Apparently, my brother screwed up his knee yesterday in football practice. Just a strain of the (MCL?), the docs think, but he's out for the week. This after both my sisters each tore an ACL this year.
What the hell?
My mom suggested I just buy a couple knee braces and wear them all the time, as a precautionary measure. I think she was only half joking.
Seriously, though, how does that happen? Three family members, all knee injuries. I didn't think bad knees was a genetic thing? Maybe I was wrong... Or maybe my family just has shitty luck.
-----------------------------------
RANDOM THOUGHT TIME! (theme music plays)
In other news, I've begun eating healthier, at least until today when I saw 99 cent boxes of Crunch 'n Munch (read: Crackerjacks) at the market today. 99 cent family size boxes. Awesome. I've maintained a modicum of control, mostly by putting the damn box out of sight.
We're starting an IP law organization at school, mostly because there's a large void in that area. I think I'm going to try for a leadership position there. I've already started to figure out what needs to be done to run the group, and which officer would handle what task. Also going to my IP professor to try to get him as a faculty sponser for the group. We're going to work closely with the entrepenurial group in the school, I think, as they have some IP stuff in there too. My friend Adam is an officer in that group, and I think that if we really got together and organized, next year we could have a fairly big IP seminar day, maybe big enough to invite the other 3 law schools in Oregon to participate. It would be a big thing for the program, and do a lot to attract IP professors to our school, something we're lacking. We had a few really great ones, but they all left the year before I came to school. This year, tho, we just need to get established and recruit some 1Ls into the program.
The Transformers II movie is going to have ""key scenes" (read: MEGA ACTION ROBOT PWNING EXPLOSIVENESS) shot in IMAX. This means that in an IMAX theater, most of the movie will be in letterbox (like Dark Knight was) and then it will shift to use the full IMAX screen.
Now, don't get me wrong. Robots that are five stories tall are fucking cool, but I think it would be distracting as hell for my movie to keep shifting screen size. I cannot imagine a way to smothly do this. It's going to be silly. Normal movie.... Normal movie... Norma-GIANT FUCKING ROBOTS!!!!!!1111oneoenoneunounouno Just seems silly to me.
~ Nick
Cyber warlords are activating abominations
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Monday, September 29, 2008
Seeing red
So, the big bailout plan failed to pass through the House today.
It makes me wonder, why the fuck is no one really being held accountable? I understand that the laws prohibiting predatory lending were repealed some time ago, so technically no one broke the law, but, really? I mean, no one is getting in trouble here. Sure, some banking bigwigs are losing 95% of their fortune, yet at the end of the day they are still 20 times richer than the average American. How is no one going to jail for this? Honestly, fining people probably isn't the greatest idea, since banks paying more isn't the smartest thing to make them do at the moment. But jail? Sure.
I talked with a friend today, and I we came to a conclusion: a $700 billion bailout plan where the government merely purchases the bad loans is stupid. Yes, it saves the private banks that fucked up, but in the end, who cares? What about the millions of people who are - and I really hate to use this term - "victims" of predatory lending? The thing is, as much as it true that these people were buying things there's no way they could afford... there's so many of them that had no idea what they were getting into. America's education system is not the best out there. Most Americans have no concept of economics, accounting, banking, etc. They were offered the deal of a lifetime, and took it.
Who is helping them?
What if the bailout plan did something like pay the banks to reduce interest rates on all their bad loans? We wouldn't need to pay as much, because the government wouldn't be outright buying all the loans, just helping the banks get through their shitty loans. It would help the people in trouble, give them money to spend (i.e. put money into the economy). It just seems like a better idea. I understand that it's basically giving houses to people that are way too expensive for their means, but i think it's the only answer. Someone has to pay, and it'll be the banks.
