"I'm just so tired of romance,
I just want to get in your pants,
I just want to meal on your stuff."
--Mu330, "Stuff" from Press

Bwa ha ha! I can't listen to this song without breaking into a huge shit-eatin' grin. So terrible, yet so funny. Press is Mu330's first album, from "way back" in 1996. Hey, we were all jerks back in '96. Especially those of us in the GB who were rocking out to Bob Dole's warm-up band...

"Bob Dole, he's Bob Dole,
Bob Dole, he's Bob Dole."

You know, I would be such a good boyfriend.

I carved me a pumpkin! For about two seconds I toyed with the idea of carving a "punk-kin," but then I realized a) I have no idea how to do that and b) it would be kind of tooly. Kind of real tooly. So, I carved a cycloptic triangular eye and a crooked smile full that old Halloween standard, uneven square teeth. In the many (six? seven?) years since I've carved a jack-o-lantern, I had forgotten how snotlike and repulsive are the insides of a pumpkin. Icky yuck eww. Still, my jack-o-lantern kicks ass!

Tonight, I asked Skeeter to marry me, but she opted to finish law school instead. This seemingly radical action on my part was prompted by my very favoritest episode of Seinfeld, during which George and Susan get engaged. The Costanza-Ross engagement was the funniest thing they ever did on the funniest show I've ever seen; everything about it makes me laugh out loud. Susan was so great and George was such a putz, and there was so very, very much scheming going on. Pure gold.

I watched two episodes of Mobile Suit Gundam: The 08th MS Team this evening, since the Pistons preempted Enterprise, both parts of "The Shuddering Mountain." What people who have only seen Gundam Wing or who only have a cursory understanding of anime miss is how incredibly anti-war main continuity Gundam is. It's the old one-two punch: they reel you in with the awesome giant robots, then hit you with the ugly realities of war. People you care about die. Both sides are wrong. Nobody wins. And The 08th MS Team is perhaps the best example of this: amazing late '90s animation combined with a story that has lead some to call it the Platoon of Gundam.

Note to self: now that you've started it, finish your Christmas list!

Also, carve your stinking jack-o-lantern already!

Hey, I need to find a job, but what I want to think about is Star Wars: Clone Wars. I could think about my debts and the humiliating, disheartening process of scratching, struggling, begging for gainful employment, but that's just depressing. I don't have a job; I spend my days looking for a job. What more can I do? Nothing; so, I might as well spend my free time thinking about something I like, like Star Wars.

George Foreman's Head: "This might be the most lopsided fight since 1973, when Mohammed Ali fought an eighty-foot mechanical Joe Frasier. My memory's not what it used to be, but I believe the entire Earth was destroyed."

Rich Little's Head, imitating Howard Cosell: "Interesting if true."

I'm not celebrating Halloween this year (I could get all dressed up, but then I'd have no place to go), but were I to do so, what costume would I wear? Hmmm. My best costume ever: a gas pump. Whatever your best costume was, mine was better. For it, I won a "Most Unusual Costume" award. Not most creative or most original, most unusual. I have to believe this was a formative experience in my life....

Sometimes overreaction is the only rational response.

A short skirt.
A Gimmes shirt.
A Jones Soda.
Ain't life grand?

Words to live by, my friends. If ever I encountered a girl wearing a Gimmes shirt with a short skirt and she offered me a Jones Soda, I'd ask her to marry me as soon as I'd asked her name.
"Howdy, I'm Mike. What's your name?"
"Um, I'm Fiona."
"Fiona, will you marry me? I will honor you as long as I live."

Oh, oh no, somebody's going to find out I have a blog! Dear Lord in Heaven, no!

Hello, my name is Michael Patrick Wilson. If you are a potential employer and you found this site as a result of a websearch for my full name, congratulations. Now, the question is, do you have the right Michael Patrick Wilson? I guarantee there are quite a number of us in the Anglophonic countries. Let us assume for the time being that you have found the weblog of the right Michael Patrick Wilson and that I am, in fact, trying to gain employment with your firm/governmental agency/what have you. What can you learn about me that would impact upon my job performance?

