tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66181200361959458512024-03-12T18:52:42.767-07:00It Grins.Here be desultory and clumsy prose.Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-44172375015717418172011-07-11T08:57:00.000-07:002011-07-11T21:26:45.095-07:00Mister Half Face, Come Out!<div class="MsoNormal">*Flourishes cape*</div><div class="MsoNormal">Willikers! An actual blog, Chiroptera-Guy! Sort of.</div><div class="MsoNormal">My blogger’s leal has been hideously absent over the past few months—<i>SO HIDEOUS</i>. Of course, I have spent much time executing what writers seem to do best-- staring at a blank sheet of paper or blinking cursor whilst restively cursing gods, devils, society, the neighbors (Carlyle, I’m looking at you, fella), and eventually themselves before sinking into a dolorous morass of self-loathing and surrender. It becomes easy to convince oneself that one is insensate, numb—useless. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7pl4SZCF6IQ/ThscOnYaRHI/AAAAAAAAAHk/8pqiR2IAhCM/s1600/cursor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7pl4SZCF6IQ/ThscOnYaRHI/AAAAAAAAAHk/8pqiR2IAhCM/s1600/cursor.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Look at this asshole. <br />
It's like it's tapping its foot at your inaction.</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Oh, how horrible it is—especially when one recognizes that this (acquired apathy aside) can be an ideal artistic and/or literary state. Why, it is full of emotion, expression, aching, and—this one is important—hatred. Hatred for oneself, hatred for one’s roommate and his/her sonorous bong, hatred for those ridiculous whorls of paint on the ceiling above your couch; it truly does not matter which direction the dial spins in. Hate is ugly, but damn, it is <i>potent</i>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I suppose what I’m saying is that writer’s block is—at least in this case—a poor excuse, and I assure that I will not allow such a creature come between us again. Hugs.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ruminations aside, my return is accompanied by a state of somewhat alarming sleeplessness; thus, the muse of charm, humor and inanity is fueled, and sticky honey-soaked joy can be merrily suckled upon by all. I’m not certain what that last part means, but it is undoubtedly better to not ponder it in any great depth.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Summer. It has been both eventful and listless; I suppose this is to say that there are some wonderful topics to regale here in Mister Half Face’s dusty corner, whilst others are boring/un-amusing and thus not so bloggable (I made a word: time for cake!). Such future entries are currently in the works, and shall be delivered in a timely fashion. Until then, my dear darlings, I extend a flouncy bow, flourish my cape once more, and leave you with the scent of promises, wood glue, and one spoiler: cigarettes.<o:p></o:p></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-48866164210586087782011-07-10T02:30:00.000-07:002011-07-11T21:25:50.273-07:00Should the Creaking Floor Give Way...I live. My utmost apologies.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, as I was exploring the uppermost level of a condemned building, I was entertained by a number of thoughts-- particularly those that involved falling through rotted floorboards. I share these with you in the spirit of love and hugs. And horrible death. Onward!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N-sHvEd3XtY/ThlvOcMzHqI/AAAAAAAAAE4/9Osp99HiaGc/s1600/title.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="291" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N-sHvEd3XtY/ThlvOcMzHqI/AAAAAAAAAE4/9Osp99HiaGc/s400/title.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fHxQfaloqgA/ThlvYs8mS1I/AAAAAAAAAE8/kpO1-mUE0oo/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="342" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fHxQfaloqgA/ThlvYs8mS1I/AAAAAAAAAE8/kpO1-mUE0oo/s400/Top.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QOsWGZOxDDE/Thlvoeq-qII/AAAAAAAAAFA/zUUsEPJ9buY/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QOsWGZOxDDE/Thlvoeq-qII/AAAAAAAAAFA/zUUsEPJ9buY/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WrD-8be_-no/ThlvyRkKgXI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0LdaKdB0yZ8/s1600/Top-1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="328" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WrD-8be_-no/ThlvyRkKgXI/AAAAAAAAAFE/0LdaKdB0yZ8/s400/Top-1.bmp" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YHP78k3Tu1o/Thlv912iGpI/AAAAAAAAAFI/VXOJGPi2Qc4/s1600/imp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YHP78k3Tu1o/Thlv912iGpI/AAAAAAAAAFI/VXOJGPi2Qc4/s400/imp.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0akE9rSNYGQ/ThlwG-6_kNI/AAAAAAAAAFM/_-k9My22wE4/s1600/NOO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="322" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0akE9rSNYGQ/ThlwG-6_kNI/AAAAAAAAAFM/_-k9My22wE4/s400/NOO.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q_aLlAWeh9g/ThlwMyvuvXI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/fTadl3mHwDw/s1600/Top-2.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q_aLlAWeh9g/ThlwMyvuvXI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/fTadl3mHwDw/s400/Top-2.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tftmsubLl8/ThlwRwZSZAI/AAAAAAAAAFU/Xs7D7IveySU/s1600/trauma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8tftmsubLl8/ThlwRwZSZAI/AAAAAAAAAFU/Xs7D7IveySU/s400/trauma.