Intermission

The outright best part of that word? Mission. Such is life. This, in particular, is the Intermission of the hiatus you all have been experiencing.

As you might be able to deduct, I'm on a bity of an unofficial unannounced hiatus, although it isn't anything to worry and lose your hair about.
Unlike the Great AlleyIcemen,Here Hibernation Hiatus of Winter 2008/2009, in which you, my precious readers, were caught in a 3+ month drought of the oh-so-essential, life-altering, perception-shifting blog posts from yours truly.

On a related note, it appears Springtime is in the air, and all around.
Indeed, it is time to, as they say, Soak Up The Sun.
A truly ample opportunity for Workin My Way Back to You.
(These pitiful excuses for Spring- and seasons- themed musical puns are brought to you by the absolute lack of songs or bands in my iTunes having the word Spring in them. Clearly, Winter and Summer kick Spring's rainy ass in Season Popularity contests, and it's no wonder why.)

In lieu of my posts, I am more than happy to redirect you all once more to my dear friend Stephanie's blog (http://www.fightthemasses.blogspot.com/)

I'll be back posting just as soon as my exams finish up.
BE EXCITED!

A 'Heroes'....rap?

And so we begin another session of Embarrassing Past-Mike Disgraces of poetry/rap-istry.
....Oh golly does that last word need some major fine-tuning.

This injustice of everything sacred about poetry came to me in a dream; although more accurately, in a Facebook discussion topic some time after Season 2 finished about what I can only assume is "how to rhyme something involving Heroes":



Oh Doctor S., Mohinder's dad, on your quest to save the world
Didn't think you'd make us have to save a cheerleader girl
Thought you found somebody special, and unique in their own way
Telekinetically broke a glass; presenting, Gabriel Gray
Just a watchmaker's son, not fixing watches for fun
Thought his parents were so boring, he wanted to be someone
Intuitive aptitude, was Gabe's original power
But he took Brian Davis' life and TK within an hour
It was only just beginning for this villain to arise
He stole abilities, decapitating people in disguise
Inspired by a watch, like Zodiac, he's insane
Sylar's got a twitchy finger, like a bullet with your name

At Kirby plaza, a day after Petrelli's landslide
New York's going radioactive, with nowhere to hide
Peter's about to go Ka-Blamo, Sylar just smiles wide
Suddenly Hiro stabbed him; "Yatta!", it looks like he died
But before he kicks the bucket, he flings Hiro in the sky
Life flashes before him, sees all the people he murder-fied

'Save the cheerleader, save the world' was the point of Volume One
And Volume Two begins with another eclipse of the sun
Candace makes illusions, some that Sylar thinks are real
But twelve surgeries, and total loss of powers was the deal
He was picked up close to death in Claire's new stolen car
By Alejandro, Maya and the dude from California(r)
They made it to isaac's loft, all the way in New York
He stole Claire's blood but soon Elle made him abort
We preview Volume THree and see him lie in the alleyway
Homage to Popeye grabbing spinach and all he's got to say
Is, "I'm back."

Prideful (Opposite of Shameless?) Plug

As much as it would amuse me (and very likely, only me), I sincerely doubt Prideful Plug will grow into a catchphrase. Then again, I would hate it to be my gravestone legacy:
"Here lies Mike. He made up an impractical synonym of an already well-established phrase. I pity the Foo'"
Please do visit my dear friend's blog,
http://fightthemasses.blogspot.com/
It is an absolute delight.


music of the moment:
Glasvegas - Glasvegas, A Snowflake Fell

Homonym

In regards to my "What Good is a Wounder Cougar?" saga...

Does the meaning of the poem change if, instead of referring to 'a member of the Felidae family' (thanks, Wiki), I was talking about 'an older woman who seeks relationships with younger men' ?!

Discuss.

