http://home.eyesonff.com/blog.php/11442-I-like-frogs The Eyes on Final Fantasy Forums are the premier place for Final Fantasy fans to meet and discuss this classic video game series. Join our community today. en Thu, 14 May 2026 00:57:30 GMT vBulletin 60 http://home.eyesonff.com/images/images_neoclassic/misc/rss.jpg http://home.eyesonff.com/blog.php/11442-I-like-frogs http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/566-I-Beat-up-3-Dogs Fri, 16 Sep 2011 11:43:20 GMT [COLOR=#ff0000]I had one of those weird dreams today where everything felt like real life, though it is impossible. When I awoke, I was so surprised that none of it really happened.
Anyway, this will give you some insight into my broken mind and how deluded and video game influenced it is.

I'll piece together the scraps here.

I was playing something like Warcraft 2. I had an aerial view, and I think that it was all fun and games, but there was definitely some sort of desperacy to it. It was a team game, and some stranger was helping me. I was trying to manage the gold income and getting some transports out across a narrow strait. I had done some light recon (initially, I tried to spell this word out, but I can't get it right), and we could tell where to land the transporters.
Unfortunately, I neglected to notice the enemy ballista near where I was loading my transporters, and the thing sank them in the water from across a narrow channel. My friend got mad, and he wanted to cheat through the level, so he asked me if I knew any speed codes I did and I told him.
Everything went white and he coded up our world.
So then, when we had the speed codes, I ran down to my castle (this is when I lost aerial view) and realized that it was far away from the gold, and we wouldn't have enough money to relaunch our attack in the brief time we were giving ourselves due to the speed.
I also realized that our enemies had more than enough resources, and no sonner had I wished that this was Starcraft and I could just float the castle closer to the gold mines then did my enemies begin to storm and swarm the beach. (They had speed code too).

I ran into the castle, and that's when "tit got real." No more cartoons. The place was total pandemonium. It was like the old apartment complex, and my house was down a complicated hallway on the second floor. Second floor, although the room was 183 (it was 1?3. I think the middle number was 8. I could be wrong). I ran up to the apartment, sneaking past enemy soldiers who were killing my peeps, but the whole world had changed from any kind of fantasy WC2 setting. Everybody was urban, and the invaders were wearing denim, wifebeaters etc. They had knives and guns. So I hid around the corner and watched as the baddesd mother of them all happened to be raiding my apartment. He looked South American. Mildly dark skinned. Real short hair. Through my natural omniscient knowledge that I acquired through the dream, I knew that there was only one fight I would lose. Only one bullet that would make it into my brain, and it was his.
He was taking some whore into my apartment, so I knew that it was my opportunity to strike.
I ran downstairs. The downstairs had now morphed into the bottom floor of Building 2 at the local community college. There were ferocious wolf-dogs of sorts patrolling the hallways and building entrances. Most of the people were backed against the wall. I saw my parents helplessly waiting, sitting on a bench near the library. That was unacceptable. In one of those rare action/success sequences that probably occurs when I become temporarily lucid (or something like it. I was totally convinced that this was the world I lived in.), I charged out into a mess of about 3 dogs and kicked their mangy asses with my bare hands.
What? You don't kick with your hands?
Covered in scratches and with the dogs retreating, I felt my side for my .32. Suddenly, I decided that I wasn't going to save the people in the library. My parents were hostages, and everybody around needed some help, but I had to go after the big fish first. If I saved everybody and was then killed by him, nothing would matter. I had to take him out.
So I ran upstairs and ended up at room 076. The staircases and the apartment maze was becoming more confusing. As I chugged up a new flight of stairs, there were suddenly lots of people running up with me. I could hardly get through the angry mob of baseball bat wielding maniacs. They were going to rise up and help me retake the castle/apartment maze/building 2 at the local community college. I came up to my apartment, where I assumed my nemesis was inside. I pulled out my gun. I knew I was going to lose the gunfight. I wasn't that good of a shot anyway. And I didn't want to shoot the girl either. She was my girlfriend. I don't think that understanding was clear to me before, but this asshole was, at this point in my dream, in my apartment sleeping with a whore who is my girlfriend.
The door opened, and I entered, guns blazing. Miss.
There's an argument behind me. Well, it isn't really an argument. Somebody is apologizing. There is a fellow, kindly looking, apologizing for using some sort of computerized chess device that belonged to a girl. The moment I turned around, the walls turned blue, and all the furniture is white marble. Although the conversation is sudden, I do recall driving down a windy road full of hills in the nighttime. Some of the other drivers were morons,and they couldn't handle going over the steep hills in the dark and kept slowing down.
So, apparently, the guy was going on about some mistake he made. I can't remember it exactly, but it was clear that he was unable to use the machine. Oh blast! I don't recall exactly how it worked. I think it was the girl's mom's birthday, and somehow the chess gift present was ruined and the boy had lost a game. The mother was this hot older broad in a slim black dress sitting in a round white chair at a glass table, and she apologized to me, and I couldn;t tell whether to hit on her or her daughter, but I think I said something to her daughter as she and the boy and I walked to the bus station. We got on the bus, and as we reached the back in search of a seat- There! in the back seat of the bus, on white leather seats, dressed in denim and black leather, was my nemesis from the other segment of the dream.
The boy I was with asked, "Do we kill him?"
The answer was a laughing "No! Of course not!"
But he threw a knife at the guy anyway, and missed. We all started laughing.
-----------------------

Then the alarm went nuts, and I sat up. I gotta go to the college today, first time long time. Building 2. Gotta encounter a man from my past, but this guy is big and black and his persuasion skill is totally maxed out. So that may be one of the things that could've influenced my dream.

But it's so violent.

Another weird thing about this dream is the way I transitioned to the blue wall.white marble scene. I very frequently have violent dreams, and I almost always die. When I charge ascross a threshhold or onto a room (or somebody chargexs into mine, especially when there's a lot of darkness (my aprtment was dark), I get killed. Usually that teleports me to somewhere else amid a new dream or else I wake up mid-shuryuken. So it is very strange that I wasn't killed, if I analyze patterns of my dreams.

[spoiler]Red is the best color for when I cut/paste and end up with shadow letters, I think.

