Wii had a red letter day recently. To be brief, tax return time is good to us, and wii're able to splurge for about the only time of the year once it comes in. This year's splurge included the coveted Nintendo Wii. Talk about a geek's technolust gone wild. This thing is probably the cleverest video game system to hit the home market in a long time.
Prior to its launch, there were all kinds of naysayers, primarily because the next generation systems for Nintendo's current competitors, Xbox and Playstation, were all putting out graphics that were either HD or close to it, where the Wii was to have basically the same graphics as the GameCube. But when it hit... oh, did they shut their mouths. In six months, the Wii outsold what the Xbox did in it first 18 months. The PS3 hastily added some shoddy motion control in their controller, but it didn't help. Now, 3 years after Xbox, 2 years after Wii, and 1 year after PS3, the Wii continues to sell out, while the others sit on their shelves. Who's laughing now?
Wii played the bowling game with three of us. It knew how Wii were holding our hands and threw the ball accordingly. The Queen always tends to bounce her ball down the alley, and sure enough, the game did it exactly as she does it in real life. It curved and everything else just like throwing the real ball. It was amazing. Wii played all of those Wii Sports games, and despite my aversion to sports games, I thoroughly enjoyed it. What can touch this thing?
Wii also got Guitar Hero 3. I have already mention my love for this game, but I continue to adore it as I play through the levels. I recently had my butt kicked by a song on the hard level, but rest assured, I will conquer it as well.
While the Geek certainly enjoys the system, the Queen and princesses have their games as well. Rock Girl, naturally, likes Guitar Hero, but she also has a Horses simulation game that she likes playing. Girls and horses. It's a thing, I guess. Wii naturally also have a Disney Princesses game, and it is mostly The Socialite that plays this one, though Sassy Pants tries awful hard. She's just a bit too young yet, but she'll keep trying and she'll get the hang of it.
The Queen was thrilled to have a new Sims game as she plays Sims Castaway. On the Wii, this works out very well, since the Wiimote works like a mouse pointer. She said it's quite fun, although my weekend schedule at the world's larget retailer has prevented me from watching her play.
"My" game is Lego Star Wars: The Complete Saga. Now, I already have both Lego Star Wars games on the GameCube, but this one promised to have some more stuff in it. They did redesign the outer level, and although I've only played through the first episode (again, with the world's laregest retailer schedule -- and lots of Guitar Hero), I've noticed some marked differences between the new version and the old version. For instance, I always hated the pod race level, but in the new version, they have it un-timed and now have a free play mode, where before, it only allowed the story mode. This, of course, makes the level more complex, which is okay. There's also an extra canister to collect that is blue, as opposed to the white ones from the first version. I have yet to find a blue one...but like I said, I haven't played that far in yet.
Of course, wii also got the new Mario game, and everyone has played on it. It's very enjoyable and in classic Nintendo fashion, serves to exploit all the features of their system, serving as the flagship must-have game.
If you don't have a Wii yet, good luck. They continue to sell out even so long after its launch. Wii called all over town to find one, and after wii got the last one in the store, 3 other people wanted one too...but too bad, cause Wii got it. If you want an Xbox or PS3, however, there are plenty available.
On the topic of the world's largest retailer, that weekend schedule is wreaking havoc on the weekend of the Queen and I. She doesn't sleep well. I stumble through the day from Saturday to Monday. One evening, she called me at work, and I had to run home due to some talking coming out of the living room. Near as I can figure, the voices from just outside the house carried in through the attic vent causing some odd reverb making the voices sound like they were inside. The house was secure, so she was mostly reassured.
It isn't fun, though, at all. The sooner I can leave that job by the wayside, the better off we'll be. It will allow me to actually have a weekend with my children again, not to mention allowing the Queen to sleep in comfort seven days a week, instead of only four. You never realize the impact a third shift will have on the family (and yourself) until you're doing it. Especially in conjunction with an 8-5 Monday through Friday job. Very rough.
I actually used to watch movies with the Queen, even her chick flicks. At present, I haven't seen any of her movies in some time. It's a minor thing, but I do miss watching movies with her, despite our radically different movie tastes. She won't watch mine since I navigate the horror / thriller sections mostly.
Well, such is life and life goes on. I swear some amusing and interestng things do go on in our lives, but by the time I sit down and write about them, I've all but forgotten what happened. Kind of annoying, really.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
Piccolo
So I was catting around with my friend, High Speed, and we were having a grand old time running to Denver for Transformers and every McDonald's in town. We went to Taco Bell when they came out with those Chili-cheese burritos and had them for 79 cents. We had a contest to see who could eat the most; I won after eating seven of them where he could only choke down five. I've always had a massive appetite.
I'm kind of surprised that all that happened in my first three months there. It seems like so much longer, but with so many new things going on all at once, I was cramming more into my days than I'd done the entire life I had before, so it comes as no surprise that so little time actually passed. My entire time at Fort Carson was only a year and eight months long, but you'll be surprised at how much actually went on by the time I get through it all.
