8amish Sunday, I woke up to find this tree had overslept. The tree must work at the electric company because nobody had turned on the power until after it left.

Before then, some fire trucks and passengers gathered about for a while. After they determined no fire was on the premises they left in hot pursuit (ha ha) of more exciting tasks.

I can’t imagine they could see it very well with all these leaves in the way, though.

A few pedestrians strolled by to take pictures of the tree.

The hurricane was originally scheduled to stick around until late in the evening but when the lack of electricity terminated the free wi-fi it decided to get going and beat the traffic.

My own interest similarly spent on the matter, I wandered about in the rain, in search of things I understand.

Hey DUCK: this is NOT a lake or a pond. It is just WATER FROM THE SKY. There are no FISH in there because fish do not FALL FROM THE SKY. This wasn’t even THERE yesterday, dumb bird! They love finding the stupidest looking places possible to make their legs disappear.

Also on State Street: Aw frank, look at this disaster! What a mess! And i’ve just been reminded I actually took this picture the day before the hurricane showed up and that this scene has been blocking the road since last October.

As I returned to the climb scene at almost noon, an irritating alarm sounded from the liquor store that for once I’m going to assume I don’t need to show you. People love alarms. That’s why they always let the ones on their cars run for ten minutes before doing anything of pertinence to it. This situation was no different. Though the amount of people had increased in size, nobody bothered to take advantage of the already activated and blatantly ignored alarm noise and steal anything. They were too busy photographing the tree. I would approve their lawfulness and not deride their lack of initiative, but they also blatantly ignored the CAUTION tape around the tree. You fools! Don’t you know they’re more likely to bite when they’re injured!

A ha, progress, and order. Now a licensed work crew with reflective vests can take pictures of the tree.

They hung up some homemade stop signs about the intersection and departed.

By all meeps, get out of your car in the midst of the road to take several pictures of the tree. I’d put extra importance on this if your car has screen windows.

This yellow truck showed up in the vicinity of 3pm to make it clear that coalition forces now occupied both sides of the street. Also, some cones. The tree slowly starts to realize it is outnumbered. More people took pictures. If that thing doesn’t clean up its act in a hurry it’s going to be REALLY embarrassed on face book later.

A hobokin on the steps of the building nearest the tree observed me looking at the tree roots and interrogated “You know why this happened?” Before I could prepare my defense he answered his question and blamed it on the sidewalk which had been installed during the previous year. Supposedly the roots were cut from below this area for no reason I could guess and that made the tree feel more inclined to recline. Two hours later this fellow was still there, no doubt keeping the populace informed. I suppose he thought if electricity was never restored we’d revert to a tribal system and he had a shot at becoming village elder, getting control of the magic sword in the process, and then he could use that to rob the liquor store for real this time.

An industrial loader! Now we mean business. Enough to not call that a “bulldozer,” even. When the tree sees that unoccupied construction vehicle staring down its caution tape it will surely be intimidated into compliance. Despite the loader looking like a toy in this picture I assure you it only did the job of one. The loader’s driver continually asked a similarly dressed fellow “is it ON, stupid?” Oh it’s on NOW, with you calling me names and such.

The shovel machine was friends with a dumptruck. The dumptruck left when it realized somebody had already dumped on this street. The yellow truck was actually blinking its lights now.

5:30pim: The loader was gone when I came out to make another departure, and suddenly from the right it came speeding toward the object on the left. At last! Then it slowed down and stopped again. I think the tree is getting the message. The yellow truck had turned off its lights in the meantime.

Somebody bought the flashlight, I surmise. A pity for the scarcity; the best part of blackouts is frosted mini-wits standing in the street, illuminating the ground in front of them and then courteously blinding me when I approach to walk past them because if I just felt like staring at unchanging darkness without going anywhere I’d have stayed inside.

An hour or some such thing later, at about 7 in the PM, the yellow truck is gone but the tree remains. But what’s this? A van has just arrived branded UI, United Illuminating, a company that actually deals with electricity. THIS blinking light will get the tree’s attention finally.

By 9pm the tree was still there, but we successfully set a record for most amount of diesel powered vehicles to idle outside a single apartment complex and then leave without doing anything.
I crossed the danger line to get this incredible footage. That was foolish, and I should not have put my life in peril. The wind blew a small speck of dirt into my left eye. But for 9:30pm, another truck shew up. THIS time it was one of those hauling/utility/whatnot trucks that I’m used to seeing around fallen objects during power outages. It left immediately. I’m glad some people still keep traditional values alive.