/my2cents
~ Nick
We never saw this coming, pride comes before a fall
It makes me wonder, why the fuck is no one really being held accountable? I understand that the laws prohibiting predatory lending were repealed some time ago, so technically no one broke the law, but, really? I mean, no one is getting in trouble here. Sure, some banking bigwigs are losing 95% of their fortune, yet at the end of the day they are still 20 times richer than the average American. How is no one going to jail for this? Honestly, fining people probably isn't the greatest idea, since banks paying more isn't the smartest thing to make them do at the moment. But jail? Sure.
I talked with a friend today, and I we came to a conclusion: a $700 billion bailout plan where the government merely purchases the bad loans is stupid. Yes, it saves the private banks that fucked up, but in the end, who cares? What about the millions of people who are - and I really hate to use this term - "victims" of predatory lending? The thing is, as much as it true that these people were buying things there's no way they could afford... there's so many of them that had no idea what they were getting into. America's education system is not the best out there. Most Americans have no concept of economics, accounting, banking, etc. They were offered the deal of a lifetime, and took it.
Who is helping them?
What if the bailout plan did something like pay the banks to reduce interest rates on all their bad loans? We wouldn't need to pay as much, because the government wouldn't be outright buying all the loans, just helping the banks get through their shitty loans. It would help the people in trouble, give them money to spend (i.e. put money into the economy). It just seems like a better idea. I understand that it's basically giving houses to people that are way too expensive for their means, but i think it's the only answer. Someone has to pay, and it'll be the banks.
/my2cents
~ Nick
We never saw this coming, pride comes before a fall
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Role models
My sister has a certain teacher in her high school American History class. He is the one teacher I purposely avoided ever taking a class from my entire high school career, simply because I didn't like the man. I had him for a football coach in 8th grade, and those 3 short months were enough to show me he's an arrogant, narcissistic asshole.
Here are some of my sister's stories:
My sister goes by Alex, which is her middle name. Her first name is Stephanie. This teacher calls her "Sam." Sam is my other sister, the one who has long since graduated high school and is now in college. No matter how much Alex corrects the teacher, he openly refuses to call her by her proper name, and insists that calling her "Sam" is easier.
He consistently calls on her expecting to know the answer to really obscure questions, and when she doesn't, he berates her and explains why he knows the answer (he's so awesome, he has like a photographic memory and knows like everything!).
The teacher once asked the students to investigate theories on the JFK assassination (he calls himself an expert on the assassination, and knows what really happened). He then asked students to write on the board the names of theories they found. While many students were doing as told, he suddenly yells for everyone to sit down, then points at one of the names on the board. "Who wrote this?" he demanded. When no one answered he got angrier, until finally someone admitted to putting the theory on the board. The teacher then demanded to know how he could be so ignorant, because that theory is clearly the stupidest bullshit anyone had ever thought of.
The teacher also once asked the class what they would die for. No answer was sufficient. Every single person that raised their hand and suggested something they would die for, he replied with "No you wouldn't." He did this over and over, the only correct answer in the bunch apparently "religion." Finally, he decided to pick on my sister (he does this frequently, apparently). "Sam, what would you die for?" After the beating the last several students had received, she took her time, then answered "I think I'd give my life for my family." The asshole responded by laughing, and told her she absolutely would not. After this whole ordeal, he proceeded to explain to the class that most people would never willingly give up their lives for anything, yet he had risked his life to safe a complete stranger.
Take that, you high school brats.
It was this last event that made my sister almost walk out of the class. The only reason she didn't is she was scared of the consequences. We talked about this, and together we came to some conclusions:
1) My oldest sister and I did quite well in high school both academically and athletically, because of this we left a sort of legacy attached to our last name. It gives both my youngest sister and my brother a leg up: the teachers automatically love them.
2) My sister doesn't need the benefit of this legacy, in fact she only adds to it, more so than her predecessors ever did. She's got straight A's and is being pursued by Div I women's soccer teams. (My brother, on the other hand, needs all the help he can get). The teachers and administration love her.
