Friday, June 30, 2006
Dastardly Day
Some of you may have heard of Poor Miss Drella's traumatic experience involving her fish Goldie. Well, I'm afraid there has been another disappearance. I too am missing a beloved, inanimate, pet. My dearly beloved Elliot, little green lizard extraordinaire, has gone missing (ooH! did you know that "goon" is an actual word? I didn't.). It's true. Poor Elliot has vanished. I've searched high and low (especially low, as little plastic lizards aren't exactly adept climbers) and my lovely lizard is nowhere to be found! The worst part of all is that I'm pretty sure that there was no foul play involved. I have received no ransom notes or clues. Simply an absence. I do believe that perhaps, just perhaps, Elliot grew weary of me and fled. I haven't been giving hiim the attention he deserves as of late. It's possible that he and the Devil Ducky formed an unlikely alliance and ventured out into the world alá "Skinny Legs and All."
Purgatory
What was expected to be the summer of redemption is quickly turning into the summer of regression. The years I've spent striving and toiling to reach a new plateau seem in vain. Bureaucratic debacles have stymied my future. Releasing belay and letting me fall. Bitch work and hand-me-downs are my lot once again. Guilt for my misgivings and regret for my failures. This should be a time of rejoice and accomplishments. Revelry for independence hard sought and at last gained. Of planning new goals and searching out a new future. Instead I sit grappling at what almost was/is in the shadowy dark of a rut I thought I'd shunned.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
More to come
These may just be pictures from adventures in gay-land, but fear not. The next installment of Bené Due (or as Jules says it, Ben-ay Doo-ay) is in the works. I know you're sitting on the edge of your seat, couch, chéz, dildo, what have you, anxious for what happens next, and you shall be rewarded (oh the scandal!). For now, here are a few more pics from our big gay adventure to the city by the bay.
So what these are:
The first: The alien Vessel that came to watch the hordes of homos
Second: A Frankus directed photo of a lovely roadside grove.
Third and fourth: A throwback to an old photo project of mine that I still happen to love. Linear compositions made using a camera and urban electric infrastructure.
So what these are:The first: The alien Vessel that came to watch the hordes of homos
Second: A Frankus directed photo of a lovely roadside grove.
Third and fourth: A throwback to an old photo project of mine that I still happen to love. Linear compositions made using a camera and urban electric infrastructure.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
See all white boys do look the same.
View the wonderment of Ninny with brother Frankus and Ninny with Dare-bear.
An explanation
I've been meaning to start this story for quite awhile. In fact, I've had the basic plan for the whole thing in mind for over a year now. I decided I might as well start writing it in pieces. So you'll be seeing snippets of a possible book idea over time here. Feel free to criticize or suggest changes if you should keep up (if you don't know my normal email address I'm on Myspace, just look up J-J-Jimbo Ninny). If you can't seem to get through the length of the entry, fret not. This is intended to be either a novella or a novel so the first two entries (Bené Due: Inception) would be the first chapter and I'm quite the novice at this process. If you don't want to subject yourself to my pathetic first attempt, I won't be even slightly offended. Hell, if you read anything on this blog I'm shocked.
Bené Due: Inception (Continued)
Labor wasn't anything like what Ana had expected. Once the contractions really began she understood why Dr. Serramin had offered the epidural. The pain that washed over her body now was unlike anything she had felt. All thoughts of future to-dos left her. All thoughts of freedom, movements, and a return to order disappeared behind a veil of agony. The only memory that lingered in the blackness of Ana's consciousness was push. She knew she had to bare down, pass the bitch, and get it over with. With a shuddering rasp Ana focussed what faculties she had left and pressed with all her might. Somewhere beyond the darkness, in the room she once occupied, a hand took hers in hold. She clutched it, dug her nails into the yielding flesh, and heard the faint echo of a scream join the wailing cry that was her own.
Ana bore down harder, the pain threatening to swallow her whole. She imagined her once beautiful body ripped open by an internal explosion. Frays of bloody flesh and pulp spattered over her engorged breasts and the unsuspecting face of Dr. Serramin. She hadn't noticed the hand leave hers, she wanted the parasite out.
A strange shift of pressure occurred for Ana then. The murmuring voices beyond the darkness grew louder. Something tugged at her from inside, she felt it stretch taught, then release. Her body flattened out, the small of her back finding the mattress again. Someone began to swab at her ragged flesh with something soothing. "If only they could wash the inside of my tits with that stuff." she thought.
With the labor winding down Ana felt herself slipping away, a new darkness closing in on her, soft and safe.
The nurse was still swabbing her when the slap came from the corner. As soon as the thick sound of flesh on flesh reached her, Ana's mind flickered. A new wail met the room. Not hers, not the mysterious muted cry from labor, a new one. It's tremendous force was like an explosion in the ward. Nurses cried out in response. Ana's bed shook. The glass viles on the small tables shattered. As Dr. Serramin, the orderlies, and other nurses fled the room the viewing window shattered. One nurse slowly turned to Ana. Ana's whole body was shaking, the pressure in her breasts was now excruciating. The nurse's eyes darted to the window above Ana, the thick panes blurring with vibrations from the cry. Her eyes flicked back to the small creature she held in her arms, and she strode confidently to Ana. The last of the orderlies cleared the room as she neared the bed. Ana saw thin strands of blood trickling out of her ears. The convulsing in Ana's body grew stronger as the nurse and child grew nearer. As the nurse knelt toward her, Ana's ears began to ring, her head numbing in the wail. Beyond the nurses stooped body Ana could see shards of glass and toppled furniture. She looked at the child now being held out to her, its face purple and wrinkled into a grotesque mask with its toothless mouth wrenched open. Ana writhed with the pressure from insider her and that coming from the child.
