Friday, December 13, 2013


Upon accidentally viewing my own personal wall on Facebook, I noticed that there was an option to view my top posts from this past year. An opportunity to post pre-written things that have already proven to be likeable? I couldn't pass that up.

Top 10 Posts Off Of My Wall from 2013

10. Mar 13
If I ever get stranded on a deserted island, I think to get rescued I would just have to do something really stupid. Someone always seems to be watching me when that happens.

9. Mar 6
I had something cooking in the microwave, and I hit "stop" with one second left. But then the beeping noise continued, so I just sat there and repeatedly pressed the "clear" button. The beeping continued... naturally, I started hitting buttons randomly to get the beeping to stop. It was at that point that I turned around and saw my brother turn off the beeping oven timer... (-___-) failure.

8. Jun 24
Why must Netflix always run out of episodes when there's a cliffhanger?

7. Oct 26
Today the number of unread emails in my inbox reached 666.
This is possibly a bad omen.

6. Aug 24
[My little sister] has started to sleep walk.
"I need a drink."
Pokes fridge, walks away
"Actually, I need a hug.
Strokes walls lovingly, walks into bathroom, begins to cry
"Good morning Tylan. I'm going to sleep now."

5. Feb 14
Today is the day that Saint Valentine was brutally beaten and finally beheaded for illegally marrying couples.
Happy February 14th.

4. Nov 27
After taking the PSAT in my sophomore year, there has been no end to the emails from colleges (that I have no intention of attending).
Call me cruel, but I take great satisfaction in seeing the subjects of their emails (that I don't reply to):
"You there, Tylan?" "I want to help you, Tylan..." "Are our emails reaching you?" "Are we contacting the right Tylan?"

3. Jun 7
The lead flight attendant on my flight to AZ sang to us after we landed.

We love you
You love us
We're much faster than the bus
We hope you enjoyed our hospitality
Marry one of us and you'll fly free

2. May 26
Babbling toddlers are like the Terms and Conditions. I have no clue what they're saying, so I just agree and move on.

1. Aug 20
Q: Why was 6 afraid of 7?

A: It wasn't. Numbers are not sentient and thus incapable of fear.

Feel free to share your own top Facebook moments in the comments!

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

The Bird

I sat in a plastic chair on the far edge of the oval[ish] table, practically putting myself in the corner of the giant commons area. People eventually began to fill up my table, dragging with them unused chairs from nearby places.

Over the next five minutes, the entire area was packed to the rafters with hormone-ridden high schoolers, trying to find the place that they belonged to, like some weird human jigsaw puzzle.

By this point in time, my table had accumulated quite a spectrum of people, packing in shoulder to shoulder to seat themselves at the wooden-slab supporter of our midday meal. When the table seemed about ready to burst outwards with adolescents, one more guy came to the table to seat himself with people he recognized. Chairs were scarce, and he desperately began his quest to attain a seating device.

Glancing around the commons area, the newcomer was unable to find a single seat in the Where's-Waldo-esque setting. Finally, his eyes landed upon not one, but two chairs that technically were not being used.

Logically speaking, one person sits in one chair. Or, some people share chairs, which is fine. Do what you want. But the carefully balanced system of sense-making comes crashing down into a burning pile of axioms when one person uses three chairs.

When occasion merits, I take a long hard look around me. Hundreds of intelligent individuals, hurrying to their places to meet other sentient beings, all with their own unique issues and concerns. Throughout my entire existence, I will only get to hear about a microscopic portion of a fragment of the troubles of the people of this planet. So many different characters I'll never be introduced to, such a large amount of ingenuity I'll never get to know.

One of the people I would partially get to know in my life was perched ten feet away from me.

Before approaching the shadowy figure, the chairless person took a good long look at his destination. Three chairs were stacked upon each other, seemingly not in use if it wasn't for the single person precariously sitting on top of them.

The person was probably right around six feet tall. His flesh was literally whiter than sour cream, as the Weird Al parody goes. He wore this constant glare that drilled straight through your face and out the other side of your skull. Graphic tee, blue jeans, generic sneakers, and then a black winter coat that reached down past his knees.

Despite his appearance, what set him apart was his posture.

If you're going to use three chairs, at least sit in them normally.

Somehow this individual was able to balance himself on the balls of his feet on the top of the backrest of the top chair.

This calls for a poorly done SketchBook Express illustration.

The brave newcomer decided to approach this formidable individual. In order to not appear rude, he opened his plea with a conversation, which he later relayed to our table.

"Hey there, friend!"

A dark and deadly stare into his soul was his only reply.

"How's it going today?"

After continuing his stare for the next full minute, he slowly replied in a deep voice, similar to the pitch and quality of a frog with strep throat.

"I am sitting on these three chairs whilst wearing my black coat in the middle of the commons on the night of a waxing crescent. So, not very well."

Clearly, some form of code was being sent out from his setup.

In a dazed response, the chair seeker cautiously replied, "Oh. I'm... sorry. For your loss?"

The flare in his nostrils and increased intensity of his scowl was the only response that was needed.

Now even more desperate to vacate the area, the chair seeker quickly kept going.

"Is it ok if I borrow one of your chairs? I don't have a place to sit, and it doesn't look like there are anymore."

The bird dude's face scrunched up, like he just caught a face full of skunk scent.

The chair seeker, that brave soul, dared continue in the face of imminent doom.

"You don't want to talk to me, do you."

"Not particularly, no."

Utterly dejected and terrified, the chair seeker returned to our table, his labors fruitless. After telling us his conversation, we all looked up at the bird dude.

Though there were fifteen of us at the table, his malicious glare pierced each and every one us. Never before have I felt an outer presence invading my inner most thoughts.

The scariest part?

I don't think it left.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013


Many of the people that I've spoken to seem to have only moved once or twice in their lifetime. After reflecting for the whole of two seconds about it, I decided to compile a list of...

The 10 Hardest Parts About Moving

10. Not knowing where the good neighborhood starts and ends

That might sound racist or trivial, but it's a good thing to keep in mind. I'm pretty keen on walking, and while my stature might be intimidating to some people, it's good to know what places might not be the best to walk through.

9. Making your house awesome

For me, the first few weeks in a new house are the scariest; the bedrooms and hallways are devoid of furniture and objects of decoration. Right now, we're using a generic folding table to eat dinner on, and spare bed sheets as curtains. Wooo! Go design-on-a-dime!

8. Finding the "perfect" place for internet connection with a laptop

This has been one of the hardest things to deal with. The only working internet router outlet in the apartment (that works) is behind a bunk bed, so the router is beneath the bed resting on the ground. Maybe it's just superstition, but it seems that unless the door is open to that bedroom, there are fewer than three plaster walls in the way, and the temperature is exactly 73.2 degrees, the internet connectivity is extremely poor.

7. Trying to find where the grocery store is

After living in the same city for four years, I began to simply find myself at the grocery store by walking and letting my feet do the steering.

After driving around for half an hour (we don't believe in GPS or Google Maps on the go), we determined the closest grocery location. Mission accomplished!

6. Dealing with house imperfections

I generally try to be an optimist, but some issues with a new home are easy to notice and hard to ignore. First thing I found out about my apartment is that the bathroom switches are switched around. Naturally, when I walk into a restroom, I swipe the switch closest to the door in order to turn on the light. This is not the case. For reasons unknown, the fan and the light switches in the restrooms were switched, resulting in blaring ventilation noises during midnight trips to the toilet.

5. Figuring out the shower

This is an issue that I know I'm not alone on. We may not know some of the world's greatest mysteries, like how stonehenge was constructed or how headphone cables get tangled in our pockets. But the mystery that is the most pressing in many cases is how to operate a shower. Get it wrong, and you will be frozen and/or boiled alive. Even once you think you've figured it out, there is still the possibility that something could go terribly awry.