Double checking, I apologize to anybody who uses Under the Sea or Baloki's Technicolor Nightmare[/spoiler][/COLOR] ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/566-I-Beat-up-3-Dogs http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/545-Give-me-a-Pencil! Tue, 06 Sep 2011 02:42:21 GMT My job is in a pretty lousy neighborhood. I have beggars who come in regularly, strange young punks who hang out behind my shop late at night so it's kinda creepy to close and lock up, creeps who walk into my store and talk about magic and whatever- kinda scary.
In any event, some dude ran into my store all hyper. Didn't look like a customer so I was thinking "beggar. High."
He runs up to my desk and says, "Give me a pencil!"
So my mind started racing. [I]I sell pencils for 25 cents. Do I offer him one of those? Will he pay? Is he seriously asking me for a pencil instead of money or food or the opportunity to wash my windows for money and food?[/I]"
So I quickly snatched a pencil from a cup full of writing utencils and handed it to him.
Then he says, all fast and hyper, "I need some paper!"

Well, I had no idea what he wanted to write, but I didn't think twice before tearing a sheet out of my notebook and handing it to him.
Then he says, "I am going to draw Jesus in 8 seconds!"
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
He hands me a decent looking picture of Jesus. By the time I say, "Good job," he is almost out the door, waving and running off.

Nothing appeared to have been stolen.

The picture was cool.

The whole thing was crazy.
I think I'll display his work. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/545-Give-me-a-Pencil! http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/540-Don-t-you-know-I-still-believe! Sun, 04 Sep 2011 05:45:47 GMT What an awesome day at work. Every day, more people are coming in. More inventory is coming in. After some infuriating moments this week, today was a big comeback. Maybe it was because I was there the whole time. I was able to handle everything on the spot. Maybe I should just work the full 14... What an awesome day at work.
Every day, more people are coming in. More inventory is coming in.
After some infuriating moments this week, today was a big comeback. Maybe it was because I was there the whole time. I was able to handle everything on the spot. Maybe I should just work the full 14 hours every dang day.
No.
But seriously, today was very inspiring, and I think I'm going to have a strong 3rd month in business. I'm out of reward cards. My business cards are all over town. My competitor is shrinking even as I grow stronger!
I even got some of my indie stuff moving.
Y'all let me know if you need anything, y'hear? ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/540-Don-t-you-know-I-still-believe! http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/537-Ominous Sat, 03 Sep 2011 04:07:17 GMT All who live were born to die - The Vampire

So, I am involved in selling this miracle juice called Mona Vie. It's a multilevel marketing gig, which isn't usually my schtick, but I happen to be able to sell it and use it as a healthy element of my cafe, which makes it less of a pyramid for me and more of a relatively controlled source of supply for healthy, higher end drinks and mixes (although my clientele is about as "high end as a brachiosaurus' tail. That is, it's a much lower end than the dino's head.).

Anyway, Mona Vie is a great, vitamin enriched antioxidant. It boosts immune system, improves joints and lowers cholesterol. The maniac sellers boast that it makes them healthier and happier and that all their problems return if they stop drinking it. They'll drink tons of it.

So, the other day, I attended a meeting. Actually, I hosted it at my place. They all talked about how amazing the drink was. Then, with a few of the people who swear by it, we all poured a shot of the juice, raised out tiny paper cups and then drank to our immense, antioxidantal health. And suddenly, right before the drink, I had one of those flashes of insight. You know, where everything turns to gold and stops, I see through the world and into the future, into the past, into a world where things that may or may not occur occur. I felt a sudden sense of, what would you call it? Mortality? Damnation? The inexorable draft of fate that swoops in to slaughter all who dare to assault the impossible.
Like gods in Valhalla, I knew that we were trying to prolong the inevitable, yet it all amounts to nothing. The smug joy that crept over all of our faces, our teeth stained with the purple of acai- we were all of us fools!

But the juice is good. Tasty. If it makes me a lil more immune, then I won't complain. I drink it, and I think it does make an impact.

However, my senses tell me that the worship of this drink can only lead to something evil, and I have lived to tell many good stories by exiting the stage when the sky tuns red. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/537-Ominous http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/525-Pokey-Mans Tue, 30 Aug 2011 12:32:18 GMT Why do people call pokemon Pokey Mans? Do they really not know the name? I doubt it. The spelling doesn't look anything like pokeyman. Nobody would actually mispronounce it that way. Certainly not a large enough population that the mispronunciation should be as widespread as it is. No. It is obviously a method of mocking the children's game. Many time, I believe it is a term used to represent that an adult is unwilling to confess that he is aware of gaming culture enough to pronounce a weird Japanesey word properly.

Next is more of my weird emo drivel that I tend to write when I blog. It just came out. Like freaking puke. This is your opportunity not to read it.
I could erase it or keep it to myself, but I guess this sort of thing is... cathartic? Maybe at your expense.
[spoiler]
The sad truth is that I know pokemon real well. I played red a little after it came out, probably when I was too old to be messing with such things. I was probably around 15 or 16? I had friends who played it, but that's no excuse, since those friends were socially and developmentally retarded nerds without girlfriends, kinda like myself, except that they didn't work their asses off in a machine shop all the time that they could be doing kid stuff. They chose to cast away their youth into tiny, glowing grey screens.

I often look back upon my youth with anger and regret. I blame my father, who's life motto seems to be: Work. There is no fun for him, except boating, maybe. Everything we ever did while I was under his rule is work, then work, then prepare for work, and then talk about work, and then accept sleep between workdays as recreation. Also Animal Planet, which is good, but not nearly as cool as sports and art and movies and whatever it was that other kids my age did.
But then I think that I was probably socially mindsmurfed anyway. I'm probably the kind of kid who, if I was exposed to more of "friends" my age, waste all my free time away on some bs like video games and D&D anyway. No matter what my experiences, I think my natural personality would predominate it and I'd think I tossed away my youth on video games (more than I already played any time I could get away) instead of work. Or I would waste it on women. Maybe have a relationship with a girl that ended in an explosion and then regret the years we spent together.
Actually, I had a really cool youth, driving race cars, fast boats and building the engines to make them go fast. Sure, I sacrificed a lot of childish things, but I guess it was cool. I hate it. I like the wind in my face, but I still hate it, and I did it because my dad told me that those were the things that I was supposed to like. That my rebellion was childish rubbish. That rebellion is suppo- I have really stupid issues. Lots of kids deal with divorce or dead parents or mutilation of drug addiction. My life is awesome, and anybody who disagrees is probably self-absorbed.
But I digress. Heavily.