Story with a Moral

So my friend 'Kraal En Mu'* is currently in a transition phase in the aftermath of her turtle being microwave'd (spoiler alert. but not really.).
EDIT: She's also in a transition phase with her name. So stay tuned.

In light of such recent traumatic events, she has been given due sympathies from both friends and strangers alike. Unfortunately the latter has been much more prominent. Namely upon the prospect of "maybe we could hang out some time and make s'mores....in Chatham" by one particular man with an affinity for lightning bolt symbols. (Side note: lightning bolt CYMBALS?! How intruiging. How drole. How banal. Further research is warranted.)
Now I don't even know where to begin to guess where Chatham is. Thankfully Wikipedia can help cirsumvent** this process and was able to give me an idea where it really is: in the middle of Nowheresville.

Being the dedicated, handsome, charming, responsible, witty, excessively hot friend that I am, I relayed my concern to her about how remarkably remote and far away it was from where she lived. Horror upon horrors, she exclaimed the now-ingrained-in-my-mind phrase, "he could like, [assault] me in a.....FIELD and no one in like a 500km radius would know!"

This soon thereafter dissolved into an intense follow-up along the lines of:
"bringing an [assault] whistle would be pointless...because no one would hear it"
"stray dogs might hear it?"
"but only if they happen to be in the field you're being [assaulted] in?"
"that's pretty much the only chance then isn't it."
"and then the dog has to hear it and interpret it."
"and then run to its master..."
"but it's a stray. it would have to be captured and housebroken and such."
"right."
"and that's 500km away."
"what is?"
"the distance from the [assault] to the to-be master of the former-stray dog."
"the master himself probably lives on a separate farm another 500km away."
"by the time the master understands what the dog is barking about, and gets to you, it will have been several days of you and him alone in a field."
"entire days and nights and numourous passings of the moon will have already occurred by then."

I think the moral of this story, when you boil it down and tenderize it after several hours of marinating, is:
DON'T GO TO CHATHAM.


*very Indian Jones-y. on a related note I am Jonesing for some twizzlers and/or red vines.
**well done, Arrested Development. you are now part of my daily vocabulary.

This Is.....CAKE TOWN!*

So I've been coming down with what I thought was a fairly serious case of Inappropriate Timing Sore Throat, immediately before a job interview, and less than a fortnight before my final exams.
But, hark, alas, visa-vie, concurrently, carpe diem, ergo, ergo ergo, this morning I feel perfectly fine! Such a false sense of health security lead me to undergo the only logical option: eat cake for lunch, before I get even sicker.
Thankfully, my mother does an excellent job of misinterpreting "could you maybe get some Cinnabons on the way home?" for "I would like a large variety of several different types of delicious cakes that look way too expensive for their per-gram value".

There was an interesting show last night on SpikeTV (unfortunately, I had to settle for 1am showing. which obviously does wonders for my lack of sleep, as it is.) called Deadliest Warrior. In this series premiere, top-notch military/combat and ancient-weapons-experts (this has since taken over my #1 spot for In-Theory coolest but In-Real-Life most impractical unless-they-do-crazy-historical-or-Discovery-Chanel-esque-specials-on-it-every-single-week jobs ever. but I digress.) and a UFC doctor serve as judges while experts on two great historical warriors try to out-prove that their warrior was the deadliest of them all.
The promise of violence, as well as historical/technical/scientific influence in the show will keep me watching for a long time....or until they invariably run out of warriors and end up having to do a Deadliest Living Thing spin-off, featuring Grizzly Bear vs. Viking vs. Velociraptor (that's right. 3-way battles, bitch. freakin The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly sorta stuff.)