I have a weblog; my closest friends and I operate under the name Blue Tree Whacking; I like Star Trek and Star Wars, very possibly too much; I know that when making a list with internal commas, semi-colons should be used to separate items; I was? still am? in love with a girl named Lindsay, whom I have recently begun referring to as Never Girl; I watch a lot of TV; highlights of the new season include I'm With Her and 10-8, and yes, I have always been partial to ABC; I like the books of Alistair MacLean, a claim I make having only read two of his many books, Ice Station Zebra and H.M.S. Ulysses; I am currently reading The Myth of the Great War, a work of non-fiction; my brother is the most important person in my world.

Through the Summer and continuing into this Fall I have been putting on weight. I am not pleased about this, but I have not yet taken the steps necessary to stem, much less reverse, the tide. I have a tattoo, a black skull-and-crossbones on my left forearm; if you don't want to hire me because of that, fair enough.

I do not understand why people hide. At first, I used nicknames only because they were cool, but now I use them because I've been told a number of people wish to preserve their anonymity. Several of these people, in fact the only two individuals to ever request that their names not be used, keep weblogs of their own. As the point was once made to me, posting information on something called the world wide web is a curious way of lying low.

As I type this, I am listening to The Eyeliners, "It Could Have Been You" from Sealed With a Kiss.

A short skirt.
A Gimmes shirt.
A Jones Soda.
Ain't life grand?

"Yeah, but in the year 3000, I had it all: several friends, a low-paying job, a bed in a robot's closet. I envied no man."

{Star Trek: Odyssey}
Not to boast, but this would have been a really good show. Star Trek: Odyssey created by Michael Patrick Wilson, based upon Star Trek: Voyager created by Rick Berman & Michael Piller & Jeri Taylor, based upon Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry.

Season One
"The Stars My Destination, Parts I and II" - "The Mutiny, Part I"
Season Two
"The Mutiny, Part II" - "Marooned, Part I"
Season Three
"Marooned, Part II" - "Reign of Khan, Part I"
Season Four
"Reign of Khan, Part II" - "Kingdom of Shadows, Part I"
Season Five
"Kingdom of Shadows, Part II" - "The Armada, Part I"
Season Six
"The Armada, Part II" - "The High Road, Part I"
Season Seven
"The High Road, Part II" - "Wing and a Prayer, Parts I and II"

The Players
G
Captain Elisabeth McKenna
Cmdr. Benicio Torres
Lt. Cmdr. Sovok
Lt. Cmdr. K'rena Singh
Lt. Nick Locarno
Lt. Daniel Kim
Lt. (j.g.) Neelix
Doc
Dr. Kes
Liz Locarno
Princess Rafi
Protocol Axis
Naomi and Noah Wildman
Sarah Ripley
Icheb
Annika Hansen
E
Agrippa Ramirez
Hunter Cole
Elar Korat "Cesca Naprem"
Zero-One
Felix Aeschliman
Field Marshal Ramakar
Autarch Aelia
Grak Xor
Kazon Pasha
Annorax
the Borg
the Hirogen
the Phos

The Two-Parters
"The Stars My Destination" - lost in space seventy years from home
"The Mutiny" - Hunter Cole's bid for control of the Ulysses
"Marooned" - Elar Korat and Kazon Pasha capture the Ulysses
"The Year of Hell" - Annorax bends history to his whim
"Reign of Khan" - lost in time on Earth during the Eugenics Wars
"The Killing Game" - literally hunted by the Hirogen
"Kingdom of Shadows" - the Tehlyri go on the offensive against the Borg
"The Armada" - hail hail, the gang's all here, saving the Tehlyri from the Borg
"Perfection" - lost in time, our heroes may have inadvertantly created the Borg
"The High Road" - what would have happened if Starfleet discipline hadn't been followed
"Things to Come" - in the clutches of the precognizant Presari
"Vengeance" - Hunter Cole's last hurrah
"Wing and a Prayer" - lost in space for seven years, but finally home

Finally, information about Star Wars: Clone Wars, the new micro-series on Cartoon Network! Only two weeks until the premeire, woo hoo!