Anyway, I kinda like pokemon. It's real easy. Fire burns plants. Plants eat water. Water drenches fire. Electricity shocks water. Earth grounds out electricity. Ghosts eat the green dreams of the Earth. Psychics exorcise ghosts. It makes sense. It's a great way to relax, and when I beat a trainer, I feel some cute little sense of accomplishment.
But is it really something I should've been doing at 16, less in my twenties? The weirdest thing is that I know people my age, with college educations, with adult lives, who openly talk about pokemon as something they do. Who have pokemon ringtones. Who think it's okay to play a game that is so feared and eschewed by adults that many daren't pronounce the name right for fear of being found out to know the pronunciation of the name?!
Maybe it has to do with self confidence? Or is it geek culture, plain and simple, which is usually a turn off to hot Cubanitas shaking their hips in the salsa clubs?
So whenever I go through a tough emotional time, I tend to turn to simple, old video games as a method of relaxation. As I have already described, they are the only way I've ever known to get away from the other stressors of my life, hiding in my room, in the dark, when everybody's gone to bed, playing children's games on a secret and well hidden hand-sized gaming machine that cost me 2 weeks of school lunch money.
So, for one reason or another, about 7 months ago, I downloaded Poklemon Red on to my computer and was playing it. Pokemon with no human interaction is kind of silly. The only competition is the game trainers, who aren't a competition. I mean, one is all birds. Then all water. Then all earth, so suddenly the electric pokemon has to switch. I mean, it's silly. And there's no trading with other traders, so I have to use cheat codes and mindlessly catch a bunch of pokemon in the wild in tandem with codes so I can collect them all.
???
So I did that, which was a waste of time. It was ludicrous. But I didn't stop. I tried pokemon yellow and blue (for the first time ever). Then I played the gb color one. Gold? I think. Then I went online in search of human interaction and played these really weird pokemon-type games that were really simple and obviously marketed towards twisted whackos in insane states of mind - like me. Pokemon sapphire or lava something etc.

And then, after trying to find a human opponent in a pokemon game for about 2 weeks, I finally became disenchanted and said, "Look at yourself dude. You're 27 and in a pokemon frenzy. I was. I played for about 4 to 6 hours each day. From 12.00 to 4(pm) and 12.00-2.00(am) - I had really tough workdays and two jobs, a day and a night job, at the time, so this was all my free time, and I should've been sleeping in the afternoon.

So I had some revelation of the failure of myself and couldn't believe it. I felt like some sort of warped addict. No control over my mind, acting like a 10 year old. I hid in my room every weekend while my roommate was out dancing (I don't know if he knows what I was doing. He probably assumed I was masturbating. I wonder if that's more respectable...).

So, one day, I deleted every game off of my computer, and I put the machine in a box. I put all my WORD files on a zip drive and put them on my crude, ancient laptop, so I could still do my writing work while not being tempted by the allure of pocket monsters and swords and using might and magic to kill cartoons.
But I was still really depressed. Tired. Feeling overworked and lost and friendless. So I quit my night job (I had accumulated a lot of money from working so much. I could afford a mere morning part-time job for a little while.
I hoped I would spend the time for self-improvement, but I didn't. I somehow frittered away about 12 hours each day doing things so forgettable that I still don't even know how I managed to pull it off. I think there was a mega job search involved, which didn't amount to anything. Long walks in the park, falling asleep in the grass. I ate a lot of pizza and fast food, gaining a little weight. But I had gained weight from my previous lifestyle too. In the past two and a half years, I probably gained almost 20 pounds.

I guess I remember it a little like an acid flashback, and somewhere in the middle of it all, between fast food, video games, despising 4-6 hours of work per day, psychologists and hiding along the trees to write drivel that I have long since eradicated from physical existence, the opportunity to become a minister to people in pain fell on my lap. I could not bear the idea of taking on that kind of responsibility, but I was either going to take the job, try to make money, sacrifice my freedom to the bondage of family affiliations once again and own my business OR wither away and die.
I chose the former.
And that is how Pokemon helped me become an adult. Or something.[/spoiler] ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/525-Pokey-Mans http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/522-Coelophysis-Ate-it-s-Young Sun, 28 Aug 2011 15:14:29 GMT It seems like a pretty stupid idea now. I have a hard enough time finding a girl who's smart enough, sexy enough, and strong enough that I'd like to fertilize her eggs. If she had a kid, the last thing I'm going to do it pop it into my mouth on a night when there isn't any ketchup in the fridge to put on my salami sandwich. But I guess we really have to consider the times. This is, like, the 21st century. Society has had 136 million years of development between phytosaurs and modern homosapiens. I think that too many people talk smack about the Coelophysis and how it ate its little lizardlings. Birdlings?. None of those people know what it's like to live in a paleozoic world, where everything is about to eat you. I mean, seriously, I bet those munchkin Coelophysis would eat their parents if their parents didn't eat them. So quit dissin' dinos! You don't know what they go through.

Anyway, it's always tough for me to go to parties. I don't smoke or drink, so I always feel rigid and pestered. Eventually I get agitated and I feel like succumbing to the lure or narcotics, but I manage to contain myself, like a cracked stone wall that fails to crumble. It is a peculiar feeling. All the power and lust in the world, like a tyrannosaurus, yet I only have tiny tyrano arms. That is, all the rage in the world and no guns. Whatsoever.

That is, my conservative self control is not strong enough to keep me sober and boring and unhappy. No. The tumultuous, unsorted spin cycle in my mind, surreality in a bottle, maniacal confusion. Listen to me. If I lose my self control, I am a little dangerous, I think. My sobriety is not about religion, strength of character, rebellion against the common forms of rebellion. No. It is straight up cowardice! Hold the ice. This is my conscious decision that is driven by a primal understanding, a force deeper and stronger than my temptations, so far beyond self control that it's a completely different ball field. My self control is like playing stickball in the backyard. The forces of fear and trepidation that seem to guide these odd, drug resistant elements of my life are like fighting tigers in the coliseum.