Eventually I went to my sleep lump, realizing my chances of the truck fairy compensating me for even one of them dwindled by the minute while I remained awake.

Ah I see. Yes of course, you’re supposed to bring in the noisy devastation machines after midnight so as to not disturb anybody. NOW things will be done.

For example, you can take pictures of the tree in a whole new context. I wish I’d written my website url on it.

A police car is over here. The tree is obviously resisting arrest. Collapsed in the street like that, it’s probably been abusing drugs. We expect to find high quantities of bud in its system, and not a little bit of weed.


On second thought we’ll let it go with a warning. But just this once! Goodnight folks. (imagine this is a picture of the loader rolling down the perpendicular street and not Snarf from Thundercats ambushing you in the dark)

Howdy. I do not have local electricity at the moment! This prevents my computomatic from from participating in many tasks. While I borrow the electricity of others I foolishly neglected to bring my mouse, which prevents me from doing everything else!
==============================

Last.fm is yet another one of those websites with a stupid name that exists soley to collect personally identifiable information about users for the purpose of directing advertisements at them. Information which people gladly give up because it’s easier to get popular by liking stuff that already exists than by making your own stuff. So once I realized this site wasn’t getting me anywhere, I waited five years and got my own last.fm page. Naturally I can’t excell at last.fm either because the only stuff I like is stuff that nobody I like likes.

This then causes stuff that I don’t even like to like me.
Anyway last.fm is pertinent to whatever we decide is music. I considered putting a little gizmo from last.fm on this my page here which would show you whatever thing I had listened to most recently that lasty had agreed to acknowledge. However, as much as I’d love to impose my obtuse musical tastes on every person in the universe, it wouldn’t do ANYbody much good to know I was listening to “Stage 3” by “Sakamoto, Takenouchi, Fujio.” Fortunately, I am a compulsive wreck and it turns out that I enjoy having a sorted list of the noises I choose to hear. This also now means I will deliberately not listen to a specific piece by someone if I’ve statistically listened too often, if the site cannot count it at all due it being in an incompatible sound format, or I just don’t know who made it, and thus cannot label the file appropriately. So then I spend a considerable amount of time seeking out accurate titles and author data, and then reseeking them when I suddenly decide what I have “seems” wrong. It’s the most work I put into anything that nobody cares about if we exclude the webpage I wrote about Pac in Time.

Since the site content is largely determined by users, it takes on a few negative wikipedia similarities, such as asinine edit-revert battles and inconsequential gags interpreted as canonical fact.

Meanwhile, any of the 71,270 or so purported listeners who end up at this page will see this inexplicable fragment of your petty argument in the absence of actual information. Do you know what an accomplishment it is to make the site’s-point-missing totalitarian bonehead whose entire music collection is credited simply to “nintendo,” including an inestimable number of tracks named “Title Theme” seem sensible by comparison? (I think that you do not)

As it wasn’t fashionable to acknowledge video game staffs in 1987, Castlevania therefore contained joke credits. That the composer is listed as “James Banana” in the joke credits does not mean the real composer uses that as an alias or was ever actually known as that to anybody. After initially getting ornery at the intro line there I considered it may have been inserted facetiously and that I should feel bad for composing such an elaborate complaint without an alias, but a visit to the Videogame Music Database website, where I get most of my compulsion feeding data –my dealer, in effect–, reveals a lively argument over whether James Banana is an “alias” or a collaborative “unit.”

How can I trust you if you won’t even face me, coward!


If James Banana gets to be a unit then Green Stranger should be a module, Cafebar Read can be a cafe bar and Christopher Bee is a hatrack. The only unit I have time for is Unit 7 in my first grade math book because it has clocks in it.

I am going to keep talking about this.

By the presented logic, the game’s data must have formed over millions of years through a natural geotechnical process, because there are no artists or programmers in the credits at all, because the credits are 100% FAKE. In the breakthrough interview where Yamashita revealed that she didn’t create the ubiquitous “Vampire Killer” theme (maybe you should take a minute to let that sink in before continuing) and only seemed to have implied so in the past because like a normal person she doesn’t know what the “titles” of any video game music is, the inquisitor wastes time asking why she is credited as Jimmy Bans. Asks this before anything else, in fact.