3) Because she has most of the school's staff on her side and she's never been any trouble at all, if she chose to stand up to this teacher, nothing bad would happen to her at all. The administration would work with her so that everything works out in her favor.
Because of these things, the next time the teacher starts being a complete ass, she's either going to walk out of class and walk straight to the office to complain, or walk right up to him after class and say, in these exact words, "You need to stop being an ass. I don't care if you ask me questions harder than the rest of the students, that's fine. But if you continue to call me 'Sam' and disrespect me, I'll report you to the administration. You need to stop being a dick."
We decided she needed to use words like "ass" and "dick" because he's the type of pompous asshole that needs to be talked to forcefully. If the administration gets involved, then all she needs to do is tell her stories.
The thing that gets me about this is that he's supposed to be a teacher. He's supposed to be a mentor to these kids. All he's teaching them is how to be an asshole. Alex says a lot of kids like him. They are the younger sophomore kids, because she took some AP classes that screwed up her schedule. These younger kids love him because he's different.
Thing is, that's not an excuse. For every ten of these kids that think he's cool, there's one high school kid with poor self esteem that can't afford to have an adult talking down to him or her, calling him or her an idiot. It's just not responsible.
~ Nick
Standing up tall from the top of that hill
Here are some of my sister's stories:
My sister goes by Alex, which is her middle name. Her first name is Stephanie. This teacher calls her "Sam." Sam is my other sister, the one who has long since graduated high school and is now in college. No matter how much Alex corrects the teacher, he openly refuses to call her by her proper name, and insists that calling her "Sam" is easier.
He consistently calls on her expecting to know the answer to really obscure questions, and when she doesn't, he berates her and explains why he knows the answer (he's so awesome, he has like a photographic memory and knows like everything!).
The teacher once asked the students to investigate theories on the JFK assassination (he calls himself an expert on the assassination, and knows what really happened). He then asked students to write on the board the names of theories they found. While many students were doing as told, he suddenly yells for everyone to sit down, then points at one of the names on the board. "Who wrote this?" he demanded. When no one answered he got angrier, until finally someone admitted to putting the theory on the board. The teacher then demanded to know how he could be so ignorant, because that theory is clearly the stupidest bullshit anyone had ever thought of.
The teacher also once asked the class what they would die for. No answer was sufficient. Every single person that raised their hand and suggested something they would die for, he replied with "No you wouldn't." He did this over and over, the only correct answer in the bunch apparently "religion." Finally, he decided to pick on my sister (he does this frequently, apparently). "Sam, what would you die for?" After the beating the last several students had received, she took her time, then answered "I think I'd give my life for my family." The asshole responded by laughing, and told her she absolutely would not. After this whole ordeal, he proceeded to explain to the class that most people would never willingly give up their lives for anything, yet he had risked his life to safe a complete stranger.
Take that, you high school brats.
It was this last event that made my sister almost walk out of the class. The only reason she didn't is she was scared of the consequences. We talked about this, and together we came to some conclusions:
1) My oldest sister and I did quite well in high school both academically and athletically, because of this we left a sort of legacy attached to our last name. It gives both my youngest sister and my brother a leg up: the teachers automatically love them.
2) My sister doesn't need the benefit of this legacy, in fact she only adds to it, more so than her predecessors ever did. She's got straight A's and is being pursued by Div I women's soccer teams. (My brother, on the other hand, needs all the help he can get). The teachers and administration love her.
3) Because she has most of the school's staff on her side and she's never been any trouble at all, if she chose to stand up to this teacher, nothing bad would happen to her at all. The administration would work with her so that everything works out in her favor.
Because of these things, the next time the teacher starts being a complete ass, she's either going to walk out of class and walk straight to the office to complain, or walk right up to him after class and say, in these exact words, "You need to stop being an ass. I don't care if you ask me questions harder than the rest of the students, that's fine. But if you continue to call me 'Sam' and disrespect me, I'll report you to the administration. You need to stop being a dick."