I wonder what it's like to fight tigers. I wonder if winners collect eyeballs or something. Like in fishing.

Anyway, I've had a weird, hazy morning. Kinda coming off a frenzy. The kids aren't alright. Nelly Furtado is cooling me off right now. And when the music's over... ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/522-Coelophysis-Ate-it-s-Young http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/518-A-Day-at-the-Race-Track Sun, 28 Aug 2011 03:03:58 GMT So, It's time for what I am going to call, uh:
[B]The Annual Anecdote of the Day[/B]

You see, back when I was a kid, I used to take these regular trips to Melbourne to watch a bunch of young punks beat on each other in our little kid zone where Kids Rule until their dad would run in all angry and shout stuff like, "Kids don't rule here anymore!!!"

So that's why I was there.
Anyhow, the two facts you need to know are these: On a long and lonesome neighborhood street, east of Omaha, there were two mysterious names scribbled in gangsta graffiti style in wash-away-resistant chalk.

I studied the symbols carefully, afraid to miss out on an adventure, wary of the older kids who dominated the drug fueled neighborhood that it was. A swift analysis led me to positive results, and I determined the identity of the twin names in the middle of the road.
They were:

[B]Greenday[/B] and [B]Skankin Pickle[/B]

As destiny would have it, I later came across a vending machine that offered little plastic snakes for a quarter. Or maybe 2 quarters. My memory is fuzzy. I had enough money for two snakes (so it was probably only one quarter). One of them was bright green. The other was, as far as I could tell, Skankin.'

I'm sure you know exactly what happened next.

I named the snakes appropriately, and then they were my best friends ever until later that evening when I left them on the hood or the roof of a car or somewhere at the race track.
I never ever saw them again.

I don't know the moral of this story. Probably something like better Nate than lever, but who's counting? ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/518-A-Day-at-the-Race-Track http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/503-I-don-t-care-who-you-are-where-you-re-from Mon, 22 Aug 2011 02:04:27 GMT Just quit breaking the freaking laundry machine!

We only have 2 of them per floor. And two dryers.
I know it sounds petty, but it is irritating to feel the need to run out and check to see whether the machines are "working" before going through the preparations for doing the laundry. It's annoying to need to do laundry, to know that there are machines available to me, and then to have to drive down the road to use a laundromat because literally HALF the time, let me emphasize LITERALLY half the time, somebody has managed to break the machines.

Let me explain things you aren't supposed to do with laundry machines or dryers:

1. Use excessive amounts of ink.
I can understand that you might want to use a little ink. Because you're a damn moron. But using so much that it ruins the machine-washing experience for everybody is frowned upon by the entire public.
2. Jam so much junk into the machine that it bubbles over and explodes, leaving a mess on the floor and causing the machine to require repairs.
I can understand that you need to wash a lot of clothes, but sometimes we must be patient in order to do things right. Now that the washer is broken and your spin cycle never ran, you only have soapy clothes, and a lot of them, that you must somehow rewash/rinse, and now nobody can use the machine. You have made yourself into an impediment for everybody else in the apartment complex. Impediments that pose as people suck. I cannot remove you because I would go to jail, but isn't it bad enough that EVERYBODY wants you to die? This situation can be avoided.
3. Chop the power cords in half (then plugging it back in again)
I get it. They're there. And you have a cutting tool. But that doesn't make it right to ruin a machine down the hall. When I put money into a machine, wait for it to start, scour the area for a sign that says it doesn't work and then analyze it for problems just to find that some screw has unceremoniously sliced the power cord halfway down so that it looks like it's plugged in, yet there's only an exposed hot wire, I get pissed. Moreso when you slice the dryer cord and I end up having to carry a soaking, dripping load of clothes to another floor. You cost me my money. You left a hot wire exposed and hidden, which is deadly, and you did it at the expense of both yourself and your community. I always say that, on some levels, I can understanding hurting other people without cause, but yourself also? Next time you do something random, destructive and hurtful, try punching an innocent shark in the mouth.
4. Assault the machine with weapons or fists!
It's not a magical funbox.It isn't immune to your weapons. It will become damaged and rendered unusable. Who gave you those sticks and feet and whatever else anyway? Somebody needs some sort of license revoked.

Now, the price of using each machine has gone up by a quarter.
What's 50 cents, right? 1.50 to wash, 1.50 to dry. No sweat. 3 bucks.
The problem is that it's a massive increase! 1.25 to 1.50 is a 20% increase! And you will feel it. And I already feel it!
But I can take some solace in knowing that you will hate it. You will cry and moan. You will talk savagely to your peers about how our economy is broken and how the rich apartment people screw us over and how water should be free and how in the old days, the machines only cost 50 cents.
You will NEVER EVER EVER realize that the cost of these machines is directly proportional to the amount of times you have broken them, the amount of times the wealthy washing machine people have had to buy new machines and repair the damaged ones.
That small thing makes me feel just a little better. Even if you break the machines again. Even if I have to pay more, I will know that you will never understand why you must remain poor your entire life.
:kakapo: ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/503-I-don-t-care-who-you-are-where-you-re-from http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/501-Don-t-Hate-Get-Down Sat, 20 Aug 2011 03:22:51 GMT I know you all like it when I talk about how impressive and knowledgable a Christian I am in comparison to all the tools who come into my store and try to act righteous and pretentious because you know that every time I put them down, I boast, which is the awesome, glorious, sinful culmination of... I know you all like it when I talk about how impressive and knowledgable a Christian I am in comparison to all the tools who come into my store and try to act righteous and pretentious because you know that every time I put them down, I boast, which is the awesome, glorious, sinful culmination of all who accuse others of being hypocrites. I become a hypocrite myself. Then it's all, "lol you stupid fool! You betray your lack of knowledge and faithfulness by professing that you have any at all!"
Enter theological debate.

Anyway, I listen to people all day long, but today, I decided to throw down because one dude says that the laws of Moses still stand and that we are sinning when we do things like eat pork and shellfish or maybe when a woman cuts her hair short.
I know he's wrong, but my Bible expertise actually isn't perfect. I preach what I know and like, which is mainly Genesis, Isaiah, the Apostles, Romans and Revelation.