This evening, after the guilty pleasure of Threat Matrix, my dad and I flipped over to the Discovery Channel's Supermassive Black Holes. Science is awesome! Man, I'm tired of the Andromeda Galaxy cramping our style; the Sun isn't supposed to burn out for four or five billion years, but the Andromeda Galaxy is going to collide with home sweet home, the Milky Way Galaxy, in three billions years, killing us all. Those bastards, I want that last billion years! You have no right to kill us off before we are swallowed up by the ever-expanding Sun! There's only one thing to do: declare all-out war on Andromeda! Come on, you apes, you want to live forever? Remember the Maine, er, Milky Way! Charge!

Those smug jackals are going to regret the day they crossed the Milky Way.

Music 1: The Best Is Yet to Come?
Work has begun on my Christmas list, and I am sad to note how many CDs I am asking for. In years past, I have had to, in a limited fashion, scrounge around for CDs. I mean, I own all of the releases by most of the bands I love (2003 releases potentially excluded). The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Reel Big Fish, MxPx, Flogging Molly, Less Than Jake, The Hippos, Green Day, New Found Glory, Mu330, The Eyeliners. With my finances being as non-existent as they are at present, though, there are a number of discs I do not possess. I have suspicions as to the quality of The Ataris' lastest album, but nonetheless I am asking for So Long, Astoria. I need MxPx's new Before Everything & After and Barenaked Ladies' Everything to Everyone; as a last hurrah before they break up, The Hippos are releasing their third album, though I do not yet know the title. The most troubling request is Blink-182's Blink-182. Without getting into the politics of self-titling an album, Take Off Your Pants and Jacket was, at best, disappointing. Aside from the fact that those chodes have sold out more thoroughly than Benedict Arnold, I'm not sure they're even a decent band anymore. But, I will ask for the new album, sight unseen, out of respect for the Dude Ranch-era Blink-182. If the album doesn't deliver as an album, though, I'm done with them. Just done.

Music 2: Music Self-Played is Happiness Self-Made
Both the Mountain of Love and K. Steeze have raised serious concerns about the feasibility of making CODENAME:Koala, the second Real Can of Yams album, this holiday season. It's been two years since Good or Suck! and something tells me if we don't make Koala now, we never will. Bitter experience has taught me to pay attention to that kind of gut feeling.

Indulging Myself
First and foremost, I am sincerely happy for the Mountain of Love and wish to congratulate him for the happiness he has found in the Bassoonatic's embrace. She is awesome and seems entirely worthy of my august brother's affections. However, simply by the nature of who I am, I cannot help but dwell upon how their relationship throughs my own loneliness into stark relief. There is a distinct difference between being alone and being lonely. I have always been alone, but at present I am also lonely. As much as anything else, I miss longing for someone. Perhaps even more than I miss Never Girl, I miss longing for Never Girl. Pining is what I do in lieu of dating, historically speaking, but right now I do not have anyone for whom to pine away pathetically. I do not need a girlfriend, I have always been and continue to be quite alright on my own, but as an added light in my life, I would like a girlfriend. For the foreseeable future, though, 'tis not to be.

Also, the Mountain really needs to get the Bassoonatic away from that Sinatra crap and into some ska.

Sha la la la la la la. Or something.

My dad asked me to read an article he'd dowloaded from the Middle East Forum, the online version, I think, of the magazine Middle East Quarterly. The thrust of the article is that Syrian President Bashar al-Assad is a sponsor of terrorism and not an ally of the United States. Wow, that's a fucking revelation. Why is the obvious supposedly worth reading if it is dressed up in academic robes? Oh, well, at least it wasn't one of his anti-Muslim hate rags.

"I know no matter what, no matter who, no matter what I do, somebody hates me."
--Reel Big Fish, "Somebody Hates Me" from Why Do They Rock So Hard?

I have been to the Ann Arbor, friends, and I have seen the Bassoonatic, the lady who hath filled the Mountain's heart with joy unlike any other, and of her I say nought but this: she is glorious.

"Wait, you don't know Brinkman?"
"Who's Brinkman?"
"Brinkman's huge."

