f_n_a

So Laura and I went out with a group of coworkers, cousins and friends to get our drink on before g.r.'s newest attempt to claw their way to "big city" status, the dropping of a lit orb, entertained us in some manner. And entertaining it was. Went to HopCat (no cover, I'm cheap). Besides a few skeevy bastards ogling the ladies in our group things went well. The crowd outside was intense. Locked tight, shoulder to shoulder, so many people pushing that we were literally unable to move, the slightest bit of panic would have sent the wildebeests trampling over one another. Thankfully the majority of the crowd had a high blood alcohol content and wandered about in a lazy stupor. We did our thing, saw the orb descend out of sync with countdown but what the hell, right? Went back to HopCat for a few more and closed it down. Sweet. Went to my cousin's house. Nice guy. Lives in town. Has an awesome beard that he can grow in a matter of hours. It's like bamboo, you can hear it growing. Found out that the girl renting a room in bill's house was having a party. Even better. Well I guess that the better comment only applies to the part of the early morning when a partygoer who was a marine in his mid 20's, who my cousin did not know, was too busy inquiring as to how one could grow a great red beard such as mine (obviously because he was so impressed by it and in no way was trying to be a shween) and calling my cousin, the owner of the house, not by his given name but instead by the t-shirt he was wearing ("hey Captain America") that he failed to notice that his uninvited friend was so smashed that this drunk friend said: he wanted to fight me, "the red bearded amish guy", said that the girl throwing the party along with Laura were "dumb broads" and that, even though he was told to, said he wasn't going to leave. This is the point where even better evaporated into thin air right before my eyes. I told the marine guest to check his friend. My cousin overheard this. Walked out to the drunk guy and told him to get the fuck out. This is his house and his rules. Leave now or get the shit kicked out of you. Drunk guy still didn't want to leave. The marine guest did an awesome job of doing almost abso-fucking-lutely nothing when I mentioned he better get his friend out before he got fucked up. The marine guest really put a lot of effort and hard work into merely standing by and telling his buddy repeatedly to cut it out. That makes sense, doesn't it? I mean who in their right mind would use their BODY and ARMS and HANDS in conjunction and step between two guys to try to prevent trouble from even starting? Well not the marine guest, buddy of Sir Drunksalot, the guy actually trained to handle such a situation. Because if he had I wouldn't have had to step in and hold people apart after the drunk fucker kept leaning into my cousin and taunting him instead of just packing his shit up and leaving. Oh no, that was my job. The marine guest figured he better do something when punches started flying at his buddy and things were picking up steam. Fast forward 60 seconds. Things are ok. Nobody is really hurt and the fucksticks have left. The roommate of my cousin who is living in this house, who threw this party, is crying. I'm explaining how if I was certain cops wouldn't show up then I wouldn't have stopped anything. My cousin went to bed. Laura and I came home and have been hanging out.

So how was everybody else"s New Year? So far mine has been...neat-o.

It's colder than fuck here and it is glorious! People run and scurry. Every damn conversation has to begin with some comment akin to "How 'bout that shitty snow, huh? Can't wait for summer to get here."
Up yours.
I mean it. Quick and dirty right in the keister.
Give me as much cold as possible. I love standing barefoot in the snowdrifts eating bowls of icecream watching these spineless mammals run for cover. Heaven forbid if anybody felt fucking cold in their lives! Jesus christ even when the temperature drops to only 40 degrees F everyone starts bitching. Shut your fucking mouth before I cram an icicle down your throat.
When did everybody turn into big whining children? We are agents in life. We actively and consciously affect and effect the world. Quit sounding like a fucking victim every day and own just a small piece of that thing you call a life. Make the rest of us on spaceship earth happy to have you aboard and less willing to eject you with the other dead-weighters that we don't respect and are ashamed of into the dark reaches of space.

http://remix.nin.com/

Along with the fan remixes most if not all of the nin catalog is here and all available for free download when you register! Check out TweakerRay's mix of the great destroyer if you make your way there.