The PROPER question would be “why aren’t you credited at all?” Or “why are you credited as James Banana when nobody else on the Konami staff was afforded a precious joke name? Was that a stipulation in your contract, that you get first pick of all the non-acknowledgement? Who do you think you ARE, anyway? Oh right, James Banana.” It appears that most of Yamashita’s online correspondence with Americans is from people trying to find out which specific songs she made, just so they can tag their mp3s properly because the only people I have anything in common with are embarrassing nerds.

NO YOU CANNOT BE MY FRIEND

Artists who collaborate on a project are different than either of them credited separately, and often just from themselves.

Jun Chikuma seems to be jealous of herself. Although to be fair the regular one did the music for Faxanadu whereas Chiki enjoys continual success rearranging the same 10 note tune in endless Bomberman titles. Both of these examples leave me surprised that the composer can play a flute. Perhaps she just likes to pose with it.

Faxanadu, incibiddly, has the only game music that I can play on my verizon telephone.

Yes I’ve been using computers for 18 years why do you ask?

I don’t mind last.fm converting my romanized japanese names into fancy symbols, but I don’t appreciate the green splat icon showing up every time I play one of these, telling the imaginary world that looks at my page that I have “misspelled” someone’s name. They actually expect me to go through my entire collection and replace “noriyuki iwadare” with some characters that I cannot type and that I cannot read. I have no concept of what means, even if it’s directly beside While there appear to be two Kenji Yamamotos whose names are spelt differently in their native print, that hardly justifies splotching rotten tomatoes all over my play-lists.

These two clearly have it in for me today.

De-dei-de-de-deih dat’s all, folks!

Next week I will post weird pictures to distract from the boring stuff I type about.

how did this take hours to do?, I can't... move!, I think you broke it | How to lose a guy in (2) days | !

We, in the first world, as exhibited by considering ourselves “first,” like to imagine that we are infallible. We tell ourselves we are safe, and above the likes of widespread rioting, nation decimating natural disasters, the environmental and economic side effects of our most successful businesses. In the last few years these things have increasingly become impossible to ignore, even for the willfully ignorant like myself. Our government is an endless abstract series of money wasting schemes to get elected for nothing more than the sport of it, and my own optimism took a blow after I saw people I voted for repeatedly roll over from principle at the whim of the people I didn’t vote for, who would never give a thought to returning such a favor. The analogy that’s being pushed these days is that the house of representatives and whatnot are like “spoiled children.” Children cannot be spoiled without parents to spoil them, I say.

Sometimes I think that’s part of growing older, seeing things in a greater context, and that while far from ideal it’s not much worse than it’s been and I’ll get through it. Other times I really do worry.

Things are going GREAT. And they’re only getting better.

Really, Nerd? You think that? I don’t see how-

I I I! I’m not talking about you. I’m talking about me. I’m doing all right. I’m getting good grades. My future’s so bright, in fact, you might say I gotta wear shades. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Are you an idiot?

Hardly! *I* study nuclear science. And what’s more, I love my classes. I’ve got a crazy teacher; he wears dark glasses.

Oh, I see. Forgive my imprudence. You’re not an idiot. You’re the dumbest person who ever lived.

Actually, I’m heavenly blessed and worldly wise!
I’m a peeping tom techie with x ray eyes!

I wish you would die.

Got a job waiting for my graduation. Fifty thao a year’ll buy a lot of beer! (harmonica solo)

~bimshwel has left the chat

I’m talking about nuclear war! I read that on Wikipedia! Also, I wrote Wikipedia!

Woh, really? Let’s be best friends!

Finally somebody who can get things done!

Not Being Cool | How to lose a guy in (3) days | !

This is the best painting I have uploaded. That does not mean a whole lot. It means enough for my opening statement, however, and that is grand because I do not know what else to say about it right this moment.

Page 45 of this. Scroll down, like always!

Ah ha, two new pages in just under a month! This is the first time that has happened in a while, and probably the last time that will happen in a longer while.

My mother has been telling me for years that I might do well to get involved in theater. However, these characters clearly exhibit that I have no respect for the profession.

This page, like the previous, may also ultimately prove to have no bearing on the future. Whoopth. However, the source image for this page and the previous are increased from the pages before, creating the possibility of a higher quality end product! Can you tell? No, of course not. I made it harder and more hard drive space-wasty for absolutely no reason, and it still looks cramped. Whoopth 2.