When the pressure released it was sudden. Faint memories of expunged black heads flickered in Ana's mind as the fount broke loose. The bleeding nurse wrenched back in alarm as her face and arms were sprayed. The child was bathed in gushing milk and the resounding silence that followed seemed to stop time.
The nurse silently placed the baby into Ana's arms, the look of shock on her face rigidly fixed there. Ana looked down at the spluttering infant as the burbling wail began to rise from it again. The cry resonated through Ana and the bed. It sent tremors into the wall. The open window banged in its frame. With the pressure subsiding, Ana, unknowingly pressed the child to her breast, the spray now falling limply into its mouth.
The nurse was beside her now, hovering in the silence. Ana didn't dare take her eyes of the now suckling child. She didn't speak or move. She didn't even notice the nurse's hand grip the bed frame behind her pillow.
The motion of the bed shifting caught Ana off guard. She jerked her head up to look at the nurse, wrenching her breast from the mouth of her child in the process. The nurse was straining against the bed, pushing it with a grimace of determination on her face. The cry resumed so quickly that Ana jerked again. There was a sharp pain in her head, then silence and warmth on her ears.
The bed shifted again, farther this time. The silence in the room frightened Ana. She could feel the child crying. She could feel the bed scraping and shaking across the floor, but she could not hear it. Ana's eyes reached the nurse's and followed them to the wall above her bed. The window was a blur of movement. Ana stared in shock at the mottled panes, realizing the danger she was in. She felt her muscles rip as she tried to swing her body forward, away from the glass. Without the leverage her abdominals usually provided she doubled over the baby, her breast falling into its mouth just as the window shattered.
Firm hands grasped Jeremy's in the small exam room down the hall from the Maternity Ward.
"That's some grip your wife has honey." The baritone lilt of the man's voice was off-putting to Jeremy. It seemed so gentle to be emanating from such a large man. "She really got you good."
Jeremy veiled a wince at the astringent seeping into the fresh gashes across his right palm."Yeah," he said. "She kept saying that the little bitch, that's what she called it, may destroy her figure, but she'd be damned if she let it ruin her finger nails."
Jeremy gasped at the stab and pull as the nurse removed the last fragment of his wife's nails from his ragged hand.
"Alright sugar, we're just 'gonna rinse this one more time then we'll wrap you up." the nurse said.
"Oh, good," he winced again at the wash then sighed as the nurse wrapped his hand in white gauze. "Thanks." Jeremy said.
"No problem sugar." again the strange endearment catching Jeremy off guard. A broad white grin graced the man's wide dark face as he said, "Well, shall we go see if you're a Daddy yet?"
"A what?" asked Jeremy. "Oh, um, yeah." The hand incident had caused Jeremy to forget what had caused his wife to grip his hand so tightly. Jeremy looked down at his white clad hand again. "She should have taken the damn epidural." he muttered.
Jeremy didn't hear the nurse's reply. It was drowned out by a cacophony of cries and shatters mixed with an eerie vibrating resonance coming from the hall. The nurse turned and darted from the room surprisingly quick for a man his size. Jeremy strode to the door and peered out at the mayhem. Nurses and orderlies ran pell mell through the yellow hall. The walls shook and Jeremy grabbed the door jam to secure himself. He jerked at the pain from his right hand, then jumped back as his nurse came hurdling back down down the hall. Jeremy's ears wrang with the noise. The large window to the maternity ward shattered in its frame and the noise was amplified. Jeremy through himself back into the small exam room, slamming the door behind him, and ducked under the table. He covered his neck and head as he taught the children to do in earth quake drills at school.
The eerie sound and rattling broke abruptly. Slowly, Jeremy lifted his head from beneath the table. He started toward the door again. He was halfway across the room when the sound came back with the shaking. Jeremy rushed for the cover of the table again, this time catching his head on the corner of a cabinet door that had swung open with the shaking. Jeremy's consciousness fell away faster than his balance. He slumped forward in a heap on the floor of the exam room, inches from the table he had just crawled out from under.
Ana bore down harder, the pain threatening to swallow her whole. She imagined her once beautiful body ripped open by an internal explosion. Frays of bloody flesh and pulp spattered over her engorged breasts and the unsuspecting face of Dr. Serramin. She hadn't noticed the hand leave hers, she wanted the parasite out.
A strange shift of pressure occurred for Ana then. The murmuring voices beyond the darkness grew louder. Something tugged at her from inside, she felt it stretch taught, then release. Her body flattened out, the small of her back finding the mattress again. Someone began to swab at her ragged flesh with something soothing. "If only they could wash the inside of my tits with that stuff." she thought.
With the labor winding down Ana felt herself slipping away, a new darkness closing in on her, soft and safe.
