Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer!

I put a screen on my bedroom window, so now those damn bugs can't get in anymore. You know, I still think we should get rid of bugs. Keep the honeybees, and the ladybugs and the praying manti. And maybe potato bugs, cos they're so cool when they roll up into a ball. Oh crap, praying manti and dragonflies (which we should also keep) eat mosquitos, right? So, we'd have to have mosquitos for them to live. Dammit. Are their any non-biting bugs that they also eat? 'Cos we could keep them too. Yeah, let's just get rid of the biting/stinging bugs. And spiders.

Light the Fire Within... We dare you!

When I was still growing up and dad head off to work, he'd put coat and tie on over fitted shirt. Oh wait, no, that didn't happend to me, that happened to Britt Daniel. Sorry. I think I'm going to go sit in my bamboo chair now and read the paper.

To me you're like a groin, a dictionary can't be right.

Ok, I was wrong; it turns out Old Ben was talking about our own "Pointy View." Not akapov. So, sorry for my misinterpretation. And while we're on apologies, I have to say I'm very sorry about this rain today. I wasn't thinking and I washed my truck yesterday. So now the weather's all like "Look what you made me do!" I was watching the weather report yesterday night and this is what they said: "Well, we have a high pressure zone coming in from the coast, and... oh shit, this just in... Bogus washed his truck yesterday. Well, fuck it, it was going to be a beautiful sunny warm day, but now there's a 100% chance of rain." (Is 100% still a chance?) And while drving home today, some lady decided to make a VERY fast stop at a yellow light at the bottom of a hill. Hmmm... steep hill + slick, wet roads + very fast stop = getting rear ended by me. It's ok though, since I drive a truck and she drives an SUV. Now had there been a car involved, there would be death and blood and war in Iraq or something. But since we both drive big old honkin' vehicles (and I was able to somewhat slow down), I just gave her rear bumper a tap.

Fuck, that Emmanuel was a local celebrity, wasn't he? If there are any s.y. readers who aren't in Utah, let me fill you in: you know that crazy guy who kidnapped Elizabeth Smart? He was in Police custody in September (while he still had Elizabeth). Maybe this should set a new precedent: any time the police question ANYBODY, they should ask them about any unsolved cases. You get pulled over for speeding... "Licence and registration. Also, who killed Joan Benet Ramsay, where is Amelia Earhardt, and who was Jack The Ripper?!" You never know. Maybe something will turn up.

Man, where the fuck IS Amelia Earhardt?

The Many Ways of Skinny Cat!

Luke, you are going to learn that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly upon our own point of view. (That Lucasian for: I lie but I believe myself.) Personally, I have no idea what "pride" is supposed to mean, but then again I am not privy to the matter, so I suppose that my point of view must have me clinging to some strange kind of other truth. So maybe the wrong person is suspected of lacking perspective (aka point of view, aka pov). (Akapov... sounds Russian.) My self-imposed reclusion, my sojourn from the somewhat western half of the coterie, has probably changed those truth-clingings as a result of my akapov shifting. Sometimes I fear a great schism. But I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. (And the sleeper must awaken, whatever that's supposed to mean.) And could such a rift be void of bitterness? The bitterness in me refuses to believe it, but I must let go my conscious self and act on instinct. Although sometimes I see a bad moon rising, George tells me that "Daylight is good at arriving at the right time" while reminding me that All Things Must Pass.

This blog is dedicated to Caroline Mountford.

Ok, tell me this isn't some kind of metaphor: I live on a one way street that ends in a cemetary. I realized this yesterday as I went for a walk through the graveyard. There was this one spot, way up on a steep hill that overlooked the entire valley, where there was only one headstone; a worn out wooden one with a tree almost growing over it. All it said was Caroline Mountford 1850-1899. Now, I know nothing about her, but by the looks of the headstone, it seems as though she was unlucky in life. But somehow she was lucky enough to get the most beautiful plot with hardly anyone else around for what seems like acres. Acres of land with no bodies in it, only the roots of trees which allegedly extend for hundreds of yards. When I was digging through the dirt at the Q-Spot, I sometimes wondered if one of the roots I was breaking through was from one of the giant pine trees in the cemetary across the road.

On the equalizers on my mixer there are two symbols. If you turn the knob all the way to the right, you go to +15, which means you add signal noise. All the way to the left is - (the sideways eight that means "infinity"). Minus Infinity. Of course that means silence, but I like that concept. That silence is absolute and infinite and noise isn't. I'll bet you that means something.

I was so pumped, I head-butted my dog so hard we both screamed.

