tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20761880337273989712012-02-13T19:14:09.004-08:00New writings every week.Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.comBlogger1161100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-11947256479180749222012-02-03T05:08:00.000-08:002012-02-03T05:13:16.187-08:00

The sun sank slowly into the southwest, burnishing the smog and blinding motorists for miles around.  Ten lanes of ashy cement held them up in a sea of smoggy cars.  Ordinarily, they flowed in either direction as conditions permitted; today, however, one side was stagnant.  Millions of cars stood motionless on the southbound road, leaking fumes of rage and carbon monoxide.   It was getting late,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-61578849845463174882012-01-07T16:10:00.000-08:002012-01-07T16:16:36.779-08:00

America, it's 2012 now.  Apocalyptic nonsense aside, it's time we talked about something important.  There's a presidential election this year, and we as a people have a distressing tendency to act ridiculous whenever we get around to electing people.  We don't think straight.  We respond to outrageous fabrications as though they were truth.  We treat the truth as though it were merely a

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-82376888317077132712012-01-01T17:53:00.000-08:002012-01-01T17:53:54.784-08:00

Frankly, it doesn't look all that different.  I'm sure the differences will become apparent after a few months of wear and tear. Greetings, Universe, and welcome to a new year.  The concept of a "year" may not mean much to you (you being the Universe and all), so allow me to explain.  A year is a period of time characterized by the revolution of the planet Earth around the sun; it takes about

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-46074019593081372922011-12-25T00:46:00.000-08:002011-12-25T00:46:51.744-08:00

Or Christmas Day?  I don't know, it's after midnight.  By all rights, I should be sleeping. I'm posting tonight, but I don't really know anything unique or profound that I should write.  I have some writings I could share, but they aren't really done.  I could make something up, but it probably wouldn't be any good; I tried writing a little poem a few minutes ago, and I couldn't think of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-75582890701719675812011-12-09T01:43:00.000-08:002011-12-09T01:43:56.062-08:00

Welcome to the latest installment of my growing poetical corpus, a curious body of strange ideas and uncomfortable over-sharing.  Today we have poems written between February and  April of this past year, having aged in my folder for the requisite time and achieved the proper vintage. Actually, I've been putting off this post for a while, concerned that the backlog I like to keep might have worn

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-71950393422313054382011-12-03T03:01:00.000-08:002011-12-03T03:01:01.417-08:00

While I've been known to articulate some vaguely radical political philosophy, the truth is that I'm very much a moderate in my habits.  I'll vote at any opportunity, and I'll gladly speak my opinions when moved to do so.  I'll even sign a petition or two, fixing my (largely illegible) signature in support of a noble cause.  But I don't like holding signs or chanting slogans, especially when such

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-40674378649104658242011-11-24T23:49:00.000-08:002011-11-24T23:55:00.350-08:00

First of all, happy Thanksgiving, everybody!  I hope you've each eaten many turkeys and gravies by now.  Lord knows we can't let them rest after what they've done.  (They know what they did).  If you're not American and didn't celebrate Thanksgiving today, then I wish you a happy Thursday.  Thursdays are pretty fantastic, too! But that's not really the point of all this.  No, I actually wanted

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-85811430969727732512011-11-10T21:12:00.000-08:002011-11-10T21:28:49.244-08:00

"Goddammit, I'm working here!"  It was two in the morning.  He should have been sleeping, but he probably couldn't do any of that, either.  Some distractions were simply too profound. The sound was familiar and unmistakable.  He stared at the ceiling for a while, seeing nothing (except the ceiling), but hearing more than he needed; the furtive creaks, the muffled voices, the unaccountable

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-5743479315105986172011-11-01T23:01:00.000-07:002011-11-10T22:06:09.303-08:00

In 1967, the Beach Boys narrowly missed out on the opportunity to become the boldest, most avant garde act in the history of pop music.  Fully explaining why they missed that opportunity would take pages upon pages; it's a long and involved tale of contractual problems, drug abuse, mental illness, and personal conflicts between members of the band.  However, the opportunity certainly existed. 

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-51341629720987035362011-10-31T18:33:00.000-07:002011-10-31T18:33:04.016-07:00

In honor of Hallowe'en and all of the spirits purportedly rising from their graves, I've written a thematically appropriate poem.  It's sort of like a zombie apocalypse, but because zombies aren't really as interesting as everyone thinks they are, I've replaced them with knife-wielding ghosts, driven to madness and murder by the sound of bells on All Hallows Eve.  I hope you enjoy! You say you

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-43484159023689382932011-10-30T17:45:00.000-07:002011-10-30T17:45:29.619-07:00

Greetings, citizens of the world.  It's been a little while since I wrote in first person on this blog, so I thought I'd take a moment to let everyone know how I'm doing. I can feel your anticipation from here. As it happens, I'm doing pretty well.  Looking back on the last time I talked about myself here, I can see that I was in something of a foul mood.  Nobody likes guys in foul moods: they

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-43230653232523667242011-10-20T23:55:00.000-07:002011-10-21T14:12:36.903-07:00

"So, I had an idea." "That's an improvement.  Let's hear it." "OK, here it goes.  So we start in the middle of the action, to make it dynamic." "Right, right.  This automatically makes it dynamic." "It damn sure does, now listen." "I'm listening!" "Right, in the middle of the action, and the guy is on a space ship." "A spaceship?  Really?" "Yes, really.  You don't like it?" "Well I don't

