is coming true, because each of those dreams has me dying. The little deja vu bit happens and then I'm supposed to die. I haven't yet.
And I wish I could think of a witty way to finish this.
Whenever I have deja vu it starts as a dream. I'll dream a situation it'll happen. So that's been happening a lot lately, except not all the dream is coming true, because each of those dreams has me dying. The little deja vu bit happens and then I'm supposed to die. I haven't yet.
And I wish I could think of a witty way to finish this.
11.2.04
What I hate is when you're in the mood to write something and you had an idea for a post and the idea won't come back. Damn It. Here's some bullshit.
My New Year's Resolution was to not shave for the month of January, I am nothing if not a realist and know that this resolution is at least attainable. And it was. I didn't shave at all during the month of January. When February rolled around I trimmed the full beard and kept it that way for a few days. Then I shaved it back some. The hair now travels down from the sideburns, then across the jawline, then up around the mouth with a moustache beard thing. I'm digging it. It frames my face well, I think. After it is immortalized in the form of picture, I plan on removing part of the sideburns and all of the jawline crap. That will leave me with an Aragorn-style beard thing. After I tire of that I'll shave it to a goatee, or how-the-fuck-ever that thing is spelled.
Anyway, this is not the entry I was hoping to write, I promise to pull some good stuff together for later, loyal reader.
I have no loyal readers.
My New Year's Resolution was to not shave for the month of January, I am nothing if not a realist and know that this resolution is at least attainable. And it was. I didn't shave at all during the month of January. When February rolled around I trimmed the full beard and kept it that way for a few days. Then I shaved it back some. The hair now travels down from the sideburns, then across the jawline, then up around the mouth with a moustache beard thing. I'm digging it. It frames my face well, I think. After it is immortalized in the form of picture, I plan on removing part of the sideburns and all of the jawline crap. That will leave me with an Aragorn-style beard thing. After I tire of that I'll shave it to a goatee, or how-the-fuck-ever that thing is spelled.
Anyway, this is not the entry I was hoping to write, I promise to pull some good stuff together for later, loyal reader.
I have no loyal readers.
9.2.04
I had steak tonight. It was very yummy. I also had potatoes and onions which had been fried with oil. I think I used to much oil. This residue combined with the steak left my mouth feeling rather unclean. So I just spent a good ten minutes or so cleaning my mouth. It feels good now. Of late, I've been giving my mouth more attention. I've always been a consistent brusher, but my roommate fears he has cavities in every tooth, this got me worried. I check, and I see spots, but who's to say what they are? My mouth has a sordid history. In review I've had:
Thankfully, I've never had a cavity. Now here is why I'm not overly concerned about the spots on my teeth. They seem familiar. A majority of my teeth have stains on them. They were caused by an excess of flouride in my youth. The school offered it, so I took it from them, but it also seems I was getting plenty of it in the water at home. It stained my teeth. I wonder if all my bones are stained like that. Its spotty and strange.
I'll have more work done, too. My wisdom teeth will need to come out, my mouth is pretty crowded as it is, and I've heard talk of making my teeth a uniform color, as opposed to stained.
I also had my tonsils removed. They were huge. So huge I was physically unable to swallow pills. They also caused me to snore horribly. And they were storing Strep Throat. The doctors had planned on removing my Adenoids as well, but when they got my tonsils out they noticed such a huge difference in my breathing that they decided to just let it go. I know its not dentistry, but its mouth related.
To cut out your tonsils the doctors go in with, essentially, an ice cream scoop. The kind of ice cream scoop that has the little metal blade that runs along the scoop and separates the ice cream. Except the blade on the de-tonsiler runs the other way.
Sometimes I have dreams of my tonsils in a jar. I've never seen them outside of my mouth, but I clearly see them floating in formaldehyde in a jar, with weird tendril-esque appendages.
I'm procrastinating on writing a paper.
- a tongue retainer. It seems when I swallowed I pushed forward with my tongue. This would eventually cause my teeth to jut forward. The orthodontist, a talented Dr. Stegamen, put in a razor, essentially, behind my teeth. My tongue quickly learned to not push forward when I swallowed.
- headgear. I had an overbite. I used it very regularly for six weeks. Then the doctor said I didn't need it. I was happy.
- braces. Crooked teeth will never do. I also had to obligatory retainer.
- various spacers
- four teeth were pulled one day. They were baby teeth. It was to make room in my overcrowded mouth.
- my upper gums were cut open. My left front tooth wasn't coming in. It was unable to cut through my gums, so the dentist did it for me. It dropped nearly halfway out that night.
- sealant. My teeth had naturally large crevaces. Dr. Stegamen filled them with sealant to reduce the risk of cavities.
