1:10 | 1:15 | 1:20 | 1:40 | 1:45 | 1:55 | 2:00
Friday, July 29, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
How Not To Eat Lunch
I sit looking straight ahead.
His mouth was moving and the expressions on his face meander about to remind me where I got them from. Those somewhat overly pronounced gestures with my hands when I speak about something in detail? That's him. The resigned lines around my eyes that try to produce a smile when there is no reason to? Him again. The way I speak in glee one moment only to have it betray me because of foolish indecision later? Strike three. I'm out.
The topic is about sound. The anatomy of noise. The waveforms and the levels that are assembled midair and translated through the mechanisms of our auditory receptors. For him, a musician of thirty years in the making yet still desperately trying to crack the eggshell, this is good meat. And I provide my attention as well as can be expected. Ironically, those particular thoughts flow through my one ear and out the other. It's normal par for the course whenever I meet with him one on one.
I try to pay attention, with all my might I try. He would say something about how his computer isn't working properly, I would drift off to the coke machine to my left. He would talk about his inability to work with what he has because everything goes out of date so quickly and a delicious fellow walks by with my gaze in tow to take his place in my peripheral vision to the right.
And then a pause. And another. With each pause the distance eats and grows. I'm at the next table, out the door, down the street, in a field far away, in a city on the West Coast, in Milan, in Osaka, at the bottom of the deep blue Trench. If I wait long enough you can come join me on the moon where I hear they've got a wonderfully sharp cheddar.
I wish I could say I'm happy to be around him. I wish I could say that his exhausted face and failing body are something that I will overcome and in turn will help him overcome. But, I am so similar to him its like a hypnosis of fate. Sorrow is a stain that is hard to wash out. I sink into his eyes even more, trying to discern if there is much left to be hopeful for.
We do not speak of decisions that have been made, point fingers on how things are different and how it makes him sad. We travel around the conversation to points of where things are happening and at what time we should make sure to arrive and what in order they will happen... We speak only of details.
My father makes me extremely tired. I have the fewest words to say to him than anyone else that shares my blood. It feels as though each word is a hundred times heavier than what any nonchalant phrase might be.
I sit there and decide it's time to get back to work since lunch has been eaten and disposed of.
Peace,
Simon
His mouth was moving and the expressions on his face meander about to remind me where I got them from. Those somewhat overly pronounced gestures with my hands when I speak about something in detail? That's him. The resigned lines around my eyes that try to produce a smile when there is no reason to? Him again. The way I speak in glee one moment only to have it betray me because of foolish indecision later? Strike three. I'm out.
The topic is about sound. The anatomy of noise. The waveforms and the levels that are assembled midair and translated through the mechanisms of our auditory receptors. For him, a musician of thirty years in the making yet still desperately trying to crack the eggshell, this is good meat. And I provide my attention as well as can be expected. Ironically, those particular thoughts flow through my one ear and out the other. It's normal par for the course whenever I meet with him one on one.
I try to pay attention, with all my might I try. He would say something about how his computer isn't working properly, I would drift off to the coke machine to my left. He would talk about his inability to work with what he has because everything goes out of date so quickly and a delicious fellow walks by with my gaze in tow to take his place in my peripheral vision to the right.
And then a pause. And another. With each pause the distance eats and grows. I'm at the next table, out the door, down the street, in a field far away, in a city on the West Coast, in Milan, in Osaka, at the bottom of the deep blue Trench. If I wait long enough you can come join me on the moon where I hear they've got a wonderfully sharp cheddar.
I wish I could say I'm happy to be around him. I wish I could say that his exhausted face and failing body are something that I will overcome and in turn will help him overcome. But, I am so similar to him its like a hypnosis of fate. Sorrow is a stain that is hard to wash out. I sink into his eyes even more, trying to discern if there is much left to be hopeful for.
We do not speak of decisions that have been made, point fingers on how things are different and how it makes him sad. We travel around the conversation to points of where things are happening and at what time we should make sure to arrive and what in order they will happen... We speak only of details.
My father makes me extremely tired. I have the fewest words to say to him than anyone else that shares my blood. It feels as though each word is a hundred times heavier than what any nonchalant phrase might be.
I sit there and decide it's time to get back to work since lunch has been eaten and disposed of.
Peace,
Simon
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Secret Simon Says No. 4
Listen up.
How many licks does it take to get to the center of the bottle of cheese-wiz?
UPDATE:
Regarding what was said before...
Peace,
Simon
How many licks does it take to get to the center of the bottle of cheese-wiz?
