Meet the Cyborg Family!

We are the units that are here to help you. Except for me, it looks like the rest of my family is going to help the human species, while I will destroy it. It looks like Steph and I will be at constant odds these next millenia.

Get Your Cyborg Name

Get Your Cyborg Name

Get Your Cyborg Name

Get Your Cyborg Name

On Why I Love Michigan City

My latest assignment for my creative writing class had me describe a place in Indiana. It had to be one of my favorites. I wrote about Michigan City:

(Reader's Note: You might want to listen to this song as you read it. It helped me write it...)

Its roof is a bright red, which contrasts against the cool light blue of the sky on a clear day. The Michigan City Lighthouse stands erect as a tall white sentinel on the coast of Lake Michigan. The catwalk stretches up to it and connects it to shore; rocks, giant and broken off from monoliths, gather and rest at the feet of the catwalk and lighthouse. Small wakes glide toward the rocks and collapse, breaking apart and spilling themselves at our feet. The catwalk sits about four feet high from the rocks, and only the most adventurous children hop down and climb around, trying to show off their might.

Up close, the crisp white paint of the lighthouse is a myth because people have scribbled their Sharpie-love all over the flat surface of the lighthouse, claiming that their emotions will stand the test of time -- but they have lived and died, and the lighthouse lives on, grasping the darkness with its glow that rotates in circles during the darkest Lake Michigan nights.

And boats pass, while seagulls fly by, and people line the beach and seem only as tiny dots of pastels.

It's a boaters' paradise, and then you turn around -- and there it is -- so ugly, big and brown, billowing piles of steam into the atmosphere. It stabs the serenity of Lake Michigan. It's the nuclear power plant. Right there! But it's behind me and if I don't want to turn around and think about it, I don't have to. If I don't want to turn around and acknowledge it's existance, I don't have to. I can look forward, with the stretch of sandy-lake coast to my right and the lighthouse to my left. It may not be Florida, but it's only three hours away.

Being on this lake casts a spell over me. I'll drive back and forth on Lake Shore Drive, lined with houses that are on the lake, and imagine my winters there with the cold and dreary sky and the icy lake, where the city is empty of tourists, but quiet for those who dare to live in the lake effect. I imagine what it would be like to spend long summers, from May until September, unpacked and unwound for about four and a half months, living at my own speed, tending to my own schedule, opening my house up to family and letting them stay as long as they want. The houses range from shanties, that are brown and infested with giant grasses, to large mansions painted with creamy neutrals that have ceiling fans on the balconies and porches.

Michigan has its own lake effect on me. And although that bastard nuclear power plant could ruin the city for me, I won't let it. Instead of being the first thing, it's the last thing I think of when I think about one of my favorite places in Indiana.

The Interrobang Pantoum

I learned from my own students about the interrobang. The interrobang was created by an advertising man named Martin K. Specktor. What is and interrobang, you might ask?

The interrobang is when an exclamation point and a question mark overlap. Like this:

"You mean you met Michael Jackson?!?!" 

But instead of having two different pieces of punctuation, it was its own entity. 

I decided to write a poem about the interrobang:

The interrobang's life was short-lived, he said.
Its purpose was pure, but its use was not
and so Martin K. Speckter's invention is dead
which, you know, really make me hot.

Its purpose was pure, but its use was not,
and so 47 years later, I use it now
which, you know, really makes me hot
because punctuation and grammar are wow!

And so 47 years later, I use it now, 
but people don't know what I mean
because punctuation and grammar are wow!
However, lay people's use of it is lean.

But people don't know what I mean
and so, Martin K. Speckter's invention is dead
because punctuation and grammar are wow!
The interrobang's life was short-lived he said.

Sewing Machine Conundrums

I'm struggling today. It should've been this over-creative day, but it hasn't been. My sewing machine seems to want to create knots, instead of stitches. It started last night. I was almost done sewing a pocket into my bag-from-pillowcase when the needle went down, but didn't come back up. It just growled at me. I played around with it, cut off the excess thread, and tried again, but it continued to growl at me.

I tried again today, thinking it needed some time to cool it's jets -- but whatever. It decided that it wanted to run things. It thinks knots are way better than stitches. It thinks jamming is the best. It giggles when it does this. It decided to kill my creativiy, my chance to create something, and instead, I sit around in my sweat-shorts being absolutely uncreative. Sure, writing is creative, writing is a creation from me, but can I carry things in a piece of writing? Minus memories and metaphor, can I actually carry something with my writing?