Dumb dragons that nobody is afraid of. Why do they not protect their obvious snouts? And what’s the point of being a dragon at all if you need a sword? I mean, in the event they were smart enough to hold the pointy end facing out. Or an ORB, for that matter. Dragons love their stupid orbs. Unless that’s the crystal coconut, I’m unimpressed. And that brings me to another topic:

Come to think of it, I’m still unimpressed.

This was screened in my home once, eleven years ago. Do you remember when this sort of thing looked impressive? Neither do I. These days people make stuff like this alone as personal projects, but there was a time when it was made by professionals in France and licensed by the Japanese to be sold to Americans. It was an animated series that I could easily find out the entire length and broadcast success of, but there are some particles of knowledge that I prefer leaving to the pre-/early internet fog of past pop-culture vagueness. As far as I’d like to think, only one episode ever aired, which I came across on cable or whatnot, laughed at the very idea of, and promptly removed from my sight. After the cancellation, the producers cut together a bunch of episodes to form a single semi-coherent narrative. Not to try and make back some of their investment so much as punish me for my bold, childish hubris.

If you didn’t know this was associated with Donkey Kong, what would you think it was? (don’t watch it, I’ll just barely explain it) The first three songs possibly pertain to some storyline or another, but by this point nobody’s sure. In an earlier song, the fore creature, Captain Scurvy, sings about wanting to steal the Crystal Coconut from Donkey Kong. This has no possible relevance to anything. Scurvy has by this point failed to acquire the coconut and gone back out to sea, because this isn’t really a film, only some random episodes with no direct continuity. So forty minutes in there’s just some dumb pirate croc singing about booty while a camera pans around his chronically understaffed ship for no reason. My guess is they realized they can’t sail this thing with just three people and they’re doomed to die at sea, so they slipped into highly delusional states, unable to cope with reality. There may be additional reasons to lose one’s coping capabilities while within that version of reality. After this sequence the view cuts to some totally different booted scalous lump in a totally different place doing a totally different thing. My mother took special displeasure at the fact that the lizardoids had nipples. I think shortly after this she demanded that the tape be switched off. We were certain it had been three hours but Amazon.corn insists the total running length is just under one-and-a-half.

Although Amazon also displays a five star rating, so maybe I ought to be suspicious. I meep, that’s only half the stars that Who’s Your Caddy? got.

Oh yes

“Oh yes” was an artifact of something else I started to write there but ultimately removed. However, when I found it just now, left and forgotten, I decided I approved of its presence.

The song was introduced to me through my less eld brother, who one day appeared (he was a sorcerer) singing parts of it and the other songs. HE had been influenced by a friend, who we’ll call “Erik,” that being his name, who in addition to singing these songs in public, sent to an approximately random assortment of people he knew an email message –equally explicable as the loosely related series of animations or his fascination with them– which referenced several of the songs, chief among which being “the booty booty.”

Though chief among the references on the whole were local inside jokes that couldn’t possibly make any sense to you. Finally we have something in common!

After listening to the song I accepted this as the title. I had to listen to it, because we apparently needed to rent this movie, because everybody in town was terribly afraid of Erik and did anything possible to appease his demands, or at the very least understand them. He was much like his romanticized Viking namesakes, except instead of burning down our house he and an accomplice just broke into it while we were away and stole a bag of frozen peas.

The song is posted in youtube with this bootastic title, also (where it is identified as “song #4.” I have not actually reviewed the program in full to make my song or minute counts) It was not until I read some recently posted comment that I realized it’s actually, in all probability, SUPPOSED to be “Booty Boogie;” a boogie being a dance, and a sort of thing a person can be said to “do.” It will surely go down in misery as the most intellectually stimulating thing I ever read in a youtube comment. Why did this never occur to me? Why did it seem so perfectly acceptable (considering the context) for the pirates to be saying “booty booty” that I never for a moment wondered if maybe they were saying something else (apart from the actor pronouncing “boogie” as if it was pronounced “boo ghee”)? More importantly, why am I thinking about this now? Why did I ever think about it enough that I remember what I used to think?

I’m glad we got that out of the way before I had time to chastise myself for bringing it up.

Google is confident that I can boo ghee even if it requires the question be changed.

So, to recrap: I was afraid to let anybody see me playing E V O on an emulator, but other parties had no shame about bringing

this into my home. Why, then, a decade later, am I the only person with ready access to plus lingering shame for both?

I think that’s twice as bad as being either.

Also at this time I declare an indefinite moratorium on the wordish “booty” appearing in this here web location.

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