Sunday, September 23, 2007
Actually, the fart jokes are golden. I never tire of fart jokes. I guess it's time that I admit to being a huge potty mouth. Like, this one time I was sitting with the two kids I nanny and their friend while they were eating lunch. I excitedly announced that I had something new to show them (I'd recently learned how to make rather realistic fart sounds by just squeezing air out of my upper lip) and widely opened my mouth. The tots watched in rapt wonder as I took a deep breath then deflated when their mother appeared in the hallway behind me and said,"You better not be teaching them potty talk." The lil buggers then laughed at my slightly-constipated look. I, of course, showed them my newfound skill as soon as she was gone. It's a good thing she's a kick and only has a personal vendetta against the word "fart" because she finds it more profane than the passing of gas itself.
But anyway... here's the video! And it stars a special Canadian someone... Enjoy!
Melissa - Thank you kindly for the birthday wishes! And I'll pass them on to Comanche, as well. He enjoyed an extra doggy cookie (twistedly in the shape of a cat) and several loving petting sessions on his birthday. Though, as my brother lamented as Chee Chee barked away at the coyotes in the night, "Comanche's working on his birthday!" The poor guy doesn't know when to quit... but then again, I think barking is his favorite thing. While on a walk while we were camping he barked at a lounge chair.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
And this path that just needed Mr. Frodo on it, shouting out, "Get off the road! Quick!"
But then, to my great astonishment, I discovered something terrifying. A downed Wraith ship, nestled in the poison oak. Knowing that I might have company on the trail, I kept my wits about me.
I even ignored the tell-tale signs of Wraith, including this dung pile and this footprint. In retrospect I admit it. I was reckless.
I even kept going once I'd entered the redwoods - a clear sign that I was in the Pacific Northwestern forest that the Wraith so love...
I should have turned back when I saw the log that Merry and Pippin hid behind in Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Rings as they called to Frodo, bidding him to hide with them. Given the fact that it has been commented that I resemble Elijah Wood, this was yet another grave mistake.
But at last I had reached my mountaintop destination!
And from this high vantage I could see the foggy coast - there before me lay the Pacific. This ocean was falsely named for it is not pacified at all, however when Captain Cook finally rounded the horrors of Cape Horn, he dubbed the mellower waters in which he found himself to be pacified.
Okay, I guess I should just admit right now that I never did meet up with the Wraith, but I know that he or she is still out there... roaming... just waiting for an unsuspecting hiker to feed upon...
After attempting to take a majestic picture on the summit (the best of which turned out to be a very Viggo Mortensen-esque shot of my mane and the sky) I headed down.
Through this natural archway... and home.
But the road goes ever on and on, and I must follow if I can.
Today is Bilbo, Frodo, and my dog Comanche's birthdays! Time to go celebrate. Namarië!
Thursday, September 20, 2007
There was an MFA BBQ last evening and the weather turned from the Indian Summer into an October-like chill. It was fun to see all of my classmates outside of the classroom; however I couldn't help but look into the distance, feeling the call to arms of my ancestors wafting to me on the frigid northern breeze. I looked to my companions and asked, "Where are the bagpipes coming from?" They furrowed their brows then pointed to a nearby stereo that was playing some sort of soft rock. As if.
A few moments later I was standing beside a new classmate of mine (who took some cool pics and did even cooler things to them - I put up the ones of me because it feels weird to put up ones of other people. He managed to brilliantly catch me stuffing my face with cookies in the first two shots. So yes, full credit goes to Anthony Wai for the excellent photography!) and asked, "Do you know where the bagpipes are coming from?"
He blinked and shifted his feet, saying, "You hear them, too?! I thought I was just crazy..." I love my fellow grad students.
Enough was enough so I hunted them down. It was a modern lass in modern attire in a wholly modern setting (the dorms in the background were only completed earlier in the year, I believe) playing an ancient instrument - it was all so poetic! Here's a video clip of her. Sorry for my footage of the ground. Someday an archaeologist will love that footage of the ground of a university campus, so shut up. And if you turn your head sideways it's not crooked.
I took the pictures that aren't of me. Because I couldn't take a picture of me. That would border on a crime against humanity and I'd be sanctioned by the UN.
Melissa - You are so cool. You've commented - twice. I love you. And you dog. You know what? We should start a dog-worshipping religion. "Dog" is "God" backwards, you know. ;o)
Thursday, September 13, 2007
How did I come about this divine revelation? On the long bus ride home I was craving Top Ramen noodles. I knew I didn't have any at home and thought maybe I could get some at the store. But alas, the section of town with the grocery store was randomly out of power. I tried to let go of my craving and, once home, I went out to the pantry to see what there was to eat. Comanche was happily lallygagging around me, and when I opened the pantry door, lo and behold! There were Top Ramen noodles. I knew it was an act of Providence.
I looked to Comanche, whom I call Chee Chee, and he panted knowingly. After shouting "Allah hu akbar," I mentally asked Cheech if he were God. His brown eyes dully fixed on me. I had my answer.
Friday, September 7, 2007
In keeping with the spirit of remembering Steve Iriwn, here is a poem I wrote a month or so after his death. It's free verse and bad enough that I don't mind sharing it on the web without fear of it being "stolen."
Do You Hear the Leaves?
(Inspired in part by the life of Steve Irwin)
To where does the eagle call? Where are all the trees?
Why does the water fall and when will the wilds be free?
I have wandered this path alone crying out for a cease
To the raging fire that brings mountains down and renders all concrete.
In the blackness of night will we recall when our hearts could truly see?
In the smoke of the fall will we give rise to spring?
For what is a world that lets heroes die?
And what is a time when crocodiles cry?
