Time Is Money.

Prepare yourself for abstract thought and the blending of words and numbers.

Life has become increasingly more stressful in the last few months (that's my own choice, of course). It rarely leaves me with a moment to breathe and think. I find that I simply don't have enough time. There's always something that gets left out, something misplaced, something undone, something forgotten.

I have always pictured life as if I was a swimmer atop a cresting wave. At times, my body will rise high above the waves, propelled with great force by the power below. I spread my arms and mimic the birds, soaring over the horizon. Yet, with the inevitability that gravity brings to all life, I tumble head over heels toward the cold, dark depths of the ocean. Water rushes around me, pummeling my defenseless form.

That is what life is to me. Up and down, but always driven forward by time.

Time. Time is a dimension that is fairly well defined in the United States of America. Seconds, minutes, and hours. We dance like ballerinas to the tick of the clock. It has been decided by our superiors that each second is vital. The server did not bring our food quick enough (a matter of minutes); I was late because I missed the bus (I was no more than 20 seconds walking time away); they tried buying comic con tickets, but they were an hour late (San Diego Comic Con tickets sold out in 1 hour. 130,000 tickets. In 1 hour).

Seconds, minutes, hours, tick, tick, tick. The clock is King.

Time is not just defined by the clock. Time is also defined by another concept. Money. You have undoubtedly heard that Time is Money. Indeed, this is the truest sense of capitalism. Why? Because people are slaves to time, bound by its inexorable march onward. Thus, if time is money, then people are slaves to money. Therefore, he who  controls the money controls the people.

This, then, is the critical disaster of capitalism.

We sit in our coffee shops, sipping our five dollar frothy beverages and debate the merits of capitalism over socialism. "Capitalism is risk, and risk is freedom" we say. "True, it's the freedom to fail, yet it's also the freedom fly to the highest heights of the human pyramid." We are all just one step away from being the next Bill Gates. So we tirelessly toil, while dreaming of that day. That one one glorious day that we will be exalted above the others. After all, we wouldn't want to be like those poor, lazy folk who live off the labors of others. Those filthy, wretched folk who sup at the table of welfare. The workers pay for those who do not or will not work. Surely the freedom to fail to feed yourself is better than than the un-freedom that comes with having your hard-earned money stolen from you to feed others?

Here we fall into the sickeningly sweet-sounding trap that is our "freedom". For our freedom enslaves us to the pursuit of money, and therefore enslaves us to those with money.

The crucial question of this century arises: Is it better to be a slave to the poor or to the rich? For as surely as the socialist is a slave to the less fortunate, the capitalist is a slave to the wealthy.

~Piebald

To Dugg or Not To Dugg

The bombs have fallen this past week, igniting an internet firestorm.

19 18 Kids and Counting, the popular (maybe?) television show on TLC has found itself in a graveyard of other cancelled programs. As is becoming more common, the internet was at the forefront of the news and opinion pieces. Blogs were thrown around like water, and Facebook has been bombarded by another wave of likes and shares. Condemnation first, followed by a spirited defense, with the title of King (or Queen!) Holier Than Thou as the prize. Being a "blogger" myself, I figured that I should jump in, get my feet wet, and, perhaps, secure the crown.

I have my fingers crossed for it being a big crown of the purest yellow gold. Rubies should adorn the pointy parts, with a modest diamond above the forehead. The diamond will be something small and insignificant, just a bit of a sparkle to catch a Kardashian's eye. I would wear it on my trip to Africa or Vietnam, where I will adopt an adorable little baby. The baby will grow up and be loved by the nanny and, of course, the television. Perhaps I will name the baby America, to give him a hope of the future. Because that's what America is. It's hope...hope for wealth if you're a white guy, hope for life if you're black, and hope for liberty for all. But I digress...

Back to the Duggars!

__________________________________________________________________________________

I would like to start with a hypothetical story. In this tale, our protagonist is a young teenage girl by the name of Jess. As our story begins, we find Jess on the cusp of young adulthood. It is her first day of high school, and she has decided that she wants to be the first female President of the United States, when she gets older. Her father, the town mayor, beams with pride as she steps onto the bus that first day, and her mother's tears of joy fall heavy upon the pavement. Their daughter has the potential to change the world, and they know it.

The first half of the passes for Jess, cloaked in anxiety and syllabus shock. She laughs with her friends, groans when the boy next to her treats the room to a healthy dose of methane, and smiles when the teacher praises her for bringing a fancy calculator to class. Everything goes so well that, by lunchtime, she is full of confidence and assurance. She will be a somebody, and she will make a difference.

At lunch time, the mood turns sour. The seniors, bedecked in their hideous letter jackets, choose to pick on a small freshman boy. While not encouraged, hazing is certainly only rarely punished by the administrators. Thus, the first few weeks are frequently rough on the new students. Jess's friends tell her this in conspiratorial whispers as they watch the scene unfold.

