Damien_Vryce's Xanga

International Toaster Day

Thu, 14 Feb 2008 05:15:26 GMT

(I'll let all you bright ones figure that out)

And now for your viewing and auditory pleasure, I leave you with a taste of what I've been listening to of late:

A little White Stripes:

Along those lines are the Raconteurs (the White stripe's lead singer's side project)

Yes, I'll admit it: Finger eleven is in my recently played list. I like this song dangit.

A Little Nightwish

Rasputina (Warning: this music video may be a little... odd for some viewers)

Well, that's enough off music for now I suppose.

Happy International Toaster Day.

On the Iowa Caucus

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 04:03:04 GMT

I'm not going to comment on the results. You know by now who I support, and if I can find the right way to say it, I'll try to list briefly why. I'm not even going to comment on the media manipulation (though I will, believe me I will).

What I want to talk about is the way this "voting" was conducted.

For those of you that missed it, it was a little like watching one of those films titled something like "How not to vote" or "Chaos and politics" or something similar.

For reference, I watched the Republican Caucus in Carrol, Iowa on Cspan2.

Let me tell you briefly how things went:
First, you had to register. This was accomplished by people dividing up by precinct, and signing a register proving they were able to vote at that location. But here's the kicker: You're not registered? you can register that night, you can even change your party affiliation AT the event.

Then they hand you a blank piece of paper. A blank piece of paper with the number of their precinct scrawled on the top. Then, they waited in a big room while people "spoke" for the candidates. Then people wrote who they wanted on the piece of paper and turned it in. The papers were then hand tallied and seperated, with the totals being written on the backs on envelopes.

The Democrats? They were put in a big room and went to different corners depending on who they supported. Candidates had to receive a certain percentage of votes to pass this first round and then the top three candidates were re-listed and people chose their favorites from these three.

This ladies and gentlemen is our democracy.

Yes, this is a small state. No, I do not trust electronic voting. But, pieces of scrap paper? the chaotic way they were counted was unacceptable.

I don't know what else I can write... I'm still trying to accept that what I saw was what really happened, and more importantly: that people take the results as seriously as they do.

So, to those few that read this, I urge you: Please continue to research ALL the candidates (not just the "top three" that the media like putting forth) Find some guy (or girl) that you actually agree with and VOTE for them in the primaries if you are able.

The primaries are there (ideally) for you to have some say in the direction your party takes in the upcoming election. Don't think of this in terms of left and right just yet (or ever, but that is yet another topic for another day) Find someone you WANT to lead the country, and vote for them.

Remember, you win nothing by electing the person that wins, unless they represent something you actually believe in. It's not a horse race.

Goodnight

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 04:50:30 GMT

I hate writing sometimes

While your lips are still red

Sun, 18 Nov 2007 16:38:38 GMT

Just a music video I found interesting. Hope you enjoy it.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 03:43:14 GMT

I don't know why I do this to myself. Putting things off to the last minute is NOT a good idea. I know this, I KNEW this since I've been in school. But I always do it.

Other than my procrastination issues, life is well. Really well actually, for several specific reasons that those who need to know, know about. Not much to say on that besides things are ok right now.

Oh, and new Nightwish=<3
From their inside back cover:

"I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul,
The pleasures of heaven are with me and the pains of hell are with me,
The first I graft and increase upon myself, the latter I translate
into a new tongue."
-Walt Whitman

Monday, November 05, 2007

Mon, 05 Nov 2007 05:20:33 GMT

I'm tired of trying to read the future
Tired of reading my future in coffee stains
Walking with binoculars to avoid the path beneath me.

I need to learn to Be
To embrace the present for what it is
To not worry about definitions or what others might infer.

I'm happy with how things are. I'm enjoying myself and I think I am helping others enjoy themselves as well.

Who could ask for anything more?

Sometimes you find strange, yet poigent things at night

Sun, 21 Oct 2007 04:17:58 GMT

Mainstay: Become who you are

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 02:50:11 GMT

So it seems that I'm wrong,
cuz you said that I would never want for anything again
But my eyes are set low
and I'm holding to the thing I know I can't keep

I keep on chasing the wrong things
and coming up empty
This isn't who I'm supposed to be
I keep on learning the hard way from every mistake
And I'm finding each time that you fall,
you're just becoming who you are

So it seems that I'm wrong,
cuz I keep on searching for the answers that I don't need
I know I don't need

Times like this, I am SO thankful for the friends I have. I know I don't say that enough.

Wednesday, October 10, 2007

Wed, 10 Oct 2007 12:54:58 GMT

We've put more effort into helping folks reach old age than into helping them enjoy it.
-Frank A. Clark

    “I’ve seen our economy rise and fall twice, I’ve fought in two world wars and sent my children to fight in Korea and Vietnam, and you’re trying to tell me a donut is hazardous to my health?” George was shouting at the wall where he thought an employee was standing.

    George was having one of his bad days.

    When he moved next door to me six years ago, I just assumed he was another one of us—an old man who was sent here because his family didn’t trust him around stairs. Oh, they always mean well, but sometimes kids don’t get that their parents don’t like the idea of being put out to pasture, even if that Pasture is Glenndale.

    Glenndale is a retirement home for singles. Well, not really singles; widows and widowers. Tess passed away almost eight years ago now, and I think I’ll be here for five years come this may. I kinda like it really. In the men’s wing we have cards every night, and they have a nice TV in the lounge for us to watch sports, if someone’s not fighting over which team to watch, which they generally are.