So I bused out Romans 3, my favorite chapter and said, "Boom! Faith is law! Therefore, in light of Christ's sacrifice, we follow the law even as we commit sins, because the purpose of the law is to allow man to follow the law perfectly, which means that sin with repentance is law! We cannot be righteous without being unrighteous! The more we sin, the more faith we display before God!"

Then I got PWNT.
Like sandblasting a soupcracker.
Anyway, I don't want to go into the gory details. Suffice it to say, I gotta do some work.
But I thought you'd like to know that I am defeatable.
I assume you all didn't know that. It was my presumption that most of EoFF considered me as a fairly infallible man of both wealth and taste. Buuuut it looks like I am going to learn my limitations now that I have regular Bible thumpers who like to come in and talk Testament.
[spoiler]I just made that up. "Talk Testament!"[/spoiler]

But isn't it exciting! I actually have people who come into my store, hang out and talk about the Bible. Pentacostals vs. Southern Baptists! Spectacular! My store is becoming a local joint where people come in and congregate. Hang out. Talk about the theology and maybe pick up a Bible on the way out the door! I am already successfully developing a budding community establishment! So thrilling.

Also, on the radio, on the drive home, Kanye's Gold Digger was referred to as a "throwback."
Is that song an old song? If it is, then I really am an old man, because I still think of Kanye as a nub in the world of music. A strong player, but a nub nevertheless. Referencing Coming to America is a throwback.
When was Gold Digger produced? I used to breakdance to that stuff. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/501-Don-t-Hate-Get-Down http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/494-Fighting-Digression Thu, 18 Aug 2011 03:56:14 GMT The truth is that I know how to learn Spanish. All I need to do is enter into an intimate relationship with a Cuban. I just haven't gotten around to it yet, and for that, I apologize to everybody who is miserable enough to have to look me in the eye and ask, "habla espanol?"
Anyway, I was going to discuss my adventures in Chile in another thread, but then I remembered that it's better to blog about such things than it is to pollute the forums with irrelevant anecdotes.

But now that I think about it, I don't remember much.
I know that I was determined to learn, and the program was fantastic. They matched every student up with a hot Chilean coed. Because I was the weirdest, shyest one of the bunch, I got the hottest girl, maybe. Maybe I just liked her because she was kind enough to volunteer to help me with Spanish.
Anyway, I can remember a few things that were kind of cool. Like the pisco.
Pisco is great. It's crazy good, as far as liquor is concerned, and the pisco in Chile flows like water. And I don't mean that there's just a lot of it (which there is). What I mean is that you're probably familiar with American restaurants where you can get infinite refills of water for free. In fact, you might even drink water in order to save money. Well, that isn't the case in Chile. In Chile, I never got a glass of water for free. They charged for water by the bottle and papaya nectar by the glass. I have no idea how those good people can stand eating with so little to drink. But when you go to a nice restaurant, every table has a glass in front of the plate. Like, a tall glass. Like a water glass. And then a waiter will come around with a pitcher, and you're just about thinking, "Oh, good. I won't be eating with a dry mouth today." Suddenly, you get this lime green glass full of pisco! And it's bottomless!
Nowhere have I ever been do they charge for the water but provide bottomless brandy. But in Chile, those peeps are maniacs, yo. I think the drinking age is like 2 and 1 month instead of 21. So all us colelge kids were plastered pretty much all the time, which was nothing unusual or special. And pisco is great tasting for alcohol. I would've brought a bunch of bottles back, but I don't really care for it. I think I actually became drunk for the first time down there. White wine. I have absolutely no recollection of what happened except that I was on the beach, and it was Summer in the States, which meant it was winter in Chile, but all of us douches were tearing our clothes off and jumping into the Pacific anyhow...
Whatever happened, I didn't wake up knowing Spanish, so I maintained that I was still a virgin.

Chorillana.

Gas was the US equivalent to, like, 2 bucks per quarter gallon. Nobody drove. There were buses all over the pace that took you to everywhere. For a non-native and a gringo like me, that was definitely the most difficult part- getting around. I had to figure out what the bus routes were, figure out how to call the bus, make sure I got on the right one, struggle silently through crowds of Chilenos and then communicate with the bus driver in some of the most crooked, broken spanish he'd probably ever been cursed to hear.
Actually, there was a time when I decided to go for a walk on an overcast day. The weather got really bad and began to pour mercilessly. I tried to find my way back, but everything was grey and I was irritatingly wet, and cars drove by and totally drenched me so that, amid that confusion and being in a strange part of a city that I'd never been to in a country that I'd never been to somewhere near a bus stop among many that was some distance from my residence, I was thoroughly lost (and stupid).
I flagged down a taxi and told him in awful nub Spanish about where I was, but it was my 1st day, and I couldn't even remember the name of my hotel. Only the name of my street. Freaking Calle Sucio. What a trip, right? SO eventually, he figured out which place was mine, and he took me there. But not before bitching about how it was further than he liked to drive. I gave him a good tip though, so I think it was all good.

Anyway, the pacific ocean is absolutely beautiful. There are large, marvelous rocks and crashing waves and clean, smooth beaches. I was able to walk the beach every day because even in the beautiful, touristy town of Valparaiso, I was able to find a place to stay for less than the average rent in an apartment in the States. Truly, the land was a paradise, and if I had a US income to support me, I would gladly live there.
My favorite time was at night, around 10 or 11, when I would throw caution to the wind and walk down dark alleys in the city (I was very confident in my strength, my height and my alertness. Aka again, very stupid. If I was a Chileno visiting New York with this kind of attitude, I would be so dead hat dead isn't a good enough word to describe it, but I was curious, like a dead cat; also incorrigable. What I'm saying is, don't be a wanderer. You may not be as lucky as I was). In the dark alley, near midnight, there was a chess club. And all these men would gather and wait for a skinny older gentleman to arrive. Then they would all shout, "Maestro!"
For some crazy ass reason, they totally let me into their group, even though I almost never said anything. I only analyzed the board. They even let me play a game, which I purposefully drew, since I didn't know what type of mannerly protocol was expected from them. I think they thought it was funny, since I had dominion over the board, clearly, and then threw it away. But what a trip.
I can say with some certainty that people from Chile are some of the absolutely most friendly group of people I've ever met, as far as a poll of meeting random strangers and not being able to speak the language goes. Patient, kind and accepting. Flabbergasting.