The nurse was still swabbing her when the slap came from the corner. As soon as the thick sound of flesh on flesh reached her, Ana's mind flickered. A new wail met the room. Not hers, not the mysterious muted cry from labor, a new one. It's tremendous force was like an explosion in the ward. Nurses cried out in response. Ana's bed shook. The glass viles on the small tables shattered. As Dr. Serramin, the orderlies, and other nurses fled the room the viewing window shattered. One nurse slowly turned to Ana. Ana's whole body was shaking, the pressure in her breasts was now excruciating. The nurse's eyes darted to the window above Ana, the thick panes blurring with vibrations from the cry. Her eyes flicked back to the small creature she held in her arms, and she strode confidently to Ana. The last of the orderlies cleared the room as she neared the bed. Ana saw thin strands of blood trickling out of her ears. The convulsing in Ana's body grew stronger as the nurse and child grew nearer. As the nurse knelt toward her, Ana's ears began to ring, her head numbing in the wail. Beyond the nurses stooped body Ana could see shards of glass and toppled furniture. She looked at the child now being held out to her, its face purple and wrinkled into a grotesque mask with its toothless mouth wrenched open. Ana writhed with the pressure from insider her and that coming from the child.
When the pressure released it was sudden. Faint memories of expunged black heads flickered in Ana's mind as the fount broke loose. The bleeding nurse wrenched back in alarm as her face and arms were sprayed. The child was bathed in gushing milk and the resounding silence that followed seemed to stop time.
The nurse silently placed the baby into Ana's arms, the look of shock on her face rigidly fixed there. Ana looked down at the spluttering infant as the burbling wail began to rise from it again. The cry resonated through Ana and the bed. It sent tremors into the wall. The open window banged in its frame. With the pressure subsiding, Ana, unknowingly pressed the child to her breast, the spray now falling limply into its mouth.
The nurse was beside her now, hovering in the silence. Ana didn't dare take her eyes of the now suckling child. She didn't speak or move. She didn't even notice the nurse's hand grip the bed frame behind her pillow.
The motion of the bed shifting caught Ana off guard. She jerked her head up to look at the nurse, wrenching her breast from the mouth of her child in the process. The nurse was straining against the bed, pushing it with a grimace of determination on her face. The cry resumed so quickly that Ana jerked again. There was a sharp pain in her head, then silence and warmth on her ears.
The bed shifted again, farther this time. The silence in the room frightened Ana. She could feel the child crying. She could feel the bed scraping and shaking across the floor, but she could not hear it. Ana's eyes reached the nurse's and followed them to the wall above her bed. The window was a blur of movement. Ana stared in shock at the mottled panes, realizing the danger she was in. She felt her muscles rip as she tried to swing her body forward, away from the glass. Without the leverage her abdominals usually provided she doubled over the baby, her breast falling into its mouth just as the window shattered.
Firm hands grasped Jeremy's in the small exam room down the hall from the Maternity Ward.
"That's some grip your wife has honey." The baritone lilt of the man's voice was off-putting to Jeremy. It seemed so gentle to be emanating from such a large man. "She really got you good."
Jeremy veiled a wince at the astringent seeping into the fresh gashes across his right palm."Yeah," he said. "She kept saying that the little bitch, that's what she called it, may destroy her figure, but she'd be damned if she let it ruin her finger nails."
Jeremy gasped at the stab and pull as the nurse removed the last fragment of his wife's nails from his ragged hand.
"Alright sugar, we're just 'gonna rinse this one more time then we'll wrap you up." the nurse said.
"Oh, good," he winced again at the wash then sighed as the nurse wrapped his hand in white gauze. "Thanks." Jeremy said.
"No problem sugar." again the strange endearment catching Jeremy off guard. A broad white grin graced the man's wide dark face as he said, "Well, shall we go see if you're a Daddy yet?"
"A what?" asked Jeremy. "Oh, um, yeah." The hand incident had caused Jeremy to forget what had caused his wife to grip his hand so tightly. Jeremy looked down at his white clad hand again. "She should have taken the damn epidural." he muttered.
Jeremy didn't hear the nurse's reply. It was drowned out by a cacophony of cries and shatters mixed with an eerie vibrating resonance coming from the hall. The nurse turned and darted from the room surprisingly quick for a man his size. Jeremy strode to the door and peered out at the mayhem. Nurses and orderlies ran pell mell through the yellow hall. The walls shook and Jeremy grabbed the door jam to secure himself. He jerked at the pain from his right hand, then jumped back as his nurse came hurdling back down down the hall. Jeremy's ears wrang with the noise. The large window to the maternity ward shattered in its frame and the noise was amplified. Jeremy through himself back into the small exam room, slamming the door behind him, and ducked under the table. He covered his neck and head as he taught the children to do in earth quake drills at school.
The eerie sound and rattling broke abruptly. Slowly, Jeremy lifted his head from beneath the table. He started toward the door again. He was halfway across the room when the sound came back with the shaking. Jeremy rushed for the cover of the table again, this time catching his head on the corner of a cabinet door that had swung open with the shaking. Jeremy's consciousness fell away faster than his balance. He slumped forward in a heap on the floor of the exam room, inches from the table he had just crawled out from under.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Bené Due: Inception
The small community clinic on G Street seemed to glow with the light seeping through the windows. The heavy panes had been thrown open to allow the cool morning air in and the stale night air out.
