Fish and Cats and Food That's Not Corn!

I'd put something funny here, only all I can think about is how fuzzy my cat is.

Home for Thanksgiving, and I'm extremely happy. Timer for the fish went off. Be right back. Back. Oh crap. Need salt. Ok. Back again. Where was I? Oh yes! Home! Very happy.

It's Been Too Long For Too Many Things

Had rabbit for the first time today. Now, maybe it was the peculiar way they spiced it, but I really couldn't eat very much of it at all. It tasted good, it's just that it somehow brought into disturbing clarity that I was indeed eating rabbit. Probably didn't help that they kept the meat on the bones, and you had to suck it off the ribcage... My friend put it very well. "I really don't want Southside (our diner) to be my first time trying something."

It has been far too long since I first tried my hand and DMing. The game went horribly because I was far to busy to help them set up their characters properly, I probably should have done quite a few things differently as well. It was only one encounter, and no plot happened, and a few of them seemed quite bored by the experience, then we all had to split because everybody had work to do. Recently, I've been significantly more active in building the dungeon and the advanture and I'm really looking forward to throwing these traps at them! I've been doing this in my spare time, instead of reading comics and the like. It helps, too, that Cole and I have been working together regularly, so not only do I consistantly get lots of work done, I also work on projects like these. That said, I've got something else dogging my mind. Near the beginning of the year, a friend and I made an effort to get involved with some sort of extra-curricular things that would eventually lead to good opportunities. This was at the suggestion of my eternally wise mother, and it would have been a great success too, if I hadn't exploded with work soon after. Problem is, it didn't stop. It never stops. I've been getting better and better to deal with this stuff in stride, but I'm far too busy to invest more than a few minutes at a time to any effort, and it's been neglected for so long. I guess I'm just having trepidations at how it looks to these people to have effectively dissapeared off the face of the earth and then pick it back up again. Still, it's much better to try and look bad than not to try at all.

I Love my Mother

Cole and I have started making a habit of working together for long stints of time. This is because we found we both get significantly more work done when in the presence of another jerk who is working.

I'm reading a book for college about the production of food in America. It's called The Omnivore's Dilemma. It horrifies me. Here are some excerpts;
"It takes more than a calorie of fossil fuel energy to produce a calorie of food; before the advent of chemical fertilizer the Naylor farm produced more than two calories of food energy for every calorie of energy invested."
"They say you only need a hundred pounds per acre. I don't know. I'm putting on closer to one hundred eighty."
"Some of it evaporates into the air, where it acidifies the rain and contributes to global warming... Some seeps down to the water table... The spring rains wash [some] off Naylor's fields, carrying it into drainage ditches that eventually spill into the Raccoon River."
"We have perturbed the global nitrogen cycle, more than any other, even carbon."
"Unless you grew up on organic food, most of the kilo or so of nitrogen in your body was fixed by the Haber-Bosch process."
I would like to take a moment to say, thank you so very much, to my mother.

Redemption

Here is an interesting phobia I had never considered before. It is currently possible for me to inhale my own hair.

Last year, in Mr. Hoehne's class, I wrote, what I consider, to be an incredible stain upon my history as a writer. I took a concept that I was thoroughly enamored with, combined it with the enthusiasm for drama in human action that I took from The Dark Knight, and sprinkled it with ineptitude so profound it makes my hair stand on end. The piece, was the literary equivalent of a grade-schooler drawing stick figures exploding with gore upon a pointless and tactless battlefield of crayon. I am ashamed to say that Mr. Hoehne, in his apparent wisdom, took me aside and talked to me about the piece. He informed me that I was indeed the infamous and unnamed student whom he told the class had horrified him and his wife, and asked me if I was alright, whereupon I assured him I was appropriately horrified at my own creation as to be sane.

Here, however, this story takes a twist. In my latest english class, focused almost exclusively upon analytical essays and the formation of the unknowably exact and confusing organization of arguments, the sole opportunity for creative writing has given me the chance to redeem this story in my mind. I believe I may have succeeded. The story may be different, but the concept that enthralled me is still there, and I believe it shines through. I am tempted to take it upon myself to polish this tale and make it shine like nothing else, then to present it to Mr. Hoehne with a note simply saying "I am sorry for unleashing that monstrosity into the world, but here is what I meant to do. Is it not good?"

That said, I'm afraid my current teacher won't care for it because it's over eight pages when she expected about two.

Blogging for Blogging's Sake

I tried looking around my room for something interesting to spark this. Clearly that did not work.

I keep saying eventually, once I'm back on top of things, I'll be able to focus on the things I want to do. Problem is, I don't think that day will ever come. It's not like typical disillusionment, where people romanticize the past, I actually know I was in better shape before. I've been getting worse. But hopefully this next regime will lighten things up. No.

There's nothing to say here because talking about what is happening is depressing and unrepresentative, and I've nothing better to say.

Triumph of Evil over Good

Every time I think I've found a good method for drawing my e-comics, I discover a fatal flaw.

I will be the first to admit, I love tormenting Cole. He reacts so beautifully, and it goes far and beyond simply reacting adversely to every little thing I do to him. You see, quite often I can entice him to play along through various means of persuasive corruption. Now, I'll not boast that my feats are anything more than playful cajoling, pushing him to do things he would, perhaps, rather not do. However, it thrills me nonetheless to see his mighty and proud will bend towards the little embarrassments. This evening I doomed Cole to grow a mustache, but even more than that, I convinced his girlfriend to admit that she too was just a little bit curious what it would look like. "Truly," you might say, with sarcasm dripping, "you are a master of corruption and influence. Truly these poor mortal fools know not the strength of your grasp." But I would shrug. For you see, I know the scale of my small victories, and this does not please me, rather, the knowledge represented therein. Because, neither Cole nor Lydia have any real will to find out what his mustache will be like. Indeed the risk is that it could be a hideous mold, hooked into his face, and on their own neither Cole nor Lydia would want to see this. However, I do, and because I know that both foster a slight, perhaps a little morbid, curiosity, I can will them into conceding to this. I have said, that the only reason anybody submits to pure evil, is because they themselves are a little evil as well. These little proofs comfort me in this fact.