Like California, Chile is one of those awesome places where you can wake up early to take a walk on the beach and then drive to a mountain and go skiing. In fact, Chile is kind of like what California would be like if it was a country of it's own. Maybe with more chill people. Entirely liberal, full of young ideas waging war against the system, spray-painting Eddie Vedder's name all over the walls at the campus, throwing Molotov cocktails - did I mention that a gang attacked the university I was at with Molotov cocktails? Yeah. It was a total riot. People were screaming and violence was erupting everywhere. It was a nuts place. I learned a lot about culture and whatnot (I sound like it, right?)

I think they treated me a little like royalty. I was probably supposed to take some of the girls for my own, but I didn't. I should regret that, but I kinda don't.
They had a papaya soda called Pap, and it was amazing.
They had awesome dance clubs. In fact, the music was terrific.
[spoiler]look at that word: Terrific. It has the same start as Terror with that terr. I wonder if that means anything.[/spoiler]
The dance music in that time was great. I learned to appreciate some great artists like Julieta Venegas, Los Babasonicos and Sinergia.

Todos me deben plata!

It was around that time, when I visited, that MTV was all "Screw music videos. We gotta prepare for the future. The era of Snookie cometh, and that right soon!"
But in Chile, MTV was alive and well with awesome music videos. It was the year that the Killers busted out with their revolutionary Somebody Told Me. Yeah. That place is like Miami upgraded. The land of beautiful oceans, spectacular music, and late night chess. And beautiful women speaking to me about The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock in a language that I fear I shall never grasp. Where the pisco flows like water.
Oh, how I long to return, and this flippant blog cannot do the experience justice at all. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/494-Fighting-Digression http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/491-Snarl-Sniffle-Snork Wed, 17 Aug 2011 02:32:04 GMT I gotta stop writing these angry blogs.
I'm just in a very unusual and stressful financial situation right now.
I was going to try and wait until this left the main page before deleting it, as a matter of face or class or something like that, but forget it. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/491-Snarl-Sniffle-Snork http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/481-Thinking-too-hard Sat, 13 Aug 2011 20:17:26 GMT Claimer: I want to apologize beforehand for anything offensive that you may read in this blog. The following information is probably going to be largely based on a point of view that is not universal and potentially aggressive. I recently read an article suggesting that modern atheists are... Claimer: I want to apologize beforehand for anything offensive that you may read in this blog. The following information is probably going to be largely based on a point of view that is not universal and potentially aggressive.


I recently read an article suggesting that modern atheists are not only more moral than most Christians, but also more educated in all things, including Christianity and other religions in general. It was filled with solid information that, by and large, supported the strong growth of atheism without accusing religious people too harshly. Very eloquent. It made me think about the future of Christianity a bit.

I recently watched Pitch Black with Vin Diesel.
It's a sci-fi, and the writer chose to make some of the characters Muslim. But they were peaceful Muslims, the kind that could be replaced with any religion that believes in a higher power that may take care of them, slightly evangelical. A completely different character plays the Jesus role. And the reform role.
Anyway, it seems silly to imagine a bunch of Muslims cruising through space in an intergalactic ship. Or any religion. I think it's funny to imagine a large painting of The Last Supper on the steely wall of a space ship or a planet reserved for Buddhist monks who tend to geared up astronauts at the spaceport. All the standard, old school religous garb. I don't know why exactly, maybe because I don't watch enough sci-fi (the more I think about it, the more wrong I feel, but I'm still leaning the direction I began at); continuing, I think our modern religions simply aren't a strong element in most sci-fi. Not in my experience. When religion is predominant in such a setting, it is usually attached to some sort of godlike alien beings who are far too apparent to require the kind of faith-based practice that is incorporated in modern religion (on our planet).

What I'm thinking is, even now, even among very religious and faithful people, the sci-fi future brings an atheistic image to mind. As humanity rolls on into the uncertain future and the infinite reaches of space, the expected thing is for religion to fade and science to dominate (although I disagree with those who believe that religion and science cannot coexist). It is expected that people will lose their desire to worship a supreme being as we acquire technology to infinitely expand our lifelines and provide Utopian worlds to live in.
But I suppose that is the problem with religion in the first place, especially a holy afterlife religion like Christianity.
All too often, we hear somebody give a testimony to the tune of: "I used to be a killer! I committed homosexual acts against those I killed, both before and after I fired the gun! Then I disobeyed my parents, coveted my neighbor's car, stole a turkey dinner from a hobo and lied about it priest! But now that I'm a Christian in a transformed, born again body, I give money to the poor, am healthier and happier with my lifestyle, have found a job as a CFO for the 8th listed Forbes 500 billionaire companies and will be going to heaven to live for eternity in a far lovelier environment than a pit of burning flames. If it weren't for religion, I never would have figured out that what I was doing was a hindrance to society!"

sigh...

The allure of Christianity has always been the moral code, eternal life, and the hope for "blessings" that generally equate to Solomon's God-given wisdom and Earth-given harem.
As the sense of desperation and horror is erased from our lives, hope disappears. Like I told my mom once, "I will destroy your hope by accomplishing this task for you. So, you know, you won't have to 'hope' I get it done before this afternoon."
If we do not need to hope- if we know that we can do what we need to do, if we do not fear an afterlife because our lives are good enough and long and healthy enough, if we are educated and socially advanced enough to understand how to act morally and ethically without the assistance of a higher power who judges us, then it stands to reason that "religion" should fade away.
When we have the technology and the social order required to travel through space, then we will have no more need for religion.
That may be simple fact. (Although, it is arguable that humanity will never get itself together enough to do that before self destructing in high-tech world war).
And maybe mankind is reaching that point in it's epic, evolutionary, revolutionary history. Maybe we are on the brink of successfully allowing science to fulfill all our needs and, at the same time, evolving socially so that we can act compassionately and with understanding of ourselves and others to the extraordinary degree that even theft would be considered an obviously bad thing without having to be called an obviously bad thing first.

