Today, i’ll just be showing you some pictures of moving. Some of them are pretty funny, i think. Or just weird. Well, okay, mostly just weird.
I think i might be Godzilla.It's so pretty outside!Oh. Crap. I fell in.One last look at my home (of roughly a week and a half).
RAWRRRRRRRRR
No words but that: RAWRRR<3 dragons roar, right?
A million tomorrows shall all pass away, e’er i forget all the joys that are mine today, oooh, today…
Okay, so i’ve been rull bad about doing this. So i’m doing four today. And i’m not really putting forth a lot of effort, as i’m putting together a video for Waycross right now, and it has to be done for Van before diocesan convention. So…yeah.
I love this song.
the torture i am put through every day...
“But Mom!” i said.
“No buts, Hermione Rachel. You need to buy that one.”
Mom and i were out shopping, looking for a new swimsuit. I found the cutest little two-piece, with hardcore studs and it looked and dye-y and stuff. She wanted me to wear a crappy, ugly one-piece with weirdo pink frills on it. “Ain’t gonna happen,” i muttered when she showed it to me.
Sadly, shopping with my mother is always like this. I remember this one time…
only cool kids wear their sunglasses inside...at night...in a dark restaurant.
Harold Roger had a screaming headache. He had been hanging out with teenagers all night and, really, their behaviour was not appropriate, nor migraine-relieving. Luckily for him, his pet, Chuck, had an extra pair of sunglasses she was willing to lend out. Usually she would charge him, but this time she was in such a good mood that she she did not.
As Harold Roger settled in for a long meal at a classy restaurant, he plotted. He plotted and schemed and angled and brewed and cogitated and colluded and conceived and concocted and connived and inspired and contrived and cooked up and designed and devised and drafted and finagled and framed and hatched and imagined and intrigued and machinated and maneuvered and operated and outlined and roughed out and set up and sketched and wangled and thanked thesaurus.com for helping him come up with so many synonyms of “plot.”
Harold Roger had set up (!) the whole evening. He knew that Chuck would be pleased to see her friends and so would be more helpful than usual. And Harold Roger needed her help, as loath as he was to admit it. He had discovered long before that being a foot tall, fuzzy, squishy blue dragon with stunted wings doesn’t get you very far in life. In fact, no one ever took him seriously. So he had to use Chuck to get things. Which he did, frequently. But this was big. Very big. He knew she had to be in the best possibly mood in order for his scheme (!) to work.
Harold Roger wanted a gold, diamond-studded necklace–bling, as Chuck would call it, scoffing–with his name in sapphires to match his fur.
This is a song i wrote with the help of my friend, Duncan. If you are familiar with Waycross songs, some of these lines should be familiar. Each song is used only once, but not all songs are used. They are listed, in order (chorus only once) after the song itself.
When life is cold and darkness falls
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
Help us shine on through the night
From our blindness set us free
Please be near me to the end
The animals, they came off, they came off by threesies, threesies
Into a valley so shady
When all the trees are budding and
One day i fly, the next i crawl but
He’s walkin’ by my side and i’m satisfied
When life is cold and darkness falls
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
Help us shine on through the night
From our blindness set us free
Please be near me to the end
Jesus stood on the way and he cried:
“There’s a new kind of love, and they call it agape!”
So we will walk with each other, we will walk hand in hand
When we’ve been there ten thousand years
Born of the one light Eden saw play
When life is cold and darkness falls
Help us shine on through the night
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
From our blindness set us free
Please be near me to the end
Hush, little baby, a story i’ll tell
Of tears and fears and feelin’ proud
Fixed in a photograph, lost in a song
“Dance, dance, wherever you may be
Tell me that you’ll wait for me
And maybe you’ll come back to me someday”
When life is cold and darkness falls
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
Help us shine on through the night
From our blindness set us free
Please be near me to the end
Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine
Humans shall not live by bread alone
We shall find such harmony
What brings us together here has blessed us all today
When life is cold and darkness falls
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
Help us shine on through the night
From our blindness set us free
Please be near me to the end
When life is cold and darkness falls
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
Help us shine on through the night
From our blindness set us free
Please be near me to the end
Like a blaze of gold at the break of dawn
Please be near me to the end
—————————————–
Nothing Separates Us
You’re the Power
We Are the Light of the World
Unity
Thy Word
Rise and Shine
Gypsy Rover
Pass It On
Come Away
King Jesus Is All
(chorus)
Blindman
Unconditional Love
They’ll Know We Are Christians By Our Love
Amazing Grace
Morning Has Broken
(chorus)
Alleluia, the Great Storm Is Over
Both Sides Now
Michael, oh Michael
Lord of the Dance
Leavin’ on a Jet Plane
Maybe
(chorus)
Today
Seek Ye First
Servant Song
Give Yourself to Love
(chorus)
(chorus)
—————————————–
Tell me what you think! If you have changes to offer, please, do! Duncan is going to work on adding chords to this and making it work like a real song. Any input you have i will greatly appreciate. Thanks so much!