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-10297866171495990232011-10-13T01:47:00.000-07:002011-10-13T03:46:23.778-07:00

Prejudice should never be something to take pride in.  It's hurtful in many instances, and intellectually lazy in most others.  However, we all have prejudice, and the best way to deal with it is to lay it out in the open.  Finding out what triggers our prejudicial instincts can take us a long way in understanding our reactions to anyone or anything at all. In my case, I carry two formidable

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-18986373070023258572011-10-03T00:52:00.000-07:002011-10-03T00:53:56.095-07:00

“Get back in the box!” I gasped, recovering my balance.  An old hiking staff lay near my hand, and I clutched it with both hands, hoping to ward off the strange man. “I don't want to go back in the box.” “Get back in the box!  That's where you belong!” “Says you.  I think I like it out here.  Who are you to order me around, anyway?” “This is my room!  This is my house!  That's my box!” “Then

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-25004923202014611022011-09-15T02:03:00.000-07:002011-09-15T02:03:14.623-07:00

Something's very, very wrong.  Actually, everything's wrong.  But some things are more wrong than you can imagine.  Broken, warped, twisted and perverse: whatever you want to call it, it's wrong and nothing you can do will make it right. But don't panic. You see, it turns out you're wrong too.  As part and product of this world, you've evolved to be as twisted and perverse as your distressingly

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-46714955873244784812011-09-05T15:55:00.000-07:002011-09-05T15:55:15.427-07:00

Let's play pretend for a minute. Pretend that there is a document, an incredibly old document, written by hand in archaic language by a legendary council of wise men, and proclaimed as a timeless guide to the proper ordering of society.  All of the people throughout the land worship the principles enshrined in the ancient charter, so much so that they venerate everything related to it, even the

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-58542775601849109522011-08-01T13:39:00.000-07:002011-08-01T13:39:56.246-07:00

America, we need to have a talk. We need to have a talk about your rampant insanity. I want you to know right off the bat that I don't consider this entirely your fault.  The world, as usual, is up to its poles in crazy.  Between the wars, the terrorism, the climate change, and the continuing mass of delusion that is the global economy, our little space pebble is writing itself quite a

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-603399945895088052011-07-22T03:19:00.000-07:002011-07-22T03:19:32.828-07:00

Writing poetry is a diverse exercise.  Sometimes you have a feeling or idea that you just have to get out however you can.  Sometimes you have a theoretical approach you want to try out.  Sometimes, your brain is just in a really weird place.  I write with a number of goals in mind, and sometimes I can succeed in one while failing miserably at others.  But I hope I'm growing, because I've come to

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-74897375414580345942011-07-17T22:32:00.000-07:002011-07-17T22:43:16.164-07:00

...but not quite yet. Sometimes I have a tendency to generalize my world view, and assume that everyone else sees life in more or less the same way that I do.  Readers are welcome to call me out when I do this; I am always interested in cataloging evidence of my own insanity.  One day they will be collected in an eccentric autobiography, along with an apology for not having lived a more

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-10649619348319919332011-07-11T04:08:00.000-07:002011-07-11T04:46:06.965-07:00

Warning: this story contains some disturbing language.   A considerable amount of time passed since Mina Cardiff last saw Aaron Harfelt.  In spite of the frustrations of the department's number one case – dead ends, no leads to speak of – she had regained much of her old composure.  She felt strong again: the specter of the Wolf seemed to fade in her mind's eye, faded by the mists of distance. 

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-65609861697588557432011-06-20T05:16:00.000-07:002011-06-20T16:53:33.424-07:00

Gamers in the know will no doubt remember when, a few weeks back, Sony's servers were hacked, exposing their customers' credit card numbers and other precious booty to roving internet pirates.  It was an event of such magnitude that it has its own wikipedia page, under the name PlayStation Network Outrage.  Being an enormous, amoral corporation, Sony of course handled the crisis in the noblest

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-16383525904134270402011-06-12T00:19:00.000-07:002011-06-12T03:48:15.076-07:00

Warning: The following essay is extremely nerdy, and should be avoided by people who have absolutely no interest in experimental orthography, obsolete letters, and the obsessive splitting of figurative hairs. The current system for writing the English language is a bizarre apparatus.  It is a strange contraption that promises simplicity, but delivers circumstances where words like rough, plough,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-12848918385921345412011-05-30T13:26:00.000-07:002011-05-30T13:27:16.448-07:00

Rip Van Winkle slept in the mountains for twenty years.  As he slept, he had many strange dreams, wherein ghostly sailors sent heavy bowling balls crashing into gargantuan pins.  The symbolic meaning of this dream is not well understood, but it sounds mostly entertaining. The author of this blog slept for sixty two days, which is not as impressive, though arguably just as worrisome for his

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-9843973367484107642011-03-28T18:34:00.000-07:002011-03-28T18:37:03.597-07:00

People generally like art, if their consumption of aesthetic objects is any indication.  Artists of many traditions from all over the world have spent many centuries crafting images depicting the beauty of nature and the human form, and classical masterpieces remain the gold standard of virtuosity.  But for many, the landscape of modern art is often a strange and confusing place, populated by

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-377218254164162772011-03-19T03:26:00.000-07:002011-03-19T03:26:52.289-07:00

