New Roads

At this point even bad news is better then no news; at least we could make definitive plans. Yet, as it stands, I have heard naught but two demoralizing and echoing nos. So we wait. So we pine. So we dig to an unknown end. Taking steps in the dark hoping not to step on discarded nails. Stopping starting stopping starting repeated until the end of it. Packing and moving to Colorado for work or school or a time or eternity. There is a brief/lucrative job awaiting that will immensely alleviate any and all financial obligations. At least that brings a modicum of light to the future...that's good. Still, I feel I am returning to the equilateral mother land just to continue treading water.

If my age weren't as lofty a digit as it is I would consider a new path; if I continue to get lambasted after another year of trying that may just be what I have to do. The problem is, I don't have the slightest inkling of what that newness might be.

Vexing.

"And yet, and yet, this New Road will some day be the Old Road, too..."-- a quote I found inscribed on cobblestone in Edinburgh by Neil Monro

Sci-Finest

After one year and one month my time has come: at last Battlestar Galactica has started it's new and final season last Friday. I just peed a little with excitement, like a wee dog.

I will wait for the mocking to subside before I pontificate over the shows many virtues.








Ahem








Now then. I have said on this web log before that this show is one of the best on television, but it was merely a cursory praising. I will now attempt to convince all you folks who don't watch why you should.

I recognize that there are some inherent problems that have tainted the genera of science fiction: often it is too campy and kitsch ridden. This is a very valid reason to be skeptical. Not everyone has the ability, or desire, to suspend disbelief and swallow stories that take place in the naught of space. Although I have been known to be overly apologetic to all things spacey and lasery, I will be among the first to agree that plenty of Sci-Fi is a hackneyed mess.

This series does take place in space, there are killer robots hunting humans, there is faster then light travel, there are no right angles on papers or in the ship's design, but in spite of that meaty nerd stew, the show still is an immensely compelling human drama in a post apocalyptic setting that just happens to be set in space.

Here are some reasons to put aside any sci-fi angst against the show:

• There are no odd looking aliens, or aliens period.
• It is a realistic lived-in future.
• There are bullets in guns, not lasers.
• There are no corners cut in the special effects; nothing looks campy.
• The acting is amazing; Starbuck's affected laugh aside.
• Watching how a civilization that is down to some odd 40,000 people from a few billion cope with trying to create normalcy and keep civil liberties, democracy, and justice intact while running for their lives.
• Not one character is perfect, or are meant to be. Flaws abound.
• The story is loosely based on Mormon doctrines.
• The story.
• It's not just for the men, two of the show's strongest characters are iron willed women.
• The music.
  

Mostly, if my wife, hater of everything science fiction got caught up in it and looked forward to each episode, that should be reason enough to gander at the show.

So don't pigeonhole the show and gander.

But you don't have to take my word for it. Ba dum dum.

Take The Test

I failed.



link to actual site (though nothing different)

I killed the cyclist.

Listen To This Album

For Emma, Forever Ago by Bon Iver

Acoustic and fine.

A taste:

Skinny Love

Flume

Mr. Arbuckle

At one time I was comfortable in my knowledge that Garfield was the cat's pajama's when it came to funny. I was also comfortable in the knowledge that my large gray aviator glasses held together by electrical tape were an acceptable facial accessory. I thought Garfield's love of lasagna and hatred of Odie were dipped in chocolate it was so good. I couldn't wait until I could drive because I was sure as hell going to have Garfield sticking to one of my windows taunting other drives with his sharp teeth and snarky look in his eye.

As I grew Garfield went the way of the glasses replaced by Bill Watterson and some semblance of taste. It wasn't until I stumbled across this gem of a site that I started giggling (some just make me sad) again at Garfield. All that was needed: no Garfield.

The site's introduction explains it best: "Who would have guessed that when you remove Garfield from the Garfield comic strips, the result is an even better comic about schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and the empty desperation of modern life? Friends, meet Jon Arbuckle. Let’s laugh and learn with him on a journey deep into the tortured mind of an isolated young everyman as he fights a losing battle against loneliness in a quiet American suburb."

Watch This Movie

I should have seen this movie last year when I first heard of it. If I had I would have known longer that it is a gem. I won't spoil anything by writing too much but even though the battle ground is an antiquated video game (which sold me instantly) and the gain is a mere world title it is well worth your hour and a half; video game lover or not.


Another docu-gem that I watched recently is Word Wars. The movie follows a few Scrabble folk as they compete for money (the only money most of them make in a year) and a national championship. Mostly watch it because you get to meet G.I. Joel (G.I. for gastrointestinal) the word genius dogged by acid-reflux.


You can't write this stuff.

Hey Frampton! Do You Like Toast?

We have been three years now with no new Mitch to quench our dry throat. I have been trying to find replacements, but me thinks that carrying the One Ring to Mt. Doom would be an easier task. Instead, I hold an empty goblet jonsen' a quaff and am constantly denied. A few comedians have surfaced as contenders, especially Demetri Martin, yet they have all been found wanting. None, for example, have made me uncontrollably talk in their unique parlance for weeks on end unable to turn it off even for work (my apologies for those around me at the time). His jokes are nougatty goodness and when coupled with his absurd delivery, a baleful combination ensues with 100-percent chance of hilarity.