Not so much.

I worked on other classwork to my dissatisfaction. My back hurts, too. I think the sewing machine did it when I wasn't looking. As I bent over to throw away scraps, it hit me. It took the bobbin out and just smacked me with it. I think I heard it call me, "an arse." I opened the purple plastic cover where the bobbin sits and blew in it as punishment, but it decided to still not work. Then it wrote a poem about how it hates society and wishes for anarchy. I told it to grow up and to allow me to finish my bag, but it sat and sulked like a teenager trying to get her own way. So far, it's winning. It just wants to knot up my thread like bad drama and propaganda.

Maybe I'll brave it again, and try giving it an attitude adjustment. It might be a tenstion-thing. I will need to play with it some more, but the more time I give to it, the more time it wastes, like a bunch of sad teenagers hanging around a basement on a rainy day asking each other, "what do you want to do?"

As I sat with my back aching from being attacked by anon sewing machine, I decided to make some tea. Tea always helps. Tea is therapy for the soul, and such, especially the green kind. La la la, I went into the kitchen and realized I could've cleaned the bathrooms when the sewing machine was giving me it's hissy fit, but cleaning bathrooms isn't creative. I don't leave a clean bathroom feeling like I've created something.

Sometimes I do, though.

I knew that wasn't going to be today. The sewing machine was already on my bad side. Hair, nasty, gunk and ew sitting around the bathroom sink wasn't going to help my mood. I would douse the bathroom with lighter fluid and ignite it. I would then run to the dining room and toss the sewing machine in the fire.

Just After Sunset by Stephen King

"Just After Sunset" is the first collection of short stories by Stephen King I've read straight through. A book of short stories seemed fitting for my busy schedule, since that gave me bits of great readings by Stephen King in short spats.

I cannot compare this collection with any of his others, sadly, but I can compare it to his other writings.

The stories do not necessarily scare. I haven't been "scared" by King since "Cell," when I thought he retired from writing and was surprised to see another novel sitting on the shelf by him. The stories, however, come in all shapes and sizes. Three of the stories that stand out in my head, why, I'm not entirely sure, are: N., The Cat From Hell, and A Very Tight Place.

N. features psychology, epistolary stylings (like Dracula) and a touch of H.P. Lovecraft's Cthulu Mythos. It's one of King's newest stories, and he pulls you in with the use of the ideas behind obsessive compulsive disorders. In the end, much like Salem's Lot, it's not the Big Bad that scares you necessarily, but what the Big Bad does to people. Reading how the OCD started to mess up the characters. It's one of King's stories that stays with you.

The Cat From Hell is just classic King. You can tell it was written eons before he was hit by the van, which seemed to change his life and literary stylings. It's quick. There's some black humor. It ends and you're a bit grossed out. After reading Salem's Lot, I realized how much I enjoyed his older-style of writing, and this was a nice throwback.

A Very Tight Place is great revenge fantasy. But, it also takes place, mostly, in a collapsed port-a-potty, so the pooh runs thick with nasty description in this one. King just goes further and further in that one, and I enjoyed it, not because of the description, but because King just didn't care what his readers thought. He didn't care what anyone thought. He just dove right in. Literally. We need to take a note from that. If we love something (not port-a-potties, mind you, but activities, hobbies, things in life) enough, we need to jump right in.

There are plenty of other stories that will "get your goat" as they say. But, those were the three I wanted to write about. Enjoy.

Ficly Bio or Writing As Poetry

I'm signing up for a little website called Ficly. It offers a space to fill out your bio, but I never write my bios the same. I never write them traditionally. Here is what I came up with for Ficly:

I teach writing, love writing, dream about writing. I'm afraid of writing. I eat writing. I swim in it; I taste language, I stay afloat with metaphors and similes and strong nouns. I'm confused about Gerunds and Appositives, but use them regardless even if I don't know it. I lean on writing, it leans on me. I write for therapy, for humor, out of boredom, to create, to live, to sing. I don't write everyday, but should. Writing is my Grendal, and I am its Beowulf. Maybe. That could be a bit extreme. Writing, to me, is a mouse and a lion. It's the mouse inside the lion. It's the lion inside the mouse. Writing is reality and non-reality. Writing builds me up and tears me down. It makes me sick and makes me run. It flows through me like blood, even when the ink isn't flowing through me onto paper. That's who I am, and who I will always be.

