Oh My God It BURNS!!

stinging of the eyes

brutal, everlasting pain

smashed sand in the eyes

I won the Darwin Award today.

At the base where I am stationed we have something lovingly referred to as "ASF" or "Auxiliary Security Force". This unique program allows all sorts of people to be trained as security guards for the base. Trained is the weakest and most polite word I can use to describe what happened to me today.

If you are wondering, the Darwin Award is given to those members of a population of living beings that fail to meet basic survival requirements, and through sheer acts of stupidity, manage to make themselves extinct (thus evolution. thus Darwin). I volunteered for this program, keep this in mind as I describe today's events.

It began with a written test, something I was completely unprepared for, taking only a courtesy glance at the study material ten minutes before it started. Whatever, it was all pretty much common sense. Don't shoot yourself with your gun. Maybe a jaywalker shouldn't be clubbed with your baton. Self Defense actually means defending yourself. I pass the test, no sweat. What do I win for completing such an arduous assignment?

** Phase 1 OC Spray Confidence Course ***

OOOooo Sounds exciting. Lets play. First a definition:

Pepper spray is a non-lethal chemical agent which is used in riot control and personal self-defense. The active ingredient in pepper spray is capsaicin, which is a chemical derived from cayenne, paprika, or chilies. Pepper spray is also known as OC spray (from "Oleoresin Capsicum") or OC gas. The excessive use of pepper spray has been linked to lasting injuries and fatalities. See also tear gas, chemical weapon.

The scoville rating for pepper spray can be as high as 5,300,000 for police grade and much lower for civilian grade.
We used police grade of course.

I stand three feet from a man I will forever remember and secretly resent. He asks, "Are you ready?" I reply with, "Yes", just as I notice the base photographer getting herself into a prime spot for the photo op. Her camera was the last thing I saw for the next forty minutes.

The spray came fast and strong, a surprise even though I knew I was ready. The bastard hit me with a stream across the eyes and then decided that he missed, giving me another burst straight in the middle of my face. I open my eyes and shout how many fingers the sprayer is holding up (a deceptively sinister part of this entire test, meant only to force you to open your damn eyes) then *> BAM <* my eyelids SLAM shut and remain uncontrollably closed in pure agonizing pain. I'm not saying that I couldn't open them because it just hurt too bad, my eyelids were as good as fuzed together, and impossibly they would not comply with my commands to open them. Opening my eyes would have been very helpful, as the next station had me "running" (more like prancing like a six-year old girl who thinks boogers are gross and just found one on the back of her hand) up to an "assailant" and putting him in a MACH 2 takedown (a stupidly intricate take down maneuver that requires complete cooperation from the bad guy for it to really work.) How did you see him? Impossible, your eyes at this point are useless. I used the sound of his voice and commands to get right up on him, grabbed what I hoped was his arm and carelessly slammed him into the ground, shouting "GET DOWN" like it was all HIS fault I was in this idiot of a predicament. 

Station Two rewarded me with my weapon, Excalibur! This small foam baton is used as a training device to mimic a police baton. It was all I needed to enact my enraged revenge. This little stick of foam would be my key to freedom and my newest best friend. I use excalibur to beat the crap out of my next invisible enemy, still unable to open my eyes I used his screams as a compass, my map to my salvation. Are these the roots of police brutality? 

I stumbled to Station Three and found myself completely at a loss as to what I should be doing. Nobody was shouting commands and I couldn't remember ANYTHING about what I was supposed to be doing, only the fire from my eyeballs remained in my mind. I stood there listening to the faint cheers and jeers from my friends waiting their turn, waiting for some sort of audible cue as to what I was supposed to be doing and where I was supposed to be doing it. Then it came, a tap from the back from an officer holding a practice pad. I laid into the sonvabitch like he had stole my lunch money. THEN. A tap from the front, they were trying to tag team my ass! Then I remember, front strike, rear jab. I became an animal, throwing everything I had against my two assailants. I soon heard the instruction to move on. 

Station Four had me in front of our instructor, a retired Gunny. "High Block!" he yelled and I blindly threw up my baton just in time to meet the attack. "Low Block!" "Strong-side Block!" "Weak-side Block!" all of met with sightless precision. "Go!" he said and I painfully ran in a random direction. 

