Where the hell have I been?
No honestly…I don’t know where I’ve been since my last post.
Save The Avenue!!!
You all need to look at this blog post I did today for a project I’m heading up to save a historic theater in my town from complete destruction: Save The Ave!
The ÜberNutshot
Wow…just…wow.
Awesome Music Videos: A Preview
I’m currently writing a long entry about the history of music videos and why MTV needs to have a channel in it’s original format. So for now, I’ll show one of my recent favorites for Röyksopp’s “Happy Up Here”. It’s mad-nerdish if you’ve ever played Space Invaders and equally awesome if you’re a photographer like me who enjoys using and manipulating light.
Prop. 8: Religion Gone Wild!
About 30 minutes ago, the California Supreme Court upheld the ban on same-sex marriages brought on by Prop. 8 in our last election. Kinda of ironic that we elected our first black president, but 52% of voters here in usually liberal California decided to deny progress in gay rights.
But seriously, why is Prop. 8 being upheld? The core of Prop. 8 is simply religious dialogue at best. As much as you people tout that this country was founded on religious principals, you couldn’t be farther from the truth. An overwhelming majority of the Founding Fathers, people you supports claim are your inspiration, were Deists.
A deist is some one who, overall, doesn’t buy the “spirituality” aspect of Christianity and more importantly to Prop. 8 supporters: they don’t buy the “literal interpretation of the Bible” aspect either.
They recognize the Bible for what it is: Man’s interpretation of God, albeit a rough and biased one. The only TRUE way you can interpret the Bible is to read it in ancient Greek. Do you happen to speak the language of Philosophers you religious zealots? No, you simply sit there and nod your heads at text designed to work 2000 years ago. If you go to a court and say “The Bible told me to”, your defense will not win.
The Bible is right: you are all simply sheep.
And for those who support Prop. 8 for reasons other than religiously-approved bigotry, then please, I beg of you to tell me what your reasoning is. I love to hear every side!
LA Bike Tour
I woke up at 2:45am this morning to go out with about 7,000 other crazy purveyors of two-wheel speed. We unleashed ourselves at 5am and throttled through the normally crowded streets of LA all by ourselves. I’m currently getting my article up and ready to go, but in the mean time you can read the one I did on the Long Beach Bike Tour known as “LBBT” I wrote way back when.
For now, enjoy this timelapse I swiped from wildbell up on Youtube. It’s all 22 miles of asphalt I rode today…in hyperspace.
Oh yeah, here’s me:
There +3
+3
The Initial Encounter with Lazarus Long
Recommended Selection: “Looking for the Perfect Beat” by Afrika Bambaataa
Broken down, steam whispering off of the radiator.
“Long ago, high school mind you, my mother took me to a dealership and said ‘Whatever car you want is yours.’ Being who I am, and of rather Spartan ways, I feel in love with the runt of the dealership: A classic postal jeep that looked in dire straits. Purchasing it saved my mother’s wallet, and although she distrusted my tastes in automobiles, the total restoration of the jeep back to its healthy form. Sometimes though, it has hiccups.”
Alem neglected to mention missing the large orange sign stating very simply:
A/C OFF NEXT 15 MILES
Neglecting to turn off the climate control while entering the mountains, Alem was now paying dearly. An overheated engine demanded attention and a bottle full of water was in due order. The absence of cars along with the fleeting light seeping in through the forest around in convinced him he’d have to spend a cold night in the back of the jeep. A place usually reserved for post-cards in the past was now a bed.
“Hold on tight to your dream!…Hey, hold on tight to your dream!…When you see your ship go sailing and you feel your heart is breaking…hold on tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiggggggggggghhhhhhhhhtttttttt to your dream!” Alem continued perfectly out of tune with Electric Light Orchestra.
The throaty roar of mechanical life sounded through the valley like an ominous being approaching. A loud spat and two lights came over the hill.
“Finally! I was thinking this place was Death Valley,” moving out to the road to signal down the driver. With almost ill intent the two lights headed off of the road into a cloud of dust.
Curiosity killed the cat. Unfortunately, no one was around to mention that to Alem as he quickly approached where he expected the car to be. Much to his surprise, the car was far from something any ordinary passer-by would know, and something that only a money starved college student or fat bloke with a dickey head would know.
“Christ…Aston Martin V8 Vantage.”
Matte black with an engine running, he walked gingerly over to the driver’s side window and gently tapped a finger. With no reply, he moved over to the passenger side and repeated. The window answered with a deep mechanical hum as it rolled down. A sharp pain in his neck and the tranquilizer took full effect in milliseconds. Alem was out like Mike Tyson’s career.