We had a swanky dinner at the Chop House, then back to the Love Shack (the newly-minted name for the abode of the Mountain and his housemates: The All-American Boy, Sam I Am, and Tatsu the Enigma) for cake and presents. A good time was had by all. I had a delicious lobster of truth bisque, a divine swordfish steak, and some tasty garlic smashed potatoes. I cannot rightly say I know the different between "mashed" potatoes and "smashed" potatoes, but you all know me, there is no way I could have conceivably passed up anything called smashed potatoes. SMASHED!

Note to self: begin work on a Christmas list post haste.

I finished up the fifth season; as the Mountain would say, it's on now! I have to wait until mid-November for the sixth season, though, blast it all.

Roar
No one pretends to be a fan of the Lions. To be a Lions fan, you really have to be a Lions fan, because there is simply no fairweather for which you could be cheering. Today's game against the evil Cowboys... is just one of those games when nothing goes right. There's nothing for it, but to remember fondly the 8-8 days of Wayne Fontes and Bobby Ross. Looking back, those were good days, damn good days. Will things get worse before they get better? It's hard to imagine things getting worse. There is one good thing to come of all this; if nothing else, such sweet suffering teaches gratitude for what little one has.

"At the first sign of betrayal, I will kill him. But, I promise to return the body intact."
--Lieutenant Commander Worf, "In Purgatory's Shadow"

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, here I am, stuck in the middle with you."

I finished up Ice Station Zebra and have now begun H.M.S. Ulysses. This prompts two thoughts: a) Alistair MacLean is a sorely underappreciated author and b) Star Trek: Odyssey would have been a great show.

I am on the third disc of DS9's fifth season; my word, the glories of which we are capable.

Within her hangers, the Scarlet Narwhal carries the Skipjack and the Tigerfish, daytrippers armed as fighters; the Atari's Revenge, a Ritoshi fighter customized as a yacht by Ming and Pewter; and the Detroit Miss, a launch modified as an armored boarder. There is another auxiliary, the Cora, also a launch, unarmed and unarmored, intended to blend in with normal civilian vessels, but this idea is in flux. Is any of this important? Not really, but to me it's fun.

Someone explain this to me: how do you argue against facts? I mean, I understand how, I've seen many many people do it, as if their unsupported, ignorant opinions could overpower the truth, but I don't understand what makes a person take such a position. I am a highly opinionated fellow, but you will find that my opinions are largely grounded in logical deduction and knowledge of real world conditions; I rarely build my house on sand, and when I am shown that I have, I concede the point. How does ignorance argue against knowledge?

p.s. Some of my friends are drooling nimrods. This does not bother me except when they speak of things about which they know nothing. When this happens, I feel as if the only rational solution is the sudden and arbitrary application of massive violence; yes, that's right, the famous brick in the face.

Quark's Bar and Casino, the Conor O'Neill's of the final frontier.

"So beautiful and yet sooo neutral."
--my favorite philosopher, Zapp Brannigan

Tyler Slade is a man of action. Tyler Slade sounds like the kind of man who should be chased down a hallway by an explosion, as the natural order of things. Tyler Slade's archnemesis is a man named Steele Hunter.

And I didn't make all of this up. Those are the names of real people; the Mountain knows Tyler Slade.

I swear, Never Girl is insane. Within a few weeks, she is moving to an apartment which she will share with her boyfriend/soon-to-be-fiance. Her phone number is changing. Though she offered it, she was reluctant to give me her new phone number, as she thought I wouldn't want to call her and thus risk speaking to her boytoy. Yes, Lindsay, I've kept talking to you though you've been dating him for over a year, but now that you're moving in together, our friendship is over. Sheesh.

Samuel Bubbles Sink Cat Wilson
Sammy's been sneezing up a storm, and some other unfortunate things; so, today I wrestled him into his carrier and took him to the vet. Two things: a) you will never hear a more lamentable sound than Sam's whining from inside his carrier; I feel like Attila the Hun every moment I don't let him out of there. b) Of course, not only did he pee all over his carrier, but when in the waiting room I let him out to comfort him, he peed on me, too. (Or is that peeed?) I hope he appreciates it, the old bastard. And now Sammy's got his paws on some wrapping paper; he should be happy as a clam for hours... until we have to orally give him medicine.