4. Packing/Unpacking

I don't have anything against being organized. I really don't. I just hate the whole process of cramming crap into cardboard, just to tear it all out of the boxes a few hours later. Finding places to store my stuff in an unknown area is difficult for me to do, since I get overwhelmed easily.

Side note: packing should be made into an Olympic sport, just so that I can show you just how much I hate it.

3. Understanding the roads

In Nampa, if somebody told me to take a left off of 12th right after Walmart to get to Skyview, I would've felt the soaring confidence of a person playing Mario Kart who just overlapped everybody twice on rainbow road.

Here, getting street directions or finding my way around town is as confusing as translating terrorist threats spoken in Yiddish, whilst doing trigonometry in the back of a moving capuchin-transport vehicle.

2. Getting to know other people

I am not a social butterfly (that's why I have a blog). I'm more like a social opossum, scurrying around, hiding in the shadows, and playing dead if people get too close to me.

As such, it has proven difficult for me to find my "niche," a group of people with the same strange character attributes as myself.

1. Letting go of people from last place

This one is kind of a misnomer. I don't mean forgetting about friends from other cities, I simply mean adjusting to not being able to have them around or going about my normal habit of messing around and getting up to general Tomfoolery.

What do you think is the hardest part of moving? I'd like to hear your opinions.

Sunday, November 24, 2013

Four by Four

The other day I was brainstorming for ideas, and one in particular stuck out to me.

I give it to you now.

The day was my sixteenth birthday. As a gift, my parents had me excused from school and my dad took me out to several places, as per my request. 

First stop was the DMV. I had already scored an 88% on the driving test about two months prior, and I was just now barely getting around to getting my learners permit. I pugnaciously pouted my way past the picture portion of the process (heh heh, alliteration), and received eligibility to drive as a reward.

Next up was GuitarCenter. One of my strings had inexplicably snapped a few days before, and I was anxious to get back to jamming out. Whilst there, I admired all of the different styles and designs of guitars, and picked up a capo.

Afterwards we went to a library of sorts. It had plenty of books, but of sheet music instead of stories. I found one chock full of popular movie songs.

Finally, the fateful stop.

We went to In-N-Out Burger.

While my dad and I were driving around, he told me of a legend he heard of on the internet. There was, allegedly, a mythical sandwich at In-N-Out that was a quadruple cheese burger. According to tales floating around, this monster burger was as big as a newborn's head, and even more tasty. My teenage stomach rumbled, as my metabolism yearned for a challenge.

As we pulled up to the restaurant, in my mind I heard old-fashioned western music playing. This was to be the quintessential teenager vs. food stand-off, and it was to be epic.

We patiently stood in line, waiting for our turn to order our servings. My dad ordered the double double, and I leaned over the count and whispered: "I'd like a four by four, please."

The cashier's eyes got wide. 

"The what?"

With slightly more confidence in my voice, I said a little louder: "I would like to order a four by four."

Before my order, there had been music playing over the radio, and the background noise of customers conversing could be heard. After the words rolled off my tongue, the whole of the restaurant went silent. The music went dead, the noisy ceiling fans were quiet, and a screaming baby clamped it's mouth shut.

The cashier, labelled Stanley by his name tag, shrunk back, and gave me the opportunity to back out of my request.

"Are you sure you want one of those?"

Undaunted by the circumstances, I responded in the affirmative.

After a breath of hesitation, he replied, "As you wish."

He printed out our order and brought it back to the kitchen. As my dad and I took our seats, several faces of workers looked out the kitchen windows, wondering in concerned awe who on Earth would order the Goliath of burgers. Their wandering eyes fell upon my lanky 6' 2" mass, and they quickly cowered back, getting to work on the mammoth task before them.

As we waited, a man came up to the counter and asked Stanley sheepishly, "What's a 'four by four'?"

I half expected Stanley to say "Satan spawn," due to the actions the restaurant staff held in response to it, but he quickly replied, "A burger with four patties and four slices of cheese, and weighs about two pounds."

The newcomer customer did a double take between me and Stanley, and incredulously said, "In the name of all that is holy! Give me something half that size, and I might finish it!"

I was skeptical, as my dad and I patiently waited. Surely these reactions are just exaggerated... right?

I don't believe in internet rumors. Mostly never. But when our food arrived, I thought there was a mistake. We ordered a total of two sandwiches, not five.

But it was correct. My dad picked up his double double, and I simply sat and stared at the baby-head sized burger sitting before me. 

The largest wrapping In-N-Out has is for the double double, so my meal was crammed into the comparatively tiny wrapping. It spilled out of the paper, looking like grease was sprayed onto it but it looked so. Freaking. Delicious.

I pigged out, I won't lie. But despite my quickened pace, my dad was sitting for a solid five minutes before I finished.

I've felt the emotion of guilt many times in my life, but this was probably one of the moments where I felt the guiltiest.

I felt as if the devil himself was scratching away at the inside of my stomach. My stomach was distended, with a couple pounds of weight pushing it from the inside out. I was beginning to understand the emotions shared by the workers of the restaurant. 

As I crammed the final scrap of food into my mouth, I felt far from satisfied. At the start of my quest, I believed this was to be the crowning meal of my teenage life. Far from it. I made a vow that day that I would never eat a meal that is bigger than both of my fists put together (fun fact: that means I will not eat your brain, should I ever become a zombie).

Thursday, November 21, 2013

Evil Musical Chairs

No matter which school I attend, it seems that there is some issue that bothers me above all else.

In Nampa, it was the fact that our school was the designated "ghetto" school of the area. I really didn't have too much of a problem with it, but I definitely felt the discrimination whilst attending transfer classes in other school buildings.

At West High in Salt Lake, the whole school was an issue. One out of every five teachers graduated from college with a degree in hatred, and the other four got drunk and wandered into the hallways, inexplicably finding themselves at the front of a room full of impressionable young people. Of course I exaggerate, as I was lucky enough to get the only good teachers programmed into my schedule (yes, programmed), but the army of complaints posed by peers were more than enough to back up my made-up statistics.

On top of the evil/drunk teachers, the school had a crime rate higher than in D.C. If you leave any materials unattended and it's still there upon your return, make sure you say a prayer of gratitude.

At my new school, half an hour away, people still poke fun at the juvenile delinquent center that was West High School. One teacher in particular has asked me on several occasions just how long it took me to get through the metal detectors, and how many stabbings there were a week.

Finally, let us not forget the horrendous tile laying.

The newest addition to my list of problems with schools has arisen here at my undisclosed location. In between the short passing periods, they play cheerful polka music, in some maniacal effort to rush you to your next class before you get caught wandering the halls as a tardy student. I'm sure in the bowels of the buildings there are hidden administrators, laughing maliciously at the screens of security camera footage, with pupils making a mad dash to the evil music, which taunts them with the reminder that there is a marathon distance between their current location and the next class.

In all reality, the sheer number of good qualities of this school outnumber the bad, but this single fact gives me hesitation; the leaders of our educational institute turn our very real and pressing concern of punctuality into a twisted event similar to that of the Hunger Games. There is no winner; there are only non-losers. Any alliances and friendships you have made are foregone as you desperately perform acrobatics to navigate the hallway traffic. Only the ruthless and stout of heart have a reserved seat in the limited hallway of champions.

It's either play the game, or be played.

I am publicly announcing your villainy, school board.

Your move.

Monday, November 18, 2013


As I've gone through life, moving from state to state, meeting more and more individuals, I've come across some interesting personalities, characteristics, hobbies, and habits.

One person that I met in the state of Arizona was actually born with the name Anthony Stark, but naturally, goes by Tony. This fact immediately earned my respect, despite the fact that he bore no resemblance whatsoever to the coolest Marvel super hero.

Another individual I had the privilege of befriending had three younger siblings, all with different hair colors. These younger siblings' hair were natural, and were the epitome of their respective colors; blond, black, and red. The person I got to meet, however, had none of these hair colors. Rather, she had a combination of all three, which is difficult to imagine but was in all actuality the awesomest hair color ever.