UPDATE:
Regarding what was said before...
Peace,
Simon
Thursday, July 21, 2005
Sketch o' the Day ~ Scratchwork
As a kid I always used to pretend I had a pen that could paint with light and make gigantic creations out of thin air. Who knew I'd actually do it someday.
*Update
Here's the progression for those interested:
(Click on each to make bigger.)
Peace,
Simon
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Your Presence Is Required, But Not Your Presents.
Today my mom and sis gave me my birthday present. My birthday isn't until next month sometime, as is my wife's. But mom thought it only fitting for me to unwrap it now, since my wife got hers today in the form of that new book that people waited until the witching hour yesterday to get a hold of. Crazy muggles.
Today, however, is my sister's actual birthday (and I'm gettin' the present, how does that work?). She live's in the far away land of north Georgia, going to college, so I don't get to see her all that often. She's got a boyfriend and a three legged kitty and a wacky aunt in residence now so she seems happy and I'm always happy to see her happy. Go read her blog. She rocks.
Anyways, I received two wonderful anthology graphic novels called Flight. It's beautiful and marvelous! I haven't gotten comics in ages. Thus I haven't read them in ages either. I'm going to force myself to sit down and get lost for awhile reading this during the nightly thunderstorm. I enjoy well crafted and unexpected things like this.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Birthdays and Christmas used to excite me immensely. I loved getting presents. I was all about the "Next Big Commercial Franchise Aimed At My Young American Peer Group". But even, then only one thing at a time, as I was still picky. I left Peter Pan in the dust somewhere along the line because whenever these times roll around now, I get intensely annoyed instead. "I don't need anything." "Please don't get me anything." "No, REALLY, I don't want more stuff in my overabundant house of crap!" Where some are just being polite, I actually mean it. It's simple. there are better things to be thinking about than frivloities. Unless it's integral to my survival, it causes some strife with some unnamed parties.
People, as they should, just ignore me and give me stuff all the same. Because of this, it's frustrating to buy me presents since I don't have a geek lust for much anymore. And by much I mean absolutely nothing. When I was young it was so easy. I was pretty exclusively into Transformers. Then later it was all about Disney movies. Then give me anything about Japanese culture. When I was really young and broke, I even had a rubber ball collection somewhere in there just to be collecting something. I'm sure many of you have been there but the names and dates are just different. These days I'm lucky if I qualify merely as an NPR geek since I listen to it on the way to work.
The San Diego ComicCon is taking place this weekend. At one point I would have rearranged my life to get to go to something like that. I had the potential to be a comic book geek in a BIG way. I had a good chance at being a pop music geek when I began working in a music store. I was on the verge of being an anime geek. I could still qualify as Nintendo geek but I don't think I care enough anymore about it. I might be a Mac geek, but in the end it's really just a computer that works well for me and I could easily change if something better were presented to me. All of these things have sadly fallen by the wayside or became mundane force of habit. I know about things but I don't really KNOW about them like I used to.
Besides, how many devout geeks of that sort does the world really need anyway? I'd like to be the unknowing geek in the shadows that strikes without warning...
Don't get me wrong, even though it can eat away your funds and time, being a geek is a great thing. My mom is such a comic book geek and she loves it. I work with a guru among otaku, he would be a hermit otherwise. So as much as I don't understand the massive attachment to Star Wars or Desperate Housewives or Harry Potter or whatever, I see the zeal with which some wait in long lines the night before a new installment or have something to root for if an award is being offered. Or drone on endlessly if only for the hope of gaining some new recruits. And it's because they genuinely enjoy it. Maybe unlike them, I just don't like to share my mass media. At least with fellow know-it-alls. What doesn't make me a snob is that I realize there are indeed others who enjoy these things more than I. It is their life.
Perhaps when something gets the word "icon" slapped onto it, it becomes more...impersonal. Come to think of it, even some things that are more of a niche instead of a phenomenon fall victim. Like when you know of this local band that, "Oh my god, I so relate to what they are singing about and the music is so original and inspiring and the lead singer is so cute!" Get two or more of these people together in the same room and watch the war ensue over who is the bigger fan. Of course, I've been to maybe three concerts in my lifetime, but I think you get the idea.
I apologize, this post was pretty upbeat to start with, but now I'm realizing that I have nothing that I get remotely excited about. Being a geek should be fun! I don't have cable so I don't watch any TV at home, it's very rare that I'll intentionally watch a movie unless it's just on. I don't do books or music or video games or clothes or religion or boys...you name it. Nothing seems to have impact or mystery. And going out to do anything? Please. I'd need to be bound and forced at gunpoint.