Friends are good, but the first significant thing was a girl we'll call Piccolo. I say "girl," but she was a woman who'd graduated college already, had been engaged once to a guy who went off on her one night and hit her, so she left him right there. She'd been a band director in a school until the parents proved to be too much for her sanity, so she left the classroom, and went into the Army. I call her Piccolo here because that was the instrument she preferred to play -- not flute, piccolo. One of her favorite tunes was Stars and Stripes Forever because of the piccolo obligatto at the end.
She's actually seven years older than I am (I almost wrote "she was 7 years older than I was" but I imagine the age gap is still the same, even thirteen years later), but I was most attracted to her personality and intelligence. You'll find that intelligence is very prevalent in people I spend time with. Every one of them is very smart one way or another, which means they not only allow me to communicate with them on my level, but they also see right through me so I can't get away with anything. You may have also picked up that she was a teacher before she got tired of pushy band parents; the Queen is also a teacher. Wild, huh?
Anyway, I hooked up with her in July, I believe, and we went out multiple times over the next month or so. I told her who I'd hung out with at the SOM, and she remarked that I appeared to be the wrong color for that person (since that person started fully dating an African American guy shortly after I stopped hanging out with her and she broke up with her "fiancee"). Piccolo was significant because she was my first kiss. After hanging out in her room for a while after going out, we parted ways, and kissed in the doorway as I was leaving.
There were several things I did wrong during our time together that led to this relationship being rather short, though. She always initiated any kiss that we shared, because (have you figured this out?) I'm a big chicken. When the opportune moments arose, I couldn't lean forward and have at her. I froze. I couldn't release that fear within me that I might be crossing a line or something, even though we had shared those moments already.
Another problem I had could only be termed as an obsession. I was like a little puppy dog following her around EVERYWHERE. If she was in her room, I would show up there. If she was doing anything at the band room, I would be close by. I alwasy went to her room first thing in the morning to give her a ride to work, since she didn't have her car yet. I never gave the poor girl a moment's peace during that whole time. She told me once that she had heard I used to hang out with High Speed all the time, and that was cool (that would be her subtle way of saying, "Leave me alone for a little while and play with your friends."). Yeah, I didn't get it.
And let's go into the jealousy factor. I didn't understand at the time that when someone decides to be with you, they a) make that decision themselves and b) don't just change their mind without a good reason. It also means they can hang out with their friends (male and female), and you don't have anything to worry about -- especially if said male friend is supposedly engaged, but appears to be a bit of a "cupcake." (We gave his a theme song of "Cake Boy" and called his car -- ironically a Probe -- the "Cakemobile.") Therefore, fussing over her spending time with him will not lead to good things in the future...and it didn't.
Had I left well enough alone and been more mature through this whole deal, we might have had a nice time together while I was in the Army, but I was very much a child, and to be honest, she wasn't. I felt the relationship falling apart by the time I took her to the bus station for her to take a bus back to Montana for her to get her stuff, and I was determined to kiss her good-bye. I dropped her off, and it was a very quick kiss before she got on the bus.
When she returned a week later, she had her car, and I tried to resume things where we'd left off. Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? I still never left her alone, and since she had her car, I hitched rides with her to work, showing up at her room first thing in the morning. It didn't last long.
She chose to go out with someone else in the band probably to show me she was done, since that relationship didn't last long at all, and she was beyond disinterested in him after that. I went backed to moderately hanging out with High Speed again, but I also spent a lot of time alone.
During this period, I looked into writing on that musical again that I'd started while I was at the School of Music. I asked another guy who was in the Army about writing lyrics, but he dropped out quickly. I asked High Speed, since I'd heard him ad-libbing bogus lyrics to songs before, but he also dropped quickly. I wrote some lyrics myself and even had a couple more songs, but again, I found myself incapable of writing lyrics.
I wanted to write musicals, but I didn't know a whole lot about them. I wanted to learn more, but wasn't sure how to do it. Then the radio gave me the answer, like a lightning bolt from heaven. Auditions... for a musical... called Camelot. Little did I know that Camelot would give me more than just a lesson in musicals.
I'm kind of surprised that all that happened in my first three months there. It seems like so much longer, but with so many new things going on all at once, I was cramming more into my days than I'd done the entire life I had before, so it comes as no surprise that so little time actually passed. My entire time at Fort Carson was only a year and eight months long, but you'll be surprised at how much actually went on by the time I get through it all.
Friends are good, but the first significant thing was a girl we'll call Piccolo. I say "girl," but she was a woman who'd graduated college already, had been engaged once to a guy who went off on her one night and hit her, so she left him right there. She'd been a band director in a school until the parents proved to be too much for her sanity, so she left the classroom, and went into the Army. I call her Piccolo here because that was the instrument she preferred to play -- not flute, piccolo. One of her favorite tunes was Stars and Stripes Forever because of the piccolo obligatto at the end.
She's actually seven years older than I am (I almost wrote "she was 7 years older than I was" but I imagine the age gap is still the same, even thirteen years later), but I was most attracted to her personality and intelligence. You'll find that intelligence is very prevalent in people I spend time with. Every one of them is very smart one way or another, which means they not only allow me to communicate with them on my level, but they also see right through me so I can't get away with anything. You may have also picked up that she was a teacher before she got tired of pushy band parents; the Queen is also a teacher. Wild, huh?