http://www.news.com/2100-1028_3-6217943.html?part=rss&tag=2038-12_3-0&subj=news

The line in the sand, the buck-stops-here ultimatum from the RIAA and MPAA via D.C. to the youth of today: stop file sharing or we'll take away your hopes of using academia to achieve something more for yourself by cutting any financial aid available to you for secondary education, thereby forcing you to get so mind shreddingly unengaging and unfulfilling, that as you convince yourself on a daily basis that suicide really isn't a better option, what will you find yourself doing besides playing videogames and performing any sort of sexual endeavor involving at least some amount of controlled substances?.....fucking file "sharing" through the night. These scorned ex-collegiates will be hunting down that rare cover of some song by some band they love that isn't on itunes and no one they know has it. That live clip of Marilyn getting onstage with the pumpkins, the Skinny Puppy remix of tool or even just some sound bytes of Family Guy to drop on a phone. Artists deserved to get paid for their work. No question. But in this new era where digital and reproducible are synonymous with anything that's recordable (music, movies, tv, pictures...) to attempt to strengthen our control on these media as they are recorded, sold, saved, seems as difficult as catching water with your hands. If you try to pick up water by plunging your hand in and grabbing as hard as possible, you push the water out and end up with only a wet hand. You can't force water to fall under your control by clutching and vainly grasping. You have to cup your hands in order to pick up water. You have to make room for it, give it space, and then it comes to you of its own accord. The harder the sqeeze is on something slippery like file sharing and lost revenues in the respective industries do to it, the further it will be pushed away from those trying to attain it. But when space is made for it, it comes naturally and solutions and new ideas arise. Itunes is a great example. It is part of the industry keeping on top of the changing dynamics of these media and cupping their hands in a big way and giving it somewhere to go. Hey, what do I know. I still like to go to the record shop and play smash tv on my super nintendo. F progress. We were fine before. Bring back bubonic plague and polio. Let's strengthen the overall outlook at life here and engage in a little healthy cannabalilism, I'd like to throw down a live rat in every office in the U.S. Any office worker who squeals gets eaten. Anyone who runs gets eaten. So forth and so on. I think this idea has merit!!

Was watching republican debate on fox. Some thoughts:
- Ron Paul is Boris Karloff: look at those creepy, mummified hands and gnarled knuckles
- decent points on Iraq: no declaration is bullshit , totally aggressive war is bullshit
- Romney is a GQ looking fuck-demon
- would you please answer a fucking question definitively and stop covering your transparent political ass?
- reference to fucking with Iran? (if not leaves the door open) - he said something akin to: we will be in a position to withdraw troops and still maintain a support position to Iraq from nearby countries
- got SUPER FUCKING BURNED by the deputy sheriff interviewed in restaurant who said the comment made by Romney about his kid campaigning for him was in some way comparable to other kids risking their goddamn lives in Iraq (that fucker smiled the greasiest smile and opened his trap in a desperate attempt to dodge the burn, point the finger and play the saint...in my eyes it was too obvious that the jackass got strung up by that one)
- McCain proved himself in Vietnam as a tough motherfucking american, but tonight he sounds too much like a Bush disciple...touchy, feely...in tune with America's current voice through the burning of martyrs bones and diving the smoke...somehow spiritually charged with goodness and what's right for us (blech!)
- Huckabee is homely enough to be a contender...homeliness is a virtue in elections
- interesting response to the Iraq quagmire: we as a nation broke it so we as a nation must stand together and make sure it gets fixed
- BUT...Paul had good response to that: it is up to our representatives to fix our other representatives mistakes and errors

- Republicans hate immigrants in one way or another
- grant amnesty but build a fence
- toss out all illegals and build a fence
- let's treat everyone like they are nothing more than containers, envelopes and packages: let's outsource the problem to UPS and FedEx so they can number everyone, quantify and qualify everyone, and track us like MOTHERFUCKING CATTLE! Jesus christ are you fucking insane? They are going to push the fucking fear card on us in regards to illegal immigrants just like they are pushing the fucking "abortion hurts women" card in order to scare the public into NOT ONLY REQUESTING BUT DEMANDING that the government step in and do something. We need that fence and tracking system to get these dirty, hostile mexicans out of our country. We need to strip away more of womens' rights to protect not only the unborn (possibly republican) babies but these foolish, shortsighted, unchristian women who unknowingly will devastate their psyche and counterfeit their souls. Thank fucking god I had Romney around to set me straight on the real issues at hand!
Fuck 'em all! Jackasses positioning for a multi-million dollar job that also allows them to bring about the policy of their own demented wills or that of their backstage investors.
Craaaaapppp.....
So in conclusion I thought the debate was well balanced, insightful, revealing and will ultimately elucidate the true nature of these flesh bags claiming to have souls and their agendas...YEAH, THAT'LL FUCKING HAPPEN!
How about this for a campaign slogan: "Politicians...long pork with an attitude."
Catchy, no?