I suppose it's fair to lump blogging in as being geekish. But just like my computer, blogs are more like a method or means. I could easily just write all this down in a paper journal. Surely though, it's effective as a tool to aid in promoting the geeky qualities in the right hands instead of being the sole end product to consume. Maybe I'd rather be onstage performing rather than merely an audience member. I'd rather be the giver than the receiver, not so much for praise but just for the sake of doing it. But then maybe I'm just some sad bloke who wants so badly for the world to recognize him but doesn't really want to do anything about it. Who knows.
I always thought I'd have some kind of fantastical, colorful things surrounding my life, but it seems the lights have gone out. I miss being a geek about something. I know I have the capability, I do get sucked into the spectacle if it's presence is bold enough. I'll readily admit to watching American Idol last season; knowing who was who and wondering which neophyte was the next the be booted off by the show producers, oops I mean, voted off by the public. I would love to be social again (Er...or would that be, "for once"). To have that giddy glee when talking to friends about what's hot or not, however banal it is. Those with opinions are certainly unwarranted sometimes. But it must be nice to have a genuine knowledge about something to actually articulate an opinion instead of just giving notice that "Well, I heard it was..."
This is partially why I offered my latest proposition. To try and get talking again. Maybe that is why I blog these days. You notice I don't talk about politics or post reviews of movies, etc. The fact is I simply don't play well with others face to face these days. I don't have anything to talk about without feeling like I'll step on your toes and you'll run away. It gets rather stilted and awkwardly silent in person. Chatting online, sending emails, even on the phone is easier than that paralyzing notion of meeting in person. I could do it once before and now it's almost evaporated.
I believe I said before the blog was as close to "out" as I would get. Sadly, it's now become as close to "social" as I am.
Peace,
Simon
Today, however, is my sister's actual birthday (and I'm gettin' the present, how does that work?). She live's in the far away land of north Georgia, going to college, so I don't get to see her all that often. She's got a boyfriend and a three legged kitty and a wacky aunt in residence now so she seems happy and I'm always happy to see her happy. Go read her blog. She rocks.
Anyways, I received two wonderful anthology graphic novels called Flight. It's beautiful and marvelous! I haven't gotten comics in ages. Thus I haven't read them in ages either. I'm going to force myself to sit down and get lost for awhile reading this during the nightly thunderstorm. I enjoy well crafted and unexpected things like this.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Birthdays and Christmas used to excite me immensely. I loved getting presents. I was all about the "Next Big Commercial Franchise Aimed At My Young American Peer Group". But even, then only one thing at a time, as I was still picky. I left Peter Pan in the dust somewhere along the line because whenever these times roll around now, I get intensely annoyed instead. "I don't need anything." "Please don't get me anything." "No, REALLY, I don't want more stuff in my overabundant house of crap!" Where some are just being polite, I actually mean it. It's simple. there are better things to be thinking about than frivloities. Unless it's integral to my survival, it causes some strife with some unnamed parties.
People, as they should, just ignore me and give me stuff all the same. Because of this, it's frustrating to buy me presents since I don't have a geek lust for much anymore. And by much I mean absolutely nothing. When I was young it was so easy. I was pretty exclusively into Transformers. Then later it was all about Disney movies. Then give me anything about Japanese culture. When I was really young and broke, I even had a rubber ball collection somewhere in there just to be collecting something. I'm sure many of you have been there but the names and dates are just different. These days I'm lucky if I qualify merely as an NPR geek since I listen to it on the way to work.
The San Diego ComicCon is taking place this weekend. At one point I would have rearranged my life to get to go to something like that. I had the potential to be a comic book geek in a BIG way. I had a good chance at being a pop music geek when I began working in a music store. I was on the verge of being an anime geek. I could still qualify as Nintendo geek but I don't think I care enough anymore about it. I might be a Mac geek, but in the end it's really just a computer that works well for me and I could easily change if something better were presented to me. All of these things have sadly fallen by the wayside or became mundane force of habit. I know about things but I don't really KNOW about them like I used to.
Besides, how many devout geeks of that sort does the world really need anyway? I'd like to be the unknowing geek in the shadows that strikes without warning...