Waking up from a total blackout, Alem slowly shook off the last of his short vegetative state. A headache was his first unpleasant experience and he reached up to feel a welt pounding his brain. His first clue in a series of as to where exactly he currently was begun with the overwhelmingly large bed he was in. The sheets were heavy on his chest but easy to pull off of him. He scooted over to the edge and saw he was up as high as he was tall, and jumping to the freshly polished marble floor below would most certainly result in some kind of long-suffering injury. Looking back at the intricate fractal designs on the bedspread, he huffed, “Christ, I think I’m in the Papa Bear’s bed.”
He took a few pillows from the small pile of them and threw them to the floor, hoping that he could perform the minuscule B.A.S.E. jump with success. With a leap of faith Alem landed on the pillows safe as can be. Now off of the bed, the walls became emphasized. Marks on the walls suggested to him that they had been carved out by something…or someone. The lights in the room didn’t have anything that could have fed power to them. The cool air was fresh and clean. With the carved out walls, no electricity and coolness of the pure air, he had a conclusive idea.
“I’m underground.”
The large wooden door thumped loudly, Alem jumping at the sound of a deep bass note. With no other directly observable exits, he was forced to open the door cautiously and peer into the next room. It appeared to be a regular living room except for the continued marks on the stone walls and extremely high ceiling. A staircase led to a pair of metallic looking double doors. Another led down to a single door of indiscernible material. In the room were several decadent couches of questionable Warhol style and some rugs with the same fractal pattern on them. The floor was hardwood and cool to the touch under Alem’s bare feet.
The thumping became louder as he moved toward the double metallic doors. They hummed with acoustic vibrations. The swishing and scraping of someone was subtly finding his ears. The thumping began to suggest a pattern, and he quickly picked up on it as music. Pressing his ear against the chill of the metal, it was immediately evident as “Looking For the Perfect Beat” by Afrika Bamabaataa. He reached into his back pocket where his iPod would’ve been and felt nothing.
“Not only does my kidnapper have my music, but they seem to at least have the same tastes as myself,” he joked. In an act of risk, he slowly pulled the door handle down and opened the door as gingerly as he could. He could make out a mostly black, somewhat orange blur in front of a large stereo system.
“Soul Sonic Force!” the blur yelled out incorrectly. After a few bars of synths and classic hip-hop pops the actual lyrics sang out his mistake, mocking him.
“This guy has got to be a bumbling idiot. I’m 100 percent smarter!” he smirked. Looking around, a bottle caught his eye, “Time for some courage.”
Unscrewing the cap released a sweet aroma but after taking a swig he learned that he wasn’t the only one about to pull off a deceptive surprise. Using his confidence, he gathered himself into a flying leap at the door. Shoulder completely demolished, neck jarred loose and brain most certainly concussed; the two large slabs of wood crashed to the floor with a resounding echo. Up and moving like drunken lightning, Alem took in his surroundings as some kind of an aging cathedral.
“You!” his kidnapper yelled. It was in the weirdest of positions. Left hand on the ground, with its body in the air, perfectly balanced, legs spread slightly with right arm jutting out to add to its stability. The clue that tipped him off as to his kidnapper’s oddity was a tail standing straight up with a spaded end. The wings coming off of its back also helped.
Its hand had four digits: three fingers and a thumb, each ending with a claw, which in turn ended with a wicked point. The head was stereotypically shaped (complete with a set of horns that were slightly curved back) for the organism Alem had now come to identify it as. The mouth was wide-open showing off its sharpened teeth with its forked tongue hanging out of its mouth. With three digits on its foot, also ending in a wicked point. Its body was all black with orange markings that he could barely identify, but he could tell they were on its arms, chest and legs. The most striking feature was its eyes: a deep orange iris surrounding the blackness of its iris pierced the whites of its eyes. Alem could not believe his or the narrowing eyes he was looking in to.
A dragon was before him.
The mammalian brain has been known to shut down during occasions of extreme shock coupled with sensory overload. Alem is no exception.
The reptilian brain has been known to heighten awareness during occasions of extreme calm coupled with complete and utter disappointment. The dragon was no exception.
“Well,” it said, “Are you just going to stand there and stare or are you going to do the typical human reaction?”
Without hesitation this time, Alem screamed and ran out of the room.
“Sheesh,” the scaled complained, “Humans these days.”
The quiet hall was interrupted as the rugby tackle took the door off its hinges. Running off, he began to appreciate the softness of bodies and despise the hardness of doors. Traveling deeper underground, all bearings were lost on him. Much to his surprise, he saw what appeared to be a map hanging on one of the walls.