Jess tries to ignore the bullying, until one of the young men shoves the boy off his seat. Shouts and cheers erupt from the cafeteria, as the remaining seniors circle around the boy.  Nostrils flaring, Jess stands tall and pushes her way through the gathering crowd. Fists raised and feet squared, she stands over the new boy, ready to fight off his attackers. The senior who instigated the fight makes a crass remark about trees and kissing before attempting to step around Jess.

Her training from her martial arts class kicks in. Jess brings her foot down at an angle and smashes into the young man's shin. Another strike brings her knee to his groin. The young man collapses on the ground at her feet, his shattered shin bone poking up beneath his jeans, while blood pools around him.

Overcome with shock and grief, Jess barely registers as the paramedics rush him away. She is led to the office to await the arrival of her parents. A long talk between the principal and her parents erupts in a shouting match before cooler heads prevail.

The senior's parents pressed charges. Their son would have a parent limp and had to have both testicles surgically removed due to rupture. The judge was merciful and sentenced the girl to community service, allowing her record to be sealed and expunged. It was in defense of another, which affected the outcome of the trial, in addition to her age. Her parent's attorney argued quite persuasively that Jess did not know what she was doing. It could not be considered assault since she was so young.

Jess returned to school after a 2 week suspension, and her life began to normalize. The community service was served during the 3 summers of her high school years, but even that was over before she knew it. College came and went. Her parents were there to cry more tears as she was handed her bachelor's degree in political science, and 2 years later they were there again to watch as she received her master's degree.

A few words in the right ear and her father landed her a job in the campaign office of the soon-to-be President of the United States. From there, it was all downhill, as they say. From the campaign office to the cabinet and then into the Senate. Years later, she was preparing herself for her first Presidential debate, when an aide handed her a tablet and played her a clip. In the video, a news anchor accused Jess of attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon. They labelled her a child murderer and condemned her campaign as hypocritical. According to the news, while her platform hailed peace as the savior of mankind, her actions so many years ago clearly indicated that she was a rage-filled miscreant with a strong inclination to harm others.

The higher ups in the political party were appalled. They immediately pulled their support of Jess's race, and she was left out to hang.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Now, this hypothetical story does not match perfectly with the story of the Duggars. It wasn't designed that way. It was merely created to make the reader think about actions and consequences and the over reliance on media. We let ourselves be fooled by what we read. It's a dangerous thing to do. When you don't know all the facts, at what point do you say that you know enough to condemn someone?

~The Piebald Penguin

The Internet and How We Destroy Ourselves

There is an issue that I wish to bring before you, dear people of the internet. An issue of great importance, yet, somehow, it seems to go unnoticed; accepted by society as the norm, this issue must brought to a head. Friends, strangers, acquaintances. We are doing it all wrong.

Horrifically wrong.

I have 2 stories for you to read. 2 heart-wrenching stories. This post will reference these as if you have them open, because I have them open as I write this. If you know anything about me, you probably know that I work in the theoretical, typically. I rarely cite specific sources. I never mean to pull attention away from the hard work of the creators of the works I reference, I merely work better by reading something, then letting it sit for a while before I create my own work. Regardless, these two posts, both by the same author need to be brought directly to your attention.

Before you follow me down the rabbit hole, allow me to provide some specific instruction. Read the first story, and then read some of the comments at the bottom of the page. You don't need to read all the comments, but I would encourage you to read enough to understand the gist of the argument. Following that, please read the second story. Then, return here and listen to my inefficient voice.

Click here for the first story.

Now for the second story, click here.

Have you finished reading both stories? In the order prescribed? Then let's have an honest discussion.

Are you crying? Did your heart break? Mine did. I couldn't get through the second story (the first chronologically), without crying. Do you know why? Because I read the most recent story first. I read as she sought to free herself from the oppression of the internet. Her fear, guilt, and sorrow. Her desire to be understood.

Then, I read the earlier article from her. I felt the mother's pain at the loss of her son. My heart ached to know of her suffering. The struggles that her family have gone through. I do not know this family personally. I was not privy to the story when it broke more than a year ago. Yet, I still suffer with her. I suffered more to know that, even after a year, the public still could not understand this mother. The collective people of the internet did not even know this heroic woman. She stood up and brought her life and the lives of her family under scrutiny. All of that was done that her life may act as a warning to the rest of the world. So I cried. I cried because I could sense her pain. I cried because the world had been cruel to her.

And then I made a crucial mistake. I finished reading her plea for understanding, and I shifted my attention to the comments below. As I grieved for this woman, I left myself vulnerable to the hate that came from the people in the comments. As the poisonous barbs flew, my grieving turned to anger. I quickly knew a new pain, and it came from the double-edged blade of hatred. Hatred, not towards the grief-stricken family of the brave young man. No. It was hatred directed solely towards the haters. The wicked individuals who sat behind their fortresses of solitude and spewed forth their toxic diatribe.

Where is Bellerophon and his Pegasus to slay this virtual Chimera. Alas, he doesn't exist. There are no heroes to save us from ourselves.