We decided she needed to use words like "ass" and "dick" because he's the type of pompous asshole that needs to be talked to forcefully. If the administration gets involved, then all she needs to do is tell her stories.
The thing that gets me about this is that he's supposed to be a teacher. He's supposed to be a mentor to these kids. All he's teaching them is how to be an asshole. Alex says a lot of kids like him. They are the younger sophomore kids, because she took some AP classes that screwed up her schedule. These younger kids love him because he's different.
Thing is, that's not an excuse. For every ten of these kids that think he's cool, there's one high school kid with poor self esteem that can't afford to have an adult talking down to him or her, calling him or her an idiot. It's just not responsible.
~ Nick
Standing up tall from the top of that hill
Friday, September 26, 2008
Friends
I'm here at the coast with most of my good friends from undergrad, and I have to say I'm loving it. I've missed these guys something fierce, and it's good to be back with them.
We're nerding it up pretty hard, playing the Magics and talking Wow and such. Woooo-oooo-Wooooo-ooooo! Chuga chuga chuga chuga, wooo- woooo!
/train.
Anyhow, I really miss B. I wish he were here. It feels so incomplete without him.
I swear, it's not the vodka talking.
Or the gin.
/drink.
~ Nick
you know that i could use somebody
We're nerding it up pretty hard, playing the Magics and talking Wow and such. Woooo-oooo-Wooooo-ooooo! Chuga chuga chuga chuga, wooo- woooo!
/train.
Anyhow, I really miss B. I wish he were here. It feels so incomplete without him.
I swear, it's not the vodka talking.
Or the gin.
/drink.
~ Nick
you know that i could use somebody
Thursday, September 25, 2008
And the knee goes "pop" - Part II - Fear
I feel like tonight needed two separate posts, because really I was thinking along two different trains of thought. So, here's part two of tonight's posts, on what perhaps I would have written about if I had my sister's assignment and chose to write about "fear":
I look nervously at the stack of unopened letters sitting on my coffee table, trying to decide whether or not to open them. All of them are responses from potential employers, notifying me whether or not I will be working with them over the summer. Each letter has, at most, a 5% chance of being a positive response. I reach out for the first one, noting the name of the firm, and then open the envelope.
Rejection.
No surprise there, though, I really didn't fit with that firm anyway. Still, it stings a little. An impatient sigh escapes my lips as I reach for the next letter.
Suddenly, my phone rings. Expecting to see that it's Erin calling, I note that it is instead Brendan.
"Hello?"
He doesn't even stop to say "hi" back. "Have you checked Drudge lately?"
"Um... no."
"Dude, there's some sort of fucking quarantine going on in China. Fucking China! Just like the book!"
My heart skips a beat as I find the article he was referring to. There's been a secret quarantine for two weeks now. People are fleeing the country.
Shit.
Deep down, I know how bad this is. I know what this is. Still, I don't want to believe it. "No way man, it's not that. Probably some new strain of the fucking bird flu." I can hear the elevated pitch in my own voice, my nervousness creeping through.
"Fuck that," Brendan says. "Go get a gun. Now, while there's still time. People don't know what's going on, we have time. I'm going to Washington with Ashley. Can you go home?"
At least he's getting away from the ocean. "I could, but there's no way my parents are going to believe me." God, if only that weren't the truth. But how in the hell do you tell your parents straight-faced that this is actually happening and not expect them to laugh at you and tell you to turn your crazy ass around and go back to school?
"Tell them it's the bird flu then, I don't give a shit, just start stockpiling. You may not be able to get to the Costco when the time comes." I can hear the worry in his voice, but I don't want him thinking of me. He needs to take care of himself.
"We've got a Costco five minutes from our house, we'll be fine. But this won't hit us for months. We can't just drop everything now."
"The fuck we can't," Brendan replies.