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tlOPLWmX0ME/ThlwXwY4-HI/AAAAAAAAAFY/9MHih1Y7Eu8/s1600/wetpants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tlOPLWmX0ME/ThlwXwY4-HI/AAAAAAAAAFY/9MHih1Y7Eu8/s400/wetpants.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv283QHHf6c/ThlwebhZj9I/AAAAAAAAAFc/0uFELWv-vb4/s1600/end.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="230" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yv283QHHf6c/ThlwebhZj9I/AAAAAAAAAFc/0uFELWv-vb4/s320/end.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-12067467731536528172011-02-07T20:19:00.000-08:002011-02-08T06:51:22.244-08:00Doc. Ambis Ister: Ep. 2 (A Swingin' Fix)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My utmost apologies; still exorcising. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">May this keep you as cozy as a puppy on a grill:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TVFYQTnYNDI/AAAAAAAAADk/P7cy_O6w1Ug/s1600/feelthisDocG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TVFYQTnYNDI/AAAAAAAAADk/P7cy_O6w1Ug/s1600/feelthisDocG.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-74478507123870177372011-02-03T20:07:00.000-08:002011-02-08T06:47:40.363-08:00Doc. Ambis Ister: Ep. 1 (Intervention)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Whilst I exorcise the next blog entry from my keyboard (even if I must employ the practice of ambulomancy to do so), here is something disturbing and offensive. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Mr. Half Face wuvs you.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TVFXdgdcHsI/AAAAAAAAADg/zxUa302p5vc/s1600/Comics+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TVFXdgdcHsI/AAAAAAAAADg/zxUa302p5vc/s1600/Comics+001.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>Note:</b> I do not wish to murder women via forcible asphyxiation. These things just fall out of my pen after a stormy week.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-73351816429886239322011-02-02T17:32:00.000-08:002011-07-15T00:32:24.353-07:00Six Tutoring Nightmares<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Tutoring is probably my most exercised activity, second only to the chore of skinning frogs to line my shoes (it makes me feel closer to the Deep Ones and keeps my toes toasty and pink). For anywhere between 5-20 hours a week, I and my fellow writing tutors wade through the trivium of <span class="apple-style-span">grammar, rhetoric, and logic</span>. Largely, I enjoy my job. Nevertheless, there are certain types of students who make the lives of tutors a veritable abyss of rage, ulcers, and eventually alcoholism (or meth, whatever). These sorts of humans generally come armed with the thickest of defenses: the blank stare, the incessant argue-hole, or the incredulous outbursts (“I actually have to go through and read stuff?!”). Whether you are confronted by a stack of inchoate, off-topic research or a disjointed sentence, you can expect one thing, and only one thing, from most of such hell-spawned sessions: nothing productive is going to happen, and you will be praying for the peaceful silence of death long before it’s over.<br />
I have catalogued the most frustrating offenders below. Many are applicable to tutors of all fields, rather than just the areas of writing and English. If you have never tutored, feel free to read on for the lulz; if you are one of the following characters, stop it. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">STOP IT.</span><br />
<br />
·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> <b> </b></span><b>The Lonely Guy</b><br />
The Lonely Guy has dangerously limited social interaction and/or no friends, and thus seeks out companionship anywhere he possibly can; because tutors are required to be friendly and accommodating, Lonely Guy views this as gaining a horde of instant friends. You see, he is not merely lonely; he is inept concerning matters of acceptable human behavior. He interprets a tutoring center to be hot social venue rather than an academic service. He has no interest in working on the assignment that he brings in, nor does he give a damn about anything that you have to say about it. He will drone on about his own interests, personal life, and poorly thought out philosophies over your requests (and eventually sobbing pleas) for cooperation; after all, you are a warm body with ears. Feigning deafness will not help; he will only speak louder and more slowly about why a dog’s stomach can divine the future, or about his plans for creating artificial intelligence via the internet. Thirty-minute sessions become one-hour sessions, and frustration becomes psychopathic fury. As he becomes more comfortable with the environment, he will increase his visits; don’t be surprised when he begins stopping in three times a day. Should you encounter a Lonely Guy, may the gods save you.<br />
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·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><b>The Testosterone Beast/ Cat Scratch Fever</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span> </span>Ah, there is nothing so thrilling as explaining to a person who could tear your torso in half like a piece of cardboard why he/she is wrong. Because fierce sports-stars love nothing more than to be told that they’re wrong and need to put in additional effort, yes? And queen bees who held a glittery, fearful reign over their high schools truly appreciate constructive criticism and easily recognize their shortcomings, right? Wrong, you little nerd. Wrong. The above concepts are entirely foreign to these people, and they will generally react to suggestions of improvement with anger and disbelief. Thankfully, the professional setting tends to quell impulses toward physical violence—but it does not cure the argue-hole.<br />