This tiny hospital was bustling with staff preparing for Ana Due's labor. Ana lay in a bed quite calm, her eyes barely betraying the anxiousness within, her mouth exhibiting a broad grin. Ana was ready, ready to have her body back. She was ready to release the pressure pent up in her swollen breasts. If passing the excruciating pain of birth was all that stood between her and her old self, she'd take it with a smile.
Ana did not think of the child turning toward her thighs. She thought of standing without straining. She thought of Martinis. She thought of sleeping on her stomach and the smell of bacon without nausea. She thought of life before preganancy. Ana thought of nearly nine months without, and knew that soon she could have again.
So in her quiet bed by the open window, with nurses, orderlies, and doctors bustling around, Ana lay smiling. She was ready for the pregnancy to end and ther life to return, never mind the life of her child.
When the labor did finally begin, Ana embraced it. All she need do is bare down, pass the parasite, and move on. Nurses checked her vitals as she dreamed of her old self. When Dr. Serramin asked if she wanted the epidural Ana didn't know why. So it will hurt. The last nine months had been painful and they didn't offer drugs then. No, Ana felt the contractions coming, but she payed them little more attention than was necessary, when this passed she could resume her old ways and that required much more focus than the irritation in her womb.
Jeremy Due was in the café at the clinic. Dr Serramin asured him that he would know as soon as Ana was ready to pass the child. The coffee in the café was stale, luke warm, and lacking in flavor. He wondered if Ana couldn't have waited a few more hours so that he could have had his morning. Real breakfast, decent coffee, hell, a little more sleep wouldn't have hurt either. But apparently the child was coming whether it was wanted or not, and that meant waiting. Waiting in this café with it's bad coffee and lack of warm food. But soon his wife would be back. She could go back to work and stop complaining about boredom. They could return to their social engagements, Martinis with their friends, hiking in the canyon, they hadn't been out of town in months. Jeremy was ready for his wife to not be pregnant and soon that would be the case.
The young nurse from upstairs came into the café. She had the confident walk of a school teacher, but without the familiar clop of hard soled shoes on tile. Jeremy wondered why school teachers didn't wear those funny booties also, it would definitely aid in student focus.
The nurse approached his table, "Your wife has gone into labor Mr. Due." Her contralto voice had the practiced professional excitement of a maternity nurse. She obviously thought that there was nothing more wonderful than child birth, in fact, Jeremy suspected she would be squeeling the news at him but life had sucked the energy out of her voice.
"Oh, thanks. Tell me nurse, do you have any children of your own?" he asked.
"Oh, no. I don't need any children of my own, I have my hands full with the ones who come through here." The broad white toothed smile that graced her face as she said this told Jeremy that once again, the nurse was being genuine.
"I know what you mean." he told her. "I'm a school teacher. I have my hands full with my students let alone whatever this child will bring." Jeremy forgot to hold back the bitter tone in his voice. The nurse's smile flickered for a moment as she registered what he was saying, but the white arch returned as she asked, "Well, shall we go see how your wife is doing?"
"Oh, yeah, let's go." He replied. Jeremy strolled to the garbage, tossed the paper cup, still half full with room temperature coffe in, and followed the nurse out of the café. As he followed the woman's swaying scrub clad hips he dreamed of cocktail parties, trips to the city, and a good night's rest next to the woman he married. The child soon to be was on its way, and that meant the woman he used to love might be back too.
This tiny hospital was bustling with staff preparing for Ana Due's labor. Ana lay in a bed quite calm, her eyes barely betraying the anxiousness within, her mouth exhibiting a broad grin. Ana was ready, ready to have her body back. She was ready to release the pressure pent up in her swollen breasts. If passing the excruciating pain of birth was all that stood between her and her old self, she'd take it with a smile.
Ana did not think of the child turning toward her thighs. She thought of standing without straining. She thought of Martinis. She thought of sleeping on her stomach and the smell of bacon without nausea. She thought of life before preganancy. Ana thought of nearly nine months without, and knew that soon she could have again.
So in her quiet bed by the open window, with nurses, orderlies, and doctors bustling around, Ana lay smiling. She was ready for the pregnancy to end and ther life to return, never mind the life of her child.
When the labor did finally begin, Ana embraced it. All she need do is bare down, pass the parasite, and move on. Nurses checked her vitals as she dreamed of her old self. When Dr. Serramin asked if she wanted the epidural Ana didn't know why. So it will hurt. The last nine months had been painful and they didn't offer drugs then. No, Ana felt the contractions coming, but she payed them little more attention than was necessary, when this passed she could resume her old ways and that required much more focus than the irritation in her womb.
Jeremy Due was in the café at the clinic. Dr Serramin asured him that he would know as soon as Ana was ready to pass the child. The coffee in the café was stale, luke warm, and lacking in flavor. He wondered if Ana couldn't have waited a few more hours so that he could have had his morning. Real breakfast, decent coffee, hell, a little more sleep wouldn't have hurt either. But apparently the child was coming whether it was wanted or not, and that meant waiting. Waiting in this café with it's bad coffee and lack of warm food. But soon his wife would be back. She could go back to work and stop complaining about boredom. They could return to their social engagements, Martinis with their friends, hiking in the canyon, they hadn't been out of town in months. Jeremy was ready for his wife to not be pregnant and soon that would be the case.