The Mountain left a few hours ago, having spent about twenty-eight hours in town. It was a short, though enjoyable visit.

"Once we hit that bullseye, the rest of the dominos will fall like a house of cards. Checkmate!"
--twenty-five star general Zapp Brannigan of the Democratic Order of Planets (DOOP)

The Mountain of Love is home! His girlfriend, Bassoonatic, called! We had spagetti for dinner! And pumpkin pie for desseret! I love pumpkin pie! Crap, I wanted to get this posted on Monday. Curses!

Once again, playing nice with others is for the birds.

The Mountain is home for "fall break." (Is a four-day weekend long enough to constitute a "break"?) Woo and hoo.

Today, I used a chairsaw and a hand sledge to take apart a shipping crate. I really quite enjoyed it. The days just fly by...

A Matter of Possible Importance
I signed on, but then had to run to the w.c.; so, I put up my away message. While I was gone, Skeeter IMed me and then signed off. I hope things are well with her.



Unimportant Shight
We won last night. I love it when I'm wrong. At the same time, I still think both Purdue and Michigan State have better than even chances of destroying us. As long as the burden of success rests on John Navarre's shoulders, we are in deep trouble.

A moment ago, I visited a blog that was playing that infernal T.A.T.U. song, and now I can't get it out of my head. Blast.

The Death of 17
The Mountain of Love's girlfriend, Stephanie, was give the awesome nickname 17. He and I were IMing tonight and it turns out 17 does not like being called "17." She thinks it's funny, but it also bothers her. Gets her goat, I suppose you could say. The Mountain sez, "If there's a way you could change it, we'd appreciate it." Excuse me for a moment, would you, I have to go puke.

Now that that's behind us, of course I will stop calling 17 17. It was never my intention to give offense and I apologize if any was given. Now of course, I am left to find a new nickname, as "Stephanie" is rather dull compared to 17, the Mountain of Love, Skeeter, Saturday Night Latham, Guy Zach Nie!, and their ilk. Ever since I stole the idea from The Watergirl, fun nicknames have become a staple of the Secret Base.

The Mountain suggested The Big Lebowski, after the movie, which she adores. In that same vein, I suggested The Nihilist; in response to this, the Mountain told me I was acting like "a little bitch." {*} He then said, "Or maybe something that has to do with the bassoon," the girl formerly known as 17 being a bassoon major. Yeah, like what? Bassoon Girl? The Bassoon Baffoon? Low Note? See, all those suck. So, the search continues.

{*} Hmm, Negative 17? Prime Number?

One last thing. "On that note, I must bid you ado." Dude, it's adieu. You know, French for goodbye? How many years of French did you take?



*These indicate moments when I chose not to say something mean, though it would have been fun.

The Glory of Nicole Bonner
An excerpt of David Schickler's "The Smoker," one of the short stories from Kissing in Manhatten:

"I sat five rows behind you and watched your silhouette. I saw you admiring the guy who played the bartender. You know, the guy from On the Waterfront."

Douglas closed his eyes. She's right, he thought. She's nineteen and she's right.

"Anyway, whether you marry me or not, this is what I want to tell you." Nicole exhaled. "It's no good, Douglas."

Douglas kept his eyes closed. He was listening.

"It's no good, the way you're living. All those weights you lift, all those miles you run, all those movies you see. It isn't right. It's lonely."

Douglas looked at her, then. He saw her curves and her temples, but something else, too, something that lived behind her eyes.

"You're a good teacher and all, but you're just killing time, Douglas. I can tell."

Bullshit, thought Douglas. Then he thought, How? How am I killing it?

"I can tell from the books you assign, the ties you wear, everything." Nicole was not chewing her hair. "You're ready, Douglas. For the woman, the one you're supposed to marry." Nicole shrugged, just a little. "And I think she's me. I've dated some guys, and I know what's around, and---well, I just know what I want."

