definition:Buzzardo

So.

I’ve been a closet singer for quite some time.
At this Christmas mass, I sang as best I could, then something unexpected happened. The choir came from the loft onto the Alter for the Hallelujah chorus. As they prepared, the priest announced that anyone who would like to sing with the choir should come foreward. My heart pounded as I collected my nerve, and, in my cargo pants and ski coat, sporting a head of gnarly hair, I walked toward the Alter from the back of the church. I was one of only two people from the whole church to attempt and sing, the other being a local news anchorman.

He has a wonderful voice.

As fate would have it, a winter storm pushed through Chicago’s O’Hare airport, sometime prior to me attempting to board a flight in Rochester, NY. Upon arrival to the airport, I was informed that our plane would be arriving later than anticipated, but at that time was still coming to greet us in time for passengers to make their connections through Washington Dulles airport. While waiting, I took some time and attempted to get work done, but a reluctant and slow internet connection prevented any substantial work from happening. I packed up my work related attire and grabbed a bite to eat. Most times in airports, I have experienced vastly inflated prices for most normal food; luckily, Subway’s $5 foot-long deal was still on.
I just realized that I left a partially consumed bottle of water somewhere in the airport after mentally remarking that some other soul had done the same thing.
I became quietly contemplative, allowing my eyes to relax and blur. A young man sat across from me as I began to fiddle with my relatively new camera.

I then inserted earplugs to disconnect from my surroundings, and continued learning about the settings on the Kodak Z885 camera.

At this point, I looked up to find a Rochester departure time of 5:25pm, which was nearly the same time I was to be departing from Washington Dulles. Because I had the earplugs in, I probably laughed a little louder than I should have, and those around me raised their heads to see what the joke was. Promptly, a man came over the P.A. system to confirm that our plane had not even left Chicago yet, and we were delayed until further notice.

I removed my earplugs and solemnly packed my camera away, trying to think of what to do. I knew I was not stranded, but yet, I felt forgotten. Not by my friends and family, but by the world herself as she tended to other, more pressing matters. I called my brother in San Antonio, whom I was supposed to be meeting this Christmas Eve. I already knew what was to happen, but still went to the ticketing agent to see if any flights were available this evening. He informed me that the earliest he could get me out was 7:30am, December 25th.

So, I took the tickets, and with a smile, wished the ticket agent a Merry Christmas.

Luckily for me, I have wonderful friends who would make accommodations for me, even on Christmas Eve. The evening has been calmly passing, with the melancholy thoughts of holiday gatherings and celebrations past trickling through my mind. I felt the opportunity to capture the joy of cooking, music, and conversation around the fireplace at the home of my dear friends David and Kelly.

The warm welcome and merriment has, for now, calmed my desire to be home, yet the day has left me pining for a certain feeling of holiday seasons past. Dear friends and family, know that my thoughts and love will be with you, no matter how far away we might be.

Merry Christmas
Jason

Spam.  Its not really meat.  Its not really food.  Its saturated, condensed, animal by-products in a can.  Something that can be served as an appetizer during a party where people have invited themselves to your house.  Spam is funny because you can pretend that it is some expensive pate, and everyone will believe you and tell you how wonderful it actually is. 

Crazy, how the name Spam applies to garbage communications too.   Almost like someone actually thought of the crap before naming it.  Coincidentally, one of the reasons I have been hesitant to visit my own weblog is that every time I logged in, there would be several spam comments for me to moderate.  By several I actually mean hundreds, six hundred eighteen on the last go around. 

Adding to the absurdity of this all-too-common problem is the content of the spam messages I have been recieving.

***Warning: potentially disturbing content below*** 

***Do not click on any links!***

For example, I wonder what the content of this message is:

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…makes me glad I don’t live in San Antonio; sorry Bro.

Then, there are others which play to your emotions:

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Question: what the heck are homosexual symptoms?  Never mind.

Some spambots try to get a little personal:
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The unintelligable banter comes in many forms:
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Well, thanks to a champion program called Spam Karma, I have not had any anus, herpes, penis enlargements, or other crap in my comments!  Yay, and thanks to Dave for helping me install it.  Comment away, loving audience!

had these walls been made of stone
if these windows were opaque
or the drapes were wrought of iron
this might not have found me

but the sound; the breath
a calmly spoken word unknown
drawing me forth
like a moth to the flame

walking through; rained upon
pausing to understand the past
shall tempting the unknown
ever become a reality

tired eyes close
weak arms sway
spent legs buckle
do I slumber

a weary step falls out of place
and startles this agreement
from the comfort of its den
while the fog woefully lifts

who told me to walk here
much time has passed
why do I pause here
as wind warms my face

in the woods
near an unending path
that went in a small circle
I stand

to turn around and see
these invisible chains
and watch as they dissolve
in rain which slowly ends

I tend to acknowledge the beginning of spring by a few environmental indicators including, but not limited to:

1. The smell of the earth becoming unfrozen

2. Birds returning to grace the treetops [and defile our cars...]

3. An uncontrollable urge to clean

4. Girls in skirts

So, it would seem, spring has indeed arrived.  The heavy snow pack has completely melted in the past three days, birds are crapping on my car, skirts are appearing more often, and I want to vaccuum in the worst possible way.  Yet, I think April showers have arrived too early, and are simply playing a cruel joke on good old Jack Frost.  Rest assured that soon Mr. Frost will discover that daylight savings time has been moved foreward.  Then he will, with the fury of all that is demonic plus two fluffy hampsters and several ears of corn, plunge us back into a freeze that spring will have to battle day and night to overcome.