Your friend in Christ, our Lord and Savior,
Ryan

Dave's having his first get together at his new house tomorrow by hosting a cookout! Anyone who's available is more than welcome. It'll start around 1 or 2 in the afternoon. He's got meats and his mouth watering Dave's Potatoes and some beer. Bring whatever else one desires to eat, drink or otherwise ingest. Drop me a line for directions.
Have a good weekend everybody!

So we didn't get to go camping and canoeing like we had planned on account of the weather turning cloudy and cool. We stayed in at Ryan Haines' and completed a monster sized 50 turn game of Mario Party, rounds of wii play (which the laserhockey is an intense jedi exercise of control), four player cluster fuck tennis - all while partying our asses off! Inbetweenior came up with an ingenious system for a draft to allocate any possible people who might have shown up to a team so that no one would be left out. So Laura's mom and dad were put on the list, Hainoes' mom as well, my sunglasses made the list, too. Team captains were chosen: Junior, senior, inbetweenior and wendi. I recall junior's team being called "Remmy's Gone Safari" with Nicole and Katherine on his team. Mine was "The History before Time when Men and Women were free team featuring Ryan Mulder" and I had Kevin Colonoscopy and my sunglasses as teammates. Laura was on Wendi's team called "The Cleaners: we clean poo and how!" And the birthday boy's team was called "The Big Brainoes Brigade". Dave and Jered were on his team but didn't show up so Ryan took it upon himself to beat all of our asses alone. Which he did quite well up to the end when the poo cleaning power of Laura and Wendi took over and won the game. Poo cleaners...who would have figured? My money was on junior's dinosaur hooker of an avatar to pull out a win. That beast was making money hand over fist over sausage lips, getting picked up by any randy koopa with a few coins to burn. I tried my best to stay away from money. I used toad and tried to start my own religion by founding worship centers everywhere I went, putting all of my worldly possessions into them. It worked well in the beginning but all that fame and fortune went to my head and I couldn't stop buying vampire candy from the damn drug dealers on every street corner. I forgot my simple fungi roots and dove headlong into a journey of pain and despair gilded on all sides with tycoon treats. And Big Brainoes and his buddy Dry Bones...well they were winning the majority of the game. It helped that he formed an allegiance with a small gang of backalley chinamen. Bastards kept stealing our money out of hotels and giving it to Bones. One thing to remember Bones...live by the chinamen, die by the chinamen. At the end of the night junior and inbetweenior's topless performance got so intense that inbetweenior bit his own fist so hard it split open and spilled blood all over his face. Better than anyghing Gene Simmons ever did and Hainoes didn't even need 3 foot tall platforms to sell it! Happy Birthday Ryan!

These may go by other names but these are the current working titles within the people I associate with.


Laura's Kiss of Death:
.5 oz Jack Daniels
.5 oz good Tequila

(Laura's Kiss of Death need not be restricted to 1 full oz of booze. As long as both are of equal portions Laura's Kiss of Death can be achieved.)



Dave's Incredible Hulk Creator
1 - .5 gallon good tequila
1 - soldier (Vietnam era), preferable Marine Recon
1 - unknowing but willing participant into a world of pain

Directions: both go pull for pull from the bottle until unknowing but willing participant is lost in an alcohol induced transformation into a destructive force comparable to that of the Incredible Hulk (green version)

Ateo died today and my world is all sorts of fucked up.

I worked today until 6pm in Grand Rapids. I have to work later this morning at the grocery store in Burnips so I swung by the apartment to get clothes and was going to crash at the Dorr house tonight. We have minor odds and ends Dave and I are finishing up so I thought we would work on that and then I'd get up Sunday and leisurely stroll to work in the morning. So this evening I got to the Dorr house around 7pm. As I walked up to the front door Ateo and Miho were waiting there as happy as dogs can be. I let them out and sat on the front step showering affection on them, especially my big guy Ateo. He's been staying out at the Dorr house the past few weeks while Dave is there and we're wrapping it up so I didn't get to see him except for a few nights a week and weekends...almost like kids of divorced parents. So he's all excited, running around, pushing his head into my chest to get pet and rubbed. He and Miho went into the backyard.