    George got a new TV from his oldest son, so he rarely joined the arguing in the TV lounge. When he first moved in, he would invite a bunch of us over on game nights and we would play Rook while he had the TV blaring some boxing match. Next Christmas, his son bought him a Miracle Ear.

I’ve never been over in the women’s wing, but George says they quilt over there instead of watching the games (but some of them come over to watch with us), but other than that it’s practically the same. Besides, why would I want to go over there? It’s just where people lived. We ate, socialized, and wasted our days at the commons.

George and I would go there every morning for breakfast. I would get my dippy eggs and toast and he would come back with a plate full of donuts. But they didn’t have donuts today.
George was having one of his bad days.

“What do you mean there’s no donuts?” George shouted at an aide he somehow had cornered before they were able to run. Poor girl, she doesn’t look older than nineteen, twenty at the most. Might not see her next week if George keeps at it.

“George, sit down” I say, coming up behind him and pulling him back far enough that the aide can run back towards the kitchen. “What are you goin on about?”

“They say that they stopped ordering donuts,” He sighed, “’cause donuts are bad for us all of the sudden.”
“Will George, they aren’t good for you.”

“I’m 97, why would I care what’s good for me? The sooner I go, the less money they’ll get from my kids.”

“The shuttle is going downtown today, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind dropping us off at the donut shop for an hour or so. Just get some coffee and some toast and stop yelling at the wall.”

George glared at me, but made his way towards the coffee anyway. An aide made the mistake of getting too close to him and making eye contact.

“Hey you! If you’re not going to get me my donuts, get me some bacon or something. I’m ninety-seven, why would I start counting calories now?”

Sometimes I wonder what people are thinking when they buy land to make a retirement home. Glenndale is one of those retirement homes you see in the movies, with well kept gardens and a view that gets better with every season. But if you live here, chances are you can’t drive anymore, or you shouldn’t be driving, so the view has its limits. The nearest town is only two miles away, but the nearest town with stores is almost fifteen.

Glenndale runs a shuttle service to the stores every day, but sometimes waiting for the shuttles to arrive makes you wish that you could walk there if you really wanted to, not that any of us ever would.
George was having one of his bad days.

“I don’t see why they took away my license.” He was pacing up and down the hallway, leaving his cane propped up on the chair next to mine. “We could be there and back by now.”

“Sit down George.” I was still holding a mug of coffee while trying to spread a paper across my knee with my other arm. “You spend at least two hours in that coffee shop whenever we go. If you could come and go as you please, you’d just find more people to talk to.”

He stopped pacing and sat down. I gave him his coffee and gave up on reading the paper, putting it in my jacket.

“The shuttle will be here soon enough, just finish your coffee and enjoy the morning.”
“It isn’t morning until I’ve had my breakfast.”

He put his mug on an end table and folded his arms across his chest and stayed silent until the shuttle arrived. He informed me that he wanted to sit next to the window, and didn’t say another word until we reached the Wal-Mart parking lot where we got off.

Mount Laurel Coffeehouse was only two blocks from WalMart, built inside a home that was gutted and remodeled to house the roasters, ovens, tables, and counters that make a coffee house what it is. Or was. Mount Laurel opened in the forties, being one of the first of it’s kind out here, but as the decades went on little changed, and the shop was now featured on the towns historical tour book rather than in the shopping guide.

But it was George’s favorite store, and mine too since I started coming to town with him. It’s dated, but spotless. It’s never crowded, but there’s always a dozen or so old me (and occasionally their wives) sitting at one of the faded booths, ignoring the drink in front of them for the conversations to be had across the room.
We took our usual spots at the counter. I pulled the newspaper from my pocket, unfolded it, and smoothed it out over the counter just as the waitress came to take our order.

I ordered a black coffee and a bagel. George ordered a krueller for me, two more for himself, and a box to take back to stick in the commons later that evening. We ate in silence for a time before George finally spoke up.

“I used to bring my kids here.” He was looking at me, but I think he might’ve still talked even if he came alone. He just looked that sort of way. “We would come every other Saturday after they finished their chores. Beth would fuss about how coffee wasn’t any good for growing boys, and I would promise only to let them have some milk, but I always let them order whatever they wanted. She would get so angry.”

He smiled.

We never talked about our wives that much. It just seemed to be some unspoken agreement we all had. I knew George had three sons and a daughter, but other than a few gifts at Christmas and fathers day, he rarely heard from them, and only mentioned them if someone noticed something they gave.

“I remember I brought her here once and made her try some of the coffee. She hated it so much she spit it out all over the counter. She got so embarrassed by that, she never gave me a hard time about coffee again.”

“Tess never cared much for coffee either,” I replied, “She said it reminded her of burnt water and charcoal. She still drank it every once and awhile though, especially when I put some chocolate and crème in it for her. I asked her once why she drank it, and she said it was so she could know me better, cause ‘something was making me the way I was.’”

“Heh, Ha,” George chuckled, making his shoulders shake, a contented rattling.

“It’s funny what they’ll do sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s funny what we do too though. For them, I mean.”

    “Heh, yeah it is at that.” We both smiled.

    Maybe today was going to be a good day.

This was story #1 from writing fiction, as always, feedback is appreciated.

Friday, October 05, 2007

Fri, 05 Oct 2007 04:36:26 GMT

I'm getting tired of always finding my way by following the paths left by others.

Why do I always feel like I'm a step behind on everything?

What do you do when you're somewhere past when you should have been but it's too late to move on?

Everything is. So. Different this year.