It wasn’t just any snow, however.  It was the heaviest blanket of snow to hit the region in 30 years!  And if you’ve read this blog for awhile (if you would please excuse my momentary six month absence, that is), you would know that I’ve made countless references to how I live in the middle of nowhere.  When I say ‘in the middle of nowhere,’ what I really mean is in a cardboard box located in the desert surrounded by my best friends.  And when I say ‘best friends,’ I mean cacti who suck at showing their affection through the form of hugs.  Understandably, snow is a big thing in the desert.

Warning! Following are photos that will harass your bandwidth.

The view from our balcony.

This was taken in the park. And no, that alien white stuff on the ground? That’s not synthetic.

Berries blanked with snow.

Grass never looked more sexy, no?

These shoes took the longest time to dry out.  It was like walking in cardboard for two days.

Hi, this is snow elf (because he lacks the height requirements outlined in the “How To Build A Snowman” handbook to be considered a snowman) Blog readers, snow elf. Snow elf, blog readers.  Oh, and if you were wondering, the snow elf is that weird dude in the sweater (also known as my brother).  What, you thought I was referring to that sexy beast of a snowman next to the snow elf? Why, you have quite the sense of humor.

And this is Charlie.  I saved him from a treacherous snow storm when he was about to be attacked by a gang of ruthless 8-year olds.  He’s using up a bit more real estate than I’d like, but I’ll let it slide as long as he pays next month’s rent.  This one’s free of charge thanks to the frozen waffles.

That same night, the school district issued a snowday for the following day, in case the weather became too much for us desert inhabitants to handle.  Ironically, the next day, all the snow became slush and all the slush became even slushier slush.  It turns out that only 3 inches of snow had blanked the region.  However, with an entire day off, I wasn’t really complaining.  Charlie, on the otherhand, could not help sobbing from the tragic lost of all his brothers, sisters, cousins, aunts, and the crazy uncle-in-law overnight.  May they rest in peace.

It’s truly a miracle.

Does it snow where you live?  What’s your view on snow?  

Don’t get him wrong, on any other day when he could think, he would have dove right into the paper, drawing whatever rubbish that manages its way to his head.  But on this day, and this day in particular, he lacks inspiration.  And, so, to “inspire” his creativity, he recourses to drawing people on DeviantART.

Keep in mind, however, that his artistic endeavors and talents only reside in the illustration of rocks and stick people.  So, when he came across a provoking image, he gasped.  He didn’t gasped because it was a provoking image.  Of course not.  He gasped because the actual THOUGHT of drawing the human form in any other medium OTHER THAN the treasured and highly honored form of stick people ran through his mind.  It was definitely worth gasping for.  And, yet, he went for it anyway.

And, this was the result:

(based off of “Mercy” by girltripped)

Gasp in horror as you witness the atrocities commited against the human anatomy and general shading. Gasp, I say! GASP!

Fueled from the shock of creating such a hideous monster embedded within paper (think: going through hours of labor and giving birth to a green Frankenstein baby, who cannot even change his own diapers, feed itself, or grow up into a mature adult without adult guidance), he made a commitment to better his drawing skills, in order to prevent something so abominable from being born ever again. He would not commit another sin against society, he promised.

Fast foward eight months and he still hasn’t made quite adequate progress.

However, during his trip to Europe during the later half of June, while on an unbelievably long plane ride (8 HOURS) and suffering from a case of jet lag, he could not sleep in the scrunched up position that the airline had suggested he snooze in (well, when one is restrained in coach during such a long flight, and chained to a seat that could not have been possibly built for human beings, let alone human beings with an actual spine, it was hard to assume otherwise), he opened an airline magazine and began drawing Leona Lewis from an advertisement. This was the result:

Inspired from the fact that she did not look half bad (nor an atrocity against the human anatomy either), he became proud of his work. Boastful, if you will.

And, with his newly inspired faith of being able to draw people in actual HUMAN FORM rather than his crappy version of humans, better known as stick people who often had one arm longer than the other and lacked proper shoes, he continued to draw. And, by the time he came back to the United States, this was what he had to show for it:

Even more proud than before, he reached an all-time high. Which is just an alternative way of saying his ego got bigger. And, with his inflated ego, he finished his most recent drawing with flagrant pride.