How could anyone say such things as this:

"As a gay man who spent three years helping men who were dying alone and in pain from the plague, I have no sympathy or forgiveness for her.

I feel disgust that she found compassion AFTER she drove her own son to death."

Or this:

"this woman deserves only contempt and disgust. "

And of course:

"God isn't using your story to build bridges for others. This God you worship doesn't exist, and the religion you follow has killed your child. If you really want to understand what happened and change for the better, start with realizing that God has no part in this."

Who ARE these people? This family has suffered so much more than I can possibly imagine. Unbelievable amounts of pain. Pain from the loss of their son. Anguish and guilt from the clear belief that they drove him away. The mother has spent years and years suffering from her guilt. Not only does she say as much, but you can feel the warmth from her tears in her words. Her blood has soaked the pages of both accounts of the events of her son's life.Yet. Yet, all she asks for is understanding.

Understanding that they were wrong. She acknowledges it. She believes it through and through. She comes to the public on her knees, a broken soul. The purpose of the account is to serve as a warning to the world.

Please, she begs, please do not do what we did.

But the world rejects her. Rather than see her as a grieving mother, who has made fewer mistakes than the rest of us, the world of the internet condemns her. They spit on sobbing soul.

Who are we.

Anger and Sorrow be unto us. For we condemn ourselves.

~tpp

Can I Get That Without The Bread?

...also can you wash your hands, change your gloves, use a separate pan, and hold the sauce.

I'm starting a new series! I might even start a whole new blog, although that is still just an idea.

The NEW SERIES (caps for emphasis, for some reason) will be titled "Can I Get That Without The Bread". It will focus primarily on the adventures that Sunshine and I have while discovering, together, what it means to be Gluten Free.

Being that this is the first entry in the series, it's probably a good idea to begin with an introduction of the topic. Gluten is a protein found in cereals that include wheat, barley, and rye death. Gluten is death. Well, not really. But hyperbole tends to attract attention. IT'S SO FLUFFY I'M GONNA DIE!!!! (see? Hyperbole sells.)

Over the last decade or so (give or take a few millennia), humans have been evolving towards extinction. It seems that every so often, we discover one more thing that is very very very dangerous, or it causes cancers, or it just kills you outright. Because reasons. Honestly, though, it seems that the more "enlightened" we become, the more dangerous living becomes.

However, I'm not here to list all the things that could kill you right this very instant. I'm here to talk about gluten. Scientists and doctors (who are really just scientists with a license to experiment on people), have figured out that some people do not cope well with a certain protein known as gluten. More specifically, or more commonly, they are referring to Celiac Disease. Which is essentially the inability to process gluten in the digestive tract.

This can certainly be very harmful to someone with the condition. Thus, a need to avoid gluten-containing products was created. This demand has, quite naturally, attracted new suppliers who wanted to create Gluten Free products for the individuals in need. Manufacturers can now have their products certified with a GF tag, that tells any given person that the food has no more than 20 parts per million of gluten in it.

Look for this on a product. It can be a life saver.

This is a great development. What's more, it is becoming increasingly easier to find producers that are dedicated about being gluten free. They have strict control over their facilities and do their utmost to eliminate cross-contamination, while making their food still taste good. It's a good thing.

What's not as good: At some point, it was determined that being gluten free was trendy. Part of this revolved around certain popular diet programs that attempted to eliminate carbohydrates by removing bread from the menu. The rest of it is just people being people. They want to jump on the bandwagon so there were studies that "proved" that gluten made you fat and gave you heart disease and what not.

The reason that this turned out to be less than ideal for the world of gluten free is as follows: the new trend flood the market with demand for products that were mostly gluten free. An individual who doesn't have to worry about cross-contamination or parts per million can be less discriminating with his diet. As long as it "appears" gluten free than the individual will be satisfied. Thus, restaurants developed gluten free menus, but they failed to train their staff to do simply things like smile and change their gloves when asked. (As an aside, there was once that a Chipotle employee nearly refused to change his gloves, despite a request to do just that. IT'S NOT FREAKING DIFFICULT TO CHANGE YOUR STUPID GLOVES AND STILL SMILE ABOUT IT. I WORK IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY. IT TAKES LIKE 3 SECONDS AND YOU'RE JUST A STUPID SELFISH PERSON WHO BELONGS IN YOUR MOM'S BASEMENT FOREVER).

I digress. Back to the topic at hand!

So, there are now lots of products out there that claim to be gluten free or should be gluten free, but they aren't. For several reasons, a couple of those reasons have already been covered, and the rest seem to follow logically. However, the point of this series is not to get bogged down by a nitty, gritty analysis of gluten and what's ok and what's not. There are a lot of great resources out there. Blogs, books, cook books, and more.

I want this series to focus more on the abstract struggle of becoming gluten free in a world of processed goods, while having some fun in the process.

