Category: Miscellaneous

Retching is always a winner

I’ve written about the joy of the cuddlefeast. Whenever there is brief span of time without a cuddlefeast, my roommates take appropriate measures to compensate for the lack of entertaining. I appreciate this because it offers me minutes upon minutes of endless joy.

Seeing that my house had been without a cuddlefeast for many weeks, and seeing the joy that is this rare spring time on the East Coast, a cuddlefeast captured my imagination on Saturday night. I returned home around 9pm, after a sojourn to the movies to enjoy Super Size Me, Morgan Spurlock’s magnificent documentary about the atrocious food lifestyle Americans have embraced. As a vegan, I don’t eat a McDiet. Yet, I don’t believe McDonald’s is solely responsible for fattening up Americans. They’re definitely complicit in the task, but they’re a business offering consumers a food choice. Many Americans are actively pursuing that choice. I didn’t need a documentary to present the incredibly interesting foods that people will eat.

Cuddlefeasts almost always confirm this for me, since they’re generally a five hour director’s cut of Iron Chef. Saturday night elevated the art form to a new height. The highlight of the menu: cicadas.

Upon revealing this, one attendee asked if I’d care to join them. I declined. I’ve never participated in a cuddlefeast as anything other than an observer from the fringes since they’re crowded and filled with meat. I should be more social, yet, even when I ate meat, I would never have joined in this one. That’s foul.

Upon reaching my bedroom, I called Danielle. She has a rational hatred of all things cicada, so I knew she’d need to know. (As luck would have it, I had not yet been introduced to the nasty little fuckers, so my distaste for the idea of eating cicadas was merely intellectual. Sunday’s gardening foray would unfortunately remedy that beyond repair.) She wanted me to ask many questions, but I knew that I didn’t want to know the answers. I’m inquisitive, yet sometimes happily ignorant.

Ignorance is bliss. Sunday morning, I noticed something interesting in our refrigerator. I dared not ask what it might be, but I was compelled to take a picture. Just in case. Last night, I gathered my courage, against my better instinct, and asked. Sure enough, three layers of chocolate-cocooned cicadas.

These atrocities defiled my refrigerator.

What is wrong with these people? Don’t they know that cicadas kill?!?

Mother Nature’s mischief

Saturday, I decided it was finally time to hack up the overgrowth of plant life in my back yard. With this in mind, I went to Smith & Hawken and bought a very cool Folding Saw to make my job easier. This morning, when I attacked my back yard, the Folding Saw worked beautifully.

What I’d forgotten, since I haven’t “gardened” in a long time, is the emotional benefit of industrious work’s solitude. I was able to relax and forget the world for a few hours, which was tremendous. Communing with nature made me feel almost as if I went to church today.

Looking for information for this post, I cam across the concept of Pantheism, which is defined as:

Any doctrine, philosophy, or religious practice that holds universe [cosmos], taken or conceived of as the totality of forces and/or matter, is synonymous with the theological principle of God.

I’m not prescribing this as a concept, nor am I going to adopt this and and become weird. Veganism is all the weirdness the world needs from me. But I think it’s fascinating that there are people compelled to slap a label on communing with nature. As a concept, it’s great, but a label? Fascinating.

Assuming a predisposition to wrap myself in this label, this would be my altar.

After my experience, I do believe there is validity to the concept. Throughout my life, I’ve always thought the idea of Satan to be utterly ridiculous. I could be wrong, but I base my beliefs on what makes sense to me and that concept does violence to my intellect.

Yet, two hours of yardwork convinced me that I’m wrong. Why, you may ask? It’s simple. I saw my first cicadas today and only Satan could create something as vile and evil.

Get up and go

Ummmmm… Guess what happened last night? I know this will shock everyone, but I got trapped in the bathroom again.

Really, this is getting ridiculous. Because it’s been a little while, I thought I was past the point of relapse. As you may remember from the second time this happened, it was only three days after the first occurrence. This time, I managed to evade capture for 8 days since incident number three.

I’m amazed that this continues to happen. Questions mount without explanation… Why am I shutting the door when I have the master bedroom in my house? How do I become so disoriented in such a short span of time? What is behind this debacle?

After being snared for the third time, I wake up and mentally talk to myself when I get up in the night. Where am I? What time is it? Questions like that. It’s helped, until last night.

My only memory is standing in my bathroom during the night, with no clue where I was. Granted this is an improvement because I was on my feet. Unlike the past, my first was “Unbelievable. I’m trapped. Again!”. At least some part of me has a clue that I need to defend myself from my incoherent sleepy adventures.

When I realized that I was trapped again, I determined to figure out where I was. My bathroom is tiny, so even though I shouldn’t get trapped, I should at least be able to decipher my location within the confined space with little trouble. Last night, I hit a bonus on my first attempt.