*http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNqiSkd1M6k

A La-dee-da Day

Today was somewhat of a wash.
Woke up at 11am, and in the process, missed my one, only, and last-of-the-semester class of the day, phooey.
Followed closely by an always-grueling 3ish-hour commute back home, because of a job interview tomorrow.
I'm rather happy that there's snow outside, as well as forecast for the coming week. It's a very light layer outside, with just a bit of wind, which translates to my kind of Walking in a Winter Wonderland. I would like to draw that kind of distinction - walking in winter is nice, but at the same time, I don't exactly have a fancy shmancy good-looking pair of winter shoes/boots that I wouldn't want to be coated and ruined in road salt. Indeed, walking in either a Winter/Autumn wonderland (what would the latter consist of? would that kind of imagery involve walking on a leaves of brown, yellow, orange, all crunching under your feet? and certainly there wouldn't be a Spring version. becaues when I think of Spring-walking, there's usually a lot of rain and a lot of mud, which obliges you to wear those magificent monocolour rainboots. my friend actually has a silver pair of those boots; because, predictably, all of the ever-popular-throughout-the-history-of-not-only-bootmaking-history-but-time-itself YELLOW ones were sold out. And summer walking? well that's obviously for bare feet.) would be something pretty special.

For the sake of archiving some old poems (and to give more ammunition for public ridicule from you all, the readers), here is:

The Powdered Snow I Know is Cotton Balls
The powdered snow I know is cotton balls.
Choir boys pass door-to-door outside, singing Deck the Hallss
Busy mothers, fathers, children, crowd and overstuff the malls
How soon we miss the colour changes of the leaves of Autumn, Fall;
Or, at least, I do.
When green turns yellow, orange, red and brown (but not a hint of blue).
Brisk strolls along sidewalk paths, winding down through public parks
Having the sun set so much sooner, daytime stolen by the dark
Shut your eyes when you walk outside, treat softely with your feet
Soft crackling, crispy, crunching leaves; potato chips between your teeth.

A Thought, and a Discussion Topic

The Thought
How do stalkers make a living?
Like, those uber-professional, not-working-for-tabloid-or-People-magazine stalkers that manage to evade said stalkee's security guards/expensive alarm systems into their homes?
That said, how do you even attain those skills in the first place?! Surely not all security can be bad.
So now we're accounting for a) the stalker's tools; and b) the stalker's crazy army marine corp -level skillz (that, indubitably, do not pay the billz).

And they say we're in a 'recession'.

Topic
Would you rather have a girlfriend named Meady, or Meaty?
Con for both: they both rhyme with "needy", and "greedy" which is a joke that practically writes itself and needs no set-up
Pro for both: ....(coming soon)

Discuss.

Extension of a Barney Stinson HIMYMism

So recently, my friend 'Kraal En Mu'* has been going through some rough emotional stuff (think along the lines of 'my annoying little brother put my favourite pet turtle into the microwave'. although I shan't reveal if that's what actually maybe might likely have happened. moving on...).

A rather famous and oft-quoted expression from an episode of How I Met Your Mother is Barney Stinson's uplifting quote:

“When I get sad, I stop being sad and be Awesome Instead. True Story.”

So; my friend has been feeling pretty bummed out, and while I tried in vain to relate this message of Awesomeness to them, I mulled it over, and thought that there must have been a better, clearer and more concise way to project it. Maybe in a sock-puppet, Lite-Brite, or otherwise visual form?

In a bold move (bold in such that, I will likely never get physically around to it, but I'd like to at least put this idea out there, you know? just cuz? anyways...), I thought, 'why not a POSTER!'

A-ha!

And of course, it had to be original and new and unique-- no offense, of course, to the brilliant minds behind HIMYM's poster featuring Awesome fighter jets. Big Ups to that. Here is my idea thus far (if you're reading this, a drumroll is mandatory):

i) A 2-panel comic-esque poster
ii) First panel: there's a cat, hanging ever-so precariously off a tree branch that's about to snap under the cat's weight, and the cat is damn scared shitless; how in the world do you not feel Sad for this cat?
iii) Second panel: there's the same cat, and you see him falling off from the now-snapped tree branch, into a......(Wait For It).....PILE OF TUNA FISH BELOW, because you know, cats love tuna fish; how could any sane person in the world not feel Awesome for this cat?
iv) Conclusion: Sad transforms seamlessly into Awesome

*oh, I wish

Quotational

"Are you saying I'm a buzzkill?"
"Oh, nonono! You're like the total opposite! You're like the buzz....ness......generator"
"More like the Buzzness 3.0 Galactica"

Stay tuned for a rendition of Marvin Gaye's Ain't No Mountain High, likely inebriated.