While I have mentioned Celiac Disease above, that is not actually the issue at hand. You see, Sunshine went to the allergist after having some serious problems with breathing. He ran a ton of scratch tests and, when the results came back, informed her that she was really allergic to rye and barley (there are a few other things on the list to, but those aren't relevant right now).

Now, to clarify: she's not allergic specifically to gluten. However, since both rye and barley contain the protein known as gluten, it is easier to tell someone that she has to be gluten free. Because who knows if something contains rye or barley, am I right? People are ignorant for as long as they can be.

But that's going to be it for this post. I got kinda wordy (that would surprise my middle school English teacher, but apparently no one else). I want to reiterate that I'm not looking to post recipes and dishes on here. While I may do just that from time to time, I feel that there are already a sufficient number of blogs that deal with that. The information is out there.

I really just want people to have the opportunity to connect with a couple that is learning all this in a hurry. It's been life changing. Definitely for Sunshine, and I would hazard to say that it's been very influential in my life as well. I will never believe that I have it worse than she does. But it is a difficult process for both of us. Still, I keep a smile on my face and try to keep one on hers too.

More to come!

~the piebald penguin

Generation Meh. Millennials FTW!

The Now Factor

 

    Millennials, Generation Y, The Whatever Generation. Our generation has been called by many names. Personally, I prefer to refer to my era of birth-mates as the "Now Generation". I have been accused of not caring about the world around me. I spend all my days cooped up in front of my computer, interacting with faceless profiles in a virtual setting. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention to all the horrible things you were saying about me. I was too engrossed by the flashy lights and sounds and oooh shiny! I have been told that I am part of a generation that doesn't want to give anything back. We just want to take everything for ourselves. Apparently, I'm a narcissist (and I didn't even know it!). I can't get a job because I don't apply myself; I spend too many years going to school and not working; I don't follow orders; and, most importantly, I can't listen.

    Newsflash: If I have exhibited signs of having poor listening skills, perhaps you should do your part to prevent global warming and shut your mouth. Do us all a favor and stop being boring. Please? See, I even asked nicely because I was learned (sic) my manners like a good little boy. I was taught that being polite and waiting for the right opportunity went hand-in-hand. Guess what? I reject your reality. There, I said it. I will be polite. I will also desire that everything gets done in the now. Let's discuss this in depth.

Why I want my life to revolve around the word "Now"

    The simple answer to the question of now or later is that it has to be now. Why must I be such a rebel? Why can't I see that it's better if I work long and hard for it? Why am I obsessed with the concept of instant gratification?

    Two reasons: Firstly, I want it now because I can have it now. Straight and simple. You had to wait several days for your letter to arrive before your lover could even think about responding. You had to sit in your room for hours waiting for that phone call, chained by the same cord that keeps your phone close to the wall jack. You had to wait to get noticed because that's how it was done in your time. However, I am not attached to the mailbox. I am not attached to the phone call. I am not attached to any location, time, or purpose. I have the opportunity to talk to someone in space as easily as I can talk to my friend in the next room. Why wouldn't I take advantage of that amazing ability? It's essentially a superpower.

    I can. I can communicate in the blink of an eye, receiving aid in a timely manner. I can change the world from my mobile device! I can manage my finances with the touch of a button. I can speak and have a computer transpose my words onto the computer screen, awaiting my command to save my thoughts for time immemorial. I can watch an astronaut perform experiments in space. Oh and I can ask him questions while he's running the experiments. Yep. Me. I'm a nobody. I don't work for NASA (although it would be so freaking awesome if I did); I didn't design a rocket. But I have the power to get noticed. Because that's the power of the internet. That's the power that I hold. I harness the storm of information and direct it from my fingers.

Because We Can.

    I want instant gratification because I can have instant gratification. I am despised because I have adapted to the change.

    Secondly (and really the most important point that I will make tonight (at least in the eyes of the author)), I have a desire to live in the now because I have to have it now. My desire is shaped by necessity. I don't have the luxury of waiting. You, the baby boomers, had that luxury. You were born into a world of peace and quiet. You were taught that the world will wait while you work your way to the top. Innovation is all well and good, but peace is paramount. The world was tired of conflict. It was tired of sacrifice. Hastiness brought confusion and action brought pain.

     I wish I could have grown up in that world. I wish my world was a different place. It pains me to say that all my wishing will not change anything. Why? Because your generation failed. You, baby boomers. You failed. You had a "Cold War" because you were afraid of action. You failed to change the world. Believing that it could wait. You fools.

    I no longer have an option to change the world later. I must make a difference now. You know that thing called global warming? It was a myth in your heyday. It is a reality in mine. We call it climate change. It scares me. However, I know that if I don't act, then my children won't have the luxury of seeing the sun rise in the morning. That is the burden that you have laid upon my back. You believe me to be disrespectful to authority. My generation "suffers" from Attention Deficit Disorder. You hide behind lies of disorders. You diagnose our "problems" at every turn, but you can't seem to recall that it was you who ruined this world. Your greed. Your deceptive nature.

