Really.  Here's a summary, because I'm far too tired to get into the nitty-gritty, (yet)...

First, there's the new car.  Yep, had to put the ol' girl down.  She just couldn't be saved, even though I tried.  And so, she went the mighty way of CarMax... here's what she looked like circa '01:

So sad... *sniff* ... but along came a brand-new baby boy!  My 2007 Scion tC:

I've never owned a new car... like, only 21 miles on it.  And it's a manual, and it's slick.  Fell in love with the thing as soon as I saw it.  So there's the Elated.  Pissy comes with the notion that I am once again under a car loan, after shelling out some serious bucks... and having to explain to a stranger how someone my age can afford a 15-year mortgage and justify a loan for a new car.  But I have to say the finance guy was really cool and handed me the keys in "record time," even if it did feel like I had been through the Inquisition.

I was so tired after that and my trip to Boston, I almost didn't make it out for Halloween.  And then came... Angry?  Yes, angry.  Angry comes from inconsiderate people. --> --> --> --> --> --> I'm too busy to be bothered with immature nonsense.  And that's all I'm going to say about that...

And finally, work is stressful... hence the Berated; deadlines loom, and I have to get done with all of that crap before I can leave for my vacation to Cali... Samara and I are hitting the coast.  I even get to see LEGOLAND!  How awesome is that?

I have to go to bed now... I'm really tired, and these last two weeks have been really stressful.  BUT...  I promise to tell you an amazing set of occurrances in Boston, another "Story About Steve," and about my Dad's tater-hash recipe... all in the coming days.

Miss you all... drop me some love, pour one for your homies, whatever you can.

Bonus: A blog about my custom, personal business card--

Double Bonus: Jennie and I agree-- staying at a hotel is like living at home again at 7 years old... "You can strip the sheets off the bed, throw them on the floor... someone's gonna come in and clean up after me!"  Perhaps more on this later as well...? 

Oh, and "Jennie's the coolest chick e-var."  Happy now? Just be aware... you've got some serious competition in that space.  ;-)

Sometimes I post blogs on my website as well as here... but I keep my geeky, more professional postings out on my site.

I thought I would mirror a link to my latest one here as well, in case you guys were interested.  It's what I call a "rant" about how YouTube and Viacom missed a golden opportunity and fell, albeit briefly, from my "hip" category.

Comedy Central and YouYube's Lost Opportunity

I'll post a personal blog tomorrow... I've been really sick these last few days, and I'm really tired right now.  But, I still need to tell about Boston! 

... not because it's difficult to understand, mind you.  No, more "why the hell would anyone do this?"

I was asked today what "overclocking" means.  In a nutshell, it's where some nerd tells the CPU (Central Processing Unit, or the brain of a computer) it's actually faster than it really is.  By providing additional power and sufficient cooling, you can make a CPU run much, much faster than normal.

So, for instance, let's say you decide to tell the 3GHz CPU that it actually runs at 5+ GHz.  No problem... except this is like telling a four cylinder engine it can perform like a Ferrari and it actually try...

Hmmm... not so great of an analogy.  Instead, it's more like... er... telling a guy the weight he's about to bench press is 150 lbs, but really it's 450: you'd better be there to spot him so he doesn't... well, die.

When you do this on a PC, the most important thing you must do is cool the damn thing down.  Now this is where it gets really sad, folks.  There are guys who spend $100 on a cheap processor but hundreds or even thousands of dollars on water or even liquid fucking Nitrogen in order to prevent the processor from melting into a puddle of goo.  These are often objects of extreme geek machismo... if there is such a thing.

Hopefully this explains what overclocking is... you can make your PC run faster by fooling it and providing sufficient cooling.  Now... allow me to demonstrate how sad this enterprise really is:  the following video speaks for itself, (and, incidentally, so does the SOUNDTRACK).  I encourage you to watch the whole four minutes, but it may be hard:

I rest my case.  If you ever hear me talk about spending my money to do something like this, the CIA has stolen my brain, and I've been reduced to a babbling, insane dork.  Destroy me immediately. 

Now, I'm going to go finish Sun Tzu's The Art of War and start Bob Woodward's new book.  Yes, that's right: I have a life.

