Today I had a brief reprise from the everyday, a small moment that made the world seem a little brighter. Walking from my car to class is usually a mundane task, how many times have I taken such a walk? I pass from my car to the building without noticing the world, the people, the traffic, all float by on mute. Today though, today I woke up before finishing my walk, woke before finding my seat along the back row of the classroom.

I cross one road on my way to class. Today I woke at that crossing to see a tiny girl holding a very large umbrella. She stood about 5’1’’ or so, petite, wearing a black shirt that camouflaged her perfectly against the dark umbrella she held, and a red hat that clashed so perfectly it almost hurt my eyes.

I was frozen.

This girl could have gone Mary Poppins at any moment, gliding over street and lot.

How much have I missed? I looked around; no one seemed to recognize the wonderful peculiarity taking place. How much have I missed?

I think it was the wonderful contrast; it was such a photographic moment. I stood for only a moment, then the walk light turned on and it was over, she moved out of frame, and I finished my walk to class.

A photograph is a small moment, today it would have been 1/15 or 1/20sec, how many 1/20sec’s have I missed.

Their killing the country near my parents place building a massive freeway that will circle the entire metropolitan area of Houston. In ten years a strip mall will mark areas where cattle and horses used to graze. Is there anything more depressing than development? 

**I'm posting this against better judgment, while the connections seem clear in my mind they don't translate from mind to paper -- its late and I'm tired, I may tinker with it later, see if I can make my way to something coherent***

God gives all of us certain things we’re good at. My friend is an extrovert, everyone loves him, he’s the party. He is gravity.

When I met him, he was almost 300 pounds, in the matter of nine months he pulled off 120 pounds of fat and added pure muscle.

He’s made over $800,000 dollars investing in the stock market using his retirement funds. He’s lost over a million dollars in the stock market, and several tens of thousands at the boats in Louisiana.

He never completed high school; he dropped out to work at a Subway because he got his girlfriend (first wife) pregnant. He got his GED, studied computer networking, worked his way into several high paying jobs, and then quit them.

He met his second wife a few months after his divorce. Had two kids. Lost everything gambling while they were married, she split.

He’s smart, brilliant in some ways, and the most ignorant man I know. He plays big, and looses big.

He is the most evolutionary person I have ever met. Change is a way of life for him.

He’s one year older than me.

I wouldn’t trade lives with him, but I envy him. A successful looser.

I understand why he draws women to him, I understand without comprehension. He’s that guy, the single father of three little girls, he’s the bad boy, he’s athletic, he ask you like he cares, he offers advice to his friends like he’s a sage, and they listen. He’s a year away from having the next girlfriend, fiancé, or wife leave because he’s so unstable. Everything is fluid with him. He’s “that guy.”

Do all relationships have to operate with such self deceit at the beginning? I know the girls he’s dated / married believed that all his craziness was in the past, that he would be / was changed. They liked that he was dangerous, then despise him for it later.

Me I’m like my friends doppelganger. My life is safe, lived within practical confines. I’ve been stuck in a moderate mode of success. I’m introverted to a degree, never been the life of the party, never lost or gained a fortune, never been married.

I will never be “that guy.”

Several weeks ago a girl I was dating went quietly out of my life. We had a few conversations, I did, said, or looked a certain way, and she said, “I’ll call you” at the end of a phone call.

Experience tells me “I’ll call you” is a polite goodbye. I didn’t call her back, didn’t write, but I thought about her. I played it as cool as I knew how, I’m not “that guy” I don’t create drama. Some would call this being normal.

What went wrong?

At some point, I may find out what happened, what went wrong. Will it be something trivial?

I’m not my friend, I’m not “that guy” I wouldn’t want to be, but sometimes vacationing as him for a little while might be nice.

Two of a Kind -- Brazos Bend 

Riding out of here.. 

Wednesday, I promised my fan base that I would post on Wednesday, what I promise my fans I deliver =). Okay that’s it end of post…

Just kiddin at ya (whoever you are).