    Are computers to blame? Is social media destroying our brain cells? Do we lack social skills? Who are you to judge? Your idea of a good time involved LSD and hate-filled anti-government protests. Woohoo there. I wish I had the time to relax and get high. I do. But you have taken that from me. You were irresponsible with your time on this earth. I must have everything now because I have no choice. You robbed me of the option to choose.

    In conclusion, I would like to point out that your parents placed the blame for your rebellious behavior on rock and roll. You have placed the blame for my rebellious behavior on computers and technology. However, I say that time will prove which rebellion was justified and which was simply selfishness. Do not envy my opportunity to live in the now, and definitely do not stand in the way of the work I have to do. Because I have to save this planet. That is not a choice I was given. If I don't act now, then there will be no later.

Just to end on a happy note. Boom! Instant gratification. It feels good.

The Briefs of the American Civil War

This isn't even boxer briefs. Just briefs. Written late at night after a rough day at work, so forgive the somewhat jumpy nature of everything...if you will.

Today, we are going to briefly talk about the entirety of the American Civil War to give you all an understanding of what is going to be covered throughout the quarter.

The American Civil War started in April of 1861. To this day it is the most violent and deadly conflict on the North American continent. So many men died during the war that it will be remembered for a very long time to come.

The war was fought between the United States of America and the Confederate States of America. It was a confusing and frightening time for our country. Bonds were broken, brother fought brother, and families were divided by the formation of the new nation.

We say the war started on April 12, 1861, although it really doesn’t have an official beginning date. The tension between the South and the North slowly built to a boiling point until the elections. Then, when it was clear that Abraham Lincoln was going to be the next President of the United States, the situation became hostile in a hurry.

In December of 1860, South Carolina was the first state to tell everyone that they would rather live in a new country than have to listen to Abraham Lincoln. So, they seceded. No, no, not succeeded, “Seceded”. It means to withdraw from a treaty or alliance. Basically they stopped listening to Abraham Lincoln so that they could elect the President that they wanted. Jefferson Davis was the man for the job.

On April 12, Confederate forces attacked a fort held by Union troops. This is why we say that this was the start of the war. The fort was known as Fort Sumter.

Over the next four years, the Confederate and Union armies would battle for supremacy. The war was full of complicated military maneuvers and vicious battles.

Fighting finally stopped in April of 1865, very nearly 4 years to the day from when it all started. The end of the war was bittersweet for everyone involved. War is not a good thing, so when it is over, it is better for the country. However, this war brought so much death, that whole towns disappeared from the maps. The slaves were free, but they didn’t have places to live. They also didn’t have jobs, so they couldn’t afford to pay for food, clothing, and other necessities.

As if that was not enough, one final tragedy brought this sad tale to a close. On the 14^th of April 1865, President Abraham Lincoln was shot in the back of the head. He lived for just a few more hours before dying. Thus, a war that had claimed more than 600,000 American lives, snatched one more as hostilities were ending.

~The Piebald Penguin

Heads and Heels

The Heart

Why does it beat
with the rhythm of my feet?

It goes where it is led,
but it fights with my head.

Hearts and minds fight,
for the lover's bite.

Yet the touch
means much.

My heart led me to the bar,
but my mind kept me in the car.

The hands on the clock ticked around the circle. The shadows slowly emerged from the darkness. Coffee, cars, cartography, and champions. Irish champions. Laughter and freedom. Trust and time. Pizza and porters. A night, a day, and another night and remembrance of all.

~The Piebald Penguin

Fleeting Freedom

"Fleeting Freedom"

A flurry footsteps echoed across the polished tiles. Forward, back, a spin and a flourish. The drums beat the rhythm as the musicians played the well-known tune. Step. Step. Step. Beat, beat, beat. Hearts thumped in time with the leather-clad instruments. Candles flickered and cast shadows across the walls of marble. The melody wound down; the dancers slowed their steps, final spins bringing women and men together. Their hands raised in applause. Those too tired to continue left a vacant hole in the middle of the crowd, but it was soon filled by others, new to the party. The vocalist called the start of their next piece and, with a count of three, struck her tambourine. Ladies in elegant gowns and gentlemen in fine suits formed lines across from one another. A strike on the tambourine. Masculine hands were extended beyond the dividing line. A jingle of bells. With feminine grace, the hands opposite reached towards their counterparts. A drum beat and another shake of the singer’s instrument. The couples spun together, and the dance was begun again. 

Sometimes, I just wish to dance. I was unable to determine who painted this picture. I also don't know the title. I even copied the image into Google Image search. All I got was that it was a modern painting and on sale. I am going to call it "Fleeting Freedom". The woman is barefoot and that makes me think of someone who is fleet of foot. Nimble, quick, and graceful. Grace brings a measure of freedom. I danced with a barefoot woman once, in an art museum. I wonder if she remembers.

Live life like a dancer. Full of passion and light on your feet. 