"Wrong Way!" Ooops, I turned around and ran, managing to blink my eyes open just enough to see the man wearing the padded gear or "Red Man Suit" as it is called. He grabs my weapon, my only link to self defense. I rip it from his grasp with a stunning "Flying C" (Don't judge, I made up the name of that move, but I think it sounds better than "Make a C to disengage the attacker") I then beat the crap out of him with Excalibur, shouting "Get Down!" "Get Down!" The assailant gets on the ground and I sort of forget to stop hitting him. "Stop hitting him!" the instructor shouts, and I give him the rest of the commands, "Face away from my voice", "Put your hands out", "Palms up!", "Cross your legs!" "Bring your feet up to your butt". Problem is the pain was so great, all of this came out more like, "Get down! Face Away! Put your hands up! Palms! Cross your butt!!!!" I managed to scream "butt" the very loudest and in a moment of perplexing clarity found this strange and funny. The test was over. I won. I remember spending the next 35 minutes drowning myself on the end of a garden hose, doing everything I could to get my eyes to open. This will forever be the most painful thing I have had to endure, all for the sake of the spirit of volunteerism. What was that Navy stands for? Never Again Volunteer Yourself? Maybe I should at least proceed with caution before throwing my hand up in the air. 

***Update: It's been over 12 hours since I got nuked and it still hurts like a sunburn and cutting onions*** 

Moral: If ever staring down the bottle of a small red canister, RUN. Don't think, just run. 

***Update: I just posted the video of the encounter. Check it out!***

OC Spray

Magic 8-Bible

an old crazy coot?

a mystical book of truth?

shake it and find out

My grandmother once told me that any question you had in life could be answered by the bible. At first I took this as metaphoric, knowing that people find hope and answers to life's many philosophical questions about faith and all-the-such. Her statement was fine enough for other people, and since I didn't really have those deep thoughts at the time, never really effected me.

Then, out of the blue, she told me mysteriously of how the bible works in ways we could never hope to figure out, and that if we really have a problem or question in our life, then we could just turn to the bible for answers. Fed up with her mysticism, I asked her to explain further. She did. Apparently you can flip randomly through a bible and find an appropriate answer to your question.

I find this fucking absurd.

NOTE, I do believe that the bible IS important and provides great stories and guidance for the faith-hungry part of us all, but to use it as a Magic 8-Ball in times of personal confusion? Ridiculous.

Here I would like to try it out, give it a true test of it's ability to answer my every question. I challenge you to do the same, it might just be fun. I will ask a random question and flip randomly through the bible and provide you with a random biblical answer. Please post YOUR finding :D

Question: I have a hard time waking up early to go work out. Please help me, oh bible, to find a way to work out more!

Ok... Moment of Truth...

Answer: AGAINST Moab thus saith the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel; Woe unto Nebo! for it is spoiled: Kirithaim is confounded and taken: Misgab is confounded and dismayed. - Jeremiah 48:1

Sorry, Grandma. I don't think it works like this. Unless by Moab the bible means obesity, and by Nebo the bible means laziness. Maybe Kirithaim means Gatoraid, and Misgab is more like my PT Coordinator...

Either I'm missing grandma's point or the metaphors are just too deep.

Post yours! :D

My First Album!

a really cool trick

go and try it for yourself

you will be amazed

I know everyone wants to know what their first album cover will look like, Please follow these simple instructions I found on Kerry's Blog :D

STEP 1 The first article title is the name of your band.

STEP 2 The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.

STEP 3 The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

OK! Now here is my first album cover!

Uploaded with plasq's Skitch!

Here is Tara's first album cover!! :D

Uploaded with plasq's Skitch!

What is yours?

Tofu's Crazy Discovery #001

not best idea

interesting thing to do

could I have been drunk?

Alright. Try this at home.

What you need:
1x mini Milky Way Midnight candy bar
1x Syfo brand Wild Cherry Sparkling Water

Eat the candy bar, drink some of the wild cherry sparkling water.

I KID YOU NOT. It will taste like Irish Cream. Doubt me? Try it.

F is for Fork

a lost little bug

wild eyes of a hungry boy

tight grip on the fork

Yesterday, Gavin was running about the house with one of his little plastic forks in his fist. At first I didn't think very much of it, but out of the corner of my eye he seemed to be chasing something and it caught my attention. I got up to see what he was so intent about, with all the growling and grunting. I looked down and saw a tiny little black bug scurrying across the floor, GROSS!

With fork-in-fist, high above his head, he was grabbing at it with his left. As I finally reached him, I attempted to get the bug. At this point many things happened at once. The bug had disappeared, I turned over the toy it had crawled under to find nothing but carpet, and most disturbing:

Gavin says, "Uhmmm" while smacking his lips, fork still gripped in his tight little fist. You have to know that he can't say his Ys yet, and if he could, I would have heard, "YUMMM" instead.