To this day, he still continues to draw, without a doubt in the world that he would give birth to a mediocre monster ever again. He now lives happily ever after in Canada, the land of unicorns, fairies, and vampiric soulmates, as a part-time journaliast, part-time web designer, part-time marine biologist, and part-time *insert practical job here*, with his puppy, acoustic guitar, camera, paper, and pencil.

THE END.

(Disclaimer: any material that was spoken of in the second to last sentence of this entry is entire fictional and should not be quoted on if questioning whether or not Canada really is the land of unicorns, fairies, and vampire lovers.  Although, the dude who wrote this in third person very much likes to think so.)

Mom (Vietnamese): “Austin, since you don’t appeal to the idea of being a doctor, what would you like to be when you grow up?”

Me: “I’m thinking biologist.”

Mom (Vietnamese): “What’s a biologist?”

Me: “Well, it’s when you study…”

Mom (Vietnamese): “YOU WANT TO BE A PENILE SURGEON?”

Me: “… yeah, my career, my dream, my absolute driving passion in life is to fulfill what fake penis enlargement pills can’t.”

Mom (Vietnamese): “I know you so well, I do.”

Me: “Yes you do, mom.  Oh, why yes, you do.”

Thus why I believe this post is aptly titled: NOT EXACTLY WHAT I WAS GOING FOR.

And just as a head’s up, I’ll be gone for the next two weeks, beginning on June 16th.  I’ll be hopping over to Italy, France, and the U.K. on a school sponsored trip.  I will be back with plenty of photos, hopefully enough to make my Flickr account convulse with a bandwidth seizure.

If I can’t squeeze in another post before the 16th, I bid you adieu! 

And then they retort with a, “Hey! You’d be saving peoples’ lives here. And making a bunch of moolah to boot! There was this one time where I was checked up by a doctor for only 2 minutes, and I payed the man $300 bucks. Imagine the money!”

And then I respond with, “Parental units, as much as I’d like to earn all this said MOOLAH, the term doctor and the name Austin don’t roll well together. And I’m sorry, I can’t take up an occupation that doesn’t flow with my name. It’s almost unheard of.”

And, in reply, they say, “With your study skills, with your grades, with your large head, you’d surely make it into medical school. Hell, I’ll even sell the house just for you to attend medical school.”

“Dad, Mom, please. As grateful as I am that you’re willing to sell the house for me to be a doctor, as grateful that I am that you want the best intentions for me, and as grateful as I am that you do not threaten me to scrub behind the toilet, despite how filthy and uncharted that territory is, I just don’t want to be a doctor.”

Their response: “Be a fucking doctor.”

REWIND! And play the more accurate dialogue of the conversation taken place:

(after hushed conversations)
Parent(s): Austin, be a doctor.
Me: Why?
Parent(s): They save peoples’ lives. They make a lot of money. They rock our world.
Me: Dad, I just really don’t have the intention of going into the medical field.
Parent(s): Come on, with your grades and your study skills, you’d surely get into medical school.
Me (jokingly): Honestly, really, I’d rather be a garbage man or one of those people who juggle real estate signs on the corner of the street. They do make $40 an hour, right Billy?
Billy (brother): For surely!
Parent(s): Son, just be a doctor.

As accurate, exact, and veridical this conversation is, I’m not quite sure how believable it is for parents to use the phrase “rock our world.” So, excluding that single part, every thing else is quite authentic, in terms of what was actually said. I’m not well aware of the hourly wages of garbage men or those who flip real estate signs on the corner of busy intersections, you see.

What profession would you like to pursue? Or, if you are already in your dream profession, what is it and why did you choose it? And, do you have people who flip signs on the corner of the street? Or is it only where I seem to live?

(from fliggo.com)

P.S. Does the attitude/voice/tone of the woman narrator resemble Ellen Page from Juno? Or is just me?

Not your average, typical flying beast with wings that you may come across, but one with beady eyes, gray feathers, a beak, and reputed to leave white poop on your car window that has a tendency to dry rather quickly and smell rather acridly.

Actually, I take that back. I believe it was a pidgin. It’s hard to distinguish between the two.

Expectedly, the students in my P.E. class could not help themselves from being entertained by the bird. It flew… and flew…. and flew in circles around the gymnasium, almost accidentally (or intended, I’ve yet to consult with the pidgin) swooping into a student’s face, quite similar to Fabio’s incident with the goose who just so happened to get in the way of his roller coaster and suffered a tragic death. The goose anyway. It was good ol’ jolly fun, being dazzled by a flying beast with wings and such.

I apologize. I mean, PIDGIN. Those terms are just so darn interchangeable.

