Spockolantern

Robin and I set out to carve a pumpkin this year. Last week, Robin went with Doug and James to the pumpkin patch at one of our local farms. He picked up a really nice one, with one side almost flat to make for perfect carving. I have never done something so elaborate to a pumpkin before, not including the time I turned one into a space portal. But that required lots of enriched uranium and diodes and electrodes and yourmomatrodes so this is the most elaborate thing I've done with just a knife to a pumpkin. In fact! The "knife" Robin got is actually this very thin thing with two serrated edges; one with finer teeth than the other. It made the detail work needed to carve Spock's visage into a squash quite easy, if not a bit tedious. I did the hair, arguably the most important and hardest part to do. In fact, I think I'm going to win an award given to me by myself that has a trophy and everything for "Person Who MADE That Pumpkin Work, Y'all." We had so much fun scooping out the seeds which Robin turned into tasty roasted nibbles. Inspired by our pumpkin carving skillz, my plan for next year is to create a "pumpkinscape," like a tablescape only not so fucking lame. We'll need about $950 with which to buy the necessary pumpkins, 150+ hours of time for carving, and dozens of candles for the final product. But seriously, could there be any greater display of carved pumkinry than the entire cast of The Office, 30 Rock and Lost all together?

Things, The Copout Post

Fall is falling in the Northwest. We have been very fortunate this year, as summer gave way to crisp, sunny days full of deep reds, yellows, greens and umber(s?). I love this time of year in Oregon, provided it doesn't rain, stays above 35 degrees, is sunny, the leaves turn slowly and fall gradually, and I get free stuff. People call me picky and I still have no idea why.

Here's a picture of a baby hedgehog!


















My sister's wedding is on Saturday. For some reason, I haven't allowed myself to soak in the reality that is my little sister getting married. It's not as if I didn't expect this day to come or that I'm not extremely happy for her. She and her fiancé are both talented, bright, wonderful individuals for whom I have a great deal of pride and respect. They have had several events leading up to their wedding (couples shower, co-bachelor/ette party, etc.), I'm a groomsman, I'm picking up my tux today and will have rehearsal tomorrow. Yet still, I can tell that my emotions are waiting until my sister turns the corner, is wearing what I know will be a gorgeous dress, is radiating intense beauty and love and I, like the sap that I truly am, lose it in front of everyone. I'm taking tomorrow off in order to help The Mommy with preparations. She is currently at DEFCON 5 and will undoubtedly make it (somehow) to DEFCON 7 by Saturday.

After Bonnie and Bryan's wedding, Robin and I are high-tailin' it up to McMinville where one of our very best friends Angelene and her fiancé Bruce are also getting married that evening. We'll only be there for the reception/party, but we have our hotel booked and are very much looking forward to a racuous good time with all our friends. It's funny how wedding weekends seem to get booked doubly for us. Sami and Tim got married on the same day as Clint and Missy. My sister's and Angelene's weddings are the same day. What next, universe? April and Steve get non-married the same day Robin and I get gay married? I should hope not, seeing as we are people who would never seek to one-up the other by planning such a special event on the same day. But if they try, April and Steve are in for a rude awakening. I'll get gay married at 12:00am in order to best them. Yeah, I said it!

Work has been unusually soul crushing of late. We're hiring for two positions and have a flurry of applicants in various states of hire. Early this week we had the in-person interviews for one of our positions. The other position is in the process of getting phone interviews scheduled. Added to this are the new applicants for the Law school in general, who get a personal guided tour of our library during their visit. I have to complete all my regular work while making small talk with people I don't know and who may not even be hired. But when I need a break, I shut my office door and gaze out my floor-to-ceiling windows upon the brightly lit Hendrick's Park hill in all its fall splendor. SIGH. (Life is going to repay such flagrancy with an office in the basement with four foot ceilings at my next place of work. I just know it.)

