i feel that this is blogworthy. I was just playing the game Worm and I reached a score of 2406. you read right, folks, 2-4-0-6. yes you can touch me.

i feel that this is blogworthy. I was just playing the game "Worm" at www.liquidcode.org/worm.html and I reached a score of 2313. you read right, folks, 2-3-1-3. yes you can touch me.

If I were on a Salt Lake City based team, of any sort, really, I would demand that the team name be the "Saltines." Not only would this be good for morale, because you could buy it in bulk for team members, franchise supporters etc., but it would give competing teams an easy target. "Crush the Saltines" etc. Say you had the Saltines fighting a team from some Germanic midwest city, then you could have a giant hunk of meat mascot, like bratwurst, tackle the Saltine mascot and make an attractive meal. If you were the Saltines you could sponsor food drives in small, impoverished, third world countries. It would be great. Think of the possibilities.

Walking is odd. Don't put your foot down next time you are walking along, you don't just stop mid-step, you fall flat on your face. Walking is a controlled fall. I am learning to unicycle, its an ongoing thing, but sort of similar to walking. If you stay upright, when you pedal the wheel flies out from under you and you wind up lying on your back, cursing at the tree branches. If you lean to far forward without pedaling to compensate you get a noseful of dirt that reminds you of how moles live. So the secret is to lean forward just enough and to catch yourself by pedaling. Its tough.

Here is something to consider. Have you ever wanted to see someone's brain? Your doctor sees yours every time he shines that annoying flashlight in your eyes. He doesn't see the big ugly mass you would hope to, just the optic nerve. The optic nerve, however, is technically part of the brain. If you ever have nothing to do, as is so often the case with me (damnit), you could probably find your brain with the help of a mirror and a flashlight.

I am going to attend college in Henrietta, at the Rochester Institute of Technology. Consider this: If I had just used "RIT" I would have only said "at RIT." Language is funny.

If you were able to go back to 1932 and kill Hitler, would you?

I will write about a very important and remarkable character in my life. His passing on to a Better Place can hopefully bring him happier times than what he went through on this cold, loveless planet. Earth, and Nick's room especially, is no place for rats, and in Hector's dying I sincerely hope he has found peace. Joe, Jeremy and I first met Hector at the beginning of his journey on this rock, he was part of a biology project. Hector performed well in the simple tasks that were his charge, chasing after the food like greyhounds chase after those metal rabbit things. Biology class ended, and with it Hector's home, formerly the Lake Region High School biology room, was evicted of rats. So, Hector and his cage-mate, Puck, moved in with Nick. Hector remained happy, though, rejuvenated by My visits and kept company by Puck. When I was last at Nick's house I played with Hector a bit more than usual, perhaps sensing this would be our final goodbye. As per usual his little rat claws scratched up my hands, but he seemed to recognize me. Now Hector is gone. Go in peace, little rat, and may large cedar chip fields, cheese mountains and full water bottles await you.

PIG OF DESTINY

I ran into the PIG OF DESTINY earlier today while I was in Wal*Mart, purchasing a fifty cent can of Coca-Cola. I walked by the little arm-drop game and first noticed the PIG OF DESTINY. He was perched calmly at the edge of The Pit where the arm drops the prize you may or may not win. After retrieving my Coke I walked back to The Machine to contemplate how I was going to play this game out. He was standing on all fours and looking with his eerie pig eyes out towards the world beyond the glass, hoping for some divine intervention that would remove him from the cramped quarters that were so packed with helpless stuffed animals the ground to him was a myth, something whispered and dreamt about. I had my strategy, I was going to drop the arm on top of him, and I felt around for some change. OH NO! Not enough, I had forty-six cents and the game was fifty. Luckily, I think fast, and I quickly pulled a dollar bill out of my wallet, not wanting the PIG OF DESTINY to suffer anymore hardships. I inserted the dollar and the arm moved to the middle of the cage, I carefully maneuvered the three slender fingers so the 'palm' was directly over the PIG OF DESTINY's head. Breathing deeply I pressed the drop button, it felt like I was releasing the atomic bomb. Down, down the arm dropped, then it clamped shut and climbed up, up. But there was no prize in his silvery hand! I gasped and then noticed the pig wasn't there anymore. I looked around and saw he hadn't gotten loose, then I looked in the hole, and there he was, looking as smug as a stuffed animal can. It seems the arm had knocked him off his perch. So, I grabbed the pig that was so obviously destined to be mine and wasted the other fifty cents, I just blindly dropped the arm, not caring about the results which were negative. What did it matter, the PIG OF DESTINY was mine.

Ah, Luis Bunuel, what can't he do? Luis Bunuel, for those of you not in the know, was a spanish surrealist director. Thats right, surrealism in movies. He worked with Salvador Dalí on his first two movies, Un Chien Andalou and L'Age d'Or. While yes, those are both French titles the movies are redolent with the Spanish influences of their Spanish creators. The essence of the more bizarre images, such as those of an eye being slit with a razor or a man wiping his mouth completely off his face is that the mind can not rationalize such images, but the eyes can not lie, so the brain has to expand, evolve and maybe explode to compensate for the images. The object of surrealism is to make obvious the doings of the sub-conscious, to create an upheaval in society that stops people from being fake and living like Ivan Ilyich. Surrealism is a catalyst for societal evolution.

I recently listened to Beck, four of his albums. And you know what? Not too shabby. I remember I used to like him a lot, I thought he was the man, then that faded, and until recently had forgotten that he is pretty cool. I feel that his worst album was Mutations, well, of the ones I listened to. The four I learned were Odelay, Mellow Gold, Loser and Mutations. Loser has but five tracks, Loser (no shit!), Corvette Bummer, Alcohol, Soul Sucking Jerk and Fume. I am pleased and refreshed by his music. As I was glancing through the credits on the liner notes I noticed that he wrote the music and performed almost all of the instruments. One talented man with an unfortunate last name. Anyway, I just remember that there is a destination just a little up the road from the habitations of the towns we know. A place we saw the lights turned low, the jigsaw jazz and the get fresh flow. Bottles and cans just clap your hands just clap your hands...