“YOU ARE NOT HERE” it said with small arrows pointing to multiple areas.
“What the hell is this place, the funhouse from hell itself?” his yell echoing down the empty hall, “Least I’m away from that….that…thing.”
“I heard that!”
“Who said that?”
“The thing that you just called a thing.”
“So the thing that I just called a thing is responding to my labeling of the above mentioned thing as a thing.”
“Correct! Now might I suggest a due course of action for you to take to avoid myself labeled as a thing?”
“Yes! How fast can this thing I’m talking to run?”
“This thing can run much much faster than you.”
“Oh darn. Can I punch harder than said thing?”
“No, you can not punch harder than me, erm, this thing.”
“Can I outgun this thing?”
“You don’t have any guns!”
“Oh,” he said, flexing his arms, “Yes I do have a pair of guns!”
“If you call those guns, might I suggest this thing label them as Derringers.”
“Show yourself!”
From out of a door directly behind Alem the orange and black monstrosity showed itself.
“I thought you’d be…taller.”
“What!” it snarled.
“And why are you standing on two legs?”
“Why yah gotta’ stereotype me and my kind?”
In a panic, Alem spotted a case with several swords on display. His quick thinking would most certainly save his life.
“Holy shit! What’s that!” he pointed. Gently opening the doors to the case, Alem picked up the longest sword and promptly dropped it due to the heavy weight of the forged steel. It was when he looked up to see the dragon with crossed arms that he realized that his distraction had not worked.
“I am not the dumb, mindless killers your human propagandist lore has led you mammalian tools to believe. You do not want to get into a fight with me.”
“I’m not going to fight you,” Alem smiled, lifting the sword up completely for the first time, “I’m going to slay you.”
The dragon fell the to ground in laughter, “Slay me!…You!…HA! How many times do you think I’ve heard someone utter that to me? How many different languages that’s been said to me in? Well, if you want a fair fight my good sir, you’ve come to the wrong place. As courtesy to make up for your obvious disadvantage, I’ll let you take a free shot,” it spread its arms, “Do you really think you have a chance against me?
“I like my chances.”
Barely finishing his sentence, Alem swung the heavy metal against the neck of the dragon. Like an even harder material, a crack split the sword at the moment of impact, jarring it loose from Alem’s hands. The black monster delivered a kick to Alem’s chest, using the momentum to propel the human into the wall. Chest still heaving, Alem stood up to have the equally sharp broken end of the sword millimeters away from his neck.
“Are you someone who was sent here to show me what a failed attempt at killing me would be like?”
“No, I’m Alem,” his voice cracking from the fear, “You wanna’ to see my driver’s license? Hell, you can have my whole wallet if you like. It’s got $20 in it,” he said, as if it was an incentive to rob him rather than kill him.
“Hand me your driver’s license then,” he said, keeping the sword steady. Alem did his best to reach into his back pocket and unfold his wallet. He slowly removed his driver’s license and handed it to its outstretched hand. He took it and inspected it thoroughly, his orange eyes looking back and forth from the license to Alem. He handed it back to Alem’s hand, also outstretched towards him.
“Did you really think you stood a chance against me?”
“Like I said: I like my chances.”
“Bet yah $20 you just peed your jeans,” the black dragon said with a smile, lowering the sword. Alem looked down and frowned.
“No thanks. I…I don’t bet often.”
Wireless
I’m currently sitting in the larger of two computer labs on my college’s campus. Cerritos College has some great labs, the problem is the number of computers they have in them is quite inadequet. From my vanatge point I’m going to guess about 150 ocmputers just in this lab alone, plus another 50 in the seocnd lab would make a grand total of about 200 computers.
Now, there is wireless internet here at the college. The problem is that it’s outragously expensive. Unsurprisingly enough, it’s provided by AT&T for roughly $10.95/day! Our college has been in talks with AT&T to be able to set-up the entire campus as a free wi-fi spot, but no progress has been made yet.
Of course, overcharging at the rate they do, can you blame AT&T for not wanting to give up such a great profit-machine?
Shakin’
In honor of tonight’s earthquake I’d like to present a video from the previous large trembler we had back in July:
No Posts Today #6
My Astrobiology report was completed in time and the presentation was brilliant to say the least. So you’d think this would finally free me up to go over and blog the hell outta’ myself, but honestly, I just don’t feel like posting today. So, as per non-post days, A WILD LOLCAT APPEARS!
see more Lolcats and funny pictures