Our dear friend and his roommate had a housewarming party last weekend. I celebrated by taking a burning log out of the fire and setting it on the couch to see what would happen. When all it did was melt the polyester material and create an unbearable odor, I grated my teeth in frustration. I grabbed another flaming log to set on the couch, but first I doused the couch in lighter fluid and ammonia. The results were much more entertaining. The hazmat teams had to fumigate the surrounding five blocks!

And now, a deep thought for the day:
If a kid ever asks how Santa Claus lives forever, I think a good answer is that he drinks blood.

Mah Teefs

I apologize in advance to all those who have already heard of my recent mouth drama. This post is intended for the billions of readers who have not been informed.

For the past eight years, I didn't have dental insurance. Before that, I was covered on my parent's insurance and therefore didn't have to think about things like money that one has to pay for getting one's teeth attended to by professionals. Ignorance is bliss. Since I took my new job over a year ago, my dearest Robin has been urging me to see a dentist for a check-up and cleaning if nothing else. Last Monday, I went in to have a cleaning, X-Rays taken and wound up getting a clear bill of teethular health! They remarked on how fortunate it was that in those eight years I developed zero cavities and all they needed to do was re-seal the deep grooves in my molars to prevent cavities from ever occurring.

However.

Over the last few months, a steady but increasingly painful sensation has developed along my lower left row of teeth. It feels as though the roots of my teeth are being mashed together, but I was writing it off as growing pains. After my cleaning, it was time for the good doctor to check the dental assistant's work and discuss my X-Rays. After a thumbs up to the assistant on the cleaning, she put the X-Ray sheet up to a lit board and said immediately, "Are you alright? Are you in a lot of pain?" My view of the X-Ray was covered by a concerned look on her masked face and I said, "Well, yeah a little, but it's not that bad." She moved to the side in order that I could see the eerie photo. I gave a start. My wisdom tooth on the lower left was growing perpendicular to my teeth. Not only was it coming straight on like an enamel torpedo, it was already touching the farthest molar. The roots of my molars and other teeth are actually bending away from where they started, being shoved inward by a power-hungry, egomaniacal "wisdom" tooth. I looked at the rest of my mutant jaw and saw the other wisdom teeth were in similar states of tyranny. The one on my upper left was growing into my jawbone; soon to be impacted. The upper right was growing out at an angle, setting up to invade the Land of Cheek. The lower right was a mirror image of the lower left, but farther away from my back molar.

"You need to get these out, pronto," she said with urgency, "if you're not in a lot of pain right now, you will be soon I promise you that."

I left the appointment with a prescription for pain medication, another appointment to get my sealants done (last Wednesday; it was successful) and a consultation with the oral surgeon on November 10th. At some point next month, I will be having all of my wisdom teeth taken out at once.

So until that time, if I happen to be eating with you and you see me rubbing my jaw occasionally, it's because of, uh, my teeth. Yes, teeth.

Yeah. Gay Friend. Right.

OK, now she's just pissing me off:



She's not going to judge, but thinks it's a choice. For people like Sarah Palin, choices are relatively simple to understand; either they are "good" or "bad." Choices, at their core, involve judgment. Her supposed "friend" therefore has bad judgment, as the choice she made clearly isn't "good." So Sarah Palin and her ilk do judge every time they say being a homosexual person is a choice. Of course, you couldn't convince them of this because they have all sorts of bat shit crazy stuffed in their brains.

Glamour

Sadly, another week passed and seen the close of Paris Fashion Week. I don't know why I like fashion as much as I do, particularly considering the fact that I'll never pay that much for clothing, but I find it fascinating as an art form. It is therefore no wonder that I'm drawn to artists whose clothes are completely unwearable, impractical and outrageous. I enjoy the artists who aren't trying to actually sell their clothes, but rather present some kind of experience. Of course, there are all sorts of art and all sorts of wearable collections that one can easily argue are presenting an experience. For me, however, if I'm not shocked, I get bored very quickly. But for all the glamour and colour and loveliness that are the European designers best offerings, none of them can compare to the one true fashion icon: Queen Elizabeth. 'Cuz bitch knew how to rock a collar.

Cheers to you, Queen Elizabeth! Forever making the future of fashion pale by comparison.