Thankfully, I've never had a cavity. Now here is why I'm not overly concerned about the spots on my teeth. They seem familiar. A majority of my teeth have stains on them. They were caused by an excess of flouride in my youth. The school offered it, so I took it from them, but it also seems I was getting plenty of it in the water at home. It stained my teeth. I wonder if all my bones are stained like that. Its spotty and strange.
I'll have more work done, too. My wisdom teeth will need to come out, my mouth is pretty crowded as it is, and I've heard talk of making my teeth a uniform color, as opposed to stained.
I also had my tonsils removed. They were huge. So huge I was physically unable to swallow pills. They also caused me to snore horribly. And they were storing Strep Throat. The doctors had planned on removing my Adenoids as well, but when they got my tonsils out they noticed such a huge difference in my breathing that they decided to just let it go. I know its not dentistry, but its mouth related.
To cut out your tonsils the doctors go in with, essentially, an ice cream scoop. The kind of ice cream scoop that has the little metal blade that runs along the scoop and separates the ice cream. Except the blade on the de-tonsiler runs the other way.
Sometimes I have dreams of my tonsils in a jar. I've never seen them outside of my mouth, but I clearly see them floating in formaldehyde in a jar, with weird tendril-esque appendages.
I'm procrastinating on writing a paper.
6.2.04
Note: I wrote this at 2:05 AM on Thursday, February Fifth.
We have a new window. There's a set of three above our couch and sometime in December I discovered that the first one, that is the leftmost one, had cracked. Because of the cold, I imagine, or old age. These things happen. December was a busy and forgetful month, so we never contacted the proper authorities. Sometime in January my roommate remembered and had it done. They missed their first appointments to replace it, but eventually they kept one and now we have a new window.
Its different than the other windows. The last one, the rightmost, gets completely covered in frost, the middle one doesn't get any. This one gets frost just around the edges. Its pretty. I stood shirtless in the middle of my dark living room drinking a glass of water and staring at/out it. There's a line of cars then a tree and then someone's window where a light was on. The cars were all orange because of the lights in the complex. The snow was orange. Even the tree was slightly orange.
I hope someone saw me standing in the dark in my living room through the window with frost around the edges.
I hope they wondered what I was doing.
We have a new window. There's a set of three above our couch and sometime in December I discovered that the first one, that is the leftmost one, had cracked. Because of the cold, I imagine, or old age. These things happen. December was a busy and forgetful month, so we never contacted the proper authorities. Sometime in January my roommate remembered and had it done. They missed their first appointments to replace it, but eventually they kept one and now we have a new window.
Its different than the other windows. The last one, the rightmost, gets completely covered in frost, the middle one doesn't get any. This one gets frost just around the edges. Its pretty. I stood shirtless in the middle of my dark living room drinking a glass of water and staring at/out it. There's a line of cars then a tree and then someone's window where a light was on. The cars were all orange because of the lights in the complex. The snow was orange. Even the tree was slightly orange.
I hope someone saw me standing in the dark in my living room through the window with frost around the edges.
I hope they wondered what I was doing.
22.1.04
Its strange that the pony tail movement has ever had any real weight behind it in the hair fashion scene. Because on a pony the place they have the tail is the ass. So its kind of like the myriad girls and some boys who have it are saying, "Well, I thought I could make myself prettier by making the back of my head look like the back of a large, stupid mammal. A mammal with no sphincter, mind you."
Its weird.
A friend proposed the theory that everyone who has a pony tail secretly sees themself as a horse's ass. I think that's nonsense.
It's a pony's ass.
Its weird.
A friend proposed the theory that everyone who has a pony tail secretly sees themself as a horse's ass. I think that's nonsense.
It's a pony's ass.
18.1.04
8.1.04
I found this thought not far into a journal I (rarely) kept:
Our bodies work but what incites them to? What is the difference between a corpse and a businessman? Is there some mystical power that travels from mothers to babies during pregnancy? If so, how are test tube babies born alive? Why am I moving while my great grandfather is still? He just died in his living room chair, there wasn't anything terribly wrong with him. What is the spark?
Someone once picked up the journal to write down a note and saw the entry and said, "I think that's where a lot of people turn to religion." It all seems silly to me, now. I look back at a lot of things I did and think, "Whew, I was kinda foolish." There are some entries in this blog that make me a little embarassed. Older ones. Newer ones. This journal entry kinda does. If I had an answer for it maybe I'd like it more. But probably not. It would have to be one hell of an awesome answer. Maybe its love, maybe its potatoes. I don't know, that's for damn sure.
