Horrible, Overwrought Prose Wednesday

Alright! This might be a new, pseudo-regular feature! Terrible, awful, nigh on unreadable prose inspired by the children's books I read my son as many as ten times in a row. This inaugural post was inspired by The Berenstain Bear's B Book. Enjoy.




Once upon a time, there were three friends. One was a big brown bear, one was a blue bull, and the third was a beautiful baboon. They were as alike in friendship and camaraderie as they were different in cladism. Truer friends could not have been found.

They did everything together, these three. Of the many activities they did together, blowing bubbles was perhaps their favorite. The peaceful aura and delightful dynamisms of the blown and soon burst bubbles was the perfect accompaniment for a lazy summer afternoon.

One day, Big Brown Bear suggested a new activity. It included blowing bubbles, so automatically it was palatable to the other two. In addition to blowing bubbles, Big Brown Bear also suggested that they bike backwards, all three riding one bike. Big Brown Bear thought that he should probably be the one to run the pedals, as he was the strongest. The others heartily agreed. And so they went, merrily blowing bubbles while Big Brown Bear propelled them backward faster and faster.

All of a sudden, the bicycle shuddered with the unmistakable sound of an impact. Bananas and the boxes they had heretofore been stored in went flying. For a moment, the sky turned yellow, as if the sun had come down to earth in the form of a matte yellow, lumpy blanket. And just as quickly, the sky returned and the ground became an unnavigable morass of phallic yellow fruit and corrugated cardboard.

It is at this point in our story that the friendship, that indispensable closeness amongst the three, starts to unravel. It is not a pretty sight.

From under the pile of broken and bruised bananas came the muffled voice of a character known only as Black Bug. “Consarnit! You stupid punks! Why can’t you look where you are going,” he shouted from beneath the mess. Slowly, he twisted and turned, prodded and pushed, and freed himself from his golden prison. “Oh, it’s you,” he half snarled half sighed as he looked at the bubble-blowing trio.

“What,” said Blue Bull. “I’ve never met you before in my life, you crazy old codger.”

“Nor have I,” huffed Beautiful Baboon through clenched and indignant teeth.

“I wasn’t talking to you two ninnies, I was talking to that sorry excuse for an animal,” shouted an increasingly agitated Black Bug. “He’s been nothing but trouble for me. Him and his banana addiction. He’s stolen from me, lied to me, and now this. You sicken me, Big Brown Bear, you sicken me.”

Big Brown Bear looked upon the feeble bug, and with disdain in his voice mumbled “whatever, old man.” He looked at his two friends and said, “let’s get out of here. We don’t need to listen to this.” And with that, they biked off, but not before Big Brown Bear surreptitiously grabbed several bananas from the scattered dozens.

Within minutes, the backward moving bicycle shuddered again with impact, albeit less intense than the banana-based collision. This time, the three friends did not stop, they just looked straight ahead and saw the shape of Billy Bunny and his recently-intact breadbasket fading quickly toward the horizon. Loaves of bread lay battered on the ground in the aftermath of the accident. Loaves of bread and one yellow, slippery and almost unnoticeable banana peel.

As the trip progressed, the bike began to swerve more and more erratically. Soon another collision occurred. And another. Brother Bob’s baseball bus lay in ruins. Buster Beagle’s banjo-bagpipe-bugle band lay piled on top of each other. At the bottom of the pile of musical dogs lay our intrepid trio. Their trip was over. Four crashes in one trip was bad enough, but even worse, the last conflict broke Baby Birds balloon, and that was the straw that broke suspicion’s back.

Soon, Blue Bull and Beautiful Baboon began noticing things they hadn’t seen before. Whether they had ignored them on purpose or just never had a reason to look was a moot point. Blue Bull realized that every time he visited Big Brown Bear’s house, it reeked of new and old bananas. Beautiful Baboon realized that Big Brown Bear’s coat had the sheen that only high levels of potassium could create. After weeks of seeing these little things, there was only one conclusion that could logically be reached. Cutting through their denial, Big Brown Bear’s two closest, nay only, friends realized that what Black Bug said was true.

So they confronted him. They staged a banintervention. Everything that was within their power, they did, hoping against hope that they could shatter Big Brown Bear’s addiction. But it was all for naught. There is no such thing as Bananaholics Anonymous. No resources for the banana addicted. In the end, there was nothing for Blue Bull and Beautiful Baboon to do but walk away, exhausted and demoralized.

Big Brown Bear moved out of the neighborhood. He dropped out of their lives completely. And yet their lives went on. They still blew bubbles together, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing ever would be again, but so goes life.

Years later, on a brisk fall day, Blue Bull sat on his front porch reading the newspaper. Tucked away in the corner of the “Local” section was a brief mention of a drifter found dead under a pile of cardboard in a culvert. “Known only as Big Brown, the transient’s body was the third to be found this month,” read the article. The cause of death was listed as “intravenous banana use.” Blue Bull read it twice. He sat there on his porch and wept for the death of his old friend. He wept for the good times and the bad. He wept for his blindness to reality and his failed efforts. And most of all, he wept for the loss of innocence and joy at the hands of Chiquita.

Fin

List Tuesday: Advertisers' Fun Page Edition

Well, I made it back from Japan and have no interest in going back anytime soon. It feels good to be back in the "screw you" capital of the world. It's nice to know that when people crowd past you or in front of you on the road or in the subway, it's because they think they are better than you and are doing the cutting off out of individual, selfish aggresiveness. I much prefer that to the same thing happening in Tokyo where it happens because there is absolutely no concept of personal space in Japan. Of course, there can't really be such a concept in a country the size of Florida with 130 million people.

Anyway, last night, the brickwife and I were talking about the idea of personal space and individuality, the hallmarks of American culture. She asked me if it bothered me that I'm actually not very individual or different than a lot of other people. My answer? No, I don't really care. Advertisers and other social anthropoligists know me. They've never met me, but I fit perfectly into one of their little market fragments. They know what I like, they know how to get me to buy something and they know what gets on my nerves.

So here's today's challenge for any advertisers out there that read A Ton of Bricks (none that I know of): I will list 4 things about me and you have to tell me four other things about me based solely on the information I revealed. If all four things you tell me are accurate, you win!