I've met people who can play the guitar with their toes, and others who play the flute through their nose. Some people I've met collect hot wheels cars; some collect stray cats. I've met debaters, dancers, athletes, musicians, programmers, artists, and some people so reclusive that I've known them for three years and never found out anything besides their first name.

Out of all these varied and awesome people, I've come across the weirdest and wildest habits and hobbies and flaws and fears. However, through the hundreds upon hundreds of people I have shook hands with, gotten to know, and learned about, I have never met another person with the same problem that I have.

I cannot sneeze in public.

It's not a matter of choice; that uncomfortable sensation that precedes a sneeze is all too familiar, and something that I wish to rid myself of very quickly, regardless of who I'm with. But over the course of the past few months, I have not been able to sneeze in front of anybody (except my immediate family members).

I feel that awful tingly feeling in my nose, and silently pray that it will simply come and go, leaving me to whatever task is at hand. When in front of people it seems that those wishes go unanswered.

Let me give you an example.

I was on the third floor of the City Library in Salt Lake City, in the math and science section of the volumes. I had already read many of the novels and texts there, but I was desperately searching for some new mathematical material to devour.

Then it hit me.

With the starkness of Iron Man himself (insert knee slap here), I could feel the pain that should be followed by a sneeze. That relief would be the thunder to the lightning sensation in my face, and was much more joyfully anticipated than what I knew would be coming.

My body physically rejected the vocalization that accompanies the noise, and leaves the rest. It's a sound that is difficult to describe, but imagine the stereotypical sneeze noise (ach-hoo) and take away the "ach" part. Essentially, I make this extremely loud owl mating call, which draws as much weird looks as that sentence just got from you.


Why am I telling you this?

If you've read any more than a single post on my blog, you'll have come to the conclusion that I am indeed an oddball. I say strange things, type strange things, do strange things... in some sense of the phrase, I am a strange thing.

But I once read a quote that was something along the lines of, "Nobody can be so amusingly arrogant as a young man who has just discovered an old idea and thinks it is his own." Essentially, I find it hard to believe that I'm the only person to have an issue making normal sneezing noises. There's always first time for everything though, so I'm open to new insights.

I know this blog doesn't get read by an enormous amount of people, but for those who do read this, I'd appreciate input on this troubling issue.

Until next time.

Friday, November 15, 2013

Life Hacks Around My House

As I've gone through life, I've realized that there are certain habits, facts, and tricks that I've picked up on that I use around the home. I give them to you now, should you ever decide to become a homeless ninja living in my cupboards.

1. The Popping

My mom has bad knees, and this fact is pretty self evident whenever she goes up or down the stairs. Her movements can easily be detected before hand by listening for the popcorn-popping sound (sadly, her appearance is rarely accompanied by the popcorn scent). If you don't want her to see you doing something (or to see you in the first place), simply listen for the noise and hide.

2. The Hair

For reasons difficult to understand, it seems that every morning when I go through the house getting ready for the day, one of my parents is sleeping on the couch. They have a good marriage, and so I don't think it's because of disputes. Maybe the bed isn't comfortable, or maybe the couch is just stuffed with heavenly hair.

Either way, there is a sure fire way to figure out who's on the couch without turning on very many lights. Look at the head. My dad has male pattern baldness, so his head is like a pale glowing peach, resting randomly on the sofa. My mom, however, does not have male pattern baldness, so it's pretty safe to assume that if the sleeper has a glowing scalp, it is not my mother.

3. The Noises

More specifically, the sleeping noises. In my family, four of the six people snore. When I say snore, I mean give birth through the nostrils to a family of rabid dinosaurs with gastronomical issues. If you walk through my home at night and don't hear one of my brothers, my sister, and both my parents making terrible farting-hibernating bear noises, then odds are they are not sound asleep. Proceed with caution with your nighttime escapade.

4. The Drunkenness 

If my mom was alive a few hundred years ago, she'd probably be accused of having lycanthropy. It seems that most every night, without fail, once 10:00 PM rolls around, my mom immediately transforms into a beast that cannot be communicated with, since she's stuck in a permanent state of giggling stupor. I've never seen someone who was drunk (I think), but I'm assuming how she reacts to everything is extremely similar. She doesn't actually ingest anything though, so no secret amount of alcohol was involved.

One time we were sitting on the couch, me totally into Doctor Who, and my mom dozing off. As soon as she finally nodded off, the clock just barely struck ten. As if we were in some kind of horror movie, she slowly sat up with a Joker-ish grin on her face, and simply began to laugh at my face.

What makes her episodes so much more funny to everyone who watched her be crazy is that she has no memory of the night before. She'll sometimes have whole conversations on the phone in her drunk state, and have no recollection of the event when questioned the following morning.

5. The Walking

I cannot in good conscience sit here and criticize my family when I have my own habits that I've had to learn about. Me and my sister, reportedly, are chronic sleep walkers.

The symptoms during the act are pretty similar; scrunched up eyes, moaning, saying random phrases, not finishing sentences, and scratching of arms. However, it seems that only I have ever actually done anything strange while I'm up at night.

I've walked out of the fifth-story hotel room, into the elevator, out the front doors, and into the car that my parents had forgotten to lock. Around 2 AM, I awoke in the back seat, and tried to get back into the locked hotel. It just so happened that the maid who had met my family earlier while coming in to clean our room was vacuuming the entrance, and because she recognized me, she let me in through the locked doors.

There you have it! Weird, unnecessary facts that you know about my family. Congratulations. Do something worth-while with them, like plan a robbery. Just let me know.

Good day.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Why I Don't Ski

After spending just about four months in Salt Lake City, my family has once again relocated. Since we're still in Utah, I'm still being asked Utah-esque questions. Although it's unlikely that the people in my area will find my blog, I figured I might as well answer the two most prominent questions in public.

1. Who's your team? Utes or BYU?


I don't follow sports. Football, basketball, cricket, origami, I don't watch it. Sorry to disappoint.

2. Do you ski or snowboard?

Again, neither.

This question incites a much larger span of negative reactions.  Apparently it is held in public opinion that if you live within 45 minutes of a ski resort, you have to do one or the other. On top of this, since apparently skiers and snowboarders have a Capulet-Montague relationship, being on the fence about the matter is the eighth deadly sin.

Luckily for me, I have an appropriate explanation for my situation.

It all started in the fifth grade.

I attended an elementary school in Salt Lake, and as part of the fifth grade tradition, we were preparing for the "Fifth Grader Ski Trip." This particular field trip was held in high reverence; it was only mentioned in hushed tones, and though we were young, we concentrated solely on the topic at hand when it was brought up.

In preparation, we held several "classes," educating us about the proper skiing rules, techniques, etiquette, equipment, safety guidelines, and so forth. We would practice endlessly putting on and taking off the boots, review the correct ski position to brake, and most importantly to our badly paid teacher, where to meet at the end of our excursion.

After my parents and I triple checked the check-list of necessary materials for the trip, I was taken to school. My teacher must have had the same mindset as my parents, because she counted every single one of my classmates three times. Finally, we all loaded onto the fancy shuttle bus (the kind with cushioned chairs, seat belts, drop-down TVs in the ceiling, and for us children of tiny bladders, a restroom) and went off to the ski resort.

Upon arrival, our teacher split us up into different groups, based on previous experience. Us first-timers, about ten of us total, went with our instructor Rob.

Rob was a man, but as I look back, he was probably having his monthly, which isn't even possible. I will put it lightly; he appeared to hate children to the same degree as the Native Americans towards the invading Europeans, though the Native Americans were much more justified in their feelings of resentment. 

Keep in mind that my group had never been skiing before.

The first task that Rob asked of our little group of ten-year-olds was to run over the snow bank without our boots on, grab our boots and skis, and then put them on in under thirty seconds.

After accomplishing this, he required us to ski down the bunny slope.

Without poles.


On one foot.