The young nurse from upstairs came into the café. She had the confident walk of a school teacher, but without the familiar clop of hard soled shoes on tile. Jeremy wondered why school teachers didn't wear those funny booties also, it would definitely aid in student focus.
The nurse approached his table, "Your wife has gone into labor Mr. Due." Her contralto voice had the practiced professional excitement of a maternity nurse. She obviously thought that there was nothing more wonderful than child birth, in fact, Jeremy suspected she would be squeeling the news at him but life had sucked the energy out of her voice.
"Oh, thanks. Tell me nurse, do you have any children of your own?" he asked.
"Oh, no. I don't need any children of my own, I have my hands full with the ones who come through here." The broad white toothed smile that graced her face as she said this told Jeremy that once again, the nurse was being genuine.
"I know what you mean." he told her. "I'm a school teacher. I have my hands full with my students let alone whatever this child will bring." Jeremy forgot to hold back the bitter tone in his voice. The nurse's smile flickered for a moment as she registered what he was saying, but the white arch returned as she asked, "Well, shall we go see how your wife is doing?"
"Oh, yeah, let's go." He replied. Jeremy strolled to the garbage, tossed the paper cup, still half full with room temperature coffe in, and followed the nurse out of the café. As he followed the woman's swaying scrub clad hips he dreamed of cocktail parties, trips to the city, and a good night's rest next to the woman he married. The child soon to be was on its way, and that meant the woman he used to love might be back too.
SAMbot 9000
As promised here are the pictures of my new friend SAM.
Since these pictures were taken poor SAM's arms have fallen. One of them has completely fallen off. Luckily for SAM (and me) he is a robot, and all missing and fallen limbs can be replaced.
A face only a manufacturer could love.
Since these pictures were taken poor SAM's arms have fallen. One of them has completely fallen off. Luckily for SAM (and me) he is a robot, and all missing and fallen limbs can be replaced.
A face only a manufacturer could love.
Saturday, June 17, 2006
I AM A ROBOT
Today was a day to be random. I awoke in a good mood, continued my morning in an equally pleasant mood (enhanced greatly by the presence of Frankus and Danger(space)kitty), and decided follow through on random urges. Todays urges were:
a) build a robot
b) juggle.
At first, upon returning home to Long Beach, I thought they would stay as simple urges and I would instead nap and waste time in less constructive or entertaining ways. Then, after my attempt at a nap was thwarted, I did what I thought I wouldn't.
I followed through on my urges. I built a robot.
The robot's name is SAM (Simulated Automated Man). He is constructed of a variety of materials, the largest portion being cardboard. He is also constructed of aluminum, plastic, a bit of tin, and duct tape (MADE FROM REAL DUCKS!!).
Oops. As I sit typing this, one of SAM's arms fell off. Poor Sam's firts few days are proving to be tumultuous and painful. So far SAM can only generate basic sentences. His main statement is "I AM A ROBOT." He has also said "I AM SAMbot." And just this evening to my delight SAM baid my mother good night: "I AM SAMBOT, GOOD NIGHT JUDY, I AM A ROBOT."
We're still working on continuity and redundancy, but his lexicon is growing rapidly.
I also did in fact juggle today. I've decided that the standard method in which I juggle, which is pretty basic, needs work. i can't keep it going as long as I'd like,and if I do, I think it gets boring. So, I'm working on uping my skill level just a tad. I found myself out in the yard half naked in the sun, a half built robot on the back table while I waited for some of the paint to dry, and three bright tennis balls gyrating in the air in front of me. It was glorious and surreal.
I think I need to follow these urges more often. Life can be much more interesting when you make robots and juggle. Just imagine what other interesting things I could stumble across if I simply followed my cravings.
Well... there are other interesting things that do happen when I follow some cravings,but that's a whole other blog. Keep checking the ninnyspot, I'll have pics of SAM up soon, possibly tomorrow.
a) build a robot
b) juggle.
At first, upon returning home to Long Beach, I thought they would stay as simple urges and I would instead nap and waste time in less constructive or entertaining ways. Then, after my attempt at a nap was thwarted, I did what I thought I wouldn't.
I followed through on my urges. I built a robot.
The robot's name is SAM (Simulated Automated Man). He is constructed of a variety of materials, the largest portion being cardboard. He is also constructed of aluminum, plastic, a bit of tin, and duct tape (MADE FROM REAL DUCKS!!).
Oops. As I sit typing this, one of SAM's arms fell off. Poor Sam's firts few days are proving to be tumultuous and painful. So far SAM can only generate basic sentences. His main statement is "I AM A ROBOT." He has also said "I AM SAMbot." And just this evening to my delight SAM baid my mother good night: "I AM SAMBOT, GOOD NIGHT JUDY, I AM A ROBOT."
We're still working on continuity and redundancy, but his lexicon is growing rapidly.
I also did in fact juggle today. I've decided that the standard method in which I juggle, which is pretty basic, needs work. i can't keep it going as long as I'd like,and if I do, I think it gets boring. So, I'm working on uping my skill level just a tad. I found myself out in the yard half naked in the sun, a half built robot on the back table while I waited for some of the paint to dry, and three bright tennis balls gyrating in the air in front of me. It was glorious and surreal.
I think I need to follow these urges more often. Life can be much more interesting when you make robots and juggle. Just imagine what other interesting things I could stumble across if I simply followed my cravings.
