"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow...

I hope you've said everything you've ever wanted to say to me.

If not, you may have missed your chance. Tomorrow, I am going to Las Vegas. Jake and I went once when we were in middle school and we managed to get into all sorts of trouble. Now, I am of legal gambling and drinking age. I wonder what manner of mischief I can get into now?

I'm a little nervous. A city with no "last call"?

And Guillermo was never seen again...

There is a little game that is played around the blog-o-sphere. I haven't played it myself, but since I'm going to be gone for the entire weekend I figure I'll have nothing to lose.

If you wish to play, the rules are simple. Especially for me; I don't really have to do anything.

Click on the comment link. Write any thing that you think I should know. Traditionally, I would ask what you "really" think of me. However, I've always thought that implied that everything else you've told me wasn't entirely true.

Unless of course it wasn't entirely true, in which case you can tell me what you really think of me. I would think there is at least one good thing and one bad thing you could say about me if you thought about it for a bit.

The final rule is that you must post anonymously.

I must also point out that these rules are really more sorta loose guidelines.

So, thank you. I'm feeling very introspective right now and I think your input would be useful.

But, to be completely honest, I have no idea why I'm asking this.

Um, Vegas baby!

* * * *

Oh, wait. I need to have at least one funny thing per post to appease Meg. Hmm...

Sorry Meg.

Update:

Someone pointed out that I have a statcounter. So yes, I do have the capability to track IP addresses. However, you have my word that I will not.

This will be an easy promise to keep because I don't know how; I've never done it. I have no desire to do so. The only reason I would use it would be if I were concerned with the safety of myself or others.

Besides, knowing an IP address isn't completely reliable. I know that all five of us kids use the family computer at some point throughout the day.

So if you ever get an anonymous post from my IP address, you have a one in five chance of correctly guessing which Lopez left it. Unless it has the word "dude" in it, in which case it was probably Luis.

"Not even God can both love and be wise."

Due to recent themes, I should probably point out that the previous quote has little to do with religion and much more to do with the characteristics of love.

I should probably also point out that when I quote things it is often because I don't know what else to say.

I quote things often.

My friends are very tolerant of this because they are patient and loving. It's also likely that they just don't even realize I'm quoting at all.

One of my girlfriends was less tolerant of it and dismissed it as "being cliche'".

Ironically, I had nothing to say to that.

Quoting is something I think I have always done to some extent, but only really picked up after reading Frank Herbert's Dune. I wanted to be like Gurney Halleck, a warrior-poet. I wanted to be able go out and meet life on the field of battle with an arsenal of weapons and words at my command.

Hell, I still desire that.

A warrior-poet.

Warrior comes first, I noticed. Which is logical. After all, it is rather difficult to wax poetic after you've failed to parry a sword-thrust to your gulliver.

So I hear.

I guess what I'm saying is that I don't really know what to say right now. Well, having already quoted something, I will now fall to Plan 34: Check the notebooks.

(There really are only two plans, Plan A, to quote, and Plan 34, to check the notebooks. The classification system could use some improvement, I'll admit.)

I was reading some Shakespeare while I was in bed last night. I keep a notebook by my bed in case I feel like writing anything before I doze off. It can lead to some interesting reading in the morning. I checked it today and I found this (mind you, I'd just been reading Shakespeare.):

"It occurs to me that in days of yore, it was not uncommon for a person, having their offer of love thus rebuked, to go a bit mad. Indeed, it was rather expected and even insulting if one did not make some sort of public display of grief.

The pursued would know themselves to have been correct in rebuking a romantic proposal were the scorned to take no pause for sorrow but instead gilt themselves anew for their next pursuit.

I am speaking now of love's patterns, of which I know little of save that they are seldom certain."

Yeah, I know. I had to look up "gilt" the next day because I wasn't even sure what it meant. It means to cover with a thin layer of gold, or to make deceptively attractive.

So I did use it correctly. Go me.

I should probably learn to trust myself sometimes.

I also found a single sentence that I've been puzzling over. It says "My greatest fear is the blurring of days."

Hm.

Wait, I have to talk about something funny for Meg. I could tell a joke. I'll have to warn you, I'm not very good at telling actual jokes.

A few years ago, when times were tough, I made nails for a living. Yup, plain old iron nails. They weren't hard to make and everyone needs nails every now and then so I was doing okay. I even found a little shop that would carry my nails.

But I wanted to do better. A friend of mine talked me into seeing some advertising agency; he said that an ad on television could help boost business.

I figured, why not? What would it hurt? So I went to see the ad guys.