I imagine that most ordinary people do not miss the Cold War, particularly those who lived through it.  There's plenty of nostalgia for the idyllic 50s, the revolutionary 60s, the celebratory 70s; even the grimy, soulless 80's.  But I'm fairly certain there'd be even more nostalgia if not for the constant, invisible threat of fiery nuclear death.  Whatever the comforting symmetries of a bipolar

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-18853368868997623482011-03-03T22:48:00.000-08:002011-03-03T22:50:15.933-08:00

A little grey rabbit hopped into a bar, as it often did.  Per usual, the rabbit ordered a pile of carrots which the bartender delivered raw, unsliced and undiced.  It wasn't a huge pile because the rabbit wasn't very big, but even so the furry creature would spend the better part of an hour most evenings gnawing on those orange roots, quietly crunching them between its little buck teeth.  Once it

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-51799299086805957602011-02-18T03:02:00.000-08:002011-02-19T16:27:38.958-08:00

I'm not sure why, but my poetry backlog is about a year and a half deep.  It's not that I write all that many: they tend to come in spurts, and I can go months without writing any.  But when I do, I write a lot, and then I sit on them, until time and distance have forced me to reinterpret them in a new light.  Actually, that sounds like a good justification.  Let's go with that. Anyway, a year

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-22710497828084402882011-02-12T17:01:00.000-08:002011-02-12T17:01:31.928-08:00

Modern science tells us that the world is a large sphere, and mathematics makes plain that on the surface of a sphere there is no edge.  One cannot walk across the edge of the Earth as if it were flat, or even as if it were a cube, because there is simply no edge to be found.  Perhaps you'll come across a high cliff and think that it must surely be the edge of the world.  But you'll discover your

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-15149600482169114202011-02-09T01:39:00.000-08:002011-02-09T01:39:30.611-08:00

Introduction: In Mary Shelley's novel Frankenstein, a university student called Victor attempts a daring act of creation.  His goal is nothing less than the exact duplication of the form and content of a human being; and what's more, to do it from inert matter.  Frankenstein is science fiction, and Victor's goal has traditionally been depicted as scientific in nature, either admirably or not. 

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-29567999499810663352011-01-30T01:32:00.000-08:002011-01-30T01:32:04.293-08:00

This week was an unusually productive week for the WFJ, as I wrote and posted two new projects dear to my heart.  Taken with the modest progress I've been making in my personal and "professional" life, I feel fairly good about myself, thank you very much.  It's been a little fun playing "grown-up" since the new year began.  As a newly certified and licensed teacher, I've been visiting districts

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-9572113288273403542011-01-29T05:21:00.000-08:002011-01-29T05:30:16.776-08:00

Note: the following story contains disturbing language.   The vice of unreality gripped Mina's mind as she walked down the street.  The air was wet with tiny drops of water, which might have been rain if they'd been any larger; it felt like walking on the bottom of the ocean.  It wasn't very dark yet, and the streetlights had just come on, but in her eyes the darkness was impenetrable.  She

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-80701323109563985432011-01-24T19:32:00.000-08:002011-01-30T14:23:33.937-08:00

One across regret he gaping rescued There middle disappears at whisks possessed Disassembling rescue his and end a But leaving are the most removed a road People point the falls significant of Like modern always he's of sphere and to Movement though forget eventually the Direction on expand enough the stop Saved you or he often error either Beginning doubt to find the end and has Never cars of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-73608353236993760572011-01-01T17:36:00.000-08:002011-01-01T17:36:24.815-08:00

I guess I am.  Funny! Welcome to the new year, everybody.  New Year's Days are good days to take stock of ourselves, since they mark out endings and beginnings, and yet nothing actually changes.  The significance of the new year is entirely within your own head, so it's up to you to give it meaning.  Yes, you.  Or in this case, me.  You are (momentarily) off the hook. I didn't mention it here

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-13199003572215615212010-12-31T17:36:00.000-08:002011-01-02T00:59:14.851-08:00

Harvest Moon Who would have thought that the rain would hold off, But the storm clouds are holding their breath, Together we walk past the puddles in the street And we're ready to fall off the edge The harvest moon is rising on a chilly afternoon, And your being here is scaring me to death I can't believe the good luck that we've had, We've had nothing to fear but the cold And holding you

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-643052096546603852010-12-28T23:45:00.000-08:002010-12-28T23:45:54.527-08:00

After many years of trying, I believe it is safe to say that I am just not put together properly for strategy games.  It's not that I'm a poor strategist.  Or maybe it is.  Really, I don't know what it is.  All I know is that without cheat codes, I might never have seen the end of just about any campaign mode I've come across.  Strategy games that I participate in have a way of ending in tears,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-39250429460371871252010-12-26T14:26:00.000-08:002010-12-26T14:26:50.626-08:00

We Americans have a tendency to go all-in on our holidays, single-mindedly hyping their approach, feasting ourselves into a stupor, and spending several subsequent days in a state of recovery.  Put too many celebrations too close together, and you're liable to send the average American into an acute state of holiday toxicity.  And so it was, with the abnormal proliferation of holidays in the

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-28890794603436565702010-11-06T15:54:00.000-07:002010-11-06T15:54:24.663-07:00

I don't go to very many live shows.  Attending most shows requires knowing about them well in advance, remembering to buy tickets for them, and not falling asleep that afternoon (all mistakes I've been known to make).  If you do manage to make it there, you've got to put up with hordes of fellow-show-goers who haven't showered and are probably going to start smoking pot at some point or another (