All I can do is hope by some miracle of insect self-defense evolution little black bugs somehow gained the ability to teleport once held in the grip of a chubby little hand belonging to a hungry little one-year-old.

Dreams

vivid dreams of man

never controlled with reason

imagination

I've recently committed myself to learning how to control my own dreams. This decision has recently become a priority in my life following two dreams that have made me question both the things I watch or eat before bed, as well as if there may be "something wrong upstairs" :D

The first is comedic and would have been disturbing if it wasn't for the fact that the subject is my closest friend (besides my wife of course), a true family friend. Also, since I am well grounded in my own heterosexuality, the dream only caused a minor disturbance. It seems that this friend attempted to "groom" his "under hair" and did so in a particularly pink triangular shape. I am not exploring the meaning of the dream, only that I need to be able to stop things like this. The friend went on to ask my wife and I if he did a good job, for which I replied that I thought it was a bit crooked, and not at all straight.

The second dream was not comedic, but rather dark and disturbing. I am unsure if it could potentially be a healthy realization within my subconscious, or just a whim created by stress and tension. It took place in the times of high-school when I still lived with my parents. I'm not sure if my wife was present in the dream, but she must have had at least partial involvement. My father and I had gotten into a heated argument, which wasn't normal when I was growing up. The only tension I have ever truly experienced with my parents involves the relationship between my wife and I during high school and throughout my life. Recently I have come to a pivotal point with the relationship between my father and I where he has lost his infallibility and exalted position in my life, and has now been reduced to avoidance and an indeterminate period suspended communication. (By the way, it's entirely his fault - he doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut or how to treat people with respect, especially the people I love the most) Anyway...

We get into this fight, which heats up dramatically... I mean DRAMATICALLY. We started to fight, barehanded, matrix-style. I can't really describe to you how vicious this battle was, or how incredibly disturbing it was, only to say it resembled a very vivid piece of cinematography. At one point my father grabbed me by the torso and threw me into the ceiling, yes the ceiling. The wind knocked out of me, I slowly stood and made a point to flex my might. I started to hit him repeatedly, but he inexplicably stopped fighting and just stood there. I kept hitting him, blood everywhere, as he just stood, not fighting. Yes, disturbing. It was at this point that I somehow woke up, or at least refused to remember the rest upon waking.

Both of these dreams happened within a day of each other and has caused me to find some way of learning control. I have never been comfortable with the time wasted sleeping, and especially of the inability to control my own thoughts during this state of unconscious awareness. It is an extremely important goal of mine to learn the art of dream control, giving me the ability to stop what I don't like from happening as well as creating dreams of my own design.

Unfortunately, the first step of dream control is dream recall, remembering as many dreams as possible from the night before. I hope for my sake that I have seen the worst my imagination can throw at me.

Scratchythroatitis

a crappy feeling

school's tonight / that really sucks

want to go to sleep

I'm getting sick. There it is, past the point of no return. I always tell myself that I have a fighting chance until I publicly announce "I am getting sick". I don't know if it's just the admission of weakness, or some sort of self-realizing manifestation of verbalized pessimism, but I'm tired of fighting and want nothing more than to lie in bed with a giant water-filled red thingy and a thermometer (yes yes, covers to chin). Having said what I wanted, this is what I got:

A night of cruddy homework, which lead to a small fit of restless sleep. *Bzzzz* 6AM - Groggy stumbles (due to a single dose of cold medicine from the night before) out of my bed to comfort the little boy I rudely woke up with my alarm, setting him up nicely with an eggo, orange juice (the whole brood has the SIK), and Blue's Clues while suffering from a mild case of "forgot-first-thing-to-do-in-the-morning-so-just-might-piss-myself".

Blah,Blah... something about starch, creases, shiny boots, and breakfast, then BAM! I'm pretty much late for work.

I don't really know what happens at work, as it seems that somebody has conveniently erased my memory everyday between the hours of 830 and 330ish. I don't know why, but I can never remember a thing about work.

After what must have been a long draining day, I got to work out. That was super great :/

Sweaty, tired, and generally feeling bad, I come home for about 20 minutes, take a shower and find myself sitting in my lecture class at the university. The next thing I remember is some slides about muscle tissue and feeling REALLY snoozy. I looked down at my notes and see all these lines through 'em from where I fell asleep and slid my pen across the paper. I'm probably going to have to study that chapter on my own :(

Well there you go, a day-in-the-life-of. I know you're jealous.

I'm going to bed. ;)