How much must we give to live and let live?
How much must we bleed to teach us to see?
The West was once wind, the East was the sea
North were the mountains, and South was the heat.
But now all are fenced so can I make amends with tamed manes and bridled water?
When all others are born happily blinded and fettered
Where do I stretch my wings? Where is the Call of the Wild still sung?
Brown eyes teach what the ages have sought
To impart upon arrogant souls: that love governs all,
And with the gift of our birth we have a debt to pay –
To guard where the eagle calls, to shelter the trees,
To unleash the water to fall and to keep what wilds remain free.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Steve Irwin, The Crocodile Hunter, was a remarkable human being. May his example serve as a shining light to which we may all aspire. I first saw his show The Crocodile Hunter on American TV when I was 13 or 14 and still have the VHS tape that I recorded all the episodes on. I grew up with Steveo and saw far more of him than I did most of my relatives. It's still so hard to wrap my mind around the fact that he was killed. My relationship with him is still the same - he still stops by every once in a while on the TV to educate me about wildlife. How can he be gone?
Steve dedicated his life to wildlife. He lived and breathed conservation. He understood that to save what we have on this planet, he'd have to put on a show. Most prosperous countries have produced prosperous, complacent people. We don't get off our asses for much until an act of terrorism or war reminds us that we all have a bigger part to play in the world - or rather, for most, that we do have a part to play. We often waste away, lamenting that "society" and the infamous "they" have not done anything to make the world a better place. A frightening number of people don't seem to realize that they are part of society and that their pronoun references are wrong. I must make a change. We must make a change.
Steve understood that asking us to make a move to better ourselves through preserving the wild of the planet was asking too much. So instead he put on a show to entertain - to catch us off-guard when we're doing what we do best and sitting in front of the TV. He understood that the greatest tool one can have is education. His viewers were tricked into learning about the animals they watched on-screen (many waiting, just waiting for something wild to happen, like a snakebite) while they were entertained. I'm sure many were just casual viewers of his show but there were others who understood and were moved by his message. I, obviously, was one of those viewers.
Steve and I were and are kindred spirits. I grew up roaming the mountains, learning to track and observing the local wildlife. My spirituality is akin to the Native American world view and when you grow up spending so much time out of doors, you'd have to be an idiot not to see how intricately connected all life is. I used to lie on my stomach, looking at the sand as closely as I could until the grains became boulders and the insects and plants sprouting from them appeared as their own forest. I watched the landscape change after a rain, studied the water-carved ravines and wondered at the coyote scat making the ferns grow greener. I held my palm up to mountain lion tracks and rode my horse in the twilight, spine to spine, my human scents hidden by those of my mare, observing the life of the dusk, unhindered by the taint of my species. We are all connected in the great spider's web of life and to deny this is a betrayal of one's severe ignorance. We must not forsake who we innately are: members of the ecosystem. I have the benefit of being raised by biologists and, for as long as I can remember, have respected all animals. The knowledge that Steve possessed was hard-earned and practical. The respect he sought to achieve for the harrowing wildlife tragically must be earned.
For reasons beyond my fathoming, people all over the Western world are afraid of spiders. I can understand being more timid in Australia where the majority of the 10 deadliest spiders to mankind reside, but in North America there are only a few species. Aside from those species, what on earth is a spider going to do to you? Or a lizard or a snake? Most just squash an insect and ask questions later, if they have the presence of mind to ask at all. They end a life to make theirs more convenient. More complacent. What ever happened to "only kill to eat or to keep from being eaten?" My wandering point here is that, as Steve Iriwn so adamantly sought to instill, we must respect all life. And respect often begins with education.
Steveo often succeeded in to encouraging others to respect all life through his unending enthusiasm. His greatest beauty and gift to all was his passion. The man was enthusiastic about everything. I don't see how he lived day to day with such joyful fire ever burning within. He was so full of love and excitement that it was infectious. He was a wonderful, loving father, husband, friend, and a gift to us all. He is still a gift to us all. I hesitate to say that he is dead, for though I have shed many tears over his passing, I know that he is still with us. His spirit continues in the hearts of all who love with passion and strive to make this world a better place.
May we all learn from his example. May we all live each day in love with the beauty of the world around us with the surety that each individual can make it a better place.
Crickey, I miss you, Steveo, but you have left your mark on my heart and it shall forever guide me. I know you are out roaming the bush somewhere, your brown eyes ever-smiling. May you be at peace, my friend. True blue.
And don't forget... CROCS RULE!
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
The idea was to mock how I'm always playing a boy and have girl clothes be a "costume" for me like Hewlett dressed up as Ronon for his promo. A few days after I put the video up I was pulled over (I was driving my uncle's car from Hawaii and the cop just wanted to tell me that in California you need... a bumper... because he thought I was from the Islands and the car, well, had no bumper) and was half-convinced that I was about to be arrested for soliciting prostitution on YouTube. It somehow seemed logical as I was listening to the cop on the loudspeaker saying "Please, pull over..."
Monday, September 3, 2007
I'll start with winners because winners are the best because if you're a winner you win things. My third place prize for the green screen contest arrived last week - it was an autographed script. And the episode was written by Martin Gero who is so cool that he's one of my friends on MySpace. I'm so happy with my autographed script that I think I should return the favor and send the cast my autographed work, as well. Joe Mallozzi, if you ever read this, would you like my autograph? Would anyone else like my autograph?
Losers suck because they lose. Though I've never exactly been clear on what it is that they lose. I mean, yeah, they lost because they didn't win first or whatnot, but technically first was never theirs to begin with so they didn't actually lose anything. So there actually aren't really any losers. Except, of course, for Harry Potter.