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-89768668339309042692010-10-30T16:56:00.000-07:002010-10-31T09:54:51.855-07:00

Thanks to the magic of live internet streaming, I managed to catch the back half of Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert's Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear, which was if nothing else an entertaining romp.  Voices emanating from the haunted electronic boxes we call the media have been suggesting for weeks that this rally might be deeply significant in some way.  Of course, "deeply significant" means

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-46855058951451034552010-10-13T22:44:00.000-07:002010-10-13T22:52:42.053-07:00

Sometimes, living on the internet is hardly akin to living at all: more like an endlessly futile attempt at stimulation complicated by a brutal combination of meta-cognition and oblivion.  But sometimes it's not.  Really! Sometimes you meet people on the internet who may not seem like much at first.  Eventually, you discover they have a wicked sense of humor and sharp intelligence.  Later on,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-66830914974074017612010-09-26T15:23:00.000-07:002010-09-26T16:20:33.341-07:00

Here it comes again, Ladies and Gentlemen: a partial selection of my poetical output.  While the most terrible of my poems are routinely filed under "Recycling Bin," even those I see fit to keep in my archive are not necessarily worthy of being placed here.  So what you see here is la crème de la crème (as selected by a person with, admittedly, a spotty taste in crème). I write poems for a lot

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-23827714330709236302010-09-26T00:06:00.000-07:002010-09-26T00:13:30.246-07:00

Presumably, some people have a strong sense of purpose that animates them and propels them into their life's work.  I say presumably, because people have told this to me and I am generally a trusting sort.  I'm inclined to believe it because the alternative (the idea that nobody has a particularly compelling reason for doing anything) is so damningly depressing that if I bought into that, I'd

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-18314974496066529542010-09-11T14:10:00.000-07:002010-09-11T22:27:51.383-07:00

A few months ago I bought a copy of the Qur'an, bound in a handsome green cover and gold leaf pages.  One of my softer ambitions is to read the holy books of every world religion, a task which is going fairly well even at the slow pace I'm taking.  Every couple of weeks I'll open the book and read a few sections, not just the primary text but also the annotations on interpretation, history, and

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-45203473148143800252010-08-24T01:31:00.000-07:002010-08-25T03:33:49.741-07:00

I don't remember when I first noticed Scott Pilgrim in the comic book section of the book store, peering out at me with his oddly-proportioned eyes.  Somewhere in my head, I was aware that it was critically acclaimed, moderately popular, and artistically significant, labels which are generally good predictors of things that I will find to be awesome.  But lacking any testimonials from friends,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-89349728020334734922010-08-13T16:27:00.000-07:002010-08-14T01:29:39.219-07:00

Note: the following story contains disturbing language. "It's all rotting, like the stench of sweet gasoline, mingled with acid rain and slimy grey sludge.  In a decade, or a thousand years, the whole Earth will rot: a crumbing house on a corrupted foundation."  Mina Cardiff was moved to dark poetry by the ugliness of the stately front drive; all the better to stall her entry into that house.

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-67044099103644894202010-08-09T23:00:00.000-07:002010-08-10T16:05:26.685-07:00

In many ways, video games are the defining art form of the past thirty years.  More than any other medium they reflect the accelerating transformation of society in the wake of new technologies.  The introduction of new hardware has reshaped each generation of games and expanded creative possibilities; what once was state of the art can seem astonishingly primitive in as little as five years. 

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-60157019401228681962010-08-07T23:20:00.001-07:002010-08-08T17:59:16.038-07:00

When I was eight years old, Pixar Animation Studios released Toy Story, the first in a series of popular films that defied the laws of success: eleven features that collectively grossed somewhere north of eleventy billion dollars* and, with minimal exceptions, met with universal critical approval.  Fifteen years on it seems safe to say that, while not every production may be a masterpiece, Pixar

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-6122375347480133932010-08-02T06:06:00.000-07:002010-08-05T00:52:40.694-07:00

As a pale-skinned nerd, I have an ambivalent relationship with the Earth's glorious sun, the source of all life on Earth and an endless producer of deadly ultra-violet rays.   For the twisted pleasure of an irrational God I was born in San Diego, a place where every month and every season can be fairly categorized as "sunny," with only a worthless bottle of Coppertone spray to protect me from the

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-15399601145963009402010-07-04T19:53:00.000-07:002010-07-04T19:53:17.386-07:00

Given the generally bizarre standards of patriotism in this country (where a flag lapel pin can make the difference between acceptable and traitorous), I refuse to praise my country with irrational superlatives that reflect subjective standards and a slavish lack of critical thought.  Instead, I offer purely objective praise, from the bottom of my heart: America, you're pretty darn good!  Good

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-23801851485323956722010-06-22T03:03:00.000-07:002010-06-22T03:04:21.874-07:00

Oh, hi there.  Didn't see you come in! Well, we all know what's coming, so I'll get it out of the way: another apology for not posting The Wolf of Albright.   By all rights, I should be bowing my head in contrition.  Unfortunately, I feel pretty awesome right now, and feeling awesome does not precisely correspond with feeling contrite.  So there will be no contrition tonight, my friends.  Maybe

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-86182231621587179972010-06-14T23:25:00.001-07:002010-06-14T23:25:31.368-07:00

