You're a Spirograph!! You're pretty tripped out,
even though you've been known to be a bit
boring at times. You manage to serve your
purpose in life while expending hardly any
effort (and are probably stoned to the gills
all the while).


What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla


Spirograph? I've used one of those less than a handful of times. And that was only because I was trying to see if I could cover the entire paper with colored pencil using only the various Spiros. Never could get those damn corners.


Me Gusta La Lluvia

So I was just taking a shower and thinking.

I know, I know. Showering? Thinking? Doesn't sound like me at all. But it's true. I was. And I was.

There is a lot that I don't understand. But, I think there is a lot I do understand. So, I try to take the things I do understand and use them to try to figure out the things I don't.

For an instance, take the human mind. Specifically, the various systems of information storage that are collectively called "memory."

During these past few weeks, I've been throwing away all the nostalgic crap that I'd amassed over the course of my life. Sometimes it was emotionally taxing. There were many moments that I wanted to remember forever. And I still do want to remember them. But my room is a finite space. A very finite space (as those who have seen it can attest.)

I can't have it all.

What was I...right, memory. I've locked up the memories of my experience into these little knick-knacks, trinkets, letters, and pictures. They were safe.

Before I was able to get rid of them, I had to develop my "Skin" theory of memory. The idea struck me during a past shower, as I was reflecting on my various scars and the generally wacky ways I acquired them.

Thus, I presumed my memory to be like a skin, each experience leaving a mark or scar upon it, forever changing it, altering its growth and its course.

I found comfort in the idea that even though one day I may forget that I have ever refereed an ice-cream wrestling match, the experience will still be a part of me.

(Yes, I'm sure I could have picked something a little more profound than ice-cream wrestling, but that's just what came to mind.)

Now, after this shower, I have a new idea.

What if memory is more like a muscle? What if it is something that must be strengthened and grown through regular exertion before it can reach its full potential?

What if, by letting things go, I am making myself weaker?

I'm thinking that I should have gone to Wal-mart, picked up a composition notebook for 87 cents, sat down with each object I was about to throw away, and then described it and its significance.

Seeing as it is far too late for that plan, I'll have to add it to my list of things to do once my Time Machine is complete. Although, the first thing on the list was to go back and give myself the Time Machine so I wouldn't have to spend my life working on it.

Apparently, Future Guillermo is as prone to procrastination as Present-Day Guillermo. I'm not surprised. Present-Day Guillermo thinks he has all the time in the world, but Future-Guillermo with his Time Machine knows it. There is a distinction, even both frames of mind have the end result of nothing getting done.

What was I...right, memory.

So I'm now torn between "Muscle" and "Skin". Well, not entirely torn. From what I remember from my psychology classes, it's a bit of both.

Yin and Yang. Fate and Free Will. Brian and Peter Griffin.

Damn you, Future Guillermo, would you hurry it up?

I Dub Thee

I have a new title. Last night, my sister dubbed me: "The Boy Who Uses Many Plates But No Cups." That's accurate. When I eat dinner, I usually prepare three of four different things. This requires several plates. I don't usually drink anything while I eat. At the end of the meal, or whenever I'm thirsty, I just stick my head under the faucet of the kitchen sink.

It irritates my mother to no end. I defend myself by saying that I'm just cutting out the middle-man. I don't think she gets it.

But I am kind of a hippo-crite. I refuse to eat directly out of a pot or pan. Seriously, that's just ghetto.

A Toast!

Whenever you're out drinking with your buddies, every round should begin with a toast. The honor should then be passed around, with everyone getting a chance to be the toastmaster.

If you know an elaborate toast, you should go first. If you don't know any toasts, then you should go later. You'll be drunk by then so you won't care and neither will anyone else.

This was my toast the last time this game was played:

"Do not waste energy trying to sound profound. Just appreciate it if it comes."

It was a toss-up between that and "Sake Bombers are bitchin'!"

Disclaimer

I want to point out that this post was supposed to be about our trip to Lake Roosevelt but something is wrong with my camera so I couldn't upload any pictures.

Blasted technology.