Spring break - travel problems + decent weather - mechanical breakdowns + time - other people making commitments for me = mountain biking!!!

A short time ago, an animated clip was circulating around campus which depicted a precocious boy in a doctor’s office who was being behaviorally evaluated.  Dilbert’s “The Knack” is a comical gaze into the past of many technical individuals; stirring memories of their curiosity and their delight in taking apart toasters, cameras, and vcr’s as children.

I was one of these children who simply had to know how things worked, regardless of if the item was destroyed upon my investigation.  I can remember taking apart radios, tv’s remote control cars, and lionel trains; delighting in the vastness of my ignorance.  Sometimes, of course, the devices could not be put back together again, drawing some undesired attention from my father.  Regardless of the outcome, and with my father’s help, I learned stuff about things [to put it eloquently].

Last Friday, I had to run some errands in town.  It was warmer than it had been in Potsdam recently, the mercury soaring into the twenties.  One of my stops was Radio Shack to pick up some speaker cable.  Upon entering the store, I noticed a pair of dust-covered speakers bearing a yellow tag that read: $249.99 Clearance - $29.99.  A price differential that could make even the most frugal shopper pause for a moment.  I began looking over the speakers, which consisted of entry-level drivers in a two-way configuration housed in decent looking cabinets.  The employee came over, apparently to sell me the speakers. 

“Can I help you, sir?”  The nice man asked.

“I was wondering about these speakers here.”

“You can’t use those speakers.”  Did I say nice?

“Why not?”  I promptly inquired.

“Well, you see, those speakers are wireless, and you don’t have the transmitter.”  Hmmm,  I don’t have the transmitter…

“Oh.  Well, I know what I can do with them.”  I said.

“Sir, maybe you don’t understand, but these speakers simply won’t work without the transmitter, and no one knows where it is.”  Salesman of the year material here, folks.

“…Well, I would still like to buy them.  May I?”

Yes, I asked the nice, smart salesman if I could buy the speakers that were for sale, for the price that was plainly posted, that won’t work without the transmitter.  His confusion melted away into acceptance as he rang me up for the ‘defective’ speakers and the wire which I came in for originally.  He made sure that I knew about returning them, just in case, for some curious reason, they did not work.

Obviously, I had a plan from the beginning.  I noticed that one of the speakers was unmodified; it had no amplifiers, recievers, or anything else in it.  Score.  The second speaker had an amplified output for the first speaker to be hooked into.  My plan was simple.  Take this output, and rewire it directly to the drivers inside to make it function like a normal speaker.

First, I had to get the speakers in the room.  Not a difficult task, but explaining how one goes to get speaker wire and returns with speaker wire and speakers becomes tiring.  After amusing my roommates with the story, Ben went to the tv station [which he manages], and got the necessary tools for the operation.  By removing six small screws, the amplifier came out, and revealed that my plan was possible.  The amplification and wireless section could be completely bypassed by unsoldering two terminals, and connecting those terminals to the drivers directly.  Power for the speakers comes from a 1970’s vintage Fisher amplifier which I purchased for $15 when I was twelve.

Thirty minutes, two inches of heat shrink, one inch of solder, and several smiles later, it was done.  Not only do I have a pair of decent sounding speakers for $30, but I have a 2×25 watt amplifier, and a wireless receiver.  I can someday make RCA style inputs for the system, making it so the speakers use their own internal power, and any choice of source.

As Kevin Spacey so appropriately put it in American Beauty:

“I rule!”

With all the snow that has been falling, it was a natural event.  A group of young men walking to the dining hall discovered that the snow conditions were perfect for harvesting large chunks of snow.  One of the men [who shall remain nameless...] gathered a piece that was nearly the size of his own torso, and without question from his cohorts, brought the piece into the freshmen dorms. 

Not wanting to create a dorm versus dorm war, the nameless man decided to simply walk the giant piece through the hall.  That is until he found an open door with two unsuspecting freshmen watching some idiotic reality show inside.  In the nameless man walked, presenting the large, frozen gift to the young, frightened student.  After being rejected by the young man, the group headed back outside.

On the way back to their own dorms, the group grabbed two large chunks and contemplated the best method for their disposal.  One of the men suggested disposal in a shower stall of a neighboring suite.  So it was.  And it was good.  At least we thought so.