Things About Me That Are Probably Very Revealing To Advertisers

1. I drive a Volkswagen


2. I use Apple computers at home


3. My favorite current, scripted TV show is NBC's The Office


4. I have and maintain a "blog"

So what else do I own/do/want?

Random Picture Friday: Dog is Dead Edition

Oh man, I just realized that I don't have my awesome raindog picture on my travel computer. This sucks. Now we have to revert back to regular old Random Pictures.
Well, here's today's.

Why does every prom have to have some stupid theme like "Moonlit Passage" or "Starry Nights?" I can't remember what ours was 8 years ago, but it was some dumb crap like that. Plus, it wasn't even that fun because the future brickwife had like a 103 degree fever while in an awesome gold dress and 5-inch heals. She claims to have had a good time, but man, I can't believe it. Why do proms never have really tubular themes like "You Shook Me All Night Long" or "Sapphire Bullets of Love" or "One Night Stand" or "It's All About the Benjamins" or even "Destination Moon" if you have to have the moon in there? See? Any of those would be better than "Moonlit Passage."

The Truth is Out There

Oh man, I just watched the best documentary ever. It's called Loose Change and is available for free at Google Video (video.google.com). It's about September 11th and all the coverups.

All I will say is that it is hilarious. I could hardly stop laughing. I think you will enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I will not accept responsibility for any stupid, idiotic, nonsensical, hear-sayish, speculatory, cospiracy theories that anyone ends up believing in. I will laugh at you, but it won't be my fault.

On second thought, maybe the whole thing is more of a Spinal Tap type thing.....

Bad Poetry: Oh Noetry

A Dramatic Reading of World Events
by Someone You Have Never Heard Of, Jr.


You watch from home
And see the hopelessnessism
An allegory is just that
You did not so much as
turn on your track lighting
When out of nowhere
Came a violent, malevolent attack
Provoked and in jeopardy
You turn with Samuraitic skill
To fend off your attacker
Only to find that it is you
But not you
A clone of you dressed up in wrapping paper
And under that
A flesh of wire and plastic
Its (your) fingers are like claws
Are claws
When last you saw you
You were nothing but a twinkle
In the imagination of gnome
You own
Purchased from a store called Gnorm's Gnomes
That's been replaced by yet another
Barbershop.
You got your hair cut there once
But slipped on your own hair
As you tried to get up from your chair
And now you swear
That you will never go back
And you rue the day that you didn't buy
More than one gnome from Gnorm's Gnomes
Because then he might still be in business.

Bad Photoetry Thursday: Tower of Power Edition

Today's search was for Landmark Tower

I am on the 54th floor looking out across Yokohama, Kawasaki and up to Tokyo. To the left is the Pacific Ocean, and eventually California.

Poetry Thursday: From the Banks of The Mighty Something-or-Other

Soup Song
by Russell Edson

How I make my soup: I draw water from a tap . . .

I am not an artist. And the water is not so much
drawn as allowed to fall, and to capture itself in a pot.

Perhaps not so much captured, as allowed to gather
itself from its stream; the way it falls that the drain
would have it.

But in this case a normal path interrupted by a pot;
for which soup is the outcome of all I do . . .

In Ancient Times

Once upon a time there was a young dinosaur. One day he woke up and found that all the other dinosaurs died, and only he was left alive, as though by some sort of divine intervention. He didn't know what to make of his newfound revelation, his own newfound land. He could be anything. He could do anything. He could completely reinvent his life. And he must! He survived for a reason! There is a plan for his life! He has a purpose!

So he set out to discover his purpose. It was not hidden behind any of the rocks in his neck of the ancient sea bed. He hoped that it wasn't stuck under one of the rapidly autolyzing carcasses of his former friends and family. They smelled terrible. He looked and looked, but nothing jumped out at him. Actually, one thing did jump out at him: a small primitive mammal who had a large four-chambered heart, the showy jerk. He tried to eat it, but it was too fast.

He began to despair. He worried that he might never find his purpose. He worried that he'd missed it already and might never get a second chance. Also, he was starting to get hungry. Those dang mammals were speedy and all the slow, stupid saurischians were dead and scavenged. So he kept wandering, half-heartedly looking for his purpose, slowly getting hungrier and hungrier.

Finally, he reached the end of his rope. He hadn't eaten in weeks, and he couldn't go a step further. But right then, he found his purpose! He finally reached the end of his odyssey! Here was his purpose! He was to be the last of the dinosaurs to die off and let the mammals have their way. "What a stupid purpose" he thought to himself. "It would have been way cooler if I was supposed to invent the wheel or something. This sucks."


The moral of the story is....Yum, morels!

Blast from the Past. FROM THE FUTURE!

Look, I know that it's not Monday any more (at least where I am) but I'm still going to do it.

Do what, you ask? Let me refresh your memory. It all started way back when. Two weeks ago to be precise, when I told a story from Kindergarten. Now do you remember? No? Oh well, I don't care. Today we are still moving on to first grade.

Two things about First Grade (ages 6-7):

1. There was a boy in my class who was really mean to me. He constantly picked on me. His name was Adam Palachuck, I think. Once, when our teacher, Mrs. Sjogren, got up and left the room for a minute (a bathroom break, probably) he actually got up, came over to me and, well, started choking me. I know that sounds really weird, but it sure feels like it was true. I really think it was. Another time, he brought a knife to school and showed it to me. I didn't know what to say. I don't think he threatened me with it, but he might have. I don't know what ever happened to him. I hope he turned out okay, though I have my doubts. What's weird about it is that I specifically remember seeking him out at recess because he seemed like he really needed someone to be friends with him, and maybe he thought I was his friend. But maybe that's not true, because it seems very sophisticated for a 6 year old. Or, maybier it's really not that sophisticated and we make it out to be more sophisticated than it is. The faith of a child, no?

Also, this would not be the last time that I would be specifically bullied. The last time ended with me receiving my only Referral to the Office in my whole school career. But you'll just have to wait a couple months for that one.