And now, some world news. Iraq has begun destroying it's weapons!!! And Turkey voted against letting America attack from it's soil. (According the the Tribune, 90% of Turks oppose the war.) Perhaps, maybe, we might just avoid this horrible war yet. I mean, who could support a country that is being an aggressor against a nation that is DISARMING ITSELF?! Scary times we're living in. And now they're saying that the mormo practice of preparing for the armageddon is a good model to Americans who want to survive the apocalypse and live in a radioactive world with mutants warring with each other for the last scraps of diseased food and blah blah blah. Personally, when that time comes, I'd rather be in heaven with Tony than on this wasteland with all the mormons. But anyways... OH MY GOD. Wow, ok so Terri has her radio on and I just heard "Hurt" covered by Johnny Cash. Holy fuck. At first I thought it was a joke. I actually had to search the internet just now to see if it was for real. But it is. Oh my god, is there anything that man can't do? What a freaking badass. I heard once that Johnny Cash totally uppercut this kid just for opening a window. One time Johnny Cash was at a dinner and some guy dropped a fork, and Johnny Cash killed the enitre town. Now that's what I call REAL ULTIMATE POWER!!!

It's like happiness, only it's sad.

Do you guys want to know something really sad? On Pirates! Gold, if you marry the hottest girl in the Caribbean, you still get the same cutscene when you visit her as you do when you marry the ugliest girl. I was like, hey, I didn't pillage twelve cities along the Spanish Main just to impress a girl who ends up looking the same as that monkey-face in Barbados! Goddammit! I stopped playing after that. My life's mission in that game was to marry the brunette at Nevis. Now I can check off another Thing I Must Do Before I Die. Ooh, that means I'm one step closer to death. Maybe I should add "Turn 103 Years Old" to the list, just to assure myself some more time.

Fight the Liar Within!

Man, I had the strangest dream last night. I was in a helicopter, looking down at Ben Folds Five perform their lounge version of "She Don't Use Jelly" by the Flaming Lips, then suddenly, I was the bass player. We had a big finish, and as a joke, Darren Jesse came out and kicked me in the head. Then that show ended and the next came on: People's Court, only I was there in the courtroom. Judge Milian had her fingernails painted black, and she went of on some huge pro-Jesus rant and was taking questions from the audience. It turned out to be some big ploy to publicly shame me, masterminded by none other than Sloth. And so all these guys went up to the lectern to bear false witness against me. But then I was allowed a rebuttal, and I asked them all why they were lying, but they just got up and left. So, dejected, I went out into the vestibule, and got a big old bottle of Scotch that was there (for celebratory purposes, I presumed). Only the liquid was purple, and had green olives floating in it, and it tasted like white wine. Anyways, I walked back to Bogustlevania, getting wasted out of my mind. I passed some huge party at my old fraternity, and all the guys there wanted me to repair these bleachers they'd drug into the back yard. But I just started jumping away, and jumped all the way to the cemetary, then down T street to my house. So I went in my room, only now I was in a Nazi training camp. So I tunneled out and got to Hawaii. That wasn't where I wanted to be, so I tunneled again and got to Fiji. And then that plane from "Tail Spin" flew by and dropped a ladder so I grabbed it and we flew into this cave, and there was a big blue dragon lying there with playing cards laid out in front of it. I had to decipher what kind of patterns the dragon had made with the cards, and when I finally did, she stood up to eat me, but I ran beneath her legs and made it out of the cave into "Hang 'Em High" from Halo, and the Dragon had sent Sentinels after me. There were a bunch of Ghosts outside on the snow (Ghosts in the Halo sense; flying vehicles). So I flew one around, trying not be noticed by the people milling about. Then suddenly I discovered that I could capture a plane that was about to take off. But I was only able to grab a wing as it took to the sky, and eventually my grip gave, and I fell and fell and fell, until I realized that I was sitting in the gutter in front of my house, my head in my hands, crying, and a bottle of purple scotch shattered on the ground before me, olives rolling away.

Free your mind and Tibet will follow.

Tonight, on a special Grammy edition of save yerself, investigative reporter Chris Bogus answers the often asked question: Why don't the Beatles ever talk about their Grammys? And that answer is: No one knows.

No one on the internet at least. I thought that maybe the day after the Grammys would be a good time to find some kind of enlightenment as to this question that's plagued me for quite a while. But no. I even asked that question at ask.com, and it had no answers for me. Just a bunch of Swedish websites about Herb Alpert. Maybe it's 'cos the Beatles (while they were a group) were nominated 43 times, but only won 11. "Yesterday" had 6 nominations (7 if you include Ray Charles's cover version.) and won none. Whatthefuckever.