I found his frisbee and called them over. They both sat and waited until I threw it. I wiped some grass and leaves off of it and as I did this Ateo's head arched back slowly, like he was watching something pass overhead. And then he fell over almost backwards. His legs flailed as he tried to regain his balance and footing but as he went down I could see his motor skills were not there. At all. He hit the ground and lied there. I yelled to Dave who was around front that Ateo had fainted and I got panicky. I yelled in his ear, pet him, slapped him around to rouse him but he didn't respond. At all. I got real panicky. I told Dave to start chest compressions and I blew in his nose as we started super-fucking-right-now-this-is-serious-cpr.

This next part takes place over 10 minutes of frightening this-can't-be-happening shock and soul ripping fear.
Dave and I are going to work on my boy, my little dog, my buddy, best friend, my dog. Ateo came back a bit. He started gasping and trying to get his breathing going. We stopped and he faded away. We kept at it. 1-2-3-4-5...blow. 1-2-3-4-5...blow. Over and over and over. He came back again and this time stronger. He struggled with his breath and we stopped cpr. He tried so goddamn hard to get it going...he lifted his head...but it wouldn't kick back in. We were yelling for him...calling his name, telling him he could do it, to come ON MAN COME ON!...but he faded away again. Ateo's tongue was blue. His saliva was congealing in his mouth. We were losing him...my little guy who at 4 months old weighed 70lbs, as much as my dog Dumpster did at 6yrs. This is the dog who showed what dogs are capable of...love, companionship, letting your two legged owner curl up on your chest and use you like a pillow to catch a cat nap on the floor, being intelligent enough to discern what item amongst all of the balls, bottles, socks, and sticks that your owner is asking to be brought back, sensitive and patient enough to let toddlers pull on your ears and crawl all over you all the while being 140lbs of - I swear - semi-self-aware, bone crunching power. My little brother was dying right in front of me, at my fingertips. We started cpr again and picked up the pace. I told Dave not to worry about cracking his ribs to give it all he had and I did the same. 12345blow12345blow12345blow. He came around again but it was weak and short like the first time. We kept at it. I was so fucking scared...I can't even tell you. My little brother was slipping away.

The last time Ateo moved was in a death throe. I've seen it before and I knew right away what it was. He stretched his limbs out, his eyes widened, his mouth opened and pulled back in a silent scream...and it was over. Dave kept going on the chest until I called it. And there my little brother lie, lifeless, motionless. He was only 3 years old. The prime of his life in dog years. He could run circles around my back yard - acres of land - and not get tired. A life of promise and hope vanished into the ether and with it a large piece of my heart.

My cousin and his wife came over. Laura did, too. Those three, Dave and I had a little pow-wow around Ateo. Ateo's is in the freezer tonight with Dumpster. I'm functional but broken.
I miss my dog, my little brother, my friend.

Dave and intend on being out of the Dorr house by the end of April. I've lined up an apartment for Laura and I on Page St just east of Lafayette. While being a rural expatriate will take some time to get used to, it will be an interesting change of pace to be so close to friends that for so long have been, what seemed to be, oceans away. I'll also be less than two miles away from work so that super early mornings should all but fade into the past.
I don't know how to feel, truly. Any time one undergoes dynamic change one finds that the core essence of one's self is called into question, or rather, rigorously scrutinized. One may cling to the past of what was and has been done before in an attempt to salvage their own image of themselves, desperately trying to maintain that previous image of self that is already forged and proved and safe. Dynamic change brings with it dynamic risk. One may fail or fall short of their goal and their self is left to answer for their soul's trespasses in such a case. But if one succeeds then one's soul is left to bask in the glory of accomplished metamorphosis. New ideas and dreams of self arise and flourish in the case of the latter. And to risk it all, to challenge everything, while being a brave and courageous move, requires a foundation of strong friendships and familial ties. They are the delicate threads of which the safety net of love which surrounds that sense of self, that any true self, when staring at its own naked honesty. And you, any who may read this and find themselves implicated, you who have seen me lay my sword of duty at your feet, are the creators of such a safety net, you bipedal mammalian arachnids spinning webs of social responsibility and accountability, you are they of whom I write.
The time for change is upon me. Even if it begins with the simple act of relocation geographically and temporally...so be it. The horizon of possibilities embraces the bold.