Well... there are other interesting things that do happen when I follow some cravings,but that's a whole other blog. Keep checking the ninnyspot, I'll have pics of SAM up soon, possibly tomorrow.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
Ain't no thang
It has passed. As of 1:30PM on the 15th of June, 2006 (the year of our gord, not to be mistaken with the other type of year that rhymes wtih gord which I have no use for) I have completed my student teaching. That's right boys and girls (and homos, and citrus fruit with proper names, and certain types of poisonous hamsters)Ninny has, at last, completed his preliminary teaching credential. Now comes the small task of finding employment. This will happen in time. For now (or rather soon) I shall celebrate in some fashion to ring in the new chapter of my existence. I am thinking, in fact, of washing my belly button to commemorate the occasion.
Perhaps not.
Perhaps not.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Coming down to it
21 Cover letters and résumés
21 CDs with my academic portfolio on them
1 Honors grade for a pass no pass class (I didn't even know this grade was an option)
1 failing student art project,but at least the thought was cool.
2 days left of student teaching.
21 CDs with my academic portfolio on them
1 Honors grade for a pass no pass class (I didn't even know this grade was an option)
1 failing student art project,but at least the thought was cool.
2 days left of student teaching.
Monday, June 12, 2006
in hiding
At last the final week of my second assignment is at hand. I'm meer days away from finishing my preliminary credential. This is exciting in many ways, it means that I'm now ready to attempt to find a job. It's also disconcerting as it means that I'm now ready to attempt to find a job.
The other side of this predicament is the mind frame of the students. I remember being there myself so I don't particularly blame them. They have complete and total short timer's syndrome. They're all aware that the last day of school is this Thursday. They all realize that his means there is little academic work left. They also all realize that the person next to them has this same idea in their head and they're feeding of each other. I personally think that parents and guardians feed their children methamphetamines with their cereal in the morning as a way to thank the teacher for caring for and teaching their child/children for nine months.
I'm trying to not face the reality that the end is near. This means not only will I be done with student teaching, but that I'll be essentially useless for all things professional until fall. Those of you with normal jobs might find this idea highly attractive, and I would/will agree with you once I have steady employment, but for now, I have nothing and that is frightening.
When you add this to my recent overwhelming desire to get out and do things constanty has left me in an odd state. I'm home now. Home from the first of my last days, and all I want to do is hide. I want nothing more than to stay here in my room, door closed, and wait the week out, only to emerge Thursday when I'll say my goodbyes to the third graders, celebrate the impending family birthdays and fathers day, and then embrace the new weekend with great anticipation and optimism.
I suppose that this is a short week will make that more possible. The fact that I have no job, will make it complicated, but still worth it.
In other news, my belly button is dirty.
The other side of this predicament is the mind frame of the students. I remember being there myself so I don't particularly blame them. They have complete and total short timer's syndrome. They're all aware that the last day of school is this Thursday. They all realize that his means there is little academic work left. They also all realize that the person next to them has this same idea in their head and they're feeding of each other. I personally think that parents and guardians feed their children methamphetamines with their cereal in the morning as a way to thank the teacher for caring for and teaching their child/children for nine months.
I'm trying to not face the reality that the end is near. This means not only will I be done with student teaching, but that I'll be essentially useless for all things professional until fall. Those of you with normal jobs might find this idea highly attractive, and I would/will agree with you once I have steady employment, but for now, I have nothing and that is frightening.
When you add this to my recent overwhelming desire to get out and do things constanty has left me in an odd state. I'm home now. Home from the first of my last days, and all I want to do is hide. I want nothing more than to stay here in my room, door closed, and wait the week out, only to emerge Thursday when I'll say my goodbyes to the third graders, celebrate the impending family birthdays and fathers day, and then embrace the new weekend with great anticipation and optimism.
I suppose that this is a short week will make that more possible. The fact that I have no job, will make it complicated, but still worth it.
In other news, my belly button is dirty.
Friday, June 09, 2006
Robot Chicken
I've been watching the brilliant brain child of Seth Green. The sketch I just took in involved Michael Jackson. He was an alien, the real Michael Jackson having been abducted in the (presumably) late eighties. The whole story is explained in this sketch. The real Michael Jackson returns to Earth to rescue humanity from the Michael Jackson impersonator planted by the aliens.
This is brilliant in and of itself. The frightening part was that, as I watched it, it seemed feasible. I actually believed the whole thing. As though the man (or thing) having been replaced by evil world domination bent aliens seemed more sensible.
This is brilliant in and of itself. The frightening part was that, as I watched it, it seemed feasible. I actually believed the whole thing. As though the man (or thing) having been replaced by evil world domination bent aliens seemed more sensible.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
For I have fought.
Long and hard.
Cliché a phrase as ever there was for a gayman.Shall I insert more euphemisms? I would, but my mind is clouded and lethargic with little to contribute to the tangent.
I have been sitting, wondering, and hoping. Counting days while wasting nights. Thinking that, perhaps if I sit long enough, the time will pass quicker leaving the trials of now behind me.
Today was long. A day in which I wondered if I'm on the right path. When the students seem near uncontrollable. Yet I handled it fine. Recieved compliments in fact. Why then this feeling of ineptitude?
I believe it stems to the foreigner factor. This is not my class. This is not my school. This is not my room. This is theirs. This is the land of the other, and I am but a visitor contributing what I can, while trying to fit into their system.