But lets get out of the past and into the now. Yes, last night I watched the Grammys while playing a 1950's triple-aught Martin that I'm borrowing. Anyways, I missed the start (with Simon and Garfunkel playing "Sound of Silence" together. Damn!), but I got to see some good performances. The great performances were Eminem (WITH THE ROOTS!!!) and a tribute to the Clash with Dave Grohl and Elvis Costello (and four other guys I don't like. Actually, Tony Kanal had some pretty cool basslines on "Tragic Kingdom"). And one of my musical Gods, Raphael Saadiq won a Grammy for helping to write "Love Of My Life (An Ode To Hip-Hop)" performed by Erykah Badu and Common. Yay! And what was up with that guy adding at the end of the Foo Fighters' acceptance speech "Rock would be nothing without B.B. King" ?!?! Who was that? (That guy, not B.B. King) Let me close by paraphrasing the boring speech by the new NARAS president: "Music is really good. Don't stop liking music, 'cos it's really good. Don't stop buying, either. Please!"

You can throw the baby Moses as the spiders, but he just bounces and smiles.

Speaking of warm weather, I think that March is going to come in like a lamb and go out like a lambchop. With all this global warming, I don't think we'll see too much snow. Hopefully, HOPEFULLY, it will rain like a mad fucker, so that we don't get our asses spanked by a drought this summer. I mean, well, we're going to get spanked regardless, but if it doesn't even rain, well, then the proper term would actually be flogged. We will get our asses flogged by a drought. But you know what? If global warming continues, then eventually we'll heat up enough that Canada will feel like Southern California. Anyways, I'll live inland, because with that much global warming, all of the coastal areas will be wiped out. Is it me, or doesn't this scare the shit out of any of you? Like I told Joe, only the human race is arrogant enough to take on a freaking PLANET. Do you know how insignificantly small a human is next to the earth? That's like, an X-Wing taking on the Death Star. (wait a minute...) Oh, speaking of Death Stars, I watched Return of the Jedi yesterday, and I realized something. In the beginning where the yellow words float by on their way into outer space, in the second paragraph, they type GALACTIC EMPIRE in all caps, but write Death Star just like that. Now, in Episode IV, they write DEATH STAR in all caps, and Galactic Empire like that. Ok, just what in the hell is going on here? I mean, they obviously use caps for emphasis, like I do because getting my blog so use bold or italics is just a bitch, so they capitalized DEATH STAR in Ep.4 because that was the first time we were supposed to have heard of it (I suppose). But by Ep.6, the Galactic Empire is nothing new, especially not worth capitalizing. Now, my theory is that whoever wrote that preamble was trying to tie it in with Ep.4 (this is supported by the fact that many shots in ROTJ are directly stolen from ANH. e.g. the opening shot after the words fade. Watch them both, and you'll notice that if you turn Tattooine into Endor, and it's moon into a half-constructed Death Star (or DEATH STAR), you have the exact same shot. (of course, the Star Destroyer is a different model, as evidenced by visible differences between the forward docking bays.)) ANYWAYS, for that and many other reasons, I think they were trying to tie the two episodes together, hence an all caps title in the yellow words. But why make that mistake? Did no one notice? Did no one have a copy of Ep.4 lying around just to double check themselves? My god man, this minor gaffe was only a miniscule foreshadowing of the chasm of inconsistencies Lucasfilm Ltd. was about to tear open with Episodes I, II, and god-help-us-all-when-it-arrives III.

So there was not much to blog about. And there still isn't, so I'm just making this up as I go. Did you know that the U's basketball team is top of it's conference? Yeah... um... wow, so I really don't have anything to write about. The merciful thing to do would be to end this blog and let you get on with your lives, but perhaps no. Perhaps I will keep you here for all eternity and let you out every now and then and give you pomegranate seeds and blah blah blah. Whoa, I had this dream last night where I rescued Wynona Rider from prison (for shoplifting) and then she wanted to be my loveslave. It was so fucking awesome. But then somehow I got into this jacked up Semi-tractor trailor race. (The semis were jacked up, not the race.) (Actually, the race was pretty jacked up too; Buddy Holly beat me by a fraction of a second.)

Suicide Mission in Reverse!