I can hope...

http://www.tvsquad.com/2007/01/31/matt-groening-talks-about-futuramas-comeback/

I got a cat and named it 8ball. The world has officially been tossed on its head.
We're starting a third shift job at Pitsch's and it was supposed to kick off this evening. But it's in the federal building downtown so there are more than your average red-tape-wrapped-hoops to jump through and it didn't happen. I stopped by my cousin Zack and his wife Lacey's house on the way home for a beer. I walked in and there was this little tiny ball of white fur curled up on a blanket Lacey's brother Pete was hunkered down under. Lacey asked me if I would like a cat. She said someone dropped it off in the snow at their neighbors and she temporarily took it in. The little cougar melts like butter in your hand and purrs like crazy just when you pick it up. It definitely was an indoor cat. It wouldn't survive out with the barn cats. Those cats are real cats...they'd beat the shit out of the little white thing and have it working street corners for them within a week.

I don't know what came over me. I'm not traditionally a cat guy. I can get along with a good cat. That's not in question. But as this cat grows and, heaven forbid, is in need of some well spent time in Uncle Ryan's Boot Camp for Quadrupeds, I'm not so sure a feline is going to be very receptive to...what shall I call it...major world understanding and expectation overhaul. Canines on the other hand...c'mon...that's how they work. And that's how I know how to work with them. But even with these thoughts in mind I couldn't say no to taking the now named 8ball home and at least giving him a shot. I see in this cat the same shit I saw in Dumpster, the same shit I saw in my raccoon Bitey, in the bats I had, in my snapping turtles...I see that at this point in this animal's life there is no one who really, REALLY, cares. My cousin's wife took it in but was looking for somewhere else for it to go. And if it went nowhere? It would have been a heavy but painless dose of lead poisoning and a quick trip to the bottom of hole for 8ball. Love isn't always pretty.

So with my mental state steadied and prepared for what may lay ahead for me and my first feline, I took the little sucker home. I tucked it inside my jacket while I trudged through the snow to my truck. It purred and climbed around inside there until I got home and let it out. 8ball is upstairs while the dogs are shut downstairs. No need for introductions between them until the cat gets squared away a bit. I lay down on my futon upstairs and the cat climbed on me, pushing into my face and hands, purring to be pet and played with.

And that's when I saw the first fucking flea. It was inside the cat's ear. I almost thought I imagined it. I looked again and there was nothing there. Ah, but fleas are quick. I examined the back of 8ball's head and there the bastard was, looking like a period at the end of a sentence from one of my books that had fallen from the page and onto that snow white pelt. I ran from that infested cat like it was a used up Dutch woman in the red light district, grabbed my jacket and went off in search of p*ssy ointments. It was snowing so hard that what normally is a 20 min round trip drive took me over an hour. I came home armed to the teeth. I sprayed, I scrubbed, rubbed, toweled and brushed that cat in an empty bathtub and watched in amazement as fleas kept rising up from the depths of its hair attempting to flea (ha ha) the onslaught of my pesticide and elbow grease. When I was done the cat smelled good but looked tuckered out. 8ball curled up on the bottom of my bookshelf where it dosed off and I took the pictures.

This is destiny. This cat is meant for me. Any animal with this crazy of a story so early on in its life is cool by me. As long as it doesn't shred my furniture, hack hairballs under my desk or run off and get hit by a car in the road, thereby breaking its back and writhing in agony until a police officer shows up and delicately shoots it point blank in the skull. If you've seen things like this once, you're pretty sure once was enough.

Truly, I already dig this cat. It's pretty cool...for a feline.

The holidays may officially be over, but not for me. I still have two more Christmas parties to go to this weekend. Not that I really mind, but for christ's sake, I've had just about enough of the holidays. I'm tired of traveling all over bfe, of buying stuff and most of all of trying to be engaging at parties that lack even a single drop of alcohol.
At least I got to see a lot of friends and compatriots over these past weeks. It was especially nice to see everyone at Ryan and Wendi's. I just wish we had more time to goof off and get loaded. Ah...serenity.