When that time comes, the true Christians will finally be separated from the people who only pray and tithe and waste their Sunday mornings because they kinda figure that it's a worthwhile sacrifice if they don't go to Hell. The true Christians will be separated from the people who act kind and good in front of others and live like trash when nobody is looking, expecting some sort of God-karma to reward them for the brief moments of kindness that they loathe to display. Hopefully, the true Christians will also be separated from the "holier than thous" who use their religion as a tier from which to judge, control and persecute others.

And when all the allures are gone, when it is nearly impossible to witness to people because there is not enough despair in the world that cannot otherwise be fixed by men somewhere so that people cry out to God, the only true Christians will be those whom God speaks to directly. I do not know how much atheism will predominate in those times or as those days draw nearer, but I do not fear for Christianity itself, because I know that my God is a loving God; He is the living God; He sent His son to die for us so that our sins will be forgiven and not so that his pain would go in vain, unnoticed and forgotten after a few thousand years. Neither I nor anybody else can save anybody else, it is always God who speaks to the heart of an individual, and that will never change, which means that, in my opinion, Christianity will never disappear. Perhaps, only its gimmicks will disappear, and that is probably not a bad thing. Maybe the Christians of the future will all be much surer of their identity in Christ than the ones of today, many of whom stumble through their faith on the shaky foundations of men who advise them with ideas forged from personal agenda-inspired quotations from the Bible.
Ensuing, if Christianity never disappears, then neither will the devil, and that means that other religions will probably still exist also, ever confusing those who seek the true faith, even under the pressure of what may (though I hope not) be an otherwise mostly godless world.

So my ultimate hope is that this shift toward atheism may actually be a good thing (as long as it is temporary, of course). The witness will be forced to change toward a direction that relies on intelligent, educated, informed Christians preaching a ministry that, if it is truly Biblically sound, may be better unified and coherent in its teachings. If it takes an atheist revolution to bring about a revolution among the followers of Christ, I welcome it. Perhaps, contrary to the former considerations, Christianity (maybe faith in general) will not vanish but become stronger than ever before!
That would be exciting. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/481-Thinking-too-hard http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/478-I-Need-More-Hot-Women-In-My-Life Fri, 12 Aug 2011 04:34:29 GMT I used to work at a bar restaurant, so most of my time was spent squelching my fury, working out math in my head to determine how long I had before I needed to speak with anybody at my many tables in order to make my customers feel like they were enjoying a genuine experience and looking at the... I used to work at a bar restaurant, so most of my time was spent squelching my fury, working out math in my head to determine how long I had before I needed to speak with anybody at my many tables in order to make my customers feel like they were enjoying a genuine experience and looking at the rear ends of all the 18-25 year old babes who knew that wearing tights is a great way to make better tips. On the off days, I could walk up to one of them and say something like, "Man it's slow. At least you recently got a boob job. Otherwise it wouldn't be worth it working here," and it'd be totally cool because waiter chicks are cool like that. On the job anyway :/
FYI: Don't make a mistake with a local waiter. Rules change outside of work and with non-coworkers.

Anyway, my life is usually my work. I work long hours, write, sleep, and I kinda live a bizarre life where I enjoy my life as a work life, as opposed to clubbing, drinking or whatever.
So, my newest endeavor is something very worthwhile to me. A business I own, which makes my work more my life than even before. It is a noble business and a business that was born of inspiration and love and faith; however, my clients are far from gorgeous. Most of the people I speak to all day long are non-English speaking, old, impoverished- let's just say it. They aren't pretty. They're nothing to look at. It's all about helping and teaching and selling at good prices- providing something that these poor folks will have a hard time getting. And I'm suffering a little, but I'm determined to succeed in this venture.
But man do I miss the social atmosphere. I realize that my life of work and sleep is depriving me of the only thing that I care about aside from food, faith, sleep and exercise: women!

And I'm no womanizer. I am merely a man, and without beauty, a man has nothing to live for.

But anyway, I just like being able to talk to a young, smooth skinned, pretty eyed girl every so often. It's soothing. I don't care about romance, about sex, about potential for the future. It's just good to have some light, meaningless conversation with somebody who is easy on the eyes and the mind.

So maybe you tell me to go out and find a girl to talk to. I can do that, but going out means going on the prowl. And all the girls know that, even if I don't mean to be on the prowl. A lone guy in the environment of crowds of women scouring the night is always a potential threat, either Mr. Right or a creep. That's where the games and the hunt begins. That's when men compete and women flirt and want to be chased and the liquor flows and, well, it's work. I don't want the work because I don't want the sex, which is probably strange. Maybe I'm turning into an old man before 30. I just want the tranquility, since all I see is fairly unappealing. I think it's making me a little sour these days. I just kinda need a little bit of friendship outside of the fleeting, joking bromances I have with my closer guy friends.
I could go out and just look at people, but that's another monster. Again, for anybody who doesn't know, you can be surrounded by people and be utterly lonely. Sight and movement means nothing. If all I needed was that, I would watch a movie. Or porn (although I try to stay away from that stuff).

I kinda wish I was better at making friends.
I'm only good at making money, I suppose. And helping people (Helping people doesn't equal friends. It can, equal friends, but it's not the end-all when you're bad at it, like me.).
Perhaps mine is a high and lonely destiny.

If only my life truly sucked, I would feel sad for myself, but I can't because it doesn't. I just don't know how I'm going to find a solution before I start to uh, well, become really upset. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/478-I-Need-More-Hot-Women-In-My-Life http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/473-Embarrassing-Moment-Number-2! Tue, 09 Aug 2011 03:02:22 GMT As you're well aware, I tend to ruin my reputation at the very moment it starts moving up.
If you are not aware, I suggest you become one. We could use more wares. Lerts too.
Anyway, I suppose it's time for me to whine and gripe about how fat I've become since I quit ranching and became a desk jockey, writing and working computers and all that other sedentary work.
It happened at that peculiar time in a man's life where his metabolism starts slowing. Age crept up on me as I crept into my early-mid twenties, and, without a proper exercise regime (which I never had) and with the wonderful habits I had formed as a teenager that helped keep my body chiseled like George Washington's face on Mount Rushmore (Meximelts and Dark Chocolate Nougat Milky Ways), my body slowly degenerated into the globular pile of pudge that you are lucky enough to only meet via text and never sight!
Once the pinnacle of beauty, I cried out from the tops of mountains and women everywhere, "I am become Lust, destroyer of hearts!"

