within you, without you.

Another late-night thought. Something I was thinking about today (I guess it’s yesterday now, isn’t it?). Anyway. Rain.

(Click on one of the links below to listen, or use the Utterz gizmo over there on the right.)

A quick one. Briefly. In briefs. Randomnositousness!

I’m sitting here wearing only my underwear. I’m nice and cool and my testicles aren’t sweating and that’s all that matters and I can’t believe I just wrote that.

Sweaty balls are bad. Sweaty balls itch. And then you need to scratch. And when you scratch, your cat stares at you. And when your cat stares at you while you’re scratching your sweaty balls STOP FUCKING JUDGING ME WITH YOUR YELLOW YELLOW EYES, CAT!

Moving on.

Eating.

I need to eat someting. I don’t think I’ve eaten today. I hate it when I do that. But it happens when you get caught up in working on something. Well, it does to me.

Drinking.

One thing I’m looking forward to in a perverse kind of way is perhaps phoning in a drunk Utter. I haven’t been drunk in a loooong time. And that would be funny. Well, mostly to me. Only to me, most likely.

So maybe not. Nevermind.

Some balls, y’all?

[Click on one of the links below to go to my Utterz page, where you can listen to me blither. Or, alternatively, you can click where it says 'mp3' and download my Utter to your computer to listen at your leisure. Cheers, J.]

wherever hopes a different sky

forever moved unknown,
travelled,
brushed around light fading,
marked little lives.
soul wonder aligned behind my shoulders.
dream-memory passing,
shadows crossed smoke.
stars unseen knew together
moments walking within daylight.
lights rode orbits,
a direction never dreamed later
(came laughter amongst a different sky long ago).
time circles sun without voices,
paths like summer comets,
twenty comets breathing.

© 2008

Continuing my 100 Things About James list, the rest of which is at the end of this link. I think this one’s going to be a little boring. I’ll try to make the next one more interesting, I promise.

21. I was born October 18, 1969, in the city of Regina, in the province of Saskatchewan. And that’d be in Canada. It was a rainy Saturday. I share the same birthday with Pierre Elliott Trudeau (10/18/1919), arguably Canada’s most famous Prime Minister (1968-79, 1980-84). My initials, J (10th letter of the alphabet) and R (18th letter of the alphabet) also correspond with the month and day of my birth. Not that that means anything. But it’s a fun thing to tell people when they’re drunk because it makes them go “Whoooa, that’s so COOL!”

22. Geek-o-rama Fact #312: I build scale model cars. I know I already mentioned this, but let me elaborate a little. I’ve been building models since I was little. I think the first model I had was a WWII Spitfire fighter plane. After that, I got into cars and other WWII vehicles. Now it’s strictly vehicles. Problem is, I don’t have the time or money to pursue the hobby at present. So I have boxes and boxes of unfinished (not even started) model cars. I’ve probably got close to fifty still in the box. Here’s an old Chevy pickup truck that I did, just to show you.

23. I have a bit of a thing for goth girls. That’s all I’m gonna say.

24. Arrogance and purposeful ignorance makes me want to make things die. I can’t stand people who refuse to see anything other than their own opinion — and those who state their opinion as if it’s fact. When the world finally realizes that I, The James, am the Only One Who Knows Everything About Everything™, we’ll all get along a whole lot better. And if you missed the silly sarcasm in that last sentence, come here so I can punch you in the nipple, freako.

25. I’m a computer geek. Or nerd. Whichever you prefer. I actually trained in PC repair and network installation back in 1998. Technology has changed a helluva lot since then, but computer bits are basically computer bits, no matter how new and fancy. I built my last PC from parts I chose myself, and it ran perfectly (despite Windows) for three years, until the motherboard finally gave out in 2005 after a power surge. Then I bought my Mac PowerBook. I love my PowerBook, but a part of me misses being able to “tinker” with the operating system like we did in the MS-DOS days of yore.

Thus endeth 100 Things About James, Part the Third.

Happy Canada Day to all my fellow Canucks out there! 141 years, strong and free, baby.

I was going to do a post about what it means to me to be Canadian, but I’m not really in a rah-rah mood, this morning. (Haven’t had enough sleep…haven’t had coffee, yet…miss my kids…)

Right now, I’m just glad I live in a country with some breathing room. I love this place and I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

Okay. Bit of a rant, here. It’ll probably offend some people. That’s not my intention, however. This post is just a bunch of stuff that I’ve been thinking about. And hey, that’s what a blog’s for, right?