"So, what are you selling?" one of the two guys asked eagerly.

"I make nails," I said.

"Great! Come back in one week and we'll have a commercial for you! No charge unless you like it, of course."

The guys seemed really enthusiastic about everything so I agreed.

I came back the next week. The guys showed me to a little viewing room. They put in the tape of my ad, and I sat to watch.

The commercial opened up on a far-away shot of a mob of people. It zoomed in closer, and I could see that they were all wearing drab robes and were shaking their fists, very angry about something.

In the center of the crowd was a very familiar-looking man. Well, he wasn't very familiar-looking, but there was no mistaking the large, wooden cross he was nailed to.

I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

The camera continued to zoom in. It went right up to the crowd, over them and then zoomed in incredibly close to the man's hand. Of course, there was a nail in it. On the head of the nail it said in big, bold letters, "Gurg's Nails."

Then it faded to black.

I was horrified. "I can't have a commercial like that!" I cried, "I'll be lynched in the streets!"

"Okay, okay, calm down," said one of the guys, "Come back in a week and we'll have another commercial for you to look at."

"Another commercial?!" I shouted, "What do plan to do, show one of my nails assassinating Abraham Lincoln?!"

"Okay, okay, we understand," said the second guy. "We'll use less strong symbolism next time."

"Symbolism?" I said "You call that...look, I just don't want a commercial with people getting killed all over the place. I came here for something nice, something happy."

"Okay, just come back in one week."

I reluctantly agreed.

The next week I was back at the agency, back in that little viewing room. I'd been dreading it all week.

"We think you're really going to like this. It's very nice and very happy."

I sat in silence and waited as they began the tape.

On the screen was a beautiful blue sky with big, white, fluffy clouds traveling lazily across it. The camera panned down and showed a lush, green meadow, with stalks of grass swaying gently in the wind.

"This is very nice." I said.

The camera closed in on a gentle hill. A man with an enormous smile on his face came bounding over the top. He ran happily down the hill and through the lush, green meadow until he was out of sight.

"This is all very nice," I reiterated, "But I don't think I understand-"

"Shh!"

It was the hill again. Two men came running over the top. But these men were different. These men looked red-faced, as if they had been running a very long time. And, while the happy man had been wearing a white robe, these men were wearing the distinctive armor of 1st century Roman soldiers.

At the top of the hill, the two soldiers stopped to catch their breath. One turned to the other. "See!" he huffed accusingly, "I told you we should've used Gurg's Nails!"

*rimshot*

Goodnight everybody.

Lunch time.

Should I...

Eat my granola and yogurt?

Go find a gas station somewhere in the fuel-less void that is Scottsdale so that I can make it home?

Nap in my car?

Post?

Decisions, decisions.

Update: I just read Meg's LiveJournal in which she plugged me as funny. This is my formal apology to any and all who might have come over from Meg's expecting something humorous.

Wait, let me check the "work notebook".

"It's crazy to see what some of these lawyers make. I saw an expense report today. The guy charged 500 dollars an hour.

What can I do for an hour that would be worth 500 dollars an hour? The answer is 'Nothing'.

I mean, besides the obvious answer, which would be 'Steal 500 dollars.'"

That's about the best I can do for now. There's also something in the notebook about going into a field and yelling at a sheep for being a sheep, but that isn't really work related. Sorry.

Since I Already Lost The Argument About "Take On Me" Being The Best 80's Song To "Anything, Anything"

Jared: I must point out that no one seems to be trying to prove that God doesn't exist, more that the reason to believe so is about as good (or as bad) as the reason to believe anything else.

John Q. Public: I find it ironic and amusing that you are repeating Miguel's statement that we have brought nothing new to the table.

Joey: Donovan never qualified his statement by saying that there are ONLY two ways of looking at things. But I understand what you are suggesting. Although, under your own theory, what you said is immediately invalidated because it now falls under "Your side". Following your theory, having ANY opinion at all is a step in the wrong direction. The classification system you are proposing suggests that knowledge-seeking is merely the futile exercise of an impotent mind incapable of ever knowing truth.

Miguel: I saw your princess; she went that-a-way.

Trevor: See you at Temple!

Kermit: Rock.

Jamie: Yet again, a barefoot boy on a raft has shown us the way.

Iggy: The Man is not trying to keep you down because you are a woman. It's because you're a minority. Obviously.

Jake: As far as serving yourself=serving the devil, that tells much of the religion. The concept of Man being synonymous with evil. It is more of a celebration of sin, in which the farther one has fallen, the greater the redemption. You see the same principle in effect in stories of the active devil pursuing the "good souls" with more enthusiasm than the "bad souls."