So much to say I don’t feel like saying any of it, the mountain I feel I’m going to attempt to climb here with a couple of posts, well it leaves me tense, anticipation is worse than the task itself.

Now don’t run off, I didn’t mean a mountain of words, I’ve heard my public, less with the words, get to the point. These next few posts are going to be my attempt at dissecting myself, and my relationships with others. There you have it, run now while you have a chance.

I’m not going to start with this post, I’ll start tomorrow (I’m a procrastinator =) ). I’m wasted this evening; I stayed up to late watching the election and studying.

Quick post (I haven't had many long post lately have I???), gotta run soon. Yesterday was a collage, I started off with work, lots of studying, and a party last night. I haven't had the best week and the work Saturday just kind of topped it off. I'll talk about my week later (after Wednesday), the results are in, yes I'm pretty sure I blew it (see dimwitted below =) ).

Last night was refreshing though, I can't describe how relieving it was to hang out, spend some time with friends after the emontionally draining week I've had. I almost didn't go, I almost said forget it, I'm to tired.

Being depressed is natural, staying depressed takes work I think. Seperating yourself feels like the right thing to do when your feeling gray, its also the worst thing you could do. Your thoughts and feelings are your worst companions when your down. Maybe this is why the Bible emphasizes gathering together with fellow believers, think I'll go do that now...

My title for this is Shadow of a Doubt... The real title should be "What to do instead of studying.". While I was out in a field next to my apartments watching the eclipse, I thought about quite a few things. The first thing I thought about was my annoyance at the light pollution. The other was my annoyance at myself for not having enough of my school work completed so that I could go out to Brazos Bend with a friend of mine to experience this. The last was curiosity. People seemed oblivious to this eclipse, why is that, how is that? How can you not stare in wonder?  

Writing is emotional labor. My writing stretches pieces of me along the page as I write. I seem unable to throw what I am thinking and feeling into a few sentences, I live in the parenthesis, I find I can't end my thoughts with neat simple periods.

I've been particularly conflicted this week. I have lots to write about but no time to do it. I'm waiting the results of some dimwitted decisions this week. If things work out in the way I expect I will have a few very drab posts.

I started writing this blog again in hopes of giving light hearted commentary, but a dark vein seems to spread through my writing on its own.

This is probably due to my insistent focus on myself for the last month or so. Anybody that tells you that your guide to happiness and self-fulfillment starts with focusing on you is Lyyyyiiinnngggg!!!!

I've become aware that I need to get my focus back on God, where it belongs. How many times will I have to learn this lesson? Will this time be the last? I doubt it. It's a different lesson really; it's slight variations on the same theme.

My compromises weren't great leaps of moral degradation, they were small slips, inward struggles that I began loosing because I've been skipping my quite times in the morning.

Without a focus on God, without spending time in prayer, church, and the Bible I become a gray person. Doubt and fear create this self-loathing, reclusive, apathetic individual I see in the mirror.

It makes sense, place a tree in darkness and it will twist itself; stretch to meet a single ray of light. My sprit was in the midst of twisting, searching, for that ray of light for the last couple of weeks.

I want to write more on this, and other things. How much would I have to say if I lived and interesting life?

BTW – I installed the software to post pics up, what can I say, I like it a lot!!

Doctored Photo -- Took this around Dayton, TX.

When It Rains... 

There is a short story entitled “The Storm” I read during one of my college literature classes. The story involves an affair consummated after a storm forces two lovers together beyond their control. Just about everyone thrashed the story for its loose morals, and lame excuses (Lee Community College could not be considered a liberal school).

Saturday I thought about that story. I was sitting in a Herman Park gazebo during a rain shower. Next to me was an old friend of mine.

She called me a couple of weeks ago to find out if I would be interested in taking a few pictures of her family for Christmas.

“Sure,” I said, why not?

She wanted to meet up before bringing her kids out to the park to discuss where we would take the pictures, what sort of clothes to wear, etc… We met up on Saturday at Herman, and started touring a few places I thought would make for good pictures.