2. I was the fastest runner in my first grade class. Or maybe not. Maybe I was just the fastest among my few friends. The brickwife also claims that she was the fastest runner in 1st grade. While at one point that year we unknowingly lived only blocks from each other, we never went to the same school, so both of us could have been. However, we came up with the theory that every kid is the fastest in first grade. You only remember the races that you won. Plus, every kid wins at least once because 1st graders just do not have the dedication to sprint repeatibly. They just don't. So here's to all those who were "fastest in the first grade!"



Next week: Chocolate cake, silentball, math bees!

Modern Meets Denshiya

I know, I know. I planned to write more from Japan, but seriously, it's hard to find time to do it. First of all, when a a nice dinner out turns into, ummm, two days of, uhh, let's just say intestinal distress, it gets hard to write blog posts. Even more so because your stupid tiny, dirty hotel doesn't have internet connections of any kind. Also, speaking of dehydration, I think every Japanese person must constantly be fighting it. They drink no water over here. It's alcohol or tea. And since the tea comes in small quantities and the alcohol in large, or at least heavy duty, hangovers occur. I don't know how they do it. It seems like everyone must constantly be operating in a state of dehydration. Maybe their livers just process stuff differently, I don't know.

So anyway, I'm now in Kyoto, the heart of traditional Japan. Too bad I'm staying in an ultra modern western-style hotel. But if traditional japanese hotels include tiny, tiny rooms and pillows filled with buckwheat shells or something, well then I'm all for a nice western hotel after a week in one of those holes. Sorry japan, but Hotel Sunroute sucks. Maybe everybody in Japan already knows this. Maybe it's like the Super 8 of Japan and nobody bothered to tell me. Maybe every other hotel in Japan is better. I hope so.

But back to traditionality, I got to do a little sightseeing here yesterday when I wasn't otherwise, um, indisposed. All I did was walk a couple blocks to Higashi Hongaji (google it for pictures). It's the head temple of the Otani sect of Shin Buddhism. The buildings are pretty impressive and built out of wood. I was especially excited to learn that they were built early in the 17th century (Zach, that means the 1600's). Then, I was really disappointed to learn that the current buildings were actually reconstructions from 1895 because the originals kept burning down. So actually, I'm not sure that anything is orginal anymore. Oh well. Also, the temple is surrounded by a moat, for lack of a better term, filled with giant goldfish and carp. It was pretty sweet.

Of course, next door to this beautiful old traditional temple was a huge mall with the biggest Gap Kids I think I have ever seen.

Also, I thought I should mention that outside Kyoto station yesterday, I found a couple of old Japanese dudes playing a small concert of traditional music with traditional instruments. No, I don't mean traditional Japanese music. They were playing bluegrass. One on guitar, one on banjo. If it wasn't for the Japanese singing, I'd have thought I was in Kentucky. Of course, I've never been to Kentucky, but I can imagine what it might be like. Mostly full of knife wielding, banjo playing maniacs, I'd guess. And fried chicken. Oh yeah, and derbies. Those derbies are everywhere.

Well, I'm off to Tokyo tomorrow and then to Yokohama on Wednesday. I think I'm staying in some really tall hotel in Yokohama. Oh yeah, this one.


I hope that there aren't any earthquakes.

You Asked For It

So, after yesterday's long and meandering post I almost decided to stop writing about Japan. But then I received some very intriguing comments. Now usually I would respond in the comment section, but that seems kind of boring now. Anyway, here come some answers to all y'alls questions.

To Dottie:
No, I have not yet been to a Japanese gambling parlor, though your use of the word parlor is exactly correct. There is, in fact, one located just steps from the front of my hotel. It is called Parlor Ichiban, which roughly translates to The Best Parlor. I hope to have time to visit it. Others I have seen are called Parlor Jumbo and Parlor Exciting.

2. Though I have seen many vending machines, I have yet to see one selling dirty underwear. I will look harder when I go to the big city. It seems more likely that such a vending machine would be found where there are more people. If 0.0001% of the people in the world want to buy used underwear, I cannot reasonably expect a town of less than 1 million to have even one such person.

3. Unfortunately no, I have not seen a game show with girls vs. komodo dragons. There is a chance that during the brief moments I have had the TV turned on the host of such a show described what was about to happen and I just couldn't understand him. They do show baseball here though, which is kind of nice. Just like home.

4. Yes. Glowering is part of the official job description for bosses over here. You can't throw a rock without hitting a glowering boss.

5. No, not really. The funniest ones I see are just a little off from correct. Like this morning. On the train from Hikone to Notogawa (that's on the JR Biwako line from Kyoto to Maibara if you must know) I saw a building on which, in huge letters, was written the slogan "Creating Space By Designing." I don't know what they were designing. They didn't say. Also, the little bag that my rental cell phone came in has a patch sewn on the front that says "JOYFUL IMPRESSIONS: We create it for whole human beings."

To Liz: No I will not wait a minutes.

To Kate: Yes, it is inherently ridiculous. Also, do you own Lost in Translation? I want to borrow it if you do. I have a feeling it will mean a lot more to me now. Actually, I have more than a feeling. And now I can end this post rocking out to Boston!!

Bad Photoetry Thursday: The Dying Embers Edition

This week's search was: old train.

This is what we found.

The posts are flying like the salmons of Capistrano today, aren't they.

Bad Found Poetry Thursday

I found this poem on the cover of one of the Pay TV Porn guides in my hotel room. That's right. I said "one of." There are two. I get 6 regular channels and two pay channels that carry mostly porn with a little bit of no-holds-barred fighting I think. Basically they are primal urge channels. Anyway, this wonderful haiku was on the cover of one of them. The one with the schoolgirl on the front I think.



Porn and Paradise
by ParadiseTV


Nothing can stop our
Crazy Entertainment Shows
From Tokyo, Japan.

Poetry Thursday: When Clouds Break and When Earth Trembles Edition

I Sleep a Lot
by Czeslaw Milosz

I sleep a lot and read St. Thomas Aquinas
Or The Death of God (that's a Protestant book).
To the right the bay as if molten tin,
Beyond the bay, city, beyond the city, ocean,
Beyond the ocean, ocean, till Japan.
To the left dry hills with white grass,
Beyond the hills an irrigated valley where rice is grown,
Beyond the valley, mountains and Ponderosa pines,
Beyond the mountains, desert and sheep.