§<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><i>Side Note: women do not always scratch; I have encountered females who appear as if they could tear through me with the flick of a finger. Also, there are men out there who will scratch. Be on your toes; gender can mean little in the battlefield of tutoring centers.</i><br />
<br />
·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> <b> </b></span><b>The Overzealous Researcher</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> This person is a delight if he/she is cooperative and determined to write the best got-dang research paper ever. However, it is not so delightful if the paper is a maximum 750 words and the student slams 100 pages of research in front of you. It is worse if said student has chosen a topic so broad that others have written text books about it. The situation gets even more horrifying when the student utters the words, “I don’t know how to do a research paper,” and/or “I printed off everything on every website that met my search on Google.” Worse still? “I haven’t read any of it. I don’t want to.” At this point, dear tutor, you may find that your brains are leaking from every orifice on your face (grab a tissue; dripping brain goo is unprofessional). Take a breath, help the student outline the paper, and hand the student a highlighter.<br />
§<i>Side Note: In my own experience, it can get much, much worse (see The Shock Artist)</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br />
</i><b>·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>The Screamer</b> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> The chronic over-use of exclamation points. In other words: </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0.25in;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! </span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0.25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> ‘Nuff said.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> <b> </b></span><b>The Shock Artist</b><br />
These people are tolerable in the sense that they are really into their writing. I mean, <i>really </i>into it. Often, they fancy themselves to be the next household novelist, the next Dickens or Dahl—or in this case, the next Marquis de Sade. Their writings consist of disturbing adolescent angst (even though many of them are well into their 20s), shallow attempts to breech societal taboos, or simply distasteful topics that nobody wants to hear about (incest, how he/she likes to push pins into his/her own asshole, etc.) Alright, fine. We all like to grope around for attention sometimes, and who doesn’t love reading about cannibalism, deviant sex, and brutal murders once in awhile? Forgivable.<br />
But one must truly re-evaluate their literary intentions when he/she writes something so vile that the tutor cannot finish reading it, as he/she is dashing from the room in horror. Because it couldn’t be more disgusting had it been written in menstrual blood or cat feces. Seriously, when you produce something that reads like a collaborative work by Adolph Hitler, Albert Fish, and Issei Sagawa, take a moment to contemplate your life. I would also like to point out: Tutor= helpful stranger. Helpful <i>stranger</i>.<br />
<i>Side Note: A 3-page research paper and no less than 400 pages of research (covered in dried apple juice). The topic: BDSM. The student introduced herself as a “submissive” (because it's totally acceptable to reveal such an intimate part of your sex life to someone you met one minute ago), insisted on trying to cover the entire topic in three pages, and proceeded to show me pictures of delightful practices such as cock n’ ball torture and “Adult Little Girl Charm School”. Whee. I now have information stuck in my head that will never be un-stuck.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i> *UPDATE* Just ran into her. In the bathroom.</i> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> <i>Side Note 2: A fellow tutor was once brought a terrorist manifesto. Yep.</i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .25in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><br />
</i>·<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span><b>The DJ</b><br />