"How?" blurted Douglas. His hands trembled on the snifter, so he put it down. He felt like he might weep, but he refused to. "How... are you saying all this?"

"I just am." Nicole gazed at her teacher.

"Are you in---" Douglas changed phrases. "Do you love me?"

Nicole petted her neck, sipped her brandy. "Look. I've got Princeton to go to. And I've got that huge heirloom library out there to read. I'm just saying that you should have a woman with you at the movies, and she should be me. I'm ready for her to be me."

I want to marry a girl like Nicole Bonner.

This morning, I had the single most amazing dream of my entire life. It was divided into two distinct settings, but randomly jumped between them. In one, I was married and attending a dinner party with my wife; the other couples were all parents, my mom and dad, the Salenskis, the Luberts, etc. In the other, I was married to the same girl, but she didn't appear. My dad, brother, and I were trying to get a flock of birds out of the house; we couldn't figure out how they were getting in. The birds had regular names and we knew what they were, but they had crazy feather patterns: one had yellow stripes and orange polka dots.

I know all this sounds like standard dream fare, but there was something absolutely extraordinary about my wife. I can remember everything about her except her face and name. I remember her clothes, her laugh, the scent of her hair. When she smiled at me, I felt like I could take on the whole Empire myself. I loved her, truly and deeply, more than I have loved any other woman in my whole life. I can't remember her name and I feel terrible, like I have lost a real person. I love her.

How did Seinfeld ever become popular? No, seriously. Friends I understand, the show is as vapid and idiotic as the average citizen, but Seinfeld was far too intelligent and funny; how it succeeded shall remain forever a mystery. If you like Friends, I both pity and admire you. Pity you for being the slack-jawed yokel you are, admire the way you have navigated so successfully through life armed with only a chestnut for a brain.

What's the deal with friendship? What is it that binds two people together? It requires time spent with the person, to become accustomed to them, but it is more than simple familiarity; and there has to be a certain spark, something between you even before you know each other well, to encourage you to spend the time necessary to get to know them. There is an unnumerable number of people with whom I have had cordial, even enjoyable, conversations, yet relatively very few have been pursued as friends. I guess I just find the whole concept odd. Extremely pleasant, but odd.

I love my friends. God knows why they put up with me, or even how.

Hail! Hail! to Michigan, the Champions of... Jack Squat
Coach Lloyd Carr, commenting on Saturday's humiliating lose to Iowa, "John Navarre played extremely well and anybody who thinks he didn't doesn't know anything about the game." If throwing 26-49 is playing "extremely well," I'd hate to see how poorly a quarterback would have to throw to raise Lloyd's ire.

It is bad enough that Coach Carr has never even tried to recruit a replacement for Navarre (I mean, the great Tom Brady only started two seasons; fucking Navarre has been sabotaging our offense for three and a half), but it is adding insult to injury for Carr to stand behind a player who is clearly not up to the job. Let me be clear about this: John Navarre would be a fine back-up, but he has never shown that he has either the physical or more importantly mental ability to be the quarterback for a big time program like Michigan. We have never beaten a ranked oppont on the road with Navarre as quarterback; thus, I stand behind my prediction of a Michigan defeat this Friday against Minnesota.

Quoting Grant Bowman, punk ass bitch of a defensive tackle, "We analyze our own game enough so we know what's going on better than any people out there, whether it's other students, media, or all those armchair quarterbacks that know how to do it better than we do." Let me submit to Mr. Bowman that he and his comrades do not know what's going on, for if they did, he would not be so brazenly arrogant after losing to both decent teams we have faced. Where does this confidence come from? Beating Notra Dame and Indiana (barely) only shows he knows how to best inferior competition; against equals, he has failed utterly. The worst part is the arrogance in the face of failure, which tells me our players have yet to internalize the deficiencies in their play. They do not think that losing is their fault. I can only hope that Friday's lose by Minesota will teach them humility, but I doubt it. It is going to be a long, sad season.

I hope the Lions start to win some games; I don't know if I can handle consistant back-to-back loses on both Saturdays and Sundays.