Runaround Sue's Glamour Shot!

From this:

To This:

Dear Photojojo...

I was just flittering about online, visiting the places I like to lurk, and I stumbled upon a part-time writer/editor position for an online photo newsletter at a site called Photojojo. All that popped up was an e-mail, so I sent, written with some pizazz and gumption, the best inquiry I could. I'll probably get a message back saying, "sorry, but we have filled the postion, like, fifteen months ago and we're losers for keeping that job posting, well, posted..." but I figured, what am I losing?

"Little Jenna had a baby last night..."

I think this show is going to be one of those that I will keep laughing at, regardless of the many times I watch it. Now, THAT is good writing...

Online Menus Hate People

Why is it when we, the people, look up menu items at chain restaurants online there are no prices listed? Is it some psychology that because you don’t see our prices, you will definitely come on in? If I have only an hour to eat lunch, but I have the luxury of looking up menu items, why can’t I know the prices?

For lunch today, I would like a sandwich. It doesn’t necessarily have to be fancy – although, that’s the “it” thing, isn’t it? Fancy sandwiches. So, if I must have a fancy sandwich (stop twisting my arm!), so be it – but I would like to know if it’s going to be only one arm and a leg, or it’s going to be two arms and one leg, or two legs and one arm…

OK, so as I read the descriptions online, my mouth is watering for the different types of mayonnaise you’ve concocted for that chicken sandwich, and, laws yes, I wouldn’t mind trying out that steak sandwich, but ooh la la, that bagel looks good – but I don’t know if I’m going to buy it because the retailer isn’t posting prices.

Stupid retailer. Stupid prices.

The psychology is quite the opposite for me, actually. If prices are not posted, I will probably not go there.

Take that restaurant business.

Bio Terrorism

In the UK, there was a man who apparently pooped in a bag, smooshed it around (I'm sure there was some potty involved as well), put it in one of those weed-killer spraying contraptions (the kind you pump yourself...I think you see where I'm going with this don't you?) and took it public places and sprayed it.

*spasms*

I asked the person who told me the story if be was arrested for bio terrorism.

It was one of those stories where you laugh until you cry, and then cry because something like really happened.

I just thought I would let you know how mankind was coming along so far this millenium.

The Greasy Eyebrow

I'm going to open a new restaurant called the Greasy Eyebrow. Steph said it was unappealing and that no one would go there, but I think it could be a great small-town, hole-in-the-wall joint. I'd sell menu items called " The Stray Hair" and "Grandpa's Brows."

This came to me because the corners of the lenses on my glasses get slightly filmy when I wear them for long periods of time. I wouldn't grown at that. It happens to the best of us. As I looked cross-eyed up at the alighly gross smears it popped into my head how fabulous the name would be.

So, the next time you're passing through some small town and you see The Greasy Eyebrow open for business, you better stop on by.

"I think you're really special Kenneth..."

The previews of season 3 for "30 Rock" showcased a butt-load of celebrity guest stars. If it was a marketing move to try to pull in more viewers (with its Emmys), it worked -- for me. This was a show I watched a couple of times and just didn't get. Now, I can't miss it. Here is a clip for all 5 of you to check out, showcasing why I love it:

Mmmmmbop!

My Bucket of Parts fans (all 5 of you) will be happy to know that I am finally embarking on the self-publishing journey. I know! Can. You. Believe it? It's been something I've been wanting to mess with for some time. I've picked the top columns from the web site, so I am now currently working on editing it.

This is going to take a while.

I'm not nearly as funny as I thought. I need to spruce up those old columns, rework some poorly written sentences and that's going to take a while. I've decided to set a realistic goal for this fall.

The BIG question is...will you buy a copy when it becomes available?

The Helper

If you would ever need someone to come over and work with you on home improvement projects, I'm an excellent helper.

Just ask Steph.

It's not that I'm incompetent. Sure, I have issues with measuring and numbers -- but I've hung trusses on a house. I've worked with drywall. I've built sets. I've drilled. I've hammered. I've used saws. I have experience. I actually have more experience with houses, more than you all probably realize. I have more experience than even I realized.

But, Steph's better at it. Plus, she enjoys it.

If you need curtains, however...