There are two towel racks in my bathroom, but one set of screws holding one of the towel racks came loose. The hole was worn out to a size larger than the screw, so the hook fell off, with the bar sliding after it. That left this in my wall:

I had no idea how I was going to fix this.

My plan is to fix it, but I’ve been very slow for two reasons. First, the Phillies are on TV this week. Second, I’ve never fixed a wall before. From this mini-home-improvement, I’ve learned the joy of spackle. So this is what that side of the towel rack looks like now:

I've spackled this thing three times. Because it's fun.

But I digress. That leaves one part of the towel rack still attached to the wall. When I was standing in the bathroom and knew that I was trapped again, I determined to figure out where I was. With a little luck, I leaned back and the towel hook poked my in the spine.

Eureka! The door was on my left. I reached out my hand and found the knob immediately. Opening the door, I escaped and went back to bed. My only thought was that I had a savior, which allowed me to write this today. Here it is:

Maybe I shouldn't finish fixing the towel rack...

My towel rack may have saved my life. Procrastination rocks!

I hear the unknown’s cackling

I got trapped in my bathroom last night. Again.

I don’t know how this happens. I remember going in, but my next coherent thought was kneeling on the rug, feeling the walls to determine the location of the door. I found the wall, but didn’t know which direction to move in. I remember finding the wood of the cabinet beneath the sink, but I wasn’t awake enough to know which direction to move. My brain slowly came to life, processing logical thoughts.

I refused to stop touching the wood of the cabinet because I knew that was important. As my hands reached the edge of the cabinet door, I pulled it open towards me. That let me know that the bathroom door was on my left. I lunged my hands for the door, hoping to find the knob. I spent a few more moments searching, but I found it. I went back to bed, too tired to comprehend the situation. My only thought was that I’d escaped again.

My bathroom continues its attempts to capture me, but I’ve been successful in avoiding its forever grasp so far. I will continue to fight defiantly!

Better than The Price Is Right

I’ve been a bit absent from RollingDoughnut over the last week or so, all for good reason. I’ll have a little time over the rest of March to explain, but unfortunately, tonight is not the time. I’m preparing for Spring Training 2004, so I have little time to detail the happenings in my life. Not to leave you hanging while I’m gone over the next few days, I’d like to offer a highlight from my recent trip to Buffalo.

While visiting Niagara Falls, Danielle, Melissa, and I explored Clifton Hill. This is Canada’s response to Las Vegas. Las Vegas is tremendous, but it’s no Clifton Hill. In my four days in Vegas, I never found a great arcade to rival Great Canadian Midway. The best part of this entertainment extravaganza is this from the Great Canadian Midway website: “With over 250 games that give out tickets to win fabulous prizes.”

We enjoyed these games and won our tickets. 595 tickets, to be exact. Because the people of Canada are so quaint and nice, they let us walk out with 600-tickets-worth of fabulous prizes.

Included in this bounty was the skull candle holder I selected. This is a real beaut compared to the normal spider ring selection of fabulous prizes, so I couldn’t wait to get home and fire up the candles.

Yesterday, I undertook this adventure with much excitement bubbling below the surface of my 4-year-old mind. Fire! Fire! The candle was lit. Spooky!

Then I realized that there may be a flaw in the plan. Have a look at the reality of my fabulous prize. I still heart my fabulous prize.

Just like me, they long to be…

Listening to Don & Mike recently, I heard an interview with vocal coach Roger Love. Since I don’t sing well, I’m fascinated to listen to a vocal coach talk about how anyone can learn to sing. I’d like to believe that, even though I know I couldn’t be a professional. Unless, of course, John Stevens doesn’t win American Idol. Then I could be professional because I can sing better than the rest of those hacks.

I’m smart enough to know that part of Mr. Love’s claim is pure marketing. He’s selling a DVD called Love to Sing, after all. So after hearing the interview, I was curious to know more. Browsing his site, I found the description for his DVD:

Many of the most popular recording artists in the world have called upon Roger to learn his unique methods including Matchbox 20, Eminem, Mandy Moore, Papa Roach, and many more. There is a long waiting list for Rogers voice classes, and now you can learn Roger’s secrets to developing and strengthening your voice through private instruction right at home!

Whether you are an aspiring singer or just someone who wants to improve the quality of your voice, Love To Sing can show you how easy it is to sing like you’ve always wanted!

You’ll learn:
Breathing Secrets
Proper Vocal Technique

And how to:
Unleash your vocal power
Control your stage fright

Plus, tune up your voice with:
Vocal Exercises
Full practice songs

For male and female voices of any age!

Let vocal coach Roger Love take you from the shower to the stage!

Reading that info, I clicked the promo video. The DVD looks as cheesy as I expected. However, I was unprepared for the vocal prowess of the narrator. Only in America can a vocal lesson dvd be narrated by a man imitating Bob Dylan. You must listen to the promo video.

For only $19.99, I need this DVD. I suspect Roger Love is a talented teacher. There’s only one other person who can do that…and that’s William Hung.