You may think I exaggerate, but those were the exact requests. Everybody failed miserably, and in response, he expressed his anger in the form of doing all of those in front of our eyes, while yelling at our feeble minds about our inability to accomplish simple tasks. 

Afterwards, he assumed that we were prepared to tackle the giant slope. 

We rode the ski lift for about seven minutes, which seemed to be the highest it could go. All of my classmates got off of the lift flawlessly, sliding on their skis without losing their balance. As soon as my foot touched the ground I fell. I hadn't even been standing on the ground before the thought hit me that my back would be experiencing pain very shortly.

Naturally, I had by then learned that Rob was a jerk, but I hadn't expected him to blatantly laugh at me as I sat there rubbing my back side. He yelled above the sound of concerned passer-bys, "Hurry up! You're falling behind!"

As I cautiously stood, my face burned red as I felt the gazes of onlookers. At least it couldn't get worse.

That was when I hit the ground again.

And again.

And again.

By this time I had given up on life and was contemplating death as I stared up into the falling snow. That monster Rob and the rest of my class were already halfway down the hill by the time I sat up. The cold and frozen tears on my face must have caused me to hallucinate, because I started yelling, "Just go on without me! I'm sure I'll win this race soon!" towards the grey, bleak, dismal void that was Rob's soul.

After an hour of slowly shuffling, falling, getting up again, and starting the process all over, I made it to the bottom of the slope where my teacher was frantically searching the restrooms for the one unaccounted-for child.

I refused to share the reason behind my iced-tear streaked face to my classmates, but I think they figured it out.

After getting home and relaying the whole story to my parents, they angrily called the resort. They sent me a package of free merchandise, a heart-felt apologetic form letter, and an empty written promise from Rob that it would never happen again. 

Wednesday, October 30, 2013

Trick or Meat

It's the week of Halloween
And everyone's scared
Except for my brother,
We're all unprepared

For on this coming Thursday
Many knocks will be heard
From small, dressed-up children
Repeating their words

We'll hear "trick or treat"
Every three seconds or so
We'll give them some cavities
So that they'll just GO

Every year I put up with it
Redeeming money for junk
Forced to give it away
To the high schooler punks

Well this year is different
I'm fighting "The Man"
Instead of free candy,
I'll give them some ham

Handing out lunch meat is great!
They'll be in for a surprise!
They asked for a trick,
So I'll give chicken thighs

Maybe some dino-nuggets
Or a fat leg of lamb
And for the really bad kids,
I'll give them old spam

Bologna and tofu
And frankfurter too
They really should thank me
For the ole' switcheroo

Hot dogs for Hershey's
Roast beef for the Reese's
I'll get a good laugh,
They'll explode into pieces

Oh, this Halloween,
Will be one to remember
If your kid comes to my house,
They'll have meat through November

Monday, October 28, 2013

How to Nerd

5 Steps to Being Attractive in AP Classes

1. Be in an AP Class

This step is probably the most obvious. But, I've seem chainsaws with warning labels that read "Do not attempt to stop blade with hands." That label only exists because somebody actually attempted it. So, I give you a thousand apologies, but unless you're in an AP/CP/IB/Honors/Advanced/Nerdy class, this might not help too much. Or maybe it will! You decide.

2. Have an Interesting Name

My AP calculus class is 75% Asian. No racism, just the facts. Asians are smart people.

One of such Asian girls did a cartwheel down the aisle, and nearly kicked me in the face as I read my book of mathematical principles, theories, and things. Apparently she felt bad about this, so her and her other Asian friends were talking to me (because forced socializing is a reward...?).

My given name is Tylan (pronounced TIE-lan). Over the throng of loud nerds in the classroom, however, their ears heard Thailand. Now, I am the calculus nerd with part of their homeland as a name.

I'm not sure how many different names this will work for, but I'm pretty sure it helps.

3. Let Certain People Grade Your Papers

In a high school of 3,000, my math teacher doesn't want to take the time to grade all of the quizzes himself. In order to take care of this problem, he takes the massive amount of young laborers he has on hand and has them do his dirty work. We trade papers with other people in our class, and that person alone will see your score (aside from the teacher).

This is where you must make a decision. How well do you feel you did on the assignment? If you think you got 80-ish percent, it doesn't matter who grades your paper. If you think you did awesome, such as 117.2%, have a pretty girl grade it.

Carry on.

4. Ask The Right Questions

Every class has the designated brown-noser, generally an overly eager student who sits front-center, clinging to any teacher recognition like a life support.

Do not be that person.

Such students attempt to draw attention to the fact that they poured over the chapter prior to class, and is ready to segway the teacher into whatever message comes next in an overly exasperating manner. By reciting ver batum the material covered in the text, they attempt to impress the teacher by "predicting" what will be covered next.

Do not ask those questions.

Instead, ask questions that you're fairly certain everybody is thinking but not saying. For example, if you're covering derivatives, instead of asking, "Isn't the formula for a derivative 'the limit as h approaches 0 of the function f of a minus h minus f of a all over h'?", ask "Can we do the process... backwards?"

While the second question may have been foreshadowing semester two of high school calculus, it isn't done in as obvious of a manner, and is phrased in a slightly innocent and curious manner.

5. Respond Correctly to Jokes

If you're instructors are anything like mine, they will make corny jokes about their respective fields. These awkward situations must be approached tentatively. Sometimes, the joke is actually funny, in which case it is proper to "laugh out loud."

When the joke is too obscure for the mentality level of the classroom as a whole, respond with little recognition that a joke was made.

If the joke falls in between the two extremes, caution must be taken. The joke was understandable to the whole class, but not exactly Brian Reagan material. It is in this situation where incomprehension and total hysterics must be completely avoided. There is a definitive process for figuring out what to do.

1. Recognize - Did anybody else catch the joke? Look around you and see if people have faces of amusement-disgust (to imagine this particular emotion, imagine a genuinely interesting statement was said by somebody, who then spontaneously exploded into confetti).
2. Analyze - Is the general consensus one of forced enjoyment, or lack of understanding?
3. Vocalize - Once the mood of the classroom has been determined, respond accordingly. 4 times of 5 at my school in this situation, the correct response is to groan slightly loudly, accompanied by a face palm.

You are now on your way to receiving desirable, well-earned respect in your smarty-pants class. Congratulations.

Saturday, October 26, 2013


9 Things To [Never] Say In A Public Speech

"I'd like to thank all of the sidewalks out there for keeping me off the streets!"

"I'm really grateful for all of you cartographers; I don't know where I'd be without you."

"In all reality, you should be thanking ME. Now your Erdős number is only 3."

"Michael Jackson was definitely a big role model for me. He taught me that BIG changes are possible!"

"Sólo estoy aquí para los refrescos."

"You're all probably wondering why I'm wearing this inflatable horse suit."

"...and that is how I became ten cents richer after my colonoscopy."

"Yes, it is all true. I stole the cookie from the cookie jar."

"I suppose you can't ding-dong-ditch the No-bell prize committee, am I right?"

I was going to make this list a nice even countdown with 10 things, but as you can tell by my recent lack of posting, I'm too lazy for those shenanigans.

Monday, October 7, 2013

This Post is Meaningless

Alright. Writing to write and hopefully by simply making words come out of my fingers, some sort of post will manifest itself. Allegedly, random writing can increase flow of ideas, since nothing is really stopped up in the brainstorming process. For example, I would never actually use the word brainstorm, but I just did. Weird how that works out, huh?

Onward! Today is my birthday. Not that it matters, or anybody cares. Just another milepost like all of the green signs seen on highways. Mass produced, no value at all to them. It's just weird for me to think that tomorrow at 9:41 PM I'll have been alive for 16 years, according to the Gregorian calendar at least.

It'd probably be a different case using some other dating system. Leap years would be taken out, and I would probably have been 16 for the past 4 days.