Now this page is full of rants and ramblings. That's pretty fun. Anyways, let's hear from Bogus for an update on his So Called Life. Bogus? Thanks, Chris, well, here's the skinny: Why do they call it the skinny? What is the fat? Is the skinny, like, just the facts ma'am? Speaking of just the facts ma'am, there's a new Dragnet, with the guy from Married With Children. And speaking of Married With Children, there's a Married With Children reunion show sometime on Fox - your softcore porn channel. And speaking of Fox and porn, who thinks Evan Millionaire is going to marry that bondage girl? Ok, that's enough, Bogus.

Here at save yerself, we make sure that our blogs are made of only the finest ingredients... witty humor, train of thought ramblings, sentimental moments, and pop culture references. All so that you can enjoy the highest quality weblog entertainment the internet can bring you. (Only available in 3.2% in Utah. Don't drink and screw; you could break something.) (Like the sound barrier.) Well, folks, right now I'm feeling like the well of funny thoughts has run dry, so I will sign of with this last, unfunny comment assembled from unused parts of other jokes: "Knees get all of the attention, but what about Colin Powell's aggravated face, I mean, nail and screw are both euphemisms for sex, but staple isn't?"

Sunday Morning.

I want to go to Sears and look at all the Craftsman tools. Do any of you just think that's fun? I do. All those shiny different sized crescent wrenches, and those big red steel chests on caster wheels. It's like, a glimpse into a life I don't have. A life that involves actually having a need for all those tools. Sadly, all I really need is my little Leatherman multi-tool that came free with a Mach 3 razor. It's not even a Leatherman, it's a Mountain Quest. Whatever. It's a little rusted from being used to carve pumpkins... maybe I do need a new tool set. Actually, what I need is a knife set. Too bad Felix never became a knife salesman. My generic steak knives just don't do the trick sometimes. I guess I'm NOT satisfied with my kitchen experience. And I doubt that they would ever cut right through an aluminum can. But I do have my miracle Sobakawa Pillow. You know what though? It didn't change my life. Dr. Kazo Watanabe and that blond bitch lied to me. I'm still me. Maybe I'm not using it correctly,

I read obituaries. The obituaries page is full of written monuments to normal, every day people. And now their stories get told to someone like me, who never knew them. I've only read three obituaries that concern me or anyone I know - Tony, Bill's mom, and Courtney's dad. Other than that, the rest are perfect strangers. There is obit that I will probably always remember - the old but lively man who died peacefully surrounded by his family after an illness came on. The line that I'll never forget: "He became ill 'while bowling the perfect game!'"

Middle East Emo Racy, Shaky

Reed, Felix, Alysa, and I broke open their vending machine. Stealing all of 50 cents and about four pounds of stale candy from the Federation of the Blind. Sorry old chaps. But few things rank as high in overall fun as breaking stuff. If you have the means, I would highly recommend it. It's so choice. As a matter of fact, I would just like something else to break right now. I would like tons of stuff to chisel, file, hit with a hammer, unscrew every screw, pry open, and squish in a vice clamp. That's just pure fun, man. I think I may have forgotten how fun it is to break stuff, especially when you are trying to do it in a way so that it can be (somewhat) put back together. I used to do that so much when I was a kid. Braxton and I used to put everything we could find into his dad's vice clamp. One time we squished a battery in there, and all the acid came out. Another time we squished a golf ball, and sawed it open with a hacksaw as we went. When we finally penetrated the outer shell, the rubber core came flying out with a fucking VENGEANCE, man. It must have bounced around a good thirty times before dissipating into nothing more than small strings of rubber strewn about the entire garage. And after he slammed R2-D2 (yes, the one he was supposed to sell me) with a hammer, we threw that in the vice clamp too. Everything, man. Food, plants, bugs (oh yeah!), whatever we could get our hands on, really. Once we took apart an old tv, and after having thorough fun with all the circuit boards, we squished those too. Fuck, we should have been wearing goggles.

They're going to look at that smiley face and say "We're doomed!"

Sometimes I miss Tony so much it overwhelms me. For some reason, late last night, wide awake, I was suddenly walking out of Tony's garage after a practice. We had just played two Beatles covers "Long Tall Sally" and "A Taste Of Honey." (We never played those in real life.) It was about 7:00 in the summer. Maybe there are a lot of things I regret about losing Tony. Maybe there are a lot of things I wish I had done differently. Like covering "Voodoo Chile." Man, I don't know how long it will take for me to lose that image that came to me last night. Mostly because I don't want to let it go. It was like life held so much more promise then. Now I don't even want to be awake half the time. I know that people often become addicted to things just as an escape from reality. I think that lying in bed, half dreaming half thinking is my addiction. I don't fall asleep for hours and hours because I am thinking about the past and the future. (Never his mind on where he was, hm? What he was doing, hm.) Sometimes it feels like all these crazy sentiments are going to take over someday. I can't throw away the box that my sister's toaster oven came in, 'cos I would feel sorry for it.

