spyfoxguy's New Writeupshttp://everything2.com/?node=New%20Writeups%20Atom%20Feed&foruser=spyfoxguy2009-08-01T04:58:08Zmoths and stars (event)http://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy/writeups/moths+and+starsspyfoxguyhttp://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy2009-08-01T04:58:08Z2009-08-01T04:58:08Z"Yes, Mark <a href="/title/Apamea">Apamea</a> reporting here from the launch scene LIVE! Our age is truly a great time to be a moth. Not since <a href="/title/Mothra">Mothra</a> took on <a href="/title/Godzilla">Godzilla</a> has the air buzzed with such incredible excitement. Quote almost any philosopher you like - moths, by our very nature, desire to go toward <a href="/title/bright+lights">bright lights</a>. Behind me is what happens when science promises to make our brightest dream of all come true. Our first ever space-faring vehicle!
<p>"<a href="/title/The+Sun">The Sun</a>." The great light in the sky momma told us not to stare at. (I don't know about you folks, but I still like to sneak my diurnal dose). In just <a href="/title/T-minus">T-minus</a> sixty minutes, eight lucky astromoths will be the very first to investigate the surface of the celestial body. The next step on NASA's ambitious itinerary is Polaris, the star once thought to be a hole in the canopy of our world punctured by the gods themselves. Their divine invitation to their very well-lit <a href="/title/sacred+realm">sacred realm</a> is now in our possibility space, folks.</p>
<p>The ancient moths believed that we are<!-- close unclosed tag --></p>…July 23, 2009 (log)http://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy/writeups/July+23%252C+2009spyfoxguyhttp://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy2009-07-24T00:21:44Z2009-07-24T00:21:44ZI hadn't been lifting for THAT long. The nausea was more a product of a <strong>Dark Chocolate</strong> <a href="/title/Carnation+Breakfast+Milkshake">Carnation Breakfast Milkshake</a> that apparently had yet to be digested. As such, it was still capable of protest. The <a href="/title/Meathead">Meathead</a> in me urged me to continue, shouting over an accumulating internal pool of bile. After all, the great thing about lifting for your own benefit (and not some team's) is that you take it just as seriously as you like. Gloriously spared any encouragements of a coach, I made for the bathroom.
And there I was, praying to the proverbial <a href="/title/porcelain+god">porcelain god</a>. To date, I have gone my entire life (yes, that includes <a href="/title/freshman+year">freshman year</a>) without burning a drop of alcohol, and it had been a long time since I had hurled. Needless to say, I was a little nervous and a little excited.
<p>Now I must fly in the face of the usual social norm of "<a href="/title/sparing+you+the+details">sparing you the details</a>." Said details are the reason I am writing this up. The puke, while meager in quantity, compelled me with its uncanny<!-- close unclosed tag --></p>…July 7, 2009 (log)http://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy/writeups/July+7%252C+2009spyfoxguyhttp://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy2009-07-07T05:11:52Z2009-07-07T05:11:52Z<p><i><a href="/title/Death+makes+angels+of+us+all">Death makes angels of us all</a></i></p>
<p><i><a href="/title/And+gives+us+wings+where+we+had+shoulders+smooth+as+raven%2527s+claws">And gives us wings where we had shoulders smooth as raven's claws</a>.</i></p>
<p>
Ryan and I were flipping and flopping back to the Lifeguard break room, discussing <a href="/title/Jim+Morrison">Jim Morrison</a> and <a href="/title/The+Doors">The Doors</a>. "Jim was an amazing poet," he remarked with casual authority. I agreed out loud, yet held back the relevant anecdote that came to mind. If only he knew...it was right above our heads! At that very moment! <a href="/title/My+mind%2527s+eye">My mind's eye</a> looked with a twinkle to the high, vaulted ceiling. </p>
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Allow me to explain:
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<p>In that break room fifteen minutes earlier, we had been doing the very same thing. I had brought <a href="/title/John+Densmore">John Densmore</a>'s biography to work, and Ryan, an apparently huge fan, had taken notice. After a bit of erudite and "far-out" discussion, my long standing conviction that Ryan is a <a href="/title/pothead">pothead</a> was all but confirmed (for the record, I'm not) and it was once again time to go back to guarding the lives of some chronically boring swimmers. At least "<!-- close unclosed tag --></p>…Get rich quick (idea)http://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy/writeups/Get+rich+quickspyfoxguyhttp://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy2009-07-03T04:59:15Z2009-07-03T04:59:15Z<p>It was like any other musty relic at a musty <a href="/title/garage+sale">garage sale</a> in the musty garage, but something about it grabbed his attention. With a flash of his eye he read the cover - displaying just the title, printed so proudly that it left no room for the author's name: "<a href="/title/Get+Rich+Quick+Schemes">Get Rich Quick Schemes</a>." As a long-time adherent to his faith, <a href="/title/consumerism">consumerism</a>, he had often longed for a book like this. Things weren't going the way they were supposed to, and <a href="/title/he+needed+guidance">he needed guidance</a>.