Anyway, I hooked up with her in July, I believe, and we went out multiple times over the next month or so. I told her who I'd hung out with at the SOM, and she remarked that I appeared to be the wrong color for that person (since that person started fully dating an African American guy shortly after I stopped hanging out with her and she broke up with her "fiancee"). Piccolo was significant because she was my first kiss. After hanging out in her room for a while after going out, we parted ways, and kissed in the doorway as I was leaving.
There were several things I did wrong during our time together that led to this relationship being rather short, though. She always initiated any kiss that we shared, because (have you figured this out?) I'm a big chicken. When the opportune moments arose, I couldn't lean forward and have at her. I froze. I couldn't release that fear within me that I might be crossing a line or something, even though we had shared those moments already.
Another problem I had could only be termed as an obsession. I was like a little puppy dog following her around EVERYWHERE. If she was in her room, I would show up there. If she was doing anything at the band room, I would be close by. I alwasy went to her room first thing in the morning to give her a ride to work, since she didn't have her car yet. I never gave the poor girl a moment's peace during that whole time. She told me once that she had heard I used to hang out with High Speed all the time, and that was cool (that would be her subtle way of saying, "Leave me alone for a little while and play with your friends."). Yeah, I didn't get it.
And let's go into the jealousy factor. I didn't understand at the time that when someone decides to be with you, they a) make that decision themselves and b) don't just change their mind without a good reason. It also means they can hang out with their friends (male and female), and you don't have anything to worry about -- especially if said male friend is supposedly engaged, but appears to be a bit of a "cupcake." (We gave his a theme song of "Cake Boy" and called his car -- ironically a Probe -- the "Cakemobile.") Therefore, fussing over her spending time with him will not lead to good things in the future...and it didn't.
Had I left well enough alone and been more mature through this whole deal, we might have had a nice time together while I was in the Army, but I was very much a child, and to be honest, she wasn't. I felt the relationship falling apart by the time I took her to the bus station for her to take a bus back to Montana for her to get her stuff, and I was determined to kiss her good-bye. I dropped her off, and it was a very quick kiss before she got on the bus.
When she returned a week later, she had her car, and I tried to resume things where we'd left off. Well, that was the problem, wasn't it? I still never left her alone, and since she had her car, I hitched rides with her to work, showing up at her room first thing in the morning. It didn't last long.
She chose to go out with someone else in the band probably to show me she was done, since that relationship didn't last long at all, and she was beyond disinterested in him after that. I went backed to moderately hanging out with High Speed again, but I also spent a lot of time alone.
During this period, I looked into writing on that musical again that I'd started while I was at the School of Music. I asked another guy who was in the Army about writing lyrics, but he dropped out quickly. I asked High Speed, since I'd heard him ad-libbing bogus lyrics to songs before, but he also dropped quickly. I wrote some lyrics myself and even had a couple more songs, but again, I found myself incapable of writing lyrics.
I wanted to write musicals, but I didn't know a whole lot about them. I wanted to learn more, but wasn't sure how to do it. Then the radio gave me the answer, like a lightning bolt from heaven. Auditions... for a musical... called Camelot. Little did I know that Camelot would give me more than just a lesson in musicals.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Re-Acquainting
So I intended to keep this going at least daily during the week, but I keep failing miserably. You know, you intend to write something, but then something happens, and you just can't get back to it?
I picked her up the following day, which was Sunday, for ice cream. She dressed up for the occasion looking much better than I did, and I was happy to see her again. I was happy to be going out with her finally after what amounts to four years of waiting for it. We hit Braum's and got our ice cream, but of course, ice cream was not the point of the date. We talked. Non-stop we talked the whole time about a little of everything. While at present, I don't know everything we discussed, I know I was just enjoying her company. To me, she hadn't changed at all. She was just as cute as when I'd seen her in high school, but this time, there was no competition, perceived or otherwise, for her affections. It was just me and her, and a nearly empty restaurant.
That evening was completely respectable. After Braum's, I took her home and walked her to her door. We bid each other a farewell with a shy wave, and that was that. The amusing side of this was that just prior to this re-meeting, she'd been dating sporadically to the point of going out with someone once, deciding she didn't like him, and that was it after one date. So, her parents saw me as the flavor of the moment and likely not to see me again.
Imagine their surprise when I called on her again, and we decided to go out on a Tuesday and make a whole day of it. We went to the zoo, of all places, and just hung out. It was there that I worked up the courage to clasp her hand and hold it. She took it willingly.
As I recall, I think I did something cheesy and ran over to a door for some reason, taking her hand as I said "Come on." Neither of us wanted to let go after that, so we held hands the majority of the remainder of our time checking out the myriad of animals at the zoo.
Following the zoo, we went to dinner at Olive Garden, which became a signature place for us, and she wanted me to order for her. Little did I know I was being tested. I looked over the menu, and thought about what sh might want. Now, I hadn't seen her in four years, and I still barely knew her, so it was as blind a shot as anyone could take to pick something off of a menu for her. But took the shot...