When I couldn't do without alcohol, I drove myself on alcohol,
When I couldn't do without cigarettes and coffee, I drove myself
On cigarettes and coffee.
I was courageous. Industrious. Nearly a model of virtue.
But that is good for nothing.

I feel a pain.
not here. Even I don't know.
many islands and continents,
words, bazaars, wooden flutes,
Or too much drinking to the mirror, without beauty,
Though one was to be a kind of archangel
Or a Saint George, over there, on St. George Street.
Please, Doctor,
Not here. No,
Maybe it's too
Unpronounced

Please, Medicine Man, I feel a pain.
I always believed in spells and incantations.
Sure, women have only one, Catholic, soul,
But we have two. When you start to dance
You visit remote pueblos in your sleep
And even lands you have never seen.
Put on, I beg you, charms made of feathers,
Now it's time to help one of your own.
I have read many books but I don't believe them.
When it hurts we return to the banks of certain rivers.

I remember those crosses with chiseled suns and moons
And wizards, how they worked during an outbreak of typhus.
Send your second soul beyond the mountains, beyond time.
Tell me what you saw, I will wait.

The Game is Called Wait

You may or may not have noticed that I posted my 300th post yesterday without even mentioning it. I meant to, I just forgot on account of the jet lag that is still dogging me. I guess it's good that I'll be here for two weeks. It will take one whole week just to get used to the time change. It's quite strange to call the brickwife right before I go to sleep because she is just getting out of bed. I've already experienced the whole day that she is just waking up to.

Well that's not really the point of this post. All I wanted to say were some of the weird things that I've noticed in Japan.

First, whatever you are picturing in your head about Japan, be it crazy bright ads, vending machines everywhere, weird blocky architecture with tile roofs, trains that run exactly on time at the expense of all else, or whatever, you are exactly right. No matter how outlandish whatever you are picturing is, it's accurate. Seriously. I feel like I'm from a different planet. When I went to Europe, I felt out of place, but not even close to as much as I do here.

One thing that immediately jumps out you is the fact that they drive on the wrong side of the road. I hate it. I keep seeing cars driving at my taxi in the right lane and think "AAAAAHHHHH! We're gonna die!" Of course, this also has to do with the fact that the roads here are insanely narrow. Two-lane roads here in Hikone would barely pass for One-way alleys in the US. You have to drive on the shoulder (the very narrow shoulder) just to not crash with oncoming cars. I guess this explains why Japanese cars are so narrow. It does not, however, explain why they are so tall and stupid looking.

And there's another thing. Everyone here looks alike (at work anyway). Now, before you get all flusterpated and antsy because I just said all Asian people look the same (I didn't say that, but don't let that fact stop you from thinking I did.), just hear me out. I knew going into it that conformity was really important in Japan. I was not expecting everyone, be they administrative staff, HR, janitors, technicians, engineers or vicepresidents, to be wearing the exact same uniform. I mean, I can get past the fact that they all have the same color skin and hair (which is not quite the case in the US), but for them all to dress exactly the same? It's confusing, and I don't feel bad saying they all look the same. They do.

And they work. A lot. I think the standard work day here is about 12 hours (8-8). The thing is, they don't work fast. Americans work fast and get it done with. The Japanese (and I realize that this is another broad statement) don't care that they never get to see their families. Ato-san even asked if I was okay to be in Japan for two weeks, saying that Germans and Americans often don't want to be away from their family for that long, whereas Japanese guys don't care. On second thought, maybe making broad statements about the Japanese is okay. Since conformity is such a big thing, they are all pretty similar.

Speaking of work, the brickwife and I had a very interesting chat this morning (last night for her) Side note: I just started using gmail chat and I think it is the first time I have used any kind of chat software since 1997. We were talking about education and why Japanese students always seem to be better in school than Americans. She brought up a study that she recently read that said, when asked, American students said that the ones who succeeded were the "smart people." Japanese students, on the other hand, said that it was the "hard workers." Basically, that means that, in Japan, if you are not getting good grades, it's solely because you are not working hard enough, so you better work harder. So everyone works hard and gets good grades. The weird thing about this is that as the US has been falling farther and farther behind, our economy has not. Particularly, our innovation has not. It almost seems like Americans are more likely to go out on their own and Japanese folks are more likely to try to blend in. Oh. Wait. Those are actually good descriptions of US and Japanese culture in a nutshell. US=rebellious individualism. Japan=conform or die.

Well, there's a lot more to talk about. If you're curious about anything in particular (like poor Japanese people) just ask me in the comments. Otherwise you'll be stuck reading whatever else it is that I want to write about.

List Tuesday: For Real

I know it might not seem like Tuesday to you, since, well, right now it's probably not Tuesday for you. But it is for me! So here we go.....

Three Quarters of a Dozen Things That I Have With Me Right This Instant

1. A rented cell phone


2. A black pen. WITH A BLUE CAP! WRAP YOUR HEAD AROUND THAT!


3. A cup of coffee purchased from a vending machine for about 80 cents. It's not so good.


4. A sticky note that says "To Take To Japan." I wish it would have been on my family instead of a stack of copies of SAE papers.


5. The world's cheapest and crappiest little computer bag luggage thing made out of imitation leather that breaks just like a little girl.


6. An IBM Thinkpad T30. Oh, sorry, it's ThinkPad.


7. A white MP3 player type of thing. I forget what it's called.


8. A 50-yen coin. It has a hole in the middle, how cool is that? Why can't our coins have holes in the middle? I mean, everything is better with a hole in the middle. Just think about donuts.


9. An empty, empty soul. Somebody get me out of here!

Nihon Again Off Again

Well, here I am in Aisho Town (formerly Echigawa) Japan near the shore of Japan's biggest lake, Biwako. Let me tell you, it's great to be here. I just flew in from Washington DC, and boy are my arms tired! Ha ha. Okay, but seriously, if you're ever flying to Japan, I would recommend flying ANA, their service is excellent. During most of the flight there was a "Please help yourself" buffet thing set up in each galley. So you know what that means, right? Tiny sandwiches! I totally made up for the extra price of the ticket (measured in miles/dollar) by eating several tiny sandwiches. Well, assuming that each one cost about $40.

