blog post thursday

blog : n. : a weblog.
I now have a pile of blogs that I am involved in, I am part of the blogosphere, I am technorati’d, I am feed burned, I am digged, dugged, and slashdotted. I am one of the cool kids at school. I am facebooked, linkedin, and google apped. I can label, tag, ping, and trackback. I can post, edit, manage, patrol, comment, uncomment, and contribute.
I am digitally self published at:,,, and I also use a blog for my sketchbook page, but I am thinking of moving all that to a java based lightbox, and I never post on it so it doesn’t really count anyway.
so, in efforts to keep up with my digital life, I now have to take half a day a week to keep up with my blogging. that’s right, every thursday morning is my day to blog. sad but true. so, in keeping with my nature to be so meta these days, this entire blog post, on blog post thursday, is simply about blog posting and saying blog a lot.

the final countdown

final : adj : allowing no further doubt or dispute.
I write this listening to ‘the final countdown’ by europe.
the score stands as follows:
people in my family who are upset, frustrated, or miffed: 10
people in my family who are currently depressed (and I mean clinically), crazed, suicidal, or way to angry: 6
people in my family in some sort of crisis: 7
people in my family who may have cancer: 2
people in my family who do have cancer: 1
people in my family who are new and nobody likes and I tolerate with grace: 1
current family dramas, flare ups, arguments, situations, and problems: 4
recent funerals ( last 12 months ) in the family: 2
I go to work at my fairly high stress job in a start up company in the highly competitive video game industry to take a break from my family. I look at my bank account now and again and feel bile rise in my throat. I take a break from work, family, and bile to help ( what little help I have to give at that point ) plan my wedding.
the only time in my week where I get to put down everything on my plate is 2 hours each sunday at church. as jared said earlier this week: the word sanctuary is taking on a whole new level of meaning. as peter was once overheard saying: give it up to the lord.
if my co-workers and friends are wondering why I’m at church every sunday, now you know. it is the only thing keeping me from freaking the fuck out.

great mysteries

mysteries : n. : the secret rites of greek and roman pagan religion, or of any ancient or tribal religion, to which only initiates are admitted.
today is a day for great mysteries, perhaps even the whole week.
yesterday the cherry trees were in full bloom and covered in two inches of snow. it was like looking at pink cakes frosted in white icing, and I have written a number of silly haiku about the sight. the snow fell in the span of a few hours, and melted away in the sun shortly after. this too has spawned a number of haiku and poems.
here are a few:
white on top of pink,
nature, her head upside-down,
a small cosmic joke.
the snow falls steady,
kissing trees, hugging spring grass,
melting away soon.
from gray skies snow falls,
viridian leaves hiding,
beneath white icing.
since sarah has left for her time in calgary I still have not gone for groceries. I ate leftovers sunday, made some eggs monday, and sinned a bit and went for wendy’s tonight. it is here that I have found a mystery: a wendy’s froster does not freeze, even when in the depths of a freezer when you forget it while watching the news and working at the computer. it barely becomes stiff, maintaining a delightful creamy texture much like a milk shake. how can this be?
perhaps some more haiku will help solve the problem:
forgotten froster,
alone in the dark and cold,
refusing to freeze.
malty. so damn good,
unable to become ice,
my spoon digs right in.
are you a milk shake?
to stay so creamy and smooth,
petroleum? no!
mysteries should come in three’s, so here is the third for the evening. why do some evangelical christians try to convert catholics? are not catholics part of christendom? God must get a right good chuckle about the whole silly thing, wondering when we’ll get the point. again, the haiku come:
are you my brother?
no, you are not my brother,
you follow the pope.
arms, body and legs,
paul’s wise words written to all,
but some don’t listen.
convert fools, convert!
my christ is better than yours!
mine is the real king.
sweet dreams everyone, enjoy the full moon while it shines.