“I’ve been thinking of leaving my husband,” she said.

I knew. I knew when she first called me.

I knew, and I shouldn’t have gone. I knew, but I wanted to find out, to massage my ego a little. All I managed to do was make myself feel sick inside. It’s been a while since I’ve committed sin that ached as deep as this does.

A year ago, the situation wouldn’t have bothered me; a year ago, I may have been open for whatever it was she wanted from me. My conscience trembled with repulsion Saturday, I am not the me of a year ago.

We sat in a gazebo when the rain came. Another couple escaped the wet with us for a while. They sat with us, but they were alone to themselves.

Five minutes after they left, we decided to make our way to the parking lot. As we made our way, we saw the gazebo couple near the reflection pool. She was barefoot, surrendering her sandals to the rain, he was soaked, and down on one knee, purposing. She held the umbrella over her head, but somehow drops still slipped down her cheek.

Consider the contrast of my “friend” and I as we sat in the gazebo next to this couple.

How strange human relationships are. If you were to take a relationship and follow it from beginning to end, the emotions involved are overwhelming.

My “friend” (I’m sick of calling her that) and I have known each other for around ten years. She’s a couple of years older than I, and when we first met, I was infatuated with her.

Two years after we met I was still infatuated with her, but reserved, being turned down will do that to you. She got married around that time. Six months later, she had her first child. A year and a half later, she had her second.

I’ve seen her maybe three times over the last five years. Age does something to taste, the last time we met I saw her for what she was, a user.

Our relationship has come full circle, from my pursuing her, to her pursuing me. It will go no farther. I have no desire to be part of the grief she will bring into her life. Her path is set on selfishness now; she doesn’t care about her kids, only herself.

My professor for literary criticism was a man of the world; he argued with most of the class that the characters from “The Storm” had no choice in their actions, they were compelled by destiny to come together. There was a girl in the class, she had been cheated on, she was vehement, “It’s just water, water doesn’t compel anyone,” she said.

My friend will find someone, sooner or later; there are a lot of suckers out there. There will be excuses, accusations, drama. She may feel that she has been compelled to find romance in her life to fill voids left by her husband. Would it do any good to tell her the voids are hers, she’ll just carry them with her to the next relationship.

I passed and failed a test this weekend. I passed on an invitation, failed to see the real test was not showing up in the first place.

The words, they come hard today. I’ve wondered about writing, about the magic of it. Anyone reading this is capable of placing words on a page. Anyone that can read, can write, but not really. I can read Faulkner, Hemingway, or King (yes I put King in there, name one other author whose prose flows as naturally), but to write like them, to create the magic with a blank page they do, not many can claim that talent.

What kind of power is that? How do they do it?

Authors cannot tell you how they do what they do. Many believe the power of an author lies in imagination, I don’t think so. I can give you an idea right now, but it would turn to drill, or be useless to all but a few with the skill to transfer idea to page.

I started a novel one time, got about forty pages in and it just dried up. This story that seemed so alive, so effervescent, it left, fizzed out. All writing is that way. Some things gel, pages write themselves for stories that gel, the others, well I can write words, but their never the right words.

You’re waiting for the idea aren’t you? Here’s the deal, I’m going to purpose a contest. I’ll supply an idea, you write a short story, send it to me, if it’s any good I’ll sell it and make some money =). Just kiddin, I’m gonna put an idea I have out there, it’s thin, not much meat on it, but books have been written with less. See what you can come up with. I purpose the stories get posted up on the net, we’ll see how everyone did.

“Filing Cabinet” – a man buys a filing cabinet at a garage sale that contains old papers, pictures, a few cassette tapes. Among the papers are diagrams for inventions, blackmail photos, incriminating documents, state secrets, etc… There is a folder called “In” if he puts a name on a piece of paper and places it in the folder a new folder will appear with the vilest sins this person has ever committed. What happens when he puts his own name in the folder? Is there a folder called out, and what happens when he puts names in it? What happens when he puts events, or future dates? Where did the cabinet come from? Why does he feel darkness congregates around the room where the cabinet is?
(Post-Publish edit -- upon reviewing this idea it seems dime story trash. I've morphed it a little into something more real, I don't know if that's a good thing. I stand by what I said before; a true writer's power doesn't lie in imagination, but in language. Skilled hands may make more of this idea than I ever could.)

