To Rebecca on Our Wedding Day

Today we marry. It's hard to believe that we've been dating for a year and half. Time is strange. On the one hand it feels like we just met a few weeks ago. On the other, it feels as though I've known you all my life. I think that's one of the things that has always amazed me (and continues to do so). It was almost as if there was no 'getting to know you' phase of our relationship. The information exchange that happened was largely a formality, something that people do when they meet a new person, but not strictly necessary in our case. Whenever you would tell me you liked a certain food or a certain band it was more confirming what I already suspected than discovering new things about you. Wierd huh.

Sometimes we say things to each other like, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me." In fact we do so to a degree that through frequency it starts to lose its potency. Let me just say, for the record that it's as true for me as it was the first time I said it. You are, unconditionally, the sweetest, most forgiving, most decent person I have ever met. I count myself lucky beyond measure that I was even able to meet you. To know that I get to spend my life with you is more than my tiny mind can process.

It was odd preparing for this day, in so many ways I've considered us "married" since before I even moved to Michigan. Before we ever even brought it up in discussion, I already knew that I had found something remarkable and had best play my cards right. I knew from the start that I was the lucky one. So much so, that when we finally did get engaged that it hardly felt like news (to such a degree that I neglected to inform one of my closest friends, sorry Jami). But, by definition, news is 'new', and this wasn't new. This was something I had known for a long time. Something that feels, even now, like it was written and decided well before we ever even knew each other's names. I've never been much of a disciple to Destiny or Fate but the events of the past few months have made a fairly strong case for it.

In addition to being all the things I mentioned above, you are good for me. If I hadn't met you, I'm certain beyond doubt that I'd still be in Boston working at a dead end temp position with nothing musical going for or around me. I'd also be hating every second of it. I most certainly would not be teaching music. You have given me a gift I had pretty much lost somewhere, a confidence in my abilities as a musician. As if all the other things you've done and do for me weren't enough, I could never repay that in a thousand lives of fervant toil. Thank you.

So today we make known to the world, the federal government, and to our God the thing that I've known for a very long time, perhaps longer than I even realize. You are my wife.
Love always,

Kroy


I will write you a song

For Your Convenience

I have aquired and implemented a new invention I am thinking of calling Electronic Mail whereby you may send Hate mail, pipebombs, boiled rabbits, and other festive gifts via the World Wide Web. I could have just put a mailto: link in there but that only work if you have an email program configured to launch when you click one of those links. And who does that? Everybody uses webmail. I also could have written it out all normal like but I don't want email harvesters(some of my best readers) to archive my email address and gum up my mailbox, thereby slowing the delivery of my pipebombs and boiled rabbits. If I need cheap Viagra, I know a guy. Also I came up with a snazzy and adorable name for the Kitty Profiles.

edit: Actually I just found a cool idea about how to make it look like a regular link but still thwarting the robots. Either way, it'll have to wait until I'm home.

Going to the Chapel, and We're Gonna, et cetera

So this week I'll have a much better excuse for not updating. I'm about to embark on a journey of Frodoian proportions. At last count the drive I have before me is 12 hours, but following my Tolkienian metaphor that'll just get me to the elven home of Imladris. People often talk about chapters of their lives and things opening closing and what not. It's a droll concept that I've never really subscribed to but at this point I feel like that it doesn't come close to describing how my life will irrevocably change before the weekend by half. It's as though my life up to this point were the happy travelings of a young and plucky burgler. Now, some sixty years later, I find myself inheritor of an artifact of unimaginable power and it is left to me to see the Necromancer brought down. Ok. That's the last Middle-earth metaphor, I promise.

The dark irony is, of course, that since I'll be torn from my debiliating addictions, I may actually manage to update this week. Only the Shadow and your hairdresser knows for sure.

-Kroy has gone offline


that jolly jumbuk that you've got in your tucker bag

The Conclusion of a Very Rigid Search

I know, I know, I'm not updating much lately. All I can say is, I've been otherwise occupied. I have pressing business with the Twilight's Hammer cult. I'm sure you understand.

