Beyond This Door...

Turkey Day was alright for me, leaning on the side of crappy - Angel was rather sick, and The Bear developed a weird rash literally overnight. Once we made the rounds as far as family goes, we decided that they should both be taken to the ER to find out what's wrong. M'love was in quite a bit of pain, and hadn't had the best of days the day before. Teddy, meanwhile, seemed almost completely oblivious to the fact that he now looked like a slice of pizza, since it didn't seem to be an itchy type of rash.

After we checked in, we made our way to the waiting room. Clearfield Hospital isn't really known for it's speedy processing and treatment (sorry, but it's true), so I anticipated a rather lengthy and boring wait with a squirming 11 month old to keep me busy. Not only was the wait not terribly long, but when Angel went to the bathroom, I overheard one of the most bizzare and hillarious sentences ever come out of the mouth of a woman in the ER waiting room...

"They tried to stick a tree in my butt, see if it would grow."

Yeah. This chick actually said those exact words. No lie. Mortified and slowly descending into maddening laughter, I turned my head to see who'd said it. It came from the general direction of a rather... shall we say, choice... family, and the only two female vocal candidates were MUCH bigger than me, so I quickly turned my head back around and tried to stifle my growing case of the giggles.

When Angel came back, I headed out to the truck. For starters, I needed to get outside and smoke a cigarette. And two, I wanted to write those exact words down as quickly as possible so I wouldn't forget them when I wrote this, the inevitable entry on the moment. Once I got into the cab, I lit my cigarette, rolled down the window a bit, and opened the glove box to pull out a Micky-Dee's napkin. As I was writing, an ambulance arrived (oddly without sirens or lights, so I never noticed it til it was there) and a patient was being unloaded by the crew. The exchange between this crotchety old gent and the female EMT at the end of his gurney proved to be an unexpected bonus...

"I'll walk in there my own damned self, thank you..."

"No, you will stay right where you are."

Just like a mom would say to her unruly kid. Of course, it was one of those 'you had to be there' moments, but rare is it that anyone would get a double dose of Karma comedy in one night, let alone at the Clearfield Hospital ER... So of course I wrote that down, too, just as soon as I finished making sure I had my notes on the previous shot of teh funnay all squared up. Finishing my cigarette, I hurried back through the blustery Central Pennsylvania chill and into the ER waiting room, eager to share the whole experience with Angel.

Sometimes, even the not-so-good moments in life have a funny way of giving you something to smile about. Angel and Teddy are both fine, though Angel has bronchitis, which I know first-hand bites, and bites hard. Teddy's rash was just a reaction to a common antibiotic, and he should be fine in the next day or two.

One thing I do know for sure right now: You should never burn the candle at all three ends, especially on Black Friday...

UPDATE: Whoops. Forgot to re-mention: Don't forget that Wil will be on NUMB3RS tonight. Check your local listings. IGN has an article (with corresponding Fark Thread) featuring a quick 'interview' with Wil, who quickly and decisively dispells any rumors of a TV comeback, given his latest string of guest shots. No, our boss is happy being a writer, and we're all glad for it.

Not that it hurts to see teh Wheaton on teh Tube every so often, mind you...

Rejoice: Wheaton On NUMB3RS Tomorrow!

Happy Thanksgiving to you all. Nothing like celebrating 500 years of theft, deception, and really bad Karma. Fuck the Pilgrims, fuck Christianity making it out to be a lie of friendship and co-operation. You people should be ashamed of yourselves. Now, go eat your fucking turkey...

Now that the negative stuff is out of the way, it's time for some GOOD news: Wil's guest shot on NUMB3RS will air tomorrow night, according to this WWdN:IX post. ROCK!

Rare is it that I watch network TV shows. Most of the time, they're crap. But a few years ago, I was sucked in when Wil did his guest spot as Walter on CSI. Tomorrow night will be no different, as I'll be glued to my TV watching our fearless leader transform from blogging cool guy into douchebag comic book guy.

At least the WGA Strike didn't put the kibash on this one...

John Miller Starts A Blog

Live (sorta) from Electric Avenue...

Anyhow, my good friend and webcast pioneer John Miller, along with his partner Candy Churilla, has this radio show happening on Pirate Cat Radio in San Fransisco, CA. I've known John since his earlier webcasting days on FCCFree.com, back when he could drop F-Bombs and have Vince Desi (the genius behind the Postal game series) on the show uncensored. Ahhh, the Golden Age...