Actually, as far as I've heard, the earthquakes that struck San Diego County this evening did not cause any walls to come tumbling down.  We Southern Californians build our walls with such eventualities in mind, because we are fully aware that Mother Nature has a serious grudge against us.  Los Angeles alone is enough to keep the planet awake at night, seething in anger at the city's endless

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-61147818857166378312010-06-07T00:59:00.000-07:002010-06-07T01:06:07.370-07:00

Hey, guess what?  It's time to gather 'round again. Around the time I started this website in the spring of 2009, I was writing a lot of poetry; more, in retrospect, than I actually remembered writing.  It must have been some sort of mania, because I ended up with more than I really wanted to deal with.  Back logs should never be allowed to grow this big. I'll only be commenting on a few of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-70692330723912350222010-06-05T13:59:00.000-07:002010-06-05T13:59:42.885-07:00

Word on the street has it that we have now passed into the season of summer, per the seasonal governing body's regulation that summer is to begin following the festivities of Memorial Day.  A look at the outside world, however, tells me that something is clearly amiss.  Summer is supposed to be characterized by sunny weather, frolicking, and beach volleyball; I have seen none of these things for

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-47762888320115105202010-05-31T01:47:00.000-07:002010-06-02T18:44:53.875-07:00

While wandering the rows of my local Borders store a few months ago, I felt the urge to read a new biography.  This isn't unusual, as biography is typically my favorite genre of book.  A good biography is a delight to read because it puts individual human lives in the context of history, and enhances the experience of both in the process.  They also tend to be quite long, which means that they

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-63433941766323955922010-05-26T19:28:00.000-07:002010-05-26T19:36:17.526-07:00

Welcome friends, to the fifth and final (yes final, stop cheering) installment of my European journey. At long last, my shameless self-indulgence can come to a conclusion; starting next week, I can resume my regular brand of self-indulgence. In short, everybody wins. This week is going to be a little different from previous entries on account of the status of my journal. To be specific, I

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-66158224249883214742010-05-01T19:54:00.000-07:002010-05-01T22:54:38.749-07:00

Dear Roger, May I call you Roger? I ask only because I've seen a bit of what some people have been saying about you on the internet.  It's mostly not very friendly, and I thought maybe you'd like to see at least one video game player on the web greet you in a friendly manner. Having said that, Roger, you wrote something recently that made me sad. Very, very sad. It's been common knowledge in

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-90068907294128338222010-04-25T12:35:00.000-07:002010-04-25T21:42:48.269-07:00

This Friday I found myself sitting in Bagel Sphere, waiting for my bagel and thumbing through the Eugene Weekly, when I chanced upon this subtly patronizing article by a Mr. Brett Campbell about an upcoming concert at the Hult Center: Play! A Video Game Symphony. As I watched the author simultaneously bemoan modern orchestras for selling out (by playing "crass" things like, say, video game music

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-36332344435485607932010-04-19T01:14:00.000-07:002010-04-19T02:37:25.932-07:00

I Miss You.It is true, I have taken you for granted, Wave Function Junction. When I named you, I was perhaps too flippant, too unconcerned with whether the other blogs in blog-school would tease you when the blog-teachers weren't looking. But apart from that, you were established with the best of intentions. I would write things; you would show them to the world; the world, when it got around

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-29505949570794662802010-04-04T22:50:00.000-07:002010-04-05T00:44:47.527-07:00

Easter is often considered the most important holiday in Christianity, because it commemorates the fundamental miracle of the faith: the resurrection of the Christ after his sacrifice for the redemption of the sins of humanity. In spite of its obvious importance, it still manages to create significantly less cultural noise than Christmas, which is in its modern form more a celebration of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-75249595752274104432010-04-02T01:17:00.000-07:002010-04-04T19:05:57.770-07:00

Have you got forty five minutes to stare at something interesting? Of course you do!First of all, my eternal gratitude to Scott McCloud (comic book author, theorist, and personal hero of mine) for spreading the word on all the coolest sequential art on the net. I've made my share of good decisions in the past few years, but I still believe that one of my best was going to see him speak at the

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-27296211520779254342010-03-30T20:37:00.000-07:002010-05-01T17:02:39.257-07:00

Really, if you think about it, "blog" is such a disgusting word. I never feel right saying it; it sounds like the kind of thing I might say if I were still in third grade, trying to gross out some girls. But all the same, I have yet to receive my golden scepter in the mail, conferring upon me the right to remake the English language as I see fit. I've been waiting a long time, but I'm

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-61991747856040559032010-03-17T17:21:00.000-07:002010-03-18T01:50:14.621-07:00

At long last, I'm nearly done with my efforts to publicly document my European vacation, a project long delayed and marginally relevant so many months past. Revisiting the experience has been, for me, a source of inner smiles and fond memories. I don't happen to have a view of the Alps from my window, so it was wonderful to have occasion to dwell on the vistas impressed upon my brain.

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-69360638823319875942010-03-16T23:47:00.000-07:002010-03-17T03:07:19.906-07:00

One thing I originally intended to do with this blog was to give a mini-micro-shout-out to nifty pieces of art that came my way. It's an aspect I haven't really paid much attention to, owing mostly to my general state of woeful neglect. The truth is, you don't have to go far out of your way on the internet to find something that makes you go "O_o," so I haven't felt much pressure to point them

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-67987151907340062162010-03-13T15:36:00.000-08:002010-03-14T22:17:40.787-07:00

Does the naming system I've devised for these five weeks of my life have any significance whatsoever? Of course not.After all, the first two days of this week finds me and my increasingly impatient comrades still in German-speaking lands, and the last day finds us in France. To make matters even more distressing, I could not for the life of me think of a suitable synonym for "Dutch."