~The Piebald Penguin

April, That We May Fool Ourselves Into Believing The World Is As Simple As We Want It To Be

Official Disclaimer: This post has been flagged by The Piebald Penguin as a good-natured joke. Smile. And laugh. For it will keep you young.


"From each according to his [or her!] ability, to each according to his [basically it means "her"] need(s)."

~Karl Marx

Liberty may be a lady, but we know that freedom is not free. It was made for with the blood of men.

Thank you Karl. He hit the nail on the head. Men work, and women spend our money. Obviously, we know that in a perfect world, this is the ideal situation. However, in this world, women tend to spend too much. Self control. That's really what it's about. I believe that we need to quit fooling ourselves. We need to start a war for self control. To bring freedom to everyone. We, men, need to unite today, 1 April 2013, and fight against the tyranny of out of control women. We spend so many hours, each and every day, trying to provide, but in one night of shopping, the women just throw money out into the air. I implore you, men of this world, to stand firm today and help teach women the self control that they lack. We have the ability to teach by example. We just need to be more open about our desires. No more selflessness from us. Fight. For FREEDOM!

Giddyup!*

This message is sponsored by the Men for a Freer America Foundation
*no animals were harmed in the making of this blog
**although some women may have been harmed

~The Piebald Penguin

Do Forget to Write

I started a fire in my kitchen today.

While your first thought was hopefully something along these lines...

It was really even less exciting than...

Oh, it was intentional too. I should probably mention that before I get like a bajillion (scientific term for "a lot") phone calls.

So let me tell you the story. Today, I finally had the energy to clean my room (which is cool and awesome and yay clean rooms!). During said cleaning, I found many interesting things such as:

1. The Christmas presents that I bought for my oldest sister and then forgot to send to her. On an ironic note, I promised her that I would get them to her before Easter...

2. A bunch of fortunes from Panda Express fortune cookies. Apparently, I like to put them everywhere but the trashcan, where they belong.

3. One very official-looking card thingy that turned out to be my dad's baptism card. I have no idea how it got here, but it is probably something that I should return to him. Naturally, rather than sending him a message informing him that I will mail said card back to him, I have decided to publicly post about it on my "anonymous" blog for everyone (including him) to see.

4. 9 empty glasses, 5 dirty plates, 15 empty bottles/cans, and a stack of napkins. So...yeah, that's like half of our glasses and plates. I was wondering why it seemed that we were so short of those things recently.

5. Books everywhere! I thought the fortunes were everywhere, but I was wrong. I have, apparently, stashed books in every nook and cranny possible. Of course, I'm sticking to the belief that there is a book gnome, who steals my books and hides them from me.

6. Two cards, Christmas cards to be exact, from a person I am not allowed the luxury of caring about anymore. They are now dust and ash in a dumpster. And it felt good to watch the yellow-blue flames lick around the edges of the paper. I watched as the glittery decorations on the front bubbled and melted. I swept the remnants of a happier time into a plastic bag and tied it shut. It was cathartic. I have found peace for tonight.

Also, over the last week, I have finished five novels (the shortest being roughly 400 pages and the longest well over 1200) and a lengthy atlas on Armored Warfare. I haven't read so much in such a short time in a very long time.

~The Piebald Penguin

Snarky Snakes and Sounds of the Sound. Also, Sexy Nerds

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boink

oink?

So...I was reflecting on blogs this evening (CRAZY, right?). I decided that my blog is what it is. It used to be sleek and sexy and all kinds of organized and thorough and thoughtful (an organized nerd is basically the new athlete on steroids. It's hot. And it's cheating)

Anyways....what was I talking about? Oh yeah, my blog. Or maybe I was just talking. I think it was probably just the latter. Or was it the ladder? an adder on a ladder. A ladder adder. Would he become a madder ladder adder if we asked him to subtract?

RAWRRRRRRR (snakes say rawr, right? I'm pretty sure I read that in a book one time)

So, we have a madder ladder adder, but what if it was the latter and not the ladder. In which case I would say "splatter the latter and flatter the hatter will be." Ha. Ha. Ha. Ok, my jokes may be as awful as they sound, but... Sounding sounds on the Sound sends sounds southward. Or something. The best part about this is: I'm just making this up as I go. I didn't plan to write a post today. I definitely didn't plan to be in a corny or cheesy (or weird) mood today. But here we are, talking about sounds and snakes. Oh, picture of the Sound

I can't take credit for this picture. I do have my own pictures of the Sound and the Space Needle, but they are on my phone. I am way too lazy to move them from the phone to the computer. Seriously, sending myself an email? So much work. Also, if you hadn't noticed, I'm hoping to win an award for the longest photo caption on a blog with the name Piebald Penguin in it. So far, this is the only caption in the running. But there are bound to be others. At some point. You know, for competition's sake.

