Spidy, my ever faithful question hound, asks:

Whatever happened to the songs you wrote back in middle school? I remember TheIdiotSavant bringing them up way back before Christmas break, and I’ve just sort of been wondering myself about what happened to that side of you. They were really good songs, as is true with a lot of the stuff you do, but did they ever go further than the sheet music you wrote them on?

Well Spidy, the music part of my creative life slowly faded. My inspiration for the two pieces I wrote in seventh and eighth grade turned out to be . . . less than inspirational. As far as what happened to them, I recorded them on CD (I think I had 10 made?) and gave most of them away as I had not the heart to charge money for them. I think I still have a couple, but I’ll always keep one for myself. I can always burn copies if anyone wants my humble piano dabbles.

Another good one: What do you miss most about high school? What do you miss least? Given a choice, what would you do over again?

I miss seeing familiar faces every day. I miss my friends, I miss teachers, I miss being a part of band and choir. I miss all the background people in my life, the people I said “good morning” to every day. I miss the relaxed atmosphere of Mrs. Cary’s classroom, sitting in the warm morning sun while she taught us, working with Billy on every project and barely doing quality work in the nick of time. I miss the smell of the art room, the paint and the clay. I miss the slamming of lockers at the end of the day, that victorious percussion that signaled victory over yet another school day. I miss the smell of gravel dust on the bus as I rode home. I miss watching the little kids on the bus, how excited they were about literally anything. I miss coming home and lying in the afternoon sun on my bed, opening the window and hearing the wind whisper in the trees as birds sang and fluttered around. I miss spring, I miss fall, and when I’m in school, in the city, I can’t watch the world live. Everything is concrete and noise. I miss the feel of rock and grass beneath bare feet, the smell of rain, the ocean-like sound of corn rustling in the night. I miss rain on my window.

What do I miss least? Nothing. All of the things I disliked about high school are amplified ten-fold at college. That, or, the things I once thought I disliked I ended up missing.

Would I go back if I could? Yes, if I could go back to ninth grade and relive it over I would. I would be more courageous and I would not make the same stupid mistakes I often did. I would live with less fear, I would step out. Maybe I would even have gone out for a sport, who knows. All I know is that I miss that life considerably and I tell every high school student I meet to treasure their years; they’ll end before they know it.

Man am I in a sentimental mood right now. I better not feel like crying all night or I’ll get really pissed off. Oy.

Spidyredneckjedi also asked: What, is the meaning of life, the universe, and everything?  Oh yeah!  Oooo!  Another good one!  What makes a good comic book/ movie/ book villain in your opinion?  What makes them the most memorable?

 

The meaning of life. Oy. Some smart-ass ALWAYS asks this question. It blows my mind that the ONE TIME we could have asked someone who KNEW THE ANSWER, we didn’t. If I were with the disciples when Jesus came back, I would have been like,”WAIT! Before you leave, I have a couple questions to ask you.” Wouldn’t that have been enlightening? Oh yes.

But, instead, you’ll have to suffer my innane dribble.

To me, life’s greatest meaning is growth. Life grows, in one way or another. There are many types of growth and one’s belief can influence how a person grows. Most people equate growth with aging, and yes that is part of life. Experience is growth, a way of learning and adapting to continue growth. If you are religious at all, you pretty much spend your life growing in such a fashion that (hopefully) allows you to blossom at your fullest potential at the very end, after your body stops growing.

There was a Jesuit paleontologist (a person who studies fossils) who believed that evolution was a very real thing. He believed that it was entirely possible that mankind evolved physically from an ape-like ancestor, but it was God who created our souls. Evolutionarily speaking, humanity’s ultimate finished state would naturally be a divine being, one completely beyond any thing of substance. Imagine that. Beyond fear, pain, hunger, disease. Beyond time. An infinite capacity for knowledge and understanding. I know such concepts are difficult for some to imagine, but that is the nature of the soul according to those who believe in such things.

Also, I remember asking a guy who claimed to know everything and he said something quite wise, actually. He said that the meaning of life is different for everyone, because everyone’s life is different. I like that answer way better than mine.

Hope that helps answer the question… I don’t think I could even come close to a real answer. Oh well. Moving on.

What makes a good comic book/ movie/ book villain in your opinion?  What makes them the most memorable?

I think the greatest villains are not the really powerful or the really evil but the really intelligent. Most villains are very stupid, such as the Joker, the Green Goblin and Hobgoblin, and the Hamburglar. However, it is the really intelligent villains like Ra’s Al Ghul, Lex Luthor, and Magneto that cause the hero the most problems. What makes them memorable, I suppose, are the times when they come ever so close to defeating the hero, only to be beaten by the fact that good always prevails. Has the Hamburglar ever gotten away with anything? Not that I can recall. There have been times when heroes have been close to defeat. I know Batman has come close, so has Spiderman, Superman (he died once didn’t he?), and boy howdy if Magneto didn’t FUBAR Wolverine. So yes, those are all good traits for a good villain to have. I should probably shut up now.