"Fettucini Alfredo," said I. I passed the test. Turns out that Fettucini Alfredo is one of her favorite dishes at Olive Garden, and I could only have gotten extra credit by ordering chicken on it. I got the Tour of Italy, which is the dish for those who can't decide what they want as it has Lasagna, Fettucini Alfredo, and Chicken Parmigiana. It can be argued (especially by over-zealous Italians) that Olive Garden is merely a non-Italian pasta restaurant, but to those people I say, "Shut up and let me eat my pasta."
From there, we went to the elementary school near her parents' house that we both attended at one time or another (and that Rock Girl spent two grades in). I learned that the Queen was in the very first class to go there for all 6 years of elementary school, as it was finished during her kindergarden year and she was transferred in during that year. I only went there one year, in second grade (now there's another really long story I might tell one day, but not today), but was at another school my other years.
We talked a lot on the playground. We didn't play on the toys, though. Just sat on them as we talked. There was a lot of tension of the positive variety between us. I wanted to take her in my arms at that point, but that chicken side of me held me off. "What would she do," I wondered. I couldn't bring myself to break that barrier as much as I internally wanted to. With every move through the playground, I felt the temptation to hold her in some way, but I just couldn't.
Romance is a very difficult thing for introverts. We gain our personal energy from spending time alone, so finding someone we are willing to give up our precious aloneness for is such a rare thing, that we just don't know what to do with it. I hadn't had a lot of experience in the field anyway, as you'll learn from the Silent Years section, but I had felt that touch before, and deep down, I knew that everything I had gone through was in preparation for this time -- for her.
My mind reeled with the possibly of being close to her like I tried to be close to the others, but untimately failed for one reason or another. But she was different. There was a genuineness there that didn't exist in the others -- like finding a piece of me that I'd long misplaced and been trying to fit with pieces that don't fit right.
At the time, although we were both no longer minors, her parents did have a curfew, of sorts, that they asked her to follow. They asked her out of respect for them since they had to work the following days, and to be honest, I found this curfew refreshing, since it gave me a firm time to have her home, and allowed me to be responsible about my life too. That time was 10:30.
So 10:00 rolled around, and we headed back to her house. We walked to my car and I stood close to her as I opened the door. We looked in each other's eyes for a long moment, but I finally opened the door fully and let her in. When we got to her house, we stood on the porch a long time, looking at each, trying to find a close to our evening of what can only be described in the end as sexual tension.
We looked at each other. I was trying to decide what to do. I know what I wanted to do, but I was frozen. I didn't want to do anything to upset her, or make her go away. This final moment is said to be critical, since it defines how the evening went. Any move could seal my doom or lead to paradise.
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her. Se returned the gesture. We stood there like that for a long time, neither of us moving -- just holding each other as our second date came to a close.
I picked her up the following day, which was Sunday, for ice cream. She dressed up for the occasion looking much better than I did, and I was happy to see her again. I was happy to be going out with her finally after what amounts to four years of waiting for it. We hit Braum's and got our ice cream, but of course, ice cream was not the point of the date. We talked. Non-stop we talked the whole time about a little of everything. While at present, I don't know everything we discussed, I know I was just enjoying her company. To me, she hadn't changed at all. She was just as cute as when I'd seen her in high school, but this time, there was no competition, perceived or otherwise, for her affections. It was just me and her, and a nearly empty restaurant.
That evening was completely respectable. After Braum's, I took her home and walked her to her door. We bid each other a farewell with a shy wave, and that was that. The amusing side of this was that just prior to this re-meeting, she'd been dating sporadically to the point of going out with someone once, deciding she didn't like him, and that was it after one date. So, her parents saw me as the flavor of the moment and likely not to see me again.
Imagine their surprise when I called on her again, and we decided to go out on a Tuesday and make a whole day of it. We went to the zoo, of all places, and just hung out. It was there that I worked up the courage to clasp her hand and hold it. She took it willingly.
As I recall, I think I did something cheesy and ran over to a door for some reason, taking her hand as I said "Come on." Neither of us wanted to let go after that, so we held hands the majority of the remainder of our time checking out the myriad of animals at the zoo.
Following the zoo, we went to dinner at Olive Garden, which became a signature place for us, and she wanted me to order for her. Little did I know I was being tested. I looked over the menu, and thought about what sh might want. Now, I hadn't seen her in four years, and I still barely knew her, so it was as blind a shot as anyone could take to pick something off of a menu for her. But took the shot...
"Fettucini Alfredo," said I. I passed the test. Turns out that Fettucini Alfredo is one of her favorite dishes at Olive Garden, and I could only have gotten extra credit by ordering chicken on it. I got the Tour of Italy, which is the dish for those who can't decide what they want as it has Lasagna, Fettucini Alfredo, and Chicken Parmigiana. It can be argued (especially by over-zealous Italians) that Olive Garden is merely a non-Italian pasta restaurant, but to those people I say, "Shut up and let me eat my pasta."
From there, we went to the elementary school near her parents' house that we both attended at one time or another (and that Rock Girl spent two grades in). I learned that the Queen was in the very first class to go there for all 6 years of elementary school, as it was finished during her kindergarden year and she was transferred in during that year. I only went there one year, in second grade (now there's another really long story I might tell one day, but not today), but was at another school my other years.