Crap. Said my age. Not that it matters. I'm sure my maturity level is pretty self-evident of how old I am, so it probably doesn't matter. In fact, the odds that this completely pointless post will be read by anyone is slim to none, so I could say anything I want here, theoretical. Banana daquiri. I spelled that wrong, and I don't feel like going back to change it.

I always feel like it's a game with incorrect spelling. If that magical red line highlights something I just typed up, I take the hard road. Instead of right-clicking and locating the correct spelling, I'll try as many different spellings as I can until I arrive at the correct one, and the line disappears.


I don't know, I feel that despite the initial amount of dedication and effort I put forth into this blog, it's going to crash and burn in a tragic death like anything else I start on the internet. I'll end up being a strange online nomad, flitting about between I Waste So Much Time and Facebook comment threads.

Speaking of which, that is another game I pride myself at. Commenting.

I search for newly posted images and pictures that have next to no comments on them, and think of the "perfect" thing to say. Upvotes are the points, and your position in relation to everybody else is your judgement of losing or winning. Hi mom.

Keyboard shortcuts. Just remembered the usefulness of command+tab. Sweeet.

I really don't like it here in Utah. I don't mean to offend anybody here, but I just sort of completely hate it here. I want to go back to Idaho. Again, this is one of those awful things that there is too much on the internet: feelings. Bleh. Sorry to burden you with mine. I just really don't think that I should share them, but again, I'm not putting the plug on whatever is coming out right now.

My mom is staring at me with the weirdest look as I type without looking at the screen or keyboard. Ah hah! This is particularly difficult to type, actually. BUT still entertaining. Only for me, though.

There we go. A post with absolutely no entertainment value whatsoever, minimal effort put into it, and yet probably the only well-written thing on this entire website. That should be an accomplishment in of itself.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013


It really is too late to apologize. So, I won't.

I'll skip the boring life updates, school is crap, moving again soon, blah blah blah.

Websites I Have Bookmarked

1. Facebook

I'm on here much more often than I should be. In fact, I have a tab open for it as I write this.

2. Google Voice

Being an unemployed 15-year-old, I do not have a phone, even though many of my peers do. Even without a phone though, I like to stay in contact with people via texting. So, I go the poor-man method of free online-texting.

3. Gmail

I don't think any explanation is necessary for this one.

4. Blogger

Nor this one.

5. Disqus

Disqus is my preferred commenting system, and it's pretty nice to have this website handy to moderate and view comments going on.

6. I Waste So Much Time

Seeing as how I don't use Tumblr or Reddit or any of those blogging things, I Waste So Much Time is the closest thing I can get. You'll commonly find me lurking in the comment section.

7. StumbleUpon

This site is my number one tool for random internet browsing. I highly recommend it to anybody who spends their free time Googling random things. This will turn up much more entertaining and meaningful results most of the time.

8. Pandora

When I'm editing my poorly done comics, Pandora can come in handy to pass the time by.

9. Armor Games

StumbleUpon is my number one go-to, and Armor Games is my second when I just want to directly find a flash game to play.

10-15. Assorted Webcomics

In no particular order of preference, I have The Oatmeal, Loading Artist, Invisible Bread, xkcd, The Dog House Diaries, and Poorly Drawn Lines.

16. Khan Academy

I am one of those odd and few people that thoroughly enjoys doing math in my spare time. Khan pretty much takes that desire and turns it into a game with a reward system.

17. Get-tuned

I'm not that great at tuning my guitar by ear, and something about this site is much better than the fancy accurate program on the Mac.

This doesn't really help anybody, but I just thought I'd let you know.

Friday, September 20, 2013


I am not anti-OCD.

My school is.

My family is living in the Salt Lake City area, and since I'm still young, I attend the local high school. I already don't like this school, since for one, the student body is twice the size of my last school. I loved that prior place, and will always be a bulldog (mascot). This school takes the enemy of the dog and tries to make it seem threatening by calling it the panther. Next off, since this district is rich, the kids here are snobs when they talk about their school over other ones. It's stupid.

Also, they have the weirdest vocabulary. In everybody else's book, purposely missing a class is called "skipping" or "ditching" class. Here? "Oh yeah, I totally sluffed English today."


Urban dictionary (oh yes, the world's most "reliable" website) will back me up, too. Sluff.

Essentially, what this all boils down to is that this school has a number of reasons that I don't like it, the largest being it isn't Nampa High.

But recently I have acquired a whole new reason that disturbs me, even though I don't have OCD.

The hallways of my school are decorated with the following pattern on the ground, made up out of tiles.

Yes, I DID just make this in Minecraft.
This pattern is repeated all the way down every single hallway, all 4 floors of the school. This pattern is repeated with perfection every single time.


There is a single spot on the third floor where the tiles do THIS.

Do you see the problem?


I will place them side by side for you.


Every other day I walk by this, and I might as well be walking on coals. I'm not a grammar Nazi, or a walking spell-check, and I don't even correct other people's math (ok, on occasion).

But this tile mistake BURNS me. Who was the construction worker/carpenter that created this monstrosity? WHO??

I could go on, but I'll stop, because it pains me to have that blatant mistake staring me in the face.

Blech. I need to go purge myself.

Tuesday, September 10, 2013


Here it is finally! Probably not worth the wait, but I kinda dig it.

Bonus points if you can identify the game on the computer screen.


Monday, September 9, 2013


Starting about four years ago, I developed this intense fear of kitchens. This fear is known formally as mageirocophobia, which is technically the fear of cooking, but I have adapted it to encompass everything kitchen-related. Cooking, pulling things out of the oven, dishes, washing the table, sweeping, walking through that profane room... all of these various activities induce this nervous shaking sensation that persists until I exit.

Relentlessly I have been tormented for my public display of avoiding the kitchen. I have never met another individual with the same concerns or symptoms as myself, and this fact contributed greatly to the amount of people who ridicule me.

Finally, and sadly, my fear has proven to be rational.

During the school day on Friday, one of my many teachers specifically said, "Don't get yourself into a hospital this weekend!" Curse you sorcerer and your jinxes!

I returned home after what was probably the most painfully slow school day in the history of teenage angst. Upon return to the house my intentions were to do productive things, such as sleeping and watching documentaries about the cuttlefish and mantis shrimp. My uncle, however, politely asked me to quickly wash the pots and pans before I began my procrastination.

The harbinger of kitchen-induced stress was thrust upon me, and my only available option was to A, complete the chore, or B, flee the scene whilst throwing gravel at objects in my way.

Clearly, option B was more desirable, but due to the lack of gravel on hand, I decided to wash the dishes.

Within 15 seconds of putting dishes under the sudsy water, I received my injury. A glass cup had silently broken in half and cut my right-index finger right on top of the first joint. It wasn't a notch-type of slice. It was more of a the-glass-was-whittling-my-finger-like-an-oak-stick cut.

I applied pressure with my left thumb, and frantically attempted to dial my dad with my nose. After I failed that try, I tried to text my dad with no response. So, I did what any sane person would do: sat on the couch and watched Pawn Stars. Nobody was at home to give me a second opinion on my injury, so I wasn't too sure what to do.

Attractive, yes?
Eventually, my mom got home and did the smart thing (of course) and whipped out some gauze. Not wanting to risk it, I was taken over to the hospital just in case the wound did some nerve damage.

After an extensive period of time in the hospital, I now have a splint and some weird wrapping on my hand as to prevent me from flexing my finger-abs during the healing process.

I've quickly discovered the pros and cons of this situation.

A pretty good pro is that I don't have to do chores. On the flip side, I can't do chores. Oh, you'd like to quickly wash a spoon? NOPE. Can't get that wound wet.

Beyond the former, there aren't too many pros. All is con. GENGHIS Khan.

Showers? I get to act like a car-less New York-er caught in a rainstorm trying desperately to hail a cab, with my arm sticking out of the curtain to protect my splint from getting wet.

Shaving and teeth brushing? I've never seen so much blood.

Instruments? While playing the piano I have exactly 1.58 millimeters on either side of my finger, or else I'll play an extremely dissonant chord. On the other hand, for the time being, I have a built in guitar pick.