• Don't buy wine without a year on it.  Bad sign.
• Tap the top.  Clank?  No good.  Thud or smoosh?  Good call.
• A bottle that could pass for a basketball is no good.  Move on.  Ambrosi Brothers, I'm talking to you.
• Pass on hyphenated names, like Kendall-Jackson.
• Sound Foreign?  Sounds good.  At least no one will question your taste.
  
• If in doubt, buy something obscure.  Like out of the end-of-bin sale.  Even if it's bad, it's not like they'll see it in the store anytime soon.
• If still in doubt, buy a wine bottle gift bag thingee... good things come in good packages.  So, even if it's bad, it came in such a pretty bag, right?
• Oh... ask the guy behind the counter.  Just do it.  Unless you subscribe to "Wine Quarterly," (and if you do, you have too much money to waste), ask someone who has some idea of what's good.  Also, they'll point you to what they want to unload, so... cheap cheap.

... jetsetting.  No, really.

This past week has been insanely busy.  Nuts, even.  Many have been wanting to know where I've been, what I've been up to, and what I've been thinking.

Cerner Trip to Canada

Sep 14, 2006 - 31 Photos

Siesta Key 2006

Sep 16, 2006 - 122 Photos

It was probably the best kind of vacation.  Flew down, bought $120 in food and booze, and laid out on the beach for three days.  That was it.  I just sat around and joked with Samara, talked about life and drank too much... even managed to smoke a cigar.  I also took the opportunity to get rid of that paleness that has haunted me from a summer spent indoors.

But as I was counting down the days to beach-bound bliss, I was invited on a business trip with one of our upper executives.  It was designed to get me out of my typical routine (what I call my "glass box") and out into the actual world... to meet the people who use our solutions and observe how Cerner's business is conducted.  It was a real eye-opener for me. 

Aside from the substance of the meetings I attended (which, of course, it would be inappropriate for me to comment on here), I can say there were several moments that stuck out for me, but there was one in particular I thought I'd share.

I was sitting in the lobby of the hotel, waiting for our morning breakfast meeting to start.  I hadn't had much sleep, and it was exceedingly difficult to forget I had actually gotten up at 4:45, not 5:45 as the alarm clock in this time-zone suggested.  I found myself staring at the buttons of my sport coat, adjusting my tie, quietly cursing the fact I hadn't grabbed a section of the complementary newspaper they had tied to my doorknob.

But there I was, at 7AM, watching the world wake up.  I started looking around, noticing a familiar pattern emerge.  Someone enters through the revolving door, in their pressed business attire... introductions, shaking of hands, ask about the morning, then the answer about their flight and their sleep, and leave through the same revolving door.  It occured to me, as it often has before, that this is how business is conducted... not in the stereotypical, television-inspired board-room, but in hotel lobbies, cafes, restaurants, bars.  Not on lined legal paper but on business cards and cocktail napkins.  People in navy suits with padfolios, looking over their notes and reminding themselves with inane factoids to prompt conversation... building relationships to serve a mutual purpose.  Something about that, and the meetings that followed, really struck a chord with me:

Somehow, though my role demands it and my profession implies it... I don't think I was meant to sit in a cube all day.

Later on, sitting on the beach, listening to the ocean and watching the sun take its slow dive, I just couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to change for me.  Maybe it's the fact I was out of my element, experiencing life in different roles, in different places with different people.  Or maybe the combination of extremely cheap champagne, salt air and cigar smoke had some weird chemical effect on my central nervous system.  I'm not sure, but I've got a lot to think about.

But I've also had my typical, less-serious thoughts, as well... like an interesting way to roll french cuffs.  Or my treatise on the permanancy of the blogosphere.  And my initial foray into writing an essay for NPR's This I Believe.  Even my drunken defintions of "fate" and "destiny" I managed to scrawl in my journal.

So many thoughts... so little 'space. 