Anyway, I don't have much to say other than I'm here, and I have my camera, so hopefully there'll be a lot of pictures.

Oh yeah, before I forget, Japan is like, the world capital of vending machines. Everywhere you go. Last night, at Shin-Osaka station, I bought a bottle of a Gatorade type thing that tasted like Alka-Seltzer. It was called "Pocari Sweat." It wasn't that good, but how could I not buy it? Anything with a name that unappetizing I'm gonna buy.

Random Picture Friday: Leaving on Dog Plane

Well, here it is folks, my last post before I head for the wild wonderland of Japan. I just hope I don't get lost and run over by the shinkansen. That would be a pretty big bummer.

Okay, I will stop beating around the bush. Here are the pictures in the new standard format. First, the regular random picture, second with the raindog in it.






That tower thing must be the tunnel to the bowels of hell, from whence all dogs came. Wherever it is, I am staying the hell away, or away from the hell. W h a t e v e r.

Bad Photoetry Thursday

Well, nobody has paid me any money yet for my bad poetry, so I guess that means no wasting perfectly good bread bowls. Dang.

So here's my new thing!(C) Tm. Bad Photoetry! I pick a random thing to search for on Google images, and then write a bad poem to go on top of it! How awesome is that? Now you can rest assured that my self-published book of bad poetry will also contain pictures for those of you, my readers, that don't know how to read. Or just want to save yourselves the pain of reading overwrought nonsensical pomes (not sic)

Here is Bad Photoetry #1!

Overture and Disease (Awkward Vol. 1)

by Schuyler J. Pretentious-art/writer-pen-name

Bad Poetry Thursday: In Media Res

Wow. It's been awhile since I've written any bad poetry. If I'm ever going to narcissistically self-publish a book of bad poetry, I better get cracking. Also, it will be a best seller, so think how lucky you are to get to read it here first for free! Actually, if you wouldn't mind just going ahead and paying for it right now? Just $11.95? I could really use 4 Broccoli-Cheddar bread bowls from Au Bon Pain about right now. I would go up to the roof and drop them onto the sidewalk. That would rule.


A Long Road to Whole
by Schuyler


There are a few things
I care about like
diamond-studded cufflinks
and untenable solutions
I care for Apple Jacks
A great deal.

It is the rumbling
thunderclouds
that cloud my thoughts
with non-diamond-studded cufflinks
and approximations of the whole
a startling example of
practicality incarnate
from southwest
a large and greedy
seven-headed monster
gazing out of 10 grey eyes
and four green

When he gets here
it will be a long time coming
will have been.

Poetry Thursday: We Like Nuclear Power

Optimistic Man
by Nazim Hikmet


as a child he never plucked the wings off flies
he didn't tie tin cans to cats' tails
or lock beetles in matchboxes
or stomp anthills
he grew up
and all those things were done to him
I was at his bedside when he died
he said read me a poem
about the sun and the sea
about nuclear reactors and satellites
about the greatness of humanity

List Tuesday: There's Not Enough Time In the History of the World Edition

These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things

1. Raindrops on roses


2. Whiskers on kittens


3. Brown paper packages tied up with kittens


4. Geese that fly with their wings on fire


5. Doorbells and sleighbells


6. Schnauzers and poodles (kicking them. Remember dog=demon)


7. Bright Copper Kettles?


8. Girls in blue dresses with white "mystery" stains (1998, representin'!)


9. Feeling sad, but then kicking a poodle


10. Cake


11. Raindrops on kittens

Reliving the Past is Not So Fun

Do you remember that time back at the end of last summer when A Ton of Bricks seemed to be adding a new daily feature nearly every day? Well, today we are resurrecting an ancient idea. One that is both epic and pointless at the same time. Memory Lane Monday. Basically, we're doing this because telling anecdotes is fun, easy, and probably not at all interesting to all y'alls. This is part of my plot to drive my readership from negligibly above zero to actually zero.

So, over the next couple of months, I will tell at least one story from every year in my life in succession, starting with my first year of school today. This will provide me with about 20 weeks worth of posts that I don't really need to think about much. Sweet!

Kindergarten - Age 5 (or 6)

I went to half-day kindergarten in the afternoons at McKinley Elementary in Yakima, WA. There were two elementary schools in our district that looked identical: McKinley, and Garfield. Coincidentally, those two identical schools were both named after assassinated presidents. But this has nothing to do with my story.

In Mrs. Hereth's (spelling may be wrong) class we had Show And Tell. Part of the fun was that, upon rising from your seat and heading to the front of the class, you would not just show what it was that you had brought to school. No, first you would give clues as to what it was and other members of the class would guess. One of the goals in such a system is to bring something that people cannot guess easily. One week, I brought what I thought was the best thing ever. I gave two clues up front because I was sure that no one would guess. My clues were:

1. It is round.
2. You kick it.

I was sorely dissapointed and confounded when the first guess was, correctly, "A soccer ball." What a stupid game.


Okay, two stories this week because the brickwife loves this one. It's short, don't worry.

On Valentine's Day 1986, my Kindergarten class did the same thing that classes everywhere did. Each student made a personalized envelope to hold all the booty that would be collected from other students. Before the day arrived, Mrs. Hereth sent home a list of all the students in the class, so everyone's parents would know how many little Garbage Pail themed cards (or whatever else was popular that year) to school on the 14th. But somehow, my name got left off the list. That meant that on Valentine's Day, while everyone else had some 25 cool little cards, some with candy attached, I received one. The only one I received was from my best friend, Todd Urlacher. He was the only one that remembered me.

Random Philosophical Friday

This post will contain ill-informed questions and/or opinions on philosophical matters. If you have an allergic when exposed to logical fallacies, please do not consume this post.

Now that I've gotten that out of the way, let me set up the background. Recently, over the last couple weeks, I've been reading one of the most fascinating series of posts ever. I won't tell you what they are about because you would think I was joking. And if you are going to read them, start with the first one because the order does matter.