"I've got a flair for making you care,
You know you should hate me."
--Fountains of Wayne, "I've Got a Flair" from Fountains of Wayne

I cannot say whether or not I like Liz Phair's music, as have heard only one or two songs, but I can say this: I like Liz Phair. To my brother's consternation, I like her because she looks cruel.

Ships of Star Trek
the Enterprise
the Defiant
the Intrepid
the Pegasus
the Hood

Ships of Babylon 5
the Agamemnon
the Lexington
the Nemesis
the Damocles
the Excalibur

Ships of Andromeda
the Andromeda Ascendant
the Pax Magellanic
the Balance of Judgment
the Wrath of Achilles
the Resolution of Hector

Ships of the Space Pirates Project
the Scarlet Narwhal
the Blackdevil Angler
the Walrus of Nova Scotia
the King's Revenge
the Star of Canberra

The Goa'uld
Ra - Egyptian
Apophis - Egyptian
Hathor - Egyptian
Heru'ur - Egyptian
Set - Egyptian
Cronus - Greek
Yu -Chinese
Nirrti - Hindu
Sokar - Egyptian
Zipacna - ?
Tanith - ?
Osiris - Egyptian
Anubis - Egyptian
Baal - Canaanite

The Asgard - all Norse
Thor
Freyr
Heimdall

{A Sincere Prayer For Roy's Recovery}
"Tiger! Tiger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry"

It used to be that the BTW guys were men's men, without the need for the delicate affections of silly girls... or rather, most of us couldn't get dates. Of the five members of the BTW "high comand" - K. Steeze, the former Bald Mountain, Guy Zach Nie!, the Professor and yours truly, The Last Angry Man - only the Guy had a lady friend. However, this is no longer the case and three and a half of us now have girlfriends: Zach Nie! has his longtime love, Sarah; the Mountain of Love has the lovely 17; the Professor had to leave Vivacious D in Florida; and K. Steeze has one foot in and one foot out of a long distance relationship with Philly Liz. True to form, I am also the last single man.

In related news, Never Girl and her boyfriend are getting an apartment together. To quote her, "No, we aren't engaged or anything, we will just be living in sin." Despite her concerns, I'm really quite okay with this.

And Now, Pointless Memorization!
"Within the Serpent's Grasp" / "The Serpent's Lair"
"Out of Mind" / "Into the Fire"
"Nemesis" / "Small Victories"
"Exodus" / "Enemies"
"Revelations" / "Redemption, Parts I and II"
"Full Circle" / "Fallen" & "Homecoming"

I'm getting more used to playing nice with others, and in all honesty the Space Pirates Project has benefitted from being a group effort. However, there are still frustrations. The following is an example, about which I need to vent:

Thus he was not truly exiled, but rather stripped of rank and forced to make a living elsewhere.

How in the name of all that's good and pure is that not exile?! He wasn't asked to make a living somewhere else, he was "forced to make a living" somewhere else. Hey, genius, that's exile! Far from being voluntary, exile normally involves being "forced to make a living elsewhere," forced being the operative word. Geez Louise!

Something's wrong with my archives, grumble grumble, and I am able to access neither September nor most of August.

Michigan is going to lose to Minnesota. Michigan is going to lose to Michigan State. We will probably lose to Purdue. We will not win another road game as long as John Navarre is our quarterback. This season is already lost; we are going nowhere, except to a five- or six-loss season. The only thing we can do is bench Navarre and play Matt Gutierrez, to get him some game experience before next year. As the clock ran down, I saw Braylon Edwards on the sidelines, his head down in dejection. The other players looked upset as well. If you guys wanted to win so bad, where the fuck where you when we were outscored 30-13? If you wanted to win this game, maybe the offense should have done more than jerk off during the third quarter. It's going to be a long season, and the worst part is that Coach Carr isn't going to blame anybody except the refs, even though both our offensive coordinator and special teams coach need to be fired. Fucking hell.

Oregon and Iowa have already been lost; Minnesota and Michigan State are going to be embarrassing losses; and there are distinct opportunities to lose to both Purdue and Ohio State. Damn you, Lloyd.

Fuck Jim Boccher.