These folks are sneaky. To say that they could not care less about what you have to say about their paper/assignment is a sorry understatement. Their outfits usually consist of hoodie sweatshirts or hats with earflaps. Why? So they can hide their headphones. So they can listen to music while you sit like a jabbering imbecile, completely unaware that you are talking to nobody except yourself and the paper. Yes, this happens. A co-worker recently spoke of his own experience with a DJ; he had spent 45 minutes working with a student before realizing that the young chap was not nodding in understanding or agreement, but was instead bobbing his head to the mad beats of his covert music machine.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> My advice? Pretend he/she has theme music. This may subdue your wrath enough to resist murdering the offender. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Hugs and Kisses,</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> Mister Half Face</span></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-32937058418977824912011-01-22T20:11:00.000-08:002011-07-11T21:27:51.534-07:00And It Rose From the Sea...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> Greetings, dear humans. I have been neglectful in updating this blog, but still I live.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> There is a certain feeling that accompanies hearing the snap of a mouse-trap, only to look behind the couch and discover that the wee creature is still wriggling.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> I imagine that is how you are feeling now. Take a moment to stop screaming.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> Anyway, a new year has come and gone (for some time now, I understand), and now is the time for clinging to the resolutions that were inevitably made in a regrettable moment of drunken optimism. As you may well know, it is winter, and a somewhat ghastly one. To shovel is as if one is challenging the Gods themselves. I delight in this sensation of mightiness, as back-sliding as it may be. Here is a visual expression of such:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TTuptT3okaI/AAAAAAAAADI/Muriry-kHNE/s1600/snowgods.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TTuptT3okaI/AAAAAAAAADI/Muriry-kHNE/s400/snowgods.jpg" width="265" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">I will conquer this driveway </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: x-small;">and feast on the bellybuttons of virgins!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"> This is my resolution. To defeat the malicio</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">us snow-gods.</span></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-67019995315921859172010-11-01T15:42:00.000-07:002011-07-11T21:20:59.754-07:00All Hallow's Eve Report, 2010!<div class="MsoNormal">The eve has come and passed us already, dear humans—how did you choose to revere the glorious dead? On Friday the 29th, I dressed as the Marquis de Sade, observed gender interactions, and choked a few people with a whip; it was delightful. On the night of the 31st, however, I chose to honor the corpses by applying ghoulish (and greasy) make-up to my face and filling a bowl with a huge volume of sugary goodies for trick-or-treaters.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TM9AzHXHlhI/AAAAAAAAACU/qDPer2R4vr4/s1600/tort.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TM9AzHXHlhI/AAAAAAAAACU/qDPer2R4vr4/s1600/tort.bmp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SPOILER: This will become my supper.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">You see, this was my first year living in a house—not a dorm, not an apartment, but a <i>real damned</i> house (albeit a dark, decrepit, creepy-creeper house). I had always been under the impression that a real damned house in a neighborhood (dogs poop in my yard and everything!) meant unyielding hordes of trick-or treaters, and there are few things that I love more than terrifying younglings as I throw cavities at their greedy face holes. Also, cable television is superior during this season; however, I do not have cable at the moment, but alas!—dvds exist! After sliding in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Abominable Dr. Phibes</i>, I sat giddily in my chair, waiting for the swarms of bag-toting tots to arrive.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TM9AFSAKPxI/AAAAAAAAACM/lI2J9Y4eQHM/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TM9AFSAKPxI/AAAAAAAAACM/lI2J9Y4eQHM/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: a happy Mister Half Face</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Two hours, a sunset, one awesome mustache and several bizarre deaths later, I still sat with an almost untouched (I needed movie noms) bowl of candy in my lap. During this time, I had eaten three Snickers fun bites and survived a surprise nosebleed. I had also accidentally rubbed much of the grease stain off of my face. I sat, looking like an auto-mechanic/crack whore mutant (still scary, right?!), and pondered where the trick-or-treaters could have gone. I’ve seen them out and about on non-Halloween days, screaming their stupid heads off and riding their bikes right behind my car as I’m shifting into reverse. Now where were they? Conspiring? To do what? <i>What</i>?! TELL ME.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TM9AiK_MYSI/AAAAAAAAACQ/Rs9YRMJnT8Y/s1600/untitled.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TM9AiK_MYSI/AAAAAAAAACQ/Rs9YRMJnT8Y/s1600/untitled.bmp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pictured: an uhappy, paranoid Mister Half Face</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">My holiday message to the little conspiring anti-trick-or-treating shit heads: Happy fucking Halloween. I hope a ghoul eats your dog and throws it back up on you, then urinates inside of your gaming consoles. Jerks. </div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-43381116689862731472010-10-27T22:17:00.000-07:002011-01-22T20:51:28.664-08:00Guest Blog!: The Importance of Punctuation (Fernando H. Stevens)I have been regretfully awful in updating my blog recently. There are no excuses for such negligence. Academics and slumber have robbed you all of the sunshine that is Mr. HalfFace. I have been writing so much about Romanticism/Gender Studies that I might commit she-icide (yes, I just made a funny, HA oh fuck).<br />