Now, by the end, it starts to get philopsophical and gets into discussions of truth, being, God and the universe. Or Life, The Universe, and Everything if you will. Eventually the idea of a "First Cause" comes up. There is a long history (remember, this is all very un-informed) of using a "first cause" type argument to prove the existence of God, from St. Anselm to Thomas Aquinas to Des Cartes to Kierkegaard. And that's not even mentioning any non-western philosophizing. [Aside: You can thank Mike for this pretentious/non-sensical post. He never should have let me read Philosophy and Theology.] One of the currently "popular" arguments for the existence of God or some other personal "first cause" is called the Kalam Cosmological Argument, which I just learned of yesterday from the author of that long, weird post series. Now, let me mention here, for lack of a better place, that I'm not sure I believe that anyone could ever come up with a logical proof for the existence of God. I'm just throwing that out there. I mean IN YOUR FACE AQUINAS!!!

Basically, the Kalam argument goes as follows:

1. whatever begins to exist has a cause.
2. the universe began to exist.
3. therefore, the universe has a cause.

You can read a more in depth analysis here that really goes into why it must logically be a personal cause etc. The argument is simple, concise, and a little too neat for me. I tend to be suspicious of simple syllogisms that posit to irrefutably prove an ineffable truth.

Here's my problem. One of the crucial premises to this argument is the impossibility of an actual infinite existing in nature. If it is impossible, then the universe has to have a beginning thus it has to have a cause etc. However, I am not convinced of the argument showing that the universe has a beginning. [As a quick background for those of you who don't know what an "actual infinite is, like me before yesterday: an actual infinite set is one in which part of the set has the same number of members as the whole set does. Think of an actual infinite library with half red books and half black books. If it was actually infinite the number of red books would be equal to the number of black books but also equal to the number of red books plus black books. Weird huh? A potential infinite is an infinite set than can be added to. Like the highest number you can think of, and then add one.] Intuitively, we can understand that the existence of an actual infinite is impossible in the world of plants and trees and rocks and things. However, is it also impossible with time? Does the universe necessarily have had a beginning? Here's the argument (basically) that William Lane Craig, one of the contemporary proponents of this theory, gives:

A beginningless series of events in time is an actual infinite. In other words, if the series of past events had no beginning, it is actually infinite. If premise one (ed. an actual infinite can not exist) is correct, however, it follows that a beginningless series of events in time cannot exist. Consider the following example. The Battle of Hastings took place in 1066. The Declaration of Independence was adopted in 1776, 710 years after the Battle of Hastings. If the series of past events in the universe is actually infinite, we can say that the Battle of Hastings was preceded by an infinite number of events. We can say the same about the Declaration of Independence. In fact we can say that the set of past events before the Battle of Hastings is equal to the set of past events before the Declaration of Independence, because part of an actually infinite set is equal to the whole set, as noted above. But how can that be? 710 years separate these two events, i.e., 710 years were added to the set of past events before the Battle of Hastings to get to the Declaration of Independence. By definition, however, nothing can be added to an actual infinite. Hence the series of past events before the Battle of Hastings cannot be actually infinite. Craig thus draws the conclusion to the first philosophical argument as follows: "[s]o the series of all past events must be finite and have a beginning. But the universe is the series of all events, so the universe must have had a beginning" (Craig, The Existence of God, 47).

So here's my problem. How do we know that the progression of events we see as "time" or "history" is adding to a potentially infinite set? This seems like a perfect place to deploy the anthropic principle. Maybe the only reason we see these events occurring in a series is because that is the only way our consciousness (however you want to classify that ontologically) can perceive the actual infinite set of quantum states of the universe that make up everything. How can we know that all "past" and "future" states of the universe that we interpret through thermodynamics as having a direction don't all exist together and that the progression of "time" is just how we interpret it? How could we exist and see it any other way? We have to make order out it somehow, right? Let's go back to the imaginary actually infinite library. Imagine yourself perusing these shelves. First you see a red book, then a black, then another red and so on. You can see that there is a pattern. You can predict what color will come next, and you can tell the last 5000 colors that you just walked past, even though there are an infinite number of books before the one you are at and there were an infinite number of books before the one you were at 5000 books ago. That doesn't mean that the 5000 books between the beginning of your journey and your current position don't exist, or were added to the set, it just means that you passed 5000 books. Could it be that the universe has just this same kind of order and that our progression through it is analgous to walking by a set number of books that already exist in the set? Does this make any sense?

Of course, there are problems with what I just said. First, time being actually infinite also implies that the universe cannot have an end. In my theology, the only thing with no beginning or end is God, so does that mean that God is the universe? That idea has a name, I just don't know what it is. Second, I'm not entirely sure that I understand Cantorian actual infinite set theory well enough. Third, most cosmological observations DO point to the universe having a beginning. Fourth, if all parts of the infinite set of the universe, that is, the quantum state of the universe at each individual planck time (approximately 10^-43 seconds), are all coexistent in some overarching reality, where does that leave cause and effect, which is the basis for all of human existence and understanding? If the whole set exists, then our paths are all predetermined and we are just cogs in an arbitrarily directed set of unrelated events. Which in turn means that everything we interpret as "time" and life and death and even existence is misguided and we only see it that way because we have no other choice but to observe it as such. There's that anthropic principle again.

So, now that you are hopefully as confused as I am, can anyone explain where I might be wrong? Does anybody know Cantorian set theory really well? Can anyone prove the existence of God? Does anybody want to punch me in the eye for making you read this? Is anybody still there? Is anybody ever there? Is anything even real? Am I getting purposefully and obnoxiously philosophical and trite? Okay, yes is the answer to the last question.

But if you stuck around til now, guess what? You get to look at this cool picture! I guess you get to look at it if you just scrolled down and didn't read any of the post, too.



Actually, this picture makes all the arguments moot. If the existence of guitars like this don't prove that God exists, nothing can.

Random Pugture Fruday

I'm a little unclear about how this picture was taken. Did she hold the camera herself and purposely take a picture of the inside of her mouth? If so, why? If not, who did? Was there a marauding midget with a camera taking pictures of people looking stupid? So many questions, so few answers.

If this were the original picture it would all make sense. They wanted a picture of a tiny dog jumping out of her mouth. See? It makes the picture better and easier to understand!

Poetry Thursday: Philosopher Name Check Edition

For The One Who Would Not Take His Life In His Hands
Delmore Schwartz


Athlete, virtuoso,
Training for happiness,
Bend arm and knee, and seek
The body's sharp distress,
For pain is pleasure's cost,
Denial is route
To speech before the millions
Or personal with the flute.