What Good is a Wounded Cougar (first draft)

Found it!
Criticisms, cynical laughs, put-downs, hootin' and hollerin', and comments are very welcome; NAY, they are...encouraged.
A comment I myself would like to make is that it appears (again, I haven't looked at this poem in months) that I became stuck in an infinite loop of asking endless silly questions, in some sort of the-half-brother's-cousin's-transvestite-college-roommate's-neutered-stepfather's-hypoallergenic-cat's-former-owner's-twin-sister of Shel Silverstein...style.


What Good is a Wounded Cougar
What good is a wounded cougar?
What good is a hole-y boat?
Or a midget giraffe, or fingerless gloves
Or a castle's one-foot-three-inch moat?

What good is a polar bear without the white?
What good is a driverless Mercedes Benz?
What good are the moons and the skies and the stars
If cracked, broken, and smashed is my telescope lens.

What good is a beaver without his sharp teeth?
What good is a gardener without his grass?
What good is sand, heated, thousands of degrees?
(Well actually, then, you've made glass).

Indian Food for Dinner

This is an interesting observation that my friend J.C. regarding Indian food that I hitherto was not aware of: according to him, Indian food is different in that, when eaten, the food would appear to build up, rather than be semi-instantly broken down (thus, leaving more room for the oncoming all-you-can-eat madness to ensue) like with AYCE ribs or sushi or KBBQ. Suffice it to say, I was uncharacteristically surprised, but only probably because he was talking about food.
And lo and behold, he was right! Dead on! Hammer-on-nail, baby!
I pride myself in having a freakin supernatural metabolism, and I gotta say that this Indian buffet put up a formidable fight! With AYCEs I typically eat to about the 80%-full amount, but this food was just not going anywhere fast.
In fact, I can still feel it this morning, even right now. I woke up, and said aloud "Wow. What a horrible windy crap day it is outside. And daayum am I still full". True Story.
That being said, the food quality of said Indian buffet was a few steps above "solid but unspectacular", and $13 for a dinner buffet is not something you should pass up lightly. Once I find their name, I shall officially recommend them.

LC!

this just in,
"Los Campesinos! on April 1 at the Opera House completely blew my mind away"

Venue was small, quaint, and very...non-distracting-from-the-stage, I guess? I don't even know what I'm trying to say with that sentence. The show itself was outstanding, and was like experiencing a syringe being plunged directly into your heart full of air (with out the accompanying symptom of death) and GARGANTUAN AMOUNTS OF RAW UNMITIGATED ENERGY AND SCRUMTRILESCENCE. Despite having only roughly 80ish minutes of (official, anyways) music (that I myself have heard of so far), each song they played was full of energy and liveliness. As a parable analogy to my overall experience, to me it was like "ordering pancakes for breakfast, but instead, everything wonderful and amazing and spectacular that the depths of one's childhood imaginatino could possibly conjure happened isntead, followed closely by banana pancakes."

Rainy Friday*

Rainy Friday, get out of bed at seven A.M.
No umbrella; so like Slumdog, I think I'll phone a friend
To pass by my house and drive me to my classes
Carpoolin' is more VIP than backstage passes
He drives so chaotic, like a Mountain Dew rush
Takin' chances, getting messy, like the Magic School Bus
Yo, my name is Mike and I'm freestyle wrapping
-Up this week with some additional, repetitive rapping.

werd.



*a la Lazy Sunday...but too lazy to actually complete the song**
** how ironic