<br />
That being said, a very wise man from a far away land has been generous enough to contribute his time to regale a delightful tale of woe and eventual madness:<br />
<br />
<div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">"Hi. My name is Fernando H. Stevens. Generally, my ranting is limited to tales of customer inanity at the Dominion of Movies that I maintain. Sometimes, though, I feel the need to rant about things unrelated to the film industry because to not do so would horribly try my sanity.</div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I maintain an account on a certain Book of Faces that may be known throughout the internet. I am incredibly choosy in who I consider to be a friend, unlike those extravert superhumans who, apparently, are capable of maintaining over 600 meaningful relationships. So, for the most part, my Book of Faces' The Feed is comparatively empty.</div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Every so often, though, the Book of Faces tries impressing upon me other humans I do not know. It does this by throwing their status updates and comments into my The Feed and simultaneously affixing their name and profile picture thumbnail into the “Peeps Y'all Maybe Up In” section of the screen. By and large, this causes no issues for me. I ignore them, they ignore me, and life goes on.</div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sometimes, though, these individuals produce something so vile, so tainted, so utterly and thoroughly <i style="font-style: italic; line-height: 17px;">wrong</i><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"> that I find myself glaring blankly at my monitor, slack-jawed and wondering how a human could possibly function in modern society with the cognitive faculties (or, more accurately, lack thereof) evidenced by the...the </span><i style="font-style: italic; line-height: 17px;">clusterfuck</i><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"> that is the online offering in question.</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">“<span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;">yeah people are stupid lover. At least it was your last day. I'll see you tomorrow lover.”</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;">Let us parse this...construction in a thorough and grammatical manner. First sentence, fixed for capitalization: “Yeah people are stupid lover.” It is obvious the thought being expressed here is that yeah people (perhaps a neologism for “yes men”) are stupid lover, some sort of British English collective noun that takes a plural verb. “Stupid lover” must be akin to “group of people who love things that are stupid.” So, in other words, kissasses are lovers of the inane. Clarity!</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;">Next: “At least it was your last day.” No issues here. This sentence seems quite straightforward and, miraculously, lacks in </span><i style="font-style: italic; line-height: 17px;">any</i><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"> errors of grammar, spelling, or punctuation. Gold star.</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br style="line-height: 17px;" /></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;">Finally: “I'll see you tomorrow lover.” The “I'll see” section is a fine subject-verb construct, but what is this “you tomorrow lover” business? It seems to be an indirect object followed by a direct object. The individual sees the tomorrow lover, who is also doing...something...to you. Seeing you? Watching? Waiting?</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TMj_wdQ43rI/AAAAAAAAACI/PvAt1M4hY7c/s1600/Solitary+House.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="204" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TMj_wdQ43rI/AAAAAAAAACI/PvAt1M4hY7c/s320/Solitary+House.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Pictured: a <i>You Tomorrow Lover<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; line-height: 16px;"><span class="prondelim" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">[</span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">yoo </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; line-height: 16px;"><span class="pron" style="display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">t<span class="ital-inline" style="display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">uh</span>-<span class="boldface" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">mawr</span>-oh </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; line-height: 16px;"><span class="pron" style="display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="boldface" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">luhv</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">-er</span></span><span class="prondelim" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #cccccc;">]</span></span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; line-height: 16px;"><span class="prondelim" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"></span></span></i><b>1)</b> An unshakable being that is conjured from lack of punctuation</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">2)</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> It loves you. Tomorrow.