"Dude, no one is going to let you just quit life for two months while nothing is going on in the US. Wait until the first case appears in the US, and then go to Washington." But is it really going to take two months? It could be two days, he might be right. Fuck.
"We'll see. Just be ready."
"I will. You too."
The call ends, and I wonder if I'll ever see him again.
~ Nick
Stranded in a spooky town, the stoplight is swaying and the phone lines are down.
I look nervously at the stack of unopened letters sitting on my coffee table, trying to decide whether or not to open them. All of them are responses from potential employers, notifying me whether or not I will be working with them over the summer. Each letter has, at most, a 5% chance of being a positive response. I reach out for the first one, noting the name of the firm, and then open the envelope.
Rejection.
No surprise there, though, I really didn't fit with that firm anyway. Still, it stings a little. An impatient sigh escapes my lips as I reach for the next letter.
Suddenly, my phone rings. Expecting to see that it's Erin calling, I note that it is instead Brendan.
"Hello?"
He doesn't even stop to say "hi" back. "Have you checked Drudge lately?"
"Um... no."
"Dude, there's some sort of fucking quarantine going on in China. Fucking China! Just like the book!"
My heart skips a beat as I find the article he was referring to. There's been a secret quarantine for two weeks now. People are fleeing the country.
Shit.
Deep down, I know how bad this is. I know what this is. Still, I don't want to believe it. "No way man, it's not that. Probably some new strain of the fucking bird flu." I can hear the elevated pitch in my own voice, my nervousness creeping through.
"Fuck that," Brendan says. "Go get a gun. Now, while there's still time. People don't know what's going on, we have time. I'm going to Washington with Ashley. Can you go home?"
At least he's getting away from the ocean. "I could, but there's no way my parents are going to believe me." God, if only that weren't the truth. But how in the hell do you tell your parents straight-faced that this is actually happening and not expect them to laugh at you and tell you to turn your crazy ass around and go back to school?
"Tell them it's the bird flu then, I don't give a shit, just start stockpiling. You may not be able to get to the Costco when the time comes." I can hear the worry in his voice, but I don't want him thinking of me. He needs to take care of himself.
"We've got a Costco five minutes from our house, we'll be fine. But this won't hit us for months. We can't just drop everything now."
"The fuck we can't," Brendan replies.
"Dude, no one is going to let you just quit life for two months while nothing is going on in the US. Wait until the first case appears in the US, and then go to Washington." But is it really going to take two months? It could be two days, he might be right. Fuck.
"We'll see. Just be ready."
"I will. You too."
The call ends, and I wonder if I'll ever see him again.
~ Nick
Stranded in a spooky town, the stoplight is swaying and the phone lines are down.
The knee goes "pop" - Part I - Writing
I feel like tonight needed two separate posts, because really I was thinking along two different trains of thought. So, here's part one of tonight's posts, a reflection on my writing, at the moment:
Today my sister gave me one of her papers for her high school English class to edit. It was an assignment where they had to thing of a feeling, then write something that evokes that feeling without ever saying the word. She chose "fear," and wrote about tearing her ACL this summer. It was pretty disturbing reading it, because the whole time she was talking about how when it happened she could literally feel her dreams of making the National ODP soccer team slipping away. I helped minimally, re-arranging sentences, adding a bit of imagery, but apparently the changes I made were "awesome."
The same thing happened to me earlier this week, when a friend had me edit her paper. It really makes me reflect on the fact that I love writing, and that (at least some people think) I'm good at it.
I've had an itch to start writing my books again, but it's been really hard for me to pick up, because of the job hunt, job, and school. Plus, I'm at a part of the book I really don't like right now, and have no desire to really write about it. I feel like what's going on in the story is boring, and I know that if I feel that way, a reader certainly would. The problem is, I just haven't figured out how to do it any differently. My characters need information to move on in the story, and I can't think of any better way for them to receive said information than them researching ancient texts and/or having long dialogues between characters.