The ape and great Achilles,
Heavy with their fate,
Batter doors down, strike
Small children at the gate,
Driven by love to this,
As knock-kneed Hegel said,
To seek with a sword their peace,
That the child may be taken away
From the hurly-burly and fed.

Ladies and Gentlemen, said
The curious Socrates,
I have asked, What is this life
But a childermass,
As Abraham recognized,
A working with the knife
At animal, maid and stone
Until we have cut down
All but the soul alone:
Through hate we guard our love,
And its distinction's known.

In Case You Were Wondering

Just in case you were wondering after last Friday's post whether or not the jumping dog could really improve every picture, I now present irrefutable evidence that this is indeed the case.



See? It can even improve itself!

List Tuesday: I Told A Story!

I got this idea from Ms. dot Comma today. The idea is to pick three ages and tell an anecdote from that time in your life. I didn't choose the same ages as her, but some are pretty close. So, all you armchair psychologists out there, your job is to tell me what these stories say about me. I didn't really put any thought into choosing them. In my mind they aren't related, they are just snapshots of a time in my life. But what do they tell you?

If they tell you something about me that I don't want to hear, you're fired.

1. 5th Grade: Age 10-11
   My 5th grade teacher was one of those self-help positivists. You know the ones, always telling you that you are good enough, smart enough, and, doggonit, people like you! In keeping with this, one of the things she had us, her students, do every day, before going outside for our 25 minute lunch-time recess to play “football,” was stand in front of a full-length mirror, look our reflection directly in the eyes and say “I love you, you are very special.” I hated doing this with a fire that few other things have ever been able to kindle. I hated it so much that I would hide in the bathroom until everyone else was finished. Then I would sneak out and go to the library where I “worked” re-shelving books in the biography section. Whenever I did get forced to look myself in the eye (less than 15% of the time probably) I would either rush through it or say it sarcastically. I kept this up for a whole year.




2. 10th Grade: Age 16
   My sophomore year of high school brought with it a very strange Honors English teacher, one Mr. Johnson. When we studied poetry, he gave us song lyrics by Jim Morrison. When we studied Shakespeare we rushed through it. But this is superfluous to my story. Towards the end of the year, each of us was required to read a book and give a brief presentation on another culture, an ambiguous and ill-defined assignment if ever there was one. So, being the smarter-than-thou 16-year-old that I was, I took advantage of the ambiguity and chose a fictional culture, that of George Orwell’s 1984. When it came time for me to give my presentation, I decided I would introduce the subject by bringing in sugary chocolate chip cookies, because, you see, in the culture of 1984 they were not allowed to eat actual sugar. I pretended to have brought the cookies to provide an example of what we take for granted in our culture, but honestly, I brought them in to distract the class and Mr. Johnson during my brief and ill-planned presentation.
   
   I got an A. My friend, whose creativity and artistic ability and guitar playing skills I have been jealous of since the 4th grade, came in costume with painstakingly hand-drawn posters illustrating the Viking tradition of the Berserker. Many hours were spent in the making of his props. He did not get an A.




3. Age 20: It was summer. I had just finished my second year of college and was living, one last time, at my parents’ house. I would get married at the very end of that summer, at age 20, as strange and crazy at that seems now. For the third year in a row, I spent most of my waking hours in late June and all of July driving a “dumper” forklift at a cherry processing plant. It was my job to transfer the usually small and gross cherries from the growers’ bins into our own bins for processing. As a dumper, the banes of my existence were plastic half-bins that some of the Wenatchee growers used. On average, it took three “half-bins” to fill one of our regular sized bins. The plastic was a problem because its reduced coefficient of friction as compared to the typically-used wood caused them to occasionally fly from the forks, thus spilling several hundred pounds of cherries onto the ground. These cherries were not wasted, mind you, but it slowed down the process greatly if you had to stop and shovel them back into the bin.
   
   One hot, slow afternoon, we were all sitting around after lunch, all of the pressing work done, when the Wenatchee truck pulled up to be unloaded. It was completely full of half-bins. My work set out for me, I set out upon my work. It was a delicate balance between not going too fast and causing spills and going fast enough to keep the other folks in cherries to pump chemicals onto. The way the cookie finally crumbled was that I could not keep up. No matter how fast I drove, no matter how accurately and cleanly I dumped, I could not keep up with the pace at which the pad workers were running. It was the first time this had happened to me, and I started to get frustrated. Finally, when some of them came over to “help” me by jokingly attempting to lift the half-bins themselves and dump them or shovel cherries directly from the half-bins, I started to lose it. My dad, the foreman of the crew I guess, came over to talk to me. I don’t remember exactly what he said. What I heard was that I needed to work faster. Looking back, I doubt that he said that. But I heard what I heard, so I looked at him and shouted, “Well then, you fucking do it,” and jumped off the forklift and walked away. He finished the job and I came back a few minutes later to work on the other stuff. I don’t think we ever really talked about it. It’s the only time I’ve ever sworn at him. It’s the only time I’ve ever sworn at anyone out of anger.

The All-New Ton of Bricks

Okay, the results are in. Jessica is the inaugural winner of the A Ton of Bricks Headline Contest! Yay!

I thought that "Really Heavy Stuff" complemented my lovely new background picture of beautiful horse running on a beautiful beach in front of a beautiful sunset. The only thing that would make it better would be if the horse was carrying a beautiful flower in its mouth.

However, there are so many good suggestions that I will probably change it weekly for the time being. Thanks everybody. Also, I started working on the new background picture before Liz and Dottie sent in their suggestions. And they gots some good ones.

Things Can't Go Any Further Downhill, Can They

I was all poised to write a post about the mess that is modern evangelical christianity. On both sides. I was going to run my "friends of" pictures and everything. Then, I realized that nobody wants to read about this crap, least of all me. Let's just all pat ourselves on our backs because we know how things are supposed to be and everybody else is wrong, the idiots.

So instead of religious pomposity, let's have a contest!