We talked a lot on the playground. We didn't play on the toys, though. Just sat on them as we talked. There was a lot of tension of the positive variety between us. I wanted to take her in my arms at that point, but that chicken side of me held me off. "What would she do," I wondered. I couldn't bring myself to break that barrier as much as I internally wanted to. With every move through the playground, I felt the temptation to hold her in some way, but I just couldn't.
Romance is a very difficult thing for introverts. We gain our personal energy from spending time alone, so finding someone we are willing to give up our precious aloneness for is such a rare thing, that we just don't know what to do with it. I hadn't had a lot of experience in the field anyway, as you'll learn from the Silent Years section, but I had felt that touch before, and deep down, I knew that everything I had gone through was in preparation for this time -- for her.
My mind reeled with the possibly of being close to her like I tried to be close to the others, but untimately failed for one reason or another. But she was different. There was a genuineness there that didn't exist in the others -- like finding a piece of me that I'd long misplaced and been trying to fit with pieces that don't fit right.
At the time, although we were both no longer minors, her parents did have a curfew, of sorts, that they asked her to follow. They asked her out of respect for them since they had to work the following days, and to be honest, I found this curfew refreshing, since it gave me a firm time to have her home, and allowed me to be responsible about my life too. That time was 10:30.
So 10:00 rolled around, and we headed back to her house. We walked to my car and I stood close to her as I opened the door. We looked in each other's eyes for a long moment, but I finally opened the door fully and let her in. When we got to her house, we stood on the porch a long time, looking at each, trying to find a close to our evening of what can only be described in the end as sexual tension.
We looked at each other. I was trying to decide what to do. I know what I wanted to do, but I was frozen. I didn't want to do anything to upset her, or make her go away. This final moment is said to be critical, since it defines how the evening went. Any move could seal my doom or lead to paradise.
I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around her. Se returned the gesture. We stood there like that for a long time, neither of us moving -- just holding each other as our second date came to a close.
Monday, February 18, 2008
It's Pink
People are funny when it comes to colors. Not only is there a man/woman divide between what a color is, but different people perceive colors different ways, and most of them are as insistent about color as they are about religion and politics.
Men are pretty simple when it comes to color. Pick up a box of 16 colors, and that's about it. We break down colors into three shades: light, regular, and dark. So we have red, light red, and dark red. Not maroon; dark red. Not burgundy; dark red. Sometimes, we have a "deep" version of a color, but it's still based on the base color. If you've ever read 1984, it's rather like dealing with Newspeak. Newspeak has single words that are appended with un- for the negative plus- and doubleplus- for comparative and superlative. They don't have "no". They have unyes. It's not "the worst"; it's doubleplusungood. I do describe a favorite color of mine as midnight blue, but it's the same deal; a description of the base color. Or in a more geek-ish sense, we are a late 80's VGA monitor.
Women are different. Crayons don't begin to decribe their palette. They are the most modern computer with a palette of 256,000,000 colors, and they have a name for every single one of them; and God forbid you use the wrong color. Me: it's kind of a pinkish-orange. Her: It's Fucia (or however it's spelled). Me: It's off white. Her: it's eggshell.
Now to the point of the whole discussion. We bought a house a couple years ago with a very...unique...color scheme. It's inspired. I don't know what drug inspired it, but it's truly inspired. She claimed to be a horticulturalist, so I'm sure some herb was involved in the inspiration. The outside is this wicked, kind of earthy, orange color. But the inside...the carpet...is where the fun is.
When we toured the house, we looked at the carpet. It looked kind of pinkish, and in girl talk, the Queen said it was Salmon. Yeah, the color. Pink, salmon, whatever. Well, come time for the official walkthrough and inspection with the former owner, we comment on the pink / salmon carpet, and she flips out. "IT'S TERRACOTTA," she informs us indignantly. She searched everywhere for that specific color, and it's terracotta. The idea that she actually tried to find this color was nothing short of shocking, but to insist on the specific color was hilarious. That's like insisting that "My car isn't blue. It's metallic mountain forest pearl aquamarine!"
Then again, I'm not entirely guilt-free of doing something like this. I'm into movies and moviemaking, and at one job I had, the trainer asked (rhetorically) if a movie from the 70's could be presented in HD (you know, the newer 1080 line resolution) format. The class dutifully replied "no." The trainer, proudly, said, "That's right." I responded, "well, it's actually possible."
She turned and looked at me, and said it wasn't. I explained that those movies would have been filmed on 35mm film and a digital transfer of that original 35mm print can yield a perfect HD picture because the film would have no restriction to the resolution it was made in. I even cited Star Wars Episode I as an example of this as it was filmed on 35mm, and then digitally transferred before the final print. I was apparently the only one in that room who had a clue as to what I was talking about, and she just said "no, it can't" and moved on. (Queue nose-thumbing routine)
Of course, there are colors I figure I can recognize accurately and even name correctly. My car, for example, is brown. It has a nice gloss to it, and isn't ugly by any stretch, but it's brown. However, the title says it's gold. Gold is one of my 16 colors. I can recognize gold. My car is not gold (which is a bright metallic yellowish-brown).