Don't get me wrong, even though it can eat away your funds and time, being a geek is a great thing. My mom is such a comic book geek and she loves it. I work with a guru among otaku, he would be a hermit otherwise. So as much as I don't understand the massive attachment to Star Wars or Desperate Housewives or Harry Potter or whatever, I see the zeal with which some wait in long lines the night before a new installment or have something to root for if an award is being offered. Or drone on endlessly if only for the hope of gaining some new recruits. And it's because they genuinely enjoy it. Maybe unlike them, I just don't like to share my mass media. At least with fellow know-it-alls. What doesn't make me a snob is that I realize there are indeed others who enjoy these things more than I. It is their life.
Perhaps when something gets the word "icon" slapped onto it, it becomes more...impersonal. Come to think of it, even some things that are more of a niche instead of a phenomenon fall victim. Like when you know of this local band that, "Oh my god, I so relate to what they are singing about and the music is so original and inspiring and the lead singer is so cute!" Get two or more of these people together in the same room and watch the war ensue over who is the bigger fan. Of course, I've been to maybe three concerts in my lifetime, but I think you get the idea.
I apologize, this post was pretty upbeat to start with, but now I'm realizing that I have nothing that I get remotely excited about. Being a geek should be fun! I don't have cable so I don't watch any TV at home, it's very rare that I'll intentionally watch a movie unless it's just on. I don't do books or music or video games or clothes or religion or boys...you name it. Nothing seems to have impact or mystery. And going out to do anything? Please. I'd need to be bound and forced at gunpoint.
I suppose it's fair to lump blogging in as being geekish. But just like my computer, blogs are more like a method or means. I could easily just write all this down in a paper journal. Surely though, it's effective as a tool to aid in promoting the geeky qualities in the right hands instead of being the sole end product to consume. Maybe I'd rather be onstage performing rather than merely an audience member. I'd rather be the giver than the receiver, not so much for praise but just for the sake of doing it. But then maybe I'm just some sad bloke who wants so badly for the world to recognize him but doesn't really want to do anything about it. Who knows.
I always thought I'd have some kind of fantastical, colorful things surrounding my life, but it seems the lights have gone out. I miss being a geek about something. I know I have the capability, I do get sucked into the spectacle if it's presence is bold enough. I'll readily admit to watching American Idol last season; knowing who was who and wondering which neophyte was the next the be booted off by the show producers, oops I mean, voted off by the public. I would love to be social again (Er...or would that be, "for once"). To have that giddy glee when talking to friends about what's hot or not, however banal it is. Those with opinions are certainly unwarranted sometimes. But it must be nice to have a genuine knowledge about something to actually articulate an opinion instead of just giving notice that "Well, I heard it was..."
This is partially why I offered my latest proposition. To try and get talking again. Maybe that is why I blog these days. You notice I don't talk about politics or post reviews of movies, etc. The fact is I simply don't play well with others face to face these days. I don't have anything to talk about without feeling like I'll step on your toes and you'll run away. It gets rather stilted and awkwardly silent in person. Chatting online, sending emails, even on the phone is easier than that paralyzing notion of meeting in person. I could do it once before and now it's almost evaporated.
I believe I said before the blog was as close to "out" as I would get. Sadly, it's now become as close to "social" as I am.
Peace,
Simon
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Pay No Attention To That Man Behind The Curtain
Yes, I'm posting another audio post, but hear me out, it involves some audience participation.
Secret Simon Says... No. 3
So, in an attempt to make this blog a bit less...uh..self indulgent, I'd like to hear from all you fellow bloggers out there. If you feel so inclined and would like to be interviewed for a quick (but not necessarily painless) 10-15 minutes for a future audio post here by yours truly, let me know.
email: darksymon {at} yahoo {dot} com
AIM: Signalite
yahoo: darksymon
Peace,
Simon
Secret Simon Says... No. 3
So, in an attempt to make this blog a bit less...uh..self indulgent, I'd like to hear from all you fellow bloggers out there. If you feel so inclined and would like to be interviewed for a quick (but not necessarily painless) 10-15 minutes for a future audio post here by yours truly, let me know.
email: darksymon {at} yahoo {dot} com
AIM: Signalite
yahoo: darksymon
Peace,
Simon
Monday, July 11, 2005
Thursday, July 07, 2005
I'm Coming For You Next Noxema Girl
Facial hair has never been something to brag about among the men in my clan. It's very slow to come in and at when it does, it's quite pathetic and scraggly. With the exception of some not so impressive sideburns, I try to keep it squeaky clean, otherwise I just look (and feel) like a beast who should be in hibernation. The amount of hair on my chin seems to be porportional to my energy level, the more that's there the lazier I am. Recently though, maybe just because I'm getting older, my stubble has gone into overdrive and I have to shave almost every day.