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-8368390115256381642010-03-08T22:29:00.000-08:002010-05-01T17:04:35.707-07:00

Of all the arts, the writing of prose carries the greatest potential for raw, nuanced expression, for the artist to expose as much of his teeming sea of neurons to his audience as humanly possible. It is beholden to fewer formal rules than poetry or music; it is more transparent than painting or sculpture; it is less relentlessly practical than cooking or architecture. The prose author is

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-58382407042407166512010-03-04T03:30:00.000-08:002010-03-13T17:28:46.454-08:00

Today's journal title is a little misleading, because it only partly describes events in Germany. In fact, astute readers will recall that we haven't even made it out of Italy yet. But you know what? I committed to this naming scheme a long time ago, buddy. I'm not changing it.This entry contains a very serious section about the Holocaust, an subject which deserves to be considered separately

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-32438413365220123782010-02-20T18:14:00.001-08:002010-02-24T02:16:12.594-08:00

I love music; I can listen to it all day, on any format you give me, until my head splits open and my ears bleed rock n' roll all over the keyboard. And because I am a nerd, I must do more than love my music: I must hoard it, categorize it, analyze it, and most importantly, pontificate about it. Yes, it falls to me to listen to things, and tell the rest of the world whether it's worth their

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-54117004048518508132010-02-12T01:29:00.000-08:002010-03-13T17:22:23.056-08:00

Grad school is eating my soul, slowly but surely; however, for the first time in weeks, I'm not stressing about anything major coming up. So let's have another journal entry, shall we? Today's section covers roughly the week we spent in Italy, which is nearly as hot as Greece, and only slightly more crammed full of monuments. Once again I have modified the original journal, which was written

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-74990994797679688802010-01-23T20:30:00.000-08:002010-01-24T22:49:40.785-08:00

By now, a million billion words have been written about the catastrophe that has befallen the Tonight Show, culminating in the termination of Conan O'Brien, for my money the most original comic vision to ever host the show. Last night, Conan said goodbye to the show, to NBC, and to the legions of new viewers he had gained in the past two weeks, since his job was first threatened by the forces of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-60599590304346958722010-01-13T20:53:00.000-08:002010-03-13T17:16:28.434-08:00

Behold, gentle reader: the first installment of my European journal, which I promised to post when I got home last August, and am now so doing! Sometimes, I do actually keep my promises. Not often, though. The following text is edited and revised from my original notes, which are more awful than I remembered, and often mix the past and present tenses. I'll fix it where I can, but bear with

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-61716366760281445272010-01-04T20:25:00.000-08:002010-01-04T21:40:27.105-08:00

We're now a few days into the Year of Our Lord Two Thousand and Ten, so I am now emerging from my underground bunker, cautiously optimistic that my earlier apocalyptic speculations have not come true, and that the Y2K Bug was not, in fact, biding its time and preparing to strike ten years past due, when we would least expect it. Since my accounts remain solvent and nuclear winter has not set in,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-79056203128907390932009-12-24T23:09:00.000-08:002009-12-24T23:49:59.934-08:00

Yes indeed, in one of my own most noteworthy "Feats of Strength," I actually made a blog post on December 23rd, and only eight days later than I had originally promised! Such is the magic of Festivus.I'm very pleased with how that last story came out, in terms of expressing the kind of feelings that I meant to express. I wrote The Modern Spirit, in part, to explore what I jokingly call my own

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-54319049530228486952009-12-23T17:13:00.000-08:002009-12-23T19:16:24.968-08:00

Saturdays in springtime are like oases, unspeakably benign, so often taken for granted in spite of all they have to offer for the weary of mind and soul. Days like these are all but synonymous with the flowing of water and the flight of birds, and cool grass under sneakers and toes. Like all such paradises, Saturdays in springtime are made for children, though grownups might hope to approximate

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-10097946387596518362009-12-11T19:46:00.000-08:002009-12-11T20:28:59.781-08:00

...especially if they live long enough.So, let's start off with the cold hard truth, and follow it up with a light, optimistic compensation. There's no new story this week (gasp!) I had it in my head that I could finish the one I'm currently working on, but things didn't work out that way. Fortunately, however, I am about halfway through with this new short story, to be posted next Tuesday, the

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-67918029997633219532009-12-03T17:36:00.001-08:002009-12-03T18:25:25.799-08:00

Really, there is; a vicious war, fought between ducks and beavers, over who will control the ponds and streams of this fair state for the next year. The losers, it is my understanding, must make do with the lesser ponds and streams of Idaho, until such time as Civil War is invoked again. For the time being, the streets are clogged with bloodied feathers and pelts, and the air rings with the

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-56155986631238108182009-12-01T21:05:00.000-08:002009-12-01T22:07:48.202-08:00

Gather around, however few of you, for the second (long awaited?) installment of poems by myself. Once again, I make no claims with regard to quality, except that I assume I must be getting better at these over time. I've thrown a great many out, rewritten a few that seemed worth it, and dithered, and dithered, and dithered some more, before finally sucking it up and sticking another handful