I hoped for the bird to mark the territory with its signature white poop before flying out through the gymnasium doors, leaving us all with the title as The Pidgin Would Could Poop. Unfortunately, I was let down.

You could say I was certainly, undoubtedly moved by the performance of this pidgin, in fact, that while playing volleyball, I was far too concerned with the well being of the beast pidgin to happen to notice the 20MPH volleyball flying directly at my face. Is this a valid excuse? I believe so. Is this ironic? Oh, yes. Was this THE IDEAL MORNING? You unquestionably know it.

I can’t say the movie wasn’t enjoyable, nor can I say it was an absolute hit. It was one of those movies where you expect for it to be undeniably spectacular, and when actually watching the movie, it seems undeniably spectacular, but it seems to lose its magic 10 minutes after the ending credits due how illogical the whole movie was.

I’m all for sci-fi “imagine-the-civilization-of-man-if-a-vaccine-backfired-and-resulted-in-savage-vampires” movies, but I Am Legend didn’t hit home for me, for the fact that it left some potholes. Such as (warning: spoilers):

• Once the vampire dogs were released to maul Sam (the dog), why couldn’t the mob of savages go after Robert Neville as well? Killing two birds with one stone?
• How did all those animals land in New York City? And, even then, why weren’t they infected with the virus, seeing as though dogs were capable of being infected?
• What was the primary reason for killing Neville? Revenge? Redemption? Or, were they just hungry?
• How were the two survivors from Maryland (my media apathy kicking in - I can’t remember their names!) able to escape the laboratory unscathed? I mean, 90% of the human population was infected. Neville couldn’t have possibly killed that 90% of the infected population of New York City with that single grenade? Or was that a single clan?
• After THREE YEARS (that’s 1095 days, people) since the infection began, there can’t possibly be mutants managing water supply and electricity plants? How else to explain the running water and the electricity?

All in all, a thrilling, captivating film, keeping me on the edge of my seat (since I expected a rabid mutant to burst out of EVERY SINGLE dark corner of the movie), but has some potholes that leaves the viewer a bit confused.

I haven’t been much of a media fan, despite how much I’ve tried to get into it.

I’ve been a fan of various music artists but cannot compel myself to download their entire album.

I’ve been a fan of various television shows, but cannot motivate myself to check when they’re on.

I’ve been a fan of various movies, but cannot recall the names of any of the actors, producers, or directors.

Which leads to a lot of those vague moments where I go “Remember that one dude who starred in that one movie with that one beard in that one scene where he did that one aerial maneuver?”  to my friends.  And then they go, “I think you’ve got Spiderman and Pirates of the Caribbean mixed up.”

And it has lead me to this conclusion:  I seemingly have the capabilities of choosing LAUNDRY over kicking back, eating popcorn, and enjoying a psychological thriller.  Which also equates to: I’m able to knock out a load of laundry in 10 minutes, yet completely unable to name that one actress who starred as a pregnant teen (of whom, I cannot name either!) in Juno.

It’s quite sad.

I guess you could say I’m not too into media.  That, or I have a mental disability when it comes to media.  Either works fine with me.  Really.

• It’s Spring Break.
• I have a creative writing assignment in Math over Spring Break.
• I finished reading Khaled Hosseini’s “The Kite Runner.” One of the few books finished in ‘08. Whoot.
• My brother obsesses over Super Smash Brothers Brawl. It’s quite addicting, I’d say.
• I’ve just got a Twitter with babbled updates.
• I’ve tweaked around with Expression Engine.
• I have a new site theme stewing on this computer.
• ZeFrank is one of the most entertainingly schizophrenic podcasts I’ve ever watched. And I love it.
• There’s no such thing as tater tots made specifically from non-potato-like substances. Yet I have reason to believe so.
• I have a caffeinated beverage to tend to.
• Andddd… The Strokes are interesting.

And that’s it folks.

Aside from Wordpres reputed as a “bloated blogging platform,” I’m just willing to try something new and experiment a little. It would be a nice change to start a new wave of regular blog posts, perhaps.

However, I’m quite hesitant of asking for a MySQL database from Alex, seeing as though I’ve been sporadically blogging for the past 2 months, being an unreliable hostee by not updating every week or so.

For the next week(s), I’m planning to get the workings of Expression Engine and/or Textpattern down over on Zymic, a free host, despite how risky free hosts can be.

Thanks Susan, for your input on my last post.