That’s it. Not much there, but to the best of my knowledge it’s original. I don’t remember reading or seeing anything close to that. See what you can come up with. If a short story materializes, email me.

I haven’t been at this very long, I don’t think I have very many readers; I’m hoping that there are maybe a few. I would like to see what others can come up with.

If you’ve read the StopAhead blog I mentioned earlier you should have seen an entry referring to people watching. Go read the entry then come back, I would like to give my take on the “interesting Sixty Surfer” my friend referred to.

So my friend and I we met at Starbucks, got some coffee, and a table outside. If you’ve read over her blog you may appreciate the intensity at which she can deconstruct people, I was a little nervous but disguised it with cough syrup (not on purpose btw). This is a hobby of hers, observing people, then speculating on their life, personalities, etc…

We were having a little fun observing people, then a man walked by that she noticed. When he walked back by she pointed him out.

The man had the look of an aged rock star. He wore a stage costume for wardrobe, his hair draped straight, and bleached white around his face. His weight and voice screamed a long struggle with chemical dependency.

He sat down behind us and joined a conversation we weren’t having, and we followed right along. He was a master smoker. He made love to his cigarette while we talked; he smoked it down to the filter, and then smoked the filter.

I watched him more than listened to him because what he was saying was such an obvious load of crap I felt I would need to flush if I listened to long.

My friend moved closer to the guy, engaging him in conversation. I have to admit I was a little annoyed. The guy was a bore. I don’t enjoy talking to someone who lies so often during a conversation that the strain of remembrance weighs on his face when you ask him a question.

She said later she thought he had a mental disorder (she deals with mentally unhealthy people for a living). I thought he was inventive, not crazy.

I wish we had gone and talked to another patron of Starbucks we saw walking in. He was an elderly gentleman, wore a three-piece suit, and in my mind I see a gold link chain attached to his vest to hold a pocket watch.

Given the chance, I prefer to talk to someone whose lies are at least subtle enough I need to work to find them.

That’s my take on the Rob Stewart wannabe. I tried to make cool while talking to the guy, attempted a feigned interest afterwards, the cough syrup couldn’t contain my distain though, and I think she saw it.

I watched Waking Life today. I know I’m a late comer to this film; I’ve been hearing about it for years but never gave it a chance.

If you haven’t seen the movie, it follows a guy around a series of dreams that contain existential theories, and philosophical questions. Question upon question presents itself to this guy and his response is admirable, he listens. I believe him to be the wise-man of the film.

Some may question me by labeling what the passive character of the piece as a wise-man. He has no theories; very little of what he adds is relevant. Well that may be true, but very little of what anyone has to say in the film is relevant.

There is gravity to the questions, but none of them contains relevance. Philosophy is fun, I enjoy listening to such discussions, but it’s doomed to remain in the land of the theoretical, it solves nothing, it answers nothing. “Where’s the milk” will always be a more relevant, and important than “Are we all just part of a dream?”

At some point in the film, I thought about the differences between philosophers and scientists. Scientists work on explaining the absolutes. They want concrete, proven answers, they want formulas. Philosophers work in areas where science cannot create formula or workable theory. Is this foolish? I don’t think so. Scientific knowledge is a temporary thing. If you want to write truth down don’t do it in the form of scientific law, the next scientific revolution will prove your law folly.

If you want to write truth, the closest you can come is writing about the human experience of here and now. A good philosopher would ask me to define truth for them. To them I would say that it’s something you have to define for yourself =) .

First blog entry in over two years. It’s a historic day folks, mark your calendars.