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-658127409014086842009-11-27T19:08:00.000-08:002009-11-29T15:18:02.117-08:00

Thanksgiving has come and gone, a day of national feasting and football (many holidays seem to have a lot to do with football), and also thankfulness, if you're feeling particularly thankful. Maybe you're not, in which case you've still got the feasting and the football. Maybe be thankful for that?American myth and lore tells us that the First Thanksgiving was a celebration between "The

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-70445037282459476962009-11-11T18:13:00.000-08:002009-11-11T20:45:25.292-08:00

Here in the United States we have a pair of holidays for honoring the members of our military; Memorial Day in May, and Veterans Day in November (this very day!). If you're like me, preternaturally obsessed with classification and differentiation, you may note that there isn't a whole lot of difference between the two in terms of their intentions; however, that hasn't stopped Americans from

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-67967755974607761242009-11-04T15:05:00.000-08:002009-11-04T21:54:46.095-08:00

The door was large, like the entrance to a mansion in sheer stature. However, it was plainly a working door, scuffed by passing machinery, boxes, and boots. The symbols engraved near the top were mysterious to me, but I deduced that their meaning must be rather mundane: perhaps 'laboratory,' or 'to bridge,' or 'exit.' Maybe they only meant 'door.' Apart from its dimensions (being built as it

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-20473090913490925062009-11-01T01:40:00.000-07:002009-11-01T03:12:16.178-08:00

The world is a confusing place, but one of the nice things about being a little kid is the way things just sort of make sense. Of course, it's not as though kids know something we don't. Rather, they assign great importance to mundane facts in a way that reaffirms their faith in an ordered world. For example, when I was small, I believed it to be highly significant that the last three months

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-45351916934233885472009-10-30T20:19:00.000-07:002009-10-30T22:39:52.722-07:00

One of the nicer parts of the University of Oregon campus is the art museum, which overall has a nicely diverse selection of works on display, ranging from ancient artifacts to classical fine art to contemporary abstract horrors. Not having been on campus for a while, I was surprised when a friend of mine tipped me off last night about the museum's latest featured exhibition: Faster Than a

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-86533859529818470892009-10-28T13:42:00.000-07:002009-10-28T14:04:44.216-07:00

Chapter Thirteen, the dramatic conclusion of On the Second Floor, was supposed to go up this week. It didn't because I realized while I was writing it that I didn't like it.My writing process typically works like this: first, I get an idea. Once the idea is obtained, the next step is to sit down with pen, paper, and build a setting around that idea. Then, through arcane mysteries known only to

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-38402340395326141762009-10-22T16:08:00.000-07:002010-05-01T17:06:34.320-07:00

This book marks my first substantial introduction to the work of R. Crumb, one of the most brazen and controversial, yet venerable, artists in the world of comics. I know him solely by reputation, and his is perhaps the definition of colorful (though he prefers, to all appearances, the look of black and white in his own work). A product of 60s counterculture and LSD, Crumb has accumulated a

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-45553745926910053512009-10-20T23:23:00.000-07:002009-10-21T03:57:55.054-07:00

Day TenThe next morning I lay motionless in my bed for several minutes, checking the extent of my resolve against the magnitude of my task. My artificial environment was so remarkably consistent, one day was just the same as another, and there were no omens, no signs of special importance; but it was important, I reminded myself. It was the last day of school, if school were a bubble of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-91980470841811825152009-10-12T19:11:00.001-07:002009-10-12T20:51:17.357-07:00

Day Nine"Good Morning, Toto," I said to the spider, who clung to the corner of his tousled web, waiting for his next meal. Toto was a comfort to me, but I had begun to accept that he would very likely die soon. There were no native bugs to sustain him in the dome, and if there were any other stowaways to be found near the apartment, none of them appeared to have been ensnared in his trap.And

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-7084582605634159682009-10-07T13:02:00.000-07:002009-10-07T15:17:37.841-07:00

Day Eight"You've gotten better at this game." Part of me couldn't believe it, refused to believe that Dayus could learn the game of chess so thoroughly in a single day; still another part of me found it maddeningly typical. Of course he would, the extraterrestrial with the huge head, infinitely smarter than I could ever hope to be, only had to think about it to achieve perfect play- why

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-51669569507783490902009-09-21T22:30:00.000-07:002009-09-22T01:27:52.825-07:00

Day SevenAt the back of my apartment was a small network of pipes and wires, hastily yet competently assembled by the ones who brought me to this place. They were interstellar scientists, "naturalists," you might almost call them, experts in whatever they called the abduction of sleeping Earthlings. They knew enough about enough to know how things work, to perceive what it took to keep a

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-16842576961158117122009-09-08T17:22:00.000-07:002009-09-08T17:58:58.733-07:00

Today is Labor Day. Actually, yesterday was Labor Day. But yesterday was also the normal deadline for this blog, and blogging twice on Labor Day would seem to defeat the purpose.In any event, Labor Day is one of the more interesting holidays. On the one hand, it is celebrated in much the same manner as every other summer -oriented holiday; with barbecues and car sales. Much as Memorial Day,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-87561671984006436142009-09-07T17:20:00.000-07:002009-09-08T00:19:15.118-07:00

Day Six"This is new behavior."Dayus found me that morning, floating on my back down the babbling brook. I'd heard him coming, of course, but I was sure he knew where to find me, so I made no effort to find him, and refused to let him interrupt my lazy reverie."Don't read too much into it," I said, slowly spinning around in the current. It was more than just pretty scenery. With a little