The party is still on for this friday at my place. Unfortunately the guest of honor and his lovely wife, Jeremy and Allison, won't be around. Basically we're just going to get fucked up and open up the birthday gifts we got for Jeremy. I don't have the patience to wait for him to come later and pick them up.
I do look forward to seeing everyone at New Year's.
Oh, and as we were goofing around with my dog ateo today, he picked up a fifteen pound bowling ball we threw down the back hill in his mouth and carried it back. Man, I'd hate to see that dog get pissed off.

I'm moving out of my fantastic Dorr house.
My crap-ass-cousin-only-by-marriage-and-not-by-blood, who is half owner with a real blood relation cousin, has decided to put it up for sale. She's been all manic about getting Dave and I out as though she is in debt to a serious mo'fo and if she doesn't come up with some coin she is going to get her legs broken. That's my take on it at least. So Dave and I are putting the finishing touches on the renovations and preparing to look for new lodging. Dave is looking to buy a house, so this might not be so bad. He needed a catalyst like this to prod him in to moving on. Me...I'm not sure what the future holds. I send out apps for grad school soon so I may be elsewhere in the world very soon. I'll just have to wait and see. We are trying to find someplace by the new year, but that is an optimistic gambit. At least I know I have a computer room to crash in at Ryan and Wendy's, a futon at Kevin and Jason's and an air-conditioned, serpent infested spare room at Jeremy and Allison's! The common point of all these locations is that I'm welcome as long as I bring (or mail) party favors...ha!

Laura and I went to Bombay for dinner and, on a whim, decided to call Ryan and Wendy and see if they were up for hanging out tonight. Thankfully they were. And now, hours later, after bouncing around the foundations of self-awareness, the sustainability of humanity as it progresses currently, the possibility of foregoing humanity altogether and becoming its predator, worst nightmare and, yet, best gift and the sexist nature of Lacan, Laura and I prepare to let Wendy and the drunken Ryan H. get some rest. Sometimes the best things are those that happen serendipitously. Man, I would kill right now for the juicy thigh of some pudgy, lathargic 12 year old long pork.

I stayed up and partied with Dave this evening. He's agreed to go to Chicago for Halloween with Laura, Kevin, Kat, Kevin's roommate Jason and I! With any luck he'll keep his word. I have to manage the bar all night and would feel much more at ease with someone of his stature hanging out with Laura and chasing away the lounge lizards. Nothing against having you do it, Kevin, but when it comes time to bust heads, Dave just has a bit more insight into accomplishing such a goal. And when I said I have to manage, it is more correctly, want to manage. I like helping out and it's fun.
I'm going to see a techno show in Detroit tomorrow but I can't even remember who the fuck it is supposed to be now...
I still have a good time at shows, but that balls to the wall insanity, energy pouring from me and the crowd, spirits manifested and made flesh even for a brief flash, dripping with intensity, that sort of show I haven't been to in a while. I have a good feeling about this one tomorrow...

Loquaciousness? Verbosity? What happened to the author's prerogative? Ask James Bebee.

I LOVE gaming. Those that draw me in and make their fictious universe a part of not only my dreamlland but also my waking moments. Those frantic heartbeats when I pick up a ninja vicarious life I put down a mere hours ago in order to go to work and make some money to pay the bills...it is a sort of heaven. But whose heaven? When I beat the game without my friends around it is empty. But when I have my friends about it is fulfilling. It is the sort of being that I remember with all. Even with overbearing morgage selling, lawyer wannabees.
R

I beat Ninja Gaiden for xbox tonight. Fucking sweet game. One of the more difficult and definitely one of the coolest I've played. Dave's been cranking away at Call of Cthulu and I might start into it next. That or try to beat Gaiden on hard or very hard. Or ride my bike or read a book or something that I can honestly back up as being constructive for my life. We'll see.

Who are we to address one another without appreciating the ethereal essence bound by our flesh? Can we look at another without seeing the reflection of our own humanity in their eyes? Is it possible to understand that we are the essence of god, the fingers and doings of such a being, and still declare war on another? I don't think so. Laura and I have been spending the evening bandying about such ideas and would appreciate any further insight. I made dinner and got her and her roommate loaded. Loaded + Mulder = ?