When we laid new floor in the kitchen, Steph measured. Steph placed, but without me...who would've peeled the backing off of the tiles? When we added iridescent stripes to our living room, to give it more dimension, I held the yard stick so Steph could make all the measurements. Plus, I'm entertaining.

Ask anyone.

Good-bye "The Mysterious Benedict Society" At Least, For Now

I dislike starting books and not finishing them. It's not a pet peeve, really. But I feel like a failure of sorts. On a whim, I picked up the book "The Mysterious Benedict Society," and although I may finish it someday, that day is not today.

So far, it's written well, funny and I'm quite impressed. That's usually not a reason to put down a book, is it? But at the same time, I just finished reading Roald Dahl's "The BFG" to my students, and although both books are very different, they are written on (or around) the same levels -- definitely for the children.

I think it's time to move on to more adult fares. Perhaps short stories, as well. This isn't exactly the time of year that I can sit down with a book -- a long one, at least, and actually have time to finish it. But then again, once you sit down with a good book, one you can't put down, it doesn't matter if you have "time" to read it -- you make time.

I watched Steph plow through 100 pages of a book she was reading last night (technically, this morning) and I realized, I, too, want to plow through 100 pages. I would love a book where I need to make time to read it. Something unputdownable.

You're Just Jeaslous of My Sweater

Do you see this sweater? It's an amazing piece of wearable art. It was a Christmas gift from Steph. She found it at my new favorite clothing store -- H&M.

Everytime I wear this sweater to school, though, it brings on a sleugh of comments. I figured I would share them with the world.


The Top 6 Comments About This Sweater:

1. Charlie Brown
2. A Bumble Bee
3. Waldo
4. Freddy Krueger
5. A Rugby Player
6. Harry Potter

Really, they're amazed that a sweater like this can actually exist. Because they will not own such an article of clothing, they feel they must poke fun at it. Poke fun at it if you must, but remember -- you're jealous of my sweater, and everybody knows it.

The Mother Site is Updated!

On the Mother Site of My Bucket of Parts, I have updated and added new features. Check out the latest bits of musings. I wrote about our Hamsters here and another rescue dog, here.



Also, I am slowly, but surely, adding a video archives section. I have opened a YouTube account so I can painlessly embed the videos on my website...for your viewing pleasure. I don't plan on becoming some world-famous director someday, nor do I plan on really making movies, but it's fun to take video of random life (and puppet shows).

Happy Birthday...er...Happy Valentine's Day?

The morning of Valentine's Day, I was having a very elaborate dream.

Steph, some dude, and I were in New York. We just got our powers back (it's a dream, people) and I sensed that there was going to be a another huge explosion. To stop this explosion, we had to be secretive and get to the men -- but we had to climb through air ducts and pipes and such to the top of this older apartment building, instead of using the stairs.

The stairs were too obvious, and we had to be secretive.

So, we climbed through all the pipes, which were dusty and cramped, and I began to feel a bit of claustrophobia setting in, when we finally broke into an empy living room. The three of us were sitting in the living room of this apartment, which has emerald green carpet from some time period that isn't now. It was an empty apartment, and I remember that the walls were covered in wood paneling.

The Dude needed us to keep moving, but I remembered that I needed to call my dad and wish him a happy birthday. Out of nowhere, Steph pulls out a boombox, circa 1987, and I dial my dad's number and we play a song for him -- like teenagers do to each other when their in love. I held up the phone to the speakers so he could get his personalized song-message.

We didn't have the song on too loud, because we were being secretive. At the very end of the song, I held the phone up to my mouth and whispered, "Happy Birthday!"

On the edge of sleeping and waking, I woke up and realized, I really did say "happy birthday" out loud. It just flew out of my mouth. Steph looked like she was still asleep, so I just rolled out of bed and got up. I wasn't sure if she heard me or not.

Later, I asked if she heard me whisper "happy birthday."

She did. She wasn't sure if I was confused about saying "Happy Valentine's Day" or something.