I've spent the last couple of weekends under my car, with the evenings reserved for my usual carousing self.  More on that later; I want this one to be focused... I think you guys need to know I can actually do other things besides use the computer, wax philosophic, flirt and drink.  I'm... I'm so much more, people.  ;-P

I felt really manly, too... spending days with Dad on the front driveway, spouting terms like "trans-axle," "tie rod ball joint," and "cotter key."  Grime up to my elbows from reaching deep into the bowels of my front suspension, trying to shake loose the extremely stubborn strut fork.  Pounding away with the impact gun on rusty bolts with that recognizable *brreeeeow!* sound.  *Insert Tim-the-tool-man-grunt here*

So dirty was our enterprise that we actually had to wash our hands with Comet, while getting berated by a short blonde woman for a.) coating the doorknobs with a thin layer of muck and b.) washing our hands in the white kitchen sink and c.) when was Dad going to be putting a shop sink in?  (Apparently, it's either when hell freezes over or they can get rid of some of the junk in the garage.)  :-)

The neighbor was really curious what we we up to... all sorts of noise, banging, grunting, laughing and beer drinking has been going on, and he kept craning his head.  At one point Dad and I were taking a break with a Budweiser, t-shirts all mucked up, laughing over something I can't recall, when I heard him bringing his Harley out to do some work of his own.  A few minutes later I heard him call out to his teenaged-son to come out and help him; but the poor guy's kid would have nothing of it.  Playing XBOX, he said.  It wasn't much longer until the bike went up, and he started painting the window trim.  Poor guy.

But my car really needed work.  We replaced the tie rods, front and rear struts, both front transaxles, and the front lower ball joints.  Next week we're replacing the rear bearings.  A few highlights:

I think the funniest moment occureed when we were separating the tie rod ball joints.  My Chilton manual called for a "Tie-rod ball-joint separator tool."  With one eyebrow cocked, I asked my dad where we'd need to go to get "one of those."  With no expression at all, he walked into the garage and came back with this angled, tuning-fork shaped device.  Incredulously, I said, "Dad... you actually have a tie-rod ball-joint separator tool?"  Climbing under the car, he paused, and replied "Clint... I've got a whole set."  And under the car he went.  I just stood there, staring at this thing... and my mother, rocking in her chair on the front porch, just giggled away.  Classic.

But not everything was funny when it came to tools:  My dad's jack collapsed in an explosion of grease and steel washers.

Thankfully neither of us were underneath it when it went, but we also had jack stands to protect us had that been the case.  The sad thing is that jack is older than I am, and it's been a constant fixture in our garage.  My dad was really sad about it, too.  He went and bought a new one, but when we turned in that night, I noticed the ol' green meanie had been quietly tucked away into a corner of the garage... it looks like he fully intends to fix it.  Can't say I blame him; he's used that jack on every car he's ever owned.

First to go were the front struts.  My dad and I were unscrewing the upper retaining bolt when all of sudden, a loud *boing* and *bang* later, the spring popped open: we had loosened the wrong bolt.  You see, you have to compress the spring around the strut before removing it... otherwise, it expands much further than can be managed.

We had to use a double spring compression kit to get the spring down to the right height in order to replace the strut and get it back on the car.  I noticed once we got it down far enough... it looked a lot like an atomic bomb.  That's when I grabbed my camera:

But as the front suspension dropped, sans struts, that's when we noticed the CV joint boots were in terrible shape:

See that brown area?  That's a grease-packed CV joint, and the rubber boot has disintegrated.  Bad news for the Clint-man.  I was a few hundred miles from needing a tow truck, lemme tell ya; so we decided to replace the trans-axles next.  Once we removed the rotor from that axle, the entire assembly came apart in my hands.  *shudder*

Anyways, we've replaced a lot on my car, and now it handles like a sports car.  Seriously.  After all the crap I worked on, it had better, believe me.

Here, let me put it this way:

Tie Rods

Purpose: connects the steering wheel column to each rotor assembly; provides a rubber cushion to make steering smooth.
Result: I can turn on a dime; no more play in the damn steering wheel.

Front/Rear Suspension

Purpose: Cushions the cabin over bumps.
Result: My teeth don't rattle in my skull when I hit a manhole cover.

Trans-axles

Purpose: complicated multi-part rod connecting the drive train to the rotor assemblies; can bend in multiple ranges of motion to accomodate changes in the suspension, (so the axles don't snap when you hit a bump).
Result: I'm not laughed at by the burly tow truck driver when my wheel falls off on 71 hwy.