Ohhhh! I just had a great idea. I'm going to hold a competition on my blog. I'll be the judge. There will be several different categories. And my previous blog posts will be the things involved in the competition. Yeaahhhh boiiiii (for some reason, unintelligent people spell "boy" as "boiii" when writing out "yeah boy". It seems...unnecessary. But who am I to judge? Unless we're referring to my new competition. In which case, I am the only one to judge! I am THE JUDGE. That is all)

Fin!
~tPP

A RollerCoaster

Perhaps you (all) are waiting on the edge(s) of your seat(s) for the story that was(is) Valentine('s) Day(s of our lives). Perhaps (not). But regardless, here is the story of the day (after) Valentine's Day. The Day that was a success (and a failure at the same time).

The Day started early in the morning. The sun had yet to rise from it's bed on the horizon, but at least the clouds were hiding too. Rain can absolutely ruin everything, thus, it was fortuitous that the day happened to be the one day that week that was going to be rainless. Clouds were high and sparse, wind was light, and the sun would eventually react to its long confinement with anger. But back to the predawn hours of the morning. They involved a stumbling block of a conversation and followed by breakfast. A delightful breakfast. Provided by The Piebald Penguin. French Toast on homemade French bread (again, made by The Piebald Penguin). Blueberry syrup and orange juice complemented the simple fare. (by the way, I highly recommend eating French toast this way. Buy a breadmaker. The bread is easy to make and it only takes a few hours. Then, you have a ready supply of tasty, fresh bread and that is the real secret to amazing French toast)

Ok, so breakfast with Sleeping Beauty was followed by another..uh..disagreement..which was sorted out...mostly. Then, I drove her to a massage parlor for a prearranged hour-long massage (The prearrangement was with the massage place. Sleeping Beauty didn't know about it until that morning). After a relaxing massage, Sleeping Beauty returned to my car, and I drove her to a small nail and hair salon. The next two hours were occupied by a manicure, pedicure, updo, and makeup application (for her, obviously. I was in the car for most of it with the exception of a fun trip to Wendy's where I discovered that I needed a "token" to get into the restroom...basically I had to pay to use it). Beautified, Sleeping Beauty returned from the salon, and we drove back to my place. Lunch was more French toast (this makes me smile). It was already made, and we are young enough to get away with it! Sleeping Beauty took a nap, while I shaved. Then we got ready for dinner. Oh, part of the surprise was that I bought her a dress and shoes and all. I admit that I had help from a friend in picking everything out. Let's be honest, that's the only reason the outfit turned out so well.

Bam!

Dinner was downtown at a fancy(ish) place. It was the first time I've ever been to a fancy(ish) place. I even branched out and tried calamari for the first time. And I ordered a salad, just to complete the image. Then I gorged myself on steak. It was delicious. I mean, really. My steak was fantastic. We drank wine, it was a local pinot noir. We even valet parked. It was quite the experience. Then, the meal was over, the valet was tipped, and we pointed the headlights towards home. We changed back into normal clothes, then she went home. I saw her again twelve days later, and she broke up with me. I'm trying to decide if it's "karma" or perhaps irony? I don't know. Oh well. Thus concludes the story of the successful failure that was my Valentine's Day present.

Stay strong and Carry on!
~The Piebald Penguin

Close Your Eyes

Thinking about life is such a depressing activity. Mostly it's difficult right now because I'm trying to plan a surprise. It's going to be a big surprise, and, if everything works out, it will be amazing. Heck, even if only some of the planned things work out, it should still be amazing. But it's difficult because I have to keep things secret until everything is ready. I can't just say, "look, I'm doing x, y, and z, and now you can tell me how amazing I am." And it's difficult because, I am pouring so much time into this surprise that other things are starting to slip. Like my attitude. And my habits. And sleep. I was late to work a couple days ago. Like really late. But then they didn't need me at work so rushing around willy nilly to get there as fast as I could was all for naught. Oh well. Back to this surprise. It's going to be epic. I will post pictures of it at some point after it's all done, mostly because spoiling it, even in the slightest seems like a bad idea. Maybe I'm too fond of it being a surprise. Who is to say?

Yay for blogs that are mostly just rambling!

~TPP
P.S. it really is going to be a great surprise.

Read about how the surprise turned out here!

End of the World: Day 1

The day has dawned, thank goodness. We were all sure that we wouldn't live to see the morning. I'm writing from my laptop safe, for now, inside my apartment. There are fires all around us, but it looks like our building has escaped unscathed. I don't know how long this good fortune will last, but I'm still thankful for the small boon.

I heard that work got hit hard. That's really disheartening because I was hoping that we could hole up there on our way north. Oh, that's what we decided: we're heading north. The three of us talked about it last night, and we figured that if we can go somewhere that is only sparsely populated, then we'll stand a better chance of surviving this horror. I know our neighbors left yesterday. I watched as they all piled into their car and sped away. I warned them to stay inside for the first few days, let everything settle just a bit. That would be safer. But they are holding onto the hope.