I'm missing the point here. It looks like Candy took it upon herself to open up a BlogSpot Blog to make posts about the show, and I hope she keeps up with it, because it's pretty much a no-brainer. Having a blog for a radio show is a logical association, as it gives listeners additional insight as to what goes on in the studio of the JMP.

In order to keep things fresh, I'm gonna see if I can't get myself in as an East Coast contributor to the blog. That means a call out to the coast, but oh well. That's the beauty of unlimited long distance, baby...

Will Winwood Man Up?

Apparently, Steve Winwood has a daughter he barely knew about, and now it's time to see if that's actually the case. The evidence is stacked up in favor of him being the father, but if you read this article, you'll find that alot of people have conspired to keep this hush hush over the decades. At the end, Winwood made this comment:

'My wife and I will contact Francesca in early December to determine whether or not I am indeed her biological father. If that is the case, our family very much look forward to meeting her.'

Now, the music world will be watching to see if Winwood actually lives up to his word and agrees to meet (and have a test done with) his daughter. You never hear anything bad about him in the press, he's a top-notch performer who has both earned and wholeheartedly deserves the respect of everyone in the business.

Me? I'm banking Steve will man up and reconcile with his long-lost daughter. After all, he did sing about "Higher Love," and if you ask me, there's no higher love than that of a parent and child...

Steering Perception, I Am

So. Why do I call myself The Lost Prophyt? Why did I choose a pen name based on a band who's only song I know is on the Need for Speed Underground soundtrack? Why did I use a Y? Why create the identity at all?

Deserves a bit of rationale, dun'it?

Alright then, here goes. Yes, the band was a bit of an influence. lostprophets rock, no doubt about it. But I've really only ever heard one of their songs, and it's fairly good, but nothing I'd burn onto a CD and jam in the car over and over. Normally, my mood determines if I keep it on the playlist in the game or not. But adding lost to prophet carries much more meaning than just that.

It's well known that I'm something of a Secular Humanist. A Prophet is a figure attached to religion. Because I could see myself as something of a (very, very, very minor) prophet, but for the human race, not for any specific deity. I don't preach the "obey" power trip like Jesus (yes, he was just a prophet) or Mohammad. In fact, I don't really preach at all. I think and speak for all our good, as a collective, IMHO. Slight societal changes, easily implimented, that could actually bring about a more well-thought out world view.

Lost plays in, given my status outside of the "norm" of the religious establishments. I am neither Christian, nor Muslim, nor Bhuddist, nor Satanist, nor Wiccan, nor Jedi, nor Pastafarian. No, to them, I'd be seen as a sort of lost soul, wandering without the love of their own chosen deity, a person to be actively "saved" to the point where you tell your own Aunt to fuck off. Yeah, I've fallen that far from the tree. Oh well. So I'm a lost sheep. Trick is, I ain't no sheep. I'm a human fucking being.

So, lost and outnumbered, I quietly spread the idea that, if we just gave up on the lunacy and corruption of religion, we might stand a chance to grow, develop, and eventually save ourselves as one collective race, not a collection of whack-job factions with delusions of superiority over the others.

Is that so bad?

Look. I don't care what happens after I die. Why should I? I'll be dead! Can't care when you're dead, right? I'm not worried about my "soul" or any such hooey-blah. Elijah Wood and Ian McKellen spelled out my basic philosophy on the silver screen in Peter Jackson's monumental Lord of the Rings Trilogy:

Frodo: I wish none of this had happened.
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.

So true.

Who cares about what happens after. It's what you do now that counts. So, I am The Lost Prophet. I'm voicing my view, just like everyone else. Whether folks catch on or not, that's up to them. But, in the end, I just can't be silent.

And I guess some of you are reading, whether it's my secular humanistic PoVs, my often-odd video posts, funny little anecdotes from life at large, when I take a side on an important issue, or whatever. Thanks for showing up, and thanks for listening, whether you agree or not. I bid you all welcome...

And hey, a hit from Brazil... Gui, is that you?!?

There Is No Pain

What. A. Fucking. Night.

Boy, do I have some video to show you all. As soon as I get it off of Justin (most likely Monday), I'll process it and slap it on The Tube.

Tonight, my claims were tested. And tonight, they were proven true.

I might even play a game of PopUp Video for this one...

Addendum: Oh yeah, duh. I have a bunch of video on the Shuttle to process, something I'll take care of tomorrow. There will be all new Karaoke vids, including the video from last week's 30th Birthday celebration.