Any questions?

An entirely crazy weekend.  Now, as requested, all photos from this weekend:

A Night in Lawrence

Aug 25, 2006 - 24 Photos

Saturday in KC with Chris, August 2006

Aug 25, 2006 - 43 Photos

Enjoy!  Now I've gotta get some sleep if I'm gonna function tomorrow.

Pimpin' and Partyin' ain't easy.

So Chris is back in town for a few days.  We've had a whirlwind of a last couple of days, and tonight, we're hitting the town with extreme gusto.

Thursday night we went to Warrensburg to visit Ryan.  We managed to have a really great night in a really tiny town, and managed to get up at 7 AM to get me back in time for my 9 AM meeting.  The evening was particularly relaxing, considering the fact that I wore a t-shirt that said "Strictly for my Ninjas," a cowboy hat and four days of unshaven awesomeness.  I've got a picture on a phone somewhere...

Update: Found em.

But last night... boy howdy.  Chris wanted to go to Lawrence and relive our golden days.  Here are the pics, for those of you interested:

A Night in Lawrence

Aug 25, 2006 - 24 Photos

Highlights?  Well...

• Start time: 9:30 PM.
• Lots of rain.  We were drenched at one point (see pictures).
• Shot pool at the Red Lion.  Relived the old days of kicking ass (at pool) and taking names (of the ladies around the pool table).
• Went to the Bourgeois Pig and watched the sky open up like a water balloon.
• I ran around 100 yards to the car to pull it around so my buddies didn't get wet.  Of course, I felt obligated to lock the doors when they ran up to get in.  Did I laugh maniacally through the rain-drenched glass?  You bet I did.
• We drove over to Abe & Jake's to see what was going on there, (a fraternity party).  As we discussed where we were going next, a drunk 19 year old girl in short shorts and heels jumped into my car; she wanted to use her cell phone away from the monsoon. This is the sort of story that starts out, "Dear Penthouse Forum, I never thought it would happen to me, but..."  After a few incredulous moments, I drove her to her friend's car.  (Ahh, the naivete of college youth)
• Kyle bought Chris a shot of Bacardi 151 and Tabasco, aka Satan's Prairie Fire (another moniker from our earlier days in Lawrence).  When Kyle was confronted with the news that he too would have to take the shot, he went back to the bar and came back with a shot glass... but with different contents.  Turns out he convinced the bartender to make him a shot of water and tabasco.  He then suffered finger pointing, loud laughter and public humiliation.  He took it about as well as Chris took his Prairie Fire: with a pained look on his face.
• I then met three fantastic women from Columbia at the bar.  The six of us closed the place down with great stories and good laughs, exchanged the requisite "digits," then headed back to Kansas City.
• Once home, we spent an hour or so with my new neighbors, listening to Chris describe his latest... "adventures..." in Army training over a couple of beers.
• Bedtime: 4:47 AM.

A great relaxing evening; a warm-up for tonight.  I'm on my way to the shower right now.  Will there be more pictures and stories after this evening?

Damn skippy. 

So...  yeah, my birthday was awesome.  I turned 27 on Aug. 18th. My celebrations effectively started Thursday at 9:15 PM and didn't end until I woke up for work Monday morning.  Want to know what I learned over that period of time?

Well rather than bore you with a story from start to finish, I decided instead to list what I learned and observed from this experience.  Consider it the Cliff's Notes to Clint's 27th Birthday.

ed. note:  The following list may contain cryptic references that do not make sense or allude to mischevious, romantic or questionable activity on my part.  Believe me when I say those who know... KNOW.  If you're lucky, I'll explain the confusing ones later.  And now, without further ado...

Cliff's Clint's Notes for Aug 17-20, 2006

• People dig Jello shots at parties more than they do kegs.  Seriously... I was watching people down them two, even three at a time.  Cheap, delicious, drunken Jello is a hit with the ladies.  Bonus if you have whipped cream in a can.
  
• Oh, and people love to squirt whipped cream from a can straight into their mouths.  It's horrifying!
  