I look to the future thinking my own space will be different. My own space will be more structured. My own space will be more me.
But I am not structured. I am chaotic. And though I grow more compartmental as I age, I am still impulsive, wandering, instinctive. I look to this room, this place that I spend my time and see variation. I see it and fret. I see it and fear that my own space will be the same, lacking structure. I suppose that seeing this is a near guarantee that I won't let it happen. This lends some comfort, that and the knowledge that this class is not easy.
There is no clear path set yet and this uncertainty, though invigorating, is also terrifying. Not knowing where I'll be, with whom, and in what way, poses this plethora of inevitable variables that will have to be faced individually. I just hope I have the strength, patience, and knowledge to structure it in such a way that my fear will not become reality. That I will find the means to create my space so that I have what I dream of and not what I fear. If that can be, then I will know that I have chosen well in this endeavor. If not, at least I'll have a challenge to play with, that is, until I win the lottery and run away to Tierra Del Fuego.
Cliché a phrase as ever there was for a gayman.Shall I insert more euphemisms? I would, but my mind is clouded and lethargic with little to contribute to the tangent.
I have been sitting, wondering, and hoping. Counting days while wasting nights. Thinking that, perhaps if I sit long enough, the time will pass quicker leaving the trials of now behind me.
Today was long. A day in which I wondered if I'm on the right path. When the students seem near uncontrollable. Yet I handled it fine. Recieved compliments in fact. Why then this feeling of ineptitude?
I believe it stems to the foreigner factor. This is not my class. This is not my school. This is not my room. This is theirs. This is the land of the other, and I am but a visitor contributing what I can, while trying to fit into their system.
I look to the future thinking my own space will be different. My own space will be more structured. My own space will be more me.
But I am not structured. I am chaotic. And though I grow more compartmental as I age, I am still impulsive, wandering, instinctive. I look to this room, this place that I spend my time and see variation. I see it and fret. I see it and fear that my own space will be the same, lacking structure. I suppose that seeing this is a near guarantee that I won't let it happen. This lends some comfort, that and the knowledge that this class is not easy.
There is no clear path set yet and this uncertainty, though invigorating, is also terrifying. Not knowing where I'll be, with whom, and in what way, poses this plethora of inevitable variables that will have to be faced individually. I just hope I have the strength, patience, and knowledge to structure it in such a way that my fear will not become reality. That I will find the means to create my space so that I have what I dream of and not what I fear. If that can be, then I will know that I have chosen well in this endeavor. If not, at least I'll have a challenge to play with, that is, until I win the lottery and run away to Tierra Del Fuego.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
June Gloom (debunked)
The cliché is proving inaccurate. What is considered to be a time of morose greyness has shown itself to be a period of excitement and spontenaety. I forget how much I love the summer until it is looming on the horizon. Perhaps this is why I chose a career in education. What other field provides you with three months of vacation, often sequentially located in the summertime?
As the year end approaches I find myself fighting unseen (and oddly unrecognized) stress. My jaw has been clenching, my head throbbing, yet my life is not so hectic. I have most of the tasks ahead of me in hand. The only real trouble I face is the uncertainty of employment, but that was expected and will be dealt with in time. I think, perhaps, the real trauma in my existence at the moment (yes, my true American blood is showing when I must find trauma in the quietest of times)is that I have no real drama. Single is treating me fine, economically I'm stretched but that will change, class is essentially over until next month, and I can literally feel my branches stretching outwards for social expansion. It's as though I'm brimming with oppurtunity, just not ready with an adequate saucer to catch any spilling.
I suppose that the charge that is omnipotent in my current life could be the cause of my tension. It might just be that I'm so ready for the change that my body is responding in kind. Or perhaps there is an unknown shadow looming beyond my peripheral vision threatening and menacing yet heretofore unseen.
Whatever the cultprit I'll take it. I'm contented with the fact that things seem to be going decent. I'm feeling safe in my future (whatever it may hold) and strong in my yearnings for change.
There are of course other variables. I have no real lovelife, but I'm fairly pleased with that. I have no real desire for any intense romantic interlude at the moment, as I have no idea what I'll be doing or where I'll be in the next six months. If I were to enter into any meaningful relationship I'd want there to be stability, and I'm not exactly a poster child for consistency at the moment. What I want, in fact, is the opposite. Random,spontaneous, unbridled exploration is my goal for now. See, do, and be all that I can so that when I am settled and ready, I can reap the benefits of such experiences without wondering if I lost out at some point along the way.
I feel old to have this mind frame, yet young in that I've never fully enmbraced it before.
Here's to wandering. May it bring adventure and comfort in one smooth stroke of the palm.
As the year end approaches I find myself fighting unseen (and oddly unrecognized) stress. My jaw has been clenching, my head throbbing, yet my life is not so hectic. I have most of the tasks ahead of me in hand. The only real trouble I face is the uncertainty of employment, but that was expected and will be dealt with in time. I think, perhaps, the real trauma in my existence at the moment (yes, my true American blood is showing when I must find trauma in the quietest of times)is that I have no real drama. Single is treating me fine, economically I'm stretched but that will change, class is essentially over until next month, and I can literally feel my branches stretching outwards for social expansion. It's as though I'm brimming with oppurtunity, just not ready with an adequate saucer to catch any spilling.