Braylon Edwards just handed Iowa an interception; though it is still the third quarter, the game is over. Final predicted score: Iowa 27, Michigan 23.

Also, we are going to get our asses kicked by Michigan State. The Spartans are going to fucking kill us.

The Crew of the Scarlet Narwhal
Jason Seaholm - captain
Seabass Vieira
Sean O'Mara
Andy Parker
Old Nick (Kcin Uen)
Zhang Ming
Pewter
Octavia Shaw
Crank

Others
Tawny Seaholm
Alexander Parker
Zhang Xiaoping - pirate king
Ghost de Castille
Rose Halifax
Virginia Halifax
Cora Uen (dearly departed)
Sextus Shaw
Septima Shaw
Anna King

Ships
the Scarlet Narwhal
the Blackdevil Angler
the Walrus of Nova Scotia
the Atari's Revenge
the Star of Canberra
the Golden Hawk

Man, this show is going to be so awesome. You may or may not have picked up on a subtle trend, but I really like creating/writing for siblings.

Hmmm, Enterprise appears to have been renamed Star Trek: Enterprise. A small change, but a subtle admission, methinks, that perhaps the "radical change in direction" the show was meant to represent has alienated more people than it has attracted. People like Star Trek; the problem with Star Trek: Voyager and Star Trek: Nemesis was not that they were Star Treks, but that they were individually weak stories.

2151-(2158) Star Trek: Enterprise

2266-2269 Star Trek

2271-2293 Star Trek: The Motion Picture - Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country

2364-2370 Star Trek: The Next Generation

2369-2375 Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

2371-2377 Star Trek: Voyager

2371-2379 Star Trek Generations - Star Trek: Nemesis

Guy Zach Nie is watching Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. All of it, season by season. On a lark, and because of the highest recommendations by the Mountain of Love and I, he borrowed my first season DVD set. He was instantly hooked, and is now experiencing the season-by-season rise of DS9's glory. O, how I envy him! I am so very grateful to have seen all of DS9, to have lived the saga in real time from beginning to end, but I also envy Zach the opportunity to experience it all for the first time. Normally, it is a dangerous thing to give your material possessions to Zach Nie! There is a very real chance you shan't get them back, or at least no longer entirely whole. However, we have worked out an excellent system: the Mountain is holding one of his books, A Clockwork Orange, hostage. Zach, who is presently on the third season, does not get a new season until we have the old one back, and once he is finished and all the discs have been returned safely, he will get back his novel. The best part about all this is getting to explain pieces of Star Trek history to him; outside my beloved brother and me, no one in Blue Tree Whacking cares much for Star Trek. Yesterday, I got to explain a short history of my favorite villains, the Romulans. Goody gumdrops!

Plans are being made to record the second Real Can of Yams album, CODENAME: Koala, over Thanksgiving for a Christmas show release. More news to follow once there is more news. MTD had but one release, The Murky Transport Disaster Disaster Transport Transport Disaster, so following up RCY's debut, Good or Suck!, with Koala is technically a step into uncharted territory.
{BTW - Blue Tree Whacking}
{MTD - Murky Transport Disaster}
{RCY - Real Can of Yams}
Anything good can be expressed in three initials. {SPP - Space Pirates Project}

For the time being, the erstwhile Bald Mountain shall be called the Mountain of Love. Why? Because of a lovely young lass we shall call 17, who, if all goes well, will shortly be his girlfriend.

The SPP rolls on, though we are running into the same old problem: lack of participation. Of course, I have a uniquely huge amount of freetime; so, I shouldn't criticize the guys for simply having other more pressing concerns. Nevertheless, there has been a clear decrease in the old back and forth exchange of ideas. I am trying to rein in my own imagination, for I don't want to invent something (a race, a species, a storyline) and put a lot of time into developing it only to have it vetoed, but at the same time I cannot proceed with the approval of the others because they simply aren't there. More to the point, school has started for the Professor, my idea-generating counterpart. The Guy's specialty is improving established ideas sculpting them into a better, more usable form; K. Steeze has also taken a more critique-oriented position. That's all fine and good, truly, I just miss Jon.