• The phrase "what would it take for you to fly here to see me tonight?" can yield results, but only if you and the person you are speaking to are completely awesome.  And we are.
  
• Knowing a dozen bartenders in town means never being sober on your birthday.  Or the day before.  Or the day after.  Or the day after that.
  
• The phrase "I'm going to make you forget your own name" should be taken seriously at all costs when uttered by bartenders or attractive women... and especially attractive women bartenders.
  
• Scotch is not only for "old guys."  Discussing the differences between scotch and bourbon with a man who has access to a dozen of the bar's bottles and agreeing to a taste off of all of them, is not insane... it is a chance for a learning opportunity.  Drink that opportunity.
  
• Apparently taking pictures of people's underwear at a party is not only a great ice-breaker, it is also a laugh riot... and a new tradition, apparently?  Those without underwear should probably head out-of-state.
  
• When three beautful women arrive, each carrying a wrapped bottle of Strawberry Hill Boone's Farm, you are obligated to drink all three before you are allowed to consume other forms of alcohol.  No exceptions.
  
• Do not wash and dry your sheets directly before your birthday party telling yourself you'll "put those back on the bed before you pass out."  You're going to wake up on a bare mattress in your underwear.
  
• Showing your best pick-up line on women you don't know is mandatory, even more so the more intoxicated you become.  Your friends merely want to see if you'll screw it up in your disarray.  Practice to avoid embarrassment.
  
• Leaving your cell phone at home is the best, best, BEST way to avoid tempting drunk dials.  THE BEST.  By FAR.  So be sure to bring it with you.
  
• A double shot of Crown Royal is the perfect last call shot at 2:55 AM.  Waking up at 2:55 PM the next day is purely coincidental.
  
• So is searching for your belongings that afternoon, as well.  Here's a tip:  Check the bathtub for your wallet, your front porch for your phone, and the cooler for your missing DVD.  Don't ponder why they're there; you'll just piss yourself off.
  
• Those who leave the party with the camera drive you to dinner the next day.
  
• Ladies: Turning a man's hat backwards to get closer to his face is probably the sexiest move in the world... but only if you do it right.  Bonus for melting him into a puddle by staring right into his eyes.
  
• A drunken party on the front lawn is a quick way to meet your neighbors.  Or discourage them from staying home that night.  Whichever.
  
• Anchorman is bar far the best movie in the world.  Period.  Seriously.  Expecially when everyone is drunk and knows the words by heart.
  
• Aspirin for a friend: $2.50.  Large glass of water for that friend: Free.  Reminding your friend that you have never had a hangover?  Priceless.
  
• Friends take you to bars for your birthday.  Best friends clean up the party while rallying to get to the bars before they close.

Here's the important one:  You have a lot of fun, but you do miss a few people on your birthday.  Yeah, it sucks.  But the awesome part?  You get to be surrounded by people who laugh at you and with you, whether you're drinking in Westport or watching the sunset at a Plaza restaurant, and for a few days...

... you feel like the most loved man alive. 

Thank you everyone who sent me messages or left me comments, but thanks especially to those who were able to spend some time with me during this fantastic, relaxing weekend.  I really needed it, and it was just awesome.

Now... if I can just find my other pillow.  I haven't seen it since Saturday afternoon... WTF?  I'm not joking!  Peter?  Simone?  Ryan?  Micaela?  Danielle?  Anybody?

I spent today writing code.  I have to complete a solution in one week, one that would normally take six.  Apparently, I'm up for the challenge.

But I did manage to do something for myself later in the day today... several things, actually.

First, I went down to Baja 600 with a couple of books, namely "Everything I Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" by Robert Fulghum and Einstein's "Ideas and Opinions."  Sat in the bar-area, ate a chicken burrito, read, and pondered.

I've read nearly all of Fulghum's books; he follows a very casual and engaging writing pattern, as well as a striking thought-progression.  As I read his 15th anniversary re-printing, I came to a realization:  It's probably fair to say I owe my writing style to him.  If you're at all curious, grab a copy of one of this books, read a few stories (should take all of five minutes), and then read a few of my blogs.  You'll see what I mean.