But gold or brown means little to me. I'm just glad it's not red. I never want to own another red car as long as I live. My first car was this little 3-cylinder Subaru Justy. Yup, three cylinders. I got that puppy up to 105 mph once (going downhill), and it continued to purr. But it didn't purr like my next car, a red Camaro. Eight, sweet, gas-gussling cylinders under that hood with T-tops. It was very nice...until I hit a log in the middle of the road in the middle of the night. That sucked...hard. It was totaled, and replaced by a...wait for it...red...Ford Probe. The Probe was cool except that it's a domestic car made by a foreign car maker (Mazda), so none of the parts were cheap when (not if) it broke. There it is: ten years of cars for me. The Probe lasted the longest until its engine blew, throwing two rods and cracking the head; apparently, oil is a necessity in modern cars.
So this is random, and part of me wants to move on to current events, but how so I begin to transition into something else? I know. End this one and start a new one. Ah, electronic data transfer is a sweet, sweet thing. Queue technolust.
Men are pretty simple when it comes to color. Pick up a box of 16 colors, and that's about it. We break down colors into three shades: light, regular, and dark. So we have red, light red, and dark red. Not maroon; dark red. Not burgundy; dark red. Sometimes, we have a "deep" version of a color, but it's still based on the base color. If you've ever read 1984, it's rather like dealing with Newspeak. Newspeak has single words that are appended with un- for the negative plus- and doubleplus- for comparative and superlative. They don't have "no". They have unyes. It's not "the worst"; it's doubleplusungood. I do describe a favorite color of mine as midnight blue, but it's the same deal; a description of the base color. Or in a more geek-ish sense, we are a late 80's VGA monitor.
Women are different. Crayons don't begin to decribe their palette. They are the most modern computer with a palette of 256,000,000 colors, and they have a name for every single one of them; and God forbid you use the wrong color. Me: it's kind of a pinkish-orange. Her: It's Fucia (or however it's spelled). Me: It's off white. Her: it's eggshell.
Now to the point of the whole discussion. We bought a house a couple years ago with a very...unique...color scheme. It's inspired. I don't know what drug inspired it, but it's truly inspired. She claimed to be a horticulturalist, so I'm sure some herb was involved in the inspiration. The outside is this wicked, kind of earthy, orange color. But the inside...the carpet...is where the fun is.
When we toured the house, we looked at the carpet. It looked kind of pinkish, and in girl talk, the Queen said it was Salmon. Yeah, the color. Pink, salmon, whatever. Well, come time for the official walkthrough and inspection with the former owner, we comment on the pink / salmon carpet, and she flips out. "IT'S TERRACOTTA," she informs us indignantly. She searched everywhere for that specific color, and it's terracotta. The idea that she actually tried to find this color was nothing short of shocking, but to insist on the specific color was hilarious. That's like insisting that "My car isn't blue. It's metallic mountain forest pearl aquamarine!"
Then again, I'm not entirely guilt-free of doing something like this. I'm into movies and moviemaking, and at one job I had, the trainer asked (rhetorically) if a movie from the 70's could be presented in HD (you know, the newer 1080 line resolution) format. The class dutifully replied "no." The trainer, proudly, said, "That's right." I responded, "well, it's actually possible."
She turned and looked at me, and said it wasn't. I explained that those movies would have been filmed on 35mm film and a digital transfer of that original 35mm print can yield a perfect HD picture because the film would have no restriction to the resolution it was made in. I even cited Star Wars Episode I as an example of this as it was filmed on 35mm, and then digitally transferred before the final print. I was apparently the only one in that room who had a clue as to what I was talking about, and she just said "no, it can't" and moved on. (Queue nose-thumbing routine)
Of course, there are colors I figure I can recognize accurately and even name correctly. My car, for example, is brown. It has a nice gloss to it, and isn't ugly by any stretch, but it's brown. However, the title says it's gold. Gold is one of my 16 colors. I can recognize gold. My car is not gold (which is a bright metallic yellowish-brown).
But gold or brown means little to me. I'm just glad it's not red. I never want to own another red car as long as I live. My first car was this little 3-cylinder Subaru Justy. Yup, three cylinders. I got that puppy up to 105 mph once (going downhill), and it continued to purr. But it didn't purr like my next car, a red Camaro. Eight, sweet, gas-gussling cylinders under that hood with T-tops. It was very nice...until I hit a log in the middle of the road in the middle of the night. That sucked...hard. It was totaled, and replaced by a...wait for it...red...Ford Probe. The Probe was cool except that it's a domestic car made by a foreign car maker (Mazda), so none of the parts were cheap when (not if) it broke. There it is: ten years of cars for me. The Probe lasted the longest until its engine blew, throwing two rods and cracking the head; apparently, oil is a necessity in modern cars.
So this is random, and part of me wants to move on to current events, but how so I begin to transition into something else? I know. End this one and start a new one. Ah, electronic data transfer is a sweet, sweet thing. Queue technolust.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Fort Carson
I lived in Colorado. Colorado Springs, to be exact. Fort Carson is like a suburb of the city sitting right on the South end of town, but it emptied right onto your choice of the two roads that basically took you on either side of Colorado Springs: Academy Blvd on one side and Nevada Ave on the other. No, these aren't the outermost streets, but they join at both ends of the city so staying on one is like riding an artery -- where ever you're going, you'll get close with one or the other.