Hope. I guess you could call us hopeful. Hopeful that we prepared well enough for this. There's plenty of food around, what with all the a lot of the people leaving our complex. More will probably leave today. Hope. I know that we all need to sleep a little before it gets dark, but, every time I try, I see the fires and hear the screams.

I'm going to try to keep my computer around so that I can journal each day. Hope. It's all for hope. At the very least, if we don't make it, maybe someone will find this journal in later years and remember that we tried.

Still alive,
The Piebald Penguin

Late Night Drive

Chasing Green Light,
In the Dark of Night.

If this World is full of life,
Then why is it so dead?

I wonder,
I ponder.

I wander.
Is this the end?

No, but it's not the beginning either.

~tPP

She Called Me Wonderful Man

Life has been full of adventures lately. Work has been an ever-present source of frustration, but that has been balanced out by the amazing development in my "local" rock climbing gym (they installed an auto-belay system that allows the climber to scale the walls safely without another person). Speaking of other people, I must include at least one mention of Sleeping Beauty in this post (well, this is the second mention). Sometimes work keeps us apart but the time that we have together is spent taking a break from the stress of the world. If you've never experienced this with another person, I must confide that it is so wonderful as to be irreplaceable in anyone's life, much less my own.

I find it in my nature to be vague. Straightforward, certainly. But still vague. Thanksgiving was homemade pizza and store-bought pumpkin pie. And odd-sounding combination for such a tradition-based holiday, but it suited me. The company suited me too.

Slumber.

~TPp

Sanitary Salutation

Things I did today:
Worked on an empty stomach (never a good idea);
Cleaned the shower...while taking a shower (pretty much the best idea I've ever had...possibly)
Went to see the new Bond movie (this falls somewhere in the "meh" category. Going to see movies in theaters are things that Goraxypox and I do on occasion and it's nice to relax and all that. So, in that sense, it was worth it. On the other hand, the movie had a number of...failings...so there's that)

I still think I've revolutionized shower cleaning. Now you will all have to try it because, let's be honest, who hasn't tried brushing your teeth in the shower. How about those of you who have brought a beer into the shower to drink and shower? Maybe, in college perhaps, you wore some clothes into the shower and washed them as you washed yourself. Well, now you have one more thing to try!

Ummm....well, I guess if you aren't a fan of closing the door, it's easier to just not have one?

At any rate, it's wet and cold and almost wintery with a hint of thanksgiving so I hope you all (as if more than a handful of people actually read this...) find family to spend the holidays with. They won't be with you forever, so cherish them now.

~TPP

Dear Self, Please Smile More

I realize that my blog used to be cool and exciting to read...and now it just sounds like I'm a 14-year old struggling with teenage angst. Thus, in an attempt to "get back to my roots," I present to you: Pearls Before Swine.

Pearls Before Swine - Stephan Pastis, 28 October 2012

It made me laugh, softly to myself. I need to laugh more, I think. Life is too serious these days.


Live, Laugh, and Love and enjoy the coming of winter.
~The Piebald Penguin

Affirming affection
through silent tears

Boom!

There's something majestic about a ship like this. Looked for copyright info but couldn't find it

Apparently Star Trek ships are also called ships of the line. So, a lot of Star Trek stuff popped up when I was looking for pictures. The nerd in me couldn't pass the opportunity up. copyright Gregory Stewart experimation.com

When I say there's something majestic about a ship of the line, I mean to say that it is so beautiful on the water, yet so dangerous in war. Majesty then is grace and power, yes? On another note, can you imagine the sheer terror that could be produced by one broadside? The ship on the right in the foreground is the HMS Victory. A rather well-known British 1st-rate battleship. Ships of this variety were armed with anywhere from 90 to 120 heavy cannons. The lightest of these cannons fired 18-pound lead and iron projectiles. Even assuming that a 1st-rate ship had nothing heavier (the bulk of their armament would most likely be 32-pounders), that would mean that when one broadside was fired (about half of the ship's guns, so let's say 50 guns at once), there would be a flying wall of 10,000 pounds of metal jettisoned from the side of the ship. Wow.

Ummm...got a bit carried away with the captions...sorry
~Piebald
Wasting away in a deluge.
Feeling the need to indulge honesty,
but fear keeps me quiet.

Avast Ye Scalliwags!

Arrrrrgggghhhhhhh!!!!!

  

“Pirate Ship” © Leonardo Amora Leite

The story goes like this...I wanted to scream, so I made a blog post. I disguised my shout of frustration as a clever homage to the pirates of old. Then, I went in search of "pirate" pictures to complete the post, but I got carried away looking at pictures of ships. I don't believe any of these pictures are by the same person. I found a copyright for the last one, although that is not to say that the rest of these pictures don't have/deserve copyright credit. I like to give credit to people who spend any amount of time doing something.

As an aside, I was carried away by the beauty of a wooden ship with sails, floating on the roiling ocean. It makes me sigh and get all dreamy in the eyes. I know, I know. You don't need to know that, but now you do! Ha! So...yeah, that's all today.

~TPP