The thing is, once I get past this part of the story, it should really pick up again. It's just getting though this one particular part that is holding me back. Is this writer's block? I don't know. If it is, I need to find my muse.
~ Nick
2000 years of chasing taking its toll
Today my sister gave me one of her papers for her high school English class to edit. It was an assignment where they had to thing of a feeling, then write something that evokes that feeling without ever saying the word. She chose "fear," and wrote about tearing her ACL this summer. It was pretty disturbing reading it, because the whole time she was talking about how when it happened she could literally feel her dreams of making the National ODP soccer team slipping away. I helped minimally, re-arranging sentences, adding a bit of imagery, but apparently the changes I made were "awesome."
The same thing happened to me earlier this week, when a friend had me edit her paper. It really makes me reflect on the fact that I love writing, and that (at least some people think) I'm good at it.
I've had an itch to start writing my books again, but it's been really hard for me to pick up, because of the job hunt, job, and school. Plus, I'm at a part of the book I really don't like right now, and have no desire to really write about it. I feel like what's going on in the story is boring, and I know that if I feel that way, a reader certainly would. The problem is, I just haven't figured out how to do it any differently. My characters need information to move on in the story, and I can't think of any better way for them to receive said information than them researching ancient texts and/or having long dialogues between characters.
The thing is, once I get past this part of the story, it should really pick up again. It's just getting though this one particular part that is holding me back. Is this writer's block? I don't know. If it is, I need to find my muse.
~ Nick
2000 years of chasing taking its toll
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
On golf
In the last 6 months, I've taken up the game of golf, and I have to say, I really enjoy the game. It gets me outside with friends, walking around, carrying a bag of metal. My enjoyment mostly comes from the fact that I've been able to see my development over these few months. Whereas I used to have to aim at a 45 degree angle from the hole to even get remotely close to it, I'm now getting fairly accurate with my shots (so long as I'm not hitting with my driver - I still suck with that).
I've been golfing about once a week with my friend Adam. Golfing with Adam is always fun, because he can get really frustrated, and isn't afraid to show it. Whereas I'm lucky on the golf course (topping the ball, having it roll along the fairway until it hits a bump and sails over the water hazard and settles on the green), he is very unlucky (same hole, Adam tops the ball, and just before it rolls over the bridge onto the fairway it hits a bump and goes into the drink). It was right after this set of circumstances he turned to me and said, "I hate you." I then quoted him a great reflection on golf that I read in none other than Penny Arcade: "Golf is a sport of shared misery. Sure, there's competition, but really, it's superseded by the fact that in this game, you're doing battle with the earth itself."
"I still hate you."
*sigh*
Yesterday, Adam and I tried a new course. We usually play on a par 3 course, just for the sake of time and because neither of us can hit with a driver particularly well. This course had a 9 hole par 3, and it was TINY. Like, I could have walked out there with a ball, a pitching wedge, and a putter. It was silly.
What was even better, however, was the fact that the holes weren't numbered, they were named. Each hole had some corny name like "Sportsmanship" (9th hole and final hole). The problem was, it's like the holes were mocking us. They were so short that it was really difficult. We were both getting like double bogeys on easy holes, and then we get to hole number 5. "Perseverance. 66 yards." It was mocking us. We'd just landed in bunkers, double bogeyed some crap hole, and it wanted us to shoot only 66 yards. With a water hazard right behind the green.
Adam laughed openly at me. You see, I hit way too hard to make it only 66 yards. He hit just over the green into the rough. "Soft touch, Nick, soft touch. Perseverance!" My first shot was a wiff. "Not that soft." My second shot arched high, landing right on the green. Adam turned to me with his patented "I hate you stare."
On the next hole I got on the green in two, should have been a perfect par. Adam on the other hand, shot so horribly it took him 6 stokes to get on the green... the hole was only 70 yards away. I was laughing so hard I 5 putted.
Just as we agreed to put ourselves down for 6 strokes each, I looked at the name of the next hole...