Mary Kay, In My Face

It was a howly, windy day, which meant that Raible was not safe to stay in her cage for fear that she would decapitate herself trying to escape it. So, Raible went to work with me, and during a break from clients, I thought she deserved a trip to the pet store to get a cookie for her good behavior. The following is a snippet of an email to Evan about our excursion:


Raible and I were out in the rain - I took her to the pet store just to get her out of the office since no one was around (my 12:00 didn't show and I didn't have anything until 3:30), and she PEED in the pet store. PEED! A HUGE Raible pee! AAAAHHHH! So it took me about 5 minutes to clean that up, while juggling Raible, the umbrella, my purse, and the cleaning supplies. A lady chuckled when she saw my dilema, said they were probably used to that here at the pet store, and commented on my red ballet flats, telling me they were "too cute". Raible and I continued on our merry way throughout the pet store when I noticed she was very pacey and nervous. That could only mean one thing. Pooh. So then I took Raible BACK out into the rain so she could pooh. Raible seemed a little concerned about poohing in a parking lot divider full of mulch, so she did her "pace and pooh", where she paces and then poohs. And then paces and poohs. And then I had to follow her around and pick THAT up. And then, who appeared to be the nice lady when I was cleaning up Raible pee decides that while I'm picking up pooh, OUTSIDE, IN THE RAIN, juggling Raible, the umbrella (which keeps getting stuck in the tiny tree in the mulch parking lot divider), my purse, and the pooh bag that she would like to hand me her Mary Kay card and talk to me about being a face model (whatever the crap that means, because at this point, I'm sure I look marvelous and she can't wait to give me a makeover) because I SEEMED TOO BUSY WHILE CLEANING UP PEE IN THE STORE. Yes. Too busy in the store, but not out in the rain. WITH POOH.

Yes, friends, those Mary Kay women are out to get us when we are in our worst moments. Watch out for them while sopping up pee at the pet store, picking up pooh in the rain, while pulling weeds in the summer heat, and when you're having a sick day at home. Because that is when they strike.

"Bones" Characters...this story wasn't as funny as it was in my head, but I wrote it anyway

We've become huge fans of the show "Bones" on Fox. We're well-versed in the latest episodes, but it's been fun watching the first episodes on TNT. The only thing we're critical of is how they act in the car.

In the older episodes, they didn't have the same chemistry as they do now. Because of that, they paid attention to the road, not each other. As they grow closer in the later seasons, we've noticed that they begin to stop paying attention to the road and more to each other.

It's so funny because, realistically by now, they would have gotten into a crash. Let's hope that never happens.

Raible Goes Sledding

Raible doesn't get much press. I think it's because the minute she senses a camera in the midst of her being, she hides in the tub. Or she paces. The pictures we do get of her make it look like we're about to hit her. She hunches over and her neck is strained.

Oh, previous owners...what did you do to her?

This is a fear that will never be conquered. For Christmas, though, I received the gift that will allow me to get decent photos of Raible. It's a video camera that doesn't make any clicking noises that sound like a "camera."

"What are you doing?"

My Newest Hero...

...is from Japan!

The highs of Japanese culture consists of just a few things. Manga (which are their versions of graphic novels) and Anime are not among them. Japanese teachers aren't either. There has been only one Japanese teacher (an American teaching Japanese, mind you) that has been cool. The others were a bit off. One was adamant about not being in the yearbook. His response to having his picture taken?

"I need to think about it..."

I mean, who doesn't want to be in a yearbook? If you're not, it's like you've never existed...

But the highlights are things like Most Extreme Challenge, a show that used to be on Spike TV. It took footage from Japanese reality shows and went wild by dubbing over it and made up team names and dialogue. It was hysterical. So, OK, it wasn't really a Japanese show... It's actually making fun...

The other highlight is my new favorite character. Domo. He's the mascot for Japan's NHK station. He appears in stop-motion shorts inbetween shows (kind of like NBC's "ding...ding...ding" song they have going on recently between shows). He can appear in stop motion all over my world, if he wished!

He's already taken over my world. Sadly, Gary Larson stopped "The Far Side" calendars...so I had to find something different. Domo is now on my wall as a monthly calendar.

"Marley and Me" by Josh Grogan

Steph said that I couldn't see the movie until I read the book. So, during the holiday break, I read it, knowing that I wanted to see the movie sooner, rather than later.

Basically, if you're an owner of a pet, especially a dog, then you will be able to slightly relate. If you owned a dog that has ruined your porch, or another dog that has escaped her cage and when you got home the living room was terrorized with books torn up and terds everywhere -- you can totally relate.