But then, one day, I actually had to buy a pair of 36" pants.
You say, "but bro! What's 4 inches man?"
But, ultimately, the distance isn't the problem. It's the way I feel. Fat and hideous. Like the Return of the Blob! Run. Don't walk.

I'm going to cut to the chase here.

I dropped some cash and joined a gym. I went there this morning. While I was jumping up and down off of a box (it's more grueling than it sounds), My boxers tore, clearly under the weight of my bulging fatness. With every new exercise, since most of the exercise revolve around banding down and pushing myself up in one way or another, I could hear my boxers tearing apart under my loose fitting gym shorts.
So... I'm standing around, lifting or whatever, wondering if people can hear the zipper sounds of the fabric beneath my shorts unwinding, worrying that my boxers might come clean off, and the instructor orders us to do sit-ups!

Do you know what happens when I do sit-ups? My baggy gym shorts slide down, revealing a little more of my thigh than I'm used to, and sometimes they reveal my boxers or something if you look down them from a specific angle.
Normally, that isn't actually very lewd or problematic. Who would be looking down my shorts anyway? Most people are fantasizing something peaceful in their minds in order to escape to a far away land where every new step, every new rep isn't such a horrific torture of muscular destruction. I, however, had a different issue. I had no idea whether or not my shorts would come up and reveal any part of myself exposed by shredded undergarments!!!

So I had to admit the problem to my coach, and he let me do my sit-ups against the wall, discreet yet unusual.

Yeah. Anyway, I was just getting used to the place. The guy was learning my name, glad to see that I was persevering beyond the first week with vigor. But now he's going to look at me and think, "lol that screwball can't keep his shorts in order."

Such is life.

Anyway, more awful luck. I put on my shirt to find that some evil thing was crawling within it. Initially, I thought it was a wrinkle, but when it moved, I crushed it's tiny body against my back, making a total mess. It was some awful worm.
Could there be more? Lurking beneath the cover of my garments? ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/473-Embarrassing-Moment-Number-2! http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/470-What-am-I-What-am-I-not Mon, 08 Aug 2011 03:25:30 GMT Here is a loose list of all the jobs I have had. It should indicate the sorts of things I am most proficient at: Yardman, Machinist/Mechanic, Dockrat, Server, Cold Call Advertising Salesman (not proficient), Server, Writing Editor, Power Generation, Cement Worker (construction?), Farmer, Rancher... Here is a loose list of all the jobs I have had. It should indicate the sorts of things I am most proficient at:
Yardman, Machinist/Mechanic, Dockrat, Server, Cold Call Advertising Salesman (not proficient), Server, Writing Editor, Power Generation, Cement Worker (construction?), Farmer, Rancher (cows, pigs, chickens, horses. Not the geese. I hate geese.), Teacher (middle school - Holy Hell! Not proficient.), Professor, Store Manager.

In most casual conversation, this is what I say I am: Writer.

To be sure, I do have a writing degree. My writing prowess is what landed me my job as a professor and as a newspaper editor. And, of course, I am published in some teensy, barely noteworthy online and advertising mediums.
I mean, I can write. I can write well, especially academic crap.
But it isn't wholly honest to tell people I'm a writer, even if I honestly view myself as one.
I generally make my money and my career and my life with completely different things.

Maybe it would be honest to call myself a writer if I came home every day and worked on writing one of the many bland, used, abused, been-there-done-that stories that I have swimming around in my mind.
Sometimes I do. Sometimes I sit down and say, "Now Martyr, you are going to do what you say you do and write. Write frikkin' magical realism or whatever the fuck you talk about and don't quit until you have at least 10 totally deletable pages worth of words splayed about before you on a WORD file!
Then I get excited and I try to create a story or bust out an old manuscript of something I have worked on at brief intervals over the past 5 years, and I make an attempt to write. And inevitably, a point always comes where I can't stand it anymore. I loathe my characters. I see holes in my plot that I don't know how to fill. I get bored and feel like I should be writing something different. I end up rewriting the first 15 pages over and over again from countless different angles, utterly insatiable.

And I realize that I can't write a story. I can write anything. I can improve anything that isn't mind. I can work another person's pos writing into masterpieces (that's what they pay me for). When I was in college, I finished stories because I had a deadline. But when I am on my own, I am helpless to continue anything.
At this point, I don't think it's about trying to make sure a piece is as good as possible. I feel like it's a willpower issue, but I don't know what it is that I'm trying to overcome with my will. I'm writing. I'm ready. I want to put stuff onto paper. The writing is good. The stories probably aren't bad - the few people I share them with seem to like them. But I hate them all.

I try to make a little blog to warm up my brain. Sometimes I do it on a blog site. Currently, I enjoy them here because I know somebody or another may kinda/sorta read it. I often write gibberish for about 8 minutes by hand before I try to touch a computer keyboard and create something. There's all this ritual. All this effort to generate motivation. All this fear and anger and self depreciation.

I tell people I love writing because I love the feel of a pen in my hand and the tic tac of the keys under my fingertips. I love it when a sentence comes together perfectly, when I strike a metaphor that cuts to the point like a razor (razors were initially designed to cut to points. People have since used them to cut other things to get to different locations). But when all is said and done, there is a part of me that detests it.
The writing is work, yes. That is acceptable. I have always viewed writing as more of a job than a game, and I believe that is appropriate if I want to make my writing into something that is to be presented to others. However, the work shouldn't be this hard.
If this is my passion, why am I not obsessed with it enough to actually do it, complete it, love it and make it my life? Why do I work until exhaustion managing people, fixing cars, chasing cows and sleep well when-
Well maybe I have an identity crisis.

Anyway, I'm working on a character design right now. It's been 3 drafts over 2 months, but I think I figured out the fix. I think she has to be a female. I will have to rewrite tons of character interaction and alter the direction of the story some, maybe even some of the other characters, but I think it will add life to the plot. And sexual tension.
But when I finish this, will it feel like I am forcing the scene by plugging in a woman instead of a man or will the woman fit better in the scenario, realistically and truthfully? I don't know. But I'll tell you something, I kinda wish there were more genders to work with. ]]> Martyr http://home.eyesonff.com/entry.php/470-What-am-I-What-am-I-not