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><b>3</b>) The thing staring at you from the bathroom.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">4)</span></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> LOOK AT THE FLOWERS</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">. Take your goddamn pills.</span></div></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Actually, I feel much better about this update after undertaking this lingual exercise. And, in hindsight, the writer is only trying to make a sociological statement, and providing a warning. A warning of the lurking tomorrow lovers. Raising awareness of these creatures can only be a public good."</div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;">If you wish to read more of this wise man's words (DO IT FOOL), consult:</span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 17px; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium; line-height: normal;">\<a href="http://fernandostevens.blogspot.com/">http://fernandostevens.blogspot.com/</a></span></div><div style="color: #2a2a2a; font-family: Tahoma, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="font-style: normal; line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-81951833369388236252010-10-03T16:53:00.000-07:002010-10-03T17:01:44.231-07:00Writing Center Sundays, ep.2: The Conjunction Beast<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another Exciting Sunday at the Writing Center!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">I have been level drained.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TKkRgFjyhjI/AAAAAAAAACE/pji2UfuYyDY/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="362" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TKkRgFjyhjI/AAAAAAAAACE/pji2UfuYyDY/s400/Top.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I SHALL SLAY THEE, CONJUNCTION BEAST!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444;"><b><u>Con-junc-tion Beast</u></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="prondelim" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">[</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="pron" style="color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">k<span class="ital-inline" style="color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">uh</span><img alt="" border="0" class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: text-top;" />n-<span class="boldface" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">juhngk</span>-sh<span class="ital-inline" style="color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">uh</span><img alt="" border="0" class="luna-Img" src="http://sp.dictionary.com/dictstatic/dictionary/graphics/luna/thinsp.png" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; vertical-align: text-top;" />n </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="pron" style="color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">beest</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="prondelim" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">]</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><span class="prondelim" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 1.25em; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">--<i>noun</i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><b>1)</b> A creature of undocumented origin: known to leave despair and breathless chains of words in its wake; fabled to materialize immediately preceding the mysterious suicides of writing tutors and other people of letters.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><b>2) </b> and and and so so and but and and so and but but so and and and and so but </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 16px;"><b>3) </b>It's right behind you.</span></span>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-84768634830759892212010-09-25T23:38:00.000-07:002011-07-11T21:05:43.882-07:00The Truth About Passing LanesWhen driving to The Parents' House from College Place, much of my journey is comprised of fields, trees, and long, long stretches of highway. It truly makes for a wonderful (but BORING MY GOD BORING) ride. Of course, such travels are not without certain low points.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Without fail, my passing lane experiences follow the same formula with every trip. When I finally hit a stretch of highway that includes a passing lane, there are no cars to pass. Never. There's...there's nothing. Nobody. It is as if I have suddenly entered a time warp that spit me out into a post-apocalyptic world in which all of the cars have turned into sparklers or hamburger buns or some such. It feels very much like this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TJ7XtvfSDCI/AAAAAAAAAB4/0Wmp21HnHFc/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TJ7XtvfSDCI/AAAAAAAAAB4/0Wmp21HnHFc/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note the tumbleweeds. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have no reason to floor the gas pedal (but fuck it, I do it anyway), nor do I get to feel the smug satisfaction of passing some slow loser. That's because the slow losers are waiting for me at the very goddamn end of the passing lane.