It was halfway through my delicious roll o' chicken that I noticed that Mike Wallace was interviewing the president of Iran on 60 Minutes.  That's a big deal, if you didn't know... he is notoriously reclusive, rarely giving interviews to state-newspapers, let alone to the USA.  Personally, I think the guy is as loony as a tune... and the whole "Isreal should be wiped off the face of the earth" comment (you know, the one he has repeated over and over again in more speeches than I can count) doesn't really give him any points in my book.  Only the US should be permitted to decide what countries get to exist in which condition... ...  Um... I'll back off of that one, for obvious reasons... I was becoming a little too much like The Daily Show.  More on that later.

As I sat there, attempting to listen to a man who controls a nuclear power chortle on about whether or not he's really going to answer the question posed, (specifically, "Do you want Iran and the US to have relations again?"), several things came to my attention.

First, I despise ignorant Americans.  I understand that some people may not be able to recognize the president of Iran by his face, and certainly have trouble spelling his name... but when someone asks me who that person is, and I say, "the President of Iran," I really don't want to hear one of the following responses:

1.)  Isn't Saddam on trial?  (Iran, not Iraq... retard)
2.)  Why are you watching that at a bar?  (Maybe because the guy doesn't grant interviews, or because Mike Wallace is one of the last newsmen I respect, or maybe because I want to get a better idea of who this absolute threat to peace is and what he wants)
3.)  Ha!  He's not even wearing a suit!  That's, like, a Docker's jacket.  For the president, he sure looks dumb.  (That's the guy who claims he has 52,000 suicide bombers ready to attack the US if we ever get close to invading.  I think he can wear whatever he wants... )

Yes, those are all true statements from passers-by.  And yes, I shared an annoyed look with the bartender (he was watching pretty intently, too).  Frankly, I don't know who scares me more: that insane, elected leader of a radical state seeking nuclear arms with the stated ambition of destroying a neighboring country, or the millions of Americans who don't know he exists because they haven't been "told" by someone "important..." Ryan Seacrest, for example.

This led me to another thought-path, prompted by a following interview with Steven Colbert:  The Daily Show and The Colbert Report aren't getting enough credit with "mainstream" news angencies.  Lately, Comedy Central's The Daily Show and The Colbert Report have been getting assailed with insults from a number of sources, the most loud being Geraldo and Bill O'Reilly from Fox News.  The most controversial of statements were two in particular.

First, there was the interview where O'Reilly said that The Daily Show's demographic was composed mostly (87?drunk, stoned slackers. Comedy Central took offense, and quoted a study where a university found that the majority of the people who watch The Daily Show are college educated people of above-average intelligence who are "well-informed" when it comes to political and global affairs.  To me, making a claim to the contrary is foolish: in order to understand satirical humor, you have to understand why it's satire.  This means you must, by definition, have at least a basic grasp of related events in order to laugh.

Second, and more recently, Geraldo referred to them meaningless, "making fun of old ladies as they slip on the ice."  I don't have to tell you about the response... see for yourself.

Sure, The Daily Show and The Colbert Report poke fun at other people, too... but when I catch a clip on YouTube.com or SpikedHumor.com, it's oftentimes amazing to me how intensely clever and stinging their commentary can be.  And I have yet to see a "professional" news agency hold our leaders' feet to the fire on past statements and bullshit as well as Stewart and Colbert.  And I think there is a reason why the following t-shirt is being printed en masse:

At any rate, I took out what little frustrations remained in my head out on a scotch at The Capital Grille, followed by Talladega Nights.  All in all it turned out to be a day of slowly reduced thought over the course of several hours.

... and now, here I am drudging it all up again before bed.  *sigh* oh, well.

Oh... and this Friday is my birthday.  I'll be out and about that night with a bunch of people, and then do it all again on Saturday.  Hit me up if ya wanna buy me a drink!  In the meantime, assume my week is hellish, as I scramble to produce code faster than ever thought possible...

Wish me luck, b/c I don't wanna work late Friday.

I feel so much more like me now... I've had a pretty shitty week at work, combined with a lousy weekend.  Frankly, I've been wondering when that funk would break.  It finally met its demise this evening... obviously you're going to have to deal with partial, drunken thoughts.  Hopefully you can handle that. 