Basically the moral of the story is don't face your fears, or else you'll hate the period in between sleeping.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Ridiculous and Smart

5 Things That Will Make You Sound Ridiculous (Yet Smart) in Conversation

1. Klein Bottle

In a previous list, I brought up the Mobius Strip, the one sided piece of paper. Derivative of this concept is the Klein Bottle, which has no inside or outside. Though it can only accurately be made in the 4th dimension (seriously), the current representation in our meager 3 dimensions is still pretty awesome looking.

Note: if you get me one of these a desk top toy gift, I will worship you like a Pagan God for two full days.

2. Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia

This obscenely large word is pronounced as hippo-potto-mon-stross-ess quip-eh-dalli-phobia.

If you didn't know already, this, ironically, is the fear of long words. Though it's made up, it's still one of my favorite words to throw at people, especially when you were previously using common vernacular.

3. Khufu, Khafre, and Menkaure

These are the little known pharaohs for which the great pyramids at Giza were built. They are listed in order from largest to smallest, just like in real life (starting in the back of the photo).

Yes. The one in the far-back on the right side is the largest one, not the middle one.

4. Bringing Up xkcd "What If?" Blog Entries

I pity the person who reads the xkcd comic but not the What if? blog. Seriously. Go check it out. Randall Munroe was already one of the coolest guys ever, but his funny and scientific approach to solving theoretical questions puts him on the same level of coolness as Fallingwater. 

5. Digit-Strings in Pi

Alright, this one is a little out there. But, it's pretty fantastic to know that at the 2,124,327 digit of pi, you can find my birthday. Since I'm kind of interested, let me know in the comments if your phone number is in pi, as in all 7 digits plus the area code. No, I am not trying to get your number, but apparently it's pretty difficult to have a specific string of 10 digits in pi (less than 1% chance for a specific 10 digit string, less than 0.1% for an 11).

For those of you who noticed, this list is being posted on a Saturday and not a Friday. I unexpectedly had to be rushed to the emergency room, due to some broken dishes attacking my hand. Also, I have a comic drawn up and ready to be edited, but I haven't had a chance to scan it in yet (office being moved around). As soon as that gets finished, it'll be posted for your enjoyment (should you be able to enjoy those kinds of things).

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Simple Minded

I am not a complicated person.

If our brains had to be compared to roads, with size and design of road corresponding to brain quality, then my mind would probably be best described as a deer path. Narrow, winding, random things growing on the sides, and hard to get through unless you made it yourself. (Not to mention the random piles of meaningless crap everywhere.)

My thought processes follow very few steps to reach a conclusion. If there are many, it's for a good cause and every step is defined. For example, some math problems take quite a bit of thinking, but each step is logical. Or if someone I particularly care about asks me for help, I'm more than willing to answer them.

But with casual human interactions, I try to stay away from overcomplicating things. People are too complex as it is, so why make it worse? Sticking to yes's and no's in conversation and decision making is required in order for me to appear to function. If I am asked a "why" question, I'll give you an answer. But under the surface, I'm figuratively hemorrhaging fear juices.

Because of this, ordinary things can easily confuse me.

Fire drills, for example.

Throughout all of my school years, fire drills have been a once-a-month practice for the student body, in the case of a fire. After the initial shock of the sound, everyone chaotically shuffles outside into seemingly random positions.

Who came up with this idea? The faculty expect us to exit in a calm and orderly fashion. I don't understand how this is possible. For the procedure, they start by making everyone pee themselves by blaring the sounds of a foghorn assailing a few dissonant car horns. Then, they continue blast Satan's ringtone from EVERY DIRECTION.

How is it even remotely possible to stay calm when you feel like gouging out your eardrums with rusty sporks?

Speaking of sporks, do you know what you eat with them? The ever-confusing TV dinner.

Sure, I can think of a few reasons as to why they'd be called "TV dinners" in the first place. Maybe it's because you eat them in front of the TV? No... uhm... perhaps it's because they're only advertised on television? Nah, that's even more lame... what if it's because the meal presented on the box looks oh-so-picturesque?

None of these reasons seem plausible to me. Where does this name come from? Where?

Look out Google, here I come!


Apparently when TV dinners first came out, they were created by this company called C.A. Swanson and Sons. The full name of the product was originally TV Brand Frozen Dinner. So basically, because this is 'Murica, we got rid of those two middle words.

Saturday, August 31, 2013


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Friday, August 30, 2013

PRO at Crastination

Due to the fact that I'm making this list in the seven minutes I have before I leave for school, I can't keep up with the next item on the list of lists right now. So, here's a different one.

3(ish) Websites You Should Reeeally Go Use

1. StumbleUpon

My family often wonders how I find so much cool stuff on the internet, and this is my secret. I accidentally found this website/tool, and I would definitely recommend this to anybody. Seriously. Go follow the link.

2. Khan Academy

Maybe I like this one simply because I enjoy math, but this site is awesome. It takes an activity that most people don't like, and practically turns it into a competition. Log in, do math, get points = badges. Now, you may be thinking something along the lines of, "Badges? Badges?!?! We don't need no stinkin' badges!!" Well, neither did I, but I'm addicted.

3. I Waste So Much Time/Slow Robot

It's true, these sites are very similar to the other sites you can find all over the place (I think... maybe. Reddit? Tumblr?), but I don't use those other websites. Surprisingly, these two sites filter out a lot of the dirty stuff. Also, similarly to all those other places, I go for the comments. Sometimes those can be funnier than the image itself.

Monday, August 26, 2013

Life Update

Yuck. I hate to do this. The very phrase "life update" presents images of sobbing women while watching Jane Austen movies, or the feeling you get when watching Sarah McLaughlin commercials. Guilt and sadness.

Of course, you might not see it this way. Maybe it's just a personal delusion, and I'm being completely unrealistic. I mean, this entire blog was created in a futile and sad attempt to make my life sound interesting. So why should "life updates" be any different?

I think the main reason behind this belief is that my life by itself, holds no real entertainment value. I can hardly force humor and storyline into my dry life, so embellishing makes it more interesting than it actually is. Life updates, in my minds eye, are boring but necessary details I need to share in order to keep friends from places-once-lived up to date.

Alright. Enough stalling.

I've mentioned this before, but due to my present living arrangements, I don't have regular piano access. This is akin to taking a sunflower and putting it in a sensory deprivation chamber, or taking a person and shoving them into a cardboard box with no light or water. Yes, in that order.

I'll try to put in as much time with the ivories as I can when I sluff* off to seminary during lunch, but twenty minutes per day hardly cuts it for me. I need to be doing something with music that isn't listening to Pandora while I edit comics.

*Sluff is the term that students here in Utah use instead of the normal "ditch" or "skip."

I found a guitar in the house. In the Legend of Zelda games when Link opens a large chest, you hear this noise:

This is exactly what I heard in my head when I found the guitar.

Two and a half weeks later, I have the calluses to prove that I'm putting time and effort into that instrument. The only downside that I've been able to identify so far is that when I play the piano, I feel like it can sense that I'm cheating on it with another instrument.

School has started up again. Sadly, this means that on top of the fact that I'm a slacker, I have a limited amount of time to create stuff for you to feed your eyes with (by the way, this is how I'm going to say reading from now on).

If I start to write less than I already don't, I apologize for the inconvenience. I promise I'll try to keep writing, just in case there are a couple people who actually want to read this.

Peace off.

Saturday, August 24, 2013


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Friday, August 23, 2013

The Pranks/Jerk-Moves of Walmart

5 Ways to Get Thrown Out of Wal-Mart

1. Fake Robbery

Walmart always has a surplus of those plastic grocery sacks. They wouldn't miss just a couple, would they?

Simply grab one or two of the bags. If you have some kind of item on you, such as a wrist watch or chinchilla, put it in the bag. This feat has an extra effect if you're wearing all black and another person with you.