Note: These pictures are not to scale. The Death Star I is 120km in diameter while the Death Star II is 160km in diameter.

Ok, to answer Spidyredneckjedi’s question (see his comment from the previous blog) about whether or not the Rebels were justified in destroying the second Death Star, I will have to switch into nerd mode. Yay!

Yes, Spidy, the majority of people aboard the second Death Star were technicians and slave labor, most probably Wookies as they proved excellent slaves in the construction of the first Death Star. Was it still ok for the Rebels to blow up the battlestation? You betcha.

Firstly, all those “innocent” technicians being “forced” to build the thing were there as servants to the Emperor. They were a part of the Empire, they were men who said, “sign me up” and joined. They were following orders just like the stormtroopers, fighter pilots, and awesome badass Royal Guards. The technicians are soldiers that use hydrospanners instead of blaster rifles. Guess what happens in war? Soldiers die. Uh oh. Sorry to surprise people.

As far as the slave labor goes, they were completely innocent. However, being that most of them were Wookies, they are probably now all heroes to their people. The Wookie cultures puts great value upon the honor found in a sacrificial death, a death accepted as necessary for good to prevail. If the Rebels got there and said, “Oh crap, there are innocent slaves on board!” not only would the Rebels have been completely wiped out, but the galaxy’s only chance to blow the thing up with the Emperor on board would have been lost forever. Once the Death Star II was complete, it would have blown up Endor (making Spidy very happy as he HATES Ewoks) just like the first Death Star blew up Despayre, and then it would have gone all over the galaxy conquering planet after planet in the name of the Emperor, destroying any planet that was causing too much trouble. I’d be willing to bet that the citizens of Kashyyyk knew that their loved ones working as slaves aboard the Death Star II had to be sacrificed for the greater good of the galaxy.

As for a daycare center on the first Death Star, I have a few things to say. Firstly, the Onion? Come ON. Secondly, the Death Star is a battlestation. The Empire barely allows women to serve within it, and I’m pretty sure a posting as prestigious and historical as the Death Star would have been IMPOSSIBLE for a woman to obtain. A daycare in such a place would have been unnecessary as well, because the Death Star is not the Starship Enterprise. Military personnel in the Empire do not bring their families along, except for the occasional high-ranking official bringing his family along on a maiden voyage or diplomatic mission; hardly the type of events a planet-busting battlestation like the Death Star would observe.

As far as the Bothans go, come on. First, they breed like rabbits. Second, not THAT many Bothans died. Anyone who has read Shadows of the Empire knows that maybe 10-20 died getting the computer core and finding out that the Emperor was overseeing the final stages of construction. Oh yeah, and the Emperor let them get that information.

Here, however, is the BIGGEST and most IMPORTANT reason to blow up the Death Star II. I don’t care if Ghandi was aboard that thing, SO WAS IG-88. (Read Tales of the Bounty Hunters) If the Death Star II was not destroyed and was completed, IG-88 would have commandeered the station, initiated his droid revolution, and then the galaxy would be in a state of immense pain. Oh yes. There would be no stopping it.

Is it sad that millions of people died in the destruction of the first Death Star? Yeah. Luke even mentions the pain and regret he still carries every so often in the novels. Is it sad that a lot of decent people died in the destruction of the second Death Star? You bet. But that’s how war is.

Ah, so nice to receive comments. I’m ok. I wanted to post earlier, but then I thought, “What’s the point?” It didn’t seem like anyone was reading this past week anyways. Also, it was late and I was completely brain-dead. Sorry if I worried some of you. Wasn’t my intention.

Oh, and to sick_kitty lady, thanks. I haven’t been called sweetie in a long time.

I’m in a really grey place right now. Maybe it has been the rash of overcast weather, maybe it is the fact that I am trying really hard to not love Mystery Girl in a way other than “dear friend,” I don’t know. It’s rough going, like that scene in “Master and Commander” where the doctor practically does surgery on himself. It’s rough, but necessary. Not like I haven’t done it before. If the psyche had visible scars, I’d be more than happy to show them off. Screw tatoos, these were free.

Yep. Gosh I have no idea what to blog about. I just got done with a Star Wars movie marathon where me and two friends watched the first four yesterday and then the last one today. One of them had never seen the films, and the other had barely seen most of them. They seemed to enjoy them, especially Yoda, R2-D2, and the Ewoks. I sensed a general “short” trend. Which is fine I suppose. I just like Star Wars, short or tall.