After my 6 month stint at the School of Music, I passed my final audition to graduate and move on to my permanent duty station at Fort Carson. I had very little to do once I arrived because the actual job was very, very easy. Show at 8 on most mornings, play a few gigs here and there, and get off between 3 and 4:30. Depending on what all was going on, there were days we came in later, some earlier, and some not at all. What's a guy to do in a town with no family and no friends?
I watched movies. Possibly this started my obsession that later grew into writing, but the base had a movie theatre that was $1 to watch a different movie every night. So, every night, I walked the mile from the barracks to the theatre and watched a movie. I saw some very good movies that had a reasonably sized audience, some like Cabin Boy which had an audience of maybe 5, and only one like House Party 3, which filled the theatre to the breaking point, standing room only (and I was one of maybe four or five white people -- not racist, mind you, that was just an observation).
It wasn't too long before my sponser, The Burgurmeister, took me to one of the car dealerships (from whom he had bought all his vehicles and trusted) to help me get a car. We went several times, as I was rather indecisive, until I finally just said I'd take something with two doors (after he'd tried to put me in a baby blue 4 door Escort that I hated). He came up with a 3 door hatchback Subaru Justy that was red. I didn't much care for red, but they said to start with this car and in a couple years, I could trade up for something better. Sounded good to me.
So I moved from walking to the movie theatre every day to driving all around town. I went everywhere and discovered the town in its entirety. There was even a day it snowed and ice was everywhere, but I decided to go out anyway. I drove all around town, slipping and sliding and learning how to drive on the snow and ice. The streets were quite deserted, so I was saved from much trouble as I slid all over.
However, I also had my first little car accident. While coming back on the base, I was following behind another new vehicle and the ice got the better of me. I slid right into the back of them, denting my hood, and busting my headlight. The vehicle I hit was a jeep-like vehicle with a dealer tag. I slightly bent his spare tire holder rim. I was going slow anyway, and may have hit at 5-10 mph at the most, so damage was minmal, and I never heard any more of it. Of course, I paid through the nose to replace my foreign headlight.
After a couple months of this, more people came in from the SOM, and one of them was a guy who was very, very good at the military thing. He kept his hair trimmed, his PT scores up, and even went to the training for NCO, and was a corporal prior to my leaving the Army. The Army term for someone who does the Army well is High Speed, so that's what we'll call him. We hung out together throughout most of my time in the Army, and went all over the place.
He was very much into Transformers (not unlike my current friend, Optimus Prime), and hunting for these toys was a pasttime we enjoyed, even making a trip to Denver to check out their Toys R Us up there. Another thing we did was visit every single McDonald's in Colorado Springs at the time. We liked to eat in a variety of places, and after hitting a few of the local McDonald's we saw a map in one that showed all of the local stores: the quest was born.
What was the job all about? Well, we played mostly pass-in-reviews for high ranking individuals incoming and outgoing. We saw more brass in the form of colonels and generals than most Army soldiers do thanks to what we do in playing those wonderful marches. We marched parades for local and surrounding communities and other bases; we played sit down concerts every where from Pueblo to Denver and beyond to Utah, Wyoming and Nebraska; I was in the jazz ensemble, a dixie band, and a brass quintet, and we were all over the state to venues some people would never have even heard of. I was only there for a year and a half, but I figure I played some 500 performances with the band, as there were time we played 2 or 3 gigs in a day.
And when it comes to gigs we took, sometimes we would give preference with a positive answer to one question: are you serving food? We got fed at multiple places with some very good chow and some that really left a lot to be desired. Being in a group that performed so extensively and so very well was a job experience I will never forget as long as I live. I loved every minute....of the band part.
The Army part was not my cup of tea. I hated PT. Hated it with a passion. If I could get out of running outside, I would, and after some time, one of the women did aerobics inside and we could do that instead of running (sometimes). I took every opportunity. This was one of those things, however, that got me into trouble because I would avoid running to such an extent, that I eventually got caught, and written up for it.
You see, what I know now that I didn't know then was that the Army Band was a total cake walk. Do what you're told and you'll be fine. I was lazy in a lot of regards which made me a target for the First Sergeant and Chief Warrant Officer of the band. But that wasn't my only folly with them...or more specifically, the Chief. You see, he was a trombone player like I was. He was a very good one that played with the best band in the Army, and when he was there, he had played a particular solo called the Blue Bells of Scotland. It's a difficult trombone solo, but I enjoyed playing it. I played it for my incoming audition...oh, bad idea.
Since the Chief knew this solo for more years than I'd played the instrument, he knew every nuance and every pitfall it had. He graded me harded than I'd ever been graded, and as a result, I failed the audition coming into the band. They wanted me to re-audition at a later date after practicing with the Burgurmeister. I was in shock. I thought the auditions were over and all they wanted to do was hear me play.
That incident along with my own lazy negligence served to kill me for the military. If only's abound with abundance out of that experience, but the band and military weren't the only experiences I gained. No, I managed to garner me 2 girlfriends out of the deal as well. One was short lived, but the other lingered for quite some time, even though we barely saw each other.