So, i’ve started a new project. It’s a 365 project; have you heard of them?
Okay, you haven’t. Good. Basically, for a 365 project, you do something every day for a year. Something that helps people along is having a theme, and also blogging. I purchased a book, back in April, i believe, that fascinated me. Once i had seen it, i mentally hit my forehead. “OF COURSE,” i said to myself. “It makes perfect sense!”
Now, something you may know about me–Dad, you certainly do–is that i often have trouble building structure for myself. Sure, i’m full of loads upon loads of ideas, all of them intriguing and most of them just straight up weird, but to actually put those ideas into practice is something i constantly struggle with.
So, in order to make a project last 365 days, i am going to use the tips given to me in this book and use inspiration from as many sources as i can.
I hope you’re all curious now as to what i’m going to do for my “Make Something 365″ project. Do you want to know?
Well, too bad.
Just kidding. I’ll tell you.
Right now.
I’m going to take a picture of Harold Roger, the newest addition to my stuffed animal collection, every day for the next year and write a story to go along with it, and why he’s in that situation. Harold Roger is a foot-tall, blue, fat dragon who’s possibly the cuddliest thing i’ve ever met. I will often call him HR for short, but only when typing, as “Harold Roger” just has a nice ring to it when it’s said out loud.
The idea behind this exercise is to broaden and embolden my creativity. I figure, if i can write one (very very) short story (or caption, depending on the time i have) a day for one year, my writing will improve and my creativity will flourish.
And now i ask you, dear readers (reader?), what do you think you could do for 365 days in a row?
http://makesomething365.blogspot.com
http://www.thehiredguns.com/blogs/author/noahs
http://365project.org/
http://365squareymonsters.blogspot.com/
(just look up “365 project” and you’ll get hundreds, if not thousands, of hits based off of these projects!)
A few weeks ago, i got in my first car accident. Then i banged up the car again, being further irresponsible. My dad told me i had to write a two-page essay, explaining exactly why i should be allowed to drive again, proving my responsibility. My parents told me to get it published, but i figure…i might as well put it up here, on WordPress, because it will get a few more hits, and then i can start to write more effectively and more often and such. Anyway, here it is:
On Friday, May 20th, around eleven thirty PM, I got into my first serious car accident. No one was hurt physically, thankfully, but I was very shaken up. It was one of the scariest things that has ever happened to me, and it was entirely my fault. I was about to pull into the roundabout at Morgantown and Fairview and I mistakenly did not look carefully enough into the roundabout—or outside of it, for cars entering—and, when I pulled in, the driver’s side of the Highlander smashed into a green truck, right above its right back tire. There was extensive damage to the Highlander’s front fender and minimal damage to the truck. Luckily, State Farm helped cover the damage, and we were left with only a five hundred dollar deductible. Both cars were still driveable.
Before the Highlander was brought into Walter’s Body Shop, I drove it to school Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday (May 24th, 25th, and 26th). On Tuesday, I drove Lukas to school so he could drop off his trumpet or take care of some school stuff, I can’t really remember. As I was backing out of the garage, I bumped into the basketball goal, hitting the pole with the back end of the Highlander. I jumped, adjusted, and pulled out properly. As soon as the car was in front of the house, ready to be driven to school, I hopped out to check the damage. At the time, the headlight was cracked. I was worried but soon forgot about it, so I, irresponsibly, did not tell my parents about it. When my parents brought the Highlander into Walter’s Body Shop that Friday morning, my dad texted me to ask if I had caused the broken light and the dent. After a moment, I recalled what had happened and replied quickly. Apparently, the light had fallen off completely and I had dented the car—which I had not noticed at first. State Farm would again cover all but the five hundred dollar deductible, and I worried, as I am sure my parents did.