Our bodies work but what incites them to? What is the difference between a corpse and a businessman? Is there some mystical power that travels from mothers to babies during pregnancy? If so, how are test tube babies born alive? Why am I moving while my great grandfather is still? He just died in his living room chair, there wasn't anything terribly wrong with him. What is the spark?
Someone once picked up the journal to write down a note and saw the entry and said, "I think that's where a lot of people turn to religion." It all seems silly to me, now. I look back at a lot of things I did and think, "Whew, I was kinda foolish." There are some entries in this blog that make me a little embarassed. Older ones. Newer ones. This journal entry kinda does. If I had an answer for it maybe I'd like it more. But probably not. It would have to be one hell of an awesome answer. Maybe its love, maybe its potatoes. I don't know, that's for damn sure.
Since break got over we've had pretty much one weather condition in Rochester; snow. This morning, however, I needed my sunglasses. That was a beautiful thing. I was excited. I donned them and drove over to the academic side of campus, then I walked up to the building with them on. Then I sat in class for two quick hours with my back to a window. I think my trouble lay there, in turning my back. If I had kept a watchful and reprimanding eye on the storm, perhaps it would have steered clear. But instead, I turned at the end of class and looked out into a white and windy mess.
Luckily, my people are of stouter stuff than some. What's a little storm to my sweater and hat? But it makes me worry about other people who don't pay attention to the weather. They do well, I suppose, well enough at any rate. Or they die. That's how it goes in life. You go along dealing and adapting until you don't. At which point you are dead. You have to deal with a situation in some way. Every day there are thousands of people in positions I wouldn't wish upon the evilest of men, and they cope, they survive. Or they don't. What it comes down to is handling your actions, dealing with the consequences, or death. I plan to continue to adapt to even the nastiest of situations for many, many years. There is always an option to die and let the problem get the best of me, but what good can come of it?
Or maybe it holds the greatest good of all.
But something makes me doubt that acquiescing and being washed over with death will hold anything sweeter than finally wrangling a tough spot and living.
Its snowing again.
Luckily, my people are of stouter stuff than some. What's a little storm to my sweater and hat? But it makes me worry about other people who don't pay attention to the weather. They do well, I suppose, well enough at any rate. Or they die. That's how it goes in life. You go along dealing and adapting until you don't. At which point you are dead. You have to deal with a situation in some way. Every day there are thousands of people in positions I wouldn't wish upon the evilest of men, and they cope, they survive. Or they don't. What it comes down to is handling your actions, dealing with the consequences, or death. I plan to continue to adapt to even the nastiest of situations for many, many years. There is always an option to die and let the problem get the best of me, but what good can come of it?
Or maybe it holds the greatest good of all.
But something makes me doubt that acquiescing and being washed over with death will hold anything sweeter than finally wrangling a tough spot and living.
Its snowing again.
6.1.04
I know its been a while. I was on extremely important and secret, top secret, of course, business for the government in France.
Already I've said too much.
I got some Milanos for Christmas (that wasn't all, because if it was, boy, I'd have to think of some way to finish this sentence) but they came in an unusual packaging scheme. There are five in a package. Its laid out so that two are in a stack, then one is on a raised bit of plastic and then there's another stack of two. One would think it'd be easier to just sell six, but maybe the plastic needs to be bent that way for structural reasons. Or maybe the powers that be had access to these machines at the outset or something. Or maybe its just stupid. And what's more, the serving suggestion says a recommended size is 3 cookies. But only five come in a package. It says there are "about 2" servings per container. This strikes me as just plain weird. Why not change the specifications on a serving? Make the math be done on the production end, not the consumer end. Consumers hate doing math. At least this one does.
But they are tasty cookies. Among the more divine, if you ask me.
Which you didn't. But you're at this site voluntarily.
Although not for long, I bet.
Sigh.
Already I've said too much.
I got some Milanos for Christmas (that wasn't all, because if it was, boy, I'd have to think of some way to finish this sentence) but they came in an unusual packaging scheme. There are five in a package. Its laid out so that two are in a stack, then one is on a raised bit of plastic and then there's another stack of two. One would think it'd be easier to just sell six, but maybe the plastic needs to be bent that way for structural reasons. Or maybe the powers that be had access to these machines at the outset or something. Or maybe its just stupid. And what's more, the serving suggestion says a recommended size is 3 cookies. But only five come in a package. It says there are "about 2" servings per container. This strikes me as just plain weird. Why not change the specifications on a serving? Make the math be done on the production end, not the consumer end. Consumers hate doing math. At least this one does.
But they are tasty cookies. Among the more divine, if you ask me.
Which you didn't. But you're at this site voluntarily.
Although not for long, I bet.
Sigh.
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