After my 6 month stint at the School of Music, I passed my final audition to graduate and move on to my permanent duty station at Fort Carson. I had very little to do once I arrived because the actual job was very, very easy. Show at 8 on most mornings, play a few gigs here and there, and get off between 3 and 4:30. Depending on what all was going on, there were days we came in later, some earlier, and some not at all. What's a guy to do in a town with no family and no friends?
I watched movies. Possibly this started my obsession that later grew into writing, but the base had a movie theatre that was $1 to watch a different movie every night. So, every night, I walked the mile from the barracks to the theatre and watched a movie. I saw some very good movies that had a reasonably sized audience, some like Cabin Boy which had an audience of maybe 5, and only one like House Party 3, which filled the theatre to the breaking point, standing room only (and I was one of maybe four or five white people -- not racist, mind you, that was just an observation).
It wasn't too long before my sponser, The Burgurmeister, took me to one of the car dealerships (from whom he had bought all his vehicles and trusted) to help me get a car. We went several times, as I was rather indecisive, until I finally just said I'd take something with two doors (after he'd tried to put me in a baby blue 4 door Escort that I hated). He came up with a 3 door hatchback Subaru Justy that was red. I didn't much care for red, but they said to start with this car and in a couple years, I could trade up for something better. Sounded good to me.
So I moved from walking to the movie theatre every day to driving all around town. I went everywhere and discovered the town in its entirety. There was even a day it snowed and ice was everywhere, but I decided to go out anyway. I drove all around town, slipping and sliding and learning how to drive on the snow and ice. The streets were quite deserted, so I was saved from much trouble as I slid all over.
However, I also had my first little car accident. While coming back on the base, I was following behind another new vehicle and the ice got the better of me. I slid right into the back of them, denting my hood, and busting my headlight. The vehicle I hit was a jeep-like vehicle with a dealer tag. I slightly bent his spare tire holder rim. I was going slow anyway, and may have hit at 5-10 mph at the most, so damage was minmal, and I never heard any more of it. Of course, I paid through the nose to replace my foreign headlight.
After a couple months of this, more people came in from the SOM, and one of them was a guy who was very, very good at the military thing. He kept his hair trimmed, his PT scores up, and even went to the training for NCO, and was a corporal prior to my leaving the Army. The Army term for someone who does the Army well is High Speed, so that's what we'll call him. We hung out together throughout most of my time in the Army, and went all over the place.
He was very much into Transformers (not unlike my current friend, Optimus Prime), and hunting for these toys was a pasttime we enjoyed, even making a trip to Denver to check out their Toys R Us up there. Another thing we did was visit every single McDonald's in Colorado Springs at the time. We liked to eat in a variety of places, and after hitting a few of the local McDonald's we saw a map in one that showed all of the local stores: the quest was born.
What was the job all about? Well, we played mostly pass-in-reviews for high ranking individuals incoming and outgoing. We saw more brass in the form of colonels and generals than most Army soldiers do thanks to what we do in playing those wonderful marches. We marched parades for local and surrounding communities and other bases; we played sit down concerts every where from Pueblo to Denver and beyond to Utah, Wyoming and Nebraska; I was in the jazz ensemble, a dixie band, and a brass quintet, and we were all over the state to venues some people would never have even heard of. I was only there for a year and a half, but I figure I played some 500 performances with the band, as there were time we played 2 or 3 gigs in a day.
And when it comes to gigs we took, sometimes we would give preference with a positive answer to one question: are you serving food? We got fed at multiple places with some very good chow and some that really left a lot to be desired. Being in a group that performed so extensively and so very well was a job experience I will never forget as long as I live. I loved every minute....of the band part.
The Army part was not my cup of tea. I hated PT. Hated it with a passion. If I could get out of running outside, I would, and after some time, one of the women did aerobics inside and we could do that instead of running (sometimes). I took every opportunity. This was one of those things, however, that got me into trouble because I would avoid running to such an extent, that I eventually got caught, and written up for it.
You see, what I know now that I didn't know then was that the Army Band was a total cake walk. Do what you're told and you'll be fine. I was lazy in a lot of regards which made me a target for the First Sergeant and Chief Warrant Officer of the band. But that wasn't my only folly with them...or more specifically, the Chief. You see, he was a trombone player like I was. He was a very good one that played with the best band in the Army, and when he was there, he had played a particular solo called the Blue Bells of Scotland. It's a difficult trombone solo, but I enjoyed playing it. I played it for my incoming audition...oh, bad idea.
Since the Chief knew this solo for more years than I'd played the instrument, he knew every nuance and every pitfall it had. He graded me harded than I'd ever been graded, and as a result, I failed the audition coming into the band. They wanted me to re-audition at a later date after practicing with the Burgurmeister. I was in shock. I thought the auditions were over and all they wanted to do was hear me play.
That incident along with my own lazy negligence served to kill me for the military. If only's abound with abundance out of that experience, but the band and military weren't the only experiences I gained. No, I managed to garner me 2 girlfriends out of the deal as well. One was short lived, but the other lingered for quite some time, even though we barely saw each other.
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