Hello, anybody, hello, I’m not hearing any cheering, I don’t get a polite applause? You know the polite applause right, the applause given to fill the silence between introduction and when the speaker begins talking.

I’m always thinking to myself during one of these obligation claps that maybe this person doesn’t deserve the applause. What have they done? You don’t know what this person is about yet. What if this guy is getting up to inform the audience he intends to sell cigarettes to five year olds and use the profits to lobby congress into allowing him to strip mine national parks? You just never know, you could be applauding this guy and he’s a freeloading, kid corrupting, dog hater (I knew if I failed to convince you he was a bad guy by any other means being a dog hater would put you on my side =) ).

Where is this going? I… well, I’m not sure. I don’t have an agenda, no meeting notes, no audience that I know of.

I’ve decided to start writing in this blog again to sharpen my writing skills, to have an emotional release, to…well I’m writing because I mentioned to a new friend of mine that I had posted to a blog at one time. This was during one of our first conversations; she had a blog so of course I had to mention my short lived endeavor at blogging. If you’ve never been there I suggest you check our her blog StopAhead I give it high marks in all categories (but I’m not gonna tell you what the categories are =) ).

It’s phenomenal. Superb prose, excellent pacing, and she expresses levels of detail about everyday life that is not easy to capture. She’s done this four / five times a week for the last couple of years. If you don’t believe me go check it out for yourself.

So fair is fair, she wants to see my blog. I was (am) intimidated. I have three or four entries over the last two years. Most of my entries are quirk, muddled with a little self loathing and pity humor. My entries were written by a guy that no longer exists, a more apathetic, and alone version of what I am now.

I needed a change in my blog, a new direction, a fresh start. It needs to mirror the new me, a changed me.

So what has changed? I think I’ve grown up in an important way between this post and the last one.

I’m happy being me. Experiences over the last couple of years made me happy to be me.

Being “happy being yourself” or “your terrific just the way you are” has always sounded a little to “after school special” for my taste but it’s hard to argue with.

Society teaches us to become different people; we are never good enough the way we are. If you excel at modeling yourself to fit society’s image you go to Hollywood and make millions of dollars.

Society is right in the wrong way.

We are not good enough; we will never be “good” enough, that part is true. Society says we can fix ourselves that we can become better people, we can transcend, morph our bodies and our minds to fit whatever image we want to project. We can’t. Deep down everyone knows we can’t, people will be what they will be.

Well that’s not very optimistic, that’s terrible, depressing, bring back that old guy, he may have been apathetic but this is down right morbid!!!

You’re right, but I haven’t finished. I’m not one to preach, I get a queasy feeling just writing this. I get this feeling whenever I’m in the deep end of a conversation, like the eyes of the world are shouting contempt at my attempt to think deep.

They say, “Who does he think he is? Does he think he’s being original? Does he think he’s clever?”

To those eyes I say, “I am who I am,” “No,” and “Yes I do.”

You ready for this, my mini-sermon, my life altering formula? God can change you. God changes hearts and minds. It’s true. To not say this would mean I would have to face the reproach of the eyes in the mirror. Those eyes, those eyes, are unmerciful, and full of more than just contempt. Those eyes, they know.

I changed when I stopped denying God, when I accepted I would never feel comfortable living a life I knew was wrong.

The apathy is still there, but a simple acknowledgement of who I am allowed rays of optimism to shine through.

Sounds hokey doesn’t it? Well maybe it is, but so what. Hokey is a better companion than cynicism.

Embrace the hokey =)…

I hope to keep this blog running for a little while. I hope to make it full of hokey optimism, but barring that, I hope to at least avoid apathy.

I was walking with my Grandpa in his garden during a late summer afternoon. Night was trying it's best to creep in but the summer days refuse to retreat. The day's are long that time of year, and seem even longer when you spend them in the country, away from the street lights. Street lights always give a dull sensation of night, when they're not around you get a sense of evening that city life does not allow.