I suppose that the charge that is omnipotent in my current life could be the cause of my tension. It might just be that I'm so ready for the change that my body is responding in kind. Or perhaps there is an unknown shadow looming beyond my peripheral vision threatening and menacing yet heretofore unseen.
Whatever the cultprit I'll take it. I'm contented with the fact that things seem to be going decent. I'm feeling safe in my future (whatever it may hold) and strong in my yearnings for change.
There are of course other variables. I have no real lovelife, but I'm fairly pleased with that. I have no real desire for any intense romantic interlude at the moment, as I have no idea what I'll be doing or where I'll be in the next six months. If I were to enter into any meaningful relationship I'd want there to be stability, and I'm not exactly a poster child for consistency at the moment. What I want, in fact, is the opposite. Random,spontaneous, unbridled exploration is my goal for now. See, do, and be all that I can so that when I am settled and ready, I can reap the benefits of such experiences without wondering if I lost out at some point along the way.
I feel old to have this mind frame, yet young in that I've never fully enmbraced it before.
Here's to wandering. May it bring adventure and comfort in one smooth stroke of the palm.
Friday, June 02, 2006
Oh yes, and Frankus
I mentioned (in a posting weeks previous) that I shall, henceforth, refer to a certain Mr. Spiziri as "Mr. Says relax."
Well, I have negated that statement for a better title. One which (as most of my friends, family, and general mutual associates of the boy already know)I have launched a campaign to instill in the minds of the minions. The new title for the Spiziri extraordinaire is this: Frankus.
Now, do not let the seemingly mundane nature of this new title throw you.
It is a title that demands respect, creativity, and pose.
It is the most fitting name I can foster for the man I have deemed Frankie, Francis, Master Spiziri, Frank, and many other titles.
It is a title that is unique to a boy whom is unique.
So! Should you know this man (and chances are, if you're taking the time to read this that you are at least familiar with his existence) take up the banner!
If we can have upwards of 5 people referring to him as such (that was Frankus if you have forgotten) then my work is done.
Oh, and Frankus, if you should happen to be reading this, cheers! You have spawned your very own blog entry on the Ninnyspot! Most people have to sleep with me, or at least be quite ill to earn such an honor, and you did none of the above (which we shall keep that way).
Well, I have negated that statement for a better title. One which (as most of my friends, family, and general mutual associates of the boy already know)I have launched a campaign to instill in the minds of the minions. The new title for the Spiziri extraordinaire is this: Frankus.
Now, do not let the seemingly mundane nature of this new title throw you.
It is a title that demands respect, creativity, and pose.
It is the most fitting name I can foster for the man I have deemed Frankie, Francis, Master Spiziri, Frank, and many other titles.
It is a title that is unique to a boy whom is unique.
So! Should you know this man (and chances are, if you're taking the time to read this that you are at least familiar with his existence) take up the banner!
If we can have upwards of 5 people referring to him as such (that was Frankus if you have forgotten) then my work is done.
Oh, and Frankus, if you should happen to be reading this, cheers! You have spawned your very own blog entry on the Ninnyspot! Most people have to sleep with me, or at least be quite ill to earn such an honor, and you did none of the above (which we shall keep that way).
Thursday, June 01, 2006
Chapters/Transitions
With gilded fingers he plugged on slowly.
Hands bound by time, garnett, and gilded in flesh.
He journeyed deeper into what was, what is, and what may be, all the while drifting through the mire of what wasn't, what isn't, and what probably won't.
Accomplishment is the mist of confusion, bringing with it the draw of the dawn.
Yet the light of the sun rising is dim from this angle leaving long shadows that mask the horizon.
Optimism is prevolent in this land of new beginnings, afterall that sun will be high soon enough.
But what of the hours that stand between days?
Those of the questioning, the agonizing, the lost.
These are the days of gilt fingers and eyelids pressed.
Of furrowed brows and wilted pockets lined with lint rather than coin.
These are the days of the tired, the hopeful, and the fervent.
Forever looking past what is now, in hopes that the next will be better.
With this he drifts further into the shroud of unknown.
Fingers dragging in twilight as thoughts blaze on unhindered.
Will morning bring options or more binds for the wrists?
Will adventure be breaking or cowling in shadows,
behind the horizon,
passing for another day to draw forth.
Hands bound by time, garnett, and gilded in flesh.
He journeyed deeper into what was, what is, and what may be, all the while drifting through the mire of what wasn't, what isn't, and what probably won't.
Accomplishment is the mist of confusion, bringing with it the draw of the dawn.
Yet the light of the sun rising is dim from this angle leaving long shadows that mask the horizon.
Optimism is prevolent in this land of new beginnings, afterall that sun will be high soon enough.
But what of the hours that stand between days?
Those of the questioning, the agonizing, the lost.
These are the days of gilt fingers and eyelids pressed.
Of furrowed brows and wilted pockets lined with lint rather than coin.
These are the days of the tired, the hopeful, and the fervent.
Forever looking past what is now, in hopes that the next will be better.
With this he drifts further into the shroud of unknown.
Fingers dragging in twilight as thoughts blaze on unhindered.
Will morning bring options or more binds for the wrists?
Will adventure be breaking or cowling in shadows,
behind the horizon,
passing for another day to draw forth.
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