So here we go.

Seven Reasons I’ll Never Be A MegaBlogger. Apparently.

In no particular order…

1. I don’t have a huge fuckoff header image. Seriously, what is up with that? MegaBloggers all seem to have these GIGANTOFUCKENORMOUS 10724×7168 headers that scream “THIS IS [INSERT NAME HERE]‘S BLOG [INSERT CUTESIE TAGLINE HERE]“. What the hell? We couldn’t figure out where we are from the fucking title? “What blog am I reading? Wait, let me hook up my 54″ monitor so I can check out the header image and check again…” Annoying as hell, IMO. Kind of vain in some cases, I think, too. *shrug*

2. I don’t write every day. Some MegaBloggers write every fucking FIVE MINUTES. How the fuck does one do this? Despite arguments or circumstantial evidence to the contrary, I do have a life (most of the time, such as it is), and I can’t (and won’t) spend all my time in front of this computer. How the hell do MegaBloggers raise kids, have jobs, have time for relationships (meaningful or otherwise), clean the house, feed the cat, walk the dog, and still manage to blog ALL THE FUCKING TIME? I just don’t get it.

3. I really don’t like cliques. Sorry, but to say that there isn’t a “cool kids” mentality amongst MegaBloggers is disingenuous. There’s a Mutual Admiration Society amongst MegaBloggers that I find a weeee bit too much like highschool. It’s more than a little off-putting, unfortunately. Which is sad, because a lot of MegaBloggers sound pretty cool.

4. I don’t write for an audience. I don’t tailor my blog posts for my readership. I write because I need to write, period. Sometimes (perhaps more often than not) it’s going to to be shit that’s only interesting to me. I’m gonna write about my car, I’m gonna write about my kids, I’m gonna write about my cat, I’m gonna write about the dreams I had last night. I’m even going to write about the Large Hadron Collider. Yeah, I’m one of those old-fashioned idiots who thinks that a blog is basically a journal of sorts, not a social network, and therefore I use it to record thoughts that seem important to me at the time.

5. Related to #2, I don’t spend all my time at my computer. Some MegaBloggers manage to chat, Tweet (and Blork or Spoink or Flarch or whatever other Twitterish things there are out there), cam chat, post in forums, text, and ZOMGWTFBBQ. (Full disclosure tells me that I need to admit that I DO spend a lot of time in front of my Mac…but as a writer, photographer, and artist, it’s a tool that I use to facilitate creativity.) I can’t live my life online. Teh intarwebs are a nice place I visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. So I don’t.

6. Related to #4, I don’t put on a “personality” when I write. What you see is what you get, and what you get is James (Such As He Is). This is what I’m like around Real Human People™ (except in real life I can’t add the little ™ symbol to my smartass comments.) This also means that some days I’m going to be “on” and some days I really should just stay in bed, even just metaphorically. You’re probably thinking that this is one of those days.

7. I just don’t take myself quite that seriously. Honestly, this blog is just something I do, it’s not who I am. I just do my thing, and if you don’t “get” it, so be it. I’m not gonna chase you down and make you listen or read. It won’t hurt my feelings if you find some other blog more interesting. Frankly, I would blog even if no one chose to read this nonsense. To me, it’s another form of expression, it’s a journal, it’s just my thoughts. *shrug* It is what it is.

So there you go. Not a very complete or succint list, but some points I wanted to make nonetheless.

And now I’m going back to bed.

For those outside of Canada, the RCMP (Royal Canadian Mounted Police, or GRC: Gendarmerie Royale Canadien for those who prefer their French name) is Canada’s national police force.

This morning at just about 10 minutes to 9, I had a visitor from the RCMP. In fricking Ottawa, for crying out loud.

Click on the image below to see where they went.

They never followed any links to my main site, roadkilltoad.com.

But, as you can see, they had themselves a good 11-minute look around the blog.

I can’t find an incoming link. So, as far as I know, they came directly to my blog. Interesting.

So what drew them here?

Is it my clever, insightful, humourous and emotionally moving writing? *cough*

Was it that I mentioned the environmentalists who want to track me down and kill me because of my car?