I remember the chirping of the crickets, the croaking of frogs, and the feel of fresh turned dirt under my bare feet as I walked behind him, stepping in his tracks, or trying to, his stride was too much for me to handle. The earth smelled as rich as I did after a hard day of running and playing.

I was baiting him to race me, I was getting older now almost seven or eight and he was an old man, I could beat him, there was no way I couldn't beat him. I knew he had a bad back but my child's mind did not understand that he had a bad back, I did not understand lingering pain. A child's body rarely rebels on them, they abuse their body, their body does not abuse them.

So I begged him for a race, my Dad could still beat me in a foot race, but surely my Grandpa couldn't. I am sure he stated several times that he couldn't run, he had a bad back. I am sure he had pains then that I myself am not familiar with now, and if I am lucky, will not be for a good many years. Pains, aches, and a little boy tagging along, chirping like one of the crickets to RACE... RACE...

I remember him saying "Go on run towards the house I'll give you a head start...” I turned for a moment, and then didn't go... I wanted it to be a fair race; I understood that a race with a head start was not really a race at all.

"Go on...” he said.

I ran, down through the edge of the garden, my legs moving at hyper-speed, to fast for anyone to catch. The soft broken dirt welcomed my barefeet.

I was winning!!! Already I had left the edge of the garden and was running through the cool wet grass, I was in the home stretch, half-way between the garden and the house.

I heard him then, the agile footfalls coming up behind me. I remember seeing him pass me; I am sure my jaw dropped, and he stopped just on the other side and let me catch up.

I do not know what that foot race cost him. I do not know the pain associated with running a quick sprint when your back aches and your body is in the later years of life. The price was higher than I can estimate being a young man. In thirty years, I may be able to tell how much it cost my Grandpa to race his young grandson on a clear summer night, but right now, I can only imagine.

I saw my Grandpa for the first time in a year this last month. His eyes are frosted, and shouts are whispers to his ears. His bad back makes movement painful; walking is a chore. His body rebels on him, denying him a moment’s comfort. He was once proud he was once strong.

Stories of his youth, stories of growing up during the Great Depression when everyday life was a struggle to survive let me know that he was once tougher, and made of much sterner stuff than I myself am.

Now he struggles to climb into the car. Now he sits at the dinner table in silence, unable to make out much of the conversation around him. He defers to his wife because she still sees, hears, and can drive a vehicle when the occasion requires.

In the parking lot of the restaurant, after dinner we pass a modified import. Some kid has spent a lot of time and money putting ground effects on his car. It's a Mitsubishi Eclipse; it has a racing stripe on the side, and a fin on the back.

My Grandpa stops to look at the vehicle. Where they live, you don't see cars like that. In the small town where they live pickups and Cadillac’s are the norm. He is fascinated with this tricked out import car. He makes his was around the car, taking it all in, or trying to.

"Get in the car...” my Grandma chimes. She is ready to go. He continues his inspection, asking us what kind of car it is. We tell him an Eclipse but he does not hear, we will shout it at him several times before he understands us. "Honey, come on get in the car...” she acts like she is talking to a child, and in some way I despise her for it.

My Grandpa lets himself be lead back to the van; he has had less than a minute to look at the car. My Grandma has very little patience. There is no fight in him; he is beyond that I believe. Years and pain have melted away the mettle he once had, the panache that every man with even an ounce of pride has.

Maybe we are punished for our arrogance later in life, maybe pride is swallowed a piece at a time as our bodies break down and our eye sight slips. Poetic justice can be cruel, and demeaning.

Later my Grandpa went out to feed some cats that show up around their house. By now it has grown from a few cats into an infestation. My Grandma complains about it, I am not sure whether it is really an annoyance; I do not know how serious she is when she talks of getting rid of them. I do know that as long as he feeds them, they will come, and they will bring friends, neighbors, and all their children. Already a good eight to ten camp out back waiting on their free meal, and my Grandpa gladly gives it to them, performing in his own way a kind of civil disobedience; it may be his last race, the only foot race he has left. With the number of cats camping in the backyard, I believe he has a good head start...