Since Raible tore up the screens on our porch and busted through the plexiglass part of the door -- I can relate. When we first got Fauna, she was the one that escaped her cage and destroyed the living room. Marley was kind of like that, too. Although, throughout the book you continue to think, "well, he doesn't really sound like the world's worst dog." Sure, he had his moments...and I'm sure he had quite a few more than the normal family pet. The only part of the book I didn't expect was to read so much about John's life -- but of course, the book has the word "...and Me" in it, so of course we're going to get some family life thrown in.

It was a good read. Entertaining. Sad. Thoughtful. It's harder for me to "critique" nonfiction, because in the end, aren't you critquing the writer's life? Even just a little? I could relate to some of the stories because of having owned three dogs with such strong personalities, but the part I was affected by the most was the end. As Marley get's older, his health becomes affected, and John has to make the impossible decision to put Marly down. I'm not really ruining anything here, because I'm sure you've heard plenty of people say, "oh, the movie is so sad."

As of now, that's all I will say. And that's why I suggest this read, especially if you've ever owned a pet and that pet touched your life.

Donnerwetter!

I am in search of the NEXT GREAT WEEKLY PLANNER!

...anner...anner...anner

For the past five years, I have been an avid believer in the Far Side Desk Calendar. I will keep them, because at this point, they are now worth money. Here's why:

I usually buy my desk calendars after January 1 because they are usually half-off. That's a steal, and I don't really need it until about January 5, anyway. I randomly Googled "2009 Far Side Desk Calendar" and got this answer. I better keep my old calendars in a dry, arid room.

Today, I continued my search for the NEXT GREAT WEEKLY PLANNER!

...anner...anner...anner

Right now, I'm on a hand-made kick, and I've been searching profusly on Etsy to see what I could find. The planner that I like is full-color...and from Germany. So, I decided to e-mail the the site of Prinz Apfel -- in German. I dusted of my vocabulary and here it goes:

Guten Abend!
Ich heisse Evan. (Mein Deutsch ist nicht gut...) Ich finde deine Taschenkalendar sehr cool. Koennen Sie die Taschenkalendar nach die US Post versenden?
Ich muss auf Englisch tippen... Tut mir leid...
I enjoy your calendar, and I was wondering how much it would cost to ship to the U.S. from Germany.
Danke!
Tchuss.

If not, I have other options.

MBoP as a Brand

There's really no excuse on my end why there hasn't been much writing... But, with a new year and some New Year's Resolutions -- what? I didn't used to believe in them, but the past two years I decided it couldn't hurt to at least try some on for size, and I have met both of them.

Finish Crapbag Novel #1, so I could move on with my creative self, was Resolution for 2007. I hunkered down one summer afternoon and pounded out the rest of the book. Later that year, in November, I pounded a strong 16,000 words to novel #2. Novel #2 isn't such a crapbag.

Resolution for 2008 was to submit my writing. Vague, yes, but so is "lose weight." It was productive, however. After taking a summer course where I met with other writing teachers, I buffed up my writing catalogue and decided to send me out some stories. And, alas, Resolution for '08 was met.

I will continue to feed those two resolutions. As an amateur writer, they both are a constant. I will finish Novel #2. I'm just not sure when, but it won't take me 5+ years like the crapbag one. As for the continual submitting of work, that's a given. Both stories I submitted in October were rejected, but that's OK.

Now comes (drumroll and horns, please) Resolution for 2009! Did you see the release of all those balloons? I hope so, I thought you all needed something a bit better than the ball that didn't light up. Did you see that? Every stinkin' year a ball made of crystal has dropped in Times Square and it's been lit. It makes sense that they decided to have a permanent one -- which I think is more eco-friendly, and such, but why couldn't we have light?

If you can power a factory using methane gas, a.k.a. farts, you should be able to have a giant crystal ball drop and light up, and then slowly go back to the top until 2010.

I mean, seriously.

Back to my '09 Resolution: Bringing Back My Bucket of Parts. I have neglected these two sites for far too long. Both are in desperate need of content. This, here, site can use some more random verbage from yours truly, but the official My Bucket of Parts needs some serious help. My goal, if you will humor me for a tad bit, is to create a brand. Kind of like Tyra and Oprah, you know? MBoP's will have my (attempt at) humor columns, The Puptuals comic strips, and I would enjoy plugging in some more video for your viewing pleasure.

The future is My Bucket of Parts.

Are you ready to start looking at all the pieces?