Honesty.
~ Nick
Silent dance with death, Everything is lost.
I've been golfing about once a week with my friend Adam. Golfing with Adam is always fun, because he can get really frustrated, and isn't afraid to show it. Whereas I'm lucky on the golf course (topping the ball, having it roll along the fairway until it hits a bump and sails over the water hazard and settles on the green), he is very unlucky (same hole, Adam tops the ball, and just before it rolls over the bridge onto the fairway it hits a bump and goes into the drink). It was right after this set of circumstances he turned to me and said, "I hate you." I then quoted him a great reflection on golf that I read in none other than Penny Arcade: "Golf is a sport of shared misery. Sure, there's competition, but really, it's superseded by the fact that in this game, you're doing battle with the earth itself."
"I still hate you."
*sigh*
Yesterday, Adam and I tried a new course. We usually play on a par 3 course, just for the sake of time and because neither of us can hit with a driver particularly well. This course had a 9 hole par 3, and it was TINY. Like, I could have walked out there with a ball, a pitching wedge, and a putter. It was silly.
What was even better, however, was the fact that the holes weren't numbered, they were named. Each hole had some corny name like "Sportsmanship" (9th hole and final hole). The problem was, it's like the holes were mocking us. They were so short that it was really difficult. We were both getting like double bogeys on easy holes, and then we get to hole number 5. "Perseverance. 66 yards." It was mocking us. We'd just landed in bunkers, double bogeyed some crap hole, and it wanted us to shoot only 66 yards. With a water hazard right behind the green.
Adam laughed openly at me. You see, I hit way too hard to make it only 66 yards. He hit just over the green into the rough. "Soft touch, Nick, soft touch. Perseverance!" My first shot was a wiff. "Not that soft." My second shot arched high, landing right on the green. Adam turned to me with his patented "I hate you stare."
On the next hole I got on the green in two, should have been a perfect par. Adam on the other hand, shot so horribly it took him 6 stokes to get on the green... the hole was only 70 yards away. I was laughing so hard I 5 putted.
Just as we agreed to put ourselves down for 6 strokes each, I looked at the name of the next hole...
Honesty.
~ Nick
Silent dance with death, Everything is lost.
The Beginning is the End
Well, I finally caved.
I guess the first thing to do is clear up the title of this little blog. This won't be fiction, most of the time. I was simply thinking of the first story I wanted to tell, and while I was going through it in my head, I kept remembering events out of order, which led to me thinking about how often people embellish events that occur to them without ever realizing it. We all do it, all the time, because sub-consciously we feel like whatever it was we experienced really was that epic and we need others to believe us. After reflecting on that, I decided to call it "automated fiction," a phrase from a song I've been listening to recently.
I'll be discussing things that happen in my life, keeping the mood light. I've got too much stuff going on to do a serious blog, it'd be all grumpy-Nick, all the time. So, this will reflect on funny things that happen to me from time to time, or other light-hearted topics.
I suppose it's up to you to decide what's true and what's automated fiction.
~ Nick
their ears are full of cranks, bells, pullys, wheels, and bolts
I guess the first thing to do is clear up the title of this little blog. This won't be fiction, most of the time. I was simply thinking of the first story I wanted to tell, and while I was going through it in my head, I kept remembering events out of order, which led to me thinking about how often people embellish events that occur to them without ever realizing it. We all do it, all the time, because sub-consciously we feel like whatever it was we experienced really was that epic and we need others to believe us. After reflecting on that, I decided to call it "automated fiction," a phrase from a song I've been listening to recently.
I'll be discussing things that happen in my life, keeping the mood light. I've got too much stuff going on to do a serious blog, it'd be all grumpy-Nick, all the time. So, this will reflect on funny things that happen to me from time to time, or other light-hearted topics.
I suppose it's up to you to decide what's true and what's automated fiction.
~ Nick
their ears are full of cranks, bells, pullys, wheels, and bolts
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