It has been said that revenge is a dish best served cold.  So, does cold mean days, or months, or years; or does it simply mean that your target does not expect retalliation?  Eating joyfully at one of the campus eateries, together with those whose shower was so recently “snowed in”, all seemed calm.  Finishing early, some of the men decided to leave.  It wasn’t until later that we realized everyone who left were victims of the snow caper.

Upon arriving in their suite, one of our heroes [who are all gentlemen and scholars] noticed the floor in his room was unusually damp.  The air was full of strange humid aromas that were reminiscent of cold weather camping, and the nameless man turned on the light to the bathroom. 

I…uh…The namless man did not know how so much snow could have been put into such a small space in such a short period of time.  It was as if frosty himself had crapped himself silly on the toilet, cut of his arms off in the sinks, and melted the rest of himself in the shower. 

Half an hour later we had the mess cleaned up, and celebrated with a movie and drinks.  Just remember: revenge is a never ending cycle, and certainly a dish best served cold.

One week ago, one of my roommates developed some severe eye irritation.  A trip to the emergency room revealed that he developed corneal ulcers from bacteria growing under his contact lenses.  During one of the several follow-up visits, there was a significant wait due to a major vehicle accident.  While we waited, the nurse decided we needed something to do.  She brought us an outlined picture that had in it other hidden pictures; like something you may have been handed in the fourth grade.  These puzzles were cleverly designed to occupy you at your little desk, while the teacher sipped whiskey from her coffee mug, writing love letters to her eighteen year old boy-toy on school letterhead.

After about an hour we had finally found all of the hidden items, just as the E.R. doctor entered the room.  He noticed that we were deeply involved in the completion of the puzzle and the following words fell from his mouth: “Would you guys like some crayons?  I hear Clarkson students are good at coloring.”. 

I have made a pact with myself and my roommates.  Whenever we witness someone doing something that is dangerous, idiotic, or otherwise stupid, we are going to ask them if they would like some crayons. 

I think you should do the same. 

“Would you like some crayons?”

Somehow, time has a peculiar manner of sneaking by, announcing its presence only when, say, a final exam is nearing commencement.  I don’t know where the time went, but do any of us?  I can seldom think of an activity that slows the clock anymore, except during a recitative lecture in fluid mechanics in the early afternoon [when most of our bio-clocks say we should be napping]

Battle tactics, 11 December, 2006:

06:00:00 - sit up in bed and destroy alarm clock.  Again.

06:00:15 - morning constitutional.

06:00:18 - dress in comfortable exercise clothing and run down to the gym…what?…of course, I realize only three seconds have passed, maybe you just need some practice!

06:05:00 - cardio work out on the rowing machine

07:04:42 - shower

07:05:00 - depart for chow hall [what, can't you take a satisfying 18 second shower?].

07:08:00 - eat.  food. 

07:30:00 - return to room, prepare notes and writing utencils.

07:35:00 - nap time.

08:02:37 - wake up and run frantically to the final that I am already two minutes and thirty seven seconds late for.

08:04:00 - arrive to the final and realize I have the formula sheet and books for the wrong exam.

11:00:01 - walk out of examination room holding buttocks to prevent them from falling off.

11:06:00 - create battle tactics for Tuesday.

Hmm.

Back in reality, I have five finals this week.  It will be wonderful to have them out of the way.  It will signify my continuing approach to graduate status, let alone establish me as a matriculated student at Clarkson University.  Woah.  Half an hour gone already.  CURSE YOU, TIME!!!

We all need to press it.  We all want to press it.  It becomes harder to press as more time passes between presses.  But pressing it is essential to the maintainence of the mind.  When it is pressed, nothing else matters.  Nothing else exists.  IT is the button which ables us to focus on a simple action so completely that there is no bandwidth for any other information to travel through the brain.  This extra information is all brought to a screeching halt and waits in queue for retrieval at a later time.

I was fortunate enough this past weekend to have such an experience during a martial arts test.  These tests are designed to push you beyond your limitations and to determine the strength of your body, mind, and spirit.  Near the end of the test I was beginning to wane dramatically during the fighting rounds.  I remember only three or four rounds of the eight rounds occurring, and as the fighting went on, I began to think of only one thing.  Stand.  It did not matter if I was hitting anyone, or if I myself was being hit.  I was entirely focused on remaining upright.  I don’t even know why this became my ultimate goal; as being laid out on the ground would have put me in a lower state of energy.

The real surprise was immediately following the test.  For the first time in several months, my mind was absolutely calm.  I did not have to think about quieting my thoughts.  My mind had invoulentarily paused all of the information that was not essential to standing up.  This feeling lasted for hours, and even now I do not feel like so much is happening that I can’t organize it or accomplish it.  Perfect timing, really, as final exams will begin in fourteen days.

Find your own button.  Press it as needed.  Noodle salad