Man where to go with this blog… you all ran out of questions so I can’t get away with that for a while… hmm… maybe I’ll take requests. Maybe that’ll work. If anyone has a subject, a question, what have you that you think I might have an interesting opinion on, go for it. For example, “Why is Beethoven the greatest musician of all time?” Heck, you could even ask weird questions like, “Is it really possible to have a perfectly straight line?” or deep questions like, “If God is good and he created everything, why did God create evil?” I don’t care what you ask. Maybe that’s how I need to run this blog for a little big, an all-request line. Yep. Tell me what you wanna see people.

Well, what’s the point any more.

This poem was written back in the spring of 2003 for this shockingly beautiful young lady I saw out at the University of Wyoming. Nothing came of it, but she was inspiring to look at. I chose the picture above because the young lady I wrote the poem for had hair very similar to the lady in the painting, only darker.

Oh how the expanse of night did weep in awe of thy

Beauty, for its tears now do cascade from off

Thine regal head, framing a face so beauteous

That only the silence of tongue and pen could

Give thee adequate praise.

 

Hear thine musical laughter do my unworthy ears,

A song all unto its own, written not by the

Hand of any mortal, but woven into a soft

Audible blanket of serenity by thine own

Lovely heart.

 

Dare I compare thine immortal resplendence

To anything of Man or Nature? Forgive me

My bold rudeness for doing so, but I could

Not bear to stand witness to such heavenly

Presence and offer nothing but a blank

Piece of parchment.

 

Is not a pretty flower tended with particular

Care? Does not the gazer stare longer at a

Comet than a star? So too does the poet admire

Great beauty with quick but heartfelt strokes

Of his pen in hopes that indeed this human

Thing called sight can in some way last

For all eternity.

Oh, and by the way, if anyone else besides Father Warren finds this site to be Gothic in any way, my apologies! I don’t mean to creep anyone out or anything! If anyone wants me to change the “mood” of my little corner of the net, say so and I’ll do something about it. Help me help you. Enjoy today’s poem.

Oh did the heavens weep in parting when

God released that glorious bit of

Spirit from the skies to dwell below

In you!

Let’s dance, love

Dance in the rain of

Angel’s tears

Falling from on high

The joyful angelic throng.

Please, not a word love

I hear you just fine

Looking deep into your

Eyes, that emerald song

Mystery ancient, scripture

Written when stellar fumes

Joined to become a star,

Yet young as the delicate

Sprout that grows to blossom,

In the sun’s love,

Into the lily that gasps at the

Sky’s beauty

Closing its hood in

Shame when

Comparing the sight of

You to that of

Night

The heavenly expanse.

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone, especially the beautiful women I know frequent my humble little page every so often. That’s right. If you are female and reading this, or you are my best friend Billy (haha), you are beautiful. How do I know? It’s a given. Bet you didn’t know that, did you? Anyways, here is a poem I hope you will all enjoy. I’ll try my darnest to post a new poem every day this week as a tribute to all the women in my life.

PS- Since I’ve been spending all my creative juices writing poetry for Mystery Girl the past week or two, I apologize but most, if not all, subsequent poetry this week will not be brand-new, but written in the near-past. Maybe later I’ll post brand-new stuff, fresh from the pen but for now you’ll have to settle for stuff I wrote for other people. Sorry! I try! I’m only one man!

Sonnet (for Mystery Girl)

Oh thou comely face, countenance divine,

Sweet breath escapes from thy parted flower,

Music bred of the most gentle power

My heart, clay molded in a hand of thine.

Be merciful, please oh! Angelic touch!

Of ice be this heart, yet with fire it burns

For thee, love, for thee causes eye to turn

To look, oh precious glimpse for which I search!

Star of day, sun of night, dream of my wake,

Life of my sleep, sky below my tired feet,

I’d sail the earth ’round, walk seas but to greet

Thee, and pray this heart thou choose to take

Within thine own breast so both might reside

Ever in love, in beat, e’er side by side.

Well, since I am in the mood for an update yet have nothing really of substance to say, I will provide everyone who decides to come across my site with a little bit of poetry. This is a poem that Mystery Girl will get on Valentine’s Day. Hope she enjoys it . . . I wish I could make everyone feel loved on that day. But hey, I am only one man.

I Am      (Written 2/9/05)

I am the soil

Begging for a

Beautiful flower to be

Planted within me,

A seed I can

Nurture

Feed

Allow to blossom into

Something magnificent.

I am the moon

cold and alone in the

Dark sky, seen only when

Your light

Shines

Brilliantly

Upon my humble face

Otherwise, I go unseen.

I am thirst, hunger

Waiting to be quenched and

Few, give me but

A kiss

A touch

A breath

Grant this wish and this

Man will live to love you forever.

 

I’ll post another poem tomorrow if I have time. Take care.