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When there are no passing lanes for at least twenty miles, that's when a huge white van appears out of a Satan hole and throws the cruise control on 40. Miles. Per. Hour. Right. In. Front. Of. Me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TJ7X3ka9_qI/AAAAAAAAAB8/mGinaXEkEys/s1600/Top-1.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TJ7X3ka9_qI/AAAAAAAAAB8/mGinaXEkEys/s1600/Top-1.bmp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I CAN'T GO THIRTY-EIGHT I GOT PLACES TO BE FOOL</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yes, I could simply pass using the other lane-- it does not have to be a lane that is first and foremost designated as a PASSING lane. I know this. I understand this. I accept it. Here's the thing about me, folks; if I can't see at least 3.47 miles (super eyes, I have them) ahead into the other lane so as to avoid oncoming traffic and thus calm the looming threat of death, it's not happening. I'm not doing it. Now consider that these are country roads that I speak of; these are winding, hilly roads (the movies have not lied) that defeat my super eyes (because I do not have X-ray eyes for tax reasons) and do not let me attain the comfort and confidence required in the simple task of passing someone via the opposite lane. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So then I must sit in my chair and clutch my steering wheel tighter and tighter as every tedious minute passes. I must stare at the white van (or whatever the hell) and will it to explode, thus assuring a migrane. I must savagely scream in rhythm to whatever little jingle is blaring over the radio at the time-- and I must do all of this for at least ten minutes (hey, ten minutes is a long time to be this wretchedly angry), all on account of passive surrender. Shit.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">tl;dr: Passing lanes should be everywhere, I am a craven, white vans should be fed to giants.</div></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-10209965175935539812010-09-07T22:07:00.000-07:002010-09-09T16:51:13.348-07:00My Tribute To Polyphasic Sleep CyclesI've recently been enjoying the somewhat involuntary practice of a polyphasic sleep cycle. I have only been sleeping for 2 two-hour periods every day. My insomnia dictates this; I never planned on such a schedule, but my brain fell into this pattern because...zombie babies. Yes. Zombie babies. On the weekends and holidays, it is quite lovely, as I have much free time to make silly drawings, write silly things, and yell at squirrels and old people-- all whilst well rested. During the business week, however, it feels much like this:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TIcZaG63JkI/AAAAAAAAABg/WLd-xwaUoVg/s1600/plyphs.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TIcZaG63JkI/AAAAAAAAABg/WLd-xwaUoVg/s400/plyphs.bmp.jpg" width="348" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is supposed to be surreal. Shit.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-37070899591801277152010-09-02T22:30:00.000-07:002010-09-03T01:21:03.035-07:00Oh Drat, Insomnia.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TICvq2X-U6I/AAAAAAAAABY/jCmFHgan1H4/s1600/Top.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TICvq2X-U6I/AAAAAAAAABY/jCmFHgan1H4/s400/Top.bmp.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Peanut Butter and Marble Rye,<br />
take me from this still and sleepless place.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6618120036195945851.post-88753859039520929522010-09-02T05:37:00.000-07:002011-07-11T20:59:53.896-07:00Creaky Legs (Oh God, What Have I Done?)<div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: url(http://www.tumblr.com/images/input_bg.gif); background-origin: initial; background-position: 50% 0%; background-repeat: repeat no-repeat; color: black; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.4; margin-bottom: 8px; margin-left: 12px; margin-right: 12px; margin-top: 8px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I've never been what one could call "athletic." Throughout my life, I have deftly avoided sports and all sports related activities. It has occurred to me, however, that our days are numbered before the impending zombie/vampire/nuclear mutant/Owen Wilson clone apocalypse strikes, and it would be wise to get my body into some kind of decent physical condition so that I can effectively flee the murderous hoards. In my current state of fitness, I can indeed run if there is something to run from for as long as my creaking legs and tar-weighted lungs will allow-- about three minutes. That is why I've decided to take up the cherished past time of jogging/sprinting for no good reason at all. This is the account of my first morning:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TH-ZheU77lI/AAAAAAAAAA4/lR4zng5SxpM/s1600/Lovers.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TH-ZheU77lI/AAAAAAAAAA4/lR4zng5SxpM/s200/Lovers.bmp.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">What the hell is this? Read on to find out!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">First Ten Minutes: Stretching!</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My bosom is filled with the premature self-satisfaction that accompanies such a healthy addition to one's schedule. I scrape together the remnants of memories from high school gym classes and perform several basic stretching motions. With each poorly executed exercise, I am bored by the count of ten, but I persevere! I make it to twenty! Usually!