During the time I spent at church as part of my upbringing, I noticed the opposite of the "Holier-than-thou" speakers. How many times have you heard someone say, "Now, I'm the last person who deserves to be saved because..." then go on about how terrible they were and still are.

It's part of the culture, it seemed. Reveling in the worthlessness of a human being, the shame of being alive, the torment of having to exist on the planet Earth, away from wherever God is.

Whenever I'd hear someone proclaiming how sinful they were, I wanted to ask them, "Why, have you killed anybody?" If they had answered "No," then I'd have told them that they were doing a-pretty-pretty good.

I always thought church would make more sense if people went to celebrate and share the good deeds they've done during the week instead of mentally flagellate themselves over their impure thoughts.

I just don't think you have to suffer to become a good person. I think I'm a good guy and I'm usually having a great time.

Well, not a good-good guy. It would be most accurate to say that the Boondock Saints would never come after me.

But as religions go, I always say that there are worse things you can do than try to emulate Jesus.

I'm going to end this discussion, at least on here. I don't want the advertising-robots to start jamming my banner with ads like "Order Your Very Own 'Not My God!' Bumper Stickers!" and "Every Nihilist Has Gotta Have A 100% Cotton ' I Don't Believe In Shirt!' Shirt!"

Although, I have always wanted a window decal of the Darwin-Fish and the Jesus-Fish...dueling with light sabers.

D-Fish: "Jesus-Fish. [draws a hissing breath] I am your father!"

J-Fish: "No! I'm my father!"

Sweeeet.

Regicide And Profanity

Saturday night, a couple of hours after call-backs for Macbeth, I received a phone calling offering me the part of Macduff. Sweet. Fear my blade, ye untitled Scottish Kings! Shakespeare is pretty good stuff, but there is room for improvement. I think it would be wholly appropriate if MacDuff, just before he attacks Macbeth, shouts "Taste my pain, bitch!"

I'll run it by my director; see what he thinks.

House-warming and Profanity

I spent the rest of Saturday evening at Donovan and Lauren's house-warming party. It was good times. There was a keg of Amberbock, good music, and several boxes of those chocolate thin-mint Girl Scout cookies. Rock.

Towards the end of the evening, I provided passage home for several of my friends. And by several I mean six. In tutto, there were seven people crammed into my poor little Tercel.

She was able to handle everyone, that little slut.

Randomness and Profanity

Brian Y. and I wenting to a casting call for Fear Factor on Saturday afternoon. It was interesting. We waited in line for less than an hour. Groups of twelve people at a time were called in to be interviewed en masse by one person. This took place in a large room, with other dozens of people also being interviewed. It was a little hectic.

It was like a bunch of little kids fighting for attention. I half-heartedly participated. I didn't really feel like elbowing people out of my way for five seconds of someone's time.

The guy said they would let people know if they wanted to call them back by Tuesday. Eh, oh well. I can always eat bugs in the comfort of my own home.

As I was driving through Brian's house neighborhood, leaving to go to the Macbeth audition, a car rounded the corner. There were five girls in white tank tops literally hanging out of a car. The car were sitting on the window sills. The driver honked and the girls all shouted and waved at me as I drove past them. I waved back.

I stopped at the stop sign. In my rearview mirror, I saw the car stop and slowly start to turn around. "Oh no," I thought, "I'm not falling for that one again." I drove away.

* * * *

That night, I was driving towards Donovan and Lauren's. I was on the highway, sticking my arm out of the window as I like to do when the evenings are cool. A motorcycle passed next to me on my left. I looked over to see what kind of bike it was. There was a little old lady riding on the back of the motorcycle. She was reaching out her hand as they passed, as if she were trying to grab mine. Through the clear plastic visor of her helmet, I could see her laughing hysterically.

I laughed too, and I reached out even further. This all happened in a few instants. The next, the riders were past and I was turning towards the 101, amused and envious.

Debate And Profanity

I hereby do proclaim "Take On Me" by A-Ha to be the greatest 80's song of all time. Er, of the 80's.

Have at thee.

G-Mail and Profanity

I cannot get into my Google mail account. My password isn't working. There is also the option to enter in the answer to my "secret question", but that isn't working either. That's probably because, in a fit of cleverness, I put in a false answer. Now, I don't remember what the false answer was.

That's where the profanity comes in.

So if you've e-mailed me at that account, that's why I'm not responding. Really. It isn't that I don't want to take care of your cat while you're away.

And since I haven't in a while, I'm putting up a picture of Brian, Lauren, and I that Lauren took.