Since I started coming down with a cold on Monday, and Lucas stated on Saturday he had a cold when we went out and did our thing, and since he's 120 miles away from me and can't defend himself, I'm going to blame him for my cold. So curse you, Lucas, for giving me your cold.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Today's Mormon missionary visit has prompted me to share with you the following tidbit about my life.
Number of unsolicited groups of people who have attempted to speak to me with the express purpose of converting me to their religion...
- In the first 20 years of my life: 0
- In the last year: 6
Finding explanations for the discrepancy will be left as an exercise for the reader.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
I woke up this morning to find Dominique in bed with another woman! The horror! Worse yet, she was sleeping with one of my roommates! To her credit, though, she let me take a picture. Just look at the defiance in the eyes of her lover.
Our relationship's been going downhill since that fateful Monday night we did Century Club. I still love her, but she apparently no longer feels the same way. Did I not spend enough time with her? I was with her all day, every day, since we met. Did I not cater to her needs? I upgraded her RAM from 512 MB to 768 MB, and I planned on upping that to 1.5 GB once I got the money. Perhaps I just no longer catered to her physical needs. It's been 11 days since I last turned her on, and it had been 28 days before that. But I may never know why she cheated on me. Such is life, I suppose.
Friday, November 11, 2005
For the past several years, I've been telling myself that I needed to make a hard cider out of the quite excellent apple cider that's made locally. This idea later evolved into making a cyser, which is a mead made with apple cider (mead, as we all know, is an alcoholic beverage made by fermenting honey). About a month ago, my parents bought me some of this unpasteurized apple cider that had already started to ferment. By accident, I neglected to drink it for a couple weeks after they bought it for me. But when I finally did open it, I was greeted with a pleasant surprise. The cider had hardened. Not too much, mind you, but enough to make it carbonated, slightly less sweet than normal, and quite delicious. This sealed the deal, so to speak. I resolved to make cyser. With this being a four day weekend (I rarely go to my Thursday class anymore), I decided now was the time. So yesterday, Jerry and I went out and bought some apple cider and some other apple juice that came in a glass jar (I needed the jar as a fermentation vessel). After the usual Farmer's Market trip, I went home and prepared the cyser. I used maybe a pound or two of honey and a gallon of the apple cider. For those who care, the specific gravity of the concoction was about 1.103. For those who have no idea what I just said, I'll just say that it tasted like a very sweet apple cider with honey mixed in. I've been periodically checking on it today, and the fermentation is proceding nicely. The airlock is currently bubbling about once every five seconds.
Unfortunately, last night wasn't all peaches and cream (or cider and honey, as it were). While in the midst of preparing my beloved cyser, some drunken asshole pissed on our door. Yeah, pissed on our door. After realizing this was what was going on, I banged on the door and told them to stop pissing on our fucking door. Shortly after, We went out to confront the drunks. I asked less than politely who exactly it was who pissed on our fucking door, and got no answer. I repeated my query, and finally people started talking to us. They explained that it was some drunk guy at their party, agreed that it was unacceptable, and agreed to clean up the mess. There was some disagreement among Us about whether or not that was sufficient reparations for their actions, as it also happened last week. But we eventually decided to leave it at that, agreeing that if it happens again, the police will be involved. I imagine they're quite good at dealing with drunks as they've probably had a lot of practice doing so. And public urination fines just went up at the beginning of October, so it is no longer an inexpensive proposition to urinate on doors (though in the interest of full disclosure and to keep accusations of my hypocrisy at bay, I pissed on the men's restroom door at Santa Rosa park last Saturday. I was drunk and upset that the restroom door was locked, so there we go. That said, it's a little bit different than pissing on the door to someone's home).
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
For those of you who don't know, I was convinced to take part in NaNoWriMo this month. For my novel, I've decided to write the sacred text of Flying Spaghetti Monsterism. So far, I've got the creation story and the fall of the serpent and the rise of the pirate complete, for a total of 1721 words. The flow of the text is loosely based on that of the Bible, but I've been trying my hardest to make it unique in its own right instead of re-writing the Bible and replacing
Flying Spaghetti Monster. I think it's been diverging from the Bible the further along I go. Actually, the story took a rather unexpected turn last night at about 2:30. Vafra, who ends up being a combination of the serpent and Abraham in the Biblical narrative, unexpectedly cursed the name of the Flying Spaghetti Monster after the Flying Spaghetti Monster commanded his sons to leave their home and go to their respective promised lands. The Flying Spaghetti Monster, who apparently does not take kindly to such blasphemy, struck Vafra dead.
I think my biggest departure from the Biblical story so far will be the concept of multiple chosen people. In the Bible, there is always one chosen lineage; and through this lineage, good things happen. I think the concept of multiple chosen people lends itself to a less structured religion where there are multiple ways to be right with god. And on that subject, I'm not sure how people should get right with the Flying Spaghetti Monster, or how it will be possible to not be right with him. Obviously blasphemy is forbidden, but is death punishment enough, or does there need to be eternal torment? Hopefully I'll be able to answer these questions.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
So We're sitting at Splash, enjoying a nice dinner, when the question of what to do on this Halloween night comes up. Forrest gets the idea that we should do Century Club (or, rather, that I should do Century Club). I tell everyone that I won't do it by myself, and we eventually come up with a compromise acceptable to everyone. Forrest will do a half shot of wine every minute, I'll do the traditional shot of beer, and Jerry and Catherine will do a sip of wine. Our plan for the evening clear, we head off to Trader Joe's for provisions.
When we get to Trader Joe's, I see this. It just screams at me. Really, it's the perfect size for Century Club. So I get it. Forrest gets some shitty wine, and Jerry and Catherine get good wine. After making a couple other stops for a shot glass and the Blues Brothers, we make it back to the apartment.
I wrote a quick and dirty shell script that made Dominique say
Drink every minute for 100 minutes. I didn't really want to use a stopwatch since it makes it easier to lose track of time. We start the movie and the script, and it's off to the races. I take my first shot.
I bought shitty beer. This is going to be a long night
Forrest is none to happy with his wine. We switched it up once, and I could see why. Goddamn was it horrible. But, we're in this too deep, we have to do it. Dominique coldly and mercilessly tells us to drink every minute on the minute. After about 30 drinks or so, I'm swearing at her at the top of my lungs every time she says the dreaded word. She cares not. After about 60 or so I start getting really belligerent. It's getting hard to pour the shots. I don't know when it was that I started missing them when they were called, but I eventually did. I eventually started chugging the beer whenever I felt like it instead of drinking when that bitch Dominique told me to. Eventually I could no longer do it; I walked. But I made a valiant effort. I drank the whole keg with the exception of about 2 glasses. If there's a next time, I'll make it.
After the drinking, it was decided that we go to Jack In The Box and Taco Bell for drunken munchies. Apparently I tried hugging everyone on the way over there and back. I also kept swerving into the road, which is a bad thing. But we made it over there safely. I apparently went into the women's bathroom when I needed to use the facilities, not realizing that it was the women's bathroom. I also apparently stared at this girl's ass for 30 seconds to 2 minutes, depending on who you ask. I fell down. A lot. When we made it back to the apartment, I fell in the bushes in front of the living room window. When I saw them this morning, they were annihilated. Oh, and Forrest and I got into a punching contest which ended when Forrest punched me in the balls. Yeah, I didn't enjoy or appreciate that. When I actually got back into the apartment, I passed out in my chair. Everyone decided this was a bad thing, so they walked me to my bed. When I woke up this morning, I couldn't find my glasses. Hopefully they're around somewhere.
Catherine was kind enough to take pictures of the event. She's posted some of them at her Flickr account.