It's all about the delivery.

He inspired this very blog's feeble web address, as awkward, cumbersome, and utterly unoriginal as it is....oh how I loathe it. Alas, I am stuck with it.

A Few Unforgettables:

I was walking down the street the other day when this guy asked if I wanted a frozen banana...I said 'no' but then thought I might want a regular banana later, so...yeah.

I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to, too.

I'm against picketing, but I don't know how to show it.

Chicago is known as the Windy City, and Montana is called the Big Sky State, so I think that we should somehow combine the two to create the ultimate kite-flying experience.

I haven't slept for ten days, because that would be too long.

I rent a lot of cars, but I don't always know everything about them. So a lot of times, I drive for like ten miles with the emergency brake on. That doesn't say a lot for me, but it really doesn't say a lot for the emergency brake. It's really not an emergency brake, it's an emergency "make the car smell funny" lever.

Whenever I walk, people try to hand me out flyers. And when someone tries to hand me out a flyer, it's kinda like they're saying "Here, you throw this away.

People used to think I was high on stage, because people associate long hair with drug use. I wish long hair was associated with something other than drug use. Like an extreme longing for cake. Then strangers would see a long haired guy and say, "That guy eats cake. He is on bunt cake." Mothers would say to their daughters, "Don't bring the cake eater over here anymore! He smells like flour. Did you see how excited he got when he heard your birthday was fast approaching?

About once every three years I think about buying a yo-yo. I’ll be at the store and I’ll come upon the yo-yo section. And I’ll fantasize about mastering it to the point where it becomes a reference as to who I am. “Do you know Mitch Hedberg? Is he that guy that kicks ass on the yo-yo?” Yes I do. He is cool.

I was walking down the street with my friend and he said, "I hear music", as if there is any other way you can take it in. You're not special, that's how I receive it too. I tried to taste it but it did not work.

I think Bigfoot is blurry, that's the problem. It's not the photographer's fault. Bigfoot is blurry, and that's extra scary to me. There's a large out of focus monster roaming the countryside. Look out, he's fuzzy, let's get out of here.

I saw a human pyramid once. It was very unnecessary.

It's very dangerous to wave to people you don't know because what if they don't have hands? They'll think you're cocky.

Higginson, harbinger for all things cool, I owe you x 12 and far into eternity for this introduction.

A Man's Man, Man

I am not known for my manliness: not like those two there. But just perhaps the happenings that occurred one day last week will change minds.

My wife has a brilliant habit of leaving the car lights on all day and thusly needing battery jumps. This happens a few times a month so she is getting used to asking for help. Mostly a jump is all that is required, but on Friday the battery wouldn't charge. The following things happened which may surprise and awe:

• I remembered to take my ratchet set and tool box
  
• I have a ratchet set and tool box
  
• I realized that my ratchet set was not metric and that was why nothing was fitting (Uncanny. Where that knowledge came from I can not say, but yet I knew it as if it were innate.)
  
• I went to an auto parts store (above all this justifies the manliness of the beard on my face)
  
• I spoke intelligently with the store employee about both the battery and the need for a 10mm ratchet piece. (you'll notice here that I don't know what the detachable pieces of the ratchet set are called, but that should hardly detract from the uber manliness of the goings on of that day)
  
• I removed the battery and only unscrewed two bolts that didn't need to be. TWO.
  

Before the list can continue it must be known that while changing the battery there was a twist of fate that would add exponentially to the manly day: a deer was hit by a car on 800 North in Orem. "Orem is no place for a deer", I thought quite impressed with my knowledge of native wild life. Anyway, the guy, who was driving a Hummer 2 the ultimate--I am trying to show you through overt means how manly I am--car didn't stop. After debating what level of douche bag the Hummer owner was the following occurred:

• I went into the street and looked at the deer.
  
• My friend and I discussed moving it from the road to assist motorists in their motoring (we decided against it due to lack of gloves...blood and an eye were everywhere not to mention tics and sticky.)
  
• We stopped traffic while a man with gloves moved what was now venison
  
• I thought to call my wife and have her call animal control and have them come and move the dead deer off school property
  
• I looked at the deer and it's bubble eye again.
  
• I put the new battery in with no left over, homeless bolts
  
• I looked at my hands and there was grease on them
  
• I wiped the grease on my jeans
  
• I stood triumphantly
  

I have earned my stripes. Sadly in days past, yesteryear even, the road to manhood happened much earlier on then a person's thirtieth year, perhaps even by half. I have never been known for my speed. I have been known for my stealth...so....

Juxtaposition

A few gems I stumbled upon while inspecting a home. You may think that these photos were staged. If you think this you are wrong.




O Provo.

Death Be Not Proud

Though I believe in a post life existence, death is still a dull knife that cuts deep, leaving many regrets and blank, unrecognizable feelings. Solace is offered in a belief that death's embrace is feigned and has no lasting sting; that death died long ago via a willing sacrifice.

So, here's to the day when death died; but mostly here's to my grandpa Robert Zufelt: he bested a broken back, a world war, and raising Jack. He lived happily with my grandmother for 66 years.