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Jogging: First Two Minutes!</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My heart is already thudding at an accelerated rate; it is confused, considering the many previous years of minimal performance. Only in the presence of squirrels, <i>Twilight </i>fans, and tremendous amounts of caffeine did the body that it dwells inside of require more than a few half-hearted (HA oh fuck) beats every hour. Now it is suddenly being forced to push blood through the veins that it feeds at a torrential rate, but soon the confusion falls away, and the heart and body become exhilarated! Fitness! Nothing can stop me! Nothing! Exclamation point!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Four Minutes!</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Determination drives my spirit onward. My legs are tingling with a strange warm energy. The monotonous echoing of BOMPBOMPBOMPBOMP pounds in my ears, throat and fingertips-- MAGIC! I feel young and alive; it is as if my heart no longer resides only within my ribcage, but has spread to every last centimeter of my bod-- wait, has it only been...</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Five & 1/2 Minutes!</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The rejuvenation that I felt only seconds earlier now seems to resemble the sensation that probably accompanies the onset of death. The rhythmic puffing sounds from my lungs have degraded into a quiet, uneven wheezing. My legs are still holding out reasonably well, but I find myself suddenly and immensely concerned that my heart and lungs may explode simultaneously and fuse into a strange tar monster that will storm the streets. For the safety of the city, I pause for a quick break.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Break!</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I glance at my reflection in a darkened window and find myself confronted by a perplexing sight. Without my knowledge, it seems that my carotid artery has become inhabited by a foreign life form that is desperately trying to hammer its way out of the side of my neck. Perhaps zombies are not what will trouble us, but instead body-invading aliens that require a decorative esophagus to correct their Chi. Then a horrifying thought comes to mind: perhaps the tar-fusion-monster has already happened; oh, god, what have I done?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Running! Again!</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After a brief (and slightly worrisome) rest, I'm at it again, a bit more refreshed and all the more determined. Unfortunately, the ten second pause in which I contemplated my potential role in the downfall of Man allowed my legs sufficient time to realize that they object to this ridiculous new addition to their schedule, and would rather be propped up on a footstool supporting a book or toasty, toasty laptop. My calves protest first; sharp, stiff sensations tear up from my ankles to my knees, soon followed by a dull but un-ignorable ache in my thighs. Oh, god, what...what have I done?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Eight...Minutes...Running...In...Still...</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm all the worse for the wear. In my failing condition, my only fuel is stubbornness and pride. My legs are tremendously stiff and flailing around like poorly constructed windmill wings. Stop to stretch? NO! Not an option! Must finish! Now! Faster! Run FASTER! BATTLE CRY! GRAAAAAAWWWW!!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nine...Nine Minutes?</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">OH GOD GET THIS THING OUT OF MY NECK WHY</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ten Minutes.</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm sitting on the front stoop of my residence smoking a cigarette, weighing the odds of standing up and showering or just living out the rest of my life on these cement stairs. It won't be long, anyway.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Thirteen Minutes.</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">My legs have cracked off and I'm dragging myself around my stupid apartment to find the wood glue. You may be asking, "why <i>wood </i>glue?" Because it's the only fucking glue I have, I can't remember where I put it, and I need legs if I plan to do this again. God dammit.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TH-ZOAAIm-I/AAAAAAAAAAw/IT1e6u5qdfQ/s1600/woodglue.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TH-ZOAAIm-I/AAAAAAAAAAw/IT1e6u5qdfQ/s320/woodglue.bmp.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Found the wood glue.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Twenty Minutes.</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The creature erupted from my neck, made sweet love to the hot water handle of my bathroom sink, and then swiftly made off into the dewy morning air. Oh god. What have I done?</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TH-Zw2Fl1pI/AAAAAAAAABA/AiYL-UUO_XE/s1600/Lovers.bmp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zQ79T6iSyHg/TH-Zw2Fl1pI/AAAAAAAAABA/AiYL-UUO_XE/s200/Lovers.bmp.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">You wouldn't believe the sounds that it made.</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>Mister Half Facehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17013835406074227001noreply@blogger.com0