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-77363711429590833672009-09-01T15:58:00.000-07:002009-09-01T17:51:54.643-07:00

Day FiveIt felt like another good morning for pancakes, so I gave the griddle a ceremonial washing-off and fired it up once more. I retrieved the box of batter from the cabinet and scooped out the recommended quantity, and as luck would have it there was barely enough to make a single serving of four. I put the dusty box in the overhead cabinet, there being little point in throwing it out. Dayus

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-12135413650231049872009-08-19T20:37:00.000-07:002009-08-19T20:47:48.582-07:00

Day FourThe next morning, which began at half-past noon, found me playing my guitar whilst reclining on the couch, thinking half about my music, and half about myself, wondering just what they had to do with each other, now that everything had changed. Dayus had yet to show himself again, and I was basically on my own, so I thought I might be productive and take the time to perfect my so-called

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-47282891104422566002009-08-14T15:47:00.000-07:002010-03-13T18:04:29.219-08:00

A month is a very long time to be gone, but what do you know, I'm back!My European odyssey was definitely one of the most interesting (and densest) vacations I've taken in a very long time. My sister, Chelsea, and I spent thirty five days being shuttled from city to city across the continent, going by boat, bus, and even a train once (trains are way cool). Accompanying us were a motley crew of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-23727113568112982482009-07-08T00:23:00.001-07:002009-08-19T21:03:54.793-07:00

Astute readers will note that updates on the Wave Function Junction have been sparse since summer vacation began; I won't disagree if you find that ironic. The lack of posting has been mirrored by a lack of writing; I've only completed a few pieces since I left school, a number of which I don't particularly like in hindsight. Ordinarily, this is what a backlog is for; however, I was somewhat

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-71357519509665784912009-06-24T12:43:00.000-07:002009-06-25T19:29:21.560-07:00

Day ThreeWhen I woke up the next morning, I decided that I was in the mood to eat some pancakes. "In the mood" wasn't quite it, but regardless, I had pancakes, and I wanted to eat them. Rolling out of bed once more, I rose to my wobbly feet and ambled into the kitchen, cleaning up the counter space just enough to begin the process.As usual, there were some hiccups. I made four on the griddle,

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-82168655792057400592009-06-14T13:41:00.000-07:002009-06-14T14:11:49.920-07:00

Today is Flag Day, the day we commemorate the adoption of the Stars and Stripes, Old Glory, the Star-Spangled Banner, the good old Red White and Blue; as created by Betsy Ross, seamstress, patriot, probably a really nice lady. We celebrate flag day by flying that same flag, preferably as high as possible, with as large a flag as possible.Does this sound familiar to you?On Veteran's Day, we honor

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-43705557995262294802009-06-13T23:18:00.000-07:002009-06-14T02:06:57.842-07:00

First, the very good news: after four years of "hard work," "dedication," and "not screwing around," the History Faculty at the University of Oregon have seen fit to give me a diploma. Actually, they gave me a diploma IOU, with the promise to mail me the real deal in eight to ten weeks. Thus, in the course of a two hour ceremony, I ceased to be David Miller - Student of History and was created

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-64443260066827742172009-06-09T15:47:00.000-07:002009-06-09T17:46:59.115-07:00

Day TwoI had plenty of time to prepare for Dayus' return. He might have been a gracious host thus far (and a gracious kidnapper is certainly better than the other kind), but he had made it perfectly clear that I was neither a friend, nor even a "close associate." I was a research specimen, and my pride was finally waking up to that fact.So when I heard the tower gears turn once more, I was

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-25765636313197225272009-06-01T14:23:00.000-07:002009-06-03T10:52:21.236-07:00

Day OneI woke up the next morning the same as I always did; my alarm clock rang at the same leisurely ten-thirty that I was used to. But any illusion I had that the events of the preceding evening were a symphony-induced dream was quickly dispelled. As I opened my bedroom window shades, I saw the strange trees swaying amidst the artificial landscape that my little home had settled in. And

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-61680726841260173552009-05-30T17:33:00.000-07:002009-05-30T17:47:38.901-07:00

Blogging is hard work. Not in the sense of producing the content; that comes easily enough. No, it's pacing it correctly that's the problem. Having committed myself to a one-update-a-week policy, I often find myself wondering if I should be making better use of the six other days in the week.Since this isn't exactly a diary blog (that's what Live Journal is for, and I've yet to make one of

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-82127514655778122102009-05-25T11:14:00.000-07:002009-05-25T12:10:31.036-07:00

Could I have been aboard their ship? It seemed likely, but what kind of ship has fields, trees, and a sky no less? Perhaps, I thought, I'd already reached their world. If that were true, then there really was no telling how far I'd gone. To think I could leap across star systems, without even leaving my apartment!The buzzing was gone. I'd heard it the entire time I was flying, but it had

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2076188033727398971.post-18526458907738427932009-05-24T14:04:00.000-07:002009-10-14T01:59:40.045-07:00

When I first heard about the new animated adaptation (watch it here) of Fullmetal Alchemist, I naturally hoped it would follow the events of the movie, Conqueror of Shamballa. When I learned that it would in fact be a clean reboot, and that furthermore, it would strictly follow the plot of the original comic book, I was a little concerned. Although the first animated series and the comic

Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04216055186485263422noreply@blogger.com2