Last night I turned on the fluorescent light in the kitchen and shut off the main one. I stared at it for what felt like hours. I was reminded of a time and place I'm not sure I've ever been.

Dweezilfish Lives!

Hey, why is Pennsylvania called that? I mean, it's named after Penn, right? Why is there the Sylvania? The only other Sylvania I can think of (besides the light bulb co.) is Transylvania, where Dracula and his legion of the undead feast upon corpses and blah blah blah. Well, if I ever get a place named after me, I don't want Bogusville or Boguston or Bogusland or Bogusshire, I want BOGUSYLVANIA!!! Wahahaha! Actually, as of right now, my apartment is now offically BOGUSYLVANIA!!! Waahaahaaa! Awesome. Actually, wasn't there an NES game called Castlevania? Was that it? I think so. Anyways, that's another Sylvania, only they spell it Stlevania. WHOA!!! Ok, as of right NOW, my apartment is now called BOGUSTLEVANIA!!! WAAHAAHAAHAA!!! Wow, I am so happy I could jump up and start pissing on the wall. Speaking of pissing of walls, I haven't played NBA Jam, or any other video games at Bogustlevania (wahaha) in like, a long time. I wish I was a hacker. Then I would hack into hotsaints.com and mess up all their info. Now their screen names would be WardSlut92 or MissionaryPosition459. All right! So, the weather isn't kidding about this snow, is it? I would like warm sunny days better, but wishing that the weather were different isn't very Zen, is it? I need to accept the snow. Just like I need to accept the mess in my room. I must become my enemy in order to conquer it. I must recognize the mess's right to exist, respect it's time here in our universe, and then, at the appropriate moment... obliterate it! Haha! That is the way of things. The way of the Force.

Freaky Freaky Thang!

So, Crossing Jordan is a television show about a really really hot woman who works in a morgue? Well, ok, I guess. That's edgy enough to be a hit! says the network executive. And I went to see someone "make the drop." So to speak. Sloth had to pick up his Xbox games in exchange for $100 from a bunch of assholes who locked him a storage room.

I really do like my job. And my jorb. And my orb, actually. Well, to be honest, I don't have an orb. Joe does, and we haven't danced in front of it for a while. Too bad.

Speaking of bad, this one guy once told me that he played a great mix of pop, with some country, and a little bit of R&B and maybe some New Age, and some World. I think he was Sting. Anyways, I told I played acoustic swamp rock with hip-hop beats and a twist of Stax-Volt with Ghandi-on-Viagra lyrics. He malfunctioned. It was a fatal error. I laughed at him.

Like the guy who asked me if "In The Mood" by the Glenn Miller Orchestra was John Coltrane. John Coltrane?! Are you fucking kidding me? NO!!! It's Glenn Miller. "Who's that?" Oh, fuck you. "Do you have Kylie's CD?" Who? "Kylie! You know, Minogue!" Oh, silly me, I should have known. No, that's not out yet. "Well, it's released in Britain. I'll pick it up there next weekend. Cheers! ('Cos I'm SO British!)" Oh, fuck you more. Pick up some fucking Coltrane while you're there, and some Miller, and realize how fucking stupid you made yourself look.

Like this kid in my Classic Mythology class. He has a laptop and he played Contra on it through the whole period. Well, not the whole time, actually, he also played some hearts and solitaire and some roleplaying game. But he was also participating in class. "Sometimes having someone in a berserker rage on your side is good, 'cos they don't notice when they've been wounded." Ok man, I realize that those are the rules to your roleplaying game, you aren't fooling the nerd in me. But the teacher was making the point of having a berserker on your side is BAD and that was five minutes ago!!! Turn off your game and shut up.

Grr! (Growlsome)

Scott and I sat at home and ate bean dip, breaking chips in it that were promised not to break. We plotted out the first three episodes to Star Wars the way they should have been. You see, "Uncle" Owen Lars should actually have been the pilot of the spice freighter that Anakin was the navigator on. Seeing his best friend turn to the dark side deeply disturbed Owen to the point where he gave up the busy life of a spicer and settled down as a moisture farmer on a simple, quiet planet. Years later, Ben Kenobi sought out Owen, knowing that he would accept the responsibility and raise young Luke well. That makes a hell of a better backstory, I think, and ties in all the things that Owen and Ben say about Luke's Father.