These two events clashed with my thinking: I thought I was a very responsible driver, but, as it turns out, I actually am not the most responsible of drivers. I thought, because I don’t text and drive, I don’t speed—much (for the sake of honesty)—and I never run red lights, that I am a cut above the rest. I am not; I forgot that driving is always unsafe and should be treated as dangerous and a privilege, not a right, and so I pushed forward in both cases, regardless of what could have happened to me.
Again, I am extremely thankful that no one got hurt in either of these accidents, and also that the two men in the green truck were very forgiving and understanding. It was hard to keep calm, because I knew I was in the wrong and that everything—the smashed pieces of plastic left in the roundabout that one of the men in the green truck brought back to me, the scratched paint and dented metal of the truck—was because I had not been a responsible or smart driver and I had rushed into the situation.
One thing I learned from these incidents is that one can never be too careful. I am a hundred, a thousand, percent sure that, had I looked more carefully into the roundabout before turning into it, the whole car accident could have been avoided. I am equally as sure that had I checked how far I was turning, rather than hurrying to school, that I would not have hit the basketball goal. What happened both times was stupid. One cannot be a responsible driver if one is not paying full attention to the road, the driveway, or the sidewalk.
Another important thing, to me, at least, is that it is not at all about the money. If I do something stupid, I expect punishment, I don’t expect to get off burn-free. And I did not, not in either case. I had to pay seven hundred fifty dollars—my parents were nice enough to cover half of one of the deductibles for me—but that does not matter to me. I do not need that money. What I need is to be more responsible. I was more scared of myself than anything else in those situations. Driving is a huge responsibility. When driving, one is controlling a thousand pounds or more of metal and plastic, and can do great amounts of damage. The idea that I, weighing a mere one hundred pounds, can move that much vehicle, is awe-inspiring. And if anyone had been hurt, I would never be able to forgive myself.
Hopefully, while driving, I will remember my first real car accident and remind myself to be careful and “look at both sides of the street before crossing” and nothing like those will ever happen again. I am going to strive, try my absolute hardest, to be even more careful, to drive safely in order not to damage persons or property because I hold life in my hands when I drive; my life and the lives of others.
At four o’clock in the morning yesterday, I was on my computer, as usual, quietly typing away and drinking Mountain Dew in order to stay up and finish a rather large chunk of the game I’m building currently. I minimized the program in order to change the song; though I love the 60s at most times, I don’t when I’m a zombie. I opened my email and discovered a long letter from someone I had never talked to before. I wondered for a moment, until I remembered that I had signed up on a dating website half-seriously, and someone had replied, nearly three months later. Someone, specifically, being a (very attractive) librarian, who woke me up with his big words and knowledge of video games.
“Dear Dylan,” it began. He went on to say that he, too, had half-heartedly signed up for this dating service—though more recently than I did—and stumbled upon me. He read my profile and was interested, and so he emailed me. Then he listed all of his favourite video games, what consoles he has, and then he asked to meet for coffee.
“Dylan,” my conscience counseled, “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan, don’t you ever listen to your mother? You can’t meet some strange man for coffee, even if he’s Jude Law’s even more attractive twin brother!” “But, but, but,” I said back. “But no,” it replied.
I wanted to ignore it. My stomach was up in my throat, my toes were bunched up in nervousness all on their own, and I wanted that date. Or coffee, or whatever. I could feel my heart beating and my breath coming in and out, too fast. I slowed my breathing and I told myself to calm down. I had not been on a date in months, as I had been holed up at home working on games for independent companies for two years. I left my apartment no more than once a week (for groceries) and I didn’t make eye contact with people on the street or at the store. I hated being without a “significant other,” and I really hated going to my sister’s wedding with my roommate, but I hated learning about people.
I told my conscience to shut up and let me get on with my life. I clicked reply.
“Dear Logan…”