Was it the photo of the Muslim lady in the amusement park pics?

Or maybe it’s because I have yet to file my income taxes…? Though that would be a little harsh, don’t you think?

Well, I don’t know what to think. It’s probably nothing.

But I know that just because you’re not paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.

So, if at some point in the near future I just up and disappear (save this post to your hard drive just in case), someone please call my lawyer.

And the news media.

And my mom.

“She had eyes like shadows on glacier ice. Or maybe it was more like summer sky locked in a circle of thundercloud bruise-violet.”

I like that. I wrote that four years ago. I don’t know who I was talking about.

I’m at a loss for words right now, so here’s something I wrote on July 28, 2004. Back when I thought it was cool to write without using any capital letters. Stop rolling your eyes at me. It was.

Anyway… I’ll get back to Our Regularly Scheduled WIYWOY soon. Ish.

i remember waking up one morning, and for a few seconds i didn’t know. i was a complete blank. didn’t know who i was. didn’t know where i was. didn’t know anything.

there’s a level of mental noise that is constantly wandering through the background in your brain. awarenesses of various kinds: self, place, time, the senses…they’re always on. always there. they’re on, and as a constant, we eventually don’t notice them. it’s like the high-pitched noise that a TV’s cathode-ray tube makes. it’s there as the electron gun scans back and forth; it’s there up at the top end of your hearing. but you won’t hear it until and unless you’re in complete quiet. haven’t you ever walked into a place and remarked, “There’s a TV on, somewhere.” no? i guess that was just me.

but your brain is like that, too. the electron gun in your brain is firing constantly, neurons popping with stimulation each time the beam scans the screen of your mind’s eye and ear. we become accustomed to it. like learning to sleep in the car on a roadtrip. the sound of the wind fades into the sound of the engine into the sound of the radio into the sound of the tires on the asphalt. all the noise fades into the rest of the noise.

but i woke up and there was nothing. blank. empty. void. silent in my head, except for the chatter of the morning show clattering through the speaker on my clock radio.

but in my head, even the voice of identity that whispers, you are he, you are he, this is you, you do this, you are this, this is you, you are he was silent. and i knew nothing.

it frightened me. because the one thing i did know, was that i should know these things.

so i stared at the dark, at the ceiling, and eventually the noise of the radio brought back the noise in my head: you are he, you are he, this is you, you do this, you are this, this is you, you are he.

and it all came back.

the first thought after that of relief, was the wishing that i could return to that place of nothing.

sometimes i still wish.

I’m exhausted.

I spent the day tinkering around with my car. Cleaning this and that. Trying to locate and rectify various “clicketyclickety” noises that seem to have appeared out of nowhere recently.

That involved jacking up the car and pulling off hubcaps and wheels. Poking, prodding, pulling, pushing, shaking, rattling and rolling.

What else did I do after removing and replacing the wheels… Lessee…

I used tire-shine stuff on my tires. I dusted and wiped down the dashboard. I used Armor All on my long-neglected dashboard. I cleaned the inside of my windows. I dusted and wiped down the rear cargo area. I lubed the hinges of the rear gate. I emptied the three inches of standing water out of the rear storage cubby (stupid leaking window). I rearranged all the shit in the trunk. I filled up the washer fluid. I topped up the coolant. I inspected the air filter. I realized that the carburetor needs serious cleaning (couldn’t do anything about that at the time because I didn’t have any carb spray). I checked my brake pads; all good. I took the car for no less than four test drives to try to identify where that fucking clicketyclickety was coming from. No joy there. I polished the chrome on the front bumper. I polished the chrome on the rear bumper.

I did not, however, vacuum the interior. Though I should have. It’s way overdue. The driver’s footwell looks like a gravel quarry.

All of this, no matter how much of a pain in the ass it is, reminds me of the fact that I really do love my old beast of a car. No matter how rusty, no matter how leaky, no matter how clicketyclickety, she’s my baby.

My big, 4000 pound baby. Rockin’ and rollin’ and squeakin’ and leakin’.

And all you rabid environmentalists who hate me for driving this car and who are going to try to track me down and kill me by using my license plate…? I altered it in Photoshop. So good luck with that.

[not that it won't be hard to find a relatively distinctive vehicle like that...idiot. -- Ed.]