I have used the headline "blowing all the other kids away" for more than 10 months now (okay, exactly 10 months, whatever.) I think it's time to change it up a bit. Unfortunately, I don't have any good ideas. Therefore I will now participate in a cliched (imagine an accent grave over that "e") blog thing. Leave a comment with your idea for a headline and I will choose my favorite. Not the best, just my favorite, and based on my musical tastes as described earlier, you know that my favorites are definitely not the objective best. The winner gets the pleasure of knowing that they won and can use the phrase "winner of the 2006 A Ton of Bricks Headline Competition: Week 1" tag on their own blog. Or you could make a t-shirt with that phrase, that would be cool. Also, the winner will receive one big virtual kiss from me. Unless you're a dude. I don't kiss dudes. In that case you'll get one big, hearty, virtual pat on the back accompanied by a manly grunt of some sort. I might even throw in a "good job, man," if you're lucky.

Some come on people, I need something. Anything.

P.S. If there are no good entries than you're all fired.

What Are We Fighting For?

Well, as you may have noticed, if you didn't keel over and die from the shock of it all, I published a post yesterday. Sure, it was long and pointless, but is was a post nonetheless. If you read the whole thing, or, as I suspect many of you did, skipped right to the end to read/leave comments, you probably saw that the brickwife left me a comment taking me to task for raggin' on Bread.

If I can't use this space to make fun of whatever it is I feel like making fun of, then the terrorists have already won. Speaking of terrorists winning, I once played Chinese Checkers with a terrorist. Let me tell you, he did not win. I beat him five times in a row. Now I know that guys who strap explosives to their chest and blow themselves and possibly a few others up can't be the smartest dudes in the world, but still, Chinese Checkers is easy! And it's not like the games were even close. I wanted to play some Chutes and Ladders next, but he had to go and do something all terroristy. I can't remember exactly what he said. [NOTE TO THE NSA: This is a joke. I have never met a terrorist in my life. Please do not detain me indefinitely at Guantanamo Bay.]

Anyway, back to Bread. Since she seems to disagree with my assessment of the musical value of Bread, I decided to do some in-depth investigation. To that end, I listened to the entirety of Bread's Baby I'm-a Want You album (by the way, thanks, Metro, for the broken-down train that caused the delay that allowed me to hear the whole album!). I tried not to let the terrible title predispose me against the music (this is hard for me as I tend to judge bands by the names they choose. Of course, I'm usually right. Bad Name = Bad Band like, 95% of the time). My worst fears were confirmed. The musicianship is mediocre at best (power chords anyone?) and the songwriting is painful. I would try to describe how bad it is, but I can't. I will let the words to the song "Diary" speak for themselves.

I found her diary underneath a tree.
And started reading about me
The words she’s written took me by surpise
You’d never read them in her eyes.
They said that she had found the love she waited for.
Wouldn’t you know it, she wouldn’t show it.

When she confronted with the writing there,
Simply pretended not to care.
I passed it off as just in keeping with
Her total disconcerting air
And though she tried to hide
The love that she denied,
Wouldn’t you know it, she wouldn’t show it.

And as I go through my life, I will give to her my wife
All the sweet things that I can find.

I found her diary underneath a tree.
And started reading about me.
The words began stick and tears to flow.
Her meaning now was clear to see.
The love she’d waited for was someone else not me
Wouldn’t you know it, she wouldn’t show it.

And as I go through my life, I will wish for her his wife
All the sweet things that she can find
All the sweet things they can find

Sure some of their other songs have decent grooves, and I almost liked a couple of them. At least until I got to the song called, and I'm not making this up, "That Isn't What The Governmeant." There is no recovering from that one.

So, to prove that my musical tastes were superior and that Bread sucks, I decided to go back and look at the brilliant songwriting on the CDs that I brought to the marriage. Below you can find some scintillating examples.

Coldplay - Yellow:
Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah, they were all yellow.
I came along,
I wrote a song for you,
And all the things you do,
And it was called yellow.

What is that crap? I actually bought this CD? Those lyrics don't make any sense! Okay, we're just off to a slow start. Moving along.

Tripping Daisy - I Got A Girl
I got a girl who lives with me
I got a girl she smells so sweetly
I got a girl she loves her dog
I got a girl i love her dog too!

I got a girl who stares in the mirror
I got a girl who blames it on her period
I got a girl she is so right
I got a girl she's my Guiding Light

See, look how clever that song is! Oh, wait. It was recorded in 1995, before irony was cool. Okay, well this song is just stupid. Name checking a soap opera? Yeesh. Oh-for-two.

Cake - Race Car Ya-Yas
The land of race car ya-yas.
The land where you can’t change lanes.
The land where large, fuzzy dice
Still hang proudly
Like testicles from rear-view mirrors.

We just keep rolling with the lyrical genius, don't we? I want to call a moratorium on the use of testicles in analogies. It's a cheap way to get attention, even if the analogy is apt. So, we're 0-3 now.

Green Day - need I say more?

P.O.D. - Let the Music Do The Talking
God made me
-- and I’m funky
We’re set free
-- close your eyes and let your heart see
God made me
-- it’s the p.o.d. and we’re funky
We’re set free
-- for all eternity

Oh yeah. You're funky all right. I believe in a good God, and there's no way I can believe that He created P.O.D. as anything but punishment for the rest of us.

Iron Butterfly - Inna Gadda Davida
[eight minute drum solo]

If I didn't know better, I'd say I was high when I bought this. Drum solos are best taken in moderation.

And finally, the example that really speaks to the excellence of my musical tastes: I OWN FOUR CHRISTIAN SKA ALBUMS. If that is not the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I just tried listening to one on my iPod (hey, even if it sucks I put it on there. Woohoo! 15 gigabytes of space!) and I couldn't do it. Even worse, I once drove to and from Portland in one day to go to a Supertones concert. Man, I am glad that fad died. Or did it?

So there you have it. By comparison, Bread looks like a bunch of lyrical masterminds. I might also add that it was the brickwife that introduced me to:

Bruce Springsteen

Bob Dylan

Paul Simon

Three Dog Night

The Beatles (later stuff)

The Doors

The Roches.

I'd say that she wins the battle of better taste in songwriting.

On the other hand, she also brought with her The Bloodhound Gang. I think the single lyric "Kiss me where it smells funny" outweighs the combined genius of everybody in that list.

Let's call it a draw.