Wave the bag in the air above your head, running for the doors. If you can, make sure it's right by security officers. As you run with the bag over your head, scream phrases such as:

     "We got it!"
     "Run for it!!"
     "You'll never catch me alive, Copper!"

2. Grocery Cart Races

Who HASN'T taken a grocery cart for a spin? I have on many accounts, but only in empty aisles.

To add more of a danger and against-the-rules factor to your escapade, hold your races in the most crowded areas of Walmart you can find. Bonus points if you hit pedestrians!

3. Demoralization

Ok, I'll admit it, this one is slightly cruel. However, I'm sure that it would be pretty awesome.

Step one: locate overly-masculine man, preferably with no wedding or engagement ring.

Step two: make sure he's pushing around a cart.

Step three: when he's not looking, put girly items such as frilly pink ladies underwear, Aphrodite perfume, six packs of glitter, etc.

     Note: this must be done VERY carefully. He cannot notice whatsoever that he has those items in his cart.

Follow him to the cash register, and make sure you're in line behind him. When the cashier gives a weird look or asks the man questions about his odd items, say some witty line. I'm not funny or clever, so I can't give you any, but I trust you can think of something.

4. Milk-Face

To do this one, you'll need some great timing so that you don't get caught before you actually get to pull it off.

You'll need to locate a row of milk that only has one gallon left in it, with that shelf at the average person's eye level.

Go into the refrigerated cold room where the milk is kept in stock.

Get your face and/or arm ready to shove the empty space, but stay out of sight.

Scare the living crap out of somebody when they go to grab their dairy product.

5. Water Clothes

Smuggle in a loaded water gun. Go to the clothing area, doesn't matter if it's male or female.

Clamber inside of one of the ring/square racks of clothes.

Whisper at people the browse the clothes on the ring you are hidden in. Attempt to dissuade them from getting anything on the rack by saying things such as, "Oh, he won't like that," or "Ehh, I'm pretty sure that'll make you look fat."

If they take the item anyways, unceremoniously jump up and spray them. No questions asked. Just DO it.

Monday, August 19, 2013

Nature Hates Me

I had many friends, acquaintances, comrades, amigos, Chinese food vendors, and linguistic experts in Idaho. Being four hundred miles away, naturally, makes it difficult to spend time with any of these individuals.

As I try to adjust to being in Utah once more, I've had to find some form of entertainment that compensates for the distance of those people. I haven't found anything that really make up for the awesome time I've spent with my best of friends in Idaho, but I'm trying to make do with the people here. (Shout out to E.A., J.F., M.R., L.M., N.H., M.E., and M.F.)

The only guy that I've been hanging out with is Benny Generals (NOT his real name). In the past week alone, he's introduced me to bocce ball, lent me a bunch of guitar related paraphernalia, went to the rec center, and most recently, went "camping."

I say "camping" because we didn't actually stay overnight. We went up to the place, hung out for a bit in the wilderness, ate food, and then went home. But in that time, I managed to have an extremely interesting time.

We ate some fried chicken. Yep. 'Murica. Pulled it right out of the box. However, the Greek god Apollo must have been angry, because he plagued the whole camp ground with a swarm of giant bees.

You may think, "Oh, he meant giant swarm, not giant bees." No, I most certainly meant swarm of giant bees.

They were huge. I've seen wasps, and I've seen bees. These were most certainly bees, though they were the size of small children. 

Eager to escape the bees, me and Benny went hiking. We tromped through a meadow, heading for the much more interesting-looking woods. They quickly sloped downwards, and I struggled to keep myself standing instead of sliding.

I'm awful at identifying plants. In a life or death situation, I might be able to tell the difference between a small tree and a large bush, but that's the extent of my knowledge. So as we headed down this hillside, we brushed by numerous plants that were sticky, prickly, or shaped like Tom Selleck's head.

Judging by the rashes, itches, redness, swelling, stinging sensations, and the slight craving for scarce Indian dishes, I assumed that something I touched was poisonous. 

More sliding down the hill ensued. Finally, after stumbling through deer scat, we reached the rocky creek.

The next few minutes were probably best described as parkour. Benny and I leaped like majestic mountain goats, scampering from stone to stone, being redneck ninjas as we avoided the rushing water. 

After half an hour of feeling like a beastly free-running artist, we reached the top of the creek, where it came out of a tiny lake. Benny reached the top before I did.

I heard a loud splash, and immediately thought he fell in. I got up, and he was facing my direction, completely dry. Five feet behind him, however, was a moose. Since I had never seen one up close before, I couldn't tell you if this was a big or small one. For me, it was giga-friggin-ginormous. Me and Benny stood stone-still for a full ten minutes, waiting for it to move on. I didn't know what we were supposed to do! So we just stood, as it quietly looked at us. After Googling it, apparently it didn't show any signs of aggression. None whatsoever.

Thank goodness.

We walked away quickly once it left the area, and made our way back to the campsite.

Question: what is the most logical decision to make after an up-close wildlife encounter? 

Answer: Try to have another one.

This isn't really the best choice, but it's what we did. Last time we had hiked upstream, but this time we chose to go downstream. 

Following the creek downhill was definitely the more difficult way. We had to be mugged by a dead tree in order to go on at some points.

After a particularly rough part of the parkour trail, we decided we did not want to go back that direction. Since it was getting dark, though, we had to find a trail back up the slope.

Benny simply suggested we brave our way through the poisonous plants to get back. No trail was in sight for the next mile, so we took that way. 

The next bit is kind of confusing. In order to get to what-we-thought was a trail, we had to go up the hill... and then back down?

I don't completely understand it still, but it made sense in the moment.

Going down, we had to use our upper body strength to shimmy down these parallel logs. My right arm didn't shimmy the shimmy shimmy-ee enough, and I ended up scraping it up so it looked like I got mauled by a family of adolescent ligers.

After surviving that bit, we actually had to climb the mountain. Despite the apparent presence of many trees, it was mostly saplings and weeds. Because of that, I had to essentially punch my bare fists into the side of the mountain to get some kind of hold on the steep slope.

Yeah, it really wasn't as masculine as I make it sound.

The result of this whole ordeal was learning just how much Mother Nature has it out for me. Conclusion: she hates me.

Saturday, August 17, 2013


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Friday, August 16, 2013

Olympic Sports

     A couple weeks ago, I published a list of lists. I did one list off of it, as per request, and now I'm just working my way down it.

5 Things That Should Become Olympic Sports

1. Grocery Cart Darts

     A little while ago, me and my dad made a late night run to the local grocery store. In terms of cars, the parking lot had next-to-none. This fact opened up a world of possibilities that were otherwise unavailable.

     After loading up our massive amounts of food, my dad had one of those, "Hey, watch what I can do!" moments. Instead of walking the cart to the return spot, two aisles of parking spots away, he decided to simply put it away from where he was. With a massive push and a defective wheel, it silently glided into the return.

     10 points for style.

2. Anything With Bowling Balls

     I think bowling balls are largely underestimated. They can take any tiny-version of a game or sport, and turn it into an event that takes massive amounts of effort. Think of the possibilities! Take soccer, for example. The main challenge in soccer (to my un-athletic-mind) is moving the ball in such a way that you get it past a bunch of people and into a net. With bowling soccer, the challenge would simply be moving the ball!

     Many small games could be scaled up and made to be more difficult than they need to be. Marbles, billiards, bocce ball, etc. It'd be unnecessarily difficult, trivial, completely ridiculous, and flipping awesome to watch.

3. Wheelchair Ski Jumps

     If this was introduced, the handicapped wouldn't have to have their own separate Olympics. Just make a smooth downward slope, and make sure no one dies.

4. Combine Unrelated Events

     I hope I'm not the only one who has wanted to see people playing volleyball on trampolines. Or how about instead of simply throwing a discus, you have to make it go the distance by playing baseball? I'm just saying guys, these would be a great addition.