I don't know why but I've been getting these major pimples lately. I'm not talking about a rash of random red bumps. It's like the ones in high school that emerged after I ate an entire TripleXL pizza. Or something called the Chocolate Bandito from Chi-Chi's Mexican restaurant. They are of the blaringly-obvious, couldn't-hide-it-with-makeup-even-if-the-light-was-dim, nerve-altering, hurt-filled ilk. If I hooked my face up to a seismograph I think they'd have to alert FEMA and issue an evacuation.
For me they've always been connected to food. Since I don't eat junk food anymore I'm not sure what's causing them. Maybe it's stress? Or perhaps I just drink too many smoothies to make things less stressful.
Because of this recent insurgence of increased stubble production and unruly activity under my skin, it's been a bit...tricky shaving as of late.
They (being the newly formed mountains of pain) seem to keep only to the areas on my face where I shave. When they emerge I don't shave for a few days hoping they'll just subside like they usually do. It hurts like hell to shave when they are around and I don't want to accidentally entice any fresh wounds. Or would that be flesh wounds? Pardon my Engrish.
However, thanks to the new and improved Faster-Harder-More! attitude my follicles have adopted, a hair or two will inevitably start burrowing up through the core of each dermal anomaly. I had a couple yesterday that were driving me close to certifiable. Piercing and gyrating from the inside out, the hairs irritate these invaders that have made their home where a fine goatee should be instead, to the point I want to take my face to the nearest electric cheese grater and let it have it's way with me.
I couldn't take it anymore. Since it being desperate times and all, I switched out my razor fitting it with a shiny new blade and with the skill of a faux-samurai I began to attack. They never stood a chance. There was bloodshed. There was pus. You could hear something akin to violins screeching in the bathroom. In the end, I slightly resembled an extra in a student-grade vampire film until I could get enough toilet paper to patch it up. Then it was more like a zombie flick. It did take while for it to stop leaking.
Yeah, it's a bit gross, but I find if I'm going to be a whiny bitch I may as well revel in it. I could go on about my earwax debacle but I think maybe you've probably had enough of my bodily functions for one post.
On to the next ailment!
Peace,
Simon
I don't know why but I've been getting these major pimples lately. I'm not talking about a rash of random red bumps. It's like the ones in high school that emerged after I ate an entire TripleXL pizza. Or something called the Chocolate Bandito from Chi-Chi's Mexican restaurant. They are of the blaringly-obvious, couldn't-hide-it-with-makeup-even-if-the-light-was-dim, nerve-altering, hurt-filled ilk. If I hooked my face up to a seismograph I think they'd have to alert FEMA and issue an evacuation.
For me they've always been connected to food. Since I don't eat junk food anymore I'm not sure what's causing them. Maybe it's stress? Or perhaps I just drink too many smoothies to make things less stressful.
Because of this recent insurgence of increased stubble production and unruly activity under my skin, it's been a bit...tricky shaving as of late.
They (being the newly formed mountains of pain) seem to keep only to the areas on my face where I shave. When they emerge I don't shave for a few days hoping they'll just subside like they usually do. It hurts like hell to shave when they are around and I don't want to accidentally entice any fresh wounds. Or would that be flesh wounds? Pardon my Engrish.
However, thanks to the new and improved Faster-Harder-More! attitude my follicles have adopted, a hair or two will inevitably start burrowing up through the core of each dermal anomaly. I had a couple yesterday that were driving me close to certifiable. Piercing and gyrating from the inside out, the hairs irritate these invaders that have made their home where a fine goatee should be instead, to the point I want to take my face to the nearest electric cheese grater and let it have it's way with me.
I couldn't take it anymore. Since it being desperate times and all, I switched out my razor fitting it with a shiny new blade and with the skill of a faux-samurai I began to attack. They never stood a chance. There was bloodshed. There was pus. You could hear something akin to violins screeching in the bathroom. In the end, I slightly resembled an extra in a student-grade vampire film until I could get enough toilet paper to patch it up. Then it was more like a zombie flick. It did take while for it to stop leaking.
Yeah, it's a bit gross, but I find if I'm going to be a whiny bitch I may as well revel in it. I could go on about my earwax debacle but I think maybe you've probably had enough of my bodily functions for one post.
On to the next ailment!
Peace,
Simon
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Would Ya Like To Take Survey?
Introspective thoughts or pretentious babble?
You decide.
If you get gobbledygook when you click on the link, try right-clicking to download the file.
Peace,
Simon
You decide.
If you get gobbledygook when you click on the link, try right-clicking to download the file.
Peace,
Simon
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