Integrity.. It struck me the other day how little most value that now days. I thought of this while watching a movie called Quiz Show. The movie of course had to do with the Quiz Show scandal in the 50's, it was shocking then to learn that GASP the show was setup, the winners chosen. It struck me when I was watching it this time just how far we have come as a people, not just in the US, but in the world as a whole. Personal integrity seems to mean little if nothing anymore, honor is worthless to most, if this happened in today’s society people would be callous, uncaring about a game show that wasn't "real" I mean what is real right...

The movie made me think about something else as well, taste, and how it changes over time.. I had seen it before, at the time I had not liked it all that much, now I find it a much better movie than I did the first time I saw it. There have been other movies that I have found this with, not many, it tends to happen more with music than with movies. I have wondered if perhaps some thing’s you just aren't ready for at a particular time in your life, your experiences haven't allowed you the benefit of being able to understand something fully, then life happens and a few years later you find yourself in a place where you not only fully understand the lyrics in a song but the music behind it. You understand the point of a movie you missed before, you see a picture and grab the mood and perspective that seemed alien. I wonder if this is something universal, I would think it is although I can't say I have talked to anybody about it. It seems the kind of thing that would make for dull conversation, probably makes for a dull blog as well =)

I really don't think I'll have a prevailing theme throughout my blog; this is because like most people I do not have a prevailing theme in my life. If I did it would probably be way to dull to actually take time to write about. When I created this the other night I thought that maybe a simple journal would be ideal, something that I could rant to, toss ideas in etc.. My feeling on this blog is that I will be perhaps the only true reader of it, one strange thing about the internet is that while billed as a medium that brings us all together irregardless of social aspects that would keep most of us apart it is so big, so expansive and so impersonal most everyone tends to get lost, to fall between the cracks. Oh did I mention I have a tendency to over analyze even the most trivial things, well if you doubt this re-read the last paragraph.
Guess for this edition of the blog I will talk about the name of the URL, Something Eventual, I chatted (or rambled) about this a little in my previous (first) blog. It is in fact a bastardization of the name of the Stephen King book Everything’s Eventual. If you have not read this I highly recommend it, it is a collection of short stories in the vein of Four Past Midnight and Graveyard Shift. Like those it has some very, very strange stories. King I believe really lets his imagination fly more free in his short stories and the result is some stories that just leave you floored.
I would like to chat with King sometime, this is fairly unusual for me, I do not really have a desire to talk to any celebrities, or athletes. I am not what you would call a "fan boy" I think that hero worship is well, stupid. I can admire how well someone plays a game, I can admire how well they perform in front of a camera, but actually meeting them and falling over myself to tell them how great they are seems rather ridiculous. King though I would like to chat with. I think it would be great to sit down and just chat with him for a while, maybe have some coffee.
My favorite King book is without a doubt The Stand. If you haven't read this book then for the love of god go buy it and read it, not the edited version, the complete and unabridged one.
Until I find the time and the desire to write again I will see you in the funny papers..

My first post, hmmm, this should be something clever, witty, and without spelling errors, uhh yeah.. I just finished reading about bloggers on MSNBC, so I figured I would try it out. I have read blogs in the past but never really thought about writing one until now, I think Jerry Seinfeld had a stand up routine that made light of things that seem to be a good idea late at night when your mind is tired and impressionable, I have a feeling that tomorrow this will be the equivalent of the guinsu knife for me.. Hey lets post some personal crap up on the internet for everyone to read..
Today I went over to a friends house, hung out and played video games, I'm 24 years old and still a kid. I remember summers wasted playing video games and just sitting around with friends, only difference now is that I don't have parents to tell me to get up and go outside.
I named this weblog Somethings Eventual, wanted the Everythings Eventual title but it was already taken. Really like the name of that book of short stories from Stephen King, don't like the "somethings" quites as much but think it's a more true statement.
Oh well, will find out in the morning if I should have just spent my night ordering the guinsu set of steak knives...