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<p>Seeing this ancient <a href="/title/self-help">self-help</a> tome priced at a dollar made him self-conscious: he would have to purchase it nonchalantly. Act natural. He could not allow his excitement to draw attention to the true worth of his <a href="/title/serendipitous+find">serendipitous find</a>. The wrinkly, kind woman running the bazaar gave him a wise, knowing smile at the nearby checkout, and he handed her his tender. He was still fighting to contain himself, so <a href="/title/Washington">Washington</a> had to return the smile for him.
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<p>
He walked out into the sun and opened the book with a squint. On page one it read:<!-- close unclosed tag --></p>…You Know That Kid... (thing)http://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy/writeups/You+Know+That+Kid...spyfoxguyhttp://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy2009-07-02T16:16:34Z2009-07-02T16:16:34ZYou know the kid that everybody bullied in <a href="/title/elementary+school">elementary school</a>? It’s nine years after we last made <a href="/title/eye+contact">eye contact</a>, and he friends me on Facebook and we start talking. Chatting with him is a unique
and novel experience, and a contrition opportunity as well. In retrospect, I felt terrible about the whole picking-on situation. Actually, <a href="/title/if+memory+serves+me">if memory
serves me</a>, I was the nicest to him among the 14 or so dudes in our class (but that memory might just be <strong>self</strong>-serving). So naturally I feel sweeping waves of <a href="/title/empathy+and+penitence">empathy and penitence</a>, especially since most of me imagines that Mr. Victim is just as I had left him so long ago. Perhaps the only thing that snapped me out of it was his replacement of dirty playground words with more <a href="/title/mature+curse+words">mature curse words</a>.
<p>It's a conflicted and confused encounter, but he shows no indication of <a href="/title/bad+blood">bad blood</a>. In fact, he wants to hang out. I don't really, but subjected to the overpowering <a href="/title/novelty">novelty</a> of the whole thing, and after sidestepping his invites a few times,<!-- close unclosed tag --></p>…Guinea pig (idea)http://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy/writeups/Guinea+pigspyfoxguyhttp://everything2.com/user/spyfoxguy2009-06-29T00:52:07Z2009-06-29T00:52:07Z<p>So I buried my <a href="/title/guinea+pig">guinea pig</a> yesterday. I took it pretty hard, relatively - that is to say I was the only one in my family who shed tears over our diminutive departed critter. At first, I was just like the rest of my family members, making a few comments about "life" or "<a href="/title/it+happens">it happens</a>," filling the gaps with a few sighs. But then the memories welled up: his tiny, warm weight on my chest as I lay <a href="/title/supine%252C">supine,</a> his inquisitive nose checking me for the millionth time as if I were unfamiliar. He would then perch immutably there, claws and paws clutching my t-shirt, always somehow ambiguous between the two extremes of <a href="/title/petrifaction">petrifaction</a> and relaxation (this is the default state of a guinea pig). It was only then, picturing this, that I started to cry.
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<p>I always seem to be the only one thinking this: when somebody dies, thoughts and prayers always for the surviving family members seem to outnumber thoughts for the deceased person. What's it like to be him right now? The dead guy. He must have found out by now<!-- close unclosed tag --></p>…