Ever seen acoustic go electric?  I have, and tonight was just what the doctor ordered.

Guys' night at the Levee.  WOW.  There was this guy there for $3 cover that blew my socks off.  He was a one man Reggae band... he had this equipment that just blew me away.

I walked down to meet up with Dan and Drew... first of all, I was extremely pressed by my very good friend Samara to hit the town tonight, (thank you, dear!)  So I went down to the Levee... walked, by the way, as it is only three blocks.

We sat and drank $2 Red Stripes as "Bartholomew" played some fantastic music.  This guy was impressive.  He kicked his flip-flops off with a wave of his dreds, then picks up his guitar to play... but he had this foot pedal apparatus that could transform his electric acoustic guitar into an electic.  I'm not kidding.  He would reach out with one toe and change the sound of his guitar, from acoustic to the most awesome base or electric.  But that's not all...

He also had this sound board where he could record certain sounds that went through his mic or guitar.... so he would reach out with his big toe and mix his drum, his guitar, his voice, his sand block or even his voice to create a unique backrop for his music.  It was mesmerizing.  To give you an idea of the experience, he would record a simple 6-beat chorus on his drum, followed by a few scrapes across his guitar strings, then an "oh oh, ooooohhhh"... and he would have a backdrop for "Hey Jude."  Amazing.

As I sat and listened, I became more and more aware of how "not me" I had become over the last few days.

Quite a few of you have mentioned this.  I've been thoughtful, ponderous.  Am I too nice of a guy?  Do I pose a sufficient challenge?  Tonight I reached a point where I realized that now is one of the best times of my life.  Now is not the time to be confused, or to want to change for "the sake."  I like me, and I'm not going to change me; even if I had felt like I'd change anything for the promise of something.  This realization was invigorating... I even felt my shoulders swell back up out of their recent slump.  Had my week of work not been swallowed by sheer pressure, I might have enjoyed it more.

I was challenged tonight to "talk to at least three random women"; I bested that by two.  I felt the inner, extemporaneous Clint emerging outwards... and it felt good.  It was like standing up after a long car ride: *stretch*, *stetch*, "how you doin'?"

Renee gave me the most to think about, when I happened to run into her tonight: "Seriously sweetheart... why aren't you working for Google?"  Frankly... I don't know.  And that's something to think about, isn't it?  All I know is, I'm currently drunk... and thank God I'm not drunk dialing, athough that could have been fun.

So much has gone through my head in last 6 hours, I couldn't even begin to type it all here.  Suffice it to day, I'll be posting a better blog tomorrow.  Until then, I thank all of you for the wonderful messages and phone calls... you made me all teary and helped me feel loved. 

*groan*

As the title implies, I've had a bit of heartache this weekend.  It just isn't going to work out, and I've been deemed someone that is "cared about" and could be "a great friend."  Usually, I'm ok with these distinctions... but I'd be lying if I said this one didn't ache a bit.

I think this is the first time this kind of occurance actually made my chest physically ache.  My heart fell into my stomach during the conversation with her, and I was surprised, yet not surprised.  For the first time in a long time, I was at a loss for what to say... but I managed a meager attempt.  I'm pretty sure there was nothing for me to say anyway.

The world just feels a bit lonlier now, that's all.

But there was a spot of humor... and if there's one thing I like about me, it's that I still find things funny even when I'm not feeling my best.  :-)  I'll let the message chain below speak for itself: it involves a wonderfully bright Brit on my friend's list.  In the meantime, I'm going to get some sleep...

----------------- A Myspace Bulletin -----------------
From: not_lara_croft
Date: Aug 4, 2006 6:30 AM

Scrap that last bulletin. I can't be arsed.

May you all be merry, for you are a friend.

Hearts,
Gemma


----------------- My Question -----------------
From: Clint
Date: Aug 4, 2006 1:51 PM

Forgive the dumb American, but what exactly does 'I can't be arsed' mean?

------------------ British Reply ---------------------

It means, my dear yankie friend, that I cannot be bothered.

~ Gemma

And yet, I totally managed to bother her about it.  HA!

God, I love being me.