5. Death by Racquetball

     Pit two people (preferably Vin Diesel and Dwayne Johnson, but I'll make exceptions) against each other by sticking them in a larger-than-normal racquetball court. Give them each two cricket bats, and then throw in a giant bouncy ball. Have them smack it around until someone loses/dies/gets beaten into submission/makes a Hollywood movie.

Monday, August 12, 2013

Reasons to Hate People

     Me and my little brother had been planning to go to this conference-meeting type of event for the past week or so. He wasn't too ecstatic about participating, but I'd been to things like this before and was ready to go participate in the awesomeness.

     The location and time had been announced, and we were on our way to the building that the event was allegedly to be held in. 

     Our drivers hardly knew where the place was, since they were avoiding the usage of Google Maps like the plague. After meandering around the crowded and confusing Avenues for half an hour, we finally located the building. Not a single car was there

     This conference is extremely popular, and draws people in from everywhere within a thirty mile radius. The meeting had been in the works for the past three months, and was highly anticipated by many individuals.

     And there were no cars.

     We banged on all the doors and windows like a zombie horde hyped up on Red Bulls. After finally finding a single door that was open, we found one flier inside that said that the location had changed to a different building across town, and an hour earlier.

     This is my first example.

     I have yet to attain my learners permit, and finally made the trek to the DMV to attain it. I took any online practice test I could find after reading the entirety of the drivers' handbook, and scoured the website for any information that the DMV had on requirements for getting the permit.

     Essentially, the only papers that the website said were required was a copy of your birth certificate, proof of address, and rote memorization of what your SSN is.

     That is what the website said. THIS is what they asked for at the DMV. They wanted the original birth certificate, three proofs of address, your actual social security card, a W-2 form specifically made out to Michael Jackson, six adolescent whales, and your firstborn son. How was I supposed to know?

     I took the walk of shame out of the building, not knowing the requirements of so many sea-mammals and children. Now I need to take an illegal whale hunting spree. This is very inconvenient.

     This is why I don't trust people and their communication skills.

Saturday, August 10, 2013


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Friday, August 9, 2013

Dumb Things Round 2

     I've already done a list about the dumb things I do, which you can go read here if you haven't already. It'll open in a new window, just in case you're one of those weisenheimers that always right clicks to select "new tab."

3 Dumb Things I Did When I Was Younger

1. Failed Bike Ramp

     It was the last day of school of second grade. I was overly exhilarated, feeling that by finishing the second grade, I was well on my way in life. Now, of course, I know that that was a puny hope, which was easily mangled and destroyed.

     I always rode my bike to school, after a couple futile attempts resulting in property damage. I thought I was pretty skilled at it, even though I couldn't ride with one hand. 

     My young mind was surging with adrenaline, now that I would be free of the torturous environment of the second grade classroom.

     I zipped along the main main road, trying to get home as quickly as my little bicycle would carry me. As I went along my merry little way, I noticed a few planks of wood lying on the side of the street.

     The way the topmost plank was laid formed a ramp of sorts, albeit only four inches wide. I had never attempted any sort of extreme thing upon my beloved bike. My mind was addled, so I felt a strong urge to try to ride the redneck ramp, and come off as freakin' awesome to anybody who happened to see me.

     My front wheel slipped off the plank of wood and took a sharp right turn. This resulted in me being propelled forward and off my bike, along the road for a few feet, and then landing on top of the furthest pieces of wood in the road.

     With my amazing luck, a few things happened. Number one, I didn't fall into the road. Another thing was that my bike was unscathed. Lastly, the school nurse or some other faculty member drove by as this happened, and stopped to take my bike and my pathetic crying person home.

2. Scared of Water Slides

     My family took a trip to Lagoon, and I had the opportunity to ride one of the water slides. Despite being young, I had quite a bit of height, which gave me access to a considerably larger number of rides than others my age. 

     I had the opportunity to ride a pretty sweet water slide (by my modern-day standards), and so I had climbed all the way to the top of it. I was third in line when I realized something. Oh my gosh. I'm reeeeeeally high up. I think I read somewhere that being high up and moving through water really fast does something bad to you. I shouldn't ride this. 

     I loudly said to myself something along the lines of, "OOPS. I FORGOT MY GOGGLES. I SHOULD PROBABLY GO GET THEM."

     Not wanting to show my cowardice, I slowly edged my way down the stairs, muttering excuses under my breath, in case anybody, heaven forbid, thought I was simply chickening out. 

     In the end, I think the crazy ugly kid with the bad hair-cut muttering things under his breath was a weirder sight than the whole chickening out thing.

3. Thinking Plastic Caused Diabetes

     I'm slightly tentative about telling this story, since I don't know if any of my former classmates will end up reading this at some point, but I think I'll tell it anyways.

     I'll be honest, in 5th grade, I still barely knew what diabetes was. I knew it was a disease, and that it could maybe kill you.

     In my fifth grade class, we had two pet guinea pigs. Everybody LOVED those things. Every one would take turns volunteering to take them home for the weekend, essentially 'pig sitting. It was awesome.

     While in 5th grade, I wore this ridiculously oversized orange jacket during the winter. Hey, it was warm. The ends of the sleeves had velcro straps to make it tighter, and the tips of the straps were rubber. 

     One day, I was holding one of the class guinea pigs, Patches, I think was his name. After he was put back in his cage, I noticed that a small part of one of the rubber tips of the straps had been nibbled very slightly. I checked seven times in a row to make sure I wasn't imagining things, and then I decided that Patches had definitely eaten part of my jacket.

     I showed a little concern at first, debating internally whether or not to tell the teacher what had happened. I decided that no harm had been done, and tucked away the information in my head.

     For a little while I was on edge, thinking that anytime some one talked about the animal away they would start throwing accusations at me. 

     Shortly afterward, Patches passed away. I'm probably wrong, but how I remember it, I was told he died of diabetes. I don't know if guinea pigs can even get diabetes, but I'll stick with that.

     I was shot with a tremendous amount of guilt. For the next year, I was completely convinced that Patches nibbling a tiny bit off of my jacket was the thing that had killed him. 


Wednesday, August 7, 2013

This Story Is Just Six Words Long

     I tend to make my posts lengthy, as compared to the random blogs I stumble upon. So, to balance this negative fact out, I came across the idea of doing the opposite: writing less.

     My favorite example of a six word story is as follows:

     For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn.

     At first read through, these simple statements seem unremarkable. However, deeper underlying meanings can be drawn from it. One could assume that maybe a certain individual happens to have an unused pair of infant foot wear in a closet, or maybe some parents purchased the wrong size.

     The meaning I take away from this however, is a miscarriage. Most likely, a couple are anticipating their first child. Obviously, if they already purchased articles of clothing for their child, then they knew the gender. Going with that, if they knew the child's gender, the wife was along enough in her pregnancy for an ultrasound to be of any use. More than likely, the child passed in labor.

     If you had purchased baby shoes, don't you think you'd donate them or give them to some one else who needs them? In this case, the answer is no. They're selling the shoes, despite the small amount of money they could possibly fetch. This tells me that not only did their child pass away, but they're short on money, resorting to selling whatever items they can.

     There are more conclusions that can be drawn from that, I'm sure. I find it interesting that all of that came from six simple words. Almost poetic, if you think about it.

     After going through all of that, I'm feeling less confident about sharing my own six word story. But, I set out to do it, and I'll see it through to the end.

     Now, keep in mind that I am not a verbally gifted individual. I don't think of myself as having a way with words, regardless of how they're put. My six word story/memoir is definitely not going to contain as much depth as the one above. This is more difficult than I thought it would be, too. I decided to tell my life story in six words, and it's proving to be near impossible.

     "Moving doesn't bother me," I lied.

     That sounds pretty stupid.

     Let me try again.

     Body left, mind stayed. House divided.

     Bleck. Even worse.

     Alright, how about you just share your best six word stories in the comments? I think that sounds like a better idea. Good luck, brave commentators!