In other news, I also just recently had the pleasure of viewing Everything is Illuminated which is an excellent film. It stars everyone's favorite hobbit (well, he wasn't my favorite hobbit but I got much love for Master Samwise). Anyway, unlike some other celebrities who can't seem to find work because of their involvement with certain hallowed franchises, Elijah Wood doesn't seem to be having any trouble maintaining a vibrant work schedule. This was an independent film that I saw trailers for several months ago during one of my scheduled romps through apple trailers. It looked good to me immediately but to my knowledge it never came to any theatres in this area. If it did, I missed it. At any rate, we rented it last night and I can recommend it unconditionally.

The basic story is about this weird little guy who wears his pants too high, this guy collects things. All kinds of crap and he's on a journey to find a woman who was, apparently very important to his Grandfather. It's essentially a road movie. But this is a road movie featuring a crotchety old blind driver, a modern day Prufrock, and a broken English speaking Ukrainian who is of premium comedy making. I don't want to spoil anything about the movie so that's all I'll say besides you should see this movie.

Dr. Jackhole rating: Four Grapes Up

-Kroy has left the server


slapped my dried up carcass

I Shot the Sheriff

Anyone who knows me probably knows me as someone who doesn't really get into a lot of New Age fads or trends. It's also well established fact that my favorite joke ever involves the incineration of other human beings. Would you like to hear it?

Q. What's yellow and red and looks good on a hippie?

A. Fire

Isn't that great? Anyway, so while I appreciate, even adore, the music that arose from the counterculture movement. I feel very few social ties to it. People with dreadlocks categorically make me uncomfortable. The last thing I'd want would be to be associated with a group of patchouli-smelling degenerates.

Recently a complication has arisen in this arena. Rebecca returned from her job training armed with a bevee of terrifying statistics regarding diet and how eating can kill you (like how eating a single butter scotch in your teens will give you advanced diabetes and make your balls rot off). As such we've made a few minor adjustments to our culinary regiment. My house is now running over with whole grain this and leafy green that. Luckily most of these things are food items closely related to things I liked before so the shift hasn't been too drastic. One thing that has started showing up in my cupboard is Granola. Filthy, stinking, hippie granola. What's worse, in a moment of weakness, I tried it. What's worse yet, in a moment of delicious revelation, I liked it. By itself it's fairly bland but when slaked with half a cup of sugar it's actually quite tasty. Even so, this is entirely too New Age of me. I've always subscribed to the Dennis Leary philosophy of diet. Wherein, red meat tastes like murder and murder tastes pretty fuckin' good. But I can already tell this vile amalgam of grains, raisins, and insect husks is working it's contemptible magic on me.

I've started listening to more Bob Marley for one. Which, in itself isn't' a bad thing, but I mean a lot of Bob Marley. Not only that, but the deeper meanings of his tunes have started affecting me in a visceral way. I tear up every time I hear "Get Up, Stand Up." While Rebecca is at work today I'll be replacing all our doors with bead curtains. I quit showering five days ago. I'm also seeking deeper truths in my search to find Jah. I just changed our wedding plans also, no longer are we getting married in a church. I found a field of poppies where we can stand barefoot and get hitched by a Hindi Yogi. We're getting Phish to play our reception. I'm legally changing my name to Cocoon because I'm a work in progress man. Someday I'll emerge from my mortal shell into something... eternal and groovy.

So next time you see me, I'll be the dreadlocked, patchouli-smelling degenerate.

-Kroy has gone offline


my mind can't clutch the feeling

Whatcha Gonna Do When They Come for You

I haven't 'guffawed' at an internet video in a while so this definitely warrants sharing. Props to Greg in the desert southwest for wresting this gem from the bowels of the internet.

Dungeons & Dragons Watch it now on StupidVideos!

Conversations

[During a lengthy discussion on the theological differences between the Catholic and Charismatic Protestant sects of Christianity.]

"So they pretty much believe in an non-uniform age of accountability at which point a person becomes responsible for their actions is therefore eli-."

"HOLY SHIT WE NEED TO BUY A LOTTERY TICKET!"

Wrapped Up Like a Duece

I've been thinking about more things I could do to The Hole to make it a little bit snazzier. One thing is that I think I'm going to start rip off Dooce's custom of creating mastheads for her website. There are two things we should clear up before I commit to this though. One, she like updates a new masthead every month or so, whereas I'll be updating it once per whever-I-feel-like-it. It could be four in one day, it might be once per liturgical season. The guessing is half the fun! Secondly, Her Dooceness was once paid to design websites and uses Photoshop like it's an extension of her mortal body. The images I'll be producing will likely be vile and blasphemous in the name of modern design. Pointing and laughing at my trivial attempts to create something purty will be the other half of the fun. What does everyone think of that? Discuss.

Just a note: you are encouraged to comment below but be warned that I'll end up doing whatever the hell I want anyway.

You know...

Teaching kids and adults how to count polyrhythms is cool and all but what I really want out of my two music degrees is a life in Accounts Payable.

Just kidding, my job rules, probably more than yours.

The Family that Slays Together, Stays Together


In the same vein as the digitial gravity I discussed yesterday, there is another phenomena I have recently fallen prey to. I don't really have a name for it yet but I bet I will by the end of this post. So here's the story if for those of you joining us mid-season:

Many moons ago (nearly two years now) a friend and I got in on the beta of a video game called World of Warcraft. World of Warcraft (hereafter referred to as WoW) is what's called a Massively Multiplayer Online Role Playing Game (hereafter refered to as MMORPG or just plain ol' MMO, sorry geeks love their acronyms). In layman's terms, it's a video game that you play with a shit load of other people from all over the globe all at the same time. Anyway, WoW is one of them and I got into the beta. Overnight, this game consumed my life. I played for hours a day until the beta phase of development closed (sometime around October) then purchased the game as soon as it was released to the public and continued on playing for almost a year more.

During this time Rebecca began playing as well and we played together. Given the distant nature of our early relationship (geographically, not emotionally), WoW served as a viable mechanism for us to communicate and "date". It was during this time that the above adage, that also serves as today's title, was coined. Long story... uh.. less long, Rebecca frequented a coffee shop where she would drink some kind of gross coffee drink and make use of their wireless network to play WoW with me. All the while, I would sit in my gross apartment and drink sweet tea and play WoW with her. She often got asked about what she was doing as passers-by could see what was going on her laptop was not your typical internet browsing or spread sheeting. If memory serves it was one of the coffee guys that coined the phrase. Anyway, for nearly a year and a half (counting the beta) I played this game on a daily basis, often for stretches that I'm ashamed to admit to the non-gaming public (hereafter refered to as Normies).

During this time some friends and I founded a guild in the game. We wanted to make sure we adhered to a high standard of excellence and not just allow any Kothar, Shemak, or Imadlesolersys into our guild. We had expectations for our current and prospective members that included, but was not limited to: a healthy appreciation for fart jokes, the ability to "be cool", and a love of foul language. I am happy to say, a year and a half later the guild we started is still going strong. It is also a matter of some pride on my part, and for the other founders, that even though the guild has been around for quite a while (as imaginary virtual coalitions go) it has remembered it's roots and is still full to bursting with fart-joking, potty-mouthed, cool-dudes-and-dudettes.

How can I possibly know this? You might ask since you remember that I quit playing some months ago. Well a few reasons, a) there's the board that I linked earlier, I stayed on it and kept in touch with several of the members even after my departure, 2) without their knowledge I planted several sleeper agents within the ranks of the guild ready to go positively batshit on my whim, and D) I started playing again a couple of weeks ago.

After Rebecca and I quit we were pretty good for a long time about overcoming our addiction. I would only occasionally check the official WoW website, which, at the height of my sickness, had been a daily ritual for months on end. Then, as the months, passed we started developing noticable ticks and twitches. We did our best not to talk about it for a long time, but the cause was obvious. We also kept in contact with a good buddy, Jared (who assured me he was going to set up a blog), who had stayed in the game and kept us rapt with news about all the cool things we were missing. Jared also constantly would tempt us to come back like a stranger with candy. Naughty, naughty candy. So I guess one name for this unnamable phenomena that sucked me back into the game could be, Peer Pressure.

I don't have as much time to play as I used to but I'm hoping to get some quality over quantity time in with the game on this second go-round. If things don't go as planned, I've still got plan Q) with finger poised directly over the batshit button.

-Kroy has gone offline


count the time in quartertones to ten

Stick It Up Your Ass Newton

I want to alert you to a previously undocumented phenomenea. You might call this a discovery of sorts. I've never really discovered anything. Unless you count the kinds of things you 'discover' when you clean out your fridge after a long winter. I actually discovered some things over the last two weeks while I was "bachin' it" while Rebecca was out of town for her new job training. The tests and trials of that period are another entry altogether. This one is about my discovery. I'm not much of a scientist and I don't think this is necessarily verifiable but it is repeatable. I'm calling it Digital Gravity, or maybe Digrivity. Anyway, it's this thing that happens to me when I'm in the house. The internet seems to exert some kind of eldritch force on my person, drawing me to it always. I've noticed that if I don't stay on task 100% of the time, I will drift inexorably toward the computer and open a brower to the internets.

This can happen even if I'm like getting ready to go somewhere and am running a few minutes late. I can't tell you how many times I've been brushing my teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, letting my mind wander harmlessly then suddenly finding myself in front of my computer typing in any number of URLs I visit regularly. I shake out of my reverie and cuss a blue streak telling myself I don't have time for that sort of thing I have to get going. Several minutes later as I'm surfing ebay, my head explodes.

I suspect that others may be similarly affected by the television, knitting, and ouija boards. All I know is that I'm helpless against it and that it is not a viable excuse for being late someplace. "Sorry I'm running a few minutes late, the internet siezed my mind." I'm starting to think the nerds that go about with aluminum foil in their back pockets may be on to something.

Anybody else out there experience anything like this?


-Kroy has gone offline


crashed a mother and son cold dead

Afternoon Quicky

I've just found something that will likely be a source of random entertainment for a really long time. It's called Bash.org. I'll let you work out the URL on your own. It's a collection of humerous IM conversations.

Here are a couple of favorites so far.

#628906 (593)

i broke my leg
masturbating is evil
<[Slaryn> O_O I hope to god those two incidents weren't related

#628022 +(568)

tohayer: My windows machine crashes scarily
tohayer: Whatever audio is playing, slows down
tohayer: Like when Dave is disconnecting Hal's memory
tohayer: "Ted... Ted... why are you opening the task manager. You're scaring me, Ted"

Give Me Sight Beyond Sight

I am happy to report that my acquisition of the aforementioned entertainment went off without a hitch and my life is now bursting with samurais named Jack.

In other news, if you watched the video I posted the other day you were likely as dumbstruck as I was the first time I watched it. I've since watched it probably three or four times since as I've shown it to others. I'm still fairly stunned by it. I feel a naughty tingle each time it pulls out further and further into space. If you're interested in knowing a little more about it there is also this video, a fully rendered version of the talk from which all that gameplay footage came originally given by Will Wright - the guy responsible for The Sims. Between each segment is about a ten minute little blurb about how they're doing all those interesting things in this game and what drove them to this end in the first place.

Even in the shorter version of the gameplay footage Will uses the buzz word "procedural" many times. I'm by no means an expert on this stuff but that's never stopped me from handing out ill-informed opinions. As I understand it, before the advent of the CD-ROM games were, for the most part, made to be as small as possible. All of the millions of lines of code, graphics, and behaviors had to squeezed onto 3.5" floppy discs. The use of algorithms was popular in order to get the maximum amount of compression. Again, I'm no math whiz but basically what that means is they had they used the player's computer to run the algorithms or formulae on the discs to get the end product. That way, they minimized the need for raw data space. Once CD-ROMs hit, then they had all this space on a disc and I game design shifted more toward filling up data than these algorithms. That's the way things have been for several years now. With this game, Spore, Maxis has gone back to this algorithmic structure for creating the world that the player occupies. So everything in the gameplay trailer you saw, except for the evolved creature and the city he built, was generated by the computer on the fly, so to speak.

This kind of thinking may be old hat in the computing world but it confounds my dumb cracker mind. I mean, I understand it on a conceptual level, about the same way that I understand, conceptually, what a black hole is. If they tell me they can generate that entire solar system, ye even a galaxy, I'll just believe them on and go on breeding my race of Thundercats™™.

What I'm really interested in, is this idea that you pull content from other people's computers. They plan to have a master database that each game synchs to and when that synching occurs they'll suck up all the things you've created in your game and re-distribute it back out to the world as random encounters. I'm really curious if you can be selective about who's content you pull down. Say I want a planet where my Thundercats™™ can live caught in an eternal struggle with a friend of mine's warlike clan of My Little Ponies™™. I would like the option to choose a race or tribe that can be my primary aggressor.

-Kroy has gone offline


mean and strong like fear

You've Probably Got Better Things to Do Anyway

Blogger has been swallowing it's own tongue for a few days and I haven't been able to update. It seems to be working now so I'll probably put something up of substance this evening. Your time is likely better spent elsewhere anyway. Shouldn't you be reading a book, calling your mama, or catching up with an old friend? Whatever. We both know you're just going to sit on your big ass and watch American Idol.

Shapeshifting Master of Darkness

It's been a slow week here I know. Everything else in my life has become secondary until my I finish downloading my torrent of Samurai Jack.

In the meantime, here's yet another video for you to enjoy. It's pretty long so if you're watching from work you may want to take it in ten minute pieces. Like tiny rewards for finishing your third-quarter projection analysis spreadsheets, or whatever it is you do.

The video itself is batting a thousand for "holy shit" factor. As in, everyone I've shown it to up to this point has, at some point, gone "Holy Shit". The future of video games? Probably more like one plausible future. I don't really have time to go into the little bit that I actually understand about this thing but if you have any interest in games check it out. If you're not but are intrigued by complex structures, check it out. If you're not but you think monkies with guns are funny, check it out. If you don't but you liked Star Trek 3, check it out. Ok, I'm done.

I am Galstaff, Sorcerer of Light!

I think I gamed with these guys at U-Con. It's a fairly long video so it may take a while to load even if you have a broadband connection. If you don't have broadband connection, you might want to think about joining the rest of us in the 21st century.

Kitty Profile: Bonham - The Feline Garbage Disposal

Name: Bonham

Origin of Name: Rock drumming legend John Bonham

Breed: Hungry

Age: 3

Hobbies and Interests: Eating, Jumping, Climbing Doorways, Stealing Porkchops, Making out with Daphne, Stealing BBQ, Making out with Scratch, Tormenting Daphne, Stealing Chicken, Napping on dark clothes.

Background: Bonham was the cat that I brought to our relationship. I'd had him for almost two years when I moved to Michigan. I got Bonham while I was still living in South Carolina. I had just gotten my first place completely by myself. Before then, I'd either lived at home or with a roommate. The one thing that struck me about living alone was the abject emptiness of the place. I was pretty busy with graduate school at the time and would often come in after the sun had down but I was used to a roommate or other animal greeting me at the door. My previous roommate had had two cats of her own. Even if she herself were not home at the time, there were at least a couple of cats to look up and disregard me immediately. You know, a little something that felt like home. Once I was on my own all I had was my milk crate loveseat (no couch yet) and the dustbunny in the corn that I had named Floppo. It soon became apparent that I needed a pet, a real pet. Some friends told me about a no kill shelter in Columbia so I checked it out.

I want to be clear on one thing. When it comes to animals, I like them. People piss me right off, but animals I like. So it was difficult not to be moved when I visited the shelter the first time and, upon entering the cat room, was immediately covered over by kitties of all ages and personality. I was primarily interested in a kitten. They had tons of kittens and the most boisterous of the kittens were the first ones to climb all over me. There were some who were obviously too rambunctious for what I wanted. Others were a little more mild mannered and I eventually found one that I thought would make a good match. It was a little girl kitty who - instead of climbing into my lap or up my shirt, heedless of the skin underneath - actively sought out my empty hands and forcibly pushed her head into them to make certain that I pet her just in case my attentions were elsewhere. Even if that meant standing up on her hind legs to reach up a bit higher to reach my hands. She really was a cutie. I had already been at the shelter for almost two hours and they were set to be closing soon so I decided I should head out.

As I was leaving the cat room (itself, an unbearably difficult act) I stopped to talk to a few of the staff members about the process of adoption. In the main lobby the staff allowed a couple of the more docile and tolerant cats and dogs to roam freely and sort act as greeters. While I was standing around talking to the staff this fairly-young-but-not-quite-a-kitten of a cat strolled up next to me along a table top. He looked like he was about a year old. I idlely reached down to give the little guy a pet to which he responded fairly naturally. I continued talking without really looking and soon I felt a pair of paws pressed insistently on my shoulder. This cat was looking up at me with his paws extended like an infant asking to be picked up. Well this was a gesture I found I was well and truly powerless against. So I reached down a bit to lift him up, as soon as he saw I was complying he gripped my shoulder firmly with his claws and helped himself up into my arms. He seemed perfectly content to be held "baby-style" perched up and looking back over my shoulder as I petted him and continued talking to the staff. At several intervals I tried to put the little fella down and he would have non of it. He'd dig his claws in and just hang on such that I couldn't. It was strange how much like an actual child he acted. He even buried his face into the hollow of my neck while I was holding him (he still does this from time to time). His story wasn't a necessarily tragic one (especially when compared to some of the rescues) the last family that had had him had to give him because of a rivalry on the other cat's part. Eventually I managed to detach him from my shoulder and get out the door and drive home. At the time I had been listening to a lot of Zeppelin, I was particularly interested in their mixed meter stuff and the way their drummer navigated the uneven waters of Jimmy Paige's oddball guitar riffs. So as soon as I got into my car something like When the Levee Breaks came on.

I considered about which cat I actually wanted and had decided on getting two cats so they could keep each other company while I wasn't around. I still had it in my mind that I would get two kittens. As soon as I came in the door, Bonham (who they were calling Rori, which I think is a terrible name for this cat) hopped right up from where he was lounging and came over to me. He seemed to remember that I was the putz that was easily taken in by his wiles. It turned out that the little girl kitten I liked had just been fixed and was unavailable for adoption for a day or two while they made sure she came through everything ok. I essentially was forced to take Bonham that day. One, to save him from the atrocious name they had given him. Two, because I would have required surgery to remove him from my shoulder a second time. I could see it in his eyes, he hated the name. He would look at me as if to say, "Have you heard what they're calling me? Rori? Do they think I'm a personal trainer or something." It really became a decision I had very little to do with. They just handed me the paperwork and told me how much he was going to cost me and I took him home and rechristened Bonham (much to his relief, I'm sure).

At first he was very co-dependent. He didn't like being alone one bit. I didn't have a very large apartment but if he lost his way between the litter box and the living room he would just stand there and cry until I came and found him. He would launch himself into my arms and refuse to be put down. If I was watching a movie or playing a game he would sit in my lap or beside me on the couch (by then I had one) with his back to me. I think it's these slightly human characteristics that fostered a kind of paternal instinct in me. He's like a child who's ass I've never had to wipe.

Soon after I brought him home I discovered that I had actually chosen a cat who was also an accomplished food critic. Not of cat food, mind you, but of people food. Whenever I cooked something or brought it in he would perch himself nearby and stare at me impatiently. This continues to this day. This cat will eat anything, anything, at least once. I once gave him a leaf of raw lettuce from a salad I was making, thinking surely he would want nothing to do with it. To my great surprise, he gulped it down and stared up at me waiting for seconds. Raw fucking lettuce. Rebecca and I come up with amusing pitches that we figure he must use on us to convince us to part with our... whatever we're eating at the time. "Oooh, you're having french fries? I looove french fries. My family way back on my gandpappy's side is French. It's in my blood you see."

The pictures are deceiving because they generally show him at rest. That's because he's only active when there are cheetos at stake, or perhaps pop tarts, chocolate chip cookies, Dutch apple crisp, sloppy joes, chilli, spaghetti, bean curry, or corn on the cob (one of his favorites). The only time he's ever acts the least bit aggressive is in defense of his hard won spoils and table scraps. Since we have introduced him to life with other cats he's become less co-dependent but is still pretty affectionate and likes nothing more than to sit down beside one of us, bury his face into our leg, and purr happily until someone makes a move for the kitchen.



-Kroy has gone offline


We come from the land of the ice and snow

I think I must be afraid of heights

(Just a word of warning to the weak of constitution, Star Wars™™ references and clichés will abound. You may also find a Lord of the Rings quote as well. That is all.)

Had a pretty interesting dream last night and just figured I'd share. It's odd and kind of strange when I actually remember my dreams, usually I have no memory of the things I dream at night. However, when I do remember, I remember a lot of them or I recall one particularly vividly. This was a case of the latter.

The first thing I remember is that I was directing a large scale space battle. Now at a glance, it's obvious to me, even in a dream state that isn't just any space battle. This is a Star Wars™™(!!!) space battle. I can only assume this has something to do with the fact that Empire at War just came out and I've had a hankerin' something fierce to play it. So anyway, I'm directing this major space battle and it's hard to tell whether or not we're winning or losing, I'm just having all my ships shoot at all the other ships and kind of hoping for the best. It seems I'm not a great tactician without my waking mind to guide me. At one point it becomes clear to me that the opposition, the rebel scum, are planning to board one of my major ships. As soon as the ships make contact with one another, my dream switches from the perspective of an RTS to an Shooter. All of a sudden, I was on the deck of my ship which was about to be boarded and cycling through an array of ordinance the likes of which God has never seen. So we, me and my faithful crew aboard the ISD Helotry awaited the boarding party with our "nines cocked," if you will. So the door blow open and who should storm aboard but Han and Chewie. Well we fought on undaunted, no scruffy looking nerf-herder or his walking carpet were going to take down my ship, especially in my fucking dream world. I loaded up my hot little sniper laser thing and put two into Chewie's forehead before he could say, "AHHH-NNNHH-GHHHHH."

I'm here to impart to you some very important wisdom. Even in the world of dreams, Wookiees are tough as balls.

I shot him. I shot him twice, in the head. Soon after I had one seriously pissed off Wookiee on my ass. So I ran. I ran fast and I ran long. I ran like my ass was on fire and my hair was catching. There were a couple of close calls and he very nearly took my head off at a couple of junctures but all the while my valiant crew was lighting that big bastard up like Yavin 4.

I eventually made it out into the parking lot of a shopping mall. Because, obviously, ISDs have their own commerce district. I warned the nearest police officer I could find that the Rebel Scum™ had boarded the ship and were on their way. He dutifully offered me his sidearm and went off to warn the populace. I turned and saw my fate before me as the tireless Chewbacca burst through the door and slowly approached. I continued backing off and loaded the pistol the cop had given me and raised it for my final showdown.

A shot rang out.

I looked up and Chewie seemed as dazed as I was but he fell. Through fire and water, from the lowest dungeon to the highest peak I fought the Wookiee of Kashyyyk, until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin up on the... curb... side. Yeah, I killed him. I killed Chewbacca, with a gun. If I learned anything from the whole experience is that energy weapons are shit versus Wookiees. Ballistic weapons on the other hand, smoke their furry asses.

-Kroy has gone offline


That's why all the folks on Rocky Top get their corn from a jar

Turn the Page

Just a quick update on the audition front. The guys from the band want to have me back. It's unclear as to whether I'm "the guy" or if it's a second audition (i.e. a call back). Either way it definitely feels good to have gotten a call back. It's been a while since I actually had to go through an audition process, (since undergrad to be exact). As this is my first audition in a while I wouldn't have felt too bad about it had I not gotten a call but it's that much more pleasant to have been chosen on my first audition (especially with such short notice). I had a bass audition in Boston that I showed up to pretty well unprepared. I was a bit 'too big for my britches,' at the time and figured I could swagger in with only a few hours of practice and get the call, obviously that wasn't the case. I prepared much more completely this time and it seems that it paid off. It would start to feel futile if I put in a bunch of work and were still getting turned down.

If you had asked me one or two years ago if I'd be making a living solely in music, I'd have spit in your face, kicked you in the nuts, and then gone home and cried into my pillow. Now it seems that might have been an unnecessary reaction.

You may not see them otherwise

I took the liberty of uploading several of Rebecca's recent photos taken with her new lense. I think they are excellent. We plan on displaying several of them in the hizzy